Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

Price of Freedom	By : Venka Category: +G through L > Hazbin Hotel Views: 85 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any rights to Hazbin Hotel or its characters, settings, and storyline. All rights to the original series and its intellectual property belong to VivziePop and its respective owners.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
He stood among a gathering of family members who had already proven themselves, each one waiting for their moment. This was it—the day they would make their pledge and bind themselves forever to the family. The air in the room was thick with anticipation, a shared understanding that once this step was taken, there was no going back. From that moment on, their lives would belong to the Ragno family, and they would serve in whatever capacity the family required. Some among them would rise to take the places of fallen Street Captains, while others might be granted the rare privilege of establishing their own crime families, extending the influence and power of the Ragno name.
He scanned the faces around him. Many were familiar: cousins he had grown up with, boys from the same neighborhood, each of them raised on the same values of loyalty and family honor. They had shared childhoods, but now their futures were about to take a dark and irrevocable turn. Some of the men stood confidently, faces unreadable, their expressions calm despite the gravity of the moment. Others, however, betrayed their nerves, looking as if they might lose their composure at any second. Their hands fidgeted, their eyes darted nervously, and a few looked pale enough to be sick on the spot. Yet they all stood their ground, united by the knowledge that they had been chosen for this life—raised to become part of something larger than themselves.
They knew what awaited them beyond the doors of that room. The invitation to step inside wasn't just a formality; it was an initiation, a one-way path into a life of crime, secrecy, and loyalty that could never be undone. The associates and Caporegime who had mentored them had ensured that their knowledge of the family business had been carefully limited, a safeguard in case anyone had second thoughts. If anyone felt like backing out, now was their last chance. Once they crossed that threshold and took the oath, the family's business would be their life, and walking away from it would mean exile.
The consequences of abandoning the family were clear to everyone. If they were family by blood, leaving meant being marked as a disgrace, cut off entirely from the family name and legacy. To turn your back on the family was to erase yourself from its history, to be dead to them in every way that mattered. There would be no more gatherings, no more recognition. You would be a ghost, an outcast who would never again be trusted or acknowledged.
But even that was not the worst of it. Once they were bound to the family, the only true escape was death. The life they were choosing came with a steep price. Some might live long enough to retire, but more often, the end came in a body bag. For those who got out, witness protection was the only alternative—a slim and dangerous chance. Cooperating with the authorities meant betraying not only the Ragno family but also the entire network of crime families in the region. The odds of surviving such a choice were slim. The Ragno family, like many others, had ways of ensuring that anyone who turned informant didn't live long enough to enjoy their freedom. They had reach, connections, and methods that ensured those who talked were silenced, often brutally.
And it wasn't just the informant who was at risk. Anyone connected to them—family, friends, associates—could be caught in the crossfire. The family believed in collective punishment, ensuring that the price of betrayal was too high for most to even consider. Those who thought they could outsmart the system or escape the consequences often found themselves hunted, never able to fully escape the shadow of their past.
Once the door to the inner room creaked open, the time for reflection was over. Each man knew what was at stake, and each had made their choice. One by one, they would step inside, make their pledge, and become bound to the Ragno family for life. There was no room for hesitation, no room for regret. From this day forward, they would live and die for the family.
"Anthony." His name rang out sharply, cutting through the air like a knife. The tone was unmistakable—serious and commanding. Butterscotch-colored eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he braced himself before turning to face the speaker. His older brother, Enzo, loomed behind him, dark brown eyes cold and unyielding. They had hardened since he pledged his loyalty to the family. This was no longer the gaze of a brother, but of a man intimately familiar with death—especially death at his own hands.
"Let's talk before things get started," Enzo said, voice low but firm. It wasn't a request. Anthony knew better than to argue, particularly with Enzo, a caporegime—one of the family's street captains. Enzo didn't often ask for private talks, and when he did, it meant something serious was brewing. Without a word, Anthony fell in line, following his brother down the corridor to a secluded room. The room was far enough from the gathering to ensure privacy, yet close enough that they could rejoin quickly if needed. A small space, dimly lit and musty, the air carried the weight of words unspoken.
Enzo turned to him, crossing his arms. "I'm only going to say this once, Anthony." His voice was clipped, all business. "Once you step into that room, it doesn't matter that you're the youngest son of the head of this family. You don't get a free pass just because of blood. Don't expect special treatment from Pops or me, because it won't be there. Once you agree to be inducted as a soldier, I won't acknowledge you as my brother in any family business."
Anthony's jaw clenched. He wanted to lash out, to remind Enzo how he was given little choice about being part of the family business at all, but he swallowed the words. Instead, his voice came out low, edged with bitterness. "Not that you ever did before," he muttered under his breath. But he knew better than to push it. He was aware of the rules, the way things had to be. "I get it. I know the other guys waiting to pledge deserve the same shot. So fine, when it comes to the family business, you're just my superior, not my brother."
Enzo studied him for a moment, his face expressionless. But the silence stretched just long enough to make Anthony uneasy. There was something else coming—something heavier.
"That's not all," Enzo finally said, his tone sharp enough to cut through the tension between them. "You're aware that Luca Celani is one of the Caporegimes in this family, right?" He didn't wait for Anthony to respond. "Whatever happened between you two at that farmhouse, whatever history you have, that's in the past now. It has no place here. You need to get rid of this… queer thing you've got going on."
Anthony felt a knot form in his stomach, his throat tightening. His older brother's words hit like a punch. He had known this was coming, but it didn't make it any easier to hear.
Enzo pressed on, his voice lowering into a dangerous murmur. "If the other families find out what you are, you'll be seen as a liability. And we don't tolerate liabilities in this business. I shouldn't have to remind you what happens to them."
The unspoken threat hung in the air like a noose tightening around Anthony's neck. He had grown up surrounded by the family's business, knowing what happened to people who jeopardized operations. But hearing his own brother spell it out, cold and impersonal, was a different kind of weight. It wasn't just about the family anymore. It was about survival.
Enzo's gaze remained fixed on him, unblinking. "You and I may have the same mother and father, but don't think for a second that I wouldn't put you down if the order came." His voice was deadly calm, each word a calculated strike. "I'd do it without hesitation."
Anthony swallowed, his pulse hammering in his ears. He had always known that Enzo's loyalty to the family was absolute. But hearing him say it—hearing him say he'd kill his own brother if necessary—was like a cold slap to the face. There was no more room for the softness of childhood memories, no space for brotherly love in a world where power and survival dictated everything.
"I understand," Anthony said, his voice strained but steady. There was no point in arguing. No point in trying to change the course that had been set for him. "I'll keep my head down. Whatever happened with Luca—it's over. I won't let it affect anything."
But even as he spoke the words, a part of him wondered how long he could keep it buried. How long he could hide who he was from a world that demanded total conformity. He had spent years hiding, suppressing, and distancing himself from that part of his identity. And now, more than ever, the stakes had never been higher.
Enzo nodded, but there was no relief in his expression, no sense of brotherly concern. This was business. Only business.
"Good," Enzo said, his tone matter-of-fact. "Because once you walk into that room, you're a soldier. Not a brother. Not a son. Just another cog in the family's machine. And the machine doesn't stop for anyone."
Anthony felt the weight of those words settle over him like a shroud. This was it. There was no turning back now. The room they would walk into would strip him of whatever remained of his old life, transforming him into something else entirely. Just another soldier.
Enzo turned and headed for the door, the conversation over. But before he left, he paused, looking back at Anthony with that same hard, unreadable gaze.
"Don't mess this up," was all he said before walking out, leaving Anthony alone with the crushing reality of what lay ahead.
Anthony stood among the other initiates as they were called into the room. The air in the room felt heavy, charged with tradition and the weight of expectations. Around him were the family's Caporegimes, all gathered in solemn silence, their faces hard and unreadable as they flanked the massive wooden table at the center of the room. On the table, a revolver and a dagger lay ceremonially placed on a pristine white linen cloth, their metallic gleam reflecting the flickering light of a candle. A brass bowl sat between the gun and the dagger, completing the ritualistic setting.
As Anthony scanned the room, his eyes inadvertently found Luca Celani. For a moment, their gazes locked, and the memories came flooding back. Luca had been his first love, a bond shared in secrecy—something precious that now felt like a forbidden relic of another life. Anthony quickly looked away, unwilling to let his emotions betray him in front of the family. He couldn't afford even a flicker of longing. Luca had once confided in him, revealing his bisexuality in a moment of trust, and that secret remained buried deep in Anthony's heart. He had never breathed a word to anyone, and he intended to keep it that way. Whatever had once been between them had no place in this room, in this life. It was safer for both of them to remain strangers.
At the head of the table stood his father, Henrico Ragno, the Capofamilia of the Ragno family. On his right was Umberto Andreioli, Anthony's maternal uncle by marriage and the family's Consigliere. On Henrico's left stood Sidonio Ragno, Henrico's younger brother and the Underboss. The hierarchy of power in the family was on full display.
Henrico's voice filled the room. "Today, we welcome eight new members into our family circle," he declared, his tone full of authority. "Each of these boys has proven themselves worthy of being part of this family and will do great things for the family."
Andreioli stepped forward, walking down the line of initiates with a wooden box in his hands. Inside were small cards depicting various saints, a symbolic gesture for the ritual to come. As he reached each initiate, he handed them a card without a word. When he came to Anthony, their eyes met briefly, but neither spoke. Anthony glanced at the image on his card: St. Anthony of Padua, the patron saint of the poor. An ironic choice, he thought briefly, considering the wealth and power surrounding him.
One by one, the initiates were called forward. The ritual was simple but charged with meaning. Sidonio would prick the initiate's finger with a long pin, letting several drops of blood fall onto the saint card. Then, Henrico would say a few words, and the card would be set alight, symbolizing their pledge to the family.
When Anthony's name was called, he stepped forward, his heart pounding but his face betraying no emotion. He could feel the eyes of the room on him, most notably his father's. Henrico's gaze hardened as their eyes met, silently communicating the pressure Anthony had always felt—to be more than just his father's youngest son, to prove he wasn't an embarrassment to the family.
Anthony sat down in front of the table, the revolver and dagger glinting under the candlelight. Instinctively, he began to offer his left hand, but quickly switched to his right, catching a warning look from Sidonio. There was no room for mistakes.
"You were baptized when you were a baby," Sidonio said as he pierced Anthony's index finger with the pin, the sharp pain making Anthony grit his teeth. "But now, this time, we're gonna baptize you."
The pin dug deep into his skin, but Anthony forced himself not to wince or show any sign of weakness. His bleeding finger hovered over the card depicting St. Anthony, the drops of blood staining the image as tradition dictated.
Henrico's voice cut through the silence. "This blood means that we are now one family," he said, his tone solemn. "You live by the gun and the knife, and you die by the gun and the knife."
Anthony's eyes remained fixed on his father as he was instructed to hold the saint card over the candle flame. The edges of the card blackened and curled, the fire consuming it quickly. As the card burned, Anthony recited the vow, his voice steady.
"As this saint burns, my soul shall also burn should I break my oath of honor or trust for this family."
The words hung in the air as the card disintegrated into ash, falling into the brass bowl below. Anthony's heart thudded in his chest, but outwardly he remained composed, his face an emotionless mask. The ritual was complete. He was no longer just the youngest son of Henrico Ragno. He was now a soldier of the Ragno family—a part of the machine his father had built.
As he stood to rejoin the others, Anthony caught Luca's gaze once more, but this time he forced himself to keep walking. There could be no room for the past, no room for emotion. He had made his choice. The family came first now, above everything else. Even love.
As the candle's flame flickered in the dim room, Anthony knew that this was only the beginning. The blood had been spilled, the oath had been spoken, and there was no turning back. He was bound to the family, for better or for worse. And with that binding came a future full of uncertainty, shadowed by both loyalty and the unspoken threat that always loomed within their world.
Music chimed softly from his Hell Phone as Angel's eyes slowly fluttered open. The dim lighting of his room barely registered, his mind still caught in the fading remnants of his dream—Luca, his family. It had been years since he'd last dreamt of them. Maybe it was because Luca was about to resurface in his life. Their paths, long divided, were about to cross again. The thought lingered in his mind, heavy with unspoken emotions, as he lay there unmoving, unwilling to rise from the bed's faint comfort.
Earlier that day, Angel had sent a message to Luca—a simple, direct request for a place to stay for a few nights. Nothing more. They didn't need to see each other; Luca didn't need to be involved. All Angel needed was the key, left under the doormat, a temporary arrangement for a brief stay. Luca had agreed without hesitation, telling him where the key would be left, but the ease of that response weighed heavily on Angel. There was more behind it, unspoken history, memories Angel wasn't ready to confront.
Angel stared up at the ceiling, debating whether he could afford a few more minutes of sleep. His body, heavy with fatigue, begged him to stay in bed, but he knew better. No. He had made a promise, a commitment, and this was something he couldn't avoid. With a groan, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cold floor beneath his feet jolting him awake with its biting chill. The sensation reminded him that there was no turning back now, no way to delay what needed to be done.
He dressed quickly, the silence of the hotel wrapping around him like a heavy blanket as he stepped out of his room. The hallways were quiet, as they often were in the early morning, but there was an underlying energy in the air—an anticipation. As Angel made his way down the long corridor, something moved in his peripheral vision, causing him to pause. Two figures stood at the far end of the hall—spider demons, their presence unexpected but not entirely surprising.
The two demons stood still, their eyes meeting Angel's across the distance. Though there was no immediate threat in their gaze, Angel could feel the tension simmering beneath the surface. These weren't ordinary guests; he could sense that much. If the situation escalated, things could easily turn hostile. For now, though, they remained neutral, their eyes quietly observing him.
Angel didn't dwell on them for long. This was the guest floor, after all. The hotel was meant to be a refuge for demons looking for redemption or, at the very least, a place to stay. But there was something oddly familiar about the two. He couldn't quite place them, but a sense of recognition tugged at the edges of his mind, like a forgotten memory teasing its way to the surface. Still, he had more pressing matters to focus on. He pushed the thought aside as he continued walking toward the foyer.
When he reached the lobby, Angel was fully prepared to slip out unnoticed. But as he rounded the corner, the sight before him stopped him in his tracks. Standing in the center of the room was Lucifer himself,his mere presence commanding attention. But it wasn't just Lucifer. Charlie, Vaggie, Husk, Niffty, and Cherri were all gathered around him, their eyes turning toward Angel as he approached.
"Angel!" Charlie's voice rang out, filled with warmth and excitement. She jogged over, her smile bright and welcoming as always. "Dad told me what you were planning, so we all wanted to see you off."
Angel blinked, momentarily stunned by the display. He wasn't used to this—to people caring about where he was going or what he was doing. For so long, his departures had been solitary, unnoticed, or, in some cases, celebrated by those who were more than happy to see him go. But here, in this strange hotel, he had found something he hadn't realized he needed—a family, of sorts. It was still unfamiliar, and moments like this made him realize how much he wasn't used to.
"I…" he started, his voice trailing off as he glanced upward toward the second floor. Though the two spider demons from earlier were no longer visible, Angel could feel their presence. They were close, watching from out of his sight, perhaps out of curiosity. But whose curiosity? His brother's? His father's? He pushed the thought aside, returning his attention to the group in front of him. "I, uh… looks like we've got some new faces?"
"Oh yes," Charlie beamed, her enthusiasm contagious. "Ari and Riven. They moved in yesterday. Have you met them?"
"Not exactly," Angel shrugged, trying to maintain his usual nonchalant demeanor. "Had a quick run-in. Guess I'll get to know them when I'm back. Anyway, I reached out to someone I used to know. They're cool with me crashing at their place until this production wraps up."
"You take care of yourself out there, kid," Husk's gravelly voice cut in, surprising Angel with its sincerity. Husk stepped forward, placing a hand on Angel's shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. It wasn't much, but the gesture carried a weight of unspoken care, something Angel hadn't expected from the usually gruff bartender.
"Things are gonna be so boring without you, Angie," Cherri chimed in, her voice playful but laced with genuine affection. "When you get back, we're hitting the town. No excuses! I'll drag the whole hotel crew with us if I have to."
Angel chuckled, though there was a bittersweet edge to his smile. "You better be ready for a wild night, then."
"Angel," Vaggie's voice was calm but laced with concern. She stepped forward, her eyes locking onto his with a seriousness that cut through the lighthearted mood. "You don't have to do this. I know you feel like you do, but this hotel—it's safe. You don't have to put yourself at risk."
Angel's response was soft, almost resigned. "Thanks, Toots, but I've come this far. Gotta see it through. After this, I'll take a break. Promise."
A shared silence settled over the group, the weight of the moment sinking in. This wasn't just a simple goodbye. Everyone knew there was more to Angel's departure than he was letting on. There was an unspoken understanding that this could be dangerous, that whatever awaited him outside the hotel wasn't as harmless as Angel made it seem.
Lucifer, who had been observing quietly until now, stepped forward. With a graceful flick of his wrist, he summoned a glowing portal, its edges shimmering with ethereal light. "It's time," he said simply, his voice as calm and commanding as ever.
Angel took a deep breath, his eyes flicking between the portal and the friends—his makeshift family—who had gathered to see him off. Without another word, he nodded and stepped toward the portal. The light enveloped him as he stepped through, and within moments, he found himself standing in a dim alley next to the studio. The portal sealed behind him, the cool morning air brushing against his skin.
Angel stood alone now, the weight of his decision settling heavily on his shoulders. There was no turning back. All he could do was move forward, one step at a time, and hope that whatever awaited him wasn't as perilous as it felt.
With Angel's departure concluded, the rest of the hotel guests and staff turned their attention to the day's tasks. Niffty, ever efficient, scurried off to prepare breakfast, her quick movements a familiar part of the morning routine. Meanwhile, Charlie chattered excitedly to Vaggie about a new redemption lesson she had planned. The hotel, despite its dark reputation, was coming alive in its own peculiar way, each resident fitting into the chaos as if it were orchestrated.
At the edge of the commotion, Ari and Riven, who had been quietly observing from a distance, slipped away and retreated to their rooms with measured, thoughtful steps. Riven's room, like the man himself, was a throwback to a different time. The room was styled with the simple aesthetics of the 1950s—a sturdy bed with clean lines, a wooden desk with the wear and tear of years, a well-used dresser, and a bookshelf filled with old tomes on engineering and weapons. It was a space of discipline, precision, and control, much like the way Riven lived his life.
"He wasn't what I expected," Ari said, breaking the silence as they entered the room.
Riven leaned against the desk, folding his arms. "He did say he was meeting with someone. Maybe what he's doing has nothing to do with this hotel."
Ari's brow furrowed, crossing his own arms in thought. "I'm not so sure. When he saw us, he recognized something. Papa always said we were the only members of the family Angel wouldn't recognize right away. But there was more than recognition. It felt like he knew us but couldn't fully place where. Not all spider demons are tied to our family or the mafia, but Angel definitely sensed what we are. And yet, he acted like we didn't exist."
"Well, you don't make a move on someone unless you're sure," Riven replied, his voice steady. He began pacing the room, his mind turning over the details. "You can't attack based on a feeling. He'd need to be sure of who we are and what we're doing before making a move. From what I've heard, Angel used to be a fixer for the family. If that's true, maybe he's just waiting for something to fix before he acts."
Ari shook his head, still unconvinced. "That girl, Vaggie, told him he didn't need to go through with whatever he's planning because he's safer here. Then he mentioned a production—he's a porn actor, so I'm guessing he meant a film. Whatever he's doing, it's not against us. He's protecting the hotel or its people from someone at the studio. It has nothing to do with the family."
Ari sighed, his tone softening. "Even Pops, with all his issues with Angel Dust, doesn't think he's plotting anything malicious. But Mamma and Nonno… they're convinced he's a threat. What if they're wrong? What if Angel Dust isn't doing anything against us?"
Riven paused, considering his brother's words. "Nonno has his reasons. Getting close to the Princess of Hell is one thing, but living under the same roof as the Radio Demon and the King of Hell? That's not just dangerous; it's way too convenient. From what I've heard about Uncle Anthony, he had a way with people, a charm that made them gravitate toward him. But that's not what worries Ma. She's afraid Angel knows too much about the Ragno family, too much that could hurt us."
He stopped pacing, his expression serious. "When we swore our oaths, we pledged in blood to serve the family until death. But nothing says what happens after you die. Maybe Angel Dust thinks his duty to the family ended with his death. If that's the case, maybe he really doesn't want anything to do with us anymore. And even if he did, what would he gain by revealing family secrets? This hotel, these people—they have nothing to do with us. He gains nothing by betraying us. But still, he might know something dangerous about someone in the family."
Ari leaned back against the wall, his arms still crossed. "He's a porn star, and not just any porn star—he does gay porn. If someone linked him to the Ragno Clan, that would be a problem. Papa said Husk, the guy downstairs, used to be an Overlord who did business with him. And the Princess… she seems to think Angel and Papa are related."
Riven nodded. "That's because Papa came to the hotel looking for someone. He never outright said Angel was his brother, but he implied Angel was once part of the family. From what we overheard last night, they're piecing things together, but they haven't confirmed it yet. Angel's not revealing anything directly, but he might be dropping hints, actions that make people think they know more than they do."
Riven's face darkened as he thought of the one person who could upend everything. "The real problem isn't Angel's past with the family. It's Valentino."
Ari's expression mirrored his brother's, his voice lowering. "The association with Valentino and the Vees never sat well with me. They're dangerous, unpredictable. That kind of alliance is bad for business. But somehow, Angel Dust is the link between our family, the Vees, and this hotel. He's become the lynchpin, and I don't like it. Something's going to give, and when it does, everything is going to fall apart."
Riven stared out the window, his voice distant as he spoke. "Valentino's tied to our family, but Angel doesn't know it. He's walking a tightrope, and he doesn't even realize how close he is to the edge. Whatever he's doing, whoever he's trying to protect, it's only a matter of time before everything comes crashing down."
Ari nodded grimly, his voice almost a whisper. "And when it does, we'll be caught in the fallout. The question is—what's going to break first? The hotel, the Vees, or us?"
The room fell into silence, heavy and foreboding, as the brothers stood there, fully aware that the storm was on the horizon. It was no longer a matter of if, but when. They could sense it, that inevitable collision where allegiances would be tested, and no one, not even them, would emerge unscathed.
Angel rubbed his sore shoulders, his fingertips pressing into the knotted muscles as he keyed in the code for the apartment building's entrance. His mind replayed the grueling events of the day. Valentino had been particularly harsh, more demanding than usual. Every scene had pushed Angel's body and patience to the limit, and the fact that he was feeling under the weather only made things worse. What had started as a scratchy throat in the morning had worsened by the hour, until now, each breath was accompanied by a burning sensation in his chest. His coughs had become more frequent, sharp and painful, echoing through his lungs with a harshness that suggested an infection was brewing.
He couldn't remember the last time he felt truly well. The endless nights Valentino forced him into were starting to take their toll. If it wasn't for the brief naps he managed to sneak during breaks in his dressing room, he didn't know how he'd still be standing. Even those precious moments of rest were stolen—moments when Valentino wasn't barging in to grope, leer, or make suggestive comments that Angel had long since stopped responding to. By now, the numbness had become his shield. But today, that shield felt thin, ready to shatter under the weight of exhaustion.
The apartment building was quiet as he stepped inside, his boots scuffing the tiled floor. The elevator chimed softly as he pressed the button for the third floor, his mind drifting as the doors closed around him. There was no real escape, no safe harbor in this life he was leading. Each day bled into the next, and every time he thought he'd found some semblance of peace, Valentino would snatch it away. Angel didn't know if this was how things would always be, but at the moment, he didn't have the strength to care. He just had to get through one more day. One more grueling, soul-crushing day, and then he could finally retreat to the hotel for a few days of proper rest.
When the elevator stopped, Angel trudged down the hallway to the fifth apartment on the floor. The key, as promised, was under the doormat. He picked it up with trembling fingers and unlocked the door, the click of the lock sounding louder in the quiet hall. The apartment was simple—bare essentials with nothing extravagant, just a couch, a few chairs, and a small kitchen area. But to Angel, it was a sanctuary. After the day he'd had, the sight of the sheets and blankets neatly laid out on the couch was more than enough to comfort him.
He shut the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment, letting his eyes drift shut. For the first time all day, he could allow himself to breathe, to let go of the tension that had gripped his body since the morning. His head ached, his throat burned, and his limbs felt heavy, like they were weighed down by lead. It didn't matter that this was just a temporary place to crash, or that he'd have to be back at the studio in a few short hours. For now, this was his space, and no one could intrude on it.
He shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall carelessly to the floor, and made his way to the couch. The blankets were soft beneath his fingers as he pulled them around himself, cocooning his aching body in their warmth. His eyes fluttered closed as he tried to settle in, but sleep didn't come easily. His mind, exhausted as it was, couldn't help but wander. He thought of Luca, of how things used to be. Once, he would've expected Luca to be there, waiting for him with a soft smile and an embrace. But those days felt like a distant memory, blurred by time and the growing distance between them.
A part of him longed for Luca's presence, for that comfort that seemed so far out of reach now. He wished Luca had been there to greet him, to soothe the ache in his soul after the brutal day he'd endured. But he knew it was better this way. He was the one staying here, and the distance between them was necessary. The life he was living now—working for Valentino, tangled in a web of complications—was no place for someone like Luca. Keeping him away was the right thing to do, even if it left Angel feeling more alone than ever.
With a sigh, Angel closed his eyes and tried to focus on resting, but his sleep was fitful, haunted by fractured dreams. He drifted in and out of consciousness, never fully able to relax. His body, though exhausted, was too wound up, too tense from the day's events. Every now and then, a violent cough would jolt him awake, reminding him of the cold that was slowly taking hold of him. The more he slept, the more his body seemed to betray him, as if even in rest, it couldn't find peace.
His dreams were no better. They twisted around memories of the past and fears for the future, filling his sleep with unease. Images of Valentino, of the studio, of the relentless demands placed on him, played out in his mind like a distorted film reel. And always, lurking at the edge of his thoughts, was Luca—a shadow of what had been, a reminder of the life he could no longer have.
Angel shifted restlessly on the couch, his body curling in on itself as if trying to protect what little remained of his strength. He knew he didn't have long before he'd have to get up and return to the studio. The thought of facing another day, of enduring another round of Valentino's torment, filled him with dread. But for now, in these few fleeting hours, he could at least pretend that rest was possible.
With one final sigh, Angel pulled the blankets tighter around himself, willing his body to succumb to the exhaustion. His breaths came in shallow, ragged intervals, each one a reminder of how worn out he was. And though sleep remained elusive, he held on to the small comfort of knowing that, for just a little while, he was alone. Here, in this quiet apartment, away from Valentino, away from the chaos of the day, he could let his guard down.
Even if only for a moment.
"Charlie, are you *sure* about this?" Vaggie's voice held a cautious edge as she eyed the entrance of *Club Incognito*. The club was nothing like the flashier, more notorious venues in the city—the ones brimming with neon lights, provocative signs, and the unmistakable promise of indulgence. This place was subdued, almost trying to hide itself in plain sight. Its entrance was tucked between two dilapidated buildings, with a modest sign that looked like it hadn't been changed in years. The people milling about outside, however, were a different story. They looked like trouble—nare-do-wells who'd rob you blind with a smile the moment you glanced the other way.
Charlie, in her usual stubborn optimism, had decided to come here for one reason: Luke Strike. Cherri has said that Angel did like this singer and what she had heard herself sounded good, and now Charlie wanted to see him perform in person. Despite her sunny and at times childishly optimistic demeanor, Charlie was no fool—Husk had suggested they keep a low profile, reminding her that this part of town wasn't exactly known for its hospitality. Even though Zestial, the Overlord of this district, technically had jurisdiction, there was no telling if he'd intervene should things go sideways. And in this part of the city, that was always a possibility.
Lucifer, as expected, had been hesitant about Charlie venturing into this area. He had even offered to accompany her, but Charlie had declined. She was determined to prove that she could handle herself without her father's ever-watchful gaze looming over her. Besides, she had Vaggie. The two of them had been through more dangerous situations than a rundown club in the underbelly of Hell.
"I promise, we'll be fine," Charlie insisted, tugging at her simple t-shirt as if to emphasize her casual, non-threatening appearance. Her usual business attire and polished appearance were traded in for cut-off jeans and a well-worn tee. Her long blonde hair was tied back into a thick braid, giving her a more understated look. She wanted to blend in, and this was the best way she knew how.
Vaggie, ever the pragmatist, wasn't so easily convinced. She had opted for a different disguise, wearing the gray shift she used to wear beneath her armor back when she was an exorcist, paired with black leggings and sturdy boots. Her demeanor was as guarded as ever, eyes darting around, always assessing potential threats. "Blending in" was not a concept Vaggie took lightly.
"Yes," Charlie confirmed with a nod, her voice filled with determination. "We'll stay for a couple of songs, maybe talk to a few people, and leave. No big deal."
Vaggie sighed, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the club's entrance. "Charlie, this place… it doesn't feel right. The people here, the vibe—it's not somewhere we want to 'mingle.' It's more like 'stay on high alert and get out quick.'"
Charlie smiled, her eternal optimism radiating in the face of Vaggie's worry. "Think of it as an adventure, something fun! We haven't done anything like this in a while."
"Fun?" Vaggie raised an eyebrow, the skepticism thick in her voice. "Charlie, Angel may like the music of the performer here, but that doesn't mean there's anything deeper going on. It's just a performance in a shady club. Let's not overthink it."
Charlie's face softened, a flicker of doubt crossing her features before her resolve returned. "Maybe. But I don't know, Vaggie. I just… I have this feeling. Like there's more to this than just a performance. I think there are answers here, maybe about Angel, maybe about something bigger."
Vaggie gave her a long look, her protective instincts bristling beneath the surface. "Let's just hope it's only answers we're looking for, and not trouble."
The two of them made their way toward the club, their steps slow and cautious. *Club Incognito* didn't look like much from the outside, but Vaggie knew all too well that appearances were deceiving. The place may have been understated, but it was likely home to all manner of dangerous individuals—demons who thrived in the murky underworld of Hell, where favors and grudges carried more weight than gold. And as much as she trusted Charlie's instincts, Vaggie couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.
As they reached the entrance, a bouncer—a tall, muscular demon with horns that curled menacingly around his head—gave them a once-over. His eyes lingered on Vaggie a little too long, and she returned his gaze with a hard glare that sent the message loud and clear: *Don't mess with us.* He grunted, stepping aside to let them in.
The interior of *Club Incognito* was dimly lit, with a haze of smoke that hung in the air, giving the whole place a surreal, dream-like quality. The music thrummed softly in the background, a low beat that seemed to echo through the walls and floor. It was crowded, though not packed, with patrons of all shapes and sizes—some seated in shadowy corners, others standing by the bar, nursing drinks that looked like they'd burn through the table if spilled.
Vaggie stayed close to Charlie, her hand instinctively resting on a concealed dagger strapped to her thigh. She didn't like this place. The clientele was rough, and the energy in the room felt volatile, like it could shift at any moment. Charlie, however, seemed unfazed. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she took in the scene, her head turning toward the small stage at the back of the club.
"That must be him," Charlie said softly, nodding toward the stage where Luke Strike was setting up, guitar slung over his shoulder. He was a tall spider demon, his fur was a rich chestnut brown. The fur that counted as his hair hung around face in a page boy style. He was dressed in a dark pair of trousers, with white t-shirt. Unlike Angel Dust, he had only two arms hinting it was possible he had a similar skill at retracting unneeded limbs into his body. His presence was magnetic, even from this distance.
Vaggie, on the other hand, wasn't impressed. "So he's why we came here?" She couldn't hide the exasperation in her voice.
Charlie smiled, though there was a trace of something else—something more serious—in her eyes. "It's not just about the music. There's more going on here, Vaggie. I can feel it."
Vaggie didn't respond, but her eyes were already scanning the room again, taking note of who was watching them. There were always eyes in places like this—eyes that didn't miss a thing.
As if sensing he was being watched the spider demon on stage paused at what he was doing. His warm sage green eyes searched the faces of the club before they seemed to land on Charlie for a brief moment. She could see that under each of his auxiliary eyes were placed in a way that descended and curved inward so they formed an image that resembled fangs. Vaggie immediately tensed in response to seeing the spider demon seam to appraise Charlie momentarily before he returned to his set up. When he left the stage he appeared to whisper something to a staff member who also glanced in their direction.
"Charlie, we should get out of here." Vaggie cautioned. She wasn't sure what sort of threat Luke Strike was, but if he was a danger to them it was better to get Charlie out there before she was a target.
Charlie glanced toward Vaggie, sensing the shift in her tone and seeing the tension written across her face. She knew Vaggie well enough to understand that when she sounded this concerned, it wasn't without reason. Still, her own curiosity burned brightly, and a part of her refused to leave just yet.
"Vaggie, I know you're worried, but let's just stay a little longer," Charlie said, her voice gentle but resolute. "We haven't even heard him play yet. It might just be a coincidence that he looked our way."
Vaggie's eyes narrowed, her protective instincts kicking into high gear. "Coincidence? Charlie, in a place like this, there are no coincidences." She tightened her grip on the concealed dagger, her gaze sweeping the room for any additional threats. "You saw how he looked at you—and he whispered something to the staff. We're being watched."
Charlie bit her lip, her thoughts racing. Luke Strike, the spider demon on stage, had certainly noticed them, but was it really a threat? She wanted to believe that there was something more behind this—some connection to Angel that could lead to answers. But Vaggie was right about one thing: they couldn't afford to be careless in a place like Club Incognito.
"Okay," Charlie said slowly, her voice calming. "If things feel off, we'll leave. But I don't want to run just because someone looked at us. We're in Hell, after all. People are always watching."
Vaggie sighed, knowing Charlie wasn't going to let this go easily. "Just stay close to me," she muttered, scanning the room again. She was calculating possible escape routes, already plotting how to get Charlie out if things went wrong. Her eyes flicked back to the staff member Luke Strike had whispered to, who now seemed to be lingering near the back door. That can't be good, she thought grimly.
The music started softly as Luke struck the first chord on his guitar. The quiet murmur of the crowd died down, all attention turning toward the stage. Charlie's eyes lit up as the music began to fill the room. Despite the tension in the air, the spider demon's voice was smooth, rich, and haunting.
For a moment, even Vaggie found herself captivated by the performance. She hated to admit it, but there was something in Luke Strike's music that held a strange, undeniable power. It wasn't just the melody or the sound itself—it was the way the notes seemed to burrow deep into the parts of her soul she worked hard to guard. Each strum of the guitar, each note sung, stirred something within her, something she didn't want to acknowledge. The music was haunting, evoking feelings that made even someone as hardened as Vaggie pause.
Charlie, meanwhile, was fully absorbed. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes wide with fascination as she listened intently. "He's… good," she whispered, almost to herself, as her hands joined the rest of the crowd in applause. Her admiration was genuine, but there was a deeper curiosity behind her expression, a need to understand why this performer was drawing her in like this.
Luke Strike smiled at the applause, a small, almost bittersweet expression crossing his face. Charlie couldn't help but notice how his manner of speaking reminded her of Angel's—not the loud, crass Angel who cracked jokes and hurled insults, but the softer side of Angel that surfaced when his defenses were down. There was something familiar in Luke's voice, a cadence that echoed the same vulnerability Angel sometimes showed, though he hid it well beneath his tough exterior.
"This next song," Luke began, his voice smooth but tinged with something raw, "may cut to the heart of some of you." His eyes swept across the room, landing momentarily on Charlie before drifting away. "Let me say, there was someone I loved once. But circumstances... they caused us to drift apart. When I saw them again, things had changed between us. The flame that once burned was still there, but we both knew... it would never burn the same way again."
Luke paused, his words hanging in the smoky air. The crowd seemed to quiet further, as if waiting for something deeper to be revealed. It was as if the room held its breath.
Then, a voice from the crowd shattered the moment. "Did that slut cheat on you?" The words were brash, callous, but they carried a strange kind of interest—a cruel curiosity that made Luke stop in contemplation. For a moment, Luke seemed to weigh the question. His gaze dropped to his guitar, fingers brushing the strings lightly, as if testing them for the right answer.
"They didn't cheat," Luke finally replied, his voice softer now, more introspective. "It wasn't betrayal, not in the way you'd think. They moved on. Life moved on. And while I understood that... I still wanted to know why things drifted apart. Why we couldn't keep what we had." He strummed a quiet chord, his words lingering in the air, raw with emotion. "Even if I knew we couldn't go back, there's still that need. The need to understand if there was something I could've done—something we could've done—to hold on to what we were."
The room fell into a deep, heavy silence. The kind of silence that only comes when something real has been spoken aloud. Luke's voice, though calm, was filled with an aching sense of loss, a vulnerability that resonated with everyone listening. Even the brash voice from the crowd had nothing to say in response.
Charlie's heart clenched at his words. There was something about them that struck a chord within her—something that felt too close to home. Wasn't this, in a way, what Angel had been going through? The desire to hold on to something that had slipped through his fingers, to understand why things couldn't go back to how they once were? Perhaps there was a connection between Angel and Luke Strike that just wasn't simply music, Charlie realized. There was more to their stories, more shared pain than she had realized.
Vaggie, meanwhile, remained tense, though she, too, couldn't help but be affected by the weight of Luke's words. She didn't trust the singer, not yet, but she could see the sincerity in his performance. Still, she wasn't ready to let her guard down. Her eyes remained watchful, her instincts sharp.
Luke's next song began, the first note vibrating through the room, but Vaggie's gaze had already shifted to the shadows around them. She couldn't shake the feeling that Luke's message, no matter how heartfelt, wasn't just for the crowd—it was for them. Charlie felt a sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion as the final chords of Luke Strike's song echoed through the club. She blinked back tears, but they welled up faster than she could stop them. The aching melancholy in Luke's voice had struck something deep within her, a wound she had thought long healed but now felt freshly opened.
It was the same pain she had felt when she had first learned that Vaggie had been hiding her past as an Exorcist. The memory came rushing back—those moments of doubt, confusion, and betrayal. Charlie had always been open with Vaggie, trusting her fully, only to discover that her girlfriend had once been part of the very force that had hunted and slaughtered sinners. She had never suspected that Vaggie, the person she loved most in the world, had a history so entwined with death and destruction, particularly against her own kind.
At first, it felt like a knife to her heart, the betrayal cutting deep. She had questioned everything—why Vaggie would hide this from her, how she could love someone who had been part of the Exorcists, and whether their relationship could survive the weight of such a truth. The hurt had been unbearable, leaving Charlie with a sense of loss, as if the person she loved had suddenly become a stranger.
But Rosie had helped her see things differently. In her quiet, steady way, Rosie had reminded Charlie that some secrets weren't meant to hurt—they were meant to protect. Vaggie's silence hadn't been an act of deception but one of love, a desperate attempt to shield Charlie from a truth that might have torn them apart. Vaggie hadn't wanted to hurt her; she had been trying to spare her the pain of realizing that the person she had fallen for had, once upon a time, been an enemy of their people.
Even after coming to understand Vaggie's reasoning, the question had remained—how could their relationship survive now that the truth was out in the open? It had taken time, patience, and countless conversations to rebuild the trust between them. And even now, there were moments when Charlie found herself revisiting the hurt, the uncertainty of how to reconcile the past with the love she still felt so deeply.
As Luke's song echoed in her mind, that same questioning stirred within her again. His words had reached into her heart, reminding her of her own fears and struggles with Vaggie. The yearning to hold on to something precious, the worry that things had changed too much to ever go back to the way they were—it was all too familiar.
She glanced at Vaggie beside her, her girlfriend's protective stance and sharp gaze keeping a vigilant watch over the club. Vaggie was always ready to defend her, always there to keep her safe. But beneath that fierceness was a vulnerability they both shared. They had fought for their love, and while it had survived, it wasn't without scars.
Charlie wiped away the tears that had escaped, trying to compose herself. She wasn't sure if Vaggie had noticed, but she wasn't ready to talk about it. Not here. Not now.
Vaggie, sensing something, glanced at her. "Charlie, you okay?" she asked, her voice softer than before, her protective instincts momentarily giving way to concern.
Charlie nodded quickly, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just… the song, it reminded me of… things."
Vaggie's eyes softened as understanding dawned. She knew Charlie well enough to guess what was on her mind. But she didn't press, respecting Charlie's need for space.
"We'll talk later," Vaggie said gently, offering a small, reassuring squeeze of her hand.
Charlie nodded again, grateful for Vaggie's patience. There would be time later to work through these feelings, to talk about what Luke's song had stirred up inside her.
As Luke prepared for his next song, Charlie leaned in closer to Vaggie, the brief moment of emotional vulnerability passing. She still felt the lingering ache from her memories, but there was also a quiet resolve within her. Whatever questions Luke had brought up, whatever echoes of the past still haunted her, she knew she wasn't facing them alone. And in that, there was comfort.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted, cutting off the music just as the next song was about to start. The mood in the club shifted in an instant, as what began as a heated argument near the bar quickly spiraled into chaos. Voices raised in anger, and within seconds, a full-blown fight broke out. Bottles clinked loudly against the counter as several patrons shoved each other, their aggression flaring into a violent clash. Some people jumped up from their seats to join the fray, fists flying, while others scrambled to intervene, trying to help the overwhelmed staff break up the escalating brawl.
"Charlie, we need to move," Vaggie said urgently, gripping Charlie's hand and pulling her toward the dimly lit hallway that led to the back exit. The intensity of the situation pressed on them.
Just as they reached the halfway point to safety, Charlie couldn't help but glance over her shoulder at the commotion. In that split second, her eyes widened in terror as she saw a broken bottle sail through the air, spinning wildly with sharp, jagged edges aimed straight for Vaggie. The flickering club lights made the glass gleam menacingly, the deadly arc seeming to move in slow motion.
"Vaggie, look out!" Charlie shouted, her voice desperate, but her cry was swallowed by the chaos, and time seemed too short for Vaggie to react. There was no way she could dodge out of the bottle's path in time.
But just before the glass could reach its target, something strange happened. Out of nowhere, a white blur shot across the room with lightning speed, intercepting the bottle mid-flight. The sound of shattering glass echoed across the room as the bottle hit the floor with a crash, broken shards scattering harmlessly. But what caught Charlie's eye was the peculiar white substance now covering the shards—spider webbing, thick and sticky, draped across the broken glass like a protective barrier.
Charlie's mind struggled to process what she had just witnessed. What could have caused that? A moment ago, they were in the midst of chaos, and now this—some kind of intervention? Her gaze darted around, trying to make sense of the impossible. Vaggie, though clearly confused, was unharmed, looking back at the ground in bewilderment.
Before either of them could react further, a familiar voice cut through the tension. "You two okay?"
Charlie spun toward the voice and saw none other than Luke Strike, crouching beside them. He glanced at the remnants of the shattered bottle, a hint of knowing in his eyes.
"I... I think so," Charlie managed to stammer, still trying to make sense of what had just happened.
"Good," Luke replied, offering them a reassuring nod as he stood up. His calm, collected demeanor was a stark contrast to the pandemonium erupting behind them. "Come on," he added, motioning toward the back exit. "I can get you girls outta here before things get worse."
Vaggie, still processing what had just happened, nodded. "Yeah, let's go." She shot Charlie a glance, her eyes reflecting both relief and confusion. Luke led the way through the crowd, his pace steady but urgent, cutting a path through the chaos as they made their way to safety. Once they were outside, the rank, smoky air of Hell enveloped them like a heavy shroud.
Charlie took a moment to catch her breath, her heart still racing. Vaggie stayed close by, equally shaken, though miraculously unharmed. The tension in the air was palpable, yet the noise and chaos from inside the club felt distant now, like a nightmare fading in the morning light.
"I have to say," Luke began casually, lighting a cigarette with a flick of his lighter, "I usually don't get royalty at my performances."
"Wait, how did you…" Charlie trailed off, confusion flooding her features.
"I've seen the commercial for your hotel," Luke responded with a knowing smile, exhaling a thin stream of smoke into the cool night air. "Let's just say you're not exactly blending in down here."
Charlie blinked, still trying to wrap her head around everything. She hadn't expected to be recognized, especially in a place like this, and especially not after what had just happened. Vaggie's eyes darted toward Luke, her own surprise evident as she took a small step closer to Charlie, as if seeking reassurance.
Luke paused, glancing back at the entrance to the club, the muffled sounds of chaos still trickling out. "I'd actually asked one of the staff to have you meet me in the green room after my first set," he continued, "but thanks to that brawl, that didn't exactly go as planned."
"So, um…" Vaggie began, hesitant and still reeling from everything, "Mr. Strike—"
"Call me Luca," he interrupted with a grin, shaking his head. "Or Celani, if you're feeling formal. Your choice."
Charlie exchanged a glance with Vaggie, her mind still buzzing with unanswered questions. Who was this guy, really? And why did it seem like he knew more about them than he was letting on? She narrowed her eyes slightly, trying to piece things together.
"Okay, Luca…" Charlie said slowly, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Why did you help us?"
Luke—Luca—smirked as if he'd been expecting the question. "You're buddies with Angel, right?" he replied, tilting his head slightly and watching for their reactions.
Both Charlie and Vaggie stiffened. "You know Angel?" Vaggie asked, her tone a mix of surprise and suspicion. "We'd only heard from a friend of his that he liked your music."
"Angel and I go way back," Luca said, flicking the ash from his cigarette. His half-smile lingered, almost nostalgic. "Though, he only started going by 'Angel Dust' about thirty years ago."
Charlie felt a strange chill crawl down her spine. Thirty years ago? She hadn't expected to hear that. Angel Dust rarely talked about his past, and hearing someone casually mention such a timeline was deeply unsettling.
Luca's eyes darted between Charlie and Vaggie, clearly reveling in their confusion. "This might not be the best place to talk," he said, his voice low and cautious. "You never know who's listening." His tone took on a subtle shift, as if memories from long ago were momentarily resurfacing. "Angel shouldn't be back at my place until late tonight, so it would be safer if we head there."
"Wait… you and Angel are…?" Charlie began, her curiosity spilling out before Luca swiftly placed a hand over her mouth, silencing her mid-sentence. His gesture was firm but not aggressive, his eyes scanning the area as if someone might be watching.
"Shhh," Luca whispered, his expression now deadly serious. "I'm only allowing this arrangement temporarily, but as far as anyone is concerned, Angel and I are strangers. It's safer that way." His gaze flicked around once more, ensuring they hadn't drawn any unwanted attention. "I promise I'll explain everything I can once we're at my place. But for now, just trust me."
Charlie glanced at Vaggie, her heart pounding faster with the weight of secrets that seemed to be piling up. Vaggie gave a small nod, her face tight with caution but silently agreeing to follow Luca's lead.
Luca motioned for them to follow, and they walked briskly away from the club, the tension between them growing with every step. The night air felt heavier now, as if thick with unspoken truths and hidden dangers. Charlie's mind raced, a thousand questions swirling. What did Luca know? And why was he keeping Angel's identity hidden from them?
As they neared a dimly lit street, Luca finally spoke again, his voice quieter this time. "There's a lot about Angel you don't know," he said. "But if you want answers, you'll have to be ready to hear some things you might not expect." He gave Charlie a sideways glance, as if gauging whether she could handle what was coming.
Charlie took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Whatever the truth was, she was ready to face it.
"Alright, here we are," Luca finally announced after what felt like a long stretch of walking. The streets of Hell had shifted from chaotic and dilapidated to a more stable and organized part of town, though the ever-present tension in the air remained. The trio arrived in front of a building that, while far from luxurious, stood out for its relatively maintained exterior. It wasn't the high-rise penthouses of the wealthy demons who flaunted their status, but it had a solid, respectable appearance—one of the better apartment complexes in this part of Pentagram City.
Luca turned to the others, offering a small smile. "It isn't much, but it's livable." He led them inside, the hallway echoing slightly with their footsteps as they ascended the stairs to the third floor. The dull hum of voices and occasional muffled music bled through the walls, a reminder that life in Hell moved on even in quieter corners. Luca stopped at the fifth apartment, fishing out a key and unlocking the door.
Inside, the apartment greeted them with a warm, if modest, atmosphere. It wasn't as opulent as the hotel where Charlie and Vaggie stayed, but the simple, lived-in quality of the space exuded a kind of quiet comfort. The living room was small, with a couple of well-worn chairs arranged around a small table, as though awaiting the company of close friends. A couch near the window had been made into a makeshift bed, bedding neatly arranged on top, indicating someone had been—or was expecting to be—sleeping there soon. It gave off the impression of a home that had adjusted to necessity rather than luxury.
In one corner, the kitchenette barely took up space, offering only the essentials: a refrigerator humming softly, an old oven with a stove, a small sink, and a sparse countertop. An empty dish rack sat on the counter, as if it hadn't been used in a while. Everything was utilitarian, functional. Two doors led off from the main room—one to what appeared to be a small washroom and the other to a modest bedroom that was barely larger than the bed it contained.
As Charlie took in the room, her eyes wandered over the details that gave the apartment its personal touch. On a nearby shelf, a few scattered knick-knacks caught her eye—old books, what appeared to be a chipped mug, and a couple of candles, long burned down to the base. But it was the picture frame on the side table that made her pause. Curiosity piqued, she moved closer and picked it up.
The photo inside was of Luca and Angel. The two were dressed in mid-fifties style clothing, which already set the scene apart from what she was used to seeing. There was no trace of Angel's usual flamboyant fashion choices—no extravagant costumes or over-the-top makeup. Instead, both were simply dressed in T-shirts and trousers, with Angel adding a cardigan for extra warmth. The simplicity of their attire struck a sharp contrast with the vibrant and scandalous persona Angel usually embodied in public.
In the photo, Angel was leaning against Luca, his forehead resting gently on Luca's shoulder, as though seeking comfort or perhaps offering it. Yet, what caught Charlie's attention most was the expression in Angel's eyes. They seemed distant, as if he were lost in thought or perhaps looking into a place far away from where he physically stood. There was no sign of the sassy, sharp-tongued persona that had become synonymous with the Angel Dust she knew from the hotel. Instead, his gaze held a vulnerability, almost wistfulness, that took her aback.
For a moment, it was as if she were looking at someone else entirely—a version of Angel that few ever saw, someone who had perhaps been buried beneath the layers of glitz, glamor, and survival instincts honed from years in the spotlight. This was a glimpse into something deeper, more personal, and possibly more fragile than the larger-than-life figure Angel presented to the world.
Charlie set the photo back down, her mind still processing. Maybe this was who Angel really was behind the makeup, the sass, and the armor he wore every day. It made her wonder how much of his public persona was a mask, a shield to protect the more delicate parts of himself from the harshness of Hell and the world in general.
Luca, noticing her lingering gaze on the photograph, cleared his throat softly. "That was... a long time ago," he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight of shared history. He didn't elaborate, but the melancholic edge in his tone hinted that the story behind that photo was as complex and layered as the people in it.
Charlie nodded, sensing that prying further wouldn't be appropriate at the moment. She looked around the apartment once more, noting the quiet stillness that hung in the air. This wasn't just a place to live—it was a retreat, a sanctuary, a place to escape from the constant noise of Hell outside. And perhaps, in a way, it was a space where Luca and Angel could both drop their masks and just be.
Vaggie stood vigilantly near the door, her posture tense and ready as though expecting a threat to burst in at any moment. Her eyes darted around the room, scanning for anything out of place, her hand resting subtly near the hilt of her hidden dagger. The uneasy energy she radiated filled the small apartment, her distrust palpable.
"Alright," Vaggie finally said, her voice sharp, cutting through the stillness. "You said you'd explain things." There was an edge to her tone, a clear undercurrent of doubt. She wasn't convinced that Luca was someone they could trust, not yet.
Luca, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by her wariness. He moved casually toward the fridge, as though her words were nothing more than background noise. Ignoring her question, he pulled out a beer, the soft hiss of the bottle opening breaking the silence. He took a long swig, his movements slow and deliberate, as if giving himself time to consider how much he wanted to share—or perhaps, how much he didn't.
"You girls want anything?" he asked, his tone almost too casual for the tension in the room. He glanced over his shoulder, his expression neutral, betraying little of what he might be thinking. "I've got some sodas, juice... I can even make coffee if you want it."
The offer hung in the air, sounding more like a friendly host than someone about to reveal important information. It was an oddly domestic moment in the midst of everything else, one that seemed almost surreal considering the circumstances.
Vaggie didn't move, her eyes narrowing slightly. "We aren't here for refreshments," she said pointedly, her distrust sharpening her words. She clearly wasn't in the mood for small talk, and her patience was wearing thin.
But Luca remained calm, taking another swig from his beer. He seemed in no rush, as if he was waiting for something—either for Vaggie to lower her guard or for some unspoken understanding to pass between them. His relaxed demeanor contrasted sharply with Vaggie's vigilance, creating a tense standoff of sorts.
Charlie, standing between the two of them, felt the weight of the unspoken tension, her eyes flicking between Luca and Vaggie. She could sense the clash of personalities—the cautious, protective side of Vaggie versus the calm and inscrutable nature of Luca. Something about the scene felt like a test, though she couldn't quite put her finger on what the stakes were.
"You didn't have to come here at all, you know," Luca said after a long moment as he took a seat at the table, finally acknowledging Vaggie's earlier demand, his voice quieter, more thoughtful. "But since you did, maybe we should start by getting comfortable. It's a long story."
"You said you knew Angel," Charlie began, her voice steady but curious as she took a seat at the table. She glanced briefly at Vaggie, who seemed more hesitant, her gaze flickering between Luca and the chair before finally sitting down with a subtle sigh.
"All the way back to when the two of us were alive," Luca responded, leaning back slightly, his tone carrying a weight of history. His sage green eyes darkened with memories, flickering with something unspoken. "Of course, he wasn't known as Angel Dust back then. That name came later, much later. Back when we met, he was… different. But maybe I should start by asking—what has he told you two about his past?"
Charlie exchanged a quick glance with Vaggie before answering. "Well… he hasn't told us much. In fact, barely anything at all," she admitted, her brow furrowing. "Though, something happened recently. A few days ago, a sinner named Arackniss showed up at the hotel—he had someone with him, Umberto Andreoli. Apparently, a friend of Alastor's had stolen a significant amount of money from them, and they followed her. Angel… well, Angel seemed to know exactly how they'd react."
Luca's eyes narrowed slightly, his expression sharpening. "Arackniss, huh?" he echoed, his voice growing more intense.
Charlie nodded, feeling the weight of Luca's attention shift to her. "Yes. Angel said that Arackniss wouldn't make any moves right away, but he wouldn't settle for anything less than the sinner who stole from him—or the return of the stolen money. It was like Angel knew every step Arackniss would take before he even made it."
Vaggie, who had been quiet until now, leaned forward. "There was something else. When we allowed Arackniss into the hotel, there was a moment between him and Angel. It wasn't a full-on confrontation, but… there was tension. And during that exchange, Arackniss implied that Angel had been a part of their family at some point."
Luca let out a low breath, his expression shifting into something more calculating. He didn't seem entirely surprised, but the revelation clearly weighed on him. "So he's still keeping Omertà," Luca murmured, almost to himself. "That's good to know."
"Omertà?" Charlie repeated, unfamiliar with the term.
Luca glanced at her, his eyes hardening. "The code of silence," he explained. "In the old days, it was an unbreakable vow, especially when it came to family organizations. It means he hasn't shared anything about his real past or his connections, and that's for the best. It keeps things… cleaner."
Vaggie crossed her arms, skeptical. "But if Arackniss was part of Angel's life before, then why did Angel leave? And why would he still keep those ties? Doesn't that make things more dangerous for all of us?"
Luca's expression softened slightly, but only with the cold understanding of someone who had lived through it all. "You're asking questions with complicated answers, but here's what you need to know—Arackniss isn't someone you want to be tangled with. Anything involving him is rarely good, no matter what side you're on. If Angel's keeping things from you, there's a reason. Maybe he's trying to protect you from something bigger that could affect everything you are trying to do."
Charlie's thoughts churned. Angel had always been an enigma, someone who hid his true self behind a facade of bravado and charm. But now, she was beginning to see just how deep those shadows ran.
"What should we do?" Charlie asked quietly.
Luca leaned forward, locking eyes with her. "For now? Watch. Listen. Don't push Angel too hard about his past, and definitely don't get involved with Arackniss any more than you already have. Trust me, it's better not to know too much—there's a reason why some things stay buried."
"Then what about you?" Vaggie pressed, her eyes narrowing as she leaned in slightly. "If all this stuff is supposed to be secret, why are you willing to talk with us?"
Luca paused, swirling the beer bottle in his hand before taking another sip. His gaze drifted away, as if considering how much he should reveal. "To help you understand where things stand," he said finally, his voice even, though there was a hint of something deeper—maybe weariness or a resigned acceptance of his reality.
He took a long swig from the bottle, as if the weight of what he was about to say required a moment of silence. When he spoke again, his tone was more serious. "When you enter a mob family, there are rules—unbreakable rules. One of the biggest is that once you're in, you serve the family until you die. No exceptions. But after death?" He chuckled darkly. "That's where things get...complicated."
Vaggie watched him intently, the tension in the room thickening as Luca continued.
"A lot of family members, when they died, came down here—Hell, where else would they go? And some of them? They didn't waste any time. They started carving out their own little empires, making deals with Overlords and other big shots in the city. Hell is full of opportunities, especially for someone who knows how to navigate the underworld, and a lot of those guys used their old connections to gain power. They set up businesses, built alliances. But not everyone wanted that life—not even in death."
He paused, looking at the bottle in his hand as if it held answers. "Some figured that once they died, all ties to the family were cut. They saw death as their way out. They ran, tried to leave the mafia behind. The problem is, no matter who you are in the family—whether you're a low-level soldati or all the way up to a Capo—you know too much. You know how the organization works, its secrets, its deals. And in Hell, information like that is more valuable than souls. It can be used against the family, sold to rivals. It's a dangerous thing to carry with you."
Vaggie's brow furrowed as she absorbed what he was saying. "So they were hunted down."
Luca nodded grimly. "Exactly. Most of the ones who tried to leave? They were gunned down, hunted like animals. Silenced, so the secrets they held would die with them. No one in the family likes loose ends. Dead or alive, they make sure those ties are cut for good."
A brief silence settled between them as Vaggie processed his words. Charlie felt a chill run down her spine. It wasn't just about survival in Hell—it was about navigating a world where alliances, secrets, and betrayals could get you killed all over again.
"And you?" Vaggie asked, her voice sharp but curious. "How are you and Angel still here, still alive? What makes you two different?"
Luca sighed, setting his beer down on the table with a quiet clink. "We're careful. Angel and I, we take measures to stay out of trouble. I pay monthly dues, a sort of insurance policy, to make sure I'm left alone. It's not cheap, but it's the cost of staying alive and keeping my silence. As long as I pay, they leave me be."
He glanced over at the photograph of him and Angel that Charlie had noticed earlier, a flicker of something softer passing over his face before he turned back to them. "Angel? He's got other protections. Being tied to an Overlord has its perks, and as long as he's useful to them, no one's going to mess with him. He's got a different kind of safety net, but that only goes so far."
Vaggie's expression remained hard, her distrust still evident. "So, what you're saying is...you're both trapped. No matter what you do."
Luca gave a short, bitter laugh. "Trapped? Yeah, you could say that. But it's Hell. We're all trapped here in one way or another, aren't we?"
The room fell quiet again, the weight of Luca's words settling like a heavy blanket over them. The reality of the situation was clear—no matter how much freedom they appeared to have, both Luca and Angel were constantly looking over their shoulders, navigating the dangerous, shifting landscape of Hell's underworld. And for Vaggie and Charlie, it was another reminder that trust came at a price, and survival meant playing by rules they barely understood.
"You said that you and Angel are strangers now," Charlie pointed out, her tone gentle but curious.
"Yeah," Luca replied quietly, though a deep sorrow flickered in his eyes, betraying the emotion behind his words. He took a moment, as if gathering himself before continuing. "It's... it's a form of protection between us." His voice, while steady, carried the weight of long-buried grief. "You see, Angel and I were both part of the same crime family as Arackniss. We were each other's firsts, but everything changed when we ended up here."
Luca's gaze drifted to the floor, the memories heavy on his shoulders. "I died in 1938, cut my losses with the family after that. I didn't have much choice. Staying tied to them, even in Hell, would've meant signing my death warrant. Over a decade after I passed, I saw Angel again." A small, bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "It was at a place I was performing at—before I started working at Club Incognito. He was there, acting as an escort for some random demon. It had been years since I'd last seen him, but there he was... as if no time had passed."
The nostalgia in Luca's voice was thick, but it quickly gave way to something darker. "When we finally got a chance to talk, it was like talking to someone who had lived a lifetime I never got to see. We'd both changed, both moved on in our own ways since our deaths. And with the family hunting down and slaughtering anyone who'd escaped the life... we knew it was too dangerous for us to be seen together. If anyone saw us together and assumed we were plotting against the family, that would've been the end of us."
He sighed deeply, his sorrow intensifying. "We agreed it was safer to pretend we didn't know each other anymore. We became strangers. It was the only way to keep our heads low, to survive. If we were ever seen together too much, people might assume we were up to something. Instead, we kept things casual, distant. We'd run into each other occasionally, even help each other out if needed, but that was the extent of it. There was no room for anything more."
Charlie listened intently, her expression softening as she grasped the gravity of Luca's words. The sacrifice he and Angel had made went beyond friendship—it was about survival in a world where every move could mean life or death.
Luca's voice lowered as he continued, his sadness deepening. "The last time we truly met... the last time things were even remotely close to what they had been, was when Angel started working for Valentino. That's when he began using the name 'Angel Dust.' And that's when he told me..." Luca's words trailed off, his throat tightening with the memory. "That's when he told me it was better if our friendship ended. Completely."
Charlie's heart ached for him, but she didn't interrupt, sensing he wasn't done.
"He didn't want me to get pulled into his mess with the Vees. He was working for Valentino then, and he knew what that meant—what kind of life that was. I understood. Valentino's sleazy, and his influence runs deep. But it's also Vox that Angel was worried about. Vox is vindictive, ruthless. If there's something he can gain for his business empire, he'll do anything to get it. Even destroy anyone in his way."
Luca glanced at Charlie, his expression darkening. "Hell, if Vox thought he could get away with it, he's the type who would try to stage an uprising against King Lucifer himself just to gain full control of Hell. He doesn't care about anything but his power and his profits. Angel wanted to protect me from all of that. He didn't want me anywhere near it. And so... we let it go. Our friendship, our history—it all ended there."
The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of Luca's past settling like a cloud over them. Charlie's mind raced, trying to fully grasp what Luca had just shared. The history between him and Angel ran deeper than she had imagined, and the choices they'd made—sacrificing their bond for the sake of survival—spoke to the harsh reality of living in Hell's unforgiving landscape.
Luca's voice, soft now, cut through the silence. "In the end, it's better this way. Safer. But it doesn't make it any less painful."
"Hold on," Vaggie interrupted, her brows furrowed in confusion. "You said you and Angel were each other's firsts, but then you said you were family. How does that work?"
Luca sighed, sensing the misunderstanding and knowing he needed to clarify. He set his beer down, rubbing the back of his neck as he searched for the right words. "With the Life," he began, his tone more serious now, "a 'family' isn't what most people think. It's not a blood family like you'd imagine—mother, father, siblings. It's an organization of men, brought together from different households, bound by oaths. They call themselves a family because of the blood oaths we take—promises of loyalty and service until death. We swear to serve the family with our lives, to be loyal to each other as brothers. So, in a way, the family becomes everything."
Vaggie's expression remained skeptical, but she listened intently.
"But," Luca continued, "depending on the syndicate you're part of, blood ties can play a major role. In some regions, like where I'm from—Calabria, Italy—the mafia isn't just an organization, it's a family in the most literal sense. The syndicate there is called the 'Ndrangheta. They're one of the oldest and most powerful criminal organizations in the world, and their strength comes from the fact that a lot of the members are bound by real blood ties. Sons, grandsons, even nephews—they're all raised to carry on the family business, to take over where their fathers left off. That's the world Angel came from."
Luca's face darkened as he spoke, the weight of his words heavy in the air. "The Capofamiglia of the Ragno family—Angel's family—had three children: two boys and a girl. The eldest son you would know as Arackniss, that isn't his real name, but that is what he's known as now, the second son is Angel… or rather Anthony, as he was called in life. And then there's their younger sister, Molly."
He paused for a moment, watching as Vaggie's expression shifted, a mix of surprise and wariness. It was clear she was processing this new information, trying to make sense of the tangled web of connections.
"So you were… related?" Charlie asked, her voice soft, her brow furrowing in confusion as she tried to understand the dynamics Luca was describing.
Luca shook his head slowly. "Not by blood, no. Angel and I weren't cousins or anything like that. But in the mafia, 'family' isn't just about blood. It's about loyalty. Sometimes, people from outside the family are brought in through alliances—marriages between families to strengthen bonds, secure power, or expand their influence. That's what they had planned for me." He sighed, his voice growing quieter. "I wasn't born into the Ragno family, but I was brought into their world with the intent that, one day, I would marry Molly."
Vaggie's eyes widened slightly at this revelation, but she remained silent, allowing Luca to continue.
"I was meant to marry into the family," Luca explained. "My father left Calabria with my mother in the early 1900s, hoping to escape the shadow of the mafia. They wanted a better life in America. They settled in New York and bought a small piece of land, starting a vineyard. That's how I grew up, helping in the vineyard, learning the trade. We made wine—good wine, too. It wasn't much, but it was enough for our family."
Luca's face grew somber as he continued. "Then, in the 1920s, Prohibition happened. The sale and production of alcohol became illegal, and suddenly our livelihood was under threat. But my father was smart—he didn't let that stop him. He planted olive trees, started making and selling olive oil. And the wine we already had? He repurposed it into balsamic vinegar, or just let it age in the casks, waiting for Prohibition to end. It was a way to keep the business alive, even if it meant laying low for a while."
Luca's tone became more bitter as he recalled the events that followed. "I was about fifteen when Don Ragno and Arackniss came to our vineyard. They weren't there for a friendly visit. They wanted my father to sell them the wine we'd stored, despite the ban. My father refused. He was a proud man—stubborn, maybe—but he wasn't going to let go of his business. He respectfully declined their offers. Twice."
Luca clenched his fists, the memory clearly still raw. "Don Ragno didn't take kindly to being refused. He offered to buy the farm outright, promising my father and me a new life in the city—housing, protection, jobs. My father again respectfully declined. He wasn't going to let go of the vineyard that he had created to be our family's legacy."
The room was silent as Luca spoke, his voice heavy with the weight of the past. "After that, my father said he was going to the authorities. He just left one morning, drove off in his truck… and I never saw him again." Luca's voice cracked slightly, the pain of that loss still fresh after all these years. "People who report mafia activity? They disappear. And that's what happened to him. There was no body, no evidence. Sometimes, people might find a finger, or a nose… but by then, there's nothing left to link it to anyone."
Charlie's heart sank as she listened, feeling the grief and helplessness woven into Luca's words. Vaggie's expression remained tight, her face etched with concern, though her eyes never left Luca, as if she were trying to read between the lines of what he was saying.
"With my father gone, I inherited the vineyard," Luca continued, his voice steadying after a brief pause. "But I was too young to take full control. I had to wait until I turned eighteen to officially become the owner. That's when Don Ragno came back into our lives. He offered me the same deal he had offered my father: join the family, and in return, my mother and I would be taken care of. Protection, a new life in the city, and a chance to prove myself to him."
Luca's face hardened, his eyes dark with the memories that had clearly left a mark on him. "I didn't want to accept. But men like Don Ragno? They don't take 'no' for an answer. The farm couldn't support us anymore, and I wasn't old enough to sell it. My hands were tied. So I did the only thing I could. I accepted his offer."
The room felt suffocatingly quiet, as if even the air was holding its breath while Luca spoke. The weight of his past hung over them like a storm cloud, threatening to break at any moment. "I was brought into the Ragno family, trained under one of the street captains, and eventually, I was initiated into the Life. My mother never knew the truth. It was safer for her that way. I let her believe Don Ragno was just a generous man helping us out of the kindness of his heart."
Charlie's breath caught in her throat as Luca continued, the depth of his story sinking in. It wasn't just about survival; it was about being dragged into a world where choices were taken from you, where survival meant surrendering to something dark and dangerous, something that consumed everything it touched.
Luca's voice softened as he shifted to the next part of his tale, "Two years later, I met Anthony." His voice carried a subtle warmth when he spoke the name, though it was tinged with sorrow. "He was just fifteen—still a kid. We met at a family gathering, nothing business-related. Don Ragno was showing me off to his daughter, Molly, hoping to see if I'd make a good match for her. She was beautiful, sure. But… it wasn't her I found myself drawn to."
He paused, a distant, bittersweet smile crossing his face as he remembered. "It was Anthony. Even at fifteen, I could see the weight he carried. The expectations, the pain of trying to fit into a world that would never accept him for who he really was. I understood that pain all too well because I carried it too."
Luca's gaze softened as he spoke, his tone becoming more introspective. "For the record, I'm bi. I'd been with women before, and I could hide behind that when I needed to. But back then, anything outside of a heterosexual relationship was seen as unnatural, dangerous even. Being exposed as gay or bi could get you killed, especially in the mafia. I managed to survive because I could play both sides—being attracted to women kept me safe enough. But for Anthony? I can only imagine how hard it was for him, living in a world where being who he truly was could be a death sentance."
A heavy silence settled over the room as Luca's words lingered in the air. Vaggie's face softened, her earlier suspicion giving way to a deeper understanding. It was clear she hadn't anticipated such a raw confession. Charlie's heart ached for both Luca and Angel—for the impossible choices they'd been forced to make, the lives they'd had to lead in the shadows of such cruelty.
"But in the Life," Luca added quietly, his voice tinged with resignation, "you don't get to choose what's hard or what's easy. You just do what you have to do to survive."
Charlie shifted slightly, feeling the weight of Luca's confession settle heavily within her. She could sense that there was more, something deeper beneath the surface of Luca's memories.
Luca's gaze darkened, his tone becoming more somber as he continued. "Some months after that gathering, Don Ragno had a meeting at his house with the heads of some of the other families. Since the meeting wasn't about business, the rest of the family was given the night off. It was pouring rain that night, so many of the street captains and soldiers went to the Pinnacle Club. It was a speakeasy that doubled as a brothel, and the captains used it as their place to unwind."
He paused, his expression tightening. "Arackniss had been told to bring Anthony along. I think it was meant to be a way of getting Anthony used to the life men in our world led—forcing him to conform, to fit into the mold of what was expected. Some of the street captains even tried to pressure Anthony into having his first time with a woman. But it was obvious how uncomfortable he was with the whole thing. He didn't belong there. He knew it, and so did I."
Luca's jaw clenched slightly as he recalled the memory. "Eventually, Anthony couldn't take it anymore. He got up and left the club, storming out into the rain. That caught Arackniss's attention, and he went out after him, probably to convince him to stick it out. I followed, more out of concern than anything else."
Luca's voice grew darker. "That's when I saw them. The two brothers were having a heated exchange out in the rain. I couldn't hear what was being said, but it was obvious what it was about. Anthony wasn't fitting in. Arackniss wasn't happy about that. The argument ended when Arackniss punched Anthony, hard enough to send him stumbling back, and then told him he could walk home in the rain for all he cared."
Vaggie's eyes widened in shock, her earlier suspicion completely gone, replaced with something like empathy.
"New York's streets can be unforgiving, especially in the rain," Luca continued. "A mile in the city is roughly twenty blocks, and the brownstone where Arackniss and Anthony lived was more than a few miles away. By the time Anthony would've made it home, he'd have been soaked to the bone and at serious risk of pnumonia."
Luca's voice softened, his gaze distant. "After Arackniss went back inside the club, I found Anthony walking down the street, drenched and miserable. I convinced him to come back to my apartment for the night. My mother was there, and we had a guest room, so there was nothing suggestive about it. I just didn't want him to be alone, not after everything that had happened."
Luca's expression grew more somber as he continued. "Not long after that night, Anthony disappeared. Arackniss didn't seem to know where he'd gone—just that he'd been sent to a private institution. It was assumed he'd gone to a boarding school, like their sister Molly, who'd been away since she was ten. But when Anthony came back… something had changed. Drastically. And not in a good way."
His voice faltered for a moment, the memory of Anthony's return clearly haunting him. "He didn't talk about it. And whenever I asked Arackniss, he'd just tell me, 'It's better to keep out of it.' I never pressed. But the change in Anthony was undeniable. He was… different, hollowed out in a way. It was like the light in him had been dimmed."
The room was stiflingly quiet, Luca's words hanging heavy in the air. The pain and unresolved darkness of whatever had happened to Anthony while he was away loomed over them all, a ghost that refused to leave.
Charlie's heart ached for both Luca and Angel. The world they'd been forced into was cruel, its demands unforgiving and brutal. The scars left behind—the damage done—were undeniable, etched into their souls. Vaggie's eyes softened as she looked at Luca, her earlier distrust now replaced by a quiet understanding.
Luca's gaze became distant as if lost in the past. "After he came back to the city, he started to get involved with the family. But this time, he wasn't placed under one of the Caporagime like I was. He was handed off to someone on the periphery—a man named Mario Valvano, who ran a prostitution ring. Valvano wasn't officially part of the Ragno family, but he had strong ties to several crime families in the city."
He paused, a shadow crossing his face. "Having an association as a padrone wasn't unusual. Some of these associates were being groomed for initiation into the family, while others just had business relationships with multiple families. Valvano was the latter. He ran the kind of business that the families relied on but didn't want to be directly connected with. In return, he offered advice, trained younger members in the basics, and tested their loyalty."
Luca's jaw clenched as he continued. "For months, Anthony was under Valvano's thumb, learning the ropes of the Life in ways no one should have to. Valvano was the one who determined whether Anthony was 'loyal' enough to the family. He made sure Anthony understood the rules: when you're told to show up somewhere, you drop everything and go. No questions, no delays. Loyalty is everything."
Charlie could feel the weight of Luca's words, how hard it must have been for Anthony to endure, especially after whatever had happened during his time away.
Luca's voice dropped, taking on a darker tone. "Then one night, everything went sideways. Anthony called Andreoli, the family's Consigliere, sounding panicked. Andreoli brought Arackniss with him, and I happened to be there, so I went along, too. By the time we arrived, it was chaos."
His face tightened, his eyes clouded with the memory. "We found Valvano dead in his office, a letter opener lodged in his throat, and Anthony… Anthony was standing there, covered in blood, in complete shock. His hands were shaking, his eyes wide, like he couldn't even register what had happened."
Charlie's breath hitched as she pictured the scene Luca described, the horror of it settling deep into her chest.
"From what we could piece together," Luca continued, his voice steady but grim, "Valvano had attacked Anthony. There was some kind of altercation, and in the scuffle, Anthony had managed to grab the letter opener. I don't think he intended to kill Valvano—just to defend himself. But the letter opener ended up lodged in Valvano's throat, severing an artery. He bled out right there on the office floor."
Luca's eyes darkened as he spoke, the weight of what happened clearly still burdening him. "Anthony was devastated. I don't think he even fully realized what had happened, like he couldn't believe it. The shock… the fear… it was overwhelming for him."
Vaggie's expression softened further, a look of understanding crossing her face. "And that's when everything changed for him, didn't it?" she asked quietly.
Luca nodded, his voice dropping even lower. "Yeah. That was the turning point. After that night, Anthony wasn't the same. The Life had its claws in him, and there was no getting out. But that night, that moment… it ripped away whatever innocence he had left."
He paused, sighing heavily before continuing. "Of course, Valvano wasn't just associated with the Ragno family; he had ties to several other crime families. That made this situation incredibly serious. It was like the unsanctioned murder of a made man in your own family—something that could trigger a war. It was bound to cause tension and conflict between the families. So an investigation had to happen before any kind of punishment could be agreed upon. But even with that, there were plenty of people who would've been all too happy to see Anthony dead for it, just to avoid the mess it could create."
Luca's gaze grew distant as he recalled what came next. "In an effort to buy time, I suggested that Anthony could hide out at my family's winery until everything was sorted. I knew once the investigation concluded, I'd have no say in what happened to him, but it was the only chance I had to keep him safe for the time being."
He took a deep breath before continuing. "At the farmhouse on my family's vineyard, we became housemates. The place had fallen apart—overgrown, nearly destroyed by wildlife over the years. We spent most of our days tending to the farm, trying to bring it back to life. I had to tell the people who owned neighboring farms that Anthony was my cousin from the city, just to avoid suspicion about why two men were living together."
Luca's tone softened. "I wasn't keeping him as a prisoner. The vineyard was far from the city, and the nearest town was small, not a place any crime families would bother with. Anthony could've run if he wanted, especially when I went to town to barter or sell what little we had. But he stayed."
He glanced up, his expression somber. "By some strange stroke of fortune, a massive gang war broke out in New York City around that time. The chaos of it put the investigation on hold, allowing us to live out there in the countryside for about three years. And during that time, we became… more than just housemates."
Luca's voice softened further, carrying a deep tenderness as he continued. "Anthony was hesitant at first. He knew that once we returned to the city, things would be different. We couldn't be together, not openly. It would be dangerous for both of us. It wasn't that uncommon, though—there were other Mafiosi who were gay or bi and there were some who were able to hide this by having wives and children, and secret lovers they met with else where. Arranged secret keepers in their respective families. However, these partnerships were risky because being caught meant instant death"
He sighed, glancing away for a moment. "I knew people in the family who could be trusted to keep secrets, and there were ways to maintain a relationship like ours, but it involved a lot of sneaking around and living a double life. I even suggested the idea of Anthony finding a lesbian who'd be willing to be a beard, to marry for appearances. He knew it was the safest route, but he hated the idea of it. He didn't want to live a lie, playing house with someone just to hide who he was. And he didn't want to deceive a woman into thinking she was in a real marriage, only for her to eventually find out it was built on nothing."
Charlie listened quietly, her heart aching for both Luca and Anthony, for the impossible choices they had to navigate in a world that wouldn't accept them.
Luca chuckled darkly. "Anthony even tried to push me towards marrying Molly. He figured if I married his sister, I could keep everything in the family. He knew I'd treat her well, but I hated the idea. Not because it wouldn't work—it could have. But the thought of marrying Molly when I secretly wanted to be with her brother? I couldn't do that to her. Even if I tried to think of her as a female version of Anthony, it would still be using her and she didn't deserve that."
He paused, shaking his head. "No, it wasn't right. Molly was kind, and she deserved more than to be part of a scheme. So, after the gang war calmed down, and we were able to return to New York, Anthony and I made the choice to stay apart for a while. We knew things would never be the same as they had been on the farm. We couldn't go back to that simple life, not with the Life waiting for us in the city."
Another silence settled in the room, the weight of Luca's story lingering between them. The years he and Anthony spent together, hidden away from the chaos of the mafia, seemed like a brief, bittersweet reprieve—one that couldn't last in the world they came from.
Charlie's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she absorbed the depth of Luca's words. The sacrifice, the love, the pain of living in a world that forced them to hide who they were—it was almost too much to bear.
Vaggie, too, seemed to have softened, her earlier suspicion completely replaced by understanding and compassion. She didn't say anything, but her presence alone was enough to let Luca know she understood.
Luca leaned back, a deep sigh escaping him. "In the end, the Life doesn't let you choose who you are or who you love. It dictates everything. And we just tried to survive the best way we could."
- 5
- 6
- 7
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Price of Freedom