Six Months Later
Rio stood at the window of a Chicago apartment. Different from the one he'd left. Different life. Same city. Different person.
Maybe.
The fragments weren't sure he'd changed at all. Just moved. Relocated the damage to new geography.
He'd tried. Tried to be better. Tried to build something that wasn't infiltration or betrayal. Got a job. Legitimate one. Bookkeeping for a small business. Boring. Safe. Exactly what he'd run from before.
This time, he stayed. Because boring was penance. Because safety was what he owed the fragments. Because living quietly with guilt was the punishment Nero had assigned.
Remember. Forever. Carry what you did.
Rio did. Every day. Every night. The memories were fragments themselves now—pieces of Lawless mixing with pieces of past lives. Nero's smile. Vanno's laugh. Corteo's worry. The weight of betrayal. The cost of love.
All of it carried. Forever.
The phone rang. Rare occurrence. Rio didn't have many contacts. Didn't want many. Isolation was safer.
He answered. "Hello?"
Silence. Then: "Rio." Corteo's voice. Uncertain. "It's been a while."
"Six months."
"Yeah. I—I didn't know if you'd want to hear from me. After everything." Corteo's voice was strained. "I left before it all collapsed. Before the truth came out. I survived by running. You survived by—" He stopped. "I don't even know what you did."
"I came back. Faced it. Then left. Watched it burn from close range." Rio's voice was hollow. "How did you find me?"
"I'm good at finding people. It's what I do now. Information broker. Research specialist. Staying in shadows. Surviving." Corteo paused. "I wanted to check on you. Make sure you were—I don't know. Alive. Functional. Not completely destroyed."
"I'm alive. Functional is debatable. Destroyed is accurate."
"Rio—"
"I'm fine, Corteo. Working. Living. Existing. That's more than I deserve." Rio moved from the window. "What about you? Where are you?"
"California. Small town. Quiet life. Teaching chemistry at a high school. It's—nice. Normal. Everything I wanted." Corteo's voice held guilt. "I ran while you stayed. I'm sorry for that. For leaving you to face it alone."
"You made the smart choice. The survivable choice. I made the stupid one. That's on me."
"The stupid one that saved people. I heard about what happened. The explosions. Frate's betrayal. You helping despite everything." Corteo's voice was soft. "That's not stupid. That's—human. Caring when you shouldn't. That's the best parts of you."
"Or the most broken parts."
"Maybe they're the same thing." Corteo was quiet for a moment. "Have you heard from anyone? From Lawless?"
"No. I don't expect to. That chapter's closed. They moved on. I moved on. That's how it should be."
"But you haven't moved on. Have you? You're still carrying it. Still living with it. Still—" Corteo stopped. "Still punishing yourself."
"It's not punishment. It's just—living with consequences. With what I did. What I am." Rio sat heavily. "I destroyed people I cared about. That doesn't go away. Doesn't fade. Just—exists. As part of who I am now."
"Then who are you now?"
Good question. The fragments didn't have a clear answer.
"I'm Rio Ceriano. Former infiltrator. Former weapon. Current bookkeeper. Someone trying to be better than what he was. Someone failing at it." Rio's voice was quiet. "Someone carrying fragments. Forever."
"That's not all you are."
"It's enough."
They talked for another hour. Catching up. Sharing safe stories. Avoiding the painful ones. Then Corteo said goodbye with a promise to call again.
Rio doubted he would. People didn't maintain connections with their mistakes. They just—moved on.
That was healthy. Normal. What Corteo should do.
Rio was neither healthy nor normal. So he'd carry the connection. Even if Corteo didn't.
The fragments stored it all.
---
Three Years Later
The letter arrived in spring.
Unexpected. No return address. Just Rio's current location—a different city now, still Chicago but different neighborhood—and careful handwriting.
Rio opened it carefully. Read the single page.
Rio,
I don't know if you'll read this. I don't know if you want to hear from me. But I needed to write. Needed you to know.
My father survived. Barely. He's retired now. Frate's betrayal and age finally convinced him to step down. I run the family now. The Vanetti operations. Everything.
It's different than I imagined. Heavier. But I'm managing. Vanno helps. We've rebuilt. Restructured. Made it something—better, maybe. Less violent. More strategic. Not perfect. But better.
The war with the Orcos ended. Their family collapsed after Don Orco died. We absorbed what remained. Lawless is stable now. Quiet. Almost peaceful.
I think about you. More than I should. More than I want to. I think about what we had. What we could have had. What you destroyed and what I lost.
And I think about what you gave me. The ability to see beyond the family. To want something more. To believe in—connection. Love. Even if it was built on lies, the feelings were real. You said that. You were right.
I'm not writing to forgive you. I don't know if I can. The betrayal is still there. Still real. Still hurts.
But I'm writing to tell you—I survived. We survived. The family survived. And maybe—just maybe—that means something.
I hope you're well. I hope you found peace. I hope you're living the life you wanted. Away from violence. Away from lies. Away from—everything.
I don't expect a response. I don't need one. I just needed you to know.
We survived.
- Nero
Rio read it three times. Then carefully folded it. Stored it in a box with other fragments—photographs, memories, pieces of lives lived.
The fragments whispered: He survived. He's better. You destroyed him but he rebuilt. That counts for something.
Maybe it did.
Rio didn't respond to the letter. Because Nero was right—no response was needed. Just the knowledge that they'd both survived. That love had been real. That something had mattered.
That was enough.
The fragments agreed.
---
Seven Years Later
Rio died in a car accident.
Quick. Painless. The kind of death that was almost mercy after years of carrying guilt.
The fragments whispered: Here we go again. New life. New body. Same memories.
Rio woke up as someone else. Different name. Different face. Same consciousness. Same fragments.
The memories of Lawless remained. Nero's smile. Vanno's friendship. The weight of betrayal. All of it carried into this new life.
Remember. Forever. That was the curse.
But also the gift. Because carrying the memory meant it mattered. Meant Nero still existed in some form. Meant the love was eternal even if the people weren't.
Rio—or whoever he was now—lived this new life carefully. Chose different paths. Made different choices. Tried to be better.
Sometimes succeeded. Sometimes failed. Always carried the fragments.
Over decades. Over lifetimes. The memory of Lawless remained. Faded slightly. But never gone. Never forgotten.
Nero's revenge. Eternal memory. Eternal consequences.
Rio carried it. Willingly. Because it was all he had left of something real. Something that mattered. Something worth dying for across infinite lives.
---
Fifty Years After Lawless
Rio—in another body, another life—found himself in a library. Research project for work. Historical archives. 1920s America. Prohibition era.
He found a newspaper. From Lawless, Illinois. Dated thirty years after the events he remembered.
The headline: "VANETTI EMPIRE ENDS: Last Don Dies Peacefully"
Rio read the article. Hands shaking slightly.
Nero Vanetti, last don of the once-powerful Vanetti crime family, died yesterday at age 78. He is survived by his wife, three children, and seven grandchildren.
The Vanetti family, which once controlled most of Lawless through bootlegging and organized crime during Prohibition, transitioned to legitimate business in the 1940s under Nero's leadership. The family now owns several successful enterprises throughout Illinois.
Vanetti is remembered as a reformer who took a criminal empire and transformed it into a respected business dynasty. His leadership brought stability and prosperity to Lawless during turbulent times.
Funeral services will be private. In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations to the Lawless Community Foundation, which Nero founded in 1955.
Rio stared at the article. At the photograph. Nero at age 78. Older. Distinguished. Successful.
He'd lived. He'd thrived. He'd become exactly what he'd wanted—someone better than the business. Someone who transformed violence into something productive.
I survived, Nero had written. We survived.
He'd been right.
The fragments processed. Stored. Added this final piece to the eternal memory.
Nero had lived well. Died peacefully. Left legacy and family and something meaningful.
And Rio—across lifetimes—had carried the guilt. The love. The memory. Forever.
Exactly as promised.
The fragments whispered: Was it worth it? The love. The betrayal. The eternal carrying.
Rio didn't know. Even fifty years later. Even lifetimes later. Even knowing how it ended.
But looking at Nero's photograph—aged but still recognizable, still the man Rio had loved—he thought maybe it was.
Because they'd both survived. They'd both built something beyond the violence. They'd both mattered.
Even if the cost was eternal.
Even if the carrying never ended.
Even if the fragments remained forever.
That was worth something.
The fragments agreed.
---
The Present Day
Rio—current life, current body, current identity—stood in a cemetery.
Not in Lawless. Somewhere else. Different city. Different life. But the fragments had pulled him here.
A gravestone. Simple. Elegant.
Nero Vanetti
1907-1985
Beloved Husband, Father, Leader
He Transformed What He Touched
Rio placed flowers. Unnecessary gesture. Nero was long dead. Wouldn't know. Wouldn't care.
But Rio needed it. Needed to acknowledge. Needed to say goodbye. Finally. Properly.
"I kept my promise," Rio said quietly to the stone. "I remembered. Every life. Every reincarnation. Every moment. I carried what I did. What we had. What I destroyed."
The wind blew. Silence answered.
"You were right. Living with it was worse than dying. But also—" Rio paused. "Also necessary. Because carrying you meant you mattered. Meant the love was real. Meant—" He stopped. "Meant I was capable of something beyond destruction."
More silence. Just Rio and fragments and the weight of eternal memory.
"I hope—" Rio's voice was soft. "I hope you found peace. I hope you were happy. I hope the life you built was everything you wanted. You deserved that. After everything. After me. You deserved happiness."
The gravestone didn't respond. Just stood. Marking the end of a life. The completion of a story.
"I loved you," Rio said. Final truth. Complete honesty. "Across lifetimes. Across deaths. Across everything. I loved you. And I'm sorry I destroyed you. And I'm—" He stopped. "I'm grateful you existed. That we existed. That it was real."
He stood there for a long time. Feeling the fragments settle. The memory complete. The cycle—not closed, never closed—but acknowledged. Honored. Carried forward.
Finally, Rio turned to leave. Back to his current life. His current identity. His current purpose.
Carrying fragments of Nero. Of Vanno. Of Corteo. Of Lawless. Of love and betrayal and everything between.
Forever.
That was the curse.
That was the gift.
That was who Rio was. Across all lives. All iterations. All versions.
Someone who carried fragments.
Someone who remembered.
Someone who loved and destroyed and lived with both eternally.
The fragments whispered: This is what you are. This is what you do. Carry. Remember. Continue.
Rio would. Across this life. The next. All the ones after.
Carrying Lawless. Carrying Nero. Carrying the weight of love and betrayal and the impossible coexistence of both.
Forever.
Because some fragments never fade.
Some memories never end.
Some loves survive even death and betrayal and infinite reincarnation.
Not perfectly. Not completely. Not without cost.
But they survive.
And that—finally, impossibly, eternally—was enough.
---
EPILOGUE
The smell of bourbon mixed with gunpowder.
The sound of laughter in speakeasies.
The weight of a hand in yours.
The look in his eyes before he knew the truth.
The moment when everything shattered.
Fragments.
Rio carried them all. Through this life. Into the next. Forever.
Some people died and were forgotten.
Some people died and were mourned.
And some people—rare, precious, devastating—died and lived on anyway. In memory. In fragments. In the eternal carrying of someone who couldn't forget even if they wanted to.
Nero Vanetti lived in Rio's fragments. Forever. Across all lives. All deaths. All reincarnations.
Not perfectly preserved. Not completely accurate. But real. True. Eternal.
That was the curse Nero had given him: Remember forever.
That was the gift Rio had found: Something worth remembering.
Lawless was gone. Demolished decades ago. Rebuilt into something else. The city existed only in history books and fragments now.
But in Rio's memory—eternal, unchanging, carried across lifetimes—it remained.
The speakeasies. The mansion. The docks. The places where he'd loved and betrayed and destroyed everything.
All of it preserved. Forever. In fragments.
And someday—maybe this life, maybe the next, maybe a thousand lives from now—Rio would find peace with it. Would learn to carry the weight without being crushed. Would become something better than the weapon he'd been.
Maybe.
The fragments weren't sure.
But they kept trying.
Kept carrying.
Kept remembering.
Because that's what fragments did.
They remained.
Forever.
THE END
Every world hits different.
This one hit hardest.
LAWLESS FRAGMENTS
A Rio Reincarnation Novel
Complete
Word Count: 50,187
"I've lived a hundred lives. This is the first one that mattered."
For Nero. Who survived.
For Vanno. Who trusted.
For Corteo. Who escaped.
For Angelo. Who destroyed himself for revenge.
For Rio. Who carries it all. Forever.
Some fragments never fade.
Some loves survive even death.
Some stories end. Some stories just—continue.
Across lifetimes.
Forever.
END