Chapter 66
?? It Has Began ??
The morning sunlight that had streamed into Doctor Kranz’ clinic was long gone. By nightfall, the city streets had darkened under the early autumn chill, and the quiet corners where children once played were now shadows of tension. Fires flickered in alleyways, lamps cast long, trembling lights, and the distant echo of shouting drifted up from the cellars and bars.
In one of the noisier corners of the city, far from the noble sector and from the orderly streets of the clinic, a different kind of education awaited.
The cellar shook with noise. Sweat, smoke, and spilled liquor thickened the air, while gamblers leaned over the crude wooden railing around the ring, howling at every punch. The lamps swayed overhead, casting frantic shadows across faces flushed with drink and rage.
Leo slipped between the packed tables, shoulders relaxed, tray balanced in one hand. An empty bottle slammed against his shin. Nothing new to him as he kept walking like nothing happened. Another man snapped his fingers in the boy’s direction as if calling a dog.
"In a minute," Leo casually responded.
At a corner table sat a group of regulars, men who came less for the fights and more for the noise. One of them held out his mug.
“Hey, Leo. Which one’s winning this match?”
Leo set the drink down without lifting his eyes toward the ring.
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, come on! Don’t you box too? You should be able to tell who’s got the edge if all the stories about you are true. Aren't you the strongest kid in the slums?”
“A fight can always go either way.” Leo placed the last mug on the table and straightened. “As long as the loser doesn’t give up, even a fluke can turn the whole thing around.”
With that, he moved away to keep working.
His gaze flicked to the fighters: two heavyweights trading slow, exhausted blows. The younger one’s punches kept pulling short. His shoulder twitched, hesitated, as if deliberately cushioning impact.
"Fixed," Leo thought, expression flat. "That’s the third tonight."
The boy threaded toward another table, but the atmosphere shifted. Still loud, still rowdy — but with a thin stripe of seriousness underneath. Four young men sat there, a newspaper spread across the middle.
“A week now,” the man holding the paper muttered, tapping the headline. “Not a whisper about Don Enzo Marcetti.”
“He skip town?”
“Either that,” another said, “or the Marvianos finally got tired of him breathing. Whatever happened, there’s an empty seat at the table now. Something’s gonna move.”
“We could take some of the scraps he left,” a third said, voice eager. “Start small.”
“We won’t be the only ones,” the youngest argued. “Someone loyal to Marcetti might still be around. The man’s been around since my grandfather’s time.”
But the fourth was older, heavier voice, calmer. “I say we lay low. Wait to see what Dominick and the three Dons do. Whether they’re behind it or not.”
“What makes you say that?”
“It’s the timing. Rumor is Silvano’s daughter-in-law, Katie, was attacked during that big hotel party last week. She vanished for half the night, then showed up the next morning leaning on a cane.”
He lowered his voice.
“Officially? ‘She fell down the stairs.’ But people are saying otherwise.”
The table went quiet.
“And now Enzo disappears right after that?”
A slow exhale.
“It’s too neat.”
A hush settled over the four men, the noise of the underground fight seeming suddenly distant.
“Maybe the Dons are planning to make an example of someone soon,” the older man added. “Keep your heads down.”
Leo drifted away from the table, tray pressed to his chest. Every word they’d said slid into place in his mind like stones in a riverbed, forming a picture he didn’t like.
The thin orphanage nightgown clung awkwardly to the Wolves' tomboy, who spend the night twisting and turning. Mira woke to the pale, cold light of dawn slipping through the crooked shutters. She sat up with a grunt, her short red hair sticking out in every direction like she’d wrestled a thunderstorm in her sleep.
She hated dresses.
But on Mondays, Sister Agnes stood guard over the clothing trunk like a dragon over gold, and Mira had once again lost the battle to escape in trousers.
She tugged on the plain, ankle-length orphanage dress—coarse, faded blue, scratchy at the collar—and stomped downstairs barefoot, hoping for at least a few minutes of fresh air before chores began.
Just as she pushed the back door open—
“Mira Alden!”
Sister Agnes’ voice cracked through the hallway.
Mira turned, blinking.
The nun stared at her hair with the horror of someone witnessing a structural collapse.
“Good heavens! Your head looks like a chicken attempted to build a nest and then died mid-construction.”
Mira deadpanned, “Then I won the fight.”
“That is not funny,” Agnes scolded. “Did you even try to comb it?”
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“I did.”
“Today?”
Mira blinked.
“...Yesterday.”
“Using what?”
“My hand.”
The nun groaned into her palm. “I swear, child… You spend so much time with Leo, and yet you’ve picked up none of his discipline.”
Mira straightened with pride, lifting her chin.
“I picked up how to kick butt from him. That’s enough.”
A cluster of girls poked their heads in from the hallway at the sound of the name.
“Leo?!”
“Mira, are you EVER going to introduce us to him?”
“I want to meet him too!”
Mira stood and put her hands on her hips like a mother of five.
“Oh, that’s right. You girls know Lino, Tonno, and Pinch. But you’ve never met our untouchable leader.”
The girls giggled. Sister Agnes sighed, but a small smile cracked through.
Ever since the brawl in the red-corner district, the Wolves’ reputation had softened. People finally understood: they were just slum kids who looked after each other—and defended anyone weaker.
Still.
“No boys in the orphanage!” she declared sharply. “This is a girls-only home, ladies. Leo himself knows this. He has manners.”
Right on cue—
“MIRAAAAAAA!”
“HEEEEY! COME OUT HEEEEERE!”
“NOOOOOW!”
Sister Agnes closed her eyes. “Unlike the other two.”
Mira lit up instantly. The gang was here.
She sprinted toward her small chest and started throwing on her actual clothes—boots mismatched, trousers half-buttoned, jacket crooked, hair somehow worse than before.
“I’m oooout!” she yelled, tearing through the door like a hurricane.
Sister Agnes watched her go, rubbing her forehead.
"She’s impossible to control. She sneaks out, skips classes, climbs over walls—and has not one ladylike bone in her body. But she always comes back… and breaks up fights better than I do. Lovely little menace."
Outside, the Wolves were waiting.
Several girls peeked from the windows, waving excitedly.
“Tonnooo! Good morning!”
“Lino! Lino! PINCH!!”
Lino waved like a commanding officer greeting troops.
Tonno stood stiff as a statute, trying to look cool.
Pinch—the smallest—was just staring at the sky, lost in the universe’s deepest mysteries.
Mira closed the distance with a grin.
“Hey, guys! It’s still early. Are you stalking my lovely girls?”
Pinch shook his head. “No. It’s Leo. He came by our houses late last night. Told us to come early and pick you up.”
Mira blinked.
“That’s… weird. Why not meet at the hideout like usual?”
Lino shrugged. “That’s what I asked. But he insisted we walk together from now on.”
Tonno pointed. “Ah. There he is.”
Leo appeared at the edge of the street, a wool scarf wrapped tight around his neck, adding a faint softness to his otherwise rough, practical clothes.
But instead of stepping up to the doorway like the younger boys, he stopped a few paces back.
“Good morning, boys.” he called out. “Let’s move away from the entrance. The girls inside might still be in their nightclothes.”
Behind the half-cracked door and upper windows, several orphan girls peeked out.
One whispered, giggling,
“He’s shy! That's why he doesn't want to come close.”
Another shook her head with authority,
“No. Based on what I heard, that’s just Leo. He’s… proper.”
A third narrowed her eyes dreamily, “He’s mysterious.”
The gang obeyed, though Lino looked disappointed, as he liked the attention.
Mira though didn't budge...
"Leo. Don't you start."
"Start what?" he asked, deadpan.
"Last I checked, I count as a girl!”
Leo studied her dramatically, looking her up and down as Pinch, Tonno and Lino laughed.
"You do?" he asked, lips parted, eyes wide open as if he is shocked.
Before Mira exploded into a volcano, sister Agnes stepped out of the door with her arms folded, approaching the gang.
“Good morning, Leo.”
Leo straightened.
“Good morning to you too, Sister Agnes. How are you doing?”
She jabbed a thumb toward Mira.
“If not for this little disaster of a girl, I would be better.”
Mira’s grin doubled in size, smug and unrepentant.
“If I was easy, your job would be too, Sister.”
Lino and Tonno cackled.
Pinch kept blinking, trying to connect every piece of this bizarre morning puzzle.
Leo cleared his throat softly before speaking again, his eyes flicking to the windows where the younger girls still watched.
“I wanted to ask you… Are all the girls inside by sunset these days? Anyone still out when it gets dark?”
Sister Agnes pressed her lips together.
“Well… truth is, Mira here finally respects the hours. After the terrible news of what happened to her, she became a tiiiny bit more obedient.” She pinched her fingers together to show how tiny.
“If I had the staff, I wouldn’t let the girls out at all. Especially not that one.” She nudged Mira’s shoulder.
“But we’re understaffed. Still, everyone is inside before dark. That much I make sure of. Besides, I don't want the orphanage to feel like a prison. I want it to feel like home.”
Mira's grin vanished in an instant as her hands instinctively reached to her wound in the liver.
Leo nodded, though tension lingered in his shoulders.
“Can’t you ask the administration for more nuns or helpers?”
Sister Agnes exhaled through her nose.
“In theory, yes. In practice… we get what we get. Money goes to the big orphanages first, the ones with donors’ names on the door. We rely on charity, and charity is often ‘next month… next year… perhaps.’”
She shrugged lightly. “This is the best we can do.”
Leo dipped his head in acknowledgment.
“Then please—keep an eye on the girls. Don’t worry about Mira. From today on, we’ll be walking each other home. Everyday. Nothing will happen to her.”
The gang listened, confused.
Lino’s eyebrows shot up.
Tonno blinked three times, unsure he heard correctly.
Pinch mouthed silently, "We do walk each other when one of us gets attacked or something... but every day?"
Sister Agnes hesitated. “A-Alright… but what’s going on?”
Leo adjusted his scarf, gaze distant.
“I may be… overreacting. But the streets might be dangerous these days.”
Mira approached, worry written all over her face.
“Leo, the streets have always been dangerous. Did you hear something?”
“Some things at work." Leo answered. "Like the mob making a point or something.”
Then he turned back to Sister Agnes, bowing his head slightly.
“Good day, Sister Agnes. Thank you for your time. And be careful.”
Without another word, Leo stepped away from the gate.
The gang exchanged baffled looks, then hurried after him—
“What’s the matter, old man?” Lino asked, half?teasing. “First you drop by our houses at three in the morning, now this… mob stuff?”
Leo was about to answer when a cheerful shout cut through the street.
“Guuuuys!”
Alex—already on his way to old man Harris’ shop, Dante trudging beside him—waved brightly.
Lino and Tonno waved back, suddenly energized.
“Dante! Long time no see!”
Dante, pale and sleep?deprived, eyed them up and down. “Thank you,” he said dryly, “for having easy names.”
Lino and Tonno both blinked, then slowly turned to each other with matching expressions of "…what in the world is he talking about?"
Both shrugged helplessly.
Dante squinted at Pinch.
“Not you, Pinch. Your name is a little painful one. Just like you.”
Pinch looked innocently.
“Try Theodore. That’s my actual name.”
Just the thought of trying to spell that made Dante's spine go cold.
“What's wrong with your parents?”
Alex stepped forward, happy to see her. “Hi, Mira.”
Mira tilted her head, hands in her pockets, a small smirk on her face.
“Well, look who it is. I haven’t seen you since the spar. What's up?”
“Doctor Kranz sends his regards,” Alex said, grinning. “I heard your wound’s fully healed now. But he still wants you to drop by for more checks.”
“It is,” Mira replied, playful. “Watch me take revenge for your humiliation from Leo soon.”
Alex smiled—but his expression dimmed when he noticed Leo wasn’t listening to any of them.
Leo’s eyes had drifted toward the left, fixed on the growing hush of a crowd further down the street.
It took a moment for him to realize the crowd was staring.
Up.
Leo followed their gaze, his chest tightening.
And his eyes widened.
The gang, Alex, and Dante lifted their own eyes.
A body hung limply from the rooftop—a common structure used to display warnings in the city, its ropes creaking softly in the morning wind. The corpse was bloated and decayed, crows already gathering, pecking at what little they could. The face, sunken and distorted, made recognition agonizing.
A crude sign had been pinned to its stomach, the letters thick and scrawled in a dark, unforgiving hand.
VIVA I MARCETTI ?
Yes. The interrogation point was there at the end of the sentence. Not a declaration. Maybe not even a question.
But a dare...
Alex’s stomach turned. It was hard—too hard—to recognize, but after a moment, reading the words, understanding dawned.
That was none other than Pablo. The same assassin who infiltrated the hotel as a waiter... and died by the hands of Dominick.
