The Jock, The Nerd and The Geek

Epilogue (Part One)

His men at that utterance held their breath in fear, as they all knew what it meant living under the umbrella of Il Pazzo but didn't dare say anything, and to their gladness, heard their Don mumble under his breath, "Fine, but don't kill any of my men. They're invaluable and finding a better crew will take time that I don't have."

Which meant in other words, I care for them.

His Padrino for the first time that day, gave a genuine smile as he said with a mock bow, "Whatever the Don desires."

Paris only let out a sigh at that, knowing someone would die eventually, and hoped it wouldn't be someone he did actually like and turned to Marcos, "Let's go."

They got to his house after three hours, the whole ride being completely silent before entering into his home, the heeled boots male staring at the compartment, his voice small, "This place lacks life."

It was a mansion of a house, with every area drenched in white, save for other things like flowers, the TV, the coffee table but everything else was plain and dull looking for a colour like that.

"I'm barely ever here," Paris answered gruffly, now at the bar area section as he asked, "Would you like to drink something?"

"Red wine, do you have a bottle of Le Chapeau?"

The amber eyed male didn't know if Marcos had asked that question to mock him or because he truly wanted it because a Le Chapeau bottle was truly one of the rarest and most expensive bottles in the world.

Thank God he was a partner of the company that believed in having a bottle of it for good luck. "Yes."

"Mhm," Marcos kept walking around, his arms folded, "I bet you've never brought anyone here before."

Paris popped open the bottle, tilting it into a wineglass. "Why would I?"

"I don't know," Marcos shrugged, turning to look at him. "Friends to talk with? Lovers?"

He walked to the male now, handing him his own glass and said in a voice that left no room for argument. "I don't have friends, and I don't bring anyone here."

"Mhm," Marcos hummed again, putting the glass to his lips and taking a sip. "Must be why your crew seemed so confused you were carrying me. Their cold, heartless boss was finally showing some sort of emotion after so long. Wish I could tell them it's probably a facade that would go away as soon as they trust you enough."

Paris felt the sting of the words like the male had slapped him, his jaws clenching, "Marcos—"

The male suddenly slipped out of his grasp, walking to the other side of the hallway, his eyes on an artwork that Paris prized as his most important asset.

It was a picture of Marcos, laying on a bed, surrounded with silk and flowers with a sleepy look in his eyes. There was a feeling any normal person felt when staring at it. Peace. Serenity. It was like looking at the face of God through an angel of his. Promising you eternal life by letting go at his feet.

"This artwork," Marcos said, one hand on his hip and the other twirling the glass of wine as he stared at it. "After the auction four years ago, I wanted to buy it myself, as it's the prettiest state I've ever been in during a shoot, if I do say so myself and found out someone had stolen it before I could even say goodbye."