The man y still, his gaze fixed on the ceiling above him. The quiet of the room contrasted sharply with the chaos that had marked his night. Alessandro's mind was a storm of thoughts—betrayal, bloodshed, his family's endless web of lies and manipution. He clenched his jaw, willing himself to push the memories away, but they lingered, threatening to break through.

  His eyes had drifted to the figure beside him earlier, when he'd been sitting on the sofa in the living room. As Elijah carefully cleaned his wounds with a wet cloth, their proximity had made Alessandro keenly aware of the boy's presence. He had been too close, his hands brushing against him in a way that sent strange sparks of discomfort and curiosity through Alessandro's body. It was then, as Elijah worked in silence, that he had truly seen him for the first time—how beautiful he was, how smooth his features were, almost too perfect for his own good. Despite the pain coursing through him, Alessandro couldn't help but feel a strange, almost magnetic pull toward the boy, something he couldn't quite pce, but couldn't ignore either.

  Even now, as Elijah y beside him, his breathing steady and calm, the warmth of his presence provided an unexpected comfort. The steady rise and fall of his chest was a small, reassuring rhythm in the midst of the chaos inside Alessandro's mind.

  *****************

  The heir to the Cosa Nostra di Verdi was no stranger to a life shaped by power, violence, and manipution. He had never been on the receiving end of such simple, pure care. The closest thing to kindness he had ever experienced was when his grandfather had named him his heir—a title that came with a heavy cost. His mother’s affection had never been warm—it was a tool of control, twisted and sharp, always ced with a quiet, simmering hatred. She had been forced into marriage with his father, and he was the living reminder of a life she never chose. There was no love in his creation, only resentment. She couldn’t touch his father, couldn’t hurt the man who had ruined her, so she turned her cruelty toward the only thing she could break—him. When he was still a boy, barely old enough to understand betrayal, she sold him to the Russians. What he endured there defied words. He had seen hell, lived in it, bled in it. And now, every scar on his body on his body stood as silent witnesses to everything he endured.

  His chest tightened as the realization hit. From an early age, he had learned that love and loyalty were tools to be wielded, not gifts to be given. So when Elijah had found him—bloodied and broken—Alessandro had let him help, driven partly by necessity and partly by the fact that the boy seemed harmless. But now, as he y there beside him, Alessandro couldn't shake the feeling that Elijah's kindness wasn't born of pity alone. Everyone, he knew, wanted something and as much as he tried to ignore it, he couldn't help but wonder what Elijah wanted in return.

  *****************

  Earlier in the Evening

  Alessandro hadn’t questioned the invitation. A drink at a private bar with an old friend—his former business partner—seemed harmless enough. Routine. Maybe even nostalgic. But the moment he stepped inside, something felt off. The lighting was too dim, the bartender too rehearsed, the music just a little too loud—as if it were meant to drown out something else. Still, he accepted the drink handed to him with a practiced smile.

  The moment the liquid touched his throat, he knew.

  Benzos. A sedative blend—potent, fast-acting, familiar. His time in the underworld had taught him to recognize the chemical taste, the metallic slide of deceit. His vision blurred. The edges of the room began to pulse. Every instinct screamed at him.

  He shoved away from the bar and stumbled toward the bathroom, crashing through the door and gripping the sink as waves of nausea rolled over him. He forced himself to vomit, cwing at his throat, hoping to purge whatever he could. But it was too te. The drug had its cws in him, and the fog was tightening like a noose.

  Staggering out, sweat beading on his brow, Alessandro froze.

  The bar was no longer half-empty. It was full. Faces he recognized—faces he had once trusted—stared back at him with cold detachment. Guns slid out of jackets. Knives gleamed under the dim light. No one was smiling. His old friend stood at the center of them, arms crossed, eyes hard.

  "You should’ve stayed out of the way, Ale," he said, almost regretful.

  Alessandro didn’t answer. He couldn't. Words were distant things now. But rage cut through the fog like fire through ice.

  Then, everything moved at once.

  The first man lunged. Alessandro sidestepped, barely, and drove his elbow into the attacker’s throat. A gunshot rang out—someone missed. He didn’t. Alessandro ripped the weapon from the man’s hand and returned fire, two quick shots to the chest of a former ally who had once sworn loyalty over blood and wine.

  Chaos exploded.

  Tables overturned. Bottles shattered. Screams drowned in gunfire. Alessandro was a blur of motion and violence, drugged but deadly, a beast fighting through the haze. He used everything—broken gss, chairs, fists. Bodies fell. His own blood mixed with theirs, staining the floor. He didn’t count the dead. He didn’t have to.

  And then, it was over.

  The bar was silent, thick with smoke and blood. His old friend—the st one standing—had dropped his weapon and tried to crawl away, whimpering through broken ribs.

  Alessandro walked over, slow, deliberate. He knelt beside him, eyes empty.

  "You should’ve looked me in the eyes when you decided to betray me."

  The shot echoed like a promise.

  And yet, as he stood among the corpses of those he once called brothers, Alessandro felt nothing. Only the familiar sting of betrayal, curling cold in his gut like a parasite. Years spent in the underworld had made him well-acquainted with such tricks, and this one was no different. His mind, usually sharp as a knife, felt like it was wrapped in cotton. The drug muddled everything.

  Even the sound of the bodies hitting the floor seemed distant, muffled, like he was watching it all from underwater. Once everyone had been dealt with, Alessandro made his way toward his car, hoping to escape the chaos, but fate wasn't done with him yet.

  Backup arrived-too fast, too coordinated. He hadn't seen it coming. A bullet tore through him, this time in his side, and the pain was intense, but the drug kept it at bay, dulling the edges of reality. He fought back instinctively, but it felt like his body was moving in slow motion. His thoughts were disjointed, and his coordination was off. Even his vision swam a little as he staggered into an alley, blood soaking through his clothes as he tried to stay upright.

  Then, through the haze of pain and drug-induced fog, he heard footsteps—careful, slow—and then that voice. A shaky, uncertain voice that didn't belong in the world of crime he lived in. The boy was no threat; he could feel that, even through the clouded fog of his mind. The uncertainty in the boy's movements, the softness in his voice—it wasn't the kind of thing he would expect from someone trying to hurt him. Still, Alessandro let him come closer, let him help. What choice did he have?

  But still, the question lingered: Why help? Why not leave him to bleed out in the gutter like everyone else would have? What did this boy want? Why was he offering help? It didn't make sense. No one was kind for the sake of being kind.

  He had been betrayed by everyone in his life—his subordinates, his family, even those closest to him. There was no such thing as unconditional love or loyalty. Not even his mother had ever given him that. So why would this boy be different? What did he want?

  Alessandro turned his head toward Elijah again. His gaze lingered on the boy's sleeping face, his body rexed under the warmth of the bnkets. The question gnawed at him.

  Was Elijah just another pawn in the game? Had someone sent him here to gain his trust? The mafia world was full of trickery and manipution. Every encounter had a hidden agenda, and no one got close to him without a reason.

  I'll find out soon enough, Alessandro thought, a sinister grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  But no matter what happened, one thing was certain: he would always come out on top. No one could defeat him. Not even the devil himself.

  *********************

  Alessandro's gaze drifted to the cell phone resting on the side table near the boy. Quietly, he got out of bed, grabbed the phone, and noticed it wasn't locked. After a brief moment of hesitation, he dialed a string of numbers. He walked into the living room, speaking to someone on the other end for a while. When the conversation ended, he returned to the room, deleted the number, and carefully pced the phone back where it had been.

  He returned to the bed and gnced at the boy. In his sleep, the boy shifted, moving closer to Alessandro. It was unsettling, and Alessandro tried to push him away, creating some space. But the more he shifted, the closer the boy seemed to get. Finally, Alessandro gave up, allowing the boy to stay pressed against him. The boy seemed like a heavy sleeper, completely unaware of his struggle.

  —————

  After losing both his grandmother and his girlfriend in the same year, Elijah’s grip on stability began to slip. The grief dug deep, and his brother being away for most of the year only made it worse. But it was his brother’s death—followed by the cruel impossibility of even ciming the body—that finally broke something in him. After that, Elijah developed deep abandonment issues. He would wake in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat, his chest tight, heart racing from nightmares that felt too real.

  It became instinct: in sleep, he reached for warmth—something, someone—because without it, the dreams returned. Luca had been the one to offer that warmth once, grounding him through the darkness.

  Now, in the quiet of night, Elijah reached out again, unconscious, desperate for that familiar sense of safety. When his hand brushed Alessandro’s body beside him—warm, solid, real—his tense body finally rexed. The nightmares faded, and he slept soundly for the first time in days.

  After a moment, Alessandro's own consciousness began to fade, and despite the unease, he too drifted into sleep.

  *********************