A voice drifted from the shadows.
“Well, well. Look who’s risen in the world.”
Alex turned, seeing it's none other than his roommate.
"Hey, Dante!"
Dante stood leaning against the wall, half-swallowed by the evening gloom, his hands sunk in his coat pockets. The usual mischief in his eyes had dulled; his features were drawn, worn by thoughts.
“So,” Dante said, eyes flicking to the sack in Alex’s arms, “old man Harris kept you on, did he?”
Alex nodded, smiling, his cheeks burning with happiness and pride.
“Today, I got to clean the back room.”
Dante scoffed.
“Cleaning the back room. Living the dream, are we?”
But Alex only offered a faint, almost conciliatory smile.
“You could say so. He is a good man too. He’s not as mean as he seems. Just doesn’t trust easy.”
“Oh, sure,” Dante said, his tone sharp now. “Just needed to meet the right honest boy, huh?”
Alex blinked, his brows folding.
“It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?” Dante pushed off the wall. “You walk around like you’re cleaner. Never stolen a coin, never begged for bread.”
“Dante? Of course no,” Alex said, with quiet force.
“Lucky,” Dante echoed. His lip curled. “Right. First try, and boom—some cranky old shopkeep opens the door. Guess some people just shine.”
Alex jaw tightened. His hands clenched around the crumpled paper sack.
“First try?”
The words came low, tight with something that had been building for days.
“I didn’t eat for three days, Dante! I got spat on! Mocked! One man threw a boot at me! You know it wasn’t the first try! You said you followed me! You saw me!”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence thickened.
“You still got in,” Dante muttered, averting his eyes.
“Not because I shined,” Alex said. His voice didn’t rise—but it struck harder for its calm. “Because I didn’t quit.”
Dante’s gaze dropped. The words hung between them, bitter and bare.
“Don’t twist it to make yourself feel better,” Alex said at last, softer now, but not gentler. His stare was unrelenting.
Dante turned to leave, his expression unreadable. He took a few steps down the alley, then stopped.
“Just don’t forget where you are." he said, not bothering to look back, "This city doesn’t give second chances.”
And with that, he was gone.
Dante lingered in the narrow alley beside Mr. Harris’s shop, the fading light casting long shadows that danced against the crumbling brick. His breath came in low mutters, barely held back from rising too loud.
"What the hell is wrong with me"… he murmured, eyes scanning the quiet street. "Yesterday I was fine. Just fine."
He shifted his weight, restless, pacing the cracked stones.
"And here I am, lurking near that old man’s shop… and that shepherd."
His voice faltered as his gaze caught something out of the corner of his eye—a figure half-hidden in the gloom beyond the corner.
A boy, slightly older than Alex and him, crouched there, clutching a knife with uncertain hands. Dante’s eyes widened.
He stepped forward, voice steady but carrying an edge.
“What’s up there?”
The boy startled, nearly dropping the blade. “Damn, you scared me,” he said, eyes darting cautiously. “Who the hell are you?”
Dante gave no answer, simply watched him for a moment. Then, nodding toward the shop, he asked,
“You want the kid working in there?”
The boy frowned.
“How’d you know?”
“He lives with me,” Dante said quietly.
A low scoff came from the boy.
“Tch… Guess you’ll hand over what you’ve got, then. And stay quiet, or—”
“Relax, tough guy,” Dante interrupted, voice rough but amused.
“He’s not my friend. New around here. Real annoying too.”
The boy blinked, confusion flickering across his face.
“You saw the big pouch yesterday, right?” Dante’s smirk crept in, sharp and knowing.
The boy nodded slowly, still uncertain.
“Let me help you,” Dante said, voice low. “We’ll split it. How’s that sound?”
The boy’s eyes narrowed.
“Why would you? Doesn’t he live with you?”
Dante shrugged, expression darkening.
“Just a roommate, not a friend. He also... needs a lesson."
The room was quiet, bathed in the warm glow of an orange lantern that hung low from the ceiling.
Shadows flickered across the worn wood, lending a faint sense of calm to the otherwise still air.
Vince sat at the counter, fingers wrapped loosely around a glass of water.
The door creaked open, and Dominick stepped in, the hem of his long coat dusted with wetness from the storm. People as usual look at him, averting their gazes or looking or whispering. He paused for a moment to brush the rain away, then nodded toward Vince.
“Hey, Domidick” Vince said simply.
Dominick returned the nod, voice calm and even.
“News?”
“Nothing much,” Vince replied, taking a slow sip of water.
“Quiet days without you around.”
Dominick’s lips curved into a faint smirk.
“I got him.”
“Gilbert’s kid?” Vince's eyes widened. "A him?"
Dominick nodded.
"A son, a good one. The Dons didn’t complain. No tails either.”
H took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes in annoyance.
“If it was just approving the new handkerchief pattern for the guards, it would’ve taken them forever. But going after a coward from a thirteen-year-old debt and taking in his son? That, they agree on instantly.”
Vince studied him a moment.
"You know them... obsessed with family. No sons, no daughters, no wives. Not anymore at least."
Then, softly,
“And how was he? Gilbert?”
“Same as ever,” Dominick answered with a trace of disdain. “Stupid. Naive.”
He paused, voice dropping slightly.
“Not like us.”
Vince chuckled dryly.
“You’ve got it the wrong way. We’re the sad ones.”
He looked down into his glass, as if searching for something unseen.
“Let me guess… he’s happy?”
Dominick’s eyes darkened.
“He was.”
His voice grew quieter still.
“I’d bet he’s crying his heart out now… watching his son pay for a mistake he made.”
“And the son?” Vince asked. “What kind of lad is he?”
“I have hopes for him,” Dominick said, voice steady. “Smart. Observant. Obedient. Could be as useful as Dante, if not more.”
Vince raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
“You’ve got plans for him?”
Dominick’s smirk returned.
“Soon.”
Vince leaned forward.
“Like what?”
“The Marcettis are still barking,” Dominick said, his tone flat. “Went sniffing around Frank. The bartender won’t be answering questions anymore.”
“They didn’t give up for years, they won’t now.” Vince said. “Too proud to admit defeat.”
Dominick’s gaze hardened.
“We’ll strike their muscle.”
“You got a plan?” Vince asked.
“I have a lead on two of their enforcers. I don’t know much about them, but I can use our wild cards. It’s a two-man job.”
Vince gave a wry smile.
“You mean a two-kid job?”
Dominick’s eyes gleamed in the lantern light.
“Same to me.”
Alex walked briskly along the familiar street, the pouch of money securely hidden beneath his worn coat, just as Dante had instructed him on his first day, calling out the danger of the pickpockets.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
A smile played on his lips. It was only his second day working at Harris’s shop, but for once, things felt like they were going right. He had a job, honest work, and for now, that was enough.
Suddenly, a shadow detached itself from the gloom ahead—a figure slightly older than Alex, rough-faced and watchful, stepped into his path. No knife glinted in his hand yet, but the threat was clear.
“Hand it over,”
Alex stopped short, nerves tightening but his voice steady.
“Hand over what?”
The mugger’s eyes narrowed.
“You work there. You get paid daily. Don’t pretend otherwise. I’ve seen you.”
Alex took a cautious step back, heart beating faster.
“You’ve been watching me?”
“And I know the route you take home. From now on, whatever you earn, you give it to me.”
Alex's shoulders straightened, and though his voice was quieter, it held steady.
“I’ll run… as soon as I get a chance.”
Before he could move, a figure appeared behind him, blocking his escape.
“Dante!” Alex breathed, relief flooding his features.
Dante smiled back, calm and composed.
The mugger’s gaze flicked between them, surprise flickering with irritation.
“Oh, hey, partner. Your roommate here’s not on your side, you know. You trusted the wrong person."
Alex spun toward Dante, eyes wide, lips parted in shock. Dante simply winked, still smiling.
A heavy silence took over the alley.
“Alright, now give—” he began, reaching into his pocket.
...
But there was no knife.
With a quiet snap, Dante pulled something from his own pocket.
“Looking for this?”
“When did yo—”
Dante chuckled.
“You’re bad at this. Keeping your knife in the easiest place for me to snatch it? And you thought you had something all along.”
The mugger’s confusion turned to embarrassment as he reached into his pocket and pulled out—
A carrot.
Dante doubled over, laughter bubbling up uncontrollably.
“I wish he didn’t notice. I wish he’d… pffttttt,” he couldn't handle it anymore. "Try to stab you with that."
Alex couldn’t help but smile despite himself, the tension easing from his shoulders. Dante was on his side. All along. The feeling of betrayal vanished.
Dante turned back, grinning wide.
“Try a cucumber next time.”
The mugger’s face flushed deep red, fury and humiliation mixing. Without hesitation, he grabbed a cinder block and charged, hopefully to get some of his pride back.
Dante planted his feet, ready to dodge.
But Alex was quicker—
He launched himself forward, his body a charging bull despite his smaller frame.
His core strength and solid legs drove the tackle home, knocking his opponent off balance and sending him crashing to the ground, shocked. The strength... didn't match the size. Not one bit.
Dante’s voice cut through the air, laced with disbelief, as he walked towards the kid, still on the ground, with the knife held with three fingers. No intent to attack with it, just displaying it to remind him of his embarrassment and failure.
“You didn’t learn your lesson yet?”
Alex’s voice was sharp, urgent as he stepped in between them, spreading his arms, yet still trembling from the rollercoaster of emotions and the presence of a knife.
“Leave him, Dante!”
Dante looked at both of them, amused by the contrast. The boy who won is somehow more nervous than the one on the ground.
"What strength... But he’s kind to the core."
Alex walked and put a hand on Dante's shoulder, inviting him to follow.
“Let’s go…”
Dante hesitated.
“We have to make sure he doesn’t try you again.”
Alex paused, then slowly turned back, searching... or rather hoping for a little fear or hesitation, indicating indeed this was the last attempt.
The mugger was now struggling to his feet, sneering. A smirk twisted his lips as he stepped closer, sensing Alex's kind attitude.
“I know the shop and where you work already... So don't worry. I'll bring a whole squad next time to walk you home. Both of you.”
Alex stiffened at the challenge, but his eyes widened all of a sudden—seeing a familiar man take a turn and appear in the alley almost out of nowhere.
Dante smirked knowingly—his eyes flicked past the confident kid whose smirk faded as he finally noticed the figure standing silently behind him.
Dominick.
His eyes, behind his glasses, locked onto the smaller figure in front of him—both in size and presence—with cold, unyielding fury.
No words were spoken—just the silent weight of Dominick’s aura, heavy and unmistakable.
The young man, no longer a mugger, just a trembling kid was still on the ground, breathing hard, fingers scraped, the cinder block lying useless beside him.
Alex exhaled quietly, a shiver running down his spine.
Dante’s voice cut through the thick silence, just loud enough to sound dramatic.
“Oh my God, it’s him! Let’s run away!” He grabbed Alex’s arm, pulling him with a mock urgency—but instead of fleeing, he hopped on one foot, amusement shining in his eyes.
Alex caught the joke instantly. He remembered Dominick’s warning—not to be seen with them.
Yet, despite the joke, a knot of worry twisted inside him for the boy.
Dante leaned in, voice low and conspiratorial. “Let’s watch from here...” He ducked behind the corner, pulling Alex with him.
They hid in the shadowed recess of the alley. Dante’s grin widened. For Alex, it was something new—a first glimpse into Dominick’s world.
“He’s not... going to kill him, right?” Alex asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Dante stuck his tongue.
“Pffft. As if. He’s not some street thug, buddy.”
They both turned their attention back to the scene.
Dominick stood still, eyes fixed on the trembling boy before him. No words. No threats.
The silence was heavy. The boy shivered, unable even to summon the courage to run.
Then, slowly, Dominick reached into his coat—and drew something out.
A gun? No.
A single paper bill, crisp and unyielding—money, not coins.
Dominick dropped a single bill at the kid’s feet. It fluttered to the ground, crisp against the wet cobblestones.
Dominick stood tall above him, glancing down, almost disappointed.
"A cinder block? Really?"
No answer came. Kid's eyes flicked between Dominick’s face and the paper bill dropped near his foot.
"Go buy some brain with this." Dominick said, "But stay out of this area."
"W-Who are you?" the kid said, voice barely audible.
"I'm your father. A pity your mother never told you."
The boy let out a short, broken breath, as if he’d been struck in the chest. His mouth opened, then shut again. He swallowed, once, twice, and his gaze dropped to the wet stones at Dominick’s feet.
“W-Why… did you give me that?”
Dominick tilted his head,
“So you do have a tongue at least. But don’t get the wrong idea. You’re not even a person to me. You’re just noise... and I don’t want to hear that noise around here again."
...
"Out of my sight.”
The kid hesitated. His body refused to move, listening to his instincts, warning him that whatever he does—even listening to Dominick's command—he should do it slowly and carefully. He reached for the bill. His hand hovered, checking Dominick’s face, afraid of seeing a change in that expression. Afraid of seeing him decide to pull something else other than money from his pocket.
Finally, he grabbed it, and looked at the tall man who hadn't moved an inch, as if asking for permission to leave. Dominick, seeing this is taking longer than he thought, let out a tired sigh. And that was enough for the
With that, Dominick turned and walked away, his coat brushing against the wet cobblestones as he disappeared down the path he had come.
Dante chuckled, nudging Alex.
“See?”
But Alex was silent, watching the empty alley where Dominick had vanished.
“Just make sure to hide your pouch before you leave the shop, alright?”
Alex nodded, still caught in thought.
“Y-Yeah...”
The two finally stood and started back toward the apartment. Dante led the way, hands in his pockets, whistling softly.
“For a second,” Alex said, voice low, “I thought you really betrayed me back there.”
Dante grinned without turning.
“Nah. I wouldn’t, buddy. The boss would eat me alive if anything happened to you.”
Alex let out a quiet breath, half a laugh.
“I thought you were still mad at me… for getting the job and all.”
Dante didn’t answer. His grin faded as he kept walking, eyes on the street ahead.
The whistling stopped.
He was already somewhere else in his mind—thinking about tomorrow.
Next day in the evening
The sun had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards and bathing the room in a quiet amber glow. Alex stepped inside first, closing the door gently behind him. The space was still, hushed—only the faint sounds of the city drifting in through the shuttered window.
He looked around, noting the emptiness with a soft frown.
“Dante can be late sometimes…” he murmured, half to himself.
Crossing to the small wooden table at the center of the room, he sat down and pulled the leather pouch from his coat. The clinking of coins spilled out softly into the silence. He counted them one by one, his brow furrowing with focus, a smile slowly blooming across his face—shy, but proud.
“I wonder if… I can get him to stop,” he whispered, fingers gently brushing over the modest stack of coins.
But the thought hadn’t even finished blooming in his mind when the front door creaked open.
He startled—shoulders tensing, hand instinctively reaching for the coins—but relaxed at once when Dante stumbled inside, coughing, clothes blackened with soot, and the scent of smoke trailing behind him like a second cloak. His face was smudged, eyes red from ash and exhaustion, his dark coat clinging to his frame like it had fought the chimneys too.
“D-Dante?!” Alex shot up. “What happened?!”
Dante kicked the door closed behind him and slumped forward with a groan.
“Got a chimney sweep job,” he rasped, waving a hand in front of his face.
“Thought I’d give honest work a try.”
He coughed again, harder this time.
“It’s ugly as hell.”
Alex’s eyes lit up in surprise.
“Really?!”
“Yeah. But I’m not doing it again,” Dante said flatly, tossing a second coin pouch onto the table with a tired thud. “I inhaled more smoke today than the boss has in his whole life. And the pay? Barely enough to afford soap.”
Alex’s hands hovered over the coins, then back to Dante’s face.
“You… you’ll look for something else?”
Dante flopped onto his bed with a groan, turning his back to him.
“It’s all your fault, you know.”
Alex blinked, taken aback.
“What…?”
The room fell still. A few muffled sounds leaked in from the street outside—the creak of a cartwheel, a bark in the distance. Dante didn’t move. His shoulders rose and fell once, slow, before he spoke again.
“I’m jealous of you.”
The words caught Alex by the collar. He stilled.
“I told you,” he began, voice soft, “We can split what I—”
“No, you got it wrong,” Dante cut in, not cruel, just tired...
Then, softer, almost like he was speaking to the room.
“The faces you made…”
Alex stayed still, watching his friend, his own breath caught in his chest.
“I think I want to feel that way,” Dante murmured.
A quiet washed over the room, as golden light shifted on the floorboards.
Slowly, a smile returned to Alex’s face—warm and hopeful, touched with something gentle.
“It’ll take a while…” he said softly, “but you’ll see. It’s worth hundreds of coins.”
“A fair earning, Dante—it’s the best feeling in the world.”
There was a small sound from the couch, more like a breath than a word.
“Yeah… yeah.”
"Right!" Alex's eyes brightened, "I can talk to Mr Harris—"
"Nah." Dante interrupted, "He will have to pay two people. Keep that one for you. It's not the only shop in this damn city."
Alex stood and took a step closer.
“I want to help you. We can split what I have, till you find something better. Something under a good boss. And…” he wrinkled his nose, grinning, “doesn’t ruin your clothes and health.”
He gave a mock-heroic gesture toward the soot-covered heap on the couch.
“In the meantime… get them!”
“Who?” Dante asked, confused as he glanced over his shoulder.
“Oh right—” Alex rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
“I meant, uh… keep fighting!”
Alex couldn't help but be surprised. His mind was still swallowed by that... picture. The blonde girl's grace, her voice reciting that speech, the way she delivered it— were all planted in his soul.
“Can’t believe that is still lurking in my mind…”
Behind him, Dante turned lazily, one eye cracking open.
There was a flicker of amusement on his face now.
“Let’s see how you handle the other stuff,” he said.
Alex’s expression faltered.
“You mean… Dominick’s work.”
Dante nodded.
“We saw him yesterday. He is back in the area. Means he will drop by. Maybe even later or tomorrow.”
A shadow crossed Alex’s face. He didn’t know what those jobs entailed yet, but everything in his chest warned him—it wouldn’t be easy. Or clean.
Dante watched him for a long moment, then suddenly raised his heel and kicked him—just lightly—like a brother might.
“Come on! Cheer up! Don’t worry! You’re not dying!”
He grinned, stretching his arms wide as he sat up.
“Not on my watch!”
He pointed a finger at Alex like a theatrical mentor.
“Just follow my lead and all will work fine, got it?”
Alex looked at him—and then smiled again. Not the proud, coin-counting smile from before, but something deeper. A warmth that spread all the way to his eyes.
He wasn’t alone.
Thank you for reading :)
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