(From Chapter 3 to 4)
The man from the bar had bloody knuckles.
And it made Angel feel somewhat guilty.
'Maybe he got hurt fighting those men in suits,' he thought.
But the truth was, the bloody knuckles had been there long before they met.
Always split and raw—from punching walls.
Punching away the guilt that was eating at the stranger.
Angel just hadn't noticed.
Because he was busy thinking of ways to lose his tail—the Luchese mafia family.
'The tourist got hurt because of me.'
That's what he continued to believe.
He looked up—eyes trailing from the man's torn hands, past the loud orange Hawaiian shirt, to his dark, messy hair.
Angel was already tall, but this strange tourist that walked ahead of him—like he owned the entire street—was much taller.
Muscled legs that tensed under his white shorts when he walked.
Toned calves—like a sculpture—with big feet in cheap sandals.
He also had surprisingly clean cut nails.
The guy was big.
Not just in size.
No.
His presence too.
'Imposing as hell…' Angel thought.
Now that the earlier danger had passed, and the tension he felt in the bar was gone—he started noticing more about the man.
He had broad shoulders.
What Angel had first thought was a sleeper build… now, on second thought, it wasn't.
'This guy was built like a panther in a vacation shirt!'
Long legs.
Big hands.
Toned arms and elbows marked with scars—faded lines like tally marks of violence.
'Who the hell is this man?'
They weren't visible at a glance—hidden beneath tiny hairs—but if you looked closely, they were everywhere.
'And that voice.'
If Angel were a businessman, he'd bottle that voice and he'd be a millionaire.
Deep.
Rough.
Women would kill for it.
'Maybe, men would too…'
And the man—he had somehow had an uncanny resemblance to that famous actor from the US.
'Johnny Depp… in his 30's'
Angel gulped.
He was a fan.
'This man would be popular with the ladies.. what with his good looks and voice..'
And the stranger's eyes.
'Silver…'
Molten silver.
Angel had never seen anything like it.
It was magnetic.
It could suck your soul in and get hypnotized into doing carnal things.
The man was a living, breathing sin incarnate!
He shook the cobwebs away from his mind.
'Shut up Angel! Think of other things! Think of literally anything else!'
But his brain failed to think of other things.
He breathed in and out.
'Right! My eyes are rare too!' he felt relieved.
So he couldn't exactly throw stones.
He had violet eyes himself.
Angel continued to observe the enigma he'd mentally dubbed 'tourist, stranger, and sin' in his mind.
He didn't know what to call him.
It's embarrassing to ask now.
Since they were already on their way to the man's hotel room.
And Angel also noticed this quiet, simmering energy around him.
It wasn't exactly comforting… it felt… dangerous but not exactly.
Animalistic.
Unpredictable.
And it was confusing.
It made Angel's instincts flicker between run and lean in.
'I know I said I'd help him clean his wound as thanks, but… Do I really have to go up to his hotel room? What if something happened… something like… sexual?'
Angel was now doubting his life decision.
It gnawed at him as he walked across the streets.
He glanced back at the bar where they just came from.
Where the man had just caused a ruckus and shot the knee of the man in a suit there.
'Should I bolt?'
But then, the memory of the Luchese men chasing him returned fast, snapping like the wind.
His eyes darted everywhere.
To the alley, every corner.
Across the streets.
The shadows in that afternoon felt so loud.
'What if there were more?'
He checked again to see if any Luchese men were nearby to help those left injured in the bar.
'If more suits showed up now… I feel like this silver-eyed man would somehow save me.'
His instinct flared.
'And, somehow, I feel safe with him… if I stayed with him…' he admitted to himself.
Angel hated that thought.
Hated it the same way he hated the streets of Florence.
Maybe it was the exhaustion.
The constant running.
Always on edge.
Maybe it was just desperation.
Plain and simple.
Or maybe it was just survival instincts tangled with the alcoholic scent of the man who looked like he could kill for you—or with you.
'And my money's running out!'
If Angel stayed just one night with the tourist, or just one day, that was one less hotel to pay for.
He clenched his fist.
Determined.
Up ahead, Tony—hadn't looked back once.
He was silently debating whether to aggressively swoop in and ravage the beautiful man following him like the animal he is…
Or…
Ask permission first if the pretty stranger wants to be ruined.
By him.
The tension between them wasn't casual.
It crackled—like static on bare skin.
When they walked inside the lobby of the hotel, it followed them in.
Even the elevator ride was thick.
Even though it was quiet.
Too quiet.
Not awkward—just… loaded.
It was suffocating with something unspoken, charged, like lust wearing a knife.
Like two matchsticks walking into a gas leak.
Ready to burn.
'Desire? Danger?'
Hell, probably both.
Tony concluded.
He leaned back against the elevator wall.
Arms crossed.
Silver eyes locked on the pretty stranger with violet eyes.
It was like studying a puzzle he fully intended to solve—with his mouth.
'I'm really trash,' he thought.
The pretty stranger kept his gaze on the floor, then the buttons, then the floor again.
"Are you always this quiet?" Tony asked, voice low and smooth.
Angel shrugged.
Not looking up.
"You always bring home guys you fight for?" Angel countered, then he peeked.
The silver eyed stranger's smile was slow.
Not quite kind.
"Only when they are worth bleeding for…" Tony deliberately looked at him, up and down.
'The stranger's gaze felt… heavy? No. Sticky? Like an adhesive..'
Angel bit his lip, he turned his head to the side and looked away—
'Goddammit, why did that line work?'
His heartbeat was already racing like hell.
Then the elevator dinged.
Tony led the way down the hall.
Unlocking his room like he owned the hotel.
Like he'd built it himself and kept it standing out of sheer arrogance.
He stepped inside and waited.
Inside:
A king size bed.
Dim lights.
And the balcony was left wide open, with the white curtains billowing in the wind.
Old.
Vintage.
'And smelled just like him,' Angel thought as he scanned from before the doorway as he stood for a beat too long.
The silver eyed stranger turned to him and said:
"You can still run if you want."
Then a pause.
Angel just shrugged it off.
Thinking:
'Whatever the hell that means…'
Then, he shut the door behind him like he was sealing a pact with the devil.
"I don't run unless someone's chasing me," he declared.
Tony's gaze dropped to the pretty stranger's lips that he invited inside his hotel room.
And it lingered there before he answered.
"Good."
**
Angel wandered inside.
Then he stopped near the foot of the bed.
All the while thinking:
'There's no chair, how can I clean his wounds? Standing?'
He eyed the bed, stalling.
"Ahem, do you… want me to look at your hand now?" he asked quietly.
Tony's brows lifted.
'Is he experienced with this kind of thing?' he thought.
He went straight to the pile of wine he carelessly bought the other night.
"Hmm… sure. If that's your excuse for staying."
'Then I shouldn't need to ask, do I? I should have gone straight to it…'
Now Tony felt sorry for not sticking in with his initial plan.
He felt like he just missed the opportunity.
Opening the bottle of wine in hand, Tony crossed the room in three long strides.
Not grabbing.
Not rushing.
Just there, suddenly.
Close enough for Angel to smell the blood and wine on him.
And it did something to him.
Making Angel confused.
Hot.
And very bothered.
'I think, if he jumped on me now… I wouldn't be able to resist…'
Then Angel scolded himself.
'Luckily, it was all in my head! I didn't think the man was like that…'
"You want a drink first?" the man's silver eyes dropped to Angel's lips.
'Oh my god!' Angel gulped.
"I have no glasses," the man murmured, voice low and dangerous.
Angel's hand reached out for the bottle of wine.
His fingers brushed against the silver eyed stranger.
They both stilled.
There was a current that ran both on their skins.
A delicious kind.
'What.. what's this..' Angel was stupefied.
This was his first time feeling like this.
"You're the one that made the first move."
The man said.
Tension rose.
Angel looked up.
Big mistake.
Silver eyes, stormy and full of intent.
And lust.
Plain and simple.
Angel didn't speak, his mouth went dry..
Tony leaned in.
Mouth brushing his ear.
It was intoxicating.
"You reached out first."
Angel's breath hitched, unable to come up with anything smart to say.
"No take backs."
Then the man lunged at him—like a beast.
**