This was it then.

After not even a full year of living it up as Papa, ignoring the ministry's wishes and spreading music more than actively shouting 'we are Satan' and taking territory in politics, his time was finally up and was set to join his brother Primo in early retirement.

He knew it was coming, he'd had his warnings, but yet he couldn't let it go. It was him, that was his flock and he couldn't allow them to be watched and nurtured by Terzo who was nothing if not a mess of a human being on a good day- but he did do what Nihil told him, fucking papa's boy. Primo had settled so easily into the backseat and gently suggested he did the same.

When the day came to transfer the title, he didn't show up to the ceremony- he was supposed to, but he didn't. Instead he returned back to his chambers hoping to get drunk and sulk for a bit until he felt well enough for a bottle blonde or two only to find that you beat him there, lighting some candles and arranging some chocolates and a nice canister of bourbon on his side table.

You were his fiancee- you'd been his fiancee for the past 20 years, neither of you really had the time or drive to actually get married but the promise and commitment was still there- and a very active and important member of the clergy and you were needed at the ceremony, it was odd you were here instead but also...very comforting.

He exhaled, going to sit on the edge of the bed with his head in his hand. "It's over, it's actually over."