The sun had already risen by the time Angel and Tony emerged from the underground parking lot.
Right before them, the first to be dragged out was Don Federico Luchese—
Bleeding, groaning, cursing and crying Angel's name like a madman.
Behind him, his men, bloodied and defeated, followed in complete silence.
Then came Beth.
Snarling.
"This isn't over! Santa De Leones! I have connections from above!" she hissed, even as her wrists were cuffed and her shoulder was shot.
"Don't touch me!" she yelled, but no one listened.
They pulled her out of sight.
And behind her, several CIA agents who had surrendered without a fight.
Bernardo and his crew were already gone—likely en route to a brutal end, the first to meet their maker.
Mafia style.
Their fates were already sealed.
Outside the shattered remains of Hotel Valgrande's restaurant, the grim aftermath of the previous night's chaos was plainly visible.
Curious onlookers, and passersby hovered with phones raised.
Snapping pictures—until the people of Santa De Leones began shooing them away.
They moved with silent, practiced efficiency.
The polizia were present, too.
But they kept their distance.
They weren't there to interfere—only to keep up appearances.
A fragile peace, draped in blue uniforms and deliberate avoidance.
Employees and all the guests from the hotel's fourth floor party were already outside.
Lined up.
Some kneeling.
Others, leaving quietly.
No one dared to make a ruckus.
A surreal parade of survivors, if you will.
Don Leon sat at the edge of an ambulance door.
Refusing to lie down like a patient.
He was watching the clean-up with steely calm, his face was grim.
Though it was clear—he'd been waiting.
Not to give orders.
But to do something.
Something that needs to be done—right.
Today.
Right now.
And it couldn't wait.
Paramedics—employees of Santa De Leones—hovered around him like watchful hawks.
His breathing was shallow.
Oxygen tubing looped under his nose.
Fresh bandages wrapped his wounds.
His dress shirt had been changed.
A blood transfusion was running through his arms.
When he saw Tony approach, the old man tore the tubing away and reached for his cane.
Attempting to stand.
The one he had been waiting for.
As always, Leandro stood behind him—his head bandaged.
Several gashes had already been cleaned and taped.
Alvaro, shirtless and wrapped in gauze, lingered near.
Alessandro, still in his crumpled dress shirt, stood silent and steady—his neck bruising into purple.
While Maria sipped coffee with Franco like it was any other morning.
The air still reeked of smoke and blood.
Once all the villains were bound and loaded into a truck, Don Leon—still gazing at his grandson—spoke:
"Leandro," he rasped, voice still weak, but it cut through the morning haze like a blade.
"Will you take over the family?"
It was only formality.
The decision had long been made.
Leandro didn't even need to think.
He shook his head, his eyes finding Tony's.
"No," he said simply.
"I'm just not cut for it… to lead."
Then all eyes turned to Tony.
Tony stood rigid.
Jaw clenched.
The weight of a thousand expectations pressing down.
His grip on Angel's hand tightened.
'Sneaky old man.'
"What's this all about, Don Leon?" he asked—not a question, but a warning.
Calling Don Leon by his name and title—for the first time in almost two decades.
The first time he hadn't called him 'old man'.
Tony's silver eyes narrowed.
Silence fell.
Thick.
Electric.
Don Leon didn't answer him, he ignored Tony's warning.
He continued:
"Antonio Santa De Leones… You've been away far too long."
He breathed deeply through his mouth, steadying himself.
"But it doesn't change the fact that you are of my flesh and blood.."
He eyed Tony.
"You carry your ancestors' blood.. Their eyes…"
His breath grew ragged, but he pushed on.
The paramedics looked ready to intervene, but didn't.
"You're the only one that inherited the Santa De Leones' mark."
Tony scoffed.
"Oh, come on—"
But Don Leon didn't let him finish.
"I hereby declare you, as of today, the official Don of the family."
The words dropped like stones.
'Fuck.'
Tony didn't respond.
Didn't accept.
Didn't acknowledge.
He didn't walk away either.
He just stared—then glared.
'It's a fucking funeral.'
And yet, the silence that followed… was one of acceptance.
The men of Santa De Leones bowed their heads—not in shame, but recognition.
Angel just squeezed Tony's hand.
He looked around everyone's faces.
Tony's family were watching Tony and him.
Quietly.
With pleased faces.
Like they all had long accepted it.
Like it had always been Tony's fate.
His birthright.
Tony said nothing.
But in his chest, something screamed.
Something tightened.
'Do I even have the right?'
**
By the time they arrived at the Santa De Leones' mansion in Lake Como, it was already eleven in the morning.
The entire ride, Tony and Angel said nothing.
They just held each other's hands.
The worst was behind them.
The lake behind the mansion shimmered in the sun's warm rays.
It cast a golden glow that softened the world.
Angel held his breath.
'It was beautiful… peaceful.'
Momentarily awed by the mansion's beauty—its towering presence.
The calm of the water.
The sun's light—sets everything aglow like a dream.
Tony squeezed his hands, never letting go.
The tension of the battle faded, replaced by the quiet comforts of hot showers and fresh clothes.
But even in peace, reminders lingered.
From somewhere in the distance came faint pop-pop-pop sounds—gunshots.
Then a splash of water.
A grim punctuation mark.
The clean-up was still underway.
Executions carried out in the hidden corners of the world.
Each muffled shot made Angel flinch.
Fresh from Tony's shower, now wearing a pair of maroon pajamas far too big—Alvaro's apparently—he felt tremors in his bones.
He knew what that sounds meant.
Tony stepped out of the bathroom, water dripping from his dark hair onto his solid body.
When he saw Angel trembling, his expressions darkened—but not out of concern for the flinch.
It was the pajamas.
He growled lowly.
Disapprovingly.
Without a word, he strode over and pulled Angel into a fierce, possessive embrace.
"Come here babe.." he whispered.
"Let me take these fucking clothes off you…"
Angel nearly jumped from the sudden embrace of cold arms that reached him.
"Tony… stop that..." he whispered back.
Tony grunted then hugged Angel.
POP-POP-POP
SPLASH
The sound continued.
But Angel tried to tune it out.
He instantly felt calm in Tony's arms.
'I can't hear it if it's like this...' he closed his eyes.
And for a while, they stayed like that.
Feeling each other's heartbeat.
Angel wanted nothing more than to stay in that embrace.
But the reality kept knocking—loud and relentless.
"Tony.. what's gonna happen now?" he asked.
Breaking the fragile moment.
Tony stilled.
His mind raced, but his arms around Angel only tightened.
"What do you mean, babe?" he gently kissed Angel's hair.
He knew what Angel was asking—but chose to pretend not to.
If only for a brief moment.
Angel tried to free himself, but Tony's arms were like steel.
He gave up after trying twice.
Then he hugged Tony instead—with more force than he initially intended.
But goosebumps started to rise on Angel's skin
And that's when he felt it.
Something... hard.
Solid..
'Oh God,' he gulped.
'I'm turning into a pervert!'
His face flushed.
Red as a tomato.
"Tony please let me go..."
"No," came the reply instantly.
Still grumpy.
"Then answer me at least..." Angel's voice was full of insecurities.
Trying not to be aware of 'that'.
"Will you be the new Don of the mafia?"
"What will happen to us?"
"What are we?"
Angel fired off every question inside his heart.
"What do you want from me?"
Angel's question about the Don title froze him.
He didn't even know the answer himself.
It was a title he'd once dreamed of.
A title he once lived for.
Until Antonia died.
'...Antonia...' he thought.
Her name rang through him like a bell—distant, cracked but still echoing.
It was the legacy he buried.
But now, it stood on his doorstep.
He thought bitterly.
One he'd trained for half his life.
And spent half blaming his family for.
Now that everything's been cleared.
He didn't know how to come to terms with it.
'Should I take it? Should I let it be… but Angel…I think he's done with violence… It's too much for him.. .'
Tony moved his head back—creating a bit of space—and looked down at Angel's face.
And for a second, Tony could only stare in wonder.
'He's so fucking beautiful..' he thought.
"I want you," Tony answered, voice low and seductive.
"All of you."
Angel's breath hitched.
A shot of pleasure sent a shiver down his spine.
"Forever."
He paused and stared Angel in the eyes.
As if he was asking for permission.
"Be with me please.. Let's live together from now on.."
He pressed their foreheads together.
Their warm breaths mingled.
"Date me.. be mine.."
A paused.
Then Angel smiled, and he teased Tony:
"Want to run away, Don?"
**