This is the tale of how Vincento Luciano DiSantiago dies.

It's not a good death, esepcially from Vincento's point-of-view. It came as a surprise, as death often does, though in a DiSantiago's case it really shouldn't have. They are special people, with special privilidges. The world is their toy, to do with as they please. No gate is locked, no secret safe, should a DiSantiago bend their will towards obtaining access to these things. But there is a price for the power they wield on earth.

A terrrible, terrible price - one that cannot be avoided.

Save by a Choosen few.
 
Sadly, Vincento Luciano DiSantiago does not fall into that special category. Though, as his soul roasts on the spits of Hell for all eternity, he can take some comfort in the knowledge that the one his death freed, the one who was Choosen, was someone he actually liked.

Cold comfort, of course, but you take these things where you can get them. For like most of the DiSantiagos, he never believed the stories about where their power came from. He even laughed about it when he was first told, on his thirteenth birthday, just like every DiSantiago has been told on their thirteenth birthday, going back for 500 years.

He is most assuredly not laughing now.

"...and then we get on our dragons and go storm the castle." Roger finished saying, eyeing his boss across the limo carefully. "Vinny, you ain't heard a thing I said the last ten minutes, huh?" Roger Mazza had been Vinny's numbers guy, cheif enforcer, and gatekeeper and bodyguard for the last 8 years. He was a big man, with a shaved head, thick, bushy eyebrows, and a penchent for borderline steroid abuse which caused him to bulge at the seams of whatever he was wearing. Despite his size, he moved very quickly. Despite his appearing like just another street tough, he was extremely smart. Many had underestimated Roger Mazza on his climb to his current role.

None of them were around to mourn this fact. He was practical, cold, and fiercly loyal.

"You ok?" 

"Hrm?"  Vinny asked half heartedly as he tore his eyes away from the rain streaked limo.  He'd been watching as the teardrop gained momentum with each one they devoured, until they finally raced to the bottom and slid beyond his field of vision. out of his control.  He imagined that the DiSantiagos were kind of like that, with each person's life they corrupted, they became more powerful, more unstoppable.  He'd been thinking about his family a lot of late, especially after the revelation of his cousin's powers and what they could do. for him. for the family.

Loyalty was strong between the two of them and he wouldn't betray that confidence, but that didn't stop him from imagining how Sebastian could help him.

"You ok?" Mazzo repeated. "You been about a million miles away tonight. Anything I need to know?" 

Vinny finally brought his gaze to rest on his trusted friend.  "Yeah, I'm okay.  Had a close call the other day and it just got me thinking about things.  I don't think I'm made out of the right cloth to be thinking as much as I have been."  He chuckled a bit at that.  "It's just, that you never know what's going to happen till it happens.  ...and that everybody that you meet, every house that you look at, or prostitute on the street.  Everyone and everything has it's own intricate web, of family and contacts, skills and abilities... If you think too much about it, the world is a fucking scary place, Maz.  A fucking scary place.  Even when you think you know someone, you can't know it all.  Not all of it."

Roger nodded. "True. Thinking's never been one of your strong suits. Best to stick with what you know." the body guard made a pistol out of thumb and forefinger and fired off a couple of 'shots' at Vinny, smiling as he did so. 

"True enough, Maz.  True enough."  Vinny gave him a knowing nod and relaxed back into his seat.  "So what were you yammering on about?" The bodyguard wiggled one foot, stretching out his leg as he spoke. It could get cramped in even the most spacious of town cars.

"Do you remember that thing you were told when you turned thirteen," he asked, some joint in his ankle or leg popping softly. "That's better," he murmured as he looked up towards Vinny. 

Vinny looked at Mazzo like he'd lost his mind and laughed.  "What the fuck you talking about? I can barely remember last week.  That's what you're for." His tone was light. Roger relaxed deeper into the leather of his seat and regarded his employer with a look of amused solemnity.

A few seconds passed, and he shook his head and smiled. "I'll say this about you Vincent: you've always been consistent. If there was one thing we could always count on with you, it was that you'd forget your brain if it wasn't pinned to your head." He locked his beefy hands behind his head and grinned. 

"Jesus Christ Maz.  I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention earlier, Stop being a prick. I wouldn't be where I was today if I was a dumb ass."  This was true, from the half drunken stagger to the too loud voice that Vincent DiSantiago used on occasion, to make sure that people underestimated him, he was no fool.  He liked it when people underestimated him, but that didn't apply to his employees and friends.

"You've got a bit of low cunning, that's true." Roger agreed, "but Vinny, you are a dumbass. You've got more anger-management issues than a barrel full of junkies, and if it weren't for me and other people your mom put in place long ago, well..." he chuckled, the familiar 'ain't that some funny shit' chuckle the Vinny had known for years, "... let's just say if it weren't for that and the good ol DiSantiago oomph, you'd have been dead in an alley somewhere years ago." 

Vinny grunted begrudgingly at that, but his dark eyes narrowed and took on a heavier gleam as he regarded his friend.

"Speaking of your mom," Roger said, unclasping his hands and leaning forward, tone grown serious, "did she ever tell you?" The bodyguards eyes searched Vinny's face in much the same way a small boy will stare at an ant through a magnifying glass. Vinny had never seen such focus directed at him from Roger before. To be fair, he'd never seen Roger focus this much on anything that didn't have its tits hanging out and its legs wrapped around a pole. It was unnerving. 

The DiSantiago's heavy narrowed eyes stared for several moments before Vinny replied, his voice almost dangerous.  "Tell me what?  Did you fucking sleep with my Mother?"

Roger stared at him, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Sleep with your mom? Hell no man, what do you think I am?" Roger said. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, sleep with your mom..." He said, shaking his head. He moved a hand in a throw-away gesture. "Carlotta is a whole lotta woman, but no way. I wanna live a few more years, thank you very much." 

"Good." Vinny said simply as he continued to look at Maz, not at all sure what had gotten into his friend.

He held up a finger, wagging it back and forth in time with the shaking of his gleaming head. "No, what I'm talkin about is her being Chosen. She ever tell you that?" He leaned forward expectantly. 

"Chosen for what?"  Vinny was growing frustrated.  "Maz, what the fuck are you talking about?"

Roger just shook his head. "I'm probably doing the damn world a favor. Santa Maria..." the big man whispered, his voice somehow different now, more highly pitched and softly accented with... Spanish? Rivulets of rain-water continued to streak the windows as the car moved through the night, flowing up and down the glass like sine waves as Roger studied his employer, a look of disappointment plain upon his face. "We're going to have a chat, Vincento. I'm going to explain some things, some unpleasant things, and then... well... and then something wonderful can happen. Will happen." Roger nodded, the voice no longer his own. It sounded like Renaldo somehow. Churchy. The words longer, more drawn out. 

At the sound of his real name, Vinny stiffened and he felt a sinking sensation in his gut.  Something wasn't right and as of right now, he realized it for absolute certain.

"The DiSantiago's are cursed, Vincento. You know this. You were told. I know you were, because I checked. Just like I check on everyone. It's not fair for you to not understand the rules, given the consequences of what comes at the end of your life." Roger checked his watch. "Which is about ten minutes from now." 

Vinny swallowed hard as he reached for the gun that he always had on him.  "Shut the fuck up, Maz.  This shit isn't funny.  Shut. the. Fuck. Up."

"Right about now," continued Roger in that fluid, tenor voice, "you'll be thinking of your gun. You'll be thinking that somehow that will save you." He folded both hands around one knee and shook his head. "It won't." The voice was sad, the eyes full of an amused sympathy that were horrible to behold. The body language was changing, as if whatever it was that was controlling Roger seemed to be enjoying it, the hand fitting the glove more closely as time went on. "You'll fire some shots, try to roll out of the car. Maybe run for it if you don't end up breaking your damn fool neck in the attempt." Again Roger shook his head, smiling sadly. "It won't help." The car continued on it's way through the rain-soaked streets. Vinny couldn't even remember where the fuck they were supposed to be going at this point. 

Frozen with a combination of disbelief and terror, Vinny fumbled for his gun.  His fingers felt thick and sluggish but with effort he found it and pulled it from his back.

"Your mother was Choosen, Vincento. She is the only of her generation I have given the gift of choice to as of right now." continued Roger. He kept looking into Vinny's eyes, watching him, studying him with that mixture of sympathy and expectation that was just wrong. Like a nervous kid with a sackful of kittens approaching a bridge, the sound of the running water making his heart race, and his little hands all curled into tight fists around the opening of his moving, mewling sack.

"Sadly, she'll end up damned anyway, but that I can honestly say will not be my doing." He shrugged. 

"What the fuck?!"  Vinny leveled the gun at Roger, his eyes bright with anticipation and fear.  "Maz, I'm gonna blow your fucking head off if you don't shut the fuck up.  I swear to fucking God!  I swear to fucking god!"

"Francisco," Roger said calmly, looking for all the world like there wasn't a gun pointed at his face. "My name, is Francisco."

Vinny's hands were shaking now.  It wasn't just the legend of Francisco.  No.  That could have still been a laughable prank.  It was the intensity in the car, the cold brutal intensity in those eyes. Every word dripped with the knowledge and truth of a thousand years.

"Put the gun away, Vincento." Roger said calmly. Politely. "Put it away." His eyes were gleaming in the dark. 

Not wanting to leave anything to chance, Vinny pulled the trigger with his trembling hand. He emptied the fucking clip, the noise deafening in the confines of the limo, the light from the muzzle flash blinding him for just a moment. The car lurched first to the left then the right, and Vinny was tossed first into the door, bruising his shoulder and cracking his head against the window so hard he thought he was going to pass out. 

Then as the car fishtailed the other way, he was thrown onto the floor on top of the body of Roger Mazza. Smoke, acrid and bitter, hung in the air, making it hard to see anything, but Vinny could feel the wrongness and wetness of the body below him. He knew he'd about blown the mans head clean off. 

Finally, the car made it to a stop, the internal filters working to pull the gun smoke out of the air. Roger didn't move. 

"Oh my fucking God!"  Vinny exhaled as he made a scrambling attempt to push himself off of Maz' prone body.  Fueled with terrified urgency, he lurched for the door, pulling at it frantically as he prayed for it's release.  He held the gun to him, even though the clip was empty, the tiniest bit of defense between himself and the legend of Francisco DiSantiago.

The door popped open, tumbling Vinny out into the rain, the palm of one hand and the knuckles of the other that held the gun tearing on the the wet gravel at the side of the road. It was cold, so cold, and he was panting, looking around wild-eyed at... at... he blinked.

Where the fuck were they! Trees. They were surrounded by trees! Fucking trees! 

The drivers side door opened, the driver stumbling out and holding his hand to his forehead, which was streaked with blood. The man looked none too sturdy on his feet, and he was blinking in the dark and the rain, trying to clear his head. "Wha..." he croaked, trying to focus. 

Not chancing an answer, Vinny pulled himself back up and ran.  Ran like a coward, from a ghost that he wasn't even sure was there.  His lungs labored with the effort and he gasped for air, checking over his shoulder frequently as he lost himself in the deep woods.  Where the fuck was he? He asked himself again.

Somewhere outside the city, that was for sure. Fuck, weren't they supposed to be going to a strip club? He was drenched, his hands stung, and a fairy tale monster was lying dead back in the car. Vinny knew now, he knew how stupid he'd been. How stupid they'd all been in ignoring the history, forgetting the tales. After all, he had a fucking cousin who could stop time, and another who could read minds. Anything was possible in a world like that! 

His lungs were burning, and he had to stop, just for a second. It was stop or fall down, and he'd rather he be the one making the choice in the fucking matter. Maz is dead. He's got to be dead, right, for that thing to have taken his place? He leaned a against a tree, panting, trying hard not to be loud as he sucked air into his lungs. 

"Vincento?"

Vinny froze. No way. 

"Vincento? You can continue to run if you like, but I've got a bit of a schedule to keep, so..." It... he... whatever it was wasn't dead. It was out there, somewhere in the dark after having half it's damn head blown off and it was calling out to him like it was his mom calling him to dinner. To his right somewhere, the voice was to his right! And close, so motherfucking close! 

Feeling like he was being torn apart from the inside out, his racing heart trying to pound out of his head and his lungs trying to burst through his chest, Vinny screamed.  He screamed like a bitch in a horror flick, frustrated and doomed, agony as thick in his mind as it was in his body.  "Leave me the fuck alone!"  It was more a sobbing wail than a coherent request.

His back against a tree and his hands placed firmly on his knees he looked around furtively trying to locate the demon of a DiSantiago that sold his entire family to damnation. Time passed, and all he heard was the rain. The rain and the sound of his own racing heart, pounding so loud he was sure it would give him away. 

"Vincento?" the voice said softly from behind him as a hand closed tightly around his throat. "I'll tell Ophilia that you died bravely." Vinny was lifted off his feet from behind, legs kicking and arms thrashing. "Even though we both know that won't be the truth." 

Francisco laughed. 

Something that must be made very clear about the death of Vincento Luciano Santiago: his death was not clean. Nothing as simple as basic strangulation occurred beneath those dripping trees that night. To describe how he died would be to describe a nightmare; a twelve-car pile-up-involving-children kind of a thing, with shattered glass and tiny pink hands, broken, just barely visible under a staved-in door. A little shoe lying just off the road, wet and red, with something glistening still inside. The smell of burning flesh, sweet and cloying. A car seat, empty and torn. 

Such things are best left unsaid, lest they call attention to their makers. We will give Vincento the only dignity available to him at this point, and move on...