Prompt 2 -- Ends

Title: This House Is Vegas

Genre: Drama
Characters: Vinicio, Rachele
Prompt: 2 ~ Ends
Word Count: Approx. 935
Rating: PG (just in case)
Type: Series
Summary: Vinicio finds out what he supposedly did.
Warnings: Language, alcohol references

Donatella's rather loud car had screeched out of the driveway about an hour earlier, and Vinicio had not heard any traffic since, so after a quick glass of wine, he'd felt it was safe to leave his room. His room, that was--not their room. No more having to worry about that bitch stealing the blankets! All the things he could do now... he could thrash about without having to worry about anyone else's comfort... he could eat and drink in bed... and damn it, if he wanted to sleep with his socks on, he could sleep with his socks on! And by God, he would! Except not right away; sure, he was free, but that didn't change the fact that it was still summer.

But as he made his way into the dining room, he supposed he had more pressing matters on hand.

The mechanically precise, but otherwise soulless music had betrayed his daughter as the pianist. Just as well, he figured, as he was not yet ready to face his son. God. How had he been so stupid? He had spent so much time and effort building his empire that he had all but neglected his house. Well, not any more--as soon as all the legal crap was sorted out, he was going to give himself a well-deserved few weeks off and head out of the first Morticelli family vacation since the Christine era; just him, Arrigo, Rachele, and whatever destination they chose.

"Rache?"

She didn't reply. She seemed to be thoroughly engrossed with whatever the hell it was she was playing... or, at least, trying to play. "Rachele?"

Again, no response. Her apparent dedication made him wish that she had talent.

Vinicio shook his head. "Rachele? Honey? I want to talk to you."

The word 'talk' did certainly have a strange power in the household, it seemed, as she stopped with a loud, startled thud! Her back was turned, but he could almost see her blinking in shock.

"So, I was thinking," Vinicio began as his daughter pulled herself off the piano bench, "do you want to go to Disneyland for the last two weeks of summer?"

Another blink; if he didn't know better, he would've sworn that the gust created by the force of her eyelids had pushed her glasses further down her nose. "Oh, right--you get motion sickness. How about Florence? You could meet your grandparents! What better way to inform them of the existence of you and your brother than a face-to-face meeting?"

Rachele simply gaped at him in disbelief, her fingers releasing their leftover piano-playing motions onto her hip. "My brother? What the hell are you talking about? 'Rigo's not here."

Vinicio rolled his eyes. "I can see that. Look, I walked past his room, and the door was closed, so I figured he just wanted some space. I'll talk to him later."

"Later?" she parroted, as though the word left a foul taste on her tongue. "Are you drunk? 'Rigo's not in his room--as of seventy-three minutes ago, 'Rigo doesn't live here anymore."

It was now Vinicio's turn to blink rapidly.

"...what?"

Rachele glowered--something he would have never dreamed of her. "That's all you have to say for yourself? 'What'?"

"Well... where is he, then?" demanded Vinicio. "Evadne's? Sofia's?"

"Same house, Dad--and I don't know."

Vinicio sighed. "Can you call his cell?"

The girl moaned in disbelief. "You think I haven't tried that? He left his cell on the kitchen counter! God, Dad, what the hell were you thinking when you kicked him out?"

His jaw dropped; he had to lift his hand to his chin to make sure it was still attached to his face. "When I did what?"

"Don't you play the fool with me!" snapped Rachele. "You know what I'm talking about!"

"Rachele, I can assure you, I don't! I never kicked your brother out! I realize that I haven't exactly been a source of smart decisions in recent years, but even I am not so stupid as to leave a seventeen-year-old kid who has a will written up with instructions to engrave the phrase 'Life's a bitch' on his tombstone entirely to his own devices!"

Rachele's lip quivered, a tear welling up in the corner of her green eye. "What did you say to him?"

"I just asked him to leave the room for a minute... or at least, that's what I thought I did..."

His daughter bowed her head. "I guess he thought differently."

Vinicio strained his neck as he fought to keep his eyes pointing upward; he had not expected to cry today, but it seemed now that it was his fate. "My God... what have I done?"

"You know... it's not like we're in a big city, Dad," mused Rachele--more used to thinking for the both of them than he wanted to admit, he realized now. "Providing that you're sober enough, it wouldn't be totally useless to drive around and search. Besides, most people in town know who Arrigo is, and he kind of makes himself obvious, so if we leave now, we can probably find him, and if we can't, we'll call the police, okay?"

Vinicio nodded. He took a moment to rack his brain for his son's favorite haunts, only to realize he could not think of a single one. Truly, he was the worst parent who had ever lived; he would not have wished himself as a father on a seven-foot tapeworm. "I've only had one glass, and you have a permit. Let's just leave before it gets dark, all right?"

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