? For Dina ?
The alley hadn’t changed in the minute they stayed silent.
Rain drifted in thin diagonal lines, tapping puddles with steady ripples. The lamps above buzzed faintly. A cart creaked somewhere in the distance. Otherwise, the world was still.
Leo remained exactly where he stood.
Back straight.
Hands relaxed, but not loose.
Unmoving, even though neither Alex nor Dante had spoken.
The leader of the Wolves waited...
Waited for an answer.
And in that long, tense quiet, something ran through Alex’s mind.
A memory.
Leo’s hand gripping his for the first time, thanking him warmly… only for his expression to change the instant his eyes slid to Dante.
"So that day… he recognized Dante from the start. Even now... he is still waiting... and not taking it out on Dante..."
The thought rattled him so hard he almost missed Dante’s trembling breath behind him.
Alex forced himself to speak—someone had to break the silence.
“You know revenge won’t bring your sister back, Leo.”
Leo lifted his chin slightly, eyes weighing Alex, not judging. A flicker of rain traced down his coat.
“Have you lost anyone before, Alex?”
Alex hesitated, shame prickling at his chest.
“No.”
Leo’s nod was brief.
Lightning split the sky. Thunder rolled through the alley.
A sharp inhale, then calm again. Eyes back on Alex.
“I know it won’t bring her back. But he doesn’t get to live like nothing happened.”
Dante stepped forward before Alex could recover.
“Then kill me too.”
Alex’s head snapped toward him.
“What are you saying?!”
Dante’s voice tore out of him. “I took part in that ambush! Without me, it wouldn’t have happened! Why do I get to live too while she’s on the ground, huh? If you’re going to start with someone, start with me! I lived my life like normal after what happened!”
He sucked in a breath, chest rising with anger and shame. “I was at a party just now! The mob were enjoying themselves in the finest hotel in the city! Laughing, drinking, dancing! A lot of fun! How does that sound to you?”
Leo’s lips pressed into a thin, tight line—not a snarl, not anger—but something like the ugliness of knowing the world had moved on without his sister. The mob partying in gold while he had been grieving in dirt for years.
Dante pushed harder, almost spitting his words, voice cracking with fury and self-hate.
“Yeah! And don’t stop at the Undertaker! Kill them all! The Wolves will cheer from the sidelines, watching you destroy your life! That girl Noor too—she was preparing some melody for you! I’m sure your sister will be clapping for you from the heavens while you do it!”
The sentence hit Leo—sharp, direct—and something inside him jerked.
A twitch of the fingers.
A breath caught midway.
His shoulders drew in barely an inch, like something struck a bone-deep nerve.
Alex stared at Dante, horrified. This wasn’t the friend he knew.
Leo’s voice came out small—not weak, just tired.
“…Why can none of you… understand?”
Barely audible, but it reached both of them.
Dante froze mid-breath.
Leo looked… older. Exhausted. Like he wished he could reach them, make them listen, but knew neither of them were ready to hear the truth he carried.
Then suddenly, Dante lunged.
Reckless.
He didn’t run away—he exploded forward, straight at Leo, winding up a swing. His face was twisted with rage—not at Leo, but at himself.
“Dante! No!” Alex screamed.
Leo planted his left foot and brought up his guard. No hesitation.
His face was no longer calm.
Just hard. Serious. And for the first time tonight, a flicker of anger burned in his eyes.
The moment Dante stepped into reach—
He fell.
Alex threw himself at Dante's feet, catching one with both hands, grip tight, refusing to let him walk into his own destruction.
Dante hit the ground hard. He turned, shoving at Alex, who was already moving on top of him, restraining him with all his strength. Not a shred of escape.
"Let me go! Alex!"
He thrashed under him like a trapped animal, muscles bunching, twisting, kicking. Alex held on anyway—arms locked, shoulders shaking.
Until he had enough—
"I'm sorry, buddy."
A sharp crack exploded against Alex’s cheek—Dante’s elbow connecting clean.
White-hot pain flared through Alex’s skull, bursting behind his eyes. His jaw snapped sideways; his ears rang. For a second, the world tilted, blurred. His grip faltered—
But only for a breath.
Alex forced his arms tighter around Dante’s torso, burying his face into Dante’s shoulder so the next blow wouldn’t daze him as badly.
Dante felt it—the stubborn, stupid refusal—and it made him panic harder.
“WHY ARE YOU STILL HOLDING ON?!” Dante roared, voice breaking into something wet, something shaking. He drew back another elbow, slamming it blindly into Alex’s temple this time.
Pain shot down Alex’s neck. His vision flickered.
But his arms stayed locked.
He gasped through the agony, breath shuddering, forehead pressed to Dante’s back as the world spun.
“Because—” Alex wheezed, dizzy. “You don't deserve any punishment.”
Dante bucked viciously, almost throwing them both sideways.
“I DO!” he shouted, a cracked, furious lie. “I’m just getting what I earned! LET ME UP!”
Alex only tightened, pain searing through his clenched jaw.
“I'M NOT! IT IS MY FAULT TOO!”
Dante barked back, voice cracking.
"HUH?! YOU WERE IN YOUR SWEET HOME IN THE MOUNTAINS WHEN ALL THAT HAPPENED!"
“YES! I WAS!” Alex shouted hoarsely. “So it's my fault too! I wasn't there for you! Or for her! If someone should be beaten, it's me!”
"WHAT KIND OF LOGIC IS THAT! You sweet, innocent, soft-hearted cow—MOVE!"
Dante twisted—Alex slamming onto his back with a grunt as Dante tried to wrench free. Dirt kicked up. Shoving, screaming, clawing at the dirt, at Alex, at anything.
Alex clung to him like a lifeline that hurt to hold.
And Dante kept fighting like he wanted to die… until he was out of strength.
His hand reached.
"LEO! COME HERE! WHAT ARE YOU STANDING THERE FOR!"
Leo stood there—still—watching, jaw tight, eyes burning, watching the two like that.
Alex pinned Dante to the ground, his body all over him.
Sick of the bull on top of him, refusing to let go—sick of the calm of the boy standing, watching, instead of kicking him in the face or anything—Dante's voice broke, barely more audible than a whisper.
"Just... move..." he pleaded both of them, tears and exhaustion in his voice. "Please..."
Alex’s grip slowly softened into a hug, pressing Dante against himself the way Dante had hugged him on the rooftop.
Still on the ground. Dirt all over their new expensive tuxedoes and shoes.
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"No..." he whispered back.
Leo watched the two of them on the ground. Alex pressed over Dante, arms tight around him, forehead resting against his head. Dante’s body sagged in exhaustion, shoulders trembling, tears streaking his dirt-smeared face. The boy had wanted a beating so badly, and here he was, broken and crying, too weak even to raise a hand.
Something shifted in Leo’s eyes. A narrow, slow narrowing, like a lens focusing.
Pity. Quiet, almost painful pity.
He saw Alex in the way he held Dante, relentless, caring, stubborn, soft. And it reminded him—reminded him of his sister, the way he’d watched over her, held her when the world weighed too much.
For a moment, the cold edge of him faltered. And he stayed frozen, just letting himself feel it.
Three years ago
An eleven-year-old Leo stood in front of the school gate, hand wrapped around an even smaller one. Dina—seven years old, dark hair cropped just like his—stared at the school doors with a face soft and open, the kind that hadn’t learned to hide anything yet. Her eyes were huge, shining as if she were looking at paradise itself. Children trickled in: a few boys in patched coats, a handful of girls in ribbons. Dina watched them like she was watching a dream walk past her.
Her bag was worn, fabric thinning at the corners. Her clothes were clean—Leo had scrubbed them—but poverty sat on her like dust that refused to wash off.
“Here it is, Dina! Your school!” Leo smirked proudly, back then still carrying a boy’s glow. He talked more, laughed more, lived louder. Not like the disciplined young man he would later become… this Leo was just a kid trying his best.
“This... is the school?” Dina whispered.
“Yes! Isn’t it great?!”
She finally looked up.
“But… what about you?”
Leo grinned. “Don’t worry about me. I got a job at that bar—you know, the one me and Father watch the boxing matches at. I saved whatever I could to buy the bag, the outfit, and that cute lunch box.” He ruffled her hair gently, kneeling to meet her eyes.
His smile softened into something genuine, unguarded.
“This is for your future, Dina. Anything to keep you away from the house and the factories too.”
Dina’s eyebrows scrunched.
“But… I can work… And Dad always wastes the money on cards… It’s not fair that you do everything.”
Childish, clumsy, but full of worry.
Leo paused, trying to decode her little tangle of thoughts—how to soothe her, how to keep her light.
“You’ll work,” he said at last. “Only after you graduate. And when you do, you’re gonna earn a looooot of money.”
He stretched his arms wide.
Dina’s eyes widened. “That much?”
Leo nodded, grinning. “Yes! Maybe even more!”
"Okay then! I'm going to become a teacher!"
Leo tilted his head. “Hmm… why a teacher?”
Dina looked at him and grinned.
“So I can teach you too.”
Leo’s eyes widened as he took in the words. Simple, childish... yet they didn't sound like a joke. It carried the tone of a caring promise. He couldn't help but laugh, full and unguarded.
“My little Dina… a teacher!”
Dina shrieked with laughter as well as Leo spun her around, wind tangling her short dark hair. Children nearby whispered and laughed, but the dizzy rush, the weight of her small hands on his shoulders—that was everything. Her bright eyes, her tiny giggles… for a moment, the whole world narrowed to just her future shining in front of him... until he got dizzy, and tripped.
He fell on his back, with Dina on top of him.
"L-Leo! You okay?"
"Yes. I overdid it." he laughed.
Dina didn't.
Instead, She looked at him for a few moments, worry all over her face... before pressing her face into his chest and wrapping her arms around him—tight, like she was afraid he might disappear if she let go.
She held on, enjoying his warmth, thanking him for his selflessness, for always being there for her, for putting her before him.
The same way Alex would hold Dante years later, right in front of Leo.
"Don't hurt yourself, okay?" she mumbled.
And that—that—was what stayed with him now.
More than anything.
More than blood.
More than sadness.
But the weight of his sister… and believing he’d stay.
The pose, was almost the exact same one Alex would hug Dante three years later in front of Leo.
And that was all that mattered to him.
As Leo pulled himself from the memory, the alley seemed darker. Rain traced slow rivulets down walls. Alex and Dante held their breath, bracing for what was coming.
Finally, Leo moved.
But not forward...
He sank to the wet ground along with them, letting himself collapse into puddles, legs bent, arms resting on his knees, shoulders slumped in a way that carried every burden he had been holding for years. Dirt clung to his coat, water soaked his sleeves. It was a surrender to the anguish he carried alone.
Alex lifted his head.
Dante turned, hearing the sound of the fall.
Leo’s gaze stayed on the droplets dancing in the puddle. His voice, quiet and hoarse, finally broke the silence.
“Was it quick?"
The words came out weak... barely audible.
"When she passed?”
Dante’s throat tightened. The question was for him, the only witness to the tragedy among the three.
“Yes... She didn't suffer.”
Leo exhaled slowly, as if unsure whether the answer comforted him or hollowed him out.
“So, no last words? Nothing?”
Dante’s shoulders sagged.
“None... I'm sorry.”
Leo’s face twisted—not in anger, not in tears—but in a terrible, raw, held-back grief. His lips pressed tight, jaw trembling imperceptibly, eyes dark and hollow. He had cried enough already. The ugly containment of sorrow made him look almost empty, yet unbearably heavy.
“What… do we do then?” he asked, words more to himself than anyone else.
It was the same question asked elsewhere just hours before by three Dons plotting terror and revenge—but here, in the alley, with rain soaking him through, it was a question of loss, of what to do when clever plans, careful strikes, and all the fury in the world couldn’t bring someone back.
Alex’s voice cut through the cold as he stood up. Determined and warm in the shadow of pain.
“We stop more tragedies.”
Dante looked up, letting the words settle like something sacred.
Leo remained planted on the wet ground, eyes fixed on the puddles, tension in his shoulders betraying the weight of years carried in silence.
Alex swallowed, stepping forward, eyes serious.
“This back-and-forth killing… no one wins. Just more people hurt. More children… like Dina.”
He clenched his fists, voice shaking a little.
“We give the children and people in the slums something else. A path. Hope. Anything so they don’t get pulled into shootings, those gang wars that never end.”
He glanced at Dante, helping him standing up, lifting him with both of his arms.
“If we hear about danger, ambushes, deals that might go wrong… Leo, we tell you first. You evacuate the area and warn the innocent bystanders... like Dina wasn’t.”
Leo asked, without looking.
“And what makes you think anyone will listen to me?”
Alex’s eyes didn’t waver.
“The Wolves have a great reputation since the clash with the Red corner kids! People will believe you! I bet you are respected enough, even among the adults!”
“Instead of revenge,” he continued, “You—We… can do better.”
Leo finally lifted his eyes, locking with Alex.
Alex’s voice softened, honest and fragile.
“That would make her proud and happy, right?”
“She can't feel those things anymore, Alex,” Leo said quietly.
“She does!” Alex shouted, hope burning through his words, as if stating an undeniable truth. He smiled, full of certainty. “I’m sure she is watching over you, Leo! Thanking you every day, for trying hard for her. I'm sure she wants you to feel joy and happiness too!”
For the first time, Alex’s words carved a space in him where belief could take root.
Dante looked on, silent, awe in his gaze.
“You don’t know that,” Leo said, voice low, a shadow of doubt in it.
“I don't... But... I... believe,” Alex replied, hesitantly.
The words struck Leo again, a slow, deliberate hammering of hope and memory. He lifted his eyes to the clearing night sky, searching for her face among the stars. And for a moment, he chose to believe too—that somehow, she was still there, watching. Not fully gone.
Alex hesitated, shrinking back a fraction, suddenly aware of how na?ve his words might sound.
"You still have Mira, Tonno, Pinch, Lino, Noor. Don't throw away your life."
"Let's... do it differently. For Dina."
Leo studied him, and then Dante.
Dante wasn’t even blinking.
"You have no idea what you will be doing. You'd think that you are being harmless, sneaking up envelopes, watching cargo movements, reporting stupid information like what time a person comes and goes into his house, what does he smoke, what types of flowers he buys..."
"Next day, they die because of that same information you reported."
"You will never be in the same room with him. I will never allow it. Torture me all you want. I'm not letting that happen. Whatever you do to me… I accept it."
"But please… if I failed to get her out of harm’s way… if I failed to save her…”
His voice trembled.
“Let me at least save you.”
Leo's eyes widened, just a little bit, listening.
"Me and Alex..." Dante carried on. "We don't have a choice... but you do. We are giving you one."
Something hollow inside Leo's chest shifted.
His mind wanted to speak—wanted to ask the questions clawing at him.
"How long have you been doing this?"
"What kind of monster is Dominick, using two boys like you?"
"The easy way... is to take a chance on me getting rid of him so maybe you would be free."
"And yet, you tell me to stay away."
Their worry and concern said enough.
Slowly, Leo rose to his feet.
And for a heartbeat, he didn’t speak.
His stance was different now—less rigid, less ready to fight.
Like someone setting aside a weapon he’d carried too long.
Finally.
“…Then we do it your way,” he said.
“Not killing. Not chasing ghosts.”
His eyes lifted toward the alley, toward the slums beyond.
“Keeping the others alive. Showing them something other than poverty and despair. That’s our fight now.”
Dante exhaled slowly, tension leaving his shoulders. Alex felt the same—relief washing over them, the kind that comes from knowing Leo would not immediately chase revenge, would not plunge them all into another spiral of violence. The weight they’d been holding, the constant readiness, lifted just slightly.
“If you hear anything, let me know. You can ask Mira where I live." Leo added. "Just don’t tell her or the rest of the gang about all of this. In exchange, I will keep quiet about you two.”
“Alright,” Alex said quietly, nodding.
Dante looked at Leo, hoping—for a moment—for forgiveness, for some softening in his expression.
Leo addressed him, voice low and almost grating with restraint.
“She wasn’t alone in her final moments. She had someone trying for her. Not me, who's always late. That… counts. Not enough to undo what happened—but it counts.”
With that, the tension in Dante's chest loosened just slightly. Relief washed over him—more than he expected to feel. For a moment, Leo’s words, heavy and measured, carried the weight of acknowledgment, even if not forgiveness. They were more than Dante had dared hope for, a glimpse of respect from the one he thought would forever see his face as a reminder of tragedy.
Leo’s eyes lingered on him a moment longer, before finally turning away.
The thought rose, unbidden and bitter.
"That's right. I'm always late."
"Late to save Dina."
"Late to keep Mira, Zack, and the gang together."
"Late to keep my word to the violinist girl in the plaza."
Alex and Dante watched him disappear. Their eyes met, and in that silent exchange, they felt the burden of what they had just witnessed. Leo’s grief was a mirror—they glimpsed the unimaginable: losing each other. The thought tightened their chests, a quiet reminder of how perilous their lives had become, and how precious the bonds they fought to protect really were.
Not only that.
For the first time, they saw Leo clearly.
Not the legend the streets whispered about.
Not the fighter the slums expected to turn into another monster of vendetta and fury.
A boy.
A boy who could’ve chosen blood, as men twice his size and age— the Marcettis and Marvianos had done for decades—families who carved their grievances into children and called it tradition.
A boy who, instead of becoming another link in that chain, stepped away from revenge with nothing but grief holding him upright.
And that, more than strength or skill, earned their respect.
Deep, instinctive, unshakable.
The kind of respect men twice his age never managed to command.
The kind that made Alex and Dante think—
if he could make that choice, in that much pain…
maybe they gained the best ally in the streets of Portenzo City.
But beneath that shared understanding, something else lived—quiet, hidden, almost shameful.
Dante had wanted to save Leo.
Only Leo.
Alex… hadn’t.
He had wanted to save Leo too—of course he had.
But there had been another weight in his chest.
Another face.
Dominick.
-
Discipline and Calm: When two muggers tried him at the graveyard, he didn’t shout or attack. Instead, he warned them: “Don’t pull that stunt in a graveyard again. Respect the dead.”
— Chapter 25: Between Fear and Grace
-
Measured strength: During the Plaza fight, he dominated Jax and Vito calmly and efficiently, yet the boy who suffered the worst punch was Zack swinging a knife around—right after stabbing Mira. Leo doesn’t escalate violence unnecessarily; he acts decisively but with restraint.
— Chapters 30-31: Ice and Fire / Judge and Healer
He is brutal when required, but never bloodthirsty.
-
Patience, Restraint and Self-Control: While sparring Alex, even as Alex swung wildly risking injury, Leo maintained composure, pinning him safely and signaling lessons without hurting him. Though like any human being, he has limits... and Mira had an inner monologue of what might happen if anyone makes him cross those limits
— Chapter 49: Hidden Face
-
Duty over hatred: In the latest chapter, he says:
“I don’t want to do this. I... have to do this.”
— Chapter 61: the Three above, the Three below.
His motivation is rooted in obligation to his sister, not personal revenge. Alex’s words about Dina watching over him shake that resolve.
-
Honor: Dante was ready to take a beating if he had to, a beating he thought he deserved—anything to not let Leo go after revenge and Leo hitting someone not fighting back would be out of character; he’s honorable, disciplined, and looked up to by the Wolves and by as someone as honorable as Mira.
He operates according to principle, not impulse.
-
Responsibility and Guilt: His reflections show more guilt than hatred:
“That’s right. I’m always late.”
“Late to save Dina."
"Late to keep Mira, Zack, and the gang together."
"Late to keep my word to the violinist girl in the plaza.”
and also:
Leo’s grip on Alex’s hand loosened. “I am responsible for this as well.”
Alex blinked, confused. “But… you weren’t even here until today.”
Leo lowered his head. “Exactly.”
— Chapter 32: Not A Hero
He shoulders accountability for the lives and well-being of those around him.
Maybe they will meet in even more better circumstances rather than a typical vengeance trope arc?