“See you tomorrow, Mr Vitali.”

The prosecutor gave Angelo a shit eating grin as they filed out of the court room.

“Tomorrow,” Angelo said, putting on a smile which didn’t quite reach his eyes. Usually the combination of his height, natural gravitas, chiseled Sicilian features and dark eyes which held a world of potential pain for anyone who might dare to cross him would keep a man like the prosecutor from so much as opening his mouth - but his effect was somewhat muted in these halls of justice.

The prosecutor was a cocky little upstart. Oh the things Angelo would have done to him given a few hours of consequence free time and a decently insulated basement. The attorney was a doughy man in his mid-thirties with well bitten fingernails and a perpetual snuffle that indicated a coke habit. Angelo would have broken him of that, and the ability to look him in the eye and smile.

Ordinarily Angelo would have worked his baser impulses out on one of his boys, but that wasn’t an option on this occasion. It had been a very long day and he was not in a good mood.

The FBI were tying Angelo up in a series of petty suits which weren’t going anywhere, but which required his frequent presence in court. Angelo knew this was simply how the game was played and that he was not in any real danger. If they had anything concrete, he would be in jail. Still, being forced to attend court appearances several times a month put a damper on his activities and was a constant stressor in his relationships with Mark and Robert.

Mark was the reason all this was happening. He had been an FBI agent before Angelo corrupted him and was in deep hiding in a secret location. Bobby stayed with him. Mark had a real talent for keeping the younger man in line, even though Angelo had been with Bobby almost twice as long as Mark. Two years and one year respectively, hardly a long time, but long enough in Angelo’s world.

When he thought of them, he felt a yearning in the pit of his stomach, a desire to look into their eyes and see the flashes of love and hate, desire and disgust in their eyes. Being his lover was no straightforward matter. Angelo did not love as other men loved, but that did not mean that he didn’t love at all. He missed his boys and wanted them near.

That was out of the question at the moment. Thanks to the FBI’s endless tying up of the judicial system, Angelo was being forced to live in his New York apartment. It was hardly a hardship by most people’s measure, but Angelo didn’t like staying in the city. Even the nicest apartment was still a concrete box, and the streets were crowded to a point which made every step dangerous. He was a man with enemies, and the city was rife with them. It was a colony of criminality, a place where men lost their souls, minds, and lives on a daily basis. Having a penthouse in Manhattan didn’t change any of the villainy which lay beneath the very thin facade of civilization which most New Yorkers didn’t have time for anyway. You were always two seconds away from a sold ‘fuck you, asshole’, which had its charms on occasion - but not this one.

Angelo preferred the country, where the grounds were open and where surveillance was much more easily undertaken. In some ways, however, the experience was invigorating. He was on his own as he had not been for quite some time. He’d left his small force of armed guards back with Mark and Bobby. They needed protection more than he did, and besides, with cops and feds crawling over him at every corner, having men with guns around would only inevitably complicate the situation.

He couldn’t even have a weapon on him, nothing more deadly than a pen knife anyway - which could be deadly under the right circumstances but still wasn’t ideal.

His car was waiting for him outside the courthouse. Angelo would follow the same routine he’d followed for the last three weeks. Go back to the apartment, be briefed by overpaid lawyers, eat food which didn’t taste like anything because it was eaten alone, go to bed and repeat the process the next day.

It was the routine that was getting to him. The grinding repetition. He had to give the FBI credit. They’d found a way to make him pay, even if they couldn’t actually pin anything specific on him. Forced into a world of close walls and dry paperwork, Angelo was beginning to go a quiet kind of crazy.

Until the man with the gun stepped out from behind the bathroom stall door.

Angelo had only ducked in to take a quick piss before heading home. He didn’t even really need to go all that badly, it was just something to vary the monotony. That was how far the powerful Vitali had come, reduced to urinating for entertainment purposes.

“Hello, Mr Vitali.”

Angelo found himself looking at the most handsome young man he’d ever seen. He had bright pale blue green eyes which were almost translucent in color. They were stunning. His face was elegantly constructed, with dark stubble across his lower cheeks and jaw. He was a rake, a scoundrel, and a killer. Angelo saw all of that in the creases around this man’s mouth and eyes before he took in the gun clutched in the man’s hand.

Danger had found him. Thank god.

“Hello,” Angelo purred softly, an enigmatic smile spreading over his features. “And who are you?”

“My name is Damien Colt,” the younger man said. “I’ve come to kill you.”

Angelo ran his hands over the handsome fellow again. He noted the way the man was dressed - jeans and a sport coat. A look which had briefly been popular in the late nineties, when this boy had probably been a boy. He was wearing a hoodie under the coat. Really, his outfit was more offensive than the hold up. Angelo barely dared to look down at the man’s feet… oh, yes. There they were. Skate shoes. Angelo was privately appalled he even knew what a skate shoe was.

Still, in spite of his awful dress sense, Damien’s hand didn’t waver in the slightest as he pointed the gun at Angelo’s chest. A practiced stance, feet shoulder width apart, one hand supporting the other. This was a man who had put his time in - and not just on a range.

Angelo lifted his dark gaze to that beautifully ferocious aquamarine stare. “No, you haven’t.”

He saw the younger man’s brows rise. “No?”

“If you had come to kill me, I’d be dead. You’re here for something else, “Angelo said with a calm smile. He knew what assassins looked like. This was not one of them. Assassins didn’t come and stand in front of you and make dashing, dramatic appearances. Assassins shot you in the back of the head and left before you ever saw them. Angelo knew all too well that he could consider himself fortunate if he were ever to encounter the kind of assassin capable of taking him down.

This young man was trying to make an impression. He’d succeeded.

“You’re half right,” Damien conceded. “Listen to me, Mr Vitali. You’re going to turn around, leave this bathroom and go to the back of the court house. You’re not going to attempt to flag down help. If you do, I’ll shoot you.”

Flagging down help was about the last thing Angelo had in mind. This was help as far as he was concerned. Damien Colt was like an angel of mercy, descending from on high to make Angelo’s life mildly bearable again.

Angelo turned around and strolled in the direction Damien had dictated. He was very curious to see how Damien managed to slip his weapon past the metal detectors at the doors.

“Keep walking, Mr Vitali.”

Damien was an impressive specimen, and easily in his thirties, but there was something about the way he said “Mr Vitali” which made him sound like an overgrown schoolboy. It was probably Angelo’s own paternalistic predilections being projected, but the way Damien was dressed certainly didn’t help.

Angelo walked through the metal detectors on the way out of the court house, thoroughly expecting mayhem to break out behind him. When it didn’t, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Damien behind him.

Where was the gun? Had he left it back in the bathroom? That would be somewhat reckless, though perhaps not if he had an accomplice. Or maybe he still had it on him and had used a form of shielding to get it through the detectors. Unlikely. Another option was that Angelo had just been held up with a plastic replica. That would account for not setting the detector off as well.

“Keep walking.”

Damien’s voice sounded from behind Angelo. It would have been easy to make a run for it. As brazen as Damien clearly was, he wasn’t going to shoot anybody in broad daylight and risk immediate capture. Angelo’s curiosity was drawing him in far more than threats of violence.

Damien came up alongside Angelo. Angelo noticed that Damien was about the same height as him, a relative rarity. Mark was just a fraction shorter, but Damien might even have a hair of height on him.

He walked with a confident stride, controlling the situation with force of personality. Or he would have, if Angelo was susceptible to that kind of manipulation. Fascinating. This was a man who was very much used to taking the lead in matters of life and death.

Damien lead him to an alley where a silver SUV was waiting. It wasn’t a current model and when Damien opened the door there was a waft of dog scent. Angelo cocked a brow at his young captor. His suit was likely worth more than the vehicle itself.

“Get in the car, Mr Vitali.”

“Or?”

“Or I’ll shoot you in the knee and put you in.”

“With what? We just went through a metal detector.”

An unholy, devastatingly attractive smile appeared on Damien’s face. “I know.”

“Imaginary bullets won’t do much to me, young man,” Angelo said. “Why don’t you tell me who you’re working for.”

Damien cocked his head to the side and gave Angelo a very appealing smile. “Why don’t you get in the car and find out?”

“I’d love to, but I have court in the morning,” Angelo sighed. “Perhaps we could take a raincheck for a more mutually agreeable time?”

“Perhaps you could get the fuck in the car,” Damien growled, his demeanor shifting in an instant. “I do have a gun, Mr Vitali.”

“And yet you can’t bring it to bear right now. Better luck next time, boy.”

Angelo turned around.

Something heavy and hard hit the back of his head.

And that was that.

Until he woke up. His skull was throbbing, and a familiar round steel bore was hard against his head.

“Gun,” Damien smiled, holding the barrel to Angelo’s forehead. “Neat magic trick, huh?”

Angelo kept his head still, but flicked his eyes around to check the environment. Obviously Damien had managed to get him into the car and take him elsewhere. He was in a warehouse of some kind. A cliche, but for a reason. You could get up to a lot in a warehouse. There was much room for activities.

Damien made a clicking sound. “Eyes here,” he said, his voice deep with satisfaction and triumph. “You’re going to want to listen to me, Angelo.”

Angelo directed his gaze back to Damien, but he was still paying attention to his surroundings. His more immediate situation was pretty clear. He was bound to a simple four-legged chair, his ankles and wrists restrained with thick plastic cable ties. Simple and cheap, but effective.

Damien took his time before speaking. He was relishing this. Good. He should.

“They told me Angelo Vitali was almost impossible to catch,” he said, smirking. “You were about the easiest person I’ve ever grabbed. You didn’t put up any fight at all.”

A smarter man might have given more thought to that fact, but Damien was obviously too cocky to think, even if he wasn’t stupid.

“Well, good for you,” Angelo said, restraining a patronizing smile. Damien was brimming with pride and he didn’t have anyone to tell. It was a difficult position to be in, Angelo could relate.

“Yes,” Damien agreed. “Good for me. Not so good for you. I was sent to take you for a reason, Angelo. You’ve been making a lot of enemies lately.”

Lately? Angelo had been making enemies forever. Damien was young enough to be brimming with joy at the idea of retribution, but Angelo had known this moment was coming for years. He hadn’t known what day it would be, or who would be holding the gun, but he’d known one day it would all come to an end. That was what set him apart from the rest of the criminal underclass. Unlike men who thought if they were just smart enough they’d get away with their crimes, Angelo knew one thing for certain: nobody gets away with anything. Ever.

He wasn’t frightened. He had meditated on this time. He had done as the ancient Japanese did and thought of a thousand ways he might die, a hundred horrible deaths every day. Whatever Damien might have in mind, it would be nothing compared to the territory Angelo had already covered in his head.

Damien’s pause drew on dramatically, but Angelo was immune to the tension. It didn’t matter. Whether that lead entered his skull now or in thirty years time, it was coming. He had been a dead man walking his entire adult life.

Angelo had often thought that it would be Bobby who finally killed him, but this end might not be so bad either. Certainly, his captor was adorable. Damien had shed the hooded sweatshirt and sport coat and was now wearing a form fitting t-shirt which presented his muscular frame to excellent effect. Angelo smiled. This boy was beautiful.

“I’ve been sent to kill you,” Damien said. “But killing you isn’t enough. You don’t deserve a simple bullet. It’s too good for you.”

He pulled the gun away from Angelo’s head, decocked the gun, and put it down on a table a few feet away.

“I’m going to hurt you first,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. His forearms rippled appealingly with the motion and Angelo felt his body responding not just to Damien’s obvious physical appeal, but to the intensity of the situation. There was no arousal like the kind to be experienced in times of life and death.

“Oh?” Angelo asked the single syllable question because Damien seemed to be expecting some kind of response.

“That’s what you do to men, isn’t it, Angelo? You tie them down and hurt them until they break?”

“It’s a little more sophisticated than that, boy.”

“Is it? Tell me.”

“I could tell you a hundred times over and you wouldn’t understand,” Angelo smiled. “It’s not something that can be explained by words. It’s something you have to feel.”

“You think I wouldn’t feel it?”

There was no way this boy would understand in a hundred years. He still expected Angelo to panic and beg for his life. Damien was no doubt a dangerous man, but he was not yet as dangerous as he could be, because he still clung to his existence. No warrior who wanted to live could be considered to have reached his full potential.

Damien reached into his pocket and pulled out a dog eared, folded piece of paper. He held it up to Angelo’s eyes.

“You know what this is?”

“I couldn’t begin to imagine,” Angelo said, humoring him.

“It’s a list of things you’ve done to people over the years, Angelo. There’s some pretty twisted shit on here. You’re responsible for a lot of pain and suffering.”

“People always choose their own pain and suffering when they deal with me,” Angelo said calmly.

“You set traps for people and you let them walk into them.”

“I tell people what will happen if they don’t do as I say. They choose the consequences.”

“Not always. If ever,” Damien said, his eyes narrowing as his temper flared. “You’re full of shit, Angelo. You’re a liar. And you don’t do what I do. I’ll pull the trigger, but you won’t put the bullet in the man yourself. You get him to do it to himself. So that’s what I’m going to do to you.”

He was angry. Interesting. This wasn’t just a professional hit. This boy had some personal affair he was avenging. Angelo was sure of that, but he certainly didn’t recognize Damien, and he was sure he would if he had met him before. Those eyes and that jawline weren’t forgettable.

“This is personal for you,” he said, keeping his voice even. “But you and I haven’t had dealings before.”

“Are you sure?” Damien’s eyes gleamed. “You don’t know what lives you’ve touched, Mr Vitali. You think you’re a genius. You think you can control the world, but there are things you can’t control. And there are people you never see coming. I’m one of them.”

“In that case, let me give you a piece of advice,” Angelo said, sitting up as straight as his bonds would allow him. “This is the one and only thing you’ll be able to trust that comes out of my mouth.”