Cherry Blossom Snow

Rico

Another war was coming, but unlike those in the past, it would not be confined to just Earth. Playing a role behind the scenes would be the ambitious and determined young rebel known as Mia Donegal. However, on the evening of Friday, February 28, 3930, she was just a newborn baby, and the war was still years away. In the Italian city of Naples, though, a different sort of war was already taking place.

Detective Henrietta Adani was nearing the end of her shift. She was patrolling the streets of Naples in her car, desperately searching for something to make a case from. Despite the decrepit state of the crumbling buildings and the trash that littered the cracked and rugged streets, there was an undeniable charm to the city. Still, the country was on the brink of civil war, so violence was erupting in the streets on a regular basis, but at the moment, it seemed calm where she was. If she couldn't find something important soon that absolutely demanded her attention, she would be placed on mandatory vacation for the next two weeks. She didn't have much of a life outside work, and would be bored by the lack of excitement. She couldn't let that happen, but she didn't have to, as a small boy ran in front of her car.

She had not been driving particularly fast when she hit him, so she figured his injuries would probably not be too severe. Henrietta was a young woman, with light brown skin, brown eyes, glasses, and long black hair in a bun. She was tall, with an athletic build. She looked calm and in control, except her eyes, which showed her concern. She had a legal and moral obligation to get out and check on the boy. He was unconscious, but he was still breathing and still had a pulse. Uncertain as to what she should do, she put him in the car and drove him to the police headquarters. Her father, Marco, was Chief of Police, and he had a way of fixing her mistakes, so she carried the boy right into her father's office.

Chief Marco Adani was a tall, middle-aged man, with broad shoulders, tan skin, brown eyes, and a stern face. His short grey hair was thinning and receding. Marco's office was a spacious room decorated in police paraphernalia. In one corner, there was a cabinet filled with awards he had won. There was also a rack of weapons, and a picture of him in uniform next to it. The walls were lined with pictures of him with various dignitaries, and a large desk dominated the space. There were several comfortable chairs around it, as well as a couch, where Henrietta set the boy down.

"I have a problem," Henrietta began, in Italian.

"Who is he?" asked Marco.

"I hit him with my car. I swear it wasn't my fault this time."

By this point, the boy was awake, but very confused. Despite this, he remained remarkably calm. He was pale, with dark brown hair. His blue eyes scanned the room as he tried to figure out where he was and who the two people were who were staring at him. Marco was busy examining the boy and making notes on a notepad. He looked to his daughter. Henrietta didn't know what to say, so her father spoke first.

"Are you hurt?" asked Marco.

"I don't think so," the boy replied.

"Could you tell us your name?"

The boy hesitated a moment. "Rico."

"Bonjourno, Rico. Mi chiamo Marco."

"Bonjourno, Marco."

"And I'm his daughter, Henrietta," said Henrietta.

"We're police," said Marco. "Tell me, Rico, how old are you?"

Rico held up four fingers. "Quattro."

"What were you running from?" Henrietta asked, her voice tinged with concern.

"Mio padre," Rico replied, his voice carrying a note of fear.

Henrietta's eyebrows furrowed. "Why?" she pressed, eager to understand the gravity of the situation.