Angel's POV
'How did it come to this?'
Just yesterday..
'Or had it only been yesterday?'
He'd been lying in a hotel bed, dreading his fate.
Imagining himself being handed over like a welcome basket to the perverted old mafia Don—who was due to return that night.
The Don of Luchese—famous for his perversion and his penchant for young men.
Angel wanted to hurl.
He tried to recount the events that led to this predicament.
It started when his parent's restaurant began to fall apart.
Competitions popped up out of nowhere.
Bad reviews—one star after another—started appearing like rot under floorboards.
Customers stopped coming.
Then came the troublemakers.
People fighting inside.
Vandalism.
Sticks, stones and hair found in the newly served soup.
Their regulars—disappearing.
Their ingredients would go bad in the fridge before they could cook anything.
Employees got scouted by newer, shinier places.
And when they'd finally decided to close for good.
Don Federico Luchese's people came in—
Like a bullet through glass.
They offered them a loan.
No contracts.
No pressure.
'Just help, they said.'
The Don of Luchese had given his blessing.
Then came gifts.
Vacations.
The quiet, careful way, they turned everything around.
Like magic.
The restaurant started to come back to its feet.
And the Don?
He started hosting lunch meetings there.
Bringing his people.
Ordering the most expensive things on the menu.
Tipping well.
Especially when Angel was around.
He'd call ahead, asking Angel's parent's, "Is he there today?"
At first, Angel didn't think anything of it.
Just small talk.
Idle curiosity.
Because the Don never approached.
He let his men do the talking.
He's just there.
Watching.
Always watching.
With his dull pale eyes—that made Angel uncomfortable.
His instinct screamed at him.
Then one day, he told his parents.
But they dismissed it as nothing.
"Maybe he was just looking at your rare eyes," they said.
"Let him look."
"He's our patron."
"He saved us."
"He's like family."
They treated him like a god.
Forgetting the old Don's reputation.
So Angel decided to lessen his time in the restaurants.
He's always out, spending his time with his childhood friends.
But sometimes, the Don would just show up with his men in Angel's peripheral vision.
His stares felt heavy.
It made Angel's skin crawl.
Then came an opportunity to get away.
He was one of the few that got selected for an exchange student program that he applied to from way before.
Angel thought:
'I could finally breathe freely again.'
He went into the U.S.
Lived his life to the fullest.
He stopped answering calls from home.
Looking back now..
It feels like he was the real target of the Don from the very beginning.
That all of it—the 'help', the generosity, the revival of the restaurant.
It feels like just bait.
It only became clear to him after they kept him there like a prisoner in Hotel Valgrande.
It feels like the Don orchestrated all of this.
Maybe he pushed Angel's parents into debt.
Maybe he made sure they'd be desperate enough to offer Angel like some kind of payment.
Like it's all calculated.
'I never should have come back here,' Angel's heart aches.
After all, ever since the Don came into his parents life, they have changed.
They had always been cold to Angel.
Not abusive.
No.
More like neglect.
'Then if I had never come back here.. I wouldn't meet that silver eyed stranger.'
Angel stilled.
He sniffed.
'My virginity, gone in an instant,' he mocked himself.
'And to a man at that.'
Ever since that day, there never comes a time that he didn't think of that man.
And he would be reddened and feel ashamed of his actions.
While also feeling hot and bothered.
He couldn't get the man's silver eyes and face out of his mind and dreams..
After tossing and turning all night, he had fallen asleep with tears in his eyes.
Then the next morning, he was being prepared like livestock.
Washed, dressed and seasoned.
Only to wait for the frying pan.
And that's the longest terror he had ever experienced.
They even went as far as to have him on a liquid diet.
Not that he could eat anything solid anyway.
He felt like a cow going to his own slaughter.
He was full of nerves and tension.
Until he saw him—the silver eyed bastard—in the grandroom.
The shock Angel felt—knowing that it was a mafia party.
Then that meant—'he' was also a part of this world?
But somehow, something in him calmed.
Angel tried to confront him.
He didn't know why he did that.
But he realized why he was bothered.
He liked him.
And he wanted to protect Tony.
Then, they slept together.
Angel reddened internally.
Then, when he woke up—alone, in a different room, unguarded.
He tried to find Tony.
Then witnessing the aftermath of the sniper attack.
He got worried.
And when Angel saw him, the relief was instant.
Then he got asked out.
'His timing was always out of place.'
But that's a part of Tony's charm.
Then he got embarrassed, knowing that Tony's grandfather and brother heard his dirty mouth running.
And while bandaging Tony's grandfather—a villain arrived.
Getting pointed with a gun in the face.
Then the brutality that followed.
Angel can't stand that Tony got hurt.
Then the explosion.
And the appearance of the woman that seems like Tony's mother...
Angel was already disoriented.
Everything was happening in a fast-paced blur.
Tony's mother had just spoken to him, asking him to choose between her other sons or her.
But before he could register what that meant, he heard something.
A low whistle.
Don Federico Luchese.
That perverted old man was still there.
Hiding in the rubbles like a damn cockroach.
Their eyes met for a second.
And that made Angel's gut twisted.
He could feel that the Don was up to something.
Something not good.
He turned to tell Tony—
But a loud shot rang out.
Deafening.
Angel screamed.
Or at least he thought he did, but no sound came out.
Maybe it got trapped in his throat.
Maybe it was drowned out by the ringing in his ears.
He didn't know.
Everything blurred together, melding into one nauseous haze.
Was it shock?
Or perhaps it was simply the exhaustion—
There's only so much he could take in a single night.
Then the next thing Angel knew, the world flipped.
He was hoisted upside down on someone's shoulder.
Dangling like a doll.
His body froze.
But his mind was already racing.
He was disoriented.
His stomach turned from the motion.
He wanted to vomit.
The abrupt shift of everything around him was so confusing and nauseating.
'I think they made me smell something..?'
The sickly-sweet smell still lingers in his nose and mouth.
It coated his tongue like rot wrapped in sugar.
Chloroform?
It had to be.
That dizzying chemical grip was unmistakable.
"Merda! Ille furcifer Bernardus! (Shit! That scoundrel Bernardo!)"
Angel recognized the voice.
'The perverted old geezer!'
Don Federico!
Angel's heart pounded.
He was being taken.
Again.
Then a radio crackled beside his ear.
The man carrying Angel answered in a deep voice.
"Copy that."
He struggled to listen in.
"Sir, the vehicle was ready. Let's hurry on to the underground parking lot."
An elevator door opened.
They stepped in.
It stopped their movement.
And it gave Angel time to gather his wits.
What happened after the gunshot?
What happened to Tony?
'Is he okay?'
Did Tony know that he was taken?
'Should I fight now?'
Angel wasn't a fan of violence, but this was a matter of life and death.
And he refused to have his fate sealed.
No.
'Not like this!'
Being touched by the perverted old man is worse than death itself.
Should he wait?
Wait for what?
'Tony?'
He shook his head internally.
'Am I really that helpless that I need saving?'
No.
So what now?
There are only two of them now.
A guard.
And a sickly disgusting old man.
If he took them by surprise, he might get away or... get hurt.
But at least he wouldn't go down without a damn fight.
'But we are already inside the elevator!'
A pessimistic voice inside him countered.
If Angel let them reach the underground parking lot—
There will be no knowing how many suits there are.
There might be more..
Too many or none at all.
But it's not like Angel had a choice.
It's inevitable that—that's where he'll end up even if he struggles now.
And Angel rather not gamble.
Then he saw it.
His gate pass to freedom.
'A gun!'
Tucked into the man's waistband—the one carrying him.
He didn't hesitate.
It was now or never.
The moment the elevator dinged open and they stepped out, Angel reached for the gun.
Once it was in his hands—
He held onto it tightly—
Then slammed the grip of the gun into the man's lower back.
The man let out a pained surprised grunt—then his grip on Angel loosened.
Angel's body dropped flat on the floor.
His hold on the gun never loosened.
Then without wasting another second—he kicked his bare feet to the man's shin.
It didn't do much damage but it was enough for the pained man to lose his balance.
And it bought Angel a moment.
He grunted from the floor—then he tried to put some distance between them.
Nausea twisted his stomach.
But he forced himself to keep going.
Never break the momentum.
He stopped crawling.
Then he twisted and lay on his back.
Pointed the gun to Don Federico and his guard—that was now curled like a fetus on the floor—blocking the elevator door from closing.
"Dont fucking move!" he said aloud.
Controlling his voice.
His arms trembled, but he held his aim.
He scrambled to his feet, breathing hard—his knees were shaking.
So he sat up, the gun never lowered.
Don Federico tried to take a single step forward.
"Move and I'll fucking shoot you! Disgusting freak!" Angel snapped.
He was shaking but his voice was loud—but not loud enough to be heard by the Don's other men in the vicinity.
If there were even more men.
Don Federico froze.
Eyes wandering.
'Probably looking for backup!'
"Hey! Eyes on me pervert!"
The Don doesn't look good.
Pale.
Limping.
Dazed.
Bloodied.
Breathing was labored.
'You are already like this and yet insist on taking me?'
Angel wasn't taking any chances.
He didn't care if he looked ridiculous in his current position.
Trembling in a dirty dress shirt.
No pants.
Only briefs.
Barefoot and holding a gun.
A gun he didn't even know how to shoot.
But he knows he won't miss.
He had precision.
He was a damned student doctor for fuck's sake!
His hands were stable.
Trained not to shake—even with great pressure.
Angel was done being a damsel in distress.
He gritted his teeth.
"I don't believe that you'll shoot me, my Ange—"
A shot rang.
**