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sanktnikolais · 3 years

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Feed The Wolves

A/N: your local zoyalai stan neighbor is here yet again for another content but this time it’s for @wafflesandkruge‘s birthday!!! I went way overboard with this ig but the Vincenzo fever we’ve been on for the past two weeks was still strong and the ending still tugs at my heart. So pls have this mess, Tiff, I’m sorry HAHDKLHJAFDS Happy birthday, dearest! 🥺🥺

Word count: 13 874

CW: graphic depictions of violence and gore. Read at your own risk.

The Lantsovs have finally taken their move to overthrow the Brums’ tyranny to the extremities. They thought they already have the upper hand and that the odds are finally on their side. But in a game that two players have nothing and everything to lose, there is always a catch in every move they make, and with it also comes a price.

How far are they willing to take it?

If Nikolai could be proud of one moment, he knew it would be today. One couldn’t just make an easy audience with the head of the Brum Family; usually it would take nearly a week to set up an appointment. Jarl Brum was one of the first men to establish their own Families, along with the Tabans, Lantsovs, and the Morozovas, and he was the most powerful among them.

For now.

When one of the biggest Families was in a war and planning to attack another with the same reputation, it was only necessary to play carefully. Especially going against a cunning opponent like Jarl Brum. Today’s predicament was tricky; one wrong move could cost them the chance. Or worse—their lives. Either way, it was dangerous. But if they didn’t at least try to keep the Brums at bay, it would only be a matter of time before they take over all the cities, including Os Alta. And considering how they handled things, lots of lives could be lost.

There was still another way out of this, but it involved extreme measures and there would be no returning after that. He could only hope he wouldn’t have to settle for that last resort no matter how slim his chances were.

Nikolai snapped the lid of his lighter closed, his loud mind finding solace in the metallic clink it made. His eyes caught on the engraving on the side of the lighter. Consigliere Idiot. He fought a smile. The lighter had been a gift to him by Zoya on his birthday a few years back, and it somehow became his talisman ever since. It was a weird kind of gift at first, with Zoya knowing too well that he didn’t smoke that much. But he still got attached to it.

You never know, it might come in handy when you suddenly have an urge to set some place on fire, was what she had told him.

He scoffed at the memory, and then took a deep breath as he focused on his current situation. The risks of having this meeting turn to the bloodbath Nikolai was expecting were high, and if he were to be honest, winning a fight against the Brums was almost impossible.

But he was never the one to believe in impossible. Only improbable. The one thing he could do now was to put faith on the odds being at their side at the end of the day.

He flicked his lighter open and closed again before checking his watch. The bright numbers glared back at him like a countdown of a time bomb nearing its detonation. 17:48. Twelve minutes.

If his estimate was right, Zoya and her men would have arrived by now and started their raid. But knowing the Lantsov Underboss to be careful and precise, they would need a bit more time. It only meant Nikolai had to continue making small talks with the man to try and see if he could settle a score with the Don without the use of violence. Talking proved to be a bit difficult, though, as the head of the Family was being attentive to focusing on his paperworks rather than Nikolai’s presence.

"The numbers are really unstable in the past two weeks and it's mostly plummeting," said Jarl as his eyes scanned the paper he was holding for the last time. Then with a dramatic sigh, he opened the drawer to his right and put the file inside, plastering a rather fake smile on his lips afterwards. "There's been a lot of visitors."

Nikolai could see right through the man's displeasure. He almost laughed. At least the feeling is mutual. "Tell me about it," he said with a light laugh. "Having your business overrun without any reason sure does something to you."

A shadow crossed the Don's face, but Nikolai only smiled innocently and held his gloved hand out for a handshake, a sort of formal gesture between a Don and a Consigliere before and after every meeting. Anyone lower than the Underboss aren't allowed to touch the head of a Family, and they could only do as much as bow in respect for the Don.

Jarl accepted it reluctantly, his grip firm as if he were contemplating breaking Nikolai’s hand. Nikolai was grateful when the man didn't. Maybe because it wasn't a good sight to have and talk business to a Consigliere with a broken hand.

"A pleasant afternoon, isn't it?" mused Nikolai as he took a sip of the coffee. It tasted good, but not nearly as good as Genya's brew. No poison. Or maybe there was and the effects just weren't kicking in yet. He suddenly wished for the woman's knack on any poison. "The perfect chance to kill time.”

The Brum Don laughed lightly, the sound mildly threatening as if he had just thought of something vile. “Indeed, Consigliere,” he said, leaning back more comfortably in his chair. “Is the coffee good? I apologize if it isn’t, but I do hope the atmosphere is comfortable.”

Nikolai fought a wince. He had been here a few times before. Jarl’s office was ice white—ranging from the walls, floorings, and the ceiling. Even the chair he was sitting on had been white. The only thing that gave another color to the pasty room were the furniture and a few appliances. At least his couches were blood red, and the view of the huge window behind his desk was different in shade. Nikolai was thankful for the change of scenery.

“No, no. Everything is good.” It sounded fake, considering how he despised the man's office. But he shook it off. He tipped the mug up in a toast. “I appreciate it, and thank you for accepting my appointment.” He found it funny and silly, when Jarl’s caporegimes used the term “appointment”. It was as if Nikolai wanted to get his teeth checked by a dentist, and considering how the man’s office looked, maybe it really was one. “I thought it would take me another week to wait for the confirmation.”

“You’re a Lantsov, from the first pioneers of the Families.” Jarl paused, a hint of a sneer appearing on his face. “You needn’t to be delayed.”

There was something the way Jarl spoke that didn’t sit well with Nikolai, like the man knew something he didn’t. A thought crossed his mind, but he shook it off. There was no way Jarl knew about that. Or was it? It was not impossible—the Brum Don had a wide network of informants. Rumor had it that there were a few in Os Alta, the city that the Lantsovs had control over.

Him knowing about Nikolai’s real father would only give him power against them. But then Nikolai still decided to brush it off, though its dangerous possibility still lingered at the back of his mind. It wasn’t the time to think of it. They had to take back the territories that were once theirs, even if they had to do it by brute force. It’s what Zoya would have preferred, anyway.

“That’s good to hear,” said Nikolai with a tight smile.

The man crossed his hands over the table, a glint evident in his eyes. Nikolai didn’t know what to make out of it. “So let’s hear it, Consigliere,” said Jarl. “What brings the Lantsovs here?”

Straight to the point. Nikolai put his mug back to the desk and removed his gloves, exposing his scarred hands. Jarl’s eyes flitted to Nikolai's hands for a moment before looking away, an uncomfortable expression on his face. Nikolai felt a sneer twitch on his lips. Scars weren’t new to people like them—they had new ones very often, depending on the work they were doing that time. It was their brand, and they wear it with pride.

But if people knew the history of the scars you bore, especially when you had gotten it from being the vicious Enforcer who once intimidated the streets of Halmhend, you would have an ace against your enemies. And for Nikolai, he exactly just had that.

“We’re eyeing the areas in Halmhend and Ulensk for expansion,” he said, and he noticed the Brum Don perk up a little from his chair. Now Nikolai had his attention. “I heard that the two properties in those locations require some...changes. Big changes, if I may add. So I would like to propose an offer to buy the property for double its actual value.” He stopped to consider, putting a finger to his chin. "No, wait. Make it triple."

Jarl didn't answer for a while, and his expression was in between being offended and amused. Nikolai wondered if the man thought that his offer was a bluff.

"I think you're quite mistaken, Consigliere," he said mildly, his tone having an underlying disbelief. "We do not place our properties up for purchase or any sort of deal."

The properties you had taken from Families by force, Nikolai wanted to say, but he bit back his tongue. The feel of the lighter in his other hand was enough to ease the sudden flare of anger in his chest. He put on his signature grin to cover it up. "Ah, but I thought your numbers were plummeting for the past two weeks? I think my offer would help the numbers to be friendly and rise up nicely again."

"Is that what your father told you to do?" Jarl asked as he leaned back further into his chair. The look on his face had gone from slightly friendly to threatening. "To try and sway me with money?"

"Don't we all want to be swayed and pampered by money?" countered Nikolai, the grin never leaving his lips. Jarl’s expression only became darker, and it made Nikolai want to goad him more. "Think of the numbers finally rising, Jarl. I know you want that."

"It’s foolish to think that I’d willingly sell properties that we have the ability to look after just quite well, Consigliere.” The Brum Don shook his head with a disappointed expression. “I never thought you would be this desperate.”

This ticked something inside Nikolai, and he found himself suddenly saying, “Is that why you worked with the Radimovs to overthrow our territories?”

There was a tense silence, and the expression on Jarl’s face turned from angry to mildly surprised, like he hadn't expected Nikolai to know about the Brums involvement with the assault. They weren't the only Family with spies stationed in different cities; the Lantsovs had just as much informants as the Brums have, if not a bit less.

Nikolai took the silence as his chance to continue. "Ah, let me make that clear. The Radimovs doing the dirty work and the Brums happening to ‘buy’ the two properties the following day from them. That's pretty much all of it, right? And it's not different from what you did with the Tabans and the Demidovs. And somehow the Morozovas too." He chuckled darkly. "Though it's probably pretty much the Morozovas' payment to your Family for protecting their ass, so I wouldn't really take that into account. Doesn't take a genius to figure that out."

Jarl’s jaw was set, as if determined not to admit to the accusation. His eyes were hard, but Nikolai could notice the man's hand suddenly fiddling the pen within his reach in tense movements. He has such an obvious tell. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I'm merely joking, sir. I mean, I am indeed a genius in certain aspects, but I didn’t learn about that information by connecting the dots. I knew about your tactics from an informant," said Nikolai with a kind smile. "We may have been spiraling a bit out of control since the attempted murder of my father, but we're not as stupid as you think."

The Brums had used the Lantsovs’ distraction in prioritizing the Don’s security to their advantage, going as far as making frequent appearances in their properties, and even in Os Alta. One of the instances he couldn’t forget were the three Brum soldiers who had caused disturbance in their bar in Kribirsk, and it stirred up the brewing dispute between their Families.

Nikolai wouldn't even be surprised if the Brums had something to do with the assassination. And if he were to really think of it now, it was most likely possible. The Demidovs weren't that powerful enough to do something as bold as trying to take down one of the most powerful Dons in the country, unless there was a much bigger hand controlling them.

The only Family who had the ability to pull off a stunt like that was the Brums. But knowing them, they always used someone else to do their dirty work for them as they wanted to maintain the 'clean slate' of their name.

They could always put out the fire, but they can never cover up the smoke.

Jarl considered Nikolai for another moment, and then he let out a loud laugh. “I get why Alexander appointed you as Consigliere and not your older brother. A clever boy, you are,” he said. "Can't be fooled easily."

"I'd take that as a compliment, sir," said Nikolai.

He reached over to the mug of coffee again, but his hand suddenly felt stiff and rigid as if something was keeping it from being able to move. Then his vision blurred slightly for a moment before it sharpened again, making him blink.

It took him a second, and a quiet laugh bubbled from his chest. His suspicions were right, then. He gripped the lighter tightly in his hand like it was the only source of his strength. Coffee was the last thing he had expected to have poison in it, and disbelief muddled his mind.

Cheeky bastard, should have put it in brandy or whiskey instead of slandering coffee this way.

Nikolai held the mug with a bit of effort in his outstretched hand, trying not to let his strain show. But when he looked up back to the Don again, there was no denying that he had already noticed Nikolai’s difficulty in moving, and the beginning of a smirk was evident on Jarl’s expression. The knife hidden under the lapel of Nikolai’s coat suddenly felt heavy.

This was going to be a pain to get through again.

"How's your father, Nikolai?" the man asked. Even his voice sounded faraway now. "Is he recovering well?"

"He is. Quite well, I'll say. He might get discharged next week," Nikolai replied before raising the mug to his lips again. It was only when he took another sip of the coffee did he finally recognize the slightest difference in the taste of a purely black coffee. Genya would have scolded him for not recognizing it right away. Cyanide. Cheap. "He sends his regards, by the way."

Jarl smiled. "I appreciate it." He paused, his eyebrows furrowing in mock concern. Nikolai wanted to laugh. "Are you alright? You seem to be looking quite unwell."

Nikolai shrugged, the movement requiring much more effort as he was still adjusting to the toxins in his body. "I'm fine, just a bit stiff. The coffee had a bit of a kick in it."

"Ah, but you did like your coffee without sugar, right?"

"Yeah, makes it more bracing." He gestured to the mug with a nod before placing it back to the desk. A dull tremor shot through him, and he fiddled with the lighter in his hand to keep it from going completely numb. "So, is your answer really a no?"

"You make me laugh, Consigliere. Here you are, alone, wanting to have an appointment to meet with me just to offer some nonsense."

“I wouldn’t actually call it nonsense I would say ultimatum, but that sounds too threatening so I think I’d tone it down for a bit,” said Nikolai, his tone light. He checked his watch. 17:58. Almost there. But then another tremor shot through him, and this time, he wasn’t able to stop a pained groan from tearing in his throat. He raised a finger. “Wait, give me a second.”

Nikolai closed his eyes and breathed deeply, flexing his fingers open and close. This was becoming rather embarrassing for him, to give threats to someone of a much higher rank than him while looking he was about to throw up, but he took his time. After a few more moments, he finally regained his composure. When he looked back up to the Don, Jarl had an amused expression on his face as if he were thinking of Nikolai as a big joke.

"Consider it a friendly warning," Nikolai said with a grin. “I wouldn’t want to spew threats yet when I still haven’t tried to convince you to change your mind.”

Jarl’s expression darkened. "This is a three-hectare property. No one would notice the Lantsov Consigliere not coming out of here."

"Oh, dear me. Are we doing threats now?" Nikolai laughed, or more like wheezed, and shook his head. "Three hectares, you say? So if I burned down this side of the compound, firefighters won't arrive in time, no? Or even just shooting you, I'm pretty sure no one else would hear."

"You're in my compound, Nikolai. My territory."

Nikolai shrugged. "Hasn't stopped me before."

"There are guards patrolling around right outside the hall. They will immediately barge in the moment I hit the alarm."

"Ah, let them. I like that kind of attention. Boosts my ego exponentially." The watch around Nikolai’s wrist beeped softly, and he glanced down at it to confirm that the numbers had already turned to 18:00. "I also did like my coffee without poison, actually. But I appreciate the improvised addition. Cyanide as an alternative to sugar? Genius. Gave a rush of thrill in my blood."

If Nikolai could frame the look of the evident shock on Jarl’s face, he would have made a whole exhibit just for it. People needed to see such a rare sighting of the Brum Don getting caught off guard. The man blinked repeatedly, as if he didn't believe what he was seeing in front of him.

Trust me, this will get useful at some point, Genya's voice echoed in his head. Nikolai silently thanked their caporegime's insistence for him to develop poison immunity. All those days of handling mild paralysis and unconsciousness was worth it.

"Oh, pardon me. Was I being too straightforward with that?" He chuckled lightly. "I can repeat it though. You got me good there, I can already feel it kicking in. But if you wanted to kill me, I think I would prefer a bullet to the brain just to be sure. That's a hundred percent chance I wouldn't walk out of here alive, or just mix in as much cyanide as you have. A sprinkle won’t be enough."

Jarl let out a laugh of his own, but the sound came out nervous instead of threatening. The man was evidently pale and he was now holding the pen so tightly in his fist he could have snapped it in half. "But that would be messy now, wouldn't it?" he said with a grin. Even his smile looked forced. "As you've told me, we don't do the dirty work.

"Hmm, fair. But there would be no thrill at all, would it? Having to hide behind your coffers and let others do the labor? That's icky." Nikolai shook his head. There was another tremor that shot throughout his body, but it was much weaker than the ones before it, and he almost smiled. At least that was over. Bless you, Genya. He leaned forward for a bit, his eyes narrowing curiously. "Do tell me, Jarl. How would it feel when someone else takes over your business by force, and brutally kills your men and innocent workers in the process? They’re not a threat, Jarl. Much less an enemy. Why involve them in the mess? We don’t do that. That is against our principles. But I guess that's never in your book, was it? You just do things that would satisfy your greed and thirst for blood."

“Getting bolder now, aren't we, Consigliere? I would watch that mouth of yours if I were you. Do you think the Lantsovs could handle another loss, especially their Consigliere?” The Brum Don shook his head, a look of disappointment on his face. “Who would try to handle things diplomatically?”

It was threat after threat. “That is a good question, sir,” said Nikolai. He flexed his fingers on both hands and put them on his knees. “I know Nazyalensky can be diplomatic if need be. But I also know she prefers to use rather drastic measures than talking. ‘It’s the easier way’, she always says. I would have to agree with her at certain times.”

“Are you implying something?”

Nikolai plastered a grin on his face. “Only the fact that you’d be facing lesser diplomatic meetings with the Lantsovs if I ever not make it out of here alive,” he said. A soft ping resounded, and he took out his phone from his coat pocket. He checked the alert, his grin turning smug and menacing, the kind that people rarely see the Lantsov Consigliere ever did. “And that you’d probably be dealing with it sooner than you thought.”

A look of confusion bloomed on the Don’s face, and then, as if on cue, the telephone on the side of his desk blared, the sound startling Jarl and making him jump slightly on his seat. He looked at it with suspicion. Nikolai wanted to laugh, but he figured that it would be rude. Besides, the whole ordeal wasn’t done yet—a lot could still happen, and he was still reeling from the effects of the poison. But he could already see the odds on their side.

“I would answer that if I were you,” Nikolai said calmly, his fingers finding the lid of his lighter again. He flicked it open and back close. He could still feel the strain in his hand, but at least it he could move it properly again. “It’s probably important.”

Jarl narrowed his eyes at him. “What’s your deal, Consigliere? Why are you really here?”

“Just answer the telephone, sir. Maybe it will give you the answer.”

There was another tense silence. The Brum Don suddenly didn’t look like he was having fun trying to get him cornered. This was the best part for Nikolai, the thrill he always got whenever the upper hand his enemies had against him was suddenly taken away from them and he would watch them crumble slowly and back away until they were the ones cornered instead of him. It was such a satisfying view to watch.

And Nikolai were to look at it now, it was exactly how he wanted it. One didn’t just easily get Jarl Brum on the edge of his seat.

“Well?” Nikolai mused.

The frown on Brum Don’s face only deepened, and then reluctantly, he reached for the telephone and slowly raised the receiver near his ear. A few beats, and then, “Yes?”

Nikolai watched the man’s face pale, his eyes shifting everywhere with the look of evident panic in them. His hand tightened around the receiver until his knuckles were almost white from gripping it too much. There was just so much anger radiating off of him that Nikolai was surprised the Don hadn’t even pointed a gun at him yet.

Then Jarl’s attention snapped to him after a moment, his eyes murderous with every intent to kill. Nikolai returned his look with an innocent grin, and the Don’s jaw was set in complete rage. If were some other person, he knew he would have cowered back in fear. But years trying to prove himself he was worthy to be an official member of the Lantsov family despite his bloodline contributed a lot to the name he had built for himself.

The Demon Prince of Halmhend—the people had whispered his name in both awe and fear. And with each dark and nasty scar and blood he got on his hands, the stronger his reputation grew. He would get the job done, and he would use whatever method he had to, even if it meant having to have a staredown with death himself.

It would take much more than some Don’s murderous look to derail Nikolai from his goal.

He watched patiently as the Don put back the receiver to the cradle, his dark gaze turning from enraged to cold fury, like he had finally accepted whatever was said to him in the call. Jarl stared down at him for another long moment, and Nikolai could practically see the gears in the man’s head working.

“Alright, Consigliere. You made your point.” The Don kept his face expressionless, but his eyes told Nikolai otherwise. “What do you really want?”

Finally. “Stop the unnecessary attacks and killings,” Nikolai said. “You can’t keep that act up and expect the others not to turn against you.”

“No one would dare go against us. We both know that.”

“It’s because we’re still holding back.”

A shadow passed over Jarl’s face, and his expression darkened even more. “Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe,” replied Nikolai. He reached up to fix his tie. “If I were to be honest, the Tabans could take you any day. They just don’t choose to. Waste of resources, they say. But really, I understand. It would be too easy for them.”

“The Tabans don’t choose to fight because they’re cowards,” Jarl said with a huff. “Not because they don’t choose to do so.”

Nikolai wrinkled his nose. “Tell that to Madam Makhi’s face, and you’ll see your throat by the end of her sword,” he said. He leaned forward as if to tell a secret. “She keeps a very sharp sword in her office, by the way. And she knows how to use it, so I don’t really suggest going against her.”

Jarl shook his head, the smirk still evident on his lips. “And if I don’t agree to your motion? What can you possibly do with—”

“You would find my family retaliating,” Nikolai cut him off, and the Don reared back in mild surprise. “The attacks would continue, and I will let it go on. Don’t try fighting in a war where you’re going to lose.”

The Don didn’t say anything after that. Nikolai gave him a smile, feeling a bit more confident than before that maybe they had driven Jarl Brum into a corner. Then, to his astonishment, Jarl did something entirely beyond his expectation.

He laughed.

And it wasn’t the desperate type but rather a genuinely amused one, like he had just heard the funniest joke that Nikolai could have ever done. Instantly, his grin faded. Jarl Brum was actually laughing. Nikolai could only look back at the Brum Don with utter confusion as uneasiness settled in his gut. The man acted as if he was one step ahead of them, and whatever confidence Nikolai had in himself the moment he stepped inside the man’s office was gone.

“The White Island, huh?” Jarl said through his laughs. He shook his head, dramatically reaching up to wipe the nonexistent tears from his eyes. "That hotel is quite a sight, but its location in Ulensk is utter shit. You can burn it down all you want, I wouldn't mind. You didn't have to hide the fact you would raid it just to make a point."

Dread washed over Nikolai. It felt like this was the real poison taking effect in his system and halted his thoughts completely. How in the saints' name did Jarl know about the raid? Were Tolya and Tamar safe? Which part of the Don's terrified look had been real?

He watched the Brum Don stand from his seat and walked to the drawers behind his desk. He bent down to pull a bottle of wine out along with two glasses, humming happily as he went along. It was a baffling sight to see Jarl’s shift in his demeanor, especially from the perspective of a person who knew their way around manipulating their own emotions.

Was this how he looked like to other people? Awful and terrifying?

"You're a lot silent now, Consigliere," mused Jarl as he poured wine onto the two glasses. He didn't even need to turn around for Nikolai to know that the man was having fun having the upper hand once again. "Did I surprise you?"

Nikolai's hand clenched into a fist to keep it from trembling badly with suppressed fury. It wasn't the right time to act yet. He glared at the Brum Don's back, and with slow, silent movements, he carefully reached for the knife under his lapel and slipped it in the edge of his sleeve. The distress and fear clouding his mind may have been overwhelming enough to make him unable to answer, but he wasn't going to let any chances slide. The Brum Don took his silence as a cue to continue.

"Ah, don't worry. Your guys leading the raid in White Island Hotel is fine," said Jarl with a light laugh. "I didn't put extra security there tonight on purpose. So your guys are probably done turning the place upside down by now." Then he paused, lifting his head up to stare out the glass window in front of him. "It's actually your people who went to the arms factory I'm worried about."

Whatever composure Nikolai had in himself crumbled to nothing. No—

"You're probably wondering how I knew about it. Well, like you, I have my informants too. And that huge shipment of firepower last week? What other reasons did the Lantsovs have to have that kind of shipment aside from going to war? Doesn't need to take a genius to figure that out." Jarl walked back to his desk and placed the other glass of wine he was holding in front of Nikolai. "And what's the most convenient thing to hit during a war? The arms factory and its warehouse. It's only our luck that you sent Nazyalensky to her own demise. I did put more security in that place."

For once, Nikolai didn't have anything to say back. He usually prided himself of being able to make people bow down to his wishes, even if it meant threatening them to the extremes or just simply having a conversation with them.

And yet the mere thought of Zoya in danger was enough to spiral him out of his thoughts.

"I did surprise you now, didn't I?" Jarl chuckled, taking another sip from his glass. "You see, this is what I meant when I said no one dares to go against us. I'm always a step ahead."

Nikolai gritted his teeth, clenching his hands into fists to keep himself from lunging at the Don. "What did you do to her?"

"Do settle down, Consigliere. She's not in danger. Oh, at least not yet. I haven't given them any orders." He paused, frowning as if he had said something wrong. "But that may change in a moment. Unless you do something for me."

"What do you want?"

Jarl raised an eyebrow. "That was fast, I haven't even blinked," he said. "It's quite a sight to see the great Lantsov Consigliere quickly bow down just because his woman is in danger."

"Just say your conditions, Jarl."

"You will agree to sign a contract that would legally make the Lantsovs as the Brums' subsidiary."

Nikolai looked at the Don with utter disbelief like he had just grown another head on his shoulder. Jarl must have been joking. Maybe Zoya was alright and had already handled the situation at Halmhend. Nikolai's irritation suddenly flared. His thinking was becoming too unstable—which wasn't ideal for his current situation. And if he continued to let Jarl’s words get to him, he would certainly lose this fight.

"In fact, it's still quite a generous offer." Jarl tipped his head in respect. "It's for seeing through that coffee I gave you. And even surviving it."

"And what if I don't?" Nikolai asked, voice nearly a hiss.

Jarl smiled. “Then Nazyalensky dies. Very simple.”

“How do I know you’re not bluffing?”

Then as if on cue, Nikolai’s phone rang again, tearing his attention away from wanting to lunge at the Don. He looked at the screen, and it showed a restricted number was trying to make a call. And even though it didn't exactly show who was calling, Nikolai already knew who was on the other line.

"I would answer that if I were you," said Jarl, his tone smug as he repeated Nikolai’s line from earlier. With a confident smile that almost ticked off the last Nikolai’s patience, Jarl added, "It's probably important."

Nikolai looked down at his phone again, thinking that maybe if he stared hard enough at the bright numbers glaring back at him, the call would stop and prove that the Brum Don was just bluffing.

But when it continued to ring, it stabbed fear into his heart. Zoya never called him during an operation, only quick signals and messages.

"Well?" Jarl mused. He took a sip from his own glass and raised an eyebrow. "Nazyalensky won't wait all night."

The urge to act upon his anger was now stronger than his will to keep on a neutral face, and yet Nikolai still held back. He wouldn't do anything unless he was sure he had every reason to.

But the mention of Zoya's name from this despicable man's lips was making it hard to keep himself from killing the Don.

"If you lay even one finger on her," Nikolai said, voice low with threat, "I will burn every single place you have until the flames reach you and you will be burning down with them."

A shadow passed on Jarl’s face, but it was gone as soon as Nikolai could blink, and there was the sneer on his face again. "Just answer the call, Consigliere."

Nikolai did what he was told and he swiped the icon to the right. He slowly put the phone to his ear, his gaze never wavering from Jarl.

The other line was quiet, except for the occasional strained breathing in the background. He fought the urge to call out for her name—it wasn't the time to give the Brum Don more leverage against him. So he waited.

Zoya, he pleaded in his mind. Please be alright.

It was a desperate thought, one he hoped that would be true, because he would have to settle for the last resort and the Don wouldn't see another sunrise after tonight.

There was another silence, more ragged breathing. Nikolai's vision was starting to tunnel as he fought for composure, and Don's smirk was only adding fuel to the fire in him that was waiting to be ignited.

A beat, and there was a pained voice that said, "Nikolai—"

Something in Nikolai snapped, and he was suddenly flicking the knife out from his sleeve and then hauled it at Jarl Brum.

It hit the man on his shoulder hard enough for his chair to tip back, and he fell over with a shout. Nikolai shot up from his own chair and slid over the Don's desk, landing on the ground next to the man and kicking the man's arm even before he could reach for the alarm button under the edge of the table. He kept Jarl's arm pinned to the floor with his foot, and when the Don tried to reach for Nikolai's ankle with his other free arm, he pressed his foot harder against the man's arm he was sure he heard a soft crack.

Dizziness hit nim like a tidal wave that almost threw him off balance. His vision swayed. Waiting for his body to adapt to the toxins would still take a bit of time, but he was being driven by his rage that he almost forgot he wasn’t here to kill the Don.

"Did I catch you off guard?" Jarl asked with a strained laugh. "She really is your soft spot, eh? If I had known earlier I would have—"

Nikolai didn’t let him finish and brought his foot down with force, completely breaking the man's wrist. Jarl opened his mouth to let out a scream of pain, but Nikolai's other foot had already hit the Don across face before he could make a sound. Blood dripped from the side of the man's lips, and he spit it out to the side.

“I would watch that mouth of yours if I were you,” Nikolai said. With casual ease, he nudged the handle of the knife with his toe, and it earned another shout from the man. A smirk twitched on his lips at the sound of the Don's agony. There was always something satisfying in hearing your enemies scream in pain. "Not looking so tough now, aren't you, sir? But do scream all you want. Your office is soundproof, isn’t it?"

Despite himself, Jarl still hadn't cowered back in fear. If possible, he only became much angrier than when Nikolai was goading him before. "The Families would know about this assault," he said through gritted teeth. "You're making a big mistake by attacking the Brum Don."

"Am I now?" Nikolai leaned closer, resting his elbow on his bent knee. He reached out his other hand and patted Jarl on the cheek. The man flinched under his touch. "And 'Brum Don'? All I see is a dead man."

Jarl’s eyes widened in fear. "You won't kill me."

Nikolai huffed lightly. "That's what our enemies in Halmhend used to say." He shrugged, and then reached for the Don’s uninjured arm. "Look where it got them."

With a hard tug on the man’s wrist, Nikolai kicked the desk until it was farther away from Jarl’s reach. He wasn’t taking any chances of the Don trying to sneak and alarm his men to his office. At least not just yet. They had the time for games later. Nikolai dragged Jarl to the wine drawer, throwing him off to the small wooden doors with a resounding thump.

Jarl groaned in pain, and yet it still sounded restrained as if he were keeping himself from making another shout. He was cradling his broken wrist on his lap, shoulder hunched forward enough for him to not show his face.

Nikolai raised an eyebrow. "Don't be shy now, I know you want to shout," he said as he grabbed the Don's fallen chair, standing it upright again and pulling it in front of Jarl before sitting down. He pulled out the lighter from his pocket. "I don't like it when they don't scream in pain."

There was no answer for a long moment, with the Don still in his hunched position. Nikolai eyed him sideways. The man's shoulders were shaking with every breath he drew, and the spot where the knife was lodged continued to leak of blood.

It was new to him to see Jarl Brum in such a vulnerable state. But he was still trying to put up the tough persona a Don should have, and Nikolai was determined to break him slowly. Inflicting immense pain was one of the strengths Nikolai learned in the streets that gave birth to his name.

“Still good, sir?” he asked in mock wonder. “You’re not as strong as I thought.”

The man shot up from his place on the floor, his other arm stretched out as if to reach for Nikolai’s neck, but the Consigliere had already anticipated it. He simply leaned back and grabbed the man by both of his arms. His movements stopped.

Nikolai gave him a sneer. "Courageous," he said with genuine respect. "But still slow."

He kicked the man on the chest, sending him crashing back to the drawers in a heap. Then Nikolai brought his foot down to Jarl’s ankle this time. There was another resounding crack, followed by a howl of pain. He almost smiled.

"Now that's the shout," Nikolai said. He stared down at the Don with pity. Jarl looked incredibly smaller for the Brum Don that terrorized everyone else. It was amusing to see how pain made anyone kneel to its extremities. "I thought your pride would still forbid you to scream. Make it louder for me, yeah? It sounds better."

"What do you want, Lantsov?" Jarl spat as if the name were some poison that stung his mouth. “Or should I say Opjer?”

Nikolai’s jaw ticked in annoyance. He knows too much. "Not 'Consigliere' anymore? I feel sad about that, sir." He bent down and reached for the man's arm, bringing his hand close to him. He opened the lid of his lighter and put one of the Don's fingers in between the edge of the lid and the case. "I'll be brief, which I rarely do as I prefer talking more." He paused. "Call off your men."

Jarl let out a laugh. "Too late for that, Nikolai. But I can almost assume that they're already leaving now that the threat was handled in the—"

Nikolai forced the lid of his lighter close, and the Don screamed in pain. The tip of his finger was set in an odd angle, with blood leaking from the damaged nail. It dripped onto Nikolai’s hand and his wrist, and then to the cuff of his sleeve. He inwardly winced in displeasure. It could be taken care of later.

He kept his expression impassive and moved to another finger. "Call off your men," he repeated.

Jarl’s face was twisted in cold rage, but there was no denying the agony he was under that he was still trying to put up with. When he didn’t answer, Nikolai closed the lighter onto the man’s next finger. Another howl of agony. He moved to another finger.

“Eight remaining fingers, eight remaining chances,” he said. “I will say it again. Call off your men, Jarl. I’m still being generous with giving you chances.”

The man only smirked, and just as Nikolai was about to break off another finger, a loud thump resounded somewhere behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. The doors to Jarl’s office were rattling, almost threatening to come off its hinges. The Don's men had a good way of knocking.

"As I've said," Jarl wheezed, making Nikolai turn back to him, "too late to do that."

Nikolai tsked. "Very well," he said, and then clamped the lid to the man's third finger. He let go of his arm, and Jarl crumpled down to the ground. "A reward for being able to sneak past me."

His men were still trying to barge the doors down, but they were almost succeeding in doing so when Nikolai caught a glimpse of the light outside the hall through the small space by the door that was beginning to grow wider. He turned back to the Don.

"Let's make you a bit more presentable, shall we?" said Nikolai.

He grabbed the man by the collar and forced him to stand before dragging him to the chair. Jarl wheezed in pain as he tried to fight back, but both of his hands were so badly damaged he couldn't make use of them. The Don could only give Nikolai as much as a glare.

He forced the man back down to the chair. "No need to look so angry, sir."

"You won't get out of here alive, Lantsov," growled Jarl. "You are totally outnumbered. My men would—"

"Ah" —Nikolai patted the man on the cheek— "let's not get ahead of our predictions. Let me borrow this for a second." He swiftly pulled out the knife from Jarl’s shoulder. "I'll be right back."

"You and Nazyalensky are goners, Consigliere. Both of you are not going to make it through the night."

"We'll see about that."

Nikolai eyed the still rattling doors, and glanced at the bloodied knife in his hand. He would be at a total disadvantage, he knew, but it was better than having nothing. Besides, he'd had far much worse situations that he got out of, some that involved using bare hands and teeth just to survive.

Tonight wasn't any different either.

He approached the doors just as there was finally the sound of a wood splintering, and he pressed himself against the wall beside the entryway. With a twist of his knife in his hand, he reached up to remove the tie around his neck with his other, letting the ends fall loose onto his shirt. It would only be a hindrance to his movements.

The doors barged open and men in gray overcoats came rushing in. Nikolai tightened his grip around the knife and counted heads. Seven. Jarl should have invited more.

The man nearest to him hadn't noticed him yet, and he took his chance.

Nikolai stepped forward and pushed his knife behind the man's throat.

One.

He immediately pulled the knife out, letting it fly towards the other Soldier to his right. Blood spurted from the man's neck. He crumpled to the ground with a gurgling sound.

A sneer twitched on his lips.

Two.

He started humming. The remaining men finally turned to him with their guns raised, but Nikolai was already on the move. He collided with the third one. His hand closed around the gun barrel and the other to the man's hand, pointing the gun to the other Soldiers.

Nikolai pulled the trigger. It hit the other Soldier on the head.

Three.

He turned a bit to the left and fired twice on the fourth Soldier's chest.

Four.

Nikolai twisted, using the third Soldier as a shield just as the shots erupted. The body convulsed as it took the barrage of bullets. Then the shots stopped, and he pressed the barrel under the man's chin before pulling the trigger.

Five.

He grabbed the gun, aimed over the dead man's shoulder, and fired at the other Soldier. He immediately crumpled on the ground after the bullet went straight through his skull.

Six.

With a push, Nikolai finally let the body fall to the ground. He turned to find the last Soldier, but he wasn't fast enough.

A shot rang out, and pain burst on his ear. He stopped humming and blinked. The remaining Soldier looked at him with a terrified expression, his hand trembling so badly as if he was out enduring the cold winter night. Then he dropped the gun completely and he fell to the ground.

Nikolai approached him slowly, like a predator cornering his prey. The Soldier started to back away. But the tremors quaking his body were too much that he couldn't even move fast enough.

A moment later, Nikolai was hovering above him, with the barrel of the gun pointed at his face, and he immediately raised a hand to protect himself.

"No—"

But Nikolai already pulled the trigger before the Soldier could even plead, and he crumpled to the ground on the pool of blood from the hole in his head.

Seven.

The room went silent again. Nikolai reached a hand up to his ear, feeling the sticky wetness around it along with the sting of pain. When he looked at his hand, his fingers were drenched in blood. He huffed. At least they were able to nick him.

He turned back to Jarl, who was still sitting idly on his office chair, the expression on his face was a mix of horror and bewilderment.

"There'd be more of them in a few moments, right?" Nikolai asked mildly as he went and got his knife from the Soldier's neck. He wiped it at the edge of the Soldier's gray coat, staining it red. Then he put it back behind the lapel of his coat. “How many are there left?”

At the Don’s silence, he scoffed. He walked back to Jarl by the desk, grabbing the man by his collar and forcing him up to his remaining good foot. It’d have to do. An audience was still an audience no matter how few they were, and he wanted Jarl to see every drop of blood shed by his men for everything they had done, and for every life they had ruined.

For hurting Zoya.

Because in the end, he would rather let himself be the one to end all this rather than branding himself as a traitor for selling his own Family out and risking any chances of putting Zoya's life on the line even more. He could only hope Tamar would be able to reach her on time.

There was no turning back from this.

This tyranny had to end tonight, as it would only continue until the point of time where no one could stop them.

It was time to be the monster that he had been once more.

Nikolai dragged Jarl outside the doors of the office. “Let the hunting party start, then.”

---

Zoya struggled against the restraints bounding her hands behind her. But then pain shot up to her side from where a bullet had grazed her during the shootout earlier. She grit her teeth, glaring at the man in front of her. She would definitely break his neck the moment she got free.

The storage room where they had been holding her was guarded with three other men in gray overcoats. They looked stiff and alert, their guns poised readily to aim at her the moment she tried to do something funny. Zoya wanted to laugh. She understood the hostility around her, especially when there's only several of them left in the warehouse.

It was supposed to be much lesser than Zoya had expected—the arms warehouse should have been empty except for a few guards on patrol and a Brum Soldier staying in the upstairs office.

But instead of that, Zoya had walked straight up into a trap instead, with the number of Jarl’s men tripling and they were being led by Ivor Kravchenko, the notorious Brum caporegime known for his brutal tendencies when it came to taking down his enemies.

She had come to think that there might have been a leak of their own plans to orchestrate the simultaneous attacks against the Brums. They had been able to reduce a great number from Jarl’s men, but it cost all the lives of Zoya's men that were with her during the attack. Their blood would forever be on her hands.

The other thing she could hope for now was that Nikolai and the twins were alright on their sides of this predicament.

“You shouldn’t have left your Don’s compound,” she said. It was taking a lot of her remaining strength to speak. "You all left your boss' to the wolf's mercy."

The man, whom Zoya remembered as Ivor and Jarl's notorious caporegime, gave a dark laugh. "A wolf, you say? It doesn't matter, a lone wolf is no match for a whole pack," said the caporegime. "Your Consigliere might even be dead by now. Just like the rest of your men here. Don't get too cheeky now."

Zoya's rage flared, the urge to make the man suffer stronger than before. "You seem to be forgetting that I killed half of your men alone," she said. "You better make sure I don't get out of these bounds because it will be your blood spilled on the ground next."

This seemed to annoy Ivor, making him step forward in haste with a murderous expression on his face. But then he stopped abruptly as if he had just remembered something, and he straightened back up. "I could kill you right now and be done with it, Nazyalensky," he said in a low voice. "But I still just choose not to. It's fun to see the great Lantsov Underboss tied down at the Brums mercy."

"Chose not to, or you're still waiting for your Don to give the order like a good puppy you are?" Zoya said back, savoring the look of new rage on the caporegime's face. She gave him a sharp smile. "It's been an hour since you called my Consigliere and tried to rattle him down. You haven't even heard from Jarl ever since then."

Ivor snarled, and then he was grabbing at Zoya's hair and pulling her head back, his knife suddenly pressed to her cheek. Zoya smirked triumphantly. It was so easy to derail him—the whole Brum Family if possible. They were all bombs that were ready to detonate at any time.

This would be fun when she finally had him under her mercy later. But having to reach that point seemed very difficult and almost next to impossible, especially when there were ropes bounding her hands.

An realization dawned in her head when her eyes trailed down the knife near her face. She just had to make the man drop it somehow.

"Do not test me, Nazyalensky," Ivor growled as he pressed the knife harder to her skin. Zoya felt a trickle of blood run down her face. He traced the blood with the knife point lightly before hovering it to her skin again. "I can be merciless at certain times."

As can I, Ivor. "Suits you, then," said Zoya simply. "I have the freedom to choose when to be merciless. Unlike you, who still has to wait for a go signal from his person before he can bite."

With a growl, Ivor tugged at her hair harder. "Did you know what Jarl told me before I left to go handle the mess you will try to stage here?" he hissed. "He said that the Lantsov Consigliere and Underboss are the ones keeping their Family upright. If they were the ones to go first, they would all crumble, and he planned to do just that." Ivor smiled wickedly, the kind that spoke of a triumph gotten from a dirty play. "Starting with your Consigliere. I wonder how things would be if the Don suddenly decides to get rid of him."

She clenched her fists behind her, her fury burning cold in her blood. Nikolai was a lot smarter than the others give him credit for. There was never a dire situation that he hadn't gone through before—he could always find a way out of anything.

But their current standpoint only struck fear and doubt to Zoya. He was in their enemy's nest, the place where they had the absolute authority on everything. She had been reluctant for him to go alone, and yet he had insisted, saying that he had a plan just in case something went wrong.

And now that there had been a hole in their planned attack, Zoya could only hope that his plan didn't involve him risking his life more than he already did.

She would come and drag him out of hell if needed to.

"I'm pretty sure your Consigliere would run out of ideas at some point," added Ivor thoughtfully. "Tonight might be the time."

You can all dream.

Zoya gave a short laugh, and then she tipped her head back and struck Ivor's nose with her forehead.

The man shouted as he pushed back from her, dropping his knife and putting a hand up to his face. She quickly took the advantage and tipped the chair down sideways. Pain shot up to her side when she hit the floor, and her vision blacked out for a few moments. The blow to her head earlier only added to the dizziness that made her vision spin. But she shook the ache away and her hands felt around for the knife from the floor as the three men were still occupied with coddling their boss.

When she finally grasped the knife handle, she immediately tucked it to the insides of her sleeve before looking back up to Ivor.

Blood seeped through his fingers that were tightly holding his now broken nose, and his face was scrunched up in pain. Zoya felt a laugh bubble from her chest.

"Can't even take a hit, eh?" she called to Ivor, who only glared at her with a murderous glint in his eyes. "Come and train with our men, you'll learn how to brush off a punch to your jaw like it's merely dust."

Ivor let out an angry growl and started to walk his way to her again, but one of his Soldiers stopped him.

"There aren't any orders for us to kill her yet, sir," the Soldier said with finality. He looked a bit younger than the other men, but he had a sway on them that even Ivor stopped to consider his actions. "We should be patient."

Zoya huffed silently. Another well-trained pup, then.

The door to the room suddenly opened, and another one of Jarl’s men appeared by the threshold. "Sir," he said, gesturing outside, "it's urgent."

Ivor sighed in frustration. He gave Zoya another pointed look before turning to one of his men again. "Get her up and keep a close eye on her," he said stiffly, still holding a hand to his nose. "I might finally be allowed to kill her after."

With one last low gaze to Zoya, he stomped off the storage room. She huffed in amusement as she watched the Caporegime's retreating form disappear by the doorway.

"Petty ass," she muttered. But when Ivor's footsteps finally receded, she slid out the knife from her sleeve and started to cut through the ropes.

It was the younger Soldier that moved to lift her chair upright, his movements brusque and rough it made the pain on Zoya's side shoot up again.

"Easy with the moving, will you?" she hissed at the Soldier.

He sneered at her, pushing the chair roughly back down to its feet instead. "Witch," he hissed back, and Zoya had to laugh. The Soldier pointed the gun under her chin. "The only thing keeping me from firing is that the Don didn't want you dead just yet, and we're just waiting for the go signal." He pressed the barrel to her chin harder for emphasis. "Don't get too smug."

Men and their egos. "Sure thing, hon," said Zoya mildly with a shrug.

It seemed to be enough for the Soldier as he put down the gun and started to back off. But then ropes finally cut loose, and a smirk twitched at her lips. She kept her arms behind her and flipped the knife in her hand so that it pointed forward.

"Lapdog," she muttered, making sure the Soldier heard her.

And he did, because he suddenly stopped walking and turned to her again, a look of rage evident on his face. His jaw was set when he reached her again in a few quick strides.

He bent down and grabbed at her face. "What did you say, you—"

His next words came out in a gurgling mess when Zoya's hand shot up and pushed the knife into the man's throat.

She reached for the man's gun with her other hand just as the two other men noticed what was happening. She aimed and fired at the two of them before they could even raise their guns to shoot, and they crumpled to the ground with a thud.

The Soldier clawed at his neck desperately, his movements panicked. Zoya looked at him pitifully before yanking the knife out. The man fell to the ground.

She wiped her bloodied hand and knife to the squirming man's coat for a moment, staining the fabric blood red. His other hand still tried to reach for her ankle, but Zoya merely stepped away.

Then she pointed the gun to the Soldier's face. "For gunning down my men," she said before shooting him in the head.

He slumped to the ground, lifeless. Zoya winced at the sudden sting that pierced her side, and she almost doubled over. She checked her wound. The long line of the bullet graze was still oozing with blood, but much lesser than before. She would have to put up with it for now; she needed to have a talk with Ivor first.

Rushed footsteps echoed outside just as she neared the door. She immediately pressed herself against the wall beside the doorway and waited. A few moments later, the door barged open, and Ivor and another man came rushing in.

They hadn't noticed her yet, and Zoya sprang.

She raised her gun and shot the Soldier in the head. Ivor turned just as she aimed the gun to his thigh and pulled the trigger. He reared back with a shout, and Zoya swiped the gun up and whacked him across the face with the stock. Ivor crashed to the floor.

But when she finally got a closer look at the man's face, she realized it wasn't Ivor at all. The Soldier was only wearing the Caporegime's coat.

Zoya gritted her teeth as she pointed her gun to the man. "Where's Ivor?" she hissed.

He didn’t answer, and it made her anger flare even more. She put her finger closer to the trigger.

"Where—"

A crack of gunshot, and then a flash of excruciating pain on her other side just below her ribs. Zoya backed a few steps, dropping her gun and putting a hand to her side. When she checked on it after a moment, her palm was already covered in red.

"Miss me?" Ivor called out from the door.

Zoya didn’t have the strength to turn completely, and she crashed to the floor. The surroundings blurred into a mess of colors, the sudden flash of lights adding to the swaying of her vision. She put a hand to her wound, and she stifled a groan when another wave pain shot up to her body.

Ivor's figure appeared in her line of vision, his steps slow and deliberate as if he had all the time in the world. Zoya could only do as much as glare at the Caporegime, at the broken nose that had the faint traces of dried blood around it, and hoped for the Saints to give her enough strength to kill the guy right then. But her wishes were ignored and the pain only became worse.

"You think you could get out of my watch that easily?" He shook his head in disappointment. "I thought you were better than this."

"Come closer and I'll show you," Zoya snarled.

"A real tough one, aren't you? Even as you lay dying, you can still make someone cower in fear." Ivor laughed loudly, and it was like the sound of a chair being scraped off a tiled floor. "I had to admit I was impressed on how you got that knife. That was neat."

Zoya blinked. He had known?

As if he had heard her thoughts, Ivor chuckled darkly. "Oh, I did notice. That's why I staged a little dress up with one of my Soldiers here after the phone call. Always did the trick."

"Staged?" Zoya laughed, but it came out as a wheeze instead. "Did you really just use your men as bait just to kill me dramatically?"

"Ten points for Nazyalensky!" Ivor announced before raising his gun and pointing it at the Soldier he had made to wear his coat. "We're busted, unfortunately. Thank you for your service." Then he pulled the trigger.

Zoya winced at the sound of the dead body falling to the ground. She shook her head. "You're mad, Kravchenko."

"That, I am. But you know who's worse?" He bent down a little as if to tell some secret. Then he pointed two fingers at her. "You two." He paused to laugh again, and then he started pacing back and forth.

She took the small distraction to pull the handgun closer to her and hide it under her back. And when he stopped and stared back down at her, she noticed something strange. There was a wild look in his eyes, the deranged kind of glint of a paranoid man.

Ivor waved his gun carelessly in the air. "Oh, don't worry I finally have the order to kill you."

Zoya turned to her bad side slightly, bearing the pain that washed over her again and reaching for the gun she had hidden behind her.

"Worry not, Nazyalensky. You're going to meet your Consigliere soon," said Ivor. "The Don never planned to let your Consigliere get out of there alive, you know. The chance was too good to let it pass. He was a dead man the moment the Don accepted the meeting."

She knew Ivor was trying to get to her head, and she knew better that she shouldn't let it, but it was proving to be difficult when it was Nikolai’s safety being used against her. It was then she remembered this was what Ivor was known for—tormenting his enemies rights before he killed them. But Zoya knew to herself that she would have preferred physical torment than this. She wouldn't even have the chance to know if Nikolai was safe from any danger.

A bittersweet laugh bubbled from her chest. Even in near death circumstances, Nikolai was still her headache. She could only hope he would be able to get through tonight.

Zoya gripped the gun tightly. She wouldn't this man torment her until her last breath. Not without bringing him down with me.

Ivor was seething when he was checking his gun chamber. Something was definitely wrong with him. Had something come up after that phone call?

"This is a payback to your Consigliere for acting stupidly. And for what he's done," he said and he shook his head, fury and annoyance evident on his face. "He's so going to pay for that. I can't wait to kill him myself—" He stopped abruptly and turned back to Zoya. "You'll meet him soon, Nazyalensky. Don't worry, I'll make it—"

With what's left of her strength, Zoya lifted her arm and fired at the Caporegime, emptying the whole gun's whole clip at him. Ivor convulsed with every bullet he took, his eyes wide in shock as if he couldn't believe what had just happened.

When the gun only gave a click, Zoya let her arm fall. A triumphant smirk twitched at her lips as she watched Ivor's bewildered expression. His hand fell limp at his side, and he looked down at the holes on his chest.

A scoff tore from his throat, and along with it came blood that leaked from his lips. His expression turned from shocked to angry in a blink. With a shaking hand, he pointed his gun back at her. "You witch—"

There was a crack of gunshot. Zoya closed her eyes and waited for the momentary pain before the end.

But it didn't come.

There was a loud thud, like the sound of a body falling to the floor, and she opened her eyes again.

Ivor lay on the floor, lifeless, his wide, empty eyes still open. Blood started to pool around his body all too quickly.

"Zoya," a familiar voice said.

Through her blurry vision, Zoya could make out a figure of a woman approaching her in rush. Tamar.

She immediately held out her hand, and felt Tamar take it right away. The woman's other hand came to put pressure on her wound. "You're okay," Zoya said. Her breaths were starting to come out in short bursts. "Is Tolya—"

"He's fine, General, you should think of yourself first. Save your breath. You'll be fine." Tamar let go of her hand to pull out her phone. She dialled a number and started speaking to someone, but the words faded into echoes of distorted sounds.

A moment later Zoya heard Tamar's voice again. "Stay with me, Nazyalensky." She clasped at her hand, gripping it tightly as if it would give Zoya enough life again if she held on tighter.

Nikolai, Zoya wanted to ask her. Is he safe?

But the pain and exhaustion were too overwhelming for her to stay awake, and she found her grip on Tamar's hand loosening with every ragged breath she drew.

Have I done enough?

She didn't know.

Be safe, idiot.

She took another breath.

Then everything went dark.

***

Zoya opened her eyes.

Immediately, a dull throb washed over her body that almost made her pass out again, but the gentle touches she felt on her hand kept her anchored down to consciousness. She drew in a shaky breath.

She was still alive. She has survived the ordeal. Tamar and Tolya were safe too and—

Nikolai.

Where was he? Was he alive?

Zoya turned to her right in haste, but she stopped when she spotted a mess of blond hair on her bedside. The grip on her hand tightened, and she felt her eyes sting.

He's okay.

"Hey," she said, voice still rough from sleep.

Nikolai instantly bolted upright. He looked like a mess, with his hair ruffled and the bruises and cuts on his face. There were traces of dried blood on the side of face down to his collar, his coat, and even on the edge of his sleeves. His hands were no different; the skin around his knuckles were torn open and red. But the worse one he got was his left ear—or what was left of it. He was tired and in pain, and yet he only had the look of utter relief and warmth in his eyes when he looked at her and smiled.

There was an unexpected prick in her heart. Zoya wanted to reach out and hold him to her, to tell him that she was glad he was alive, but she couldn’t do anything of those as her body still felt heavy like lead due to the exhaustion and medication.

A tear fell down from his eye, and Nikolai quickly wiped it away with a tired laugh. Then he shifted closer, his hand reaching out to smooth the hair away from her forehead. She closed her eyes and leaned against his touch almost immediately.

“You’re a mess, dear,” he said, his tone light with amusement.

Zoya huffed weakly. “You should see yourself.” She nodded at his state of dress. "It's not you to have your suit ruined like that."

“There’s always a first one, you know.” Nikolai gave her a wink. “Just not the thing I prefered. I can always throw it in the laundry, though.”

“You, doing the laundry? I know you’ll break the washing machine first before you can get anything done,” she said, and Nikolai laughed lightly. A small smile appeared on her lips, and she laced their fingers together. What she expected to be a gentle touch was a trembling grip instead. His hand was badly shaking. Concern washed over her as she looked at him in worry. “Nikolai?”

“I’m fine. I just—” Nikolai stopped. He laughed again, but it sounded more like a sob of relief instead. He shook his head. “You scared the hell out of me,” he whispered. He still looked like he was about to break any moment, but it was gone in a blink and he put on his signature grin that brightened up his features. “But I guess I didn’t have to worry that much now, yeah?”

Tears stung Zoya’s eyes again, and she smiled ruefully. I almost lost you too. But she covered it up with a smirk. “They can’t get rid of me that easily.”

"I know."

Silence fell around them. It was unusual for her to have a quiet as she was used to hearing all types of noises, whether it be the angry and rising tones during meetings or the gunfire that followed after when the negotiations went wrong. Even at nights, which was supposed to be when everything was in peace, were still haunted by the voices of the people who had died under her jurisdiction, and their blood was on her hands.

Having this moment struck dread to her, because good things, even the smallest ones, always came with a price. And she wasn't entirely sure if she was willing to give up anything.

"Do tell me your thoughts, dearest Zoya," Nikolai said, breaking the silence. He smiled as he continued his ministrations on her hair. "When you're quiet like that, I'm worried that you might be planning someone's death."

Zoya huffed. "How can you be sure that it wasn't your death I was planning?"

Nikolai chuckled. "Please, you can't plan something that's already done," he said in amusement, and then his face fell after a second as if he realized what he just said. He smiled but it was half-hearted than his usual ones. "I like being one step ahead, you know."

"What happened, Nikolai?" she asked softly, not wanting to risk him shying away. Her hand tightened its hold on his. "What did you do?"

"I did what I had to do," he said simply. There was a faraway look in his eyes as he stared down at their joined hands. He rubbed circles around her skin, his touch feather light. "There was no other way."

"Did you—" Zoya stopped. She didn't want to say it. She wanted to believe that if she didn't, it could change the truth. But the defeated look in his eyes only solidified the truth.

“Jarl Brum is dead," Nikolai said. A sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he looked back up at her. “He died when his compound had caught on fire due to faulty gas pipes. And the Lantsov Consigliere died with him in the fire. It’s what the people would hear by morning.” He paused, and breathed in deep. Then he smiled his usual grin again. “He put up quite a fight, though. It ruined my suit doing it. What a sad mess.”

Zoya could only stare at him in melancholy. She didn’t even have the heart to answer his joke back. That was their last resort. They both agreed that if things had turned out the worst, he would have to settle with killing the Don. But that was before, when they thought that their plans were foolproof.

I should have known and done better.

Nikolai must have seen the look on her face, because he shook his head gently and his grin turned into a rueful one. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t do that to yourself. I don't regret doing anything,” he said. He took her hand in both of his. “He was going to force me to hand over the Lantsovs to them, saying he’ll have you killed if I don’t. It was a deadend. There was no guarantee they won’t hurt you even if I agree. And I was never going to sell us over, anyway.” He paused, drawing in a shaky breath. "I'd rather get hurt a thousand times more than lose you."

A tear finally fell from the side of her eye. If this was the price she had to pay for having this moment with him, she did not want it. She would give up anything else to pay the price. Just not this. Not him.

“So, I guess this is our last night together,” Zoya said, her voice breaking slightly.

His hand reached up to her face and wiped the tear with his thumb. There were also tears clouding his eyes. He nodded gently, the sad smile still on his lips. Zoya leaned in his hand. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I promise to annoy you to death so you would have enough spite for me to last in a long while.”

Zoya huffed in amusement. She had never hated him so much than she did now. How could he make it sound so easy when he was going to leave? “I already have enough spite to last for the rest of my life.”

Nikolai laughed back. “That’s good to hear.”

Another short silence filled the air, and Zoya looked him over. If it was the last time she would see him, she wanted to bask in the warmth radiating in his eyes and remember all the quirks he had, as if she hadn’t memorized everything about him before.

She lifted her hand slightly, and Nikolai went to hold it back in his. He turned his attention to her forearm, tracing the dark lines of the tattooed dragon on her skin. It felt like he was doing the same, memorizing a distinct feature of her that he would carry with him.

“I’ve always thought this one’s cooler than my wolf one,” he said softly, running his fingers on her skin. “You always get cooler ones than me.”

“Where would you go?” Zoya asked instead.

Nikolai stopped his ministrations, his fingers coming back to lace with hers. “It would be better if no one knew,” he replied solemnly. “Besides, I wouldn’t stay in one place for long.”

Zoya took a deep breath. This was their reality, and she should know better than lament over it. She wasn’t the type to let emotions take over her. But for Nikolai Lantsov, she would always be willing to make an exception.

“Maybe I can mail something from time to time,” he said. “Postcards and pictures, how do you feel about that?”

“Are you trying to make me feel better?”

Her Consigliere chuckled lightly. “No, I am entirely serious.” He shrugged. “Mail is the safest thing to get something across without the risk of being traced.”

Zoya shook her head with a light laugh. I’d take anything. “Whatever you say, corn salad,” she said, and Nikolai laughed. A wave of dizziness suddenly washed over through her. The medicine must be taking its effects now. No, not yet. A few more minutes. “When do you leave?”

A beat, and then Nikolai said, “Soon.” An amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You don’t have to be so excited.”

“Idiot,” she mumbled. There was a twinge in her chest with the nickname she had of him, knowing that it would be the last time she could tell it to him in person.

Nikolai tightened his hold on her hand, and she felt it trembling again. His eyes were bright with tears when he said, “I’ll miss that nickname.” I’ll miss you, was what never said aloud, but Zoya heard it all the same.

I’ll miss you too. Zoya gave him a small smile. “Just look at the engraving in your lighter, it will remind you.” Another wave of dizziness hit her, and she found her eyes drooping slightly.

Zoya heard him laugh softly, making her blink to shake the drowsiness away. Nikolai reached up to brush at the hair on her forehead again.

“Go get some more rest,” he said. His hand came down to her cheek, and he gently caressed her skin with his thumb. “Don’t fight it, I know you’re still tired.”

"I'm not tired," she grumbled back.

"Whatever you say, dear."

Her eyes were starting to feel too heavy for her to stay awake, but she still fought the drowsiness from taking over so she could still see him for a little more time.

"Go rest," he said again.

Zoya squeezed his hand. She was never the first one to ask. To their world, everything was a trade—you give and take. A request meant a desperate wish, and you should always be willing to pay the price.

But she had already paid for it, and it was only fair if she wished for one final request. Be it a selfish, impossible kind.

"Stay?" she asked. Even just for a moment longer. "You've always made a good bodyguard."

Nikolai smiled softly. I can't, was what his eyes said, and yet, aloud, he still said, "Of course." He tucked the blankets higher to her shoulders, his movements gentle and careful. "Now go back to sleep. I'll be here."

They both knew it was a lie.

Zoya closed her eyes, knowing she couldn't bear seeing him leave, and she'd rather have him do it while she was asleep.

Then he started humming. His shitty, off-tune humming. Her shoulders shook as her body racked with silent sobs, her eyebrows drawn tight together to keep her tears from falling. But they still did, anyway.

She felt him press his lips to her knuckles, and small droplets fall against her skin. She didn't even have to open her eyes to know that it was his tears.

"Good night, Nikolai," Zoya whispered in a shaky tone. Farewell. Be safe.

A short, heavy silence, and she heard him draw a ragged breath. "Good night, Zoya." Goodbye, Zoya.

His voice and the feel of his hand tight in hers were the last things she knew before sleep took over her.

And when Zoya finally slept, she dreamed that she would never have to let him go.

***

News about the death of the Brum Don because of the fire that caught his compound was heard early on the next morning. Television news, radio, newspapers, and even the social media boomed with the word, and it spread like wildfire.

It went even bigger when the Lantsov Consigliere was also reported to have died along the fire, with all the current evidence proving that the fire had been intentional. But none of them pointed to Nikolai. The investigation was still open, and it will probably go on for quite a while. The only thing that lightened the burden on Zoya’s chest was knowing that he was alive. He had known how things would go beforehand, and made sure that none of them ended up implicating the Lantsovs.

Always the well-prepared one.

The chair where Nikolai had sat last night was empty, as if he wasn’t there at all. The only traces left of him was the lingering scent of his perfume and the dip on her bedside where he had laid his arms on as he watched her with all the warmth in his eyes, the same warmth he took with him when he left.

Zoya felt her eyes sting with unwanted tears again as she looked out the window, but this time she didn’t try to keep them from falling. She smiled ruefully, a bittersweet feeling left in her heart. It was probably bad fate that had them cross paths, and it was also what separated them. But either way, it was still what had brought them together. She was thankful for that somehow, even if they only had limited time.

But then it struck her, that it didn’t always have to be fate that should handle things. She was the Lantsov Underboss, the one who drove the saintsforsaken Family out of the mud with the Consigliere. If there was something they were good at, it was handling things their own way and bending the odds to their will.

A near death experience had her questioning herself if she had done enough. She didn’t know the answer by then, but she did now.

I am not done yet.

She wouldn’t give up on Nikolai that easily. Even if it took her years to do it. She would bring him back.

Because she knew he would do the same for her.

I’ll see you again, Nikolai, she vowed. And it wouldn’t be the last.

Zoya would make sure of it.

***

A/N: if you’ve reached this far, please know i appreciate you ;-;

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sweetestlamb · 3 years

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Sweet Like Honey

A Haniri story

The repetitive pangs of Moonlight Sonata cascade from the grand piano as her fingers dance across smooth black and white keys, dadadadadada she hardly thinks about where to place her fingers because the song is so deeply ingrained in her memory. It was her mother's dream to be a pianist but then she'd come along kicking and screaming and that dream evaporated just like her father who was just a boy himself, both at the tender age of seventeen. He'd gone across town for work and just never returned, her mother never spoke about him but her sobs were more than audible at nights.

So she started playing the piano to drown out the sorrowful sound and eventually just to see that hopeful smile that would glide across her mother's tired face whenever she played. She was good, better than her mother had ever been. And when her mother would ask her if she wanted to be a pianist she would shake her little head in agreement, even though the book on coding she hid under her pillow pressed into her shoulder when she slept at night.

Vincenzo's sharp alpha scent knocks her from her reminiscing, the mafia member flooding her nostrils with his overbearing smoky scent it made her sniffle and wipe futilely at her nose. She could pick up Cha-young pungent vanilla scent cutting through the fire and smoke and creating an aroma that was perfectly them. She'd never met a double alpha pair before them, there were no regulations but most alphas couldn't stand the scent of another, and especially not enough to date. But the two seemed to gravitate towards each other on a level that defied logic. She'd caught them scenting each other several times so it was evident that contrary to science they enjoyed the other's smell enough to drench themselves in it. It was difficult sometimes for her to deal with but she had gotten used to their unusual mingling scent.

But then her nose twitches again. There's something else. Sniffing the air she stands up almost in a trance because there's another underlying scent that she's never smelled before.

Honey and oatmeal and something saccharine sweet that she can't explain, can't put into words but it's the most deliciously invigorating scent she has ever had the pleasure of inhaling in her life.

Walking quickly she tugs open the sliding door of her piano academy, urgently needing to know where that intoxicating scent is coming from and as the door slams open she comes face to face with him, the ex- fake Babel CEO turned Jipuragi understudy and the one that Cassano-nim has taken to calling "hyung". It isn't the first time she has noticed him, since the death of his brother he'd practically moved in. He was pretty, distractingly so with long curling lashes that covered huge siren eyes and those plush pink lips. She'd avoided him for that very reason. She didn't need any complications and that's all relationships were.

But something was different today, he had never smelled like that before. She would have noticed and probably jumped him or at least propositioned him. Begged him to left her do anything he wanted.

She looks over at Vincenzo, confused by her own thoughts and Han Seo's new scent but he gives her a sharp piercing look that does nothing to answer her question.

"Were you the one playing the piano? That was moonlight sonata right? That was one of my mom's favorite songs." The sweet smelling man speaks either truly oblivious or ignoring the tension between the two alphas as they stare each other down. For some reason Vincenzo standing so close to the wide eyed man makes her skin tighten, her alpha brain growling threateningly. She has to suppress a deep groan, barely containing the sound of warning. Reprimanding herself she takes a deep breath, she doesn't want to challenge Vincenzo despite what her body thinks.

"Are you okay?" Why are you both so quiet?" Han Seo tries again pouting now as both alphas ignore him.

"I'm fine." She chokes out faltering in the face of his displeasure, she desperately wants to replace that frown on his face so much it's making her head spin.

"You don't look okay. Do you have a fever? You're pretty red."

And the man must not know correct etiquette or how to interact with alphas because he reaches out a hand to palm her forehead, unconsciously offering his wrist and she can't help but scent him drawing in a nose full of that enticing aroma but at the first touch of his hand on her skin a current of lighting courses through her blood stream.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

It punches the air from her lung. The longing is so immediate and visceral, she lunges for him needing to be closer, to hold him and taste him; makes him submit to her. But then another scent snuffs her in the jaw.

Fear. Bubbling rotting fear.

When her vision she sees his face scrunched up in terror, his hand drawn back against his side as he backs away from her.

But how could that be? He should have felt it too. I'm his mate, why is he scared of me?

She stares at him trying to make sense of everything that is happening. How could she have been the only one to feel that electricity? It was so powerful she was still feeling it.

"Miri-ah. I think you should go back inside. I don't want to hurt you." Vincenzo steps in front of her mate and her hackles raise instantly, the urge to fight overwhelming her and she takes a step forward in clear challenge. Vincenzo is strong, a true alpha but she has no doubt that she can take him in this moment. Her mating rage giving her newfound energy and boundless strength, she would do anything to protect her mate. Anything.

She bares her teeth viciously but then a soft whimper assaults her ears and it drains all the fight out of her body.

He's scared. She's scaring her mate.

Taking a deep calming breath she shakes off the fog, finally regaining control. Without a word she backs into her piano studio, proverbial tail between her legs. Staring at Han Seo the entire way unable to look away from his beseeching gaze, his quivering glossy eyes are watching her too. It takes very ounce of her control not to attack Vincenzo as he casually places a hand on the man's shoulder to steer him away, too far from her.

She watches them disappear down the long hallway moving to follow her mate. It's obvious from his gesticulating arms that he's asking the other alpha animated questions but she can't hear them.

Just as they reach the law firm, Han Seo suddenly stops and looks back at her over his shoulder. His eyes are searching and perplexed. She would hack whoever was necessary to help him find the answer to any question he ever had. Despite their circumstances not even a minute ago he unexpectedly smiles at her, a small confused thing before he disappears behind the doors.

What the hell was going on?

#vincenzo #han seo #miri #haniri couple #no clue if they have a ship name #this is another accountability check #story is coming late June but I'm so excited I wrote a drabble #alpha omega beta stuff #get ready for the family feels too #vincenzo kdrama

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literaryfic · 3 years

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Chapters: 2/? Fandom: 빈센조 | Vincenzo (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong/Hong Cha Young Characters: Hong Cha Young, Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, vincenzo leaves, set five years after he left sk, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending 

Summary: “She’d buried him next to the false hopes and broken promises he’d given her, growing her resentment and longing in the same garden as his missing corpse, taunting reminder of her failure to make him stay. Occasionally, she would revisit his empty tomb and greet his ghost, tormenting him with the same question over and over again; why?”

Chapter two is out! Read on ao3 or under the cut.

“Have you been well, Cha-young?”, the same deep voice she’d missed asks. The ghost that’s been haunting her came back in the flesh.

He hasn’t aged at all, his youthful face still handsome as ever. He’s not smiling per se, but she can tell he’s happy to see her. She gets up and walks away. This couldn’t possibly be happening.

He catches up to her after a few seconds.

“Cha-young-ah. Hong Cha-young. Talk to me.”, he urges her. Suddenly, she can’t control her anger anymore.

“Talk to you?”, she faces him. “You made it extremely clear five years ago that we had nothing to say to each other.”, she screams. His face is unreadable, years apart have made him a stranger. “And now what? You want me to talk to you? You disappeared on me out of nowhere and never looked back so don’t you dare ask anything of me, got it?”

Panting, the anger she thought gone felt just as hot as the day he left her.

“Fuck!”. She’s not done yet. How could he come back like nothing ever happened? He had given her shelter, just to make her homeless. He had made her believe in love and happy endings, built her a castle and set it on fire. She hated him, his stupid hair and his stupid face. “Why are you doing this to me now? I don’t get it. Why now?” She starts crying out of anger, out of frustration, out of exhaustion.

For years now Cha-young had spent all her energy trying to forget Vincenzo and what they could have been. She had fooled herself into thinking she was over him but even after all this time, even when she was this angry at him, all she wanted to do was to touch him. She felt like she’d been cursed by the Gods, condemned to have him in her sight, yet forever out of reach.

She’s shaking now, sobbing. Vincenzo slowly approaches her, his eyes full of anguish.

“Can I please hold you?”, he almost begs as a single tear runs down his cheek. She doesn’t remember a time where he’d sounded this desperate, and she nods, almost against her will.

He wraps his arms around her, her head falls on his chest. She takes a deep breath, filling her nose and lungs with his scent, the one she hasn’t been able to forget. Somehow, she’s crying even harder now and he starts stroking her hair. “I’m sorry,”, he whispers. “I’ve missed you so much.”

She can’t quite convince herself yet that this is not a dream, so she holds him tight, afraid that the ocean will swallow him and turn him into foam.

They stay in each other’s embrace for a while. It could be minutes or hours, Cha-young doesn’t really know. It seems that tonight, on this beach, her grasp on her reality is loosening. Dreams and ghosts come to her in waves, and she can’t help but wonder when the tide will recede.

In the beginning, she dreamt that he would stay with her. Cha-young thought herself strong enough to anchor Vincenzo, yet he had fled and renounced her. Then, she had dreamed of his return, punished to share the fate of a seamen’s wife awaiting her husband’s homecoming.

He had chosen to leave and, until now, had never bothered to come back, and so after a while she had declared him lost at sea. She’d buried him next to the false hopes and broken promises he’d given her, growing her resentment and longing in the same garden as his missing corpse, taunting reminder of her failure to make him stay. Occasionally, she would revisit his empty tomb and greet his ghost, tormenting him with the same question over and over again; why? The ghost stayed mum, mere fragment of a person who had once been alive.

Yet, here he was, the one she had lost at sea, standing in front her. There was no doubt that it was him, alive and well. She felt herself regain control over her emotions and stepped out of his arms.

“You owe me an explanation”, she demands, looking him in the eyes. He nods slowly, his face serious. He is about to speak when she cuts him off, “Not here.” Here, where dreams become reality and prayers were heard. “Take me to your room”.

And so he does. They walk back to the hotel in complete silence, the sea breeze clearing up her foggy mind. They go up to the very last floor and Cha-young almost laughs. Their rooms are exactly a floor apart.

When they get inside, Vincenzo invites her to sit on the couch while he settles for a nearby armchair. The suite is as big as an apartment and the view of the ocean is stunning. It suddenly dawns on Cha-young that he’d probably been living in luxury for the past 5 years, and why wouldn’t he when he was that rich, but the thought annoys her. As petty as it sounds, she had wanted him to be miserable, just as she had been.

“Why?”

The question that had been haunting her hangs in the air for a while, and at one point she thinks he might leave it unanswered.

“That time I ended up staying, I’d managed to take care of the situation in Italy, but it was temporary solution. I needed to come back to save our family from being killed off.” He explained, choosing each word carefully. She could tell he was nervous, his eyes scanning her face, looking for cues.

“That explains why you had to leave, but that’s not what I was asking, Joo-hyung-ah.”

He looks like she’d just slapped him across the face, and she might as well have. She had never called his Korean name in such a harsh tone before. No, this name had been reserved for their most intimate moments, when she made love to him and played with his hair afterwards, as he fell asleep in her arms, when he told her about the few memories he had with his mother, or described his life in Italy with his adoptive parents. It was the first she had used his name as a weapon, and he looked devastated. Good.

He takes a shaky breath and bites his lip, trying to hold back his tears. In that moment, he looks as old as the world and as weak as a child. Although it pains her to look at him like this, she shows no compassion. This man had destroyed her and she would hold him accountable.

“I left without telling you because I didn’t trust myself to go through with it.”, he finally manages to say after a while. “I had to leave but I just couldn’t bring myself to let you go.”

“You’re a coward, Mr. Cassano.”, she spits out his name, hoping the formality of it would hurt him too.

“I know.”

“Why did you have to leave me? I get that you needed to go back, but why did you have to leave me too?” Cha-young tries to stay as calm as possible, but it proves difficult when she keeps blurting out her most vulnerable thoughts. She feels defenceless against him, but it is the only way she’ll get the answers she needs.

“Turns out the situation was even worse than what Luca had told me, and I wasn’t sure any of us would get out of it alive. You didn’t deserve to have to wait for me indefinitely.”

“So dropping me out of the blue was the best solution you came up with? That’s the only thing the great Vincenzo Cassano, one of the best masterminds in the game, could think of?” Her words are met by silence. “Guess what, genius? I still waited years for you. How was I supposed to get closure when you just disappeared? Wouldn’t you, out of all people, know what it feels like to be abandoned?”

It was a low blow, she had to admit, but she was past that. She needed to bring him to his knees, she needed to shatter him, she needed to break his heart.

“The truth is, I thought—I thought I was freeing you. From me, from my sins.” He’s not looking at her anymore, head hanging down, tears falling onto the ground. She compels her heart to look away, just this once, to not care for him.

“And who do you think you are? Do I not get to decide for myself?”, she’s almost screaming again. Everything that was coming out of his mouth sounded ridiculous to her.

Of course, she had imagined this confrontation countless of times, coming up with all the possible reasons he would use to justify what he did, but none of them mattered. None of them were enough to appease her, to undo what had been done. Nothing would ever repair what he’d broken and they’d never be the same again.

“I have no excuse, tesoro.” She hears the plea in his voice.

“Don’t call me that.” He looks at her, visibly in pain.

It was bizarre, seeing him like that, so hesitant, so vulnerable, so scared.

She realises it at once; she’s witnessing his fear for the first time. She hadn’t been able to spot it at first but there it was. He’d allowed her to see his anger, his sadness, his unfiltered joy but he’d never been afraid in front of her. Vincenzo was scared to mess this up, scared to loose her again. She had to hold back a smile.

“Did you follow me here? Don’t lie to me.” She demands, reinvigorated by her newly found confidence.

“I’d never lie to you.” She rolls her eyes at that. “I landed in Seoul two days ago, but Mr. Nam told me you’d be spending the next few weeks here, so I hopped on the first flight I found. Meeting you here, tonight, was an accident. I didn’t know which hotel you were staying in.” He looks to his right, suitcase opened on the floor, near the bedroom’s entrance.

“Why are you here, Vincenzo?”, she’s trying not to let her emotions seep through her words, to remain distant. But he knows her well, and she can tell by the way his eyes suddenly look at hers that he hears it, the part of her that wants him to answer “For you, I’m here for you.”.

“To repent. I’m here to repent, Cha-young-ah.”. His words carry the same certainty they once did, his tone the one of a fearless man. Her heart threatens to leap out of her chest.

“Do I look like a fucking church to you?”, she forces out a laugh she hopes sounds bitter. Not letting him time to reply, she gets up from the couch, feeling dizzy. “Right, I’ve heard enough. Goodbye.”

She can’t tell if he calls her name or goes after her but she’s out the door before she knows it. She runs down the stairs, gets into her room and heads straight in the shower. The water’s freezing cold, but she finds comfort in not being able to feel the tears streaming down her face.

She tucks herself into bed, confused about whether she’d rather wake up from this nightmare or continue to live this dream.

#vincenzo #chayenzo #vincenzo fic #my fic #chayenzo fic

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mostlyfate · 2 years

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Hiii! I love your blog! I'm still pretty new to kdramas but so far I've watched Weightlifting Fairy Kim Bok-joo, What's Wrong with Secretary Kim, The King: Eternal Monarch, Descendants of The Sun and currently finishing up, Vincenzo (which I love so much!). I was wondering if you had any kdrama recs? I'm really into romcom ones but I'm willing to branch out a bit.

Hi hi! Ahh thank you!! ✨I definitely would have recommended Weightlifting Fairy and What's Wrong with Secretary Kim if you hadn't already watched! I'm bad at keeping track of dramas I've watched (finished or dropped) and I've realized I don't really have many romcom recs lol. I think I lean more towards fantasy/thriller/crime genres, surprisingly. Sure I probably watched many romcoms (especially when I first started watching kdramas) but for the life of me can’t remember most of them or just wouldn’t recommend them now 😅BUT- I will give some recs that I can think of at the moment that are the closes to it. + You can check out this ask about my favorite dramas and my dramalist I haven’t updated in a long time 🥲

— One the Woman (2021) | episodes: 16, duration: 1hr. 10 min. genres: comedy, mystery, romance. The romance isn’t the main plot here but it’s such a funny and enjoyable drama that I had to rec anyway!

— Run On (2020) | episodes: 16, duration: 1 hr. 15 min. genres: life, romance, sports. I mean there isn’t a comedy tag??? but run on was a comedy with chaotic energy.

— Angel's Last Mission: Love (2019) | episodes: 32, duration: 35 min. genres: comedy, fantasy, romance. Kim Dan an angel trying to return to heaven but then falls in love??? yes. Loved the leads.

— Touch Your Heart (2019) | episodes: 16, duration: 1hr. 10 min. genres: comedy, law, romance. ✨Lee Dong Wook and Yoo In Na ✨I mean nothing new with this kind of plot which I don’t mind at all and theeey.

— Strong Woman Do Bong Soon (2017) | episodes: 16, duration: 1 hr. 07 min. genres: comedy, romance, supernatural, thriller. Debated on recommending this one because of the SML (specifically bc the actor) but I really loved the two mains and the drama itself. 🙃

— I'm Not a Robot (2017) | episodes: 32, duration: 35 min. genres: comedy, romance, sc-fi. Honestly bc chae soo bin <33 but! both leads were cute and it was enjoyable!!

— Guardian: The Lonely and Great God (2016) | episodes: 16, duration: 1 hr. 22 min. genres: comedy, fantasy, melodrama, romance, supernatural. (no context but them!)

— Splash Splash Love (2015) | episodes: 02, duration: 1 hr. 10 min. genres: comedy, historical, romance, supernatural. Fun, charming, and short drama special! (that i still wish we got more of!)

#ask #anonymous #kdrama #i feel bad for those who ask me for recs bc i am literally the worst with them sorry 😭#honestly idk what i even watched this year???#not much kdramas???#my memory of dramas are getting worse T-T

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buoyantsaturn · 3 years

Text

So Come On, Talk it Out (your voice brought me back from the dead) (1/1)

summary: A relaxing date between Nico and Will the spring before Tower of Nero.

word count: 2616

read on ao3

The air was finally warming up late that spring. The snow had all melted a few weeks back, but it had still been too cold to stay outside for more than an hour or two. It definitely hadn’t been warm enough for a pseudo-picnic under the shade of a tree, but now it finally was. And it would probably be their only chance to do so before summer rolled in and brought a hundred kids back to camp.

Nico had kicked off his shoes and socks before laying his head down in Will’s lap as the son of Apollo sat upright against the trunk of the tree. Nico planted his feet firmly in the grass, and Will cringed at the sight.

“You’re just going to stick your feet in the grass like that?” he asked.

Nico shrugged as best he could in his current position. “Yeah, so what? It makes me feel more...grounded, more connected to everything.”

Will snorted. “Yeah, connected to feeling like you’ve got bugs crawling over your feet.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

Will poked him in the forehead. “You don’t make sense.” Nico snatched Will’s hand away and brought it toward his mouth, biting down gently on the side of Will’s hand before Will could rip it away. “Hey! I thought we agreed on a nice, relaxing date! Relaxing does not include biting.”

Nico reached up and squished the tip of Will’s nose down with a single finger. “No, you agreed on a relaxing date. I already took you on one last week.”

Will scoffed, and swatted at Nico’s hand. “Almost dropping me in a vat of Cheez Whiz in Venezuela is not relaxing! And I ran out of KitKats, so you couldn’t even get your energy up enough to bring us back here!”

A smile started to creep its way onto Nico’s face, and he started to brush his fingers across Will’s cheek. “I still can’t believe you committed a crime for me.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” Will demanded, waving his arms frantically. “They wouldn’t accept my drachmas and didn’t speak English, and you--! You couldn’t even open your eyes long enough to see where we were! What was I supposed to do, not steal a few KitKats?”

Nico’s smile was full blown as he gazed up at Will with hearts in his eyes. “So you agree: best date ever, and I win.”

Will started to laugh - a little bit in shock that Nico would even think that, but also finding it hard not to crack up at the absurdity of their conversation. What other fifteen year old had ever stolen KitKats from some shop in Venezuela to restore his significant other’s magic powers so that they could teleport back home? He almost sounded crazy!

“No,” Will told him, still laughing. “Not the best date ever! And definitely not relaxing! I wanted to, like, sit together like this, and maybe share some snacks and play twenty questions. Not run from cops in Venezuela.”

Nico’s nose scrunched up - something Will had recently learned his did when he was confused - and Will wanted to kiss the wrinkles away. “Why would we play twenty questions?”

“To get to know each other. Duh.”

Nico tipped his head back and met Will’s eyes, frowning slightly. “Do we...not already know each other?”

“Well, we do,” Will replied, his head tipping to the side, “but not everything. I don’t even know your middle name.”

“Yeah, so? I don’t know yours either.”

Will grinned. “And that’s why we play! Tell me your middle name.”

Nico rolled his eyes, but answered, “Vincenzo.”

Will hummed. “Nico Vincenzo di Angelo… I know you’re Italian, Death Boy, but that’s a lot of o’s.”

Nico pursed his lips and turned his head away, gazing out toward the lake. After a moment, he said, “Actually it’s… Niccolo Vincenzo di Angelo.”

“Your name is Niccolo? That’s so cute!” Will repeated the name to himself a few times in his head, and then gasped. “Like piccolo! Oh my gods, Nico, can I call you piccolo?”

Nico leveled him with a glare so strong that it could’ve made flowers wilt on the spot, but Will didn’t so much as flinch. “Absolutely not.”

Will lifted a hand and started to brush his fingers through Nico’s hair. He leaned into the touch, despite how angry he was pretending to be. “Okay, so only in private, then.”

“No! Never!”

Will simply continued to smile down at him, carding his fingers through Nico’s hair and gently releasing tangles in the curls. He wondered if Nico’s hair would curl up even more if it was shorter, but they’d both gotten fond of the length. “It’s your turn to ask,” Will reminded him softly after a few short moments of silence.

Nico crossed his arms with a huff, and looked away again - though only with his eyes this time, as though not to dislodge Will’s hand from his head. “Same question.”

Will hesitated. “Can you call me piccolo?”

At least Will’s brief moment of stupidity brought a smile back to Nico’s face. “No, your middle name.”

“Oh! It’s Andrew. William Andrew Solace.”

Nico repeated the name, whispering it to himself, and Will felt his heart skip a beat at the sound. Then, Nico’s hand searched out Will’s - the one that wasn’t twirling curls around his fingers - and laced their fingers together. He met Will’s eyes as he said, “William Andrew Solace, I want you to know that if you ever betray me, I will use your full name to embarrass you as payback.”

Will’s smile only brightened. “Why would I ever betray you?”

Nico shrugged again. “You might not even realize it when it happens. I’m not talking about any big stakes. I mean, like… Like if Sherman’s on the lava course, and you don’t tell me so I can avenge my loss against him. That’s a betrayal.”

“You really are kind of a sore loser, huh.”

“I am not!”

Will nodded. “Uh huh. Okay, Piccolo.”

Nico ripped his hand out of Will’s and used it to smack at his arm. “Shut up!”

With his hand now free, Will was able to reach into the backpack he’d brought with him, and pulled out a clementine. He took away his other hand, causing Nico to sigh in disappointment, though Will didn’t tease him for it. If the sudden blush on his face was anything to go by, then Nico hadn’t intended to make a sound at all. Will laid one arm across Nico’s chest, the other held over Nico’s head as he reached around him to peel the clementine.

“Where was the first place you shadow traveled to?” Will asked.

Nico paused to think, one of his hands coming up almost subconsciously to curl his fingers around Will’s arm. “Uh, China, I think? I don’t really remember. I kinda...jumped, and then immediately passed out. I think Minos said I was out for, like, three days, and then I just jumped back.”

“You went all the way to China? And you didn’t bring any KitKats?”

Nico pinched his arm. “We just learned about the KitKat thing a month ago, Will. Whatever. Um, did you have any pets before you came to camp?”

Will grinned at the change of subject. “I did! I had a golden retriever, and her name was Sandy.” He dropped the clementine peel into the grass and broke the fruit into pieces. He took one small piece and held it out for Nico.

“No thanks,” Nico told him.

“You haven’t eaten since yesterday,” Will reminded him.

“I went without eating for a week when I was in that jar.”

“Yeah, and I wish you would stop reminding me of that, because it just makes me want to feed you even more. So, open up!”

Nico rolled his eyes, but allowed his mouth to drop open so that Will could feed him the slice of clementine. Nico’s face scrunched up as he chewed. “It’s kinda sour.”

Will ate his own slice, and shrugged. “Not really. You just haven’t eaten a fruit in over a year and forgot what it’s supposed to taste like.”

“Uh, pomegranates are fruit, and I--”

“Ate those in the jar, I know,” Will cut in, “but you were in a trance and probably didn’t even taste them, so that doesn’t count.”

Nico huffed. “Whatever.” Still, he opened his mouth when Will placed another slice of clementine at his lips.

“Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?” Will asked.

Nico shook his head, gently rolling it back and forth over Will’s thigh. “Nah, I’ve been stabbed with a knife before and that wasn’t great, so I don’t think I need to get stabbed with a thousand tiny needles. Why, have you?”

Will frowned. “Okay, we’re going to circle back to that later, but yes, I have.”

“What were you thinking of getting?”

Will moved the few remaining clementine pieces into one hand, and placed the other on Nico’s chest. He drew a circle with his finger directly over Nico’s heart and said, “Right here, I want to get a sun.”

“Why’s that? Are you afraid people won’t think you’re sunshiney enough because of the...everything about you?”

Will flicked him in the chest, right in the center of the circle he’d drawn. He smiled as he lifted his gaze out toward the lake - he was worried about something, Nico could tell that much just by looking at him.

“I’ve been thinking about my dad a lot recently,” Will started, his voice hushed as though he was sharing a secret. “I haven’t heard from him in so long and I’m...worried about what’s going to happen if he doesn’t make it. I’m worried about the state of the world, first and foremost, don’t get me wrong, but… What about me? Do I lose everything? Will I still be able to heal? Or use any of my other powers?”

He dropped his gaze again, eyes focused on the spot on Nico’s chest where his fingers had started to circle again. “So I want that tattoo as, like, a way to remember him, and a way to remember that part of myself, just in case things don’t go as planned.”

Nico covered Will’s hand with his own, and brought it up to his lips so that he could press a kiss to his knuckles. “Whatever happens, you’ll always be my sunshine.”

Will smiled at him sweetly and said, “Who are you, and what have you done with my significant annoyance?”

Nico huffed and threw Will’s hand away. “Way to ruin the moment.”

“Just ask me another question, would you?” Will asked, and popped another piece of clementine into his mouth. There was just one left - he’d give it to Nico.

“It’s not my turn,” Nico told him.

“Oh, yeah.” Will fed him the clementine and tipped his head back against the tree as he thought. “What’s your favorite movie?”

“I dunno, I don’t watch a lot of movies,” Nico replied. “I don’t really have the attention span for that, so I haven’t seen...any?”

Will’s jaw dropped. “You haven’t seen Star Wars?”

Nico hesitated. “Uh, no? I think Percy said I didn’t need to see it anyway, because there’s apparently some other Star-something movies that are better.”

“Star Trek?” Will shrieked. “Absolutely not! The Apollo cabin is a Star Wars family, and I will not stand for this kind of slander. For our next date, we’re watching the original trilogy.”

“Woah, hang on a second!” Nico held up his thumb between them. “First of all, I get to pick our next date.” He raised his index finger. “Second, I just said I can’t even sit through one movie, and you want me to watch three? I don’t think so.” He added his middle finger. “And third-- Uh, no actually, I don’t think I have a third point.”

“Okay, then two dates from now, we’ll watch Episode Four, and then another two dates later, we’ll watch Episode Five--”

“Why wouldn’t we start with the first episode?” Nico asked. “Wait, and I thought these were movies. Actually, no, never mind. Whatever, as long as it makes you happy.”

Will smiled. “It will.”

“So, I assume that’s your favorite movie.”

Will hummed an affirmative. He started to stroke Nico’s hair once again, and Nico’s eyes slipped shut at the feeling. “You gotta ask me another question,” Will whispered.

Nico cracked one eye open. “I just did.”

“That wasn’t a question, it was an assumption. And besides, I can’t think of another one, so you go.”

Nico rolled his eyes. “Oh, like I can? This game was your idea, Solace.” He let his eyes fall shut again, though there was a tiny wrinkle between his brows that let Will know he was trying to think. “What other powers do you have?”

Will tapped his fingers against Nico’s skull a few times, and then resumed playing with his hair. “Well, you know about the healing, and my sonic whistle. And, uh, I don’t know if this is a power, really, but I’m good at calming people down. And I can, um.” He cleared his throat, and Nico opened his eyes to see that Will was looking everywhere and anywhere that wasn’t at Nico. “Glow. So what other powers do you have?”

Nico sat up instantly. “Hang on, did you just say you can glow?” He turned to face Will, clutching his hands in his own and demanding, “Show me!”

Will’s cheeks were turning pink, and he still wouldn’t meet Nico’s eyes. “It’s-- I can’t, it’s too bright out here, so you wouldn’t be able to see it anyway, and… I dunno, it’s embarrassing.”

“No way, it’s not embarrassing, it’s cool. Just show me!”

Will sighed, and his eyes flickered up to meet Nico’s for just a second before he looked away again. “Fine, but only for a second. Can you try to make it a bit darker? It’ll show up better that way.”

Nico released Will’s hands and dropped his own to the ground. The shadow of the tree they sat under stretched and darkened, and the air around them grew cold enough that Nico wished he had a jacket. Will started to take off his flannel shirt, and Nico was half-tempted to reach out for it and put it on himself when he saw Will hold out his arms and close his eyes. A moment later, his skin turned from bronze to gold, each of his freckles acting as little flashlights to let the light escape from beneath Will’s skin.

Nico grinned. “That’s so cool!”

Will let the glow fade, and he pulled his flannel back on as Nico released his hold on the shadow. “It’s really nothing special,” Will muttered.

“Yes it is!” Nico insisted, waving his arms around for emphasis. “I have my own personal glow-in-the-dark boyfriend!”

Will’s head snapped up, his eyes locking on Nico’s as his jaw dropped open again. “Did you… Did you just say boyfriend?”

Nico’s cheeks had developed a bit of their own blush, but he refused to look away. “I… Yeah, I did. Is that okay?”

Will beamed, reaching out for one of Nico’s hands to lace their fingers together. “That’s so okay. That’s more than okay! Does that mean I can start calling you my boyfriend now, too?”

Nico let a smile creep onto his lips. “Nah, you’re my boyfriend, but I’m still your significant annoyance.”

Will rolled his eyes, but nothing would be able to take that smile off his face. He tugged on Nico’s hand to pull him close and press a kiss to his cheek. “You got that right.”

thanks for reading!!

buy me a coffee | come talk to me if you need a distraction!

#solangelo #will solace #nico di angelo #mine #my writing #ton spoilers

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sunsoothed · 3 years

Text

perception

Vincenzo loves.

bi vinny! | rated t | 1.5k words | pre-canon, canon-divergence | internalised homophobia, self-discovery

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enjoy!

It is when he is nine that he has the stirring, growing suspicion of something different. An ad on TV, and the commercial break cuts, and there is a man with another man. And they stand together, but Vincenzo’s mind registers together, and he thinks the shriveled, suppressed excitement within him is indicative of something too similar to pride.

And then Papa changes the channel, a click to his tongue, and Mama keeps her gaze carefully away, and Vincenzo recognises that this is something he’s too young to understand.

Too young to understand. Thirteen and walking home, when the seniors from school have a new curse to hurl at him. So this is what Papa wanted to say.

Bitterly, at the back of his mind, he indulges himself. Eomma would never say that.

Vincenzo never does find out, for an hour later broken glass will make it to his list of allergies, and a strong, clasping hand will settle on his shoulder; he will forget until Fabio makes him sweat buckets, and bleed buckets, and sentences him to a communal shower.

Vincenzo knows his early rising will be seen as dedication. It is only to hide his shame.

Aurelio is from the Abruzzese Familia that Fabio has been trying to establish reluctant ties with. Aurelio singles him out with a look too knowing. One brush of his arm over Vincenzo’s arm, one answering shiver, one grin thrown over a callous shoulder.

A bad seed has sowed in his near-perfect sustenance. Hunched over the sink in the washroom, water dripping down his face, Vincenzo takes in his acne-marred skin, shudders, and pulls out a paper-towel. Why must all these events line up? Eomma’s abandonment is enough to stir a caucus of self-deprecation within him. He doesn’t need to be seen any more than he is already. And now he has to go face a caucus outside of him, of the children he already feels so distant from.

Did Fabio really have to transfer him here at the dawn of fucking high school?

It is fumbling hands and breaths too short. That is how he would describe it. Their shirts are unbuttoned. There is no air in their lungs. Vincenzo grasps for breath, finds it in holding onto Aurelio’s upper arm, who, much like him, is disarmed of light.

They hadn’t gone far.

Vincenzo sits up, some energy in him, puts his back against the wall. He stares at his open shirt.

“Are you okay?”

He blinks. Aurelio’s already buttoning up, wiping the corners of his mouth. “Vincenzo.”

“I’m okay,” Vincenzo says. There is a fogging christening his senses. “I’m fine.”

Aurelio seems somewhat suspicious, but he’s not one to be caught up in other people’s affairs. He stands, gives his companion a cursory once-over.

“I’m…” he gestures to the door, one thumb protruding out, and Vincenzo can tell he’s itching to uncover the packet of cigarettes from his pocket.

“Go ahead,” Vincenzo tells him. “I’ll see you in a minute.”

Aurelio leaves wordlessly. Vincenzo, watching the door scream shut in increments, waits for the silence to clear the fog. Light remains absent.

He plucks at his lowermost button, runs his nails over the ridges formed by thread, and slowly begins to button his shirt. Halfway up, he holds something heavy in his throat. By the time he reaches his collar, his eyes are red with strain.

An air of smoke will hang around him for the rest of the evening. Vincenzo will purchase a lighter. He won’t smoke until he remembers this fateful party again, until he remembers Aurelio’s grip again.

It will be years later that Vincenzo finds, out of primal desire, a craving for something dangerous. Him and Luca have an arrangement. It is nothing more than convenience sampling and convenience persevering, but once he will sit up in bed and think, lover, and once he will bake in smoke until his head rings fuzzy and thoughts come and go without intervention.

Luca, of course, notices. They don’t talk about it. They don’t sleep together about it, either. But they don’t cook together that day forward, and Vincenzo bids his leave before the sky can turn the indelible shade of dark it sometimes does, and eventually, even the air they breathe melds back into the distinction of you and me.

Which melds back into the distinction of business and brotherhood, in such vengeance that Vincenzo will forget until, years later again, he will note himself in a particular dilemma and only think, lover.

Lover changes and snaps. But lover is markedly known to be sass and self-preservation, and loved is known to be devoted and coveted. Vincenzo sometimes demarcates lover and loved so much so that nights of clairvoyance, under a stranger’s roof, tell him: loved. So much so, that a trap easily avoidable, will tell him: lover.

He scrunches his nose, picks up his cigarette, and draws a Venn diagram.

When Hong byeonhosa-nim suggests seduction, an allowance for Vincenzo to be in his element for an act, for a case — to weaponise the one thing he’s kept between his coronary arteries, Vincenzo feels a cold elation.

If this was the Vincenzo of five years past, the one who had come to see his mother served injustice, he would have considered a hotel-room night with Hwang Minseong, conveniently conventional in his preferences, conveniently attractive, convenient enough to push buttons and to shut up.

But Vincenzo knows who Hwang Minseong is, now.

“You’re on board with this, then?” Hong byeonhosa-nim asks.

Vincenzo nods. “What’s the plan?”

He lets his fingers dance over Minseong’s hand when he hears about his mother. He knows Hong byeonhosa-nim is watching him critically, Mr Nam even more so, but he lets the words and his anger channel themselves in his bruising grip on Minseong’s forearm, in his request to spend the weekend together. Minseong will take his barred teeth as an invitation. Vincenzo squeezes his neck when he gets up to leave, and Minseong will take that as an invitation as well.

Hong byeonhosa-nim accosts him at night, dragging him to the terrace of Geumga Plaza despite the overcast hour. She presents him with a tetra pack of banana milk and nothing else, and declares, as they sit opposite each other, “You were very much in your element.”

Vincenzo, plastic straw in his mouth, only blinks at her. He knows what she’s talking about.

She nods, somewhat at par with his thoughts, takes a sip of her own banana milk. Observing the skyline, marking a line of pollution, she observes as well: “Takes one to know one.”

They sentence Hwang Minseong the way they know best. He won’t be lonely in his jail cell. He will, Vincenzo supposes, have to come to terms with himself and what overt pleasures he serves himself as a means to cope. He doesn’t feel sorry. He is not Hwang Minseong, despite what similar depth they carry.

Takes one to know one.

Jang Hanseo, over a shared serving of makgeolli. Before he picks up soy sauce to drink, he says, Vin-hyung, and Vincenzo knows what will proceed. He’s known since he caught Hanseo’s eyes trailing after him when they first met, a gaze all-too-familiar.

“No one can take this from you, Hanseo-yah.”

And cue: Hanseo’s hand stills, an image of dried sobriety. “What are you talking about, hyung?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Vincenzo says. He nudges Hanseo’s bowl up, and Hanseo gets the hint, downing the makgeolli. “Don’t feel sorry for your desires.”

Hanseo splutters. “Hyung.”

Yeorim. Five years ago, in the dazed streets of Itaewon. Yeorim, he had been introduced. Vincenzo had admired the drape of hanbok upon him, light pink and white, a flower adorning the delicate flush of his ears. He had read Vincenzo clearly, and Vincenzo had read him clearly, and the one-night stay at the Hyatt had been, to Vincenzo’s best knowledge, read and forgotten clearly. Upon the appearance of cream fabric and a white flower, he remembered Yeorim.

Yeorim had prefered his pleasure face-down with a hand on the back of his neck. In the negative space carved between their bodies, Vincenzo, lightened beyond grief and the events of the day, had felt a strange, subliminal connection to his homeland, where he is still expected to run under an industrial daybreak and fend for himself apart from his people. How homely. How comfortable.

At the end of the day, it isn’t perfection Vincenzo seeks; it is completion. In a restriction of childhood bedroom, over the brilliant idea of makgeolli in bed, he encounters Chayoung confessing.

She hadn’t loved me, she explains. She hadn’t loved me because we were good friends who just so happened to, ah, find solace in one another.

Is that what she told her parents?

And Chayoung shakes her head. That is what she told me.

He makes spaces for her to wipe her tears in his bare shoulder.

How about you, byeonhosa-nim? I have reason to believe you’ve been popular.

Reason being?

Chayoung wrings her hands to make an awfully crude gesture, which Vincenzo takes great offence to, because engaging with him in any activity of the sort is anything but crude.

I have… my fair share of experience.

You sound ashamed.

I used to be.

What changed?

I loved, Vincenzo finds himself saying. And no love deserves to be shamed, Vincenzo finds himself believing.

#tvn vincenzo #vincenzo fic #vincenzo cassano #whovie writes

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worldcakecakecake · 3 years

Text

On Deutschland and Italia, by Lovino Valenti

Lovino writes a series of blog entries on the relationship between Germany and Italy as he deals with a move to Hamburg, his brother’s wedding, and his budding romance (which he denies) to the infuriating Gilbert Beilschmidt.

Chapter 9

It was a Friday Lovino had taken to work from home, calmed with coffee, typing away in a serene air…one he had tried to get himself on, avoiding the notification for a reminder of an event he was invited to, the dinner were Feliciano said he was finally going to talk about what’s going on. It was supposed to be tomorrow and all he could feel was anguish and worry, expecting the worst words to come then. And when they say it…what could he do? What could he say? What could he convince them to do? His thoughts were interrupted by a call…Gilbert’s name in a splendid of color to him. Despite the bubbling pink feelings, he took the call quick and harsh, hiding whatever immense of feelings. “Pronto?”

“So, Ludwig just admitted to me that he’s starting a new business.”

“A whole new business!” Lovino practically shouted.

“I couldn’t get anything else out of him. He told me he’ll say more at the dinner tomorrow.”

Lovino groaned, “I don’t like this, I don’t like this at all.”

“He mentioned that he’s worried about what we’re going to think.”

“That’s because it surely has to be something horrible! Ugh, does my brother even understand what he’s getting himself into?” He started swinging a pen, ready to aim in his anger.

“Well, what can we do about it? The wedding is in a month! No matter what they decided on, everything is well on its way and there’s nothing we can do to change that!”

“Yes…yes! We have to!”

“Lovino, I’m just as worried as you are, but we can’t make them realize-”

“That’s what we’ll do! Make them realize!”

“Realize what?”

“How everything is a bad idea, how they should re-think this entire thing and deal with something safer…something that might get them to stay here even,” Lovino stood and paced trying to get his thoughts to kindle.

“What can we possibly get short notice?”

And Lovino stopped, Gilbert understanding with the silence that he didn’t have a single clue. It continued, Gilbert being able to hear the furious tap of the pen Lovino held.

“What if we…what if we talk to our families today?” Gilbert suggested. “Let them know part of what’s going on. Maybe then, when Ludwig and Feliciano come, they’ll have ideas and we can be like this…team! With enough force, we can change their minds!” Gilbert alighted, with bright hope that already promised his little brother still in Germany.

“That’s…that’s brilliant!”

Gilbert startled…not expecting such a positive reaction from him. The energy he glowed with…oh…he was blushing, hand shaking, close to running to him and witnessing it all right before him. “You-you…you think so?” He tried to sound his usual dashing grin, yet it came out crocked and he was now beginning to sweat.

You know what…maybe staying home was a better idea.

“Yes! It’s perfect!” A quick glance to the clock, only three p.m., enough time, Lovino thought. “But we have to start now! I’ll talk to my grandfather and parents.” In his haste, not really being conscious of what he was doing, he threw a loving kiss that made Gilbert swear he was going to faint. “Good luck and see you tomorrow,” those last words were uttered in deep seduction and Gilbert couldn’t take it. Lovino hung up, not giving the chance for Gilbert to say a proper goodbye…not that he could at the moment. He fell straight to the couch, keeping his eyes wide to tell himself that this wasn’t a dream.

Oh no…he had it bad, so bad…he could hear his brother laughing in some corner of his mind.

He couldn’t stand up, he was stuck in his own bliss, with nothing on his mind but Lovino and wanting the next day to come. Oh there was that shirt he could wear! The one his mother always told him to, but he never did thinking it made him look as pompous as his cousin Roderich. Oh wait, his mother! He had to start calling them.

It was a splendid night, slightly cold, but still a perfect atmosphere that to Ludwig and Feliciano was even romantic. How they wished they could have saved it only for themselves, with the restaurant’s dim lighting, one of the private corners they knew Augusto can easily place for them. Instead, it was one of the big tables that was waiting for them, they were late, and from what they could see out the window, the ones missing.

“I’m sure they’ll be happy,” Feliciano confided.

Ludwig sighed though, still so anxious. He took Feliciano’s hand, a tight grasp, raising to kiss. “Have I told you that my biggest fear is losing you…and that I love you deeper than anything else I could,” he said like it was a goodbye.

Feliciano giggled, “everything is going to be fine.” He raised a hand to caress dearly at the side of his face.

A sudden outburst of Augusto flailing his arms upwards, shouting in demand brought Feliciano back to the sight of the restaurant. “I think we should be heading inside,” and he went forward.

“Right behind you,” Ludwig let himself sway in the dumbfounded love, a hand on Feliciano’s back as support as he followed right behind him.

“-my son is more than capable enough!” Reinhardt’s shout was their welcome.

“Then he would have been given more! Not left stranded to his luck!” Augusto shouted back.

“It was bankruptcy.” Aldrich joined.

“And even so, Ludwig can put up a company in a matter of months, while Feliciano will most likely stay in his same position for years on end.”

It hurt Feliciano to hear this from Reinhardt, a sudden scared grasp given to Ludwig.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if this was all part of a scheme to get Ludwig to do everything, while Feliciano can just lay in the house without a worry to spare!” Monika gave in.

“My son has honor! He wouldn’t submit to this!” Vincenzo defended.

“He’s the one who’ll be paying for everything after all! From the looks of it, I guess it will be Ludwig staying at home expecting Feliciano to do absolutely everything!” Renata shouted the loudest, insulted.

“Let him! Ludwig will in the end overwork himself more!” Reinhard continued.

“My son will not be a servant!” Vincenzo proclaimed.

Neither couldn’t take it, Feliciano coughing to bring their attention, so all could see they were there, holding to each other tightly, wide eyed at such accusations. “What…what is going on?” Feliciano managed to ask even with the tremble.

“How long were you expecting to hide this from us?” Augusto demanded as he turned to them.

No greetings, no peace, blazing anger that wanted words of explanation before anything else.

“Sir, what do you mean?” Ludwig tried to be civil.

“Oh, don’t act dumb! We know your sick plan to run off without a coin on your backs! You expect Feliciano to do your biding while you go off and party in Santo Domingo!” Vincenzo accused loudly.

“What?...No! I wouldn’t do something like that!” Ludwig turned to the defensive.

“But you are going to!” Augusto joined.

“No! I’m not! Why would you even-”

“Don’t go shouting just at Ludwig! You haven’t addressed Feliciano’s complot to go off with Ludwig’s money when the opportunity presents itself!” Monika pointed.

“No! No! No! I would never!” Feliciano tried to even with their shouts, but they came out meek, especially as he kept his tight hold on Ludwig’s arm, now clearly afraid.

“Look! There must have been some misunderstanding. The table is ready, we can sit down and talk about this,” Ludwig pointed in the hopes they could hurry.

“Oh, Ludwig! There’s no need to defend him! You can go outright and say what is really going on!” Louis, with everyone else, seemed to block a pathway that could lead them to the table…and to some sense.

“I can, if you just let me explain!”

“Why should you? Let Feliciano do his own talking!” Augusto shouted, coming close, ready to take Feliciano to his side if he had to.

“I…I…” Feliciano was trembling now.

“He can’t even defend himself!”

“Caught him red handed!” Monika blamed.

“But I didn’t do anything!”

“You’re only making him nervous!” Renata tried to calm.

“Because it’s all exactly what he’s planning!”

“He’s not planning anything!”

“Well…technically we are…”

“So there is a plan!”

“But it’s not what you think!”

“I knew something was off with Ludwig, knew it the moment they announced they were getting married!” Vincenzo shouted on.

“Misusing of my boy’s innocence! He wants nothing but to taint him and leave him for the next offering body!” Augusto dramatized. “Feliciano, this is no way to give your virginity!”

“Nonno…I’m not a virgin.”

For some reason…those words…that brought deep flushes to the couple was the only thing that managed to bring final silence.

“…you’re not…? When…when did this happen? Who?” Augusto was truly shocked and devastated.

“Uh…” Ludwig tried to word.

“Ludwig, we don’t have to tell them anything…” Feliciano held him.

“So you won’t!” Aldrich angered.

“You’re not even letting us!”

“What excuse can you give us to defend this crazed plot?”

“It’s not a crazed plot! If you would only listen!”

“Well we don’t have to listen! We know enough! And let me say that I do not approve of it at all!” Reinhardt declared.

“Feliciano!” And here Vincenzo pulled his son back to them. “We really don’t think you should go through with the marriage! Not when Ludwig can abuse you! I’m sorry, but I must withdraw my blessing!” Vincenzo told all, standing strong in his decree.

“Papa, please! Let us explain!” Feliciano insisted, trying to let go of the harsh grip his family had on him.

“Don’t do this! You haven’t given us the chance to talk!” Ludwig tried to defend, tried to get Feliciano back, but his family brought him back with their own strong grip.

“Ludwig, it’s not worth it! I have to agree with Vincenzo, but I cannot permit such a marriage to occur. I will refuse to participate in it!” Louis said.

“Then fine! I don’t want you to participate in it!” Ludwig managed loosening, harshly moving away from them. “I will marry Feliciano even if this all some plot to take my money away!” He shouted his clarity.

“You’re willing to go through with this just so that could be the end point!” Louis shouted at him, Ludwig reaching an exasperation that was just agreeing so he could get them all to stop.

“Yes! Okay! Fine! Let Feliciano take my money, let him be a lazy ass, let him disappoint me and make a fool of himself!”

And Feliciano joined his family in the insult and disappointment. While they continued crying out, Feliciano tried not to tear at the harshness of such words. Whether they were real or not, the fact that they were a thought shone in screams along with the rest, proved enough of actuality to him.

“Feliciano, let’s just go,” and Ludwig held out his hand expecting it all nothing, no other effort or defend. He wanted to go ignorant to what happened. Feliciano angered and wanted to slap the hand away…but at the same time…he did not want to be chocked by the hold his father gave him or how the rest hovered above him like vicious animals. It seemed that he would only have an escape with Ludwig…and there was something in that idea that settled very wrongly. He briskly let his hand free, glaring at his family and deciding to get away for now, having to take the grasp of Ludwig’s hand.

“After he said all that…you’re still willing to go with him.”

Feliciano flared but tried to keep his anger away from Ludwig or his family. “He’s already taking money from me anyways, so let him be a stuck up, let him betray me and leave me alone in another country,” he spat with fury, the grip of his hand not loving, but suffocating and wanting to hurt.

Ludwig was wide eyed at the answer, fearful and broken, and Feliciano could only look away not explaining anything…as Ludwig did. Grasped still with a deadly hold, they decided on leaving, not looking back, the only sound the echo of Ludwig’s car as it drove down the street, sealing their decision for both families to take witness.

Gilbert and Lovino had not seen what happened, blissfully unaware as they spent their time in Lovino’s apartment, talking and laughing before they had to come down and show another face to the family.

“Rugrats! Of all things!”

“I didn’t want to watch some damn Regular Show!”

They fought even if with smiles and gentility, the only ounce of happiness to arrive to the somberness of what the restaurant had become. No one spoke with one another, and less they were going to sit together in this heaviness. To their surprise, Gilbert and Lovino were the only ones bringing that cheery atmosphere this dinner should have been. Yet they halted and stared in wondering, their mere gazes asking what was wrong.

“Ludwig and Feliciano left,” Monika answered.

“Already? We haven’t even started to eat!” Gilbert was incredulous.

“I…don’t think were going to eat tonight, Gilbert,” Augusto glared, a new blame for any of the Beilschmidts now.

“Ah, come on, Nonno! The cooks were going to make me a pesto pizza!” For once, Lovino was clearly disappointed.

“I’ll…go and stop them from making anything then.” And without another word, the old man turned and made his way inside the kitchen. The rest, without a single glance to meet themselves, began picking their things and one by one each left their own direction without leaving a word of explanation.

“What’s up with them?” Gilbert wondered.

Lovino shrugged, “maybe not hungry. But fuck, my pesto pizza! I was so excited!” Lovino went back to angering.

“Ah, come on, we can just go somewhere else to have it!”

“No! Nu-uh! I don’t trust anywhere else out of nonno’s restaurant. There’s a lot of fakes out there.”

“Then why not make it yourself?”

Lovino was ready to fight it, but stopped when it began to sound quite appetizing. “Ugh! It’s too late to make a pizza now!” He sadly realized.

Gilbert shrugged, “how about tomorrow then? I can come over and you can really show me how it’s done!”

“Great! How about you arrive for lunch and spend the whole day?”

Such excitement, such a good glow.

“Awesome…so…do we make it a date then?” Gilbert dared along with a smirk, a lean and a blush in his cheeks and eyes that Lovino had to look away from before he succumbed to showing himself an utter fool to those gazes.

“Yeah…fine, it’s a date…” he tried hard to pout it…but instead there came a smile that Gilbert didn’t fail to miss.

“So…be at your place by two. You’ll have everything else and I’ll…bring some beer,” he let himself twirl one of Lovino’s curls, what the other thought easing and nice.

“Nothing too shitty, please.”

“Only the best!” They chuckled and began moving away, ever so slow as they couldn’t keep their eyes off each other. Gilbert tried to make his exit backwards, not letting anything break the view he had of Lovino. He let himself indulge in it, smiling and waving. He used one hand to try and find the exit, but he couldn’t control his legs from bumping, tumbling and almost bringing the entire table to the ground.

“Careful!” Lovino scolded, but so gently and sweetly that Gilbert was still enamored.

“Haha, yeah, yeah…yes! I…I can do things…I can walk!”

What an adorable doofus.

“I’ll…see you tomorrow!”

“At two!”

“At two!” Gilbert promised and was off, leaving Lovino with the brightest smile in the ruins of what had just occurred.

The car ride was silent. When they arrived to Ludwig’s apartment, it was also silent. Feliciano didn’t spare a word as he went into the guest room and shut himself inside. Ludwig didn’t bother to fight him about it, he went to his own room and tried to get some sleep. He tried to not be persuaded by the empty spot beside him…the spot where he expected his sun rays to be in, where his arms will embrace it, let his own scent engulf him until he was spread himself with the sun. He turned the other way and tried hard to ignore it…he could sleep without it…he could…-by five a.m. he was already on the table, typing away on his laptop. His eyes were grey, lost on the screen, forcing himself to work, to calculate and write no matter how the anguish weight him into his seating. It was around eight that Feliciano woke…far too early for him. He was just as grey and drained, not bothering for a cup of coffee, a wash, he just took a seating in a near stool, to breathe and lost in thoughts that Ludwig couldn’t read. He forced himself to only be on his laptop, letting this silence continue to reign.

…Their mornings were never like this.

“Ludwig…” Feliciano started to speak, doubtful and fearing, “…do you really think going to Santo Domingo like this is a good idea?”

Ludwig didn’t answer so quickly, didn’t even look at him, Feliciano wondering if he had purposely ignored it…only the more reason for him to anger.

“Everything is already planned…we’ve bought everything we need, the wedding is in a couple of weeks…let’s just…go with it as it should,” he did answer, but he didn’t gaze at anything else.

“I don’t want to just…go with it!”

“Isn’t that something you’re always telling me to do…go with it!”

“Yeah, but…not like this, not after what you said last night.”

Ludwig rolled his eyes, “there was a lot of pressure…”

“So in a lot of pressure you decide to call me a thief, a lazy ass, a disappointment and a fool!”

“I didn’t exactly say those things and you know I didn’t mean it!”

“I heard it, Ludwig! You insinuated them, you thought them, you readily said everything right before your family and mine!” True pain was presented well on Feliciano now.

“You called me a stuck up, a cheater and disloyal.”

“I didn’t-”

“You did! I heard you…and right before my family and yours!” He finally raised his eyes to him, staring and hurtful, Feliciano shaking and hating that this gaze was now brought upon him.

“I…I was hurt by what you said.”

“You didn’t think I was hurt too.” More an edge was added to his tone, a cut that silenced Feliciano, twirling his fingers, looking away as he settled with this new pain.

“I really…I really didn’t mean them.”

“I didn’t mean mine either. Just forget about it…we said what our families wanted to hear and got them off our backs. We can go on.”

“By making each other go against our own families? Ludwig, despite everything, I still care for my family and I want them to keep being a part of my life…yours too.”

“We don’t need them, Feliciano. We have ourselves.”

“But-”

“Do you really want to keep people who said all those things about us?”

“Because we couldn’t explain! They didn’t know any better!”

“And this is how they respond when faced with uncertainty?”

Their voices got higher with each accusation.

“We just…we just had to keep trying. We had to fight and defend one another…” Feliciano was never one to keep himself, Ludwig knew his emotions had to always be displayed. No secrets, no hiding, his eyes reddened and already the first tears began to fall down his cheeks. He thought him beautiful still, but it scorched that they were being caused by him, while all he did was stay seated, trying to keep his eyes away, afraid to face sadness from one he always made sure to make bright.

“Why…why didn’t you stand up for me?...Why didn’t you defend? Why didn’t you try to prove them wrong?”

And yet Ludwig couldn’t face it, couldn’t let himself show how this was shredding him as well, not wanting to show his own weakness when he was too stubborn to keep his strength in the discussion.

“Feliciano…there was no need…” was somehow the only thing he could say.

“No need…no need…” he hiccupped in a heave he couldn’t withstand, those words a heavy marked realization that made him surer of a pathway he had to take. It stung when his hands reached for the ring that had been worn faithfully since the day Ludwig presented it to him in a wonderful proposal. He lunged himself with a terrible cry, knowing what he had to do, what he deserved and should stand strong for, Ludwig crumbling, wishing he could force himself to take Feliciano, but is own despair kept him seated.

The ring began to get removed in what they heard themselves a shriek, released along with a void that sucked whatever light was always present between them.

“Then I guess there’s no need for me to wear this anymore.” And it was placed on the coffee table as a token to be forgotten. “No need for a wedding…no need for us.” Feliciano didn’t bother with another glance, he picked a bag he had made and left. No other goodbye, no beautiful trace. He was gone as swiftly as a ghost, yet with a haunting that kept Ludwig stunned, the pain like the heaviest shot, the weight like a swarm of animals were on top of him, the cage the most restricting he had been in. He heaved, lost on how his movements worked…how to look, how to stand.

In this mess, in this ever clashing of emotions seeming to rampage all across Ludwig’s body, he exploded by throwing his own laptop to the ground, uncaring of pieces and what its memory of work held.

Nothing…it was all nothing…he had nothing anymore.

He pushed his hands into his eyes, ignoring the pain in favor of trying to dam the tears that already began to swarm, but in the end, in a release of breath that made him heavier, he let them coat his face how they wanted, redden him and already paint him a mess after only minutes of being left by Feliciano.

There was no perseveration to move on with his day…it seemed like it wasn’t there anymore, like there was nothing to live for and make it his.

He let himself sink in that position, determined to stay and dig himself ever deeper.

There was nothing else now.

< previous chapter

#on deutschland and italia by lovino valenti #prumano #prumano fanfiction #prumano fanfic #prumano fic #gerita

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itsjusta · 3 years

Text

May 3, 2021

i slept long today doeee i woke up almost 10 naaa but idk doe these past few days i wake up na wala nang ganado feeling idkkk doeee issa i wake up with that empty feeling doeee and aish ion like it gyd basta like dis doe cos the feeling pulls me dooownnn aish im having a bad week nooow hmpfff or maybe also dis becos of the melatonin?!?! 😩

aishhh i wanna go on a getaway doeee but its hard hahha no kauban and ion know how to drive pd if ako lang aishhh here nalang q house mag tanga 😡😤😩😤😢😡

i have no energy doeeee wthhh these past days im so luya doe ion feel good and ion feel energetic and motivated 😩 ion even have da gana to cook doeee ako gina eat kay take out or mga biscuit2 langgg and omg dapat not ko luya2 ugma doe cos naa ko exams wed and thurs mag sugod nakog studyyy hmppfff now no energy pa!!!

i watched vincenzo morning to noon doeee cos last 2 eps naman and aish they make me cry cos namatay to isa ka good character!!!!!! 😤😤😤 and naa isa hapit na dead aish cry ko again!! but they got the ending they deserved doeee heheh but still a little bitin uyyy aish heheh da whole hapon i did nothing doeee nag try2 ko sleep cos so sakit gyd ako eyes doe like katagakon najd sya but when i try to sleep i cannot sleep 😢😢😢 and it hurts my eyes and head doeeee huhuhu issa ion like gyd na im like this doeee issa ion have problems like dis sauna why now i have na huhuhu

in da gabii i was so tired gyapon doeee i didnt wanna eat anything just wanna order but ion wanna gasto hahahah issa ni prevail ako pagka kuripot so nag luto gyd ko just fried chicken hehehe and after dinner i pugos myself to prepare for the exam on thursdayyy heheheh tomorrow dapat start nako study for my exam on wed cos its comprehensive doeee and board course pajd ni and i wanna do well wanna have an A hehehe and u knooow what i saw stories of mariel and jane ga study na sila now doeee wth i get conscious dayon na wala pako study but das okay doe heheh study smart, not hard! (making excuses 😤) but u know im not super studious gyd doeee hahah im just in da middle hehehe

today was so long and sooo mingaw doeee like mag one year nako single but sometimes btaw maka feel gyd gyapon kog kamingaw doeee bahala anad nako nga dili pirme naay ka storyaaaa lyk dat hahah im used to it but sometimes its just sooo mingaw gyd @.@ but anywaaayyy i decided kanina na not na magpadala sako negative energy nga gaka feel!!!! i am stronger than all the negativity within me!!!! i am strong and productive! i can get through all of this and i should make the most out of my days hehehhe ion also want to be so annoying na to you uy u always hear na sad rants from meee im sowi 🥺 i will try to be more positive na okaaay!!! i mean its okay to have bad days man gyd but my bad days has been 3-4 straight days na 🤦🏻‍♀️ need to break the cycle! hehhe thank u doeee for everythiiiinggg i appreciate that u talk to me doooe hehe

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sanktnikolais · 3 years

Text

Shadow and Soul

A/N: guess who has another content again after like two months? KJAHSFLKHASDF

Have this Mafia au bc the Vincenzo energy in me is very strong rn and i wanted to write some chaotic/serious mafia au

Word count: 4701

CW: Violence

An attempt on the head of the Lantsov Family's life has occurred under their noses, and it's up to the Underboss and her Consigliere to settle things the clean way or the dirty way.

How Zoya could still find patience for the man in front of her was a mystery. But having more patience for the all-too-smiling Consigliere beside her was a skill she had acquired over the years, and as much as she wanted to strangle her lawyer companion, she couldn’t deny she was enjoying the look of rage on Anton Demidov’s eyes as he tried not to lash out his anger. The smug facade he was currently wearing wasn't able to keep the emotions from showing in his gaze.

The small restaurant they were cramped in was humid enough to dry up what’s left of her restraint from wanting to tear the furious look from the man’s face, but she strengthened her resolve. There were several other people dining in here with them, and it would be rude if she suddenly did something rather unlady-like to this gentleman in a suit. Besides, she did promise the infuriating blond that she would ‘be diplomatic for once’, as per his request.

Perhaps she could try to be.

“It’s a fair deal, dearest Anton,” said Nikolai to the Demidovs' caporegime, still grinning his usual crowd-winning smile. When his eyes cast down to Anton’s now clenched fist on the table, the glint of amusement in Nikolai’s eyes only became brighter. If there was something her Consigliere was good at, it was pushing another person’s buttons by merely smiling. “No more threats to the Lantsovs and no more operating the casino without our jurisdiction, and I will personally tell our enforcers to stop the assault on your family’s businesses. Possibly sprinkle a monthly cut from your profit into our pockets, too, no?"

Considering how Anton’s jaw twitched in annoyance only told Zoya that he didn’t like the deal at all. Having the upper hand over the Lantsovs meant being powerful enough to actually go against them, and considering that they were the most powerful among the families, it was a rather bold move to attempt murdering Alexander Lantsov.

Ever since the day the Lantsov head was openly shot at, along with plenty of their men in the streets of Os Alta, Zoya had considered the move as an act of war and broke any peace treaties between their families. She led the attack on the biggest casino the Demidovs had in Kribirsk, effectively shutting the place down and cutting the third of the family’s investments. The assaults continued for the next two weeks, even the smallest businesses didn’t escape their wrath, until the Demidovs were backed to the corner and forced to surrender.

If it were another circumstance, she would have stopped there. She knew they would have learned their lesson by that time. Yet the thought of failing to protect their chief because she hadn’t anticipated any attempts on his life that day only gave her enough reason to continue the attacks.

"I would suggest listening to him. Do him a favor, will you? He loves talking,” Zoya said with unexpected calmness. She leaned back to a more comfortable position in her chair, reaching up to remove the first button by her collar.

This must have brought the wrong impression on Anton's guards stationed by the far window to the left, and they were already reaching for their weapons from their holsters. She merely raised an eyebrow at them.

Panic seized Anton’s eyes as he turned to his guards. He pointed a finger at them. “You’ve frisked them, right?” he demanded. Even though he tried to sound very much authoritative, the slight tremor in his voice didn't go unnoticed by Zoya. But the guards seemed to be oblivious of this, and still nodded nervously. “Then why are you all acting hostile? Stand down.”

Zoya snickered silently. So much for being the one to lead the assassination attempt but was already panicking over the smallest movement she made. She itched for her gun, which was unfortunately dismantled and held by Anton's right hand man as per their no weapons rule during business talks. Her shoulder holsters felt impossibly light without its presence. Maybe it was time to stop the bullshit that was called 'talking' and just start the real line of action.

Patience, dearest Zoya, her infuriating Consigliere's voice echoed in her head. The way he was starting to rub off on her was terrifying. It'd be a good thing to be diplomatic for once.

"No need to be jumpy, Anton. It's just too humid in here." Zoya emphasized her statement by fanning herself with a hand. She heard Nikolai chuckle beside her. "Besides, it's not that I have any more weapons on me."

Come on, lash out at me, goaded Zoya in her mind. Give me enough reason to finally take you down where you stand.

Anton turned back to her and smiled tightly. "I'm aware of that, Miss Nazyalensky. But I can't blame my men for taking precautions, especially around someone who's known to be ruthless."

"I'm honored, sir, but we can't as much as do anything considering the number of your guards in here with us." She shrugged, gesturing to her right. "There's just the four of us."

Her eyes met the two lone guards of their own at the opposite side. Where they only brought the twins along with them for safety, was Anton Demidov’s unit of at least twenty men surrounding the place. She almost found it funny—he was the one to first make a threat over the Lantsovs and yet he was cowering in front of them.

Tamar made a face, gesturing crudely to the Demidov caporegime and making Zoya chuckle lightly. Her twin brother Tolya kicked her in the shin, but there was no denying the smile he was fighting to appear on his lips. Seeing their presence lightened the tense weight on her shoulders somehow, as she knew that they alone could take Demidov's men if things went south.

And considering the stubborn set of Anton's jaw and the fury in his eyes, blood will surely be shed tonight.

Zoya glanced around the room, silently counting how many of his guards were inside the restaurant with them. She let her eyes wander for a few moments, and she was able to count at least eight. There were probably a few more she hadn't seen, but her eyes catching a woman in a bright red overcoat was enough to make her wince and look back to Demidov.

"A rather powerful move," Nikolai said lowly, making her turn to him with a raised brow. There was a smirk playing on his lips as he continued to watch the other man, and it was a clear sign that he was quite enjoying seeing Demidov almost ready to explode. He leaned a bit closer to her ear. "It's really not the perfect time or place to take off your clothes, sir. But if you can make them squirm by doing just that, then be my guest. A little fun before the storm isn't so bad."

Zoya rolled her eyes, her foot connecting solidly to his leg. He let out a muffled wheezed, and he covered it up by clearing his throat when Anton gave him a weird look. Knowing Nikolai was already stressful enough, but having him as her Consigliere and hearing him do the talking most of the time was exhausting.

But he got things done without having to use guns or knives. Words were his weapons, and though he was often mild and considerate during negotiations, he still wielded his words dangerously when circumstances deemed it necessary.

"What do you say, Demidov?" Nikolai said, his grin returning. "It's a rather generous deal."

The table rattled as Anton's fist slammed down on it. "We will not be your family's lapdog," he growled through gritted teeth. If he had been able to hold in his rage, now he was full on acting on it, just like Zoya had expected him to do. "You think you're all so powerful and strong just because you're controlling this city, but not to me." He looked at Nikolai with utter disgust. "I'm surprised Alexander even cared for his bastard enough to appoint him as Consigliere out of all designations."

Something snapped inside Zoya, feeling her suppressed rage flare back to the surface, and she was already considering tipping over the table to the man's face. But a hand enclosed around her wrist from under the table, the touch warm and familiar for her to know it was Nikolai. He must have sensed her sudden want to resort to the worst way.

She risked a glance at him. A shadow had passed over his usual cheerful face, his eyes hard and empty as his jaw twitched in anger. Then a smile appeared on his lips a moment later, the sharp, wicked smile of a man who had reached the last straw of his patience.

"Are getting personal now, Anton?" Nikolai said, his tone still surprisingly calm. "I thought it was all business?"

"Oh, that's true. All business, Lantsov," Anton spat Nikolai’s name like a poison that stung his mouth. "And if I kill you right now, I can just report you for trespassing. It's still business, no? I'm just protecting my property."

Zoya raised an eyebrow. "Is that an open threat?" she said flatly. “Do tell me if it is so we can settle this the way I know we both wanted from the start.”

"Depends on how you put it." Anton gestured to the door. "And if you both are smart enough, then that means you know your only choice is to leave."

So the Demidovs still chose not to have a ceasefire between the families. It was exactly how she expected this night would go. Nikolai owed her a drink later.

"You're acting way too brash for a caporegime," said Zoya as she reached for the cup in front of her to take a sip of the leftover coffee from an hour ago. "Are you sure your family could handle another attack in any of your remaining businesses?"

Anton looked almost smug. Confident, even, as if he suddenly had the upper hand against them. Oh, how Zoya hated to ruin his bravado. "As you've said, Nazyalensky, there's only four of you. So you should watch that tongue of yours."

A sneer threatened its way to her lips, but she didn't dare let it show. She wondered if he would still have the same smugness later, when she finally demonstrated the 'ruthlessness' Anton liked to describe her with.

There was a tense silence around them, and if Zoya listened harder, she was sure she could hear the guards' heavy breathing even from ten meters away. She eyed the other exits—all guarded by Demidov's men. Even the twins' position to their right was at a disadvantage, they could be easily opened fire on if they weren't fast enough to take cover.

"Very well. It would not be a fair fight." She relented, making it sound as convincing as possible. She put the cup back on the table. "We will just leave."

The Demidov caporegime huffed but didn't say anything more. He leaned back on his chair, his triumphant smile never wavering. "I'm glad you're finally starting to think, Miss Nazyalensky."

Another wave of annoyance, and what she could sense as her suppressed rage resurfacing, washed over her. She wrinkled her nose in displeasure. They should have just ambushed the caporegime on his way here. It would have been much easier. Plus, they could even save time and sanity for not going through this 'civilized' negotiation. In their world where power was the only thing to protect you, you should never give a chance to your enemy to take it from you.

Eliminate and narrow down the list of your enemies.

It was now up to Nikolai whether they would go through it or just leave.

The Consigliere leaned back on the chair, his other hand reaching up to loosen his tie. There was a look of disappointment on his face, but his eyes said otherwise. He was already expecting this. "That was quite an exchange," he said with a shrug. Then he shook himself for a bit. "Wow, I think I need to use the restroom after all that. Do you mind if I go? Or should your guards come along to make sure I'm not doing anything out of the ordinary?"

"Just get on with it and leave. I should have known this meeting was useless from the start."

Nikolai feigned a hurtful look. "Oh, how harsh," he said dramatically. "But alright, your call."

The hand that was still around Zoya's wrist loosened, his fingers coming around until his forefinger rested on her pulse point. Warmth erupted from where his skin met hers, and she tried not to let it distract her from the message he was trying to say. He had held her like this far too many times, had even been in a much closer proximity than now when their situation needed them be, and yet her heart still threatened to leap out of her chest whenever he touched her.

Focus, her mind berated, and that’s when she felt it: his finger tapping on her skin twice. It was their go signal. They had made their own sign language over the past three years, when business talks and other matters got a bit out of hand and they needed to subtly communicate with the other. It was something that only the two of them knew of, and it definitely did wonders for them when words weren’t needed.

Zoya gave him a pointed glance sideways as he stood up and let go of her wrist. It was the look that said, I told you so, and she knew if they were somewhere else, Nikolai would have frowned and whined something back. But it wasn’t the time for it.

With one last squeeze to her wrist, he finally let go, straightening the lapels of his coat to show his disappointment on how the negotiation had gone. He cast one last glance to the Demidov caporegime before taking his leave and going to the restroom. Zoya let her gaze follow him until he disappeared around a corner.

Please don't be a moron and find it, she thought before standing up as well, reaching for his suitcase that was carelessly lying on the floor.

One of Anton's guards, which she recognized as his right hand man, approached the table. He had a skeptical gaze on her, like he was readying himself to defend his boss if ever she decided to suddenly do something.

She gave the man a cold smile, amusement bubbling in her chest when she saw him wince and look away to turn to his boss.

Zoya took the moment to glance at the twins and give them the smallest of nods. They immediately understood, with Tamar moving away from their spot to come nearer to the table. Tolya remained in his position, but he already had his hand braced on the holster around his hips.

"That Consigliere of yours," Anton started, making Zoya look back at him. His second was holding up the coat to him, and he turned to shrug it on back to his shoulders. "He really does love talking, doesn't he? It might be the reason he gets killed one day.”

As if I would let that happen. It made her eyebrows furrow, her gaze narrowing dangerously to the caporegime. He had been making a lot of subtle threats to them, and Zoya wasn’t letting it slide. Only one family would be walking out from this place tonight.

And it wasn’t going to be the Demidovs.

“Worry not, Anton,” said Zoya, her cold smile returning, “I’ll make sure to tell him that.”

“Tell me what?” Nikolai’s too cheery voice echoed a moment later, and Zoya turned to his direction and saw him approaching them. He had stripped off his long coat, leaving him in his shirt and tie. Her eyes went to the coat he was holding. The way it was folded on his hand looked enough for it to conceal something, and she could only assume he found it.

“Nothing of importance, dearest Consigliere,” Zoya mused, reaching for her own coat hanging on the chair’s backrest. “Just some gibberish, though I can tell you about it later.”

Nikolai chuckled. “I do hope it’s not something alarming,” he said. Then he stepped in front of her, his hand catching her wrist again to stop her from putting on her coat. Then with a small smile that softened his features, he murmured, “Let me.”

She let him take her coat from her hand, and gently, he helped her slip it on. To others, it would look like a normal sight; a man assisting his Underboss like any other members of the family would. But if one were to look closely, it was actually just an act to cover something up.

Zoya looked up at his eyes with mock respect when there was the familiar weight of a weapon being slipped back to her shoulder holster. Nikolai made a face in return.

I found it, he mouthed with a wince. Then he tugged at the lapels of the coat a bit roughly, as if to get back at her for doubting him, and it earned a glare from Zoya. He smiled innocently, then his hands came up to the back of her neck to free her hair that was caught up in the collar. She tried not to get distracted by his ministrations, but she found it hard when he reached her collar, fixing it down to make it presentable. They were too close, the act anything if not intimate, and her breath hitched in her throat when his fingers lingered a moment too long on the side of her neck.

Then she felt the soft brush of his thumb against her jaw; it was enough to stop her thoughts altogether.

But Nikolai only winked, a cheeky smile evident on his lips before he stepped back. Zoya wanted nothing more than to strangle him right then. But then again, it wasn’t the time for it. Perhaps later.

She regained her stoic composure, walking over to Anton Demidov who had been completely oblivious of the exchange. It was only out of respect that she still would end their meeting with a handshake. If there was something she refused to let go in her morals, it was respect.

Zoya held her hand out to Anton. The man was hesitant, but still took it anyway. “Well, I bid you farewell, Sir Demidov,” she said with a cutting smile, her grip tightening around his hand enough for him to look alarmed. “It’s a pleasure having the chance to talk to you.”

Then her other hand reached to her holster, grabbed the gun Nikolai had put there, and shot Anton Demidov in the leg.

The man crumpled down on the floor, a scream tearing from his throat as he clutched at his wound. Horror was evident in his gaze as he looked up at her. His right-hand didn’t have time to draw his weapon when another shot rang out from somewhere behind Zoya, hitting the man on his shooting arm, and he dropped to the ground as well. Anton’s several other guards with them started to spring to action, but it was the exact time that all the people dining in the restaurant stood up, drawing out their own weapons and surrounding the Demidov associates.

Outside, gunfire echoed as well. Then after a few moments, it went silent again.

Zoya looked around the expanse of the room. Anton’s remaining guards stood completely frozen in their places as dozens of guns pointed to their direction. She hummed in approval and looked over her shoulder, seeing Tamar still holding her gun to the right-hand man’s direction.

Thanks, Zoya mouthed to the woman, who in return tipped her head in acknowledgement.

“As I’ve said earlier,” she started, waving the barrel of her gun down to Anton’s face, “it would not be a fair fight.”

“What—what is the meaning of this?” Anton demanded, his voice quivering in both terror and pain. He tried to back away from Zoya, but someone had already stopped him with a foot on his shoulder.

She looked up and saw the woman who wore the bright red overcoat that made her eyes hurt, and Zoya gave her an unamused look. “Something a bit tamer next time, Genya?” she said. “It’s a bit overwhelming to look at. Maybe a maroon.”

Genya laughed lightly. “Of course, anything you say, sir.”

Zoya nodded in gratitude before she turned back to Anton, who was still on the ground. “This night could have gone well, you know? All we wanted was your approval for a ceasefire. But here you were, acting all too smug for a family whose reputation is almost down the drain and making empty threats that you have no power to do.” She stepped forward, jabbing her foot down the man’s injured leg and earning another scream from him. “Well, wasn’t it you who pulled the trigger on the Don? Now man up, take it like a champ.”

“How” —Anton wheezed out in pain— “how is this possible? My men have frisked you and your Consigliere.”

Nikolai appeared beside her, looking casual in his posture as if he had come to a reunion with some old friends. “Simple. You don’t check the customers coming into your business,” he explained. “Another civilian could enter the same restroom earlier before the Consigliere, and he could have slipped a weapon and taped it under the sink.” He shook his head with a dramatic sigh. “Only goes to show how shit your security is, by the way.”

The Demidov caporegime could only look at them in disbelief, his eyes going back and forth to Zoya and her Consigliere. Then a laugh escaped him, the loud, desperate kind of a madman. She almost pitied him. The feeling of being backed against the corner having nothing other than yourself to trust and lean on.

She would commend this man for fighting tooth and nail for his Family’s survival and reputation, and yet he had chosen the wrong way to do it by trying to assassinate one of the biggest Dons in the country and starting a war. There were some battles that were out of one’s reach and power, and it had been the Demidovs to take the risk and lose everything to their wrong decisions.

Anton continued laughing for another long moment, his breaths becoming more labored the longer he laughed. Then when it seemed that he finally ran out of air, he looked back up to her. If Zoya was expecting to see defeat in his eyes, then she was so wrong.

Because in them, she saw nothing but cold fury, the kind that brought a lingering feeling of dread in your chest. If she were some other person, she was sure she would have cowered back and let fear take over.

But that was before she knew what horrors the world they lived in now did to young and naive girls. Fear was one’s shadow, something they could never go against nor get rid of, so she learned how to wield it as her weapon instead.

“What are you going to do now? Kill me?” Anton said, another laugh escaping his lips. He had already gone pale from the loss of blood, but he continued. “Killing me would only make things worse. It’s not going to change anything.”

Nikolai pretended to consider a thought, his eyebrows furrowing. “You’re right,” he said. “But I think I have an idea.” He stepped forward, and Zoya handed him her gun.

Without wasting another second, he pointed the gun to Anton’s other leg and pulled the trigger. The beginning of a howl tore from the caporegime’s throat, and he hadn’t even had the chance to fully voice out his pain when Nikolai shot him again on the shoulder.

Zoya blinked in surprise, the gears in her mind working as she looked back to Nikolai. Gone was the diplomatic look of the Consigliere, only the face of the Demon Prince remained, the same persona that terrorized the streets of Halmhend City for years. His eyes held a dangerous glint that she only saw him have for his sworn enemies.

“That’s not even the same number of bullets my father took when you tried to murder him in the open,” Nikolai said mildly. “But don’t worry, I made sure not to hit you anywhere critical. Killing you will get you an easy way out. I don’t want that.” He kneeled down beside Anton, leaning dangerously close to the man with the barrel of the gun planted on his chest. “I want you to see how your Family despises you because you couldn’t let go of your ego and accept that you’ve made a grave mistake. I’ve offered a ceasefire, but you didn’t take it. So I guess you’d rather take a few bullets, then?”

Through his labored breathing and pained state, Anton still managed to glare at the Consigliere. The man’s got determination, Zoya would give him that. But he had made the worst decision of having Nikolai as his enemy.

There was another tense silence, and then Nikolai was laughing lightly, patting the caporegime on the cheek. Just like that, he was back to the cheerful Consigliere persona. “I like this one,” he told Anton’s right-hand man who lay a few feet away from them, a look of fear in his eyes. “Fiery soul. Make sure he’s back to his feet in a few days, alright? I want to see what Irina would do to him.”

Zoya shook her head and watched as Nikolai stood up and handed back the gun to her. He looked back at her with a confused expression.

“What?”

“Nothing. Remind me again not to strangle you next time you do something brash?” She turned to their men who were still patiently waiting for their next order. “Get them out to the other side of the street. Make sure they’re easily seen by their colleagues when they arrive.”

Their men immediately did as they were told, shuffling out of the restaurant quietly as they dragged the Demidov Family’s associates to the streets. Tamar and Tolya waited for the both of them by the front doors.

“Was that even necessary?” Zoya asked the Consigliere, who shrugged in return.

“It’s only fair I’ve wounded him. It’s nothing compared to the men he’d killed in the ambush as we haven’t even taken any of his men’s heads.” Nikolai said, putting his long coat back on. “I have actually talked to Irina Demidov yesterday. She told me to get rid of him.”

Having a talk with the Demidov’s Underboss only meant bad news. “Really?”

“Yeah, but I’ll let them handle it. Besides, they twist the fact that we killed one of their caporegime against us. We both know their history.”

Zoya huffed. “Good thinking,” she said.

“There’s a reason why I am indeed a Consigliere, Nazyalensky,” said Nikolai, feigning a hurtful look. “I’m not all talk and no action.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.” She paused when her eyes caught sight of the messed up knot of his tie. Her hands were already reaching to fix it before she could even realize what she was doing, and she heard his breath hitch in his throat. At least she wasn’t the only one who got caught off guard when the other was near.

She finally finished straightening his tie after a few more moments, patting down at his collar for emphasis. “There you go,” said Zoya. Her voice coming out a bit breathless than she intended was something she hadn’t expected from herself. “Now we’re even.” She stepped back, putting a bit of distance between them and looking anywhere but him. “Let’s get out of here before the Demidovs arrive to get their associates.”

***

And as the car sped into the distance some time later, the place where the restaurant the Demidovs owned was now nothing but ashes on the ground.

#zoyalai #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #king of scars #my writing #mafia au #LET'S GO #VINCENZO ENERGY IS STRONG #idk this isn't edited we die like soldiers #anyways #i've had this for like a week and i just finished it tonight #i said i wanted mafia au #so i wrote mafia au #have this mess from me #IM BACK THO #i hope ;-;#im a basic bitch and can't think of proper names #im sorry for that #T-T

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