CASSIAN

Julian paused. He seemed to be weighing his words, deciding how much of the truth I could handle.

"He works for a family. The Lorenzo family. They run the whole city we’re heading to. They run most of the towns around it, too."

I processed that. I wasn’t a fool. I knew what those kinds of families did. "He’s in the mafia."

"He’s a lieutenant," Julian corrected. "He’s been sending me money when he can. Small amounts. And letters. He says there’s work for me if I want it. Real work."

"And you want it."

Julian turned away from the window and looked at me. His face wasn’t uncertain, but it wasn’t fully settled either.

He looked like a man who had weighed a heavy burden, found he could carry it, and was now just waiting for the weight to hit his shoulders.

"I want to build something, Cassian," he said. It was the simplest thing he had ever told me.

"I want something that is mine. I don’t want to spend my life carrying bags for rich men who don’t know my name. I’m tired of being invisible."

He stopped for a beat. A small, dark smile touched his lips. It was a self-aware look.

"I want to be the man someone else carries bags for," he said. "Even if I have to do some ugly things to get there. I’d rather be a monster than a ghost."

I looked at him. I saw the honesty in it. Julian never dressed things up. He didn’t use big words to hide the truth. He couldn’t afford to.

"Okay," I said.

Julian blinked. "Okay?"

"Okay," I repeated. I reached out and took the piece of stolen chocolate. I ate it. It was sweet and bitter at the same time.

The bus kept moving. We were heading toward a city owned by a family named Lorenzo.

We were heading toward a life of ugly things. But for the first time, I wasn’t afraid. I was with Julian, and the road was open, and the journey was just beginning.

I watched the gray world go by and wondered what waking up meant. But the bus didn’t stop, and the air stayed cold, and the weight of Julian’s shoulder against mine was the only thing that felt real.

... 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

The new city was not like the old one. The old city felt like a museum... quiet, heavy, and full of things you weren’t allowed to touch.

This city was alive. It had a rhythm that never stopped. It was loud, it was dirty, and it belonged to itself. Every street corner had a different sound, and the air smelled like roasting coffee, wet pavement, and old stone.

Julian had a piece of paper in his pocket. It was a small scrap, folded and unfolded so many times that the white lines of the creases were starting to tear.

On it was an address. We walked until we found the building. It wasn’t impressive. It was just a door in a row of doors.

We found the man there. He was older, but I could see Julian in his face. It was in the eyes and the way he held his shoulders.

He moved with the kind of economy you only learn when you realize that unnecessary motion is a waste of time and life.

His name was Dante. It was a short name for a man who seemed to take up so much space without trying.

Dante looked at Julian. Something moved in his face... a flicker of something soft... but he killed it almost instantly. "You actually came," he said. His voice was like gravel.

"I told you I would," Julian replied. He stood tall.

Dante’s eyes slid over to me. He didn’t just look at me; he assessed me. He looked at my boots, my hands, and the way I was standing. "And this one?"

"He’s with me," Julian said.

Dante didn’t look impressed. "That’s not an answer."

I met his gaze. I was used to men like him.. men who thought they could see through you. "Cassian," I said. I didn’t blink. "I go where he goes."

Dante let the silence sit between us for a long moment. Then he gave a short, sharp nod. "Alright. Come on."

I expected the Lorenzo operation to be chaos.

I expected shouting and guns and people running in every direction. What I found instead was order.

It was a specific kind of order... the kind you find in a large company that has been running for a hundred years. They had protocols.

They had hierarchies. Everyone knew where they were supposed to be and what they were supposed to do.

We were taken to a room. A man named Mikey was there.. the underboss. He looked at us for a moment before the Don himself entered.

When the Don walked in, the room adjusted. No one said a word, but the air changed.

He wasn’t old, but he wasn’t young either. He had the face of a man who had seen everything and had forgotten most of it because it wasn’t worth remembering.

His eyes were sharp. They were the kind of eyes that read a person in the time it takes to shake a hand.

Dante and Julian bowed. It was automatic. They knew the protocol. They knew their place in the order of things.

I didn’t bow. I just stood there and looked at him. No one had ever told me I had to bow to anyone, and I didn’t do things just because everyone else was doing them.

"Cassian," Julian hissed. I felt his elbow dig sharply into my ribs. I didn’t move.

The Don—Marceli Lorenzo—looked at me.

The silence in the room was heavy. I thought he might be angry. Instead, he laughed.

It was a genuine laugh, short and dry. It was the laugh of a man who didn’t find much funny, so when he did, he meant it.

"Leave him," the Don said to the room. Then he looked at me. "First time meeting someone like me?"

"First time someone expected me to bow," I said. My voice was flat.

The Don looked at me longer this time. He was taking his time. "How old are you?"

"Twenty," I told him.

"Hmm." He smiled, but it was a thin, dangerous thing. "I like fire in young men. Either it builds something, or it burns everything down. I find out which before I decide what to do with it."