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Chapter Text

For the past five years, all that Anthony Ragnetto felt inside was anger, hurt, and struggle with his self-worth. The feelings had been present all his life, after years of dealing with his father’s constant disappointment and abuse and Nico’s cruelty, but the dam finally burst when Caterina Ragnetto, his mother, died.

Henroin Ragnetto was the most feared name in New York, and his influence ran high. The face Anthony had come to know as his father was a cold, cruel man, with no mercy for anyone, even family. He was a tall man with olive skin, his dark hair always perfectly slicked back, sharp gray eyes piercing into anyone who crossed his path or displeased him, hard lines drawn around his lips.

Anthony never knew why Mama had married him, only that she had loved him. Many marveled how such an uncaring individual had brought her into the family, but here they were. Caterina was graceful and soft-spoken, lovely as an angel, with glossy golden hair that she always kept bobbed in the style of the times, with large, deep blue eyes the exact color of sapphires in a heart-shaped face, with smooth creamy skin and a swan-like neck. Dainty golden freckles sprinkled her tiny nose.

Nico was a younger image of Pa, but with Nonna’s black eyes. He was tall, olive-skinned, with thick black hair he struggled to contain, and full lips with a square jaw. Pops chose his name as a power move: “victory of the people”. He fully intended Nico to be the future mafioso, training him as a toddler into his perfect little shadow, until Nico scoffed at what he called the “weakness of women” and showed nothing but contempt for everything about Anthony.

Anthony was born a twin, coming into this world six years after Nico’s birth. He had been told often as a child how everyone remarked that they looked like a pair of angels. Caterina named them Anthony and Molly, which meant “beautiful” and “star of the sea”. They looked strikingly alike, with their golden locks, the lovely faces they had inherited from Nonna, sporting her long black lashes, and the same pale skin with golden freckles sprinkled across their noses, shoulders, and backsides, so like their mother. Molly’s eyes were like two fine sapphires in her alabaster face, but Anthony’s differed distinctly, causing many to startle and stare whenever they laid eyes on him: one was the same striking blue, the exact hue of a sparkling sapphire, the other a deep brown. His heterochromia was a source of dislike for his father and Nico. They always felt it made him too girlish.

He had never been enough for them, only ever truly happy around Molly, Mama, and Nonna. He and Molly were close as could be, sharing an unbreakable bond that lasted throughout their lives.

His early days were spent with his mother, grandmother, and sister, allowed to just be children and have fun. He never understood the circumstances surrounding his father and older brother at that young age, unable to comprehend what Henroin Ragnetto was truly capable of. As a small child, he witnessed large men in dark suits coming and going as they pleased, his Pops sometimes returning to the home with blood on his hands. He would sometimes hear Nico refusing to do whatever it was Dad had demanded of him, before his brother’s sobs reached his ears as he eventually did as he said.

From a young age, he was confused about himself. He didn’t understand why it was that while his sister was allowed to wear pretty clothes, grow her hair long, and wear makeup, this was forbidden to him. As he grew older, he hid those feelings deep inside, knowing never to voice them aloud. He also didn’t understand why he felt angry with himself that he was not attracted to girls. They just didn’t interest him. As a child, he only felt confused about why that was so bad, but now that he was older, he desperately wanted to hide what he was.

Caterina held on to him for as long as she could, before Henroin told her to stop coddling him and that it was time Anthony was brought into the midst of it all. Anthony held his first gun at six years old.

“You’re lucky,” twelve-year-old Nico had scoffed. “I had to handle my first gun at three.”

Pops hated weakness in anyone, but especially in his sons. Girls didn’t matter to him, so he left the raising of Molly to his mother. He hated Anthony’s hesitation. Anthony began life as a sweet, gentle soul, unwilling to hurt anything.

The day his first gun was placed in his hands, he told his father he did not want it. That earned him his first backhand across the face. He had wept as he shot his first target.

Anthony and Nico were taken to see things that no child should see, forced to be present during interrogations as their father tortured his captives, then brought to watch when Henroin Ragnetto ended lives. “I will not have weakness in Ragnetto men,” he had said coldly the first time. “Get used to the sight, boy, this is what you were born to be.”

As Anthony grew, he learned to temper his unwillingness, as his father’s disdain for him grew. Everything about Anthony was lacking to the Ragnetto patriarch. His looks, his disinterest in females, his reluctance to kill. Anthony so desperately wanted his father’s love and acceptance, until after years of training, he did as Henroin said, but it was never enough. Nico simply took pleasure in his brother’s failures, whereas he was always the shining light of Henroin Ragnetto’s legacy.

For the next few years until he turned eighteen, Henroin used his hatred to strike Anthony where none could see, but would cause the most pain. Never let it be said that Henroin Ragnetto ever lost control. So Anthony was made to strip and bend over the desk in his father’s office as his own father whipped him bloody. Anthony never made a noise, simply gritting his teeth, gripping the desk tightly. He never let his father have the satisfaction of seeing him cry from the pain of the beating or the pain of what his father was doing to him.

As he grew, he noticed that his looks garnered a lot of attention. Many of his father’s men were in awe of the exquisite beauty the boy sported, with his long, thick lashes and mismatched eyes. His father hated it.

Anthony’s world came crashing down around him when he was thirteen years old.

Nothing was ever enough for Pops. He wanted more than just two sons to carry his line. He wanted another heir. No one thought that Caterina could handle another pregnancy, as the birth of the twins was so hard. Anthony and Molly were eager to have a little sibling in their lives. 

The last time Anthony saw his mother, she stroked his blonde locks. “Your little brother or sister will be here soon, Anthony,” she promised.

But Anthony and Molly were instead dressed in black a week later, to attend the funerals of their mother and newborn sister. Caterina Ragnetto died in childbirth, giving birth to a tiny little girl she named Elena, meaning shining light. Little Elena was too small and weak to live more than a few days. She had the same black hair as Nonna, with her face, but Mama’s striking deep sapphire-blue eyes.

Nonna took up the mantle of raising the twins alone, now that their mother was gone. Anthony had already been battling his terrors for so long, but Caterina’s death was the final breaking point. He changed. All that ill-treatment for years caused Anthony to grow into a teenager who battled his inner demons on the inside, never letting anyone see the deep, raw pain in his heart. Anthony was also used to being given deference, so over time he developed a distinctly imperious manner around the men who worked for his father. His stubbornness was a big part of him, along with his fiery temper.

Bridgetta Ragnetto’s name meant strong-willed, and so she was. A tiny woman with a large presence and a wicked, dirty sense of humor, she and Anthony had been close since the day he was born. She was the one who shielded him successfully from his father’s rages. It was Nonna who taught him to cook, including all of her famous Italian dishes, where he found he had a rare talent. They were alike in many ways, and it was well-known that he was her favorite. When Anthony turned eighteen, she was ninety by now, but her wit was still as sharp as ever, her black eyes bright with intelligence.

By the time Anthony turned eighteen, his hurt was shielded well by his pride and seeming arrogance. Most backed down when faced with his temper. He was a wild spirit, despite everything, and strong-willed, much like his Nonna.

So when Anthony Ragnetto was on his high horse, most stayed out of his way.

He was no longer a kid, eighteen now, and already in a sour mood the day Pops ordered him to attend a meeting that day.

Anthony swore that anyone who annoyed him was going to get it. Anyone who dared to mess with him today, he wouldn’t hesitate to put them in their place.

***

Henrik Tychon had been the object of scorn for most of his life.

He never knew his father. He never stuck around. An only child, Henrik was raised by his single mother, Katya. Hailing from Russia, and always retaining that strong Russian account of hers, Katya had worked painstakingly, determined to give her child a better life than her own.

Henrik grew up in a casino owned by his mother, giving him a love for the scenery of it all: the dealing, the exquisitely wrought detailing on the cards, the music flowing from the jukeboxes, and the stage entertainment. The thrill of the game was like a high in his lungs and heart that he never tired of. Despite the trials of the time, Katya Tychon was a strong woman, having worked from the bottom until she was a respected name, running her own business steadfastly.

But Henrik had been born to a time of great prejudice and judgment. Without a father in his life, he was often looked down upon by others for his background. With his mother immigrating from Russia and his father’s American ancestry, the whispers behind his back were often cruel, with words of “dirty” and “half-breed” often reaching his ears. As he grew older, he learned to ignore these insults, no matter how it infuriated him, but anyone who aimed their jabs at his mother often did not repeat them, after coming home all banged up. They could call Henrik whatever they wanted, but the moment they went after his mother they were going to have a problem.

Henrik and his mother lost everything when he was fifteen. No matter her capability, due to her Russian background and gender, Katya and Henrik were eventually forced out of their home to make room for a new owner to their casino, an American male. Who they were was always going to be a major sticking point with others in their lives.

Henrik vowed to himself, at that tender age, that now it was his turn to take care of Katya. He started small, doing whatever errands and odd jobs he could find, but he knew that did not pay enough. So when the day came that he got involved in crime, he took it.

He worked under whoever would take him in, no matter the bruises he went to bed with, if it kept his mother fed and with a roof under her head. By the time he was eighteen, he had left to travel, sending home money. Under the tutelage of mob bosses and mafiosos, Henrik had grown to be skilled and cold-blooded when necessary. This earned him high qualifications, being sent to carry out tasks for whoever he was working under. It wasn’t the life he had ever imagined for himself, but if it kept his mother alive, then he’d do it, without question. With Henrik Tychon being a respected, highly sought-after name, he never stayed in one place too long. 

He spent his freedom in casinos, where he earned a reputation for good fortune. He could take what he gave out, but he was also serious and hard-working, and few dared to get in his way. Make no mistake: he was the one in control. He commanded. He had his past, and his own ways to handle. Challenges had always excited him. His amused, roguish smirk held a hint of his confidence in himself, and ladies loved that smile. He had an alluring arrogance to him. Only those he truly cared for knew about the good heart underneath. 

He was no saint, this he knew already, but he slept with whoever took his interest. Gender didn’t matter to him, nor could he bring himself to care. He was who he was. He fucked man or woman, but it was their personality that drew him in.

When he was twenty-five, his current employer informed him he was being let go, and was to pack his things and head to New York. One of the most powerful mafiosos, Henroin Ragnetto, wanted Henrik for a job. The specifics, he was informed, to train his youngest son; he was dissatisfied with his son’s progress thus far.

It took a lot of convincing for Henrik to agree and take the offer. He was a trained mafioso’s man, not a babysitter for some teenaged brat. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to the task even as he boarded the train and traveled to New York. 

If simple training didn’t have any effect, Henrik decided, he could always resort to other methods on the little shit.

***

He’d been informed that the mafioso wanted him to have an eye on his son at all times, so his things were carried off to be moved in secret to his son’s apartment. Henrik didn’t particularly like this arrangement. His son didn’t know him, it felt too personal to invade his life like that.

He was met at the Ragnetto household by a man around Henrik’s own age. His brown hair fell in curls to his shoulders, and his hazel-green eyes sized up Henrik’s frame before nodding. “Alessandro,” he introduced himself, tactfully keeping himself aloof. “The bossman wants to see you before anything’s made official. His son hasn’t been informed of the arrangement yet-”

“Woah!” Henrik stopped in his tracks. “You’re telling me I’m just walking into this kid’s life and he doesn’t even know what I’m here for?”

Those hazel-green eyes regarded Henrik coolly. “It is not our place to question the mafioso,” he coldly replied. “You would do well to remember that.”

Henrik nearly retorted, but thought it better to bite his tongue instead, following the man Alessandro through the door.

It was a magnificent house, he admitted to himself. The house was a lovely ivory color, large and imposing. Inside the atmosphere was remote and unwelcoming, mostly bare furniture, albeit with pretty cloths spread atop. The only sign of life was a glass vase on a tabletop in the hallway, filled with vivid red, yellow, pink, and white roses with cornflowers. Beside the vase was a framed photo of a lovely young woman with corn-colored hair in a bob, large deep blue eyes, and a soft, gentle smile.

Henrik was still very much surly about the entire situation. He’d been carted off away from his job. His area of work was in killing whoever his boss told him to, highly skilled in combat, and success in winning easy money without losing his head, not babysitting some spoiled brat. This had to be a fucking joke. This wasn’t what he was paid to do-

His thinking came to a standstill, as did he, when he caught a glimpse of someone ahead. For a moment, he thought it was an angel.

A young man was leaning against the wall, long, slender legs stretched out lazily. He was the most beautiful creature Henrik had ever seen. Thick, silky blonde hair tumbled into his eyes. His skin was the color of alabaster, with gorgeous golden freckles sprinkling his perfect skin across his tiny nose like specks from the sun. His face was truly exquisite: it seemed sculpted, perfectly wrought, with high cheekbones and full, pouting rosy lips and long, thick black lashes, accentuated his perfect bone structure and delicate, lovely features. But what caught Henrik’s attention the most were his eyes: one was a striking blue the exact color of a sapphire, the other deep brown, dark as melting chocolate. Heterochromia. He wore a white buttoned shirt that accentuated his slim chest. Those long legs were hidden by his pants, slung on his tiny waist. Henrik was shocked by how tiny it was, those slim hips, his rounded bottom filling the pants nicely. A cigarette hung from those rosebud-colored lips, his brows pulled down in a scowl.

“Who’s that?” Henrik murmured, his eyes still drawn to the exquisite beauty.

Alessandro’s eyes landed on the man with a striking heterochromatic gaze, then narrowed at Henrik’s tone. “Don’t be getting any ideas, Tychon. That’s Ragnetto’s youngest, Anthony. He’s eighteen and you don’t wanna get on his or his Pops’s bad side.”

Henrik’s eyes widened in surprise. This beauty was the kid he was training? Well, maybe this wouldn’t be such a pain.

When he spoke, an alluring, angry Brooklyn accent met Henrik’s ears. “Ya were supposed ta be here five minutes ago, ‘Sandro,” he snapped, his mismatched eyes flashing sapphire-and-diamond fire. “The fuck took ya so long? Ya think I got my whole day to just wait around on your lazy ass?”

Henrik was honestly sort of stunned to hear the indignant tone of the eighteen-year-old, as he imperiously waited, hands on those small hips of his, not to mention his language. There was more to him than met the eye. Definitely a brat, just as Henrik had suspected.

“Sorry,” Alessandro muttered, ducking his head. “Look, I got things to carry out. You know the way. He’s here to see the boss.” Alessandro fled before he could be met with another tongue lashing from the teenager.

Henrik smiled, turning on the charm. If they were going to be around each other every day, then Henrik would prefer it be pleasant. “Hey,” he greeted, giving that smile of his that he knew most of his partners loved. “I’m Henrik.” He stuck out a hand.

He nearly stumbled in his shock when the brat just ignored his hand, glaring at him with those stunning mismatched eyes of his. In fact, he brushed right past Henrik like he wasn’t even there, stomping ahead. When Henrik didn’t follow, he swung around, his temper obviously flaring. “Ya comin’ or ya just wanna stand there all day?” he spat. “I don’t have all day.”

Henrik could feel his own irritation bubbling to the surface at the kid’s rudeness, and retorted, “Believe me, I could be doing better things with my time, but it seems I don’t have a choice.” He followed Anthony down the passageway.

The awkward silence was enough to make Henrik attempt to have a civil conversation. “So…uh, have you been in the business long or-?” he ventured, trying to soften the angry man.

Anthony gave a laugh, but there was no amusement in it. “My Pops is a mafioso, fuckface. Are ya always this stupid or am I just lucky?” he bit. “Ya get your kicks out of talkin’ so much, huh?” His tone darkened, as he swiveled on his heel, poking Henrik in the chest. “Stay out of my fuckin’ way, or I will fuckin’ end ya.”

Yeah, that didn’t faze Henrik one bit. The kid was shorter than him, thin to boot, and those dainty wrists of his didn’t even look capable of firing a rifle. The brat deserved a good spanking for his behavior. He was arrogant, full of pride, and spoiled, with a huge temper. If he was in any position to get this kid alone, then he was smacking that rounded little bottom until he swatted that pride right out of him.

They arrived to the office by that time, a smug smile on the brat’s face, evidently believing that he had intimidated Henrik into silence, when nothing could be further from the truth. If anything, he was half amused by his superior attitude, and half ready to put him over his knee.

The mafioso didn’t look a bit like his pretty son. He was dark and solemn, with cold gray eyes, dressed in dark colors. At his side stood a man slightly younger than Henrik himself, a near replica of the mafioso, but with deep black eyes. The room was filled with other men, ominously sporting the scars of their past.

Like his son, Henroin Ragnetto did not offer a hand, simply regarding Henrik from head to bottom. “I see you’ve met my son, Anthony,” he commented, his eyes darkening in a chilling manner as his gaze moved from Henrik to his son. Henrik was surprised and slightly alarmed when the fiery spirit beside him seemed to deflate, staring at his feet, and Henrik saw his fingers shake slightly. “Anthony. Look at me when I’m speaking to you .”

That beautiful mismatched gaze met his father’s silver one, fear in his irises. “Yes, sir?” he asked, evidently nervous beyond measure.

“I called you in here for a purpose today,” that emotionless voice informed his son. “Frankly, your skills in this family have never been worthy of the Ragnetto name. I can’t have that in this name.” His eyes were devoid of any love for his child. “I have hired this man, Henrik Tychon, to fix that mistake.”

The boy’s eyes widened in shock, sputtering. “W-what?” Rage and humiliation entered those jewel-like depths. His head whipped around to glare at the man beside him. “Ya knew who I was this whole time?!”

Henrik had come from concerned after witnessing the kid’s behavior to vastly amused. He had a feeling he was going to injure this task more than he originally thought. He smirked at him.

Anthony’s cheeks were burning in humiliation. From the moment he looked up to see the man trailing beside Alessandro, he couldn’t help the pink that rose from his cheeks. He was so handsome. His skin was darker than Anthony’s, not exactly olive like his grandmother, father, and brother, but a tanned color that suited him well. He had thick black hair and striking amber eyes, shining gold in the light. Anthony had never seen eyes so beautiful. His face was incredibly attractive, with a strong jaw and full lips. He was pissed off after today; Pops beat him again. He’d given both Alessandro and the gorgeous man beside him an absolute tongue lashing, and now he had, in turn, been publicly admonished and humiliated by his father.

“But Pops!” Anthony protested. “Ya can’t-”

Those icy eyes stopped him as soon as the words left his mouth. “Excuse me?” his father asked.

Anthony’s eyes darted down immediately. “Nothin’.”

The Ragnetto patriarch regarded his youngest son for a bit, before waving his hand in a dismissal. “Wait in the room with the window.”

Anthony bit his lip, before shooting a murderous glance Henrik’s way, stomping out.

Henroin dismissed the others, then folded his hands on the desk, inspecting the young man in front of him. “My son has never been the most useful. I hope that with your promising experience, this mistake can be remedied. I don’t hold out much hope for him.” His lips thinned. “But I leave that to you.”

Henrik crossed his arms, deciding to push his luck. He wasn’t going to get anywhere with the beautiful brat if he just constantly walked all over him and thought he could intimidate Henrik into getting his way. No one talked to him like that, especially not some kid. “What makes you think I’ll take the job? I came all this way to be greeted with a disrespectful brat, which isn’t going to make matters any easier as time goes by. If you expect me to stay, then I insist to have free reign here, to deal with him as I please.”

Henroin Ragnetto raised a dark brow. “You speak to me this way?” he said, his jaw clenching.

Henrik did not back down, knowing to push this. “The call is yours, of course. But then again, I can always just go back if my services are not needed.” He turned to leave.

“Stop.” Henrik halted, turning to face the mafioso, who was grinding his jaw in contemplation, before nodding. “It’s a bargain. You have my permission to deal with him as you please.”

Henrik grinned. This guaranteed Anthony could not go running to his father as a threat, because Henrik was going to do it with or without the mafioso’s consent. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

***

Anthony paced back and forth, fuming, beyond humiliated at being sent from the room in front of everyone like a wayward child. No one fucking told him anything, and he’d been made to look like a fool in front of everyone! He felt nothing but resentment for the handsome man, even as his heart pounded every time those bright amber eyes looked into his.

His back and legs screamed in agony from the welts, and he could hardly wait until tonight. Once he was out of here, he could go see Nonna, and then he could head home. He had nothing for the pain, but he could at least crawl into bed and rest off the beating.

He flinched when the door suddenly shut behind him, and whipped around, appalled to see it was the man from earlier. Henrik Tychon. His temper raged as he looked at the one he held responsible for his situation. He was fucking smirking at him again, the fucker. “The fuck do ya want?” he snapped, his eyes blazing.

“What?” Henrik teased. “You didn’t think you saw the last of me, did you?” He grinned. “You sure know how to make an impression.”

Anthony flared at his jabbing. “Shut the fuck up!”

Henrik shook his head in exasperation, walking closer. “Why so hostile?” he said, smiling. “We’re gonna be working together for a while, it would seem. Might as well get to know each other. Speaking of which…” His grin was quite wicked now, very satisfied and arrogant. “Anyone I gotta train won’t be acting that way, disrespecting others. It’s liable to get you killed. So we’re gonna establish some ground rules here, ones that you best learn now.”

Anthony’s eyes were drawn to his strong hands as he began to roll up his shirt sleeves. He took a step back, confused and slightly alarmed. “W-What are you gonna do?” he asked, his voice small, backing up.

That grin again, that smirk, as those sexy lips turned up, looking oh-so pleased with himself. “I’m going to turn you over my knee and smack your little bottom until it’s red as a cherry,” he told the stunned brat before him. “Then we’re heading out.”

Anthony couldn’t have been more shocked if Henrik had told him he had to shoot the moon. His cheeks flamed, and every instinct in him told him to flee. He flattened himself against the wall, his eyes shooting brown and blue fire. “Don’t you fucking touch me, fuckhead!” he yelled. “If you put a hand on me, I’ll tell my Pops!”

“Got his permission,” the handsome man returned, smiling smugly. “Come on, brat. Let’s get this over with, then we’ll call it even.” He held out a hand for the eighteen-year-old to take.

No fucking way. There was no way Anthony was going to let him just spank him. He had grown up in this house, he knew it much better than Henrik. If he could get to the door, then he’d be safe. No one had ever dared to spank him before, and Anthony was not going to find out now!

Henrik cursed as the kid suddenly turned on his heel and bolted, flinging the door open and sprinting. “Shit!”

Anthony had always been fast, but he wasn’t fast enough this time. He gave a yell of rage when he felt the first intimate contact of his life, as firm hands, surprisingly gentle, landed on his slim hips, and he was lifted right off his feet. “Let me go!” he screamed angrily, his legs kicking, and swung his arm back to deliver a jarring slam to Henrik’s ribs, causing him to grunt in pain.

“Oh, I’m gonna enjoy this,” the handsome man growled in his ear, holding the teenager off his feet against his chest, before switching his position, setting the little brat on his hip. The kid shrieked in shock and panic, as his body surged forward, then began to kick his legs, banging his fists against Henrik’s leg.

“Oh, let me go, let me go!” he screamed in fury, but Henrik simply dragged him back into the room. There was a chair by the wall, which Henrik stalked over to, taking a seat. He lifted the struggling brat up. His blonde hair was tousled and his eyes spitting fury.

Anthony whirled around, attempting to run, then cried out as a hand grabbed him by the collar, yanking him back, then he was twisted around. “You fucker, get off of me!” he demanded, swinging his fists, but Henrik grabbed those dainty wrists in one hand easily, rendering him immobile, then grabbed that slender waist and dumping him over his lap.

Anthony shrieked in shock, trying to scramble off, but Henrik held him down by the waist. Henrik watched as that rounded bottom wriggled, trying to escape. Oh, yes, he was most definitely going to enjoy this. He raised his hand and brought it down hard.

Anthony yelped as Henrik’s hand suddenly smacked down, smacking his ass hard. It stung, and it hurt! “You motherfucker!” he shouted in fury, trying to free his wrists from behind his back, but Henrik was too strong. He gave an identical cry as the second cheek was smacked. “Ohh, stop! Ah! Ah! Ah! Stop it!” he screamed, his face red in humiliation.

Henrik grinned in amusement as the kid shouted indignantly, yelling and throwing a tantrum, merely smacking the plump cheeks in the tight pants before him, as the gorgeous man over his knee cried out and kicked.

“I swear to fuck if ya don’t let me up, I’ll fucking kill you!” Anthony threatened, before giving another cry as his ass cheeks were paddled. “Ohhh, stop! Ahhh!” He wanted to reach a hand back to protect his poor bottom, but his wrists were restrained. “Fuck!” he yelled. “That hurts!”

Henrik could see this was only making Anthony angry, so he decided to switch things up and bare him. Anthony gasped as he felt Henrik’s fingers slip under his waistband. “No!” he begged, kicking his legs, then shrieked as his pants and underwear were yanked down in one jerk to his ankles, his butt as bare as the day he was born.

Henrik stopped and stiffened the moment he caught sight of Anthony’s bare skin. The kid had a really nice ass: such pale, unblemished skin, dotted with the same lovely freckles that covered his nose sprinkled across his cheeks, all rounded and curved. But then the kid’s shirt rose slightly, and he suddenly saw bright red welts on the delicate skin of his back, vivid and fresh. With his pants down, he could also see similar injuries on the backs of his legs, and he saw red when he noticed some on his thighs as well. This was beyond barbaric. The kid had been beaten . He couldn’t think why anyone would want to injure such beautiful skin, and he nearly went black with rage as he saw where the skin had broken and dried blood rested on the wounds.

“Who did this?” he growled, his voice dark.

Anthony flinched at the tone, gritting his teeth. “It’s none of your fucking business!” he snapped. He tried to rise up. “Let me go already! Get off of me!” he demanded, struggling.

Henrik glared, having a hunch of who was behind this. This ends now. “This isn’t gonna happen again,” he promised the lovely creature before him. “If you misbehave, you get your butt smacked. Not beaten.” He began to paddle the pretty bottom in front of him, smacking those freckled cheeks. The kid yelped at the contact, and Henrik marveled at how soft his skin was.

“Owwww, stop!” Anthony pleaded, his butt on fire, crying out at the slaps descending on his backside, his face deep red, as he felt the first male contact on his bare skin, as Henrik spanked his bare bottom, feeling that strong, hard hand connect with his buttocks. He had never been so humiliated his entire life, as the handsome man who had pinned him over his knee smacked his ass. He threw his head back, crying out at the pain. The pain opened up old wounds he had been keeping under lock and key. “Ow! Ahhh! Oh, that hurts, that hurts!” he wailed. “Stop, please! It really stings!”

He yelped as Henrik’s knee suddenly angled his butt higher, and his cheeks were spanked harder, offered up like a platter for Henrik to spank, as his hard hand plummeted down on his bare cheeks. “Owww!” he cried, his cheeks burning from the sting. “Stop, stop! Ah! Let go already!” he shouted. “Fuck, okay! I get it! Fuck!”

He felt tears coming to his eyes. “I’m gonna fucking knife you in the fucking heart!” he screamed, as he began to cry, hating the handsome man for getting anything out of him. “I’m gonna - I’m gonna - “

Anthony wasn’t capable of saying anything else, as his bottom was spanked, simply sobbing, not just from mortification, from the pain his ass was in, but from everything. Having all that pent up anger and hurt inside that he could never let out, the spanking finally broke the dam, as he cried in pain from everything: his mother’s death, his father’s abuse, his own hurt and confusion, as Henrik Tychon beat his ass.

Henrik was satisfied when he finally got the brat to stop fighting him, having evidently spanked the pride right out of him, but for some reason he couldn’t even begin to fathom, his heart twisted at hearing the beauty’s cries. He’d reduced him to a whimpering, submissive mess over his knee.

“I’m sorry!” Anthony wept, fisting Henrik’s pants tightly, squealing at the smacks slapping down on his ass. He bawled heavily, shaking. “Please, don’t!” he begged, his breathing ragged. “I’m sorry I was so rude!” he apologized, and was shocked that he meant it. He was suddenly ashamed of his behavior. “It hurts!” he complained, crying profusely. “I won’t do it ever again, I promise! Oww! I’m sorry I was so awful!” he yelled. He lay his head down, crying into Henrik’s knee. “I’m so sorry!” His body shook as he wept.

Henrik decided he’d had enough, and finished, adding a few final spanks to the red cheeks before him, before stopping. He released Anthony’s wrists, who immediately brought them up to cover his face as he sobbed, unable to stop. His bottom was a deep scarlet. Henrik didn’t make him move, and Anthony didn’t try to get up, just laying there, red bottom up over his lap, weeping as if his heart would break. Henrik felt bad for the kid, feeling sorry for him as he cried.

He gently turned him over, then slipped an arm underneath his knees, the other cradling his shoulders, and wrapped his arms around him, holding him, tenderly rubbing his thumb across the back of Anthony’s neck in soothing circular motions. “It’s okay,” he whispered into his blonde hair, “you’re okay. It’s over now. I’m sorry that it hurt so much. Everything’s fine now.” He held him close in his arms. “You’re forgiven.”

Those words caused Anthony to let out a cry of remorse, and Henrik was shocked as the formerly arrogant kid suddenly wrapped his arms around Henrik’s neck, sobbing, clinging to him. It surprised him, before he recovered from his amazement and held him closer, a hand cupping one of Anthony’s sore cheeks. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, Anthony, it’s okay,” he assured the trembling eighteen-year-old. “I’m not going anywhere. Just let it out.”

He held Anthony until his wails quietened, and he was no longer shaking. Before he could stop himself, Henrik bent his head and kissed the top of Anthony’s blonde head tenderly, not understanding this warm and protective feeling in his chest, as the kid moved his arms from his neck to gripping his shirt in two tight fists as he cried. Henrik moved his hand to the nape of Anthony’s neck, stroking through those blonde locks comfortingly. “I’m right here,” he mumbled into his hair. “Shh, it’s only a spanking.” He smiled tenderly. “You got a sore bottom, but you’re not hurt.”

Slowly, he felt Anthony begin to stiffen, and when he lifted his head, his gorgeous mismatched eyes were full of angry, humiliated tears. He shoved at Henrik’s chest with both hands. “Let go of me,” he spat, his cheeks red as Henrik reminded him of his spanking. 

He jumped to his feet, then blushed pink as he remembered his butt was bare. Fuck’s sake, he’d just cried on his father’s man’s knee like a kid after he paddled his bottom. How much worse could today get? He was distinctly aware of his cock, right where Henrik could see. He bent down, tugging up his pants furiously, hissing in pain as the material scraped against his tender skin.

Henrik regarded him with amusement, his amber eyes sparkling, a lock of thick black hair falling over one eye. “Hurts, huh?” he teased, grinning.

Anthony flushed again, glaring jeweled daggers at the insanely hot man before him. “Shut the hell up!” he flared. “Stay away from me!” He all but fled from the room as if the hounds of Hell were at his feet.

Henrik smiled. Anthony Ragnetto was a wildfire. He loved a challenge, and he was looking forward to this job.

***

Henrik marched into Henroin Ragnetto’s office, not even bothering to voice a greeting. “The beatings stop,” he demanded.

The mafioso regarded him with those calculating eyes of his, an eerie silence echoing across the room. “If by beatings you mean punishing my son, I don’t see how that is any of your concern.”

“He can’t take it!” Henrik argued, determined to keep his promise to Anthony, never wanting to see those horrific welts on his lovely skin again. “His skin is delicate; he can’t take that form of punishment! It’s too much!” He ventured forth, heedless. “If you feel the need to punish him for something, then let me take it. I’ll take his whipping for him. Either that, or let me handle his punishments. Otherwise the deal is off.” 

His tone was final, but privately Henrik had zero intention of leaving Anthony to face this monster alone. No matter the outcome of this conversation, he would do what he must to protect Anthony. He didn’t know why he felt so protective of the beautiful brat, but for some reason, he never wanted to see him hurt again.

Henrik wasn’t going to lie. The deadly silence scared him shitless, as those terrifying gray eyes pierced into him. It was several minutes before Henroin Ragnetto spoke. “While I question your adamance to take my son’s discipline,” he calmly remarked, “that will not be necessary. If your methods work, then I leave you to it.”

Henrik was honestly surprised that he walked out of that office alive.

***

Anthony’s ass was on fire, and he wanted nothing more than to take off his pants right now. He was furious, and his temper was whirling, as he went to say good-bye to Nonna.

Bridgetta Ragnetto liked sitting on the porch on the opposite side of the lawn, to watch the birds and the world around her. As Anthony opened the porch door, she turned to see who had come through, and smiled at the sight of her favorite grandchild. The two of them had always shared a special bond. Her dark hair was white as snow, and her once smooth face was wrinkled with age, her hands gnarled, but past the marks of time were the features Anthony had inherited.

“Tesoro,” she greeted him, as he sank to his knees before her, grasping her hands, as his heterochromatic eyes looked into her dark ones.

“Nonna, I’m heading back, so I came to say good-bye,” he explained, as he smiled at the person he loved most in this world. None should ever mistake her for frail, despite her age, however; she could always give as good as she got.

“Anthony?”

Anthony startled at his name on the lips of that voice, refusing to turn his head at the noise. Nonna’s eyes, however, swiveled to the tall man behind her grandson. Anthony wanted to hide his face as she showed that she had, as always, no filter.

“And who is this bello bastardo?” she asked, her black eyes shining.

Anthony’s face heated. “Nonna!” he censured. God, he just wanted to slip through the floorboards.

Henrik knew Italian, so he caught the meaning from the elderly woman with wicked eyes and quick wit. “I’m Henrik Tychon,” he introduced himself. “I’m here to train Anthony.”

Whatever Henrik could have imagined the old lady to say, it certainly wasn’t what came out. “Kinky,” she rejoined, her eyes sparkling. “About time something interesting went on in this house.”

If Anthony turned any redder, his face would have matched his backside. “I’m leaving,” he snapped, snatching up his coat as he turned, determined to walk ahead of Henrik just to show that he was still in charge.

Henrik took an immediate liking to this lady. “He’s not very eager, but I’m sure he’ll learn,” he said, with a conspiratorial wink.

Bridgetta looked very pleased. “Oh, I like this one, Antonio,” she told her grandson. “Bring him around more often.”

***

Anthony stomped his foot when he discovered what Pops had done to his apartment. “Don’t get any ideas,” he snapped to his unwelcome guest as he went to his room. “My house, my rules.”

Henrik just grinned, thoroughly enjoying the wild beauty and his temper.

The minute Anthony closed his door, he tugged down his pants, looking in the mirror, and gasped. His ass was swollen, a deep, dark red, and it stung like fire, but blessedly there were no bruises.

He hated that man. He just wished that he didn’t find him so attractive.

Chapter Text

Anthony woke when the sun did, wanting to get an early start before anyone, particularly the annoying, albeit good-looking, asshole tried to stop him. He’d moaned in discomfort when he felt his aching ass, then recalled the events of yesterday, causing his face to heat up. He’d just gotten the first spanking of his young life, and it fucking hurt . Not to mention the humiliation of it all.

He dressed quickly, buttoning up his shirt and tugging on some loose pants, anything to alleviate the pain. He had to get something for that pain, and he’d been without a hit for too long. He quickly slipped his mother’s golden locket over his head before slipping out the door.

He was yanking on his boots as he left his room, nearly tripping and falling face-first on the floor as he caught sight of the guest his Pops had forced on him.

Henrik Tychon was in the kitchen, cooking up something. He had evidently taken a shower, his dark hair damp and curling slightly. He had dressed himself in some pants at the moment, and Anthony’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he noticed that he hadn’t yet put on a shirt. As Henrik noticed his presence, he turned to face him.

“You’re in a hurry,” he noted, a smile resting on those sexy lips of his. “Going somewhere?”

Anthony nearly swallowed his tongue as he stared at Henrik’s chest. It was…one of the nicer chests he’d seen.

Henrik noticed where his eyes were settled, smirking. “See something you like?” he teased, his amber eyes glinting gold.

Anthony flushed, embarrassed at being caught. He scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he snapped. “For fuck’s sake, put a fuckin’ shirt on!”

Henrik laughed, stooping to pick up the shirt he had laid out, buttoning it up his chest. Anthony forced himself to look away. He shrugged on his jacket.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to head out?” Henrik asked, his arms crossed, one dark brow raised, that unruly black lock once again falling into his eyes.

Anthony flared at his questioning, still sore and his pride bruised from yesterday. “You gonna beat me again if I decide it’s none of your business?” he fired, glaring.

Henrik snorted, shaking his head. “I didn’t need to beat you, brat.” He held up his hand. “Never found those to be very effective. It’s cruel and unnecessary. But a spanking for a spoiled brat on a soft, rounded bottom ensures that I got them remorseful and repentant over my knee, and this way they don’t do it again.”

Anthony’s face had grown redder by the minute at everything his father’s man said. His cheeks heated every time the handsome man before him called him a brat, and he was positively scarlet as Henrik nonchalantly talked about his ass and the outcome of it all.

“Don’t call me that,” he demanded quietly, heading for the door. “You’re not goin’ anywhere near my ass again!”

Henrik had a feeling that wasn’t  going to last long.

***

Anthony moaned in ecstasy as he sniffed up the PCP, letting everything float away as he inhaled more of the substance. He didn’t want to remember yesterday’s events, nor anything else. He was angry and embarrassed, angry with himself for breaking down and seeking comfort in the arms of the man who whacked his butt, and angry at the asshole in question. He was embarrassed whenever he remembered the punishment: his pants yanked down, Henrik’s hard hand connecting with his bare skin, checking out his ass in the mirror and finding it a dark scarlet color and burning hot. His face burned every time as he remembered the feeling of Henrik’s hand on his bare bottom, knowing that he could see his naked ass.

He didn’t want to go home, where he was waiting for him. So he didn’t. Instead, he hopped in the car and drove for miles, making sure that he always had his newly bought stash at hand, needing the bliss that it gave him, a temporary escape from the pain in his heart.

Beautiful. That was the name Mama gave him. No name could be more wrong. He was ugly in his heart, and he hated it. He hated that he could never be enough for Pops, that she had left him all alone. He never got to have a life of his own. He couldn’t even apply for college; Pops had forbidden it. Anthony had saved up until he turned eighteen, then he left home and stayed in the apartment he now lived in, but he knew that he could never escape his Pops. He belonged to him, just as much as Nico did, as Nonna did, as Molly did, as Mama had. 

Nico had been molded into this perfect replica, until there was nothing left of the boy he once was. 

Nonna loved her son, although she didn’t like him. “Love has nothing to do with like, tesoro,” she had snorted when Anthony asked her how she could possibly still love him after everything he had done. “I brought him into this world, and I can take him out of it just as quickly.”

Molly still lived in the house, much to her frustration. It was a gilded cage, no matter how polished. She visited Anthony when she could, but he had no idea how to possibly tell his other half the things going on in his mind, or what had happened yesterday. Even telling Molly what Henrik had done to him was simply too much.

Anthony only headed home when he was high out of his mind, his heterochromatic eyes clouded from the effects of the PCP, stumbling along the sidewalk. The pleasure of the drug thrilled him, getting away from it all. The marks from yesterday had since healed, but regardless he needed this, to forget what had happened in the first place.

He was so tripped up he hardly noticed as an arm snaked around his waist, under his coat, drawing him against a hard, lean body. Once his mind caught up, however, he whipped around, reaching for the pistol tucked into his belt.

“Woah, woah!” The culprit in question raised his hands in surrender, an easy smile on his lips. “Slow down!” He gave a relaxed grin, and Anthony noticed some men, evidently friends, behind the man. “Wanna bum a smoke?”

Anthony’s mismatched blue and brown eyes regarded him silently, before a smile of his own crossed his full lips. “You know it.”

The man handed him a cigarette, before grasping Anthony’s chin in his hand, drawing him close, and used the cigarette in his mouth to light Anthony’s. Anthony closed his eyes in bliss as the familiar euphoria entered his lungs, and he tilted his head back, moaning in pleasure.

His drugged up state prevented him from truly processing that the men were inching closer, as the man who had just lit his cigarette tilted his head towards the column of Anthony’s long white throat.

“Drop him.”

The men’s heads swiveled around, as did Anthony’s, when he recognized the very source of his issue. A particularly hot issue with amber eyes burning fire, a gun leveled on the man clutching Anthony’s waist. Anthony felt annoyance bubble in his gut at Henrik’s interference.

The man’s eyes connected with Henrik’s, before settling on the gun in his hand, and released Anthony. “Woah, man, relax, we were only-”

“I know what you were doing,” Henrik said coldly, before pocketing his weapon and stalking over, his hand dangerously near the covered pistol.

Anthony wasn’t used to being manhandled, so he yelped in shock as Henrik’s strong hands settled on his hips, and he was yanked against his chest. His hands felt on Henrik’s chest, trying to steady himself, as his eyes looked up to meet Henrik’s. Henrik smirked at his reaction, before snatching one of those tiny wrists and beginning to pull him towards the building.

Anthony’s mind finally caught up enough to protest. “What the-? Get off!” he demanded, digging his feet into the ground. “What the fuck do ya think you’re doin’? Stop!”

Henrik whirled around, and Anthony cried out as he suddenly stooped, gripping Anthony’s waist in his hands, and tossed him right over his shoulder. Anthony’s cheeks flushed; he was most definitely not used to being manhandled.

“Get offa me!” he growled, slamming a fist into Henrik’s back, making the big man grunt. He felt triumph at that small victory, before yelping when Henrik’s hand smacked his butt hard. “Ah! Fuck! Henrik!”

Henrik turned to leave, carrying his luggage over his shoulder, as he kicked his legs and screamed in fury.

“Put me down!” Anthony yelled, his hands scrambling for purchase, clutching Henrik’s shirt for support.

Henrik gently swatted his butt. ‘Oh, calm down, I’m not gonna drop you,” he dismissed, enjoying the shriek of indignation when his hand collided with Anthony’s ass.

“Stop!” Anthony shouted, his face red. “Put me down right now!”

Henrik paid him no mind, taking him up to his room, walking into his apartment. Anthony felt his hands slide up under his jacket to grasp his waist, slowly sliding him down his back. Anthony stumbled slightly, unsteady, both those warm hands on his hips kept him from falling. Henrik bent slightly, and Anthony nearly shivered as he spoke directly into his ear, huskily, “Easy now. Easy. There we go.”

Anthony’s face flushed, before shoving Henrik away with both hands, backing away. “Get away from me!” he snapped. “What the fuck do ya think you were doin’?”

“Apparently, saving you from self-destructing,” Henrik coolly returned, those gold-lit eyes finding his own. “You always need a blistered ass to behave, or am I just lucky?” he teased, his eyes glinting, a fond smile on his face.

Anthony’s cheeks burned in mortification, snarling, his temper rising to unimaginable degrees. "You aren’t touchin’ my ass eva’ again!” he told Henrik, his brown and blue eyes flashing fire.

He nearly squealed at the fast pace the man moved. Before Anthony knew it, Henrik was stalking forward, causing Anthony to back up even more, until he felt his back hit the wall. Henrik’s hands slammed on the wall, on either side of Anthony’s head, that grin purely wicked and confident, smirking down on Anthony. 

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, his voice low and sensual.

Anthony’s eyes widened, and Henrik watched with delight as those beautiful irises darkened, and his pouting rosy lips parted slightly, his cheeks flushed. Anthony felt his breathing quicken at his close contact and powerful command, and wanted to kick himself, and shoot Henrik in his stupid face.

He used a hand on Henrik’s chest to shove the man away from him, hating how flustered he was. “If ya touch me again,” he warned, “I’ll fuckin’ shoot your dick off.” His eyes were cold and icy, lovely in their fury.

His eyes suddenly took note of the room, noticing that all of Henrik’s things were removed. “W-What the-?”

Henrik’s hand rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I moved my things and found my own place,” he explained. “I know you weren’t too keen on the whole living arrangement.”

Those orbs of his widened in surprise, unsure what to say to that. The fact that he even respected Anthony’s feelings came as a surprise to him. No one had ever cared about what he wanted before, except for Nonna and Molly, and his mother once. Then he remembered the embarrassing episode yesterday, and his scowl returned. “Good,” he snapped. “The less we see of each other, the better!” He stomped off to his room to change.

***

Henrik was surprised by how tiny and light Anthony was, as he’d lifted him off his feet and put him over his shoulder. If he were to be completely honest, the raging spitfire was like a clawing kitten on his back, for all the damage it did Henrik.

When Anthony returned from his bedroom, Henrik nearly fell off his feet at his beauty. Anthony was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt, with long pants, accentuating his slim waist and pale skin. As he walked into the kitchen, his sleeve slipped down off one shoulder, and Henrik’s eyes saw that his slight shoulders were also covered in golden freckles. He was breathtaking . If only he weren’t so haughty, but Henrik could fix that.

He was shocked as the eighteen-year-old kid took liquor out of a cabinet and started chugging it from the bottle. He sprinted over, yanking the bottle from the kid’s grasp, causing him to sputter in shock, a drop of amber liquid dripping down the corner of his pouting mouth, Henrik’s eyes following the movement, ashamed of himself for even that.

“The fuck was that for?!” the teenager raged, his eyes flaring. “Give that back!” He tried to snatch it back, but Henrik brought it out of his reach, before his gaze noticed something.

Anthony let out a sound of surprise as his chin was grasped firmly, and tugged closer. Henrik’s eyes gazed into his own. Anthony tried to maintain his defiant expression, even as his heart pounded in his chest at their close proximity and Henrik’s hands on him.

“You’ve been taking shit,” Henrik assessed, truly in shock that this eighteen-year-old was taking substances, as he took notice of the clouded eyes and dilated pupils. "That stops now."

Anthony glared. ‘No shit,” he snarled. “And like hell I will! Now give me that back before I knock yer block off!”

Henrik smirked. “No.”

Anthony saw red. He was frustrated, tired, and angry after everything. This man had humiliated him, was an overbearing, arrogant asshole, and Anthony was done controlling his temper. His mother was dead , and he couldn’t even have one day to himself to think about her without this asshole ruining it! He jerked himself free from Henrik’s grasp, picking up a vase, and threw it at him.

“Shit!” Henrik ducked just before the vase shattered, before losing his amusement and his own temper flaring, as the spoiled brat picked up a plate and hurled it, screaming in rage.

“Put that the fuck down now!” Henrik ordered, raising his voice, but the little brat only reached for something else. He used his turned back to his advantage, seizing Anthony by the scruff of the neck, as he yelped in shock and indignation, jerking him against his body.

Anthony fought him like a wildcat, nails out, but Henrik seized his dainty wrists, holding them at his back, as he struggled against Henrik, screeching in fury. “Let me go!” he raged, his blonde hair in his eyes, and Henrik nearly lost it as his struggling caused him to accidentally drag his body against Henrik’s dick, which hardened at the temperamental man’s contact. This bratty mafioso’s son interested him, and he was thoroughly enjoying the project of taming him.

He grabbed those tiny wrists again, having enough of his temper, deciding to take care of this here and now. He sat on the couch, tugging the fighting brat over his lap. Anthony kicked and screamed, demanding to be let go, his legs kicking. ‘Oh, let me go, let me go!” he demanded, as he realized that he was about to get the second spanking of his life.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” Henrik promised him, before letting his hand fall on the rounded bottom encased in the pajama pants. Anthony yelped at the contact, wriggling his pretty little bottom every which way, trying hard to escape Henrik’s grasp, but Henrik simply smiled, clutching his waist, and paddling the cheeks in front of him.

“Owww, oww, owww!” Anthony complained, his ass starting to sting. “Get offa me! Stop!” he angrily commanded, thoroughly humiliated, beating his fists angrily against Henrik’s leg.

“Not a chance, brat,” Henrik grinned, continuing to let his hand fall on his soft bottom, as Anthony kicked his legs and raged at the name.

He struck those wiggling cheeks for a time, before pausing to ask, “Ya done?”

He definitely didn’t see his fist coming.

Anthony was beyond angry, humiliated tears stinging his eyes, and just as Henrik brought forth his arrogant question, he brought out his fist and threw it.

“Fuck!” The kid could certainly throw a punch, Henrik admitted to himself, as his nose throbbed in pain, his amusement disappearing entirely. The fucking brat had punched him. He was done playing nice and going easy on him. “Fine,” he growled. “Bare ass it is, brat.” His hand reached for Anthony’s waistband.

Anthony squealed in panic, kicking his legs frantically. “Nooo, don’t take down my pants!” he pleaded, but the attempt was fruitless, as Henrik’s hand yanked his pants down to his ankles, baring his cute freckled butt.

Henrik paused to admire the sight for a moment, as he took in the sight of Anthony’s plump cheeks and lovely freckles, before taking his hand to Anthony’s ass, smacking the soft skin of his buttocks, as Anthony yelped, his face flaming. He was fucking mortified. Henrik had just bared his bottom again, his pants down. He blushed in shame as he felt Henrik’s hand connect with his bare skin, the unfamiliar feeling so embarrassing. He could feel Henrik’s strikingly beautiful eyes on his reddening skin, and moaned in humiliation.

He furiously kicked his legs, beating his fists rapidly against Henrik’s leg. “Ooh, I’ll kill you for this, goddammit!” he screamed, before shrieking at the slaps that connected with his cheeks. “Oh! Oh, stop it, stop it! Put me down!” he ordered Henrik, his face a dark red.

Henrik smiled as the kid gasped and threw a tantrum over his knee, his butt deep red, his pants pulled down and puddled at his feet, continuing to slap those squirming cheeks.

Anthony lost his composure, no longer caring about his pride, as his ass grew unbearably hotter and that hard hand still came down to land on his bottom. “Oh, that hurts, that hurts!” he wailed, kicking in pain. “Stop, stop!” he pleaded, his hand travelling back, clutching Henrik’s belt, clenching onto him, squealing as his backside was spanked. “You’re hurting me! Owww!” he yelled, his eyes slamming closed, his mouth trembling.

“Are you gonna throw things again and throw a tantrum when you don’t get your way?” Henrik asked, his hand slapping one cheek, then the other. Anthony yelped. “Are you gonna strike me again when you get a spanking?”

“Nooo, I’m not getting another spanking ever again!” Anthony protested, gasping as his butt was soundly spanked. “Ow, ow, ow! No!” he promised. “No! I promise, I won’t do that!”

“Won’t do what?” Henrik prompted, striking the throbbing cheeks before him.

“I won’t throw things at ya or punch ya!” Anthony wailed, his butt burning in agony. “Please, stop! I’m done!”

“Are you done having a tantrum?” Henrik asked.

“Yes!” Anthony gritted his teeth, hating the man who had him pinned over his knee and was beating his ass. “I’m done! I’m done! I’m calm! Just put me down!” he begged, tears in his eyes from the pain and how truly mortified he was.

Henrik drew it to a close, landing a few final spanks to the crimson cheeks in front of him, then stopped the spanking. Anthony moaned in pain, his burning butt bare. Henrik gently turned him over, then his eyes darkened. He’d bared Anthony, so his pretty pink cock was bare, too. Yes, Henrik hadn’t thought genitals could be particularly pretty, but his somehow was. He was slim, and it lent a cute, endearing quality to him that Henrik rather liked. He kept himself at bay. It didn’t take a genius to know that the kid was a virgin, and they barely knew each other. He loved Anthony’s spirit, his independence, his refusal to back down. He was special that way. But Henrik wanted to know him, and break down that wall Anthony had built around his heart. He knew that was not likely to happen, but he wanted him to trust him.

If he could allow himself to think with his desire, he knew what he’d do next, if things between them were different. He would take that delicate member in his hand, stroking firmly yet gently, until Anthony’s breaths were ragged, stroking his thumb across the head occasionally, working him through his pleasure, delighting, savoring, and noting every noise the beautiful man made, until that slender white back arched and he thrusted his hips, spilling into Henrik’s hand, as Henrik ran a hand through his blonde hair and stroked him until he had worked him through his orgasm. That’s what he would have done if Anthony were his lover.

But he wasn’t.

Henrik may be attracted to Anthony. He may want to keep him safe. He was enjoying himself. But he also aggravated him to no end, and he didn’t know him.

“Ow,” Anthony whimpered, his ass cheeks throbbing in pain. His face was bright red.

Henrik decided to tease him, simply to see his face flush and to embarrass the kid. “Ya got a nice ass, brat,” he quipped, smirking, very pleased with himself at the moment. “All rounded, plump, and freckled.”

This had the desired effect: Anthony burned scarlet, his face flushed, beyond humiliated as Henrik described his ass in detail. “Shut the fuck up!” he snapped, wanting to hide his face in his hands.

Henrik laughed, lifting him off his lap by his waist, setting him on his feet. “You don’t want a spanking, don’t earn one,” he remarked.

Anthony rubbed his bottom with both hands, groaning. “Fuck…” His face flamed.

Henrik raised a brow, looking quite unamused. “Uh-uh,” he admonished. “No rubbing. You’re wearing that red ass until it goes away on its own,” he ordered.

Anthony glared in turn, his cheeks burning, before bending over, angrily yanking up his pants, drawing in his breath as the material dragged over his sore red cheeks. It didn’t help his situation, realizing that Henrik had seen his dick. “Get out,” he gritted through his teeth. “I don’t want ya anywhere near me. You’re a fucking asshole!”

Henrik’s own temper flickered to life, frustrated with the brat and his stubborn pride. “You know, brat,” he began, his eyes glinting gold, “I could always take your pants,” he relished his gasp of shock and outrage, “and have you go the whole day with your bare red butt out as punishment,” he threatened, grinning wickedly.

Anthony didn’t think his face could possibly get any redder, but by now it had to match his backside. “Fuck off!” he yelled, stomping to his room, as Henrik smiled fondly, shaking his head.

Henrik liked his personality. He wanted to reach him. Anthony needed a firm hand, and Henrik was going to give it to him. He didn’t want to break him, only find the sweet Anthony hidden underneath and bring him into the light and watch him blossom. He didn't know why he cared, but he did.

Anthony raged inside his room. He hated Henrik for what he had done, but what confused him was that at the same time…something inside him thrilled at his dominance. He hated Henrik.

So why did he find something about him so alluring, drawing him to the handsome man, like a moth drawn to the flame?

Chapter Text

A week.

A whole fucking week of the overbearing asshole.

They had started training the day after Anthony got his second spanking. Pops owned several buildings where he conducted his business, so Anthony begrudgingly took Henrik to one of them where they could practice without being disturbed.

Anthony had never liked killing. As a kid, he had refused, crying, until Pops beat him into it. He now killed without hesitation, but it was not something he would have chose. For the doubt always lingered in the back of his head: what if they didn’t deserve to die? What if they weren’t what Pops said they were? What if their actions were based on protecting those they loved? This reluctance caused him to sometimes mess up, his shaking was so severe.

Henrik put an end to that, as well as making Anthony flustered. When Anthony struggled the first time aiming at the target, Henrik’s larger hand closed over his own, leaning down to speak into his ear. “Don’t overthink it,” he murmured into his ear. “Just focus on the target, nothing else. Take long breaths until you have balanced.” He had slowly stroked his thumb against Anthony’s shoulder. Admittedly, it had felt…nice. “Keep your hand steady.” The hand on Anthony’s had been firm, encasing his small hand, helping him. “Let your mind be one with the weapon.”

It had worked, as did all his other methods. Anthony was slowly learning to control and master his reactions. He was becoming quick and agile, especially capable with firearms. Henrik taught him to always be aware of his surroundings, to watch for any threats. With Anthony’s flexibly long limbs, he could dip and dodge, escaping things easily, lending a subtle advantage to his slender frame and slim wrists, and Henrik had learned firsthand that he could throw a good punch.

Henrik technically hadn’t given him a spanking since that night a week ago, but he had used other forms. He normally stuck to threatening to smack his ass, or giving him a warning spank when he messed up or got snarky.

The first time this happened, Anthony had talked back as he was handling a gun.

“Remember, don’t ever close an eye,” Henrik instructed.

“Really?” Anthony asked sarcastically. “I thought I was supposed to keep one eye closed and hop on one foot.”

He yelped as a hard hand came down and smacked his ass. He glared at Henrik, rubbing his backside. “What the fuck was that for?!” he snapped, his eyes flashing fiercely.

Henrik just grinned. “Keep practicing.”

So that’s how things went. It was embarrassing enough in private, but for the instances to occur in public were absolutely mortifying, even if it only ever happened one time. Nico sometimes came, simply to see him fail. Anthony was horrified when Henrik threatened him when he told Henrik to fuck off after he got frustrated.

“You want me to pull down your pants?” Henrik asked, one dark brow raised.

Anthony had gotten these threats many times, but he never quite got used to them, so for him to say it right in front of his big brother caused him to gasp indignantly. “Henrik!” he yelled through clenched teeth, his face deep red. Henrik gave him an evil grin in return, amused.

This mostly just amused Nico, to see his little brother getting flustered and embarrassed by the older man. Younger than Henrik by a year, he was a made man, had been trained since he was three, and knew how to hide and fake his emotions, when he wanted to. He had learned from a young age to hide what he truly felt, and this saved him from his father’s wrath early on, until Henroin needed an outlet to take out his rage upon.

Nico did what he had to to survive, even if that meant hiding his true intentions, at least until he could afford to do differently. He already knew about the punishments even before overhearing Henrik. He had been walking past when he heard Henrik spanked Anthony’s bare ass the first time, as Anthony yelled and screamed at him, listening to his baby brother’s cries of pain. Nico knew he wasn’t in any danger, so just chuckled to himself and continued on his way. Personally, he thought it was good for him, to have boundaries and discipline, and not the kind of discipline that left him bleeding.

He would never show what he truly felt, but Pops had never been able to train out the love he felt for his family, only to hide it well. He still cared for and loved his brother, sister, and grandmother, although he’d never admit it. Sure, he tried his patience, but if he had been certain that Henrik was truly hurting the kid in any way, he would have broken that door down and rescued him. He wanted Anthony to have rules and someone who didn’t let Tony walk all over him, not to be beaten into submission. He didn’t want Tony to end up like him . So yes, he loved his little brother, but it wasn’t something he cared to admit.

Anthony went to see his grandmother as often as he could, with Henrik following on some occasions, much to his irritation, but to his Nonna’s delight. She enjoyed the older man’s company, never letting her humor drop for an instant. So Anthony held his tongue, for his beloved Nonna’s sake.

Molly had exciting news: she was engaged to be married. Anthony knew she had been seeing a man around their age, a nice boy who was kind and gentle. Tom. With his dark hair and warm blue eyes, he was everything Molly had ever hoped for, and they looked well together. Anthony was happy for her, truly, but he grieved at the thought of seeing her less frequently. He wouldn’t wish her to be trapped in her gilded cage any longer. He just wished that there was another way that didn’t take her away but kept her happiness.

He supposed what he really wished for was to feel loved and to get rid of the hole in his heart, deep down, but Anthony hardened that heart against such a notion. He didn’t need anyone. He never did, he never would. He was doing just fine without love, and he could do without it, too.

***

“Your Pops wants to see us today,” Henrik informed him, as Anthony paced in the dining room, his long legs carrying him across the room.

Anthony’s head lifted, and Henrik felt his heart pound in his chest as large blue and brown eyes framed with long, thick black lashes looked into his amber ones, filled with anxiety and even fear. “Why?”

Henrik shrugged, polishing the barrel of his gun. “Don’t know. Didn’t specify. Didn’t feel like asking.” He smirked at Anthony, who scoffed and turned.

“That foolish son of mine would do well if he learned not to cow others into silence,” his Nonna remarked, sitting in her chair by the fireside. Her eyes glinted like black diamonds in the flicker of the light. “But my son never was one to think with his head. He has another motivation in mind.”

Anthony regarded his grandmother quizzically. “What are you talking about? You know what this is about?”

“I’m his mother,” Nonna replied sweetly. “I know him.” She leaned forward slightly to share her knowledge. “Your father is not above alliances, much as he would like everyone to believe, considering how much he’s been getting down on his knees to suck the other mafioso’s cocks.” Her dark eyes glimmered with mirth.

“Nonna!” Molly censured, her sapphire-blue eyes filled with horror, her creamy skin flushing rosy. “That’s vile!”

Nonna raised an eyebrow at her granddaughter. “Your mother learned to live with it. So can you.”

Anthony sometimes wondered just how much his Nonna kept to herself, considering she rarely shared information but was never surprised when others found out what she seemed to already know.

Henrik smiled, full of mirth. Anthony had her spirit. He was growing quite fond of the tiny woman, with her flashing black eyes and deliberate quips.

The only ones he had not warmed to were Henroin and Nico Ragnetto. They were too cold, too cruel to Anthony. He didn’t see why that should concern him, but for some reason he did not understand, it did.

His body stiffened as the latter made his presence known. “Maybe Pops just has another disappointment coming his way,” Nico said, his dark smile cruel. “You are supposed to meet him, no?”

Anthony’s heterochromatic eyes flashed with hurt, his fists clenched. “Shut up,” he snarled.

Nico laughed, although there was no humor in it. “Why? We know it’s all true.” His eyes were dark pools of intent. “Pops ain’t neva’ gonna be satisfied. How long is it gonna take ya to figure that out?” He walked closer, causing Anthony to take a step back in trepidation. “Ya can’t change the way he sees you. You’re as delicate in body and face as a girl, your eyes are fucked up, you’re a fucking f-”

Henrik had been about to step in, as he saw those pretty eyes fill with tears. He couldn’t fucking see why he hated to see the brat cry, but he much preferred those diamond-and-sapphire-hued orbs flashing in temper, not glossed over with tears. It twisted his heart in a way he didn’t understand. Maybe because he liked his spirit, liked the challenge, he didn’t know. But he was striding over now, ready to eliminate the threat that was causing Anthony to tremble.

He never reached him in time. A blast echoed across the room, as Nico ducked, then the glass vase above the fireplace shattered. Nonna, a mere few inches from the event, did not even flinch. Evidently, a gun had been triggered and the bullet had ricocheted right off the wall and done a turnabout.

Henrik’s head whipped around, to see the tiny ninety-year-old woman holding a smoking pistol in her hand, her eyes almost bored. To Henrik’s surprise, Molly had a second weapon in her hand, ready to shoot if this continued.

Bridgetta Ragnetto eyed her grandchildren. “You know,” she began, her voice deceptively sweet and quiet, “I never needed to use this for all the years I’ve owned this. But I wonder…” she raised her black eyes to her oldest grandson, “how today would end if you choose to make me lose my temper. See what happens.” She cocked back the hammer.

Henrik was oddly impressed with this woman. She aimed to miss Nico’s head, but he wouldn’t test her. She suited her name, which meant strong. It was obvious where Anthony had inherited his spirit. He had her face, but he also had her essence. She was wild, stubborn, quick-witted, and independent, and despite her age, this made her beautiful, just like her grandson.

Nico snarled, striding out. “Whatever.”

Bridgetta Ragnetto set her weapon ever so delicately on the table. “Now, that wasn’t so hard. Was it?” She smiled innocently. “I’d have used it on your father years ago, tesoro, but it would be wasted gunfire on my part. No use beating a dead horse. When the cow’s been milked, tesoro, there’s no use trying to squeeze the milk back into the udder.”

Henrik and Anthony were summoned soon after. “Come on, brat,” Henrik said gently, but his choice of words caused the kid to roll his eyes, pushing past Henrik. Henrik looked back, surprised when the old woman gave him a naughty wink. Enjoy the task of taming him, it seemed to say.

Henroin was just as stoic as ever, not even looking up as his youngest son and the man he had hired entered the room. A conference of a sort seemed to be going on, several of his father’s men and associates crowded inside. Anthony had known most of them all his life, but had never had cause to love them. The choices they had made were shown on their hard, callous faces, with a few less savory and not as careful to the times eyeing the mafioso’s delicately pretty son, assessing the hair falling into his eyes, pouty mouth, and long lashes. Noting the looks for what they were, Henrik kept close to Anthony’s side, shielding him from their gazes.

The patriarch of the Ragnetto family only acknowledged them when he was finished reading over the papers on his desk and finished discussing terms with the men around him. Only then did he turn to them, his ice-silver eyes regarding them both. “I am giving you a chance to prove yourself,” he addressed Anthony, his cold eyes devoid of any affection or love for his child. “What you and your brother will have to understand one day is that organizations such as these cannot remain an empire if alliances are not set in place.”

Anthony hid a smile. Of course Nonna knew ahead of time.

“If we cannot control our adversaries,” his father continued, “then we are weak in the eyes of men. I would prefer not to go scrambling for a stick to lean on, but if the Ragnetto line and our way of life is to continue, then needs must outweigh wants. You and Tychon are to go meet some potential allies, a powerful mob boss, to discuss terms and win him over. Consider this a trial run. His sons shall be with him.” His eyes hardened. “Do not fuck this up, Anthony.”

Anthony was filled with many emotions. On the one hand, he so desperately wanted his father to be proud of him; he craved his love, no matter what he had done to him. But he had never been assigned this particular task before. If something went wrong…

Then another thought entered his head. “But, Sir…” he ventured, daring to voice his thoughts, “isn’t it safer to travel with extra guards? If he’s merely a potential ally, then doesn’t that leave room for a potential attack? Not just at the meeting, but even to draw some of us out to plant a counterattack on another location of greater value?”

Henroin gave his son a dose of his icy eyes. “Are you questioning me, Anthony?” he asked quietly.

Anthony’s eyes showed fear, as his hands began to shake. Henrik suddenly had the urge to take those trembling hands into his own, to give him some small measure of comfort. “No, Sir,” he mumbled.

His father continued. “While you are taking care of the mobsters, Nico will be carrying out a stance against one of our adversaries, drawing them out so they are vulnerable to attack-”

Anthony never meant to interrupt his father, but hearing how little his father trusted him and how little he placed Anthony’s importance to him stung. He’d always had a hard time controlling his tongue, but not for the reason others might think. It wasn’t stupidity, nor was it because he was being ignorant, but because no matter what his father had done to him or attempted, he could never fully break Anthony, and this caused his father’s hatred to increase as he saw that Anthony had a mind of his own. Hiring Henrik Tychon to train him hadn’t in truth been necessary, as he was quite good, only because Anthony would never be enough in his father’s eyes. Henrik had merely taught him to perfect his weaknesses. “What?” he protested. “He’s your heir; why can’t he go to negotiate? Nico and I both know how to-”

Henroin’s eyes were steely. “You are dismissed,” he commanded. “I don’t want to see you again until the deal is closed. The two of you head out. Tychon, get him out of my sight.”

Henrik grinned. “Got it, boss.”

Anthony yelped as Henrik grabbed him by the hips and tossed him over his shoulder, dangling down his back. Mortified at being manhandled in front of his father and the other men, with some grinning and chuckling openly, he kicked his legs in protest as Henrik carried him through the door, beating his fists against his back.

“What the actual fuck?!” he screeched, struggling to free himself. “Put me down!”

Henrik popped his butt firmly, without much force. “Settle down, Legs,” he said, smiling in amusement at Anthony’s protests. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of the kid’s fiery spirit.

Anthony cried out at the swat to his ass, before his cheeks flamed at the nickname. “Put me the fuck down!” he ordered. “Who the fuck do ya think ya are?! That was humiliating being carted out of there like that! Let go of me!” He banged his fist against Henrik’s back.

Henrik laughed, before reaching up. Anthony drew in a breath as he felt his hands grasp him firmly by the waist, sliding him down his body until his feet touched the floor, keeping him steady until he regained his footing.

“Easy, Legs,” Henrik teased, using that nickname again, smiling down at the reddening teenager. “Don’t go all assassin on me.”

Anthony gazed up into his eyes, gold reflecting off Henrik’s irises, as his own mismatched orbs looked into them. He shoved Henrik away from him, his heart thudding in his chest. “Stop whackin’ my ass,” he demanded, surly, scowling at the attractive man before him, before turning on his heel and stomping away.

Henrik didn’t hold out much hope that the kid was going to make it through today without getting that rounded bottom paddled.

***

The location was out of town, actually in another city, where they ventured into an old abandoned building. Anthony sat in the passenger seat, his feet kicked up, his arms crossed, a haughty, impassive look on his pretty face, smoking his cigarette.

“If I so much as catch ya snorting a line,” Henrik had warned him, “I’m pulling over right here, right now, bending you over the hood of the car, yanking down your pants, and smacking your ass until it’s a nice shade of rose red.”

Anthony had blushed furiously, glaring defiantly at his father’s man. “Ya wouldn’t dare,” he had challenged him.

“Try me, brat,” Henrik had retorted, his eyes on the road. “It’s your ass, not mine. It’s up to you to decide how many people you want to see you getting your backside reddened on the side of the road.”

Anthony had given him the silent treatment ever since.

When they arrived, Anthony doused the cigar, hopping out of his car. It was almost 5:00, as they entered the arranged meeting spot, walking inside a room that was, admittedly, quite depleted, but perfect, so they would not be disturbed.

Anthony had been told that just the mob boss and his sons would be there. He visibly recoiled as he noticed a body with the mobster, along with two other intimidating figures.

The mob boss in question was tall and dark, with hardened dark eyes, short in stature, but heavily muscled. A frightening scar, running from his right brow all the way down to the left corner of his chin, covered his face. He was intimidating and aloof, his sons younger copies of him, with similar facial features.

“Alessio Russo,” he introduced himself, not attempting anything more than a formal greeting, before gesturing to his sons behind him. “My sons, Lorenzo and Giovanni.” He moved his head in a gesture for his bodyguard to come forward. “Cassio Nicoletti. A trusted man.” The bodyguard looked to be in his mid-thirties, lines of discontent drawn around his mouth.

Russo continued the introductions. “Forgive me for misleading you, but your father has a reputation for dishonesty, so I felt it more apt to bring along extra friends. If everything goes well, then maybe they, too, will want to stick their oar in on an agreement. Alejandro Ruiz originates from Spain, and Robert Muller. They are close, reliable allies of mine.”

Henrik nodded, but made sure he had his gun ready in case he had to protect Anthony.

Russo gave Anthony a once-over, his eyes running down the length of his frame speculatively. “You favor your mother,” he noted. “Not much of the old bastard in ya. You have your grandmother’s bone structure and face.” He grunted, taking a whiff of his cigar.

Anthony was thrown off-balance by his small talk. “You knew my mother?” he asked, surprised. “And my grandmother?”

“Seen them once or twice over the years,” Russo commented. “Probably just as well that I did. If I didn’t recognize ya, might be Henroin was leading us into a trap.” He leveled his dark gaze on the two of them. “So your Pops comes crawling to me for terms as a potential ally.” He raised a brow. “Tell me exactly how this should benefit me.” He smiled. “Why should I lift a finger, when it would be just as easy to take over his domains and divide the spoils?”

Anthony flared at the insult to his father, his mismatched eyes flashing. “My Pa didn’t go crawlin’ towards shit,” he snapped. “It ain’t like ya can’t do with more backup yaself. Every crime lord needs a support system, to keep things in balance, unless they want everything to crumble.”

Russo’s eyes held a hint of interest, at the teenager’s knowledge of the politics of the crime lords, although his mouth twisted slightly. “Watch your tongue, boy. You forget to whom you speak.”

Ruiz spoke up. “With the three of us combined, we have an easy advantage to take what is due to us,” he threatened, leaving his eyes on the eighteen-year-old.

Henrik thought it best to step in before things escalated any further, but Anthony beat him to the punchline.

Anthony was filled with rage at their insult to his father, and filled with panic. He had to secure this deal. He just had to. Without it, he’d go home with nothing. He knew what Henrik had promised, but he had no reason to trust the man, or anything he said. No one could be trusted. If Pops decided that Anthony had somehow been to blame for this deal falling through, he’d beat him again. But what was worse: he would disappoint him. Anthony craved his love desperately. His panic caused him to react rashly, and he ran his mouth before he could think about the repercussions.

“Bunch of fuckin’ pussies,” he spat, those glorious sapphire-and-diamond orbs flaring to life, sparkling like gems. “Ya think you’re all so high and mighty, so untouchable. You’re fuckin’ idiots if ya think that! If ya had half a cell in yer heads, ya’d see that more alliances than merely two make a veritable empire.” He took a step forward. “Instead ya cower behind each other’s skirts like a bunch of fuckin’ kids! What’s stoppin’ my Pa from takin’ your domains and wiping out your influence and power at the flick of his finger?” he threatened. “Maybe we should just take it all. Show ya just how weak ya really are in the hierarchy here compared to my Pa!”

Henrik noted the way Ruiz and Muller’s gazes hardened, their posture stiffening, even as Russo merely regarded the teenager before him. His sons were another matter entirely, flaring up at the insult to their father.

“Are ya just gonna let him talk to ya like that, Pa?!” Lorenzo demanded, his hand going to the gun in his pocket, as Giovanni spat out his cigarette onto the floor, stamping it out with his foot.

Henrik knew he had to do something, before things got even worse. The fucking brat had just threatened three powerful mobsters. Henrik could see why he had done it; they had insulted his Pops. He could have killed the Ragnetto patriarch. Anthony was so desperate for his love, for some sign of acknowledgment, he’d do anything just to get his approval. His hatred for the man who had hired him rose to extreme levels.

He had to think of something, and fast. He needed to do something to appease the crime bosses, before they decided to harm the kid. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

He had to do something that would satisfy them, to save the kid’s ass. Although he was definitely going to be whipping his butt.

Just before they could charge, Henrik struck.

Anthony yelped as Henrik grabbed his elbow, whipping him around, then lifted him off his feet with an arm looped around his waist. He then bent him over his hip, feet off the floor, as he dangled precariously, his arm holding him secure. He took his hand to Anthony’s bottom, smacking the seat of his pants.

“Ahh!” Anthony shrieked, his face bright red, kicking frantically. “No, stop! Let me go!” He tried to free himself, to no avail, crying out as his ass was smacked right in front of the crime lords. “You fucker! Get off of me!” He angrily beat his fists against Henrik’s leg.

Henrik was thoroughly unamused, lifting his butt higher, propping him up, keeping him still by his waist, his hand plummeting down on his vulnerable backside, his buttocks offered up for him to slap. The kid shrieked and yelled, crying out indignantly as the slaps fell on his ass, his head down, his eyes filling with tears.

“Stop, stop!” he begged, his blonde hair falling into his eyes. He’d never been so humiliated in his entire fucking life. He hated him, he hated him! He screamed in rage, crying out as his cheeks were paddled by the handsome man. “Put me down! Owww,” he complained. “That hurts!” His legs kicked harder. “You’re hurting me!”

Russo’s face never changed, devoid of emotion, his eyes watching the spectacle. Ruiz seemed slightly satisfied, which was Henrik’s goal. Muller had been stunned when it began, then gave a great bellow, laughing, the first sound he had made since making his presence known.

Russo’s sons were much more sadistic.

“Beat his ass until he learns some respect,” Giovanni encouraged, his jaw clenched, a smirk on his face.

Henrik had never liked the look of the two from the moment they appeared, especially the way Lorenzo looked at Anthony. There was something unsavory about him, the way his eyes had roved over Anthony’s body. It set his teeth on edge.

“Pull his pants down,” Lorenzo advised, a cruel smile on his face, evidently wanting that course of action for his own reasons.

Anthony cried out, panicked at that advice, trying to get out of Henrik’s grip, kicking his legs. He hated Henrik already for smacking his ass in public, but if he bared him right here, right now, he swore he’d never forgive him.

Henrik’s jaw clenched, his grip tightening on the squirming brat over his hip. He immediately felt a wave of protectiveness burgeon in his chest. He didn’t want them to see the brat’s bare butt, nor embarrass him any more than what was necessary in order to protect him. He didn’t want anyone seeing his bare ass, looking at it, taunting the kid. He most definitely didn’t want some sick fucks ordering this for their own gain. 

He’d do what he had to to protect Anthony. He had no intention of baring him. Some instinct in him wanted to protect Anthony.

He tightened the hand around Anthony’s waist. “I’ll decide how I’ll punish him,” he growled, his amber eyes cold. “I’m not baring him.”

Anthony was shocked as Henrik refused, surprised that he was doing this. Henrik had always seemed to enjoy watching Anthony fight him over his knee, and the last two times he had gotten a spanking were on his bare bottom. 

He didn’t have long to think on this, as Henrik’s hand began to fall. He yelped, crying out in pain. “Ow, ow, owww!” he wailed, his head flung back, shouting his outrage to the ceiling. “Oh, I hate you, I hate you!” he screamed, angry tears in his lovely eyes. “I hate you!”

Henrik ignored his tantrum, letting his hand fall on that rounded bottom encased in the pants, striking his soft cheeks sharply, as he cried out at the impact. His butt wiggled as he twisted his hips, trying to avoid Henrik’s strikes unsuccessfully.

“Ooh, that hurts!” Anthony whined, his hand clutching Henrik’s leg, yelping as his cheeks were spanked rapidly. “Henrik, put me down!” he pleaded. “Stop! Please!” he begged, his cheeks flushed.

“Are you going to apologize?” Henrik demanded, slapping his reddened ass harshly, making him shriek.

“Ah! Yes! Yes!” Anthony agreed, gritting his teeth. “Fuck! Okay! Put me down, Henrik!”

Henrik added a few final spanks to the throbbing cheeks before him, before finally lowering him enough so that his feet touched the ground. He was greeted with the most beautiful and adorable face he had ever seen: blonde hair flopping into heterochromatic blue and brown eyes, a trembling rosebud mouth, angry, embarrassed tears in the kid’s eyes, his face red. Henrik nearly chuckled. God, he was cute. 

He made sure to keep his face stern, lowering his voice so that his next words were for his ears alone: “Count yourself lucky if we get out of here alive. Be grateful you only have a sore ass and not a bullet in your head. Be thankful you were covered. That was your one free ticket. When you get a spanking, it’ll be on your bare bottom. Don’t get used to it.”

Anthony’s face was positively crimson at his words, looking up at Henrik with large mismatched eyes, his lips parted. Henrik had never seen a more lovely creature in his entire life. The brat glared defiantly at him, before lifting his chin, meeting his gaze head-on, then he turned, the kid mustering as much dignity as the eighteen-year-old could after getting spanked by his father’s man in public.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, staring at his feet, too embarrassed to meet their gaze. “I shouldn't a’ threatened ya. Please accept my apologies. The Ragnetto Family will not make any attacks on your domains. My father would be very glad and thankful for your friendship.”

“Look at me.”

Anthony’s head reluctantly raised at Russo’s voice, and was surprised to see approval on his face at his chastisement. Alessio was impressed with the amber-eyed man, having watched with approval as he censured the teenager. His eyes also held respect for the both of them, and a hint of sympathy for Anthony.

“Tell your father we have an accord.”

***

After concluding business, Anthony raised his head, haughtily gliding past Henrik. He stomped back to the car, a hand rubbing his bruised ass. His dignity was also bruised, but this he could not rub. He slammed the car door shut, slamming himself into his seat, before yelping, as he jumped up, his eyes wide, long black lashes adding to the allure of innocence.

His pouting rosy lips, well, pouted , as he glared accusingly at the handsome man who had just now gotten into the driver’s seat. “You absolute bag of dicks,” he flared at him, scowling.

Henrik smirked at him arrogantly. “Hurts, huh?” he teased.

“Fuck you!” Anthony yelled, tears filling his eyes, not just because of his red ass, but also from humiliation. “Just fuck off!” He swiveled his head to look out the window.

Henrik’s heart clenched slightly as he saw the tears glistening like diamonds in his beautiful jewel-hued eyes, before scoffing, and turning to face the road. “Whatever. I don’t need to take this attitude from a spoiled princess, brat.”

Henrik couldn’t comprehend why his heart ached as a tear hit Anthony’s windowsill.

***

Anthony had stormed into the house, slamming the car door behind him, before Henrik had pulled the key out of ignition. He waited a while in the dining room, simply grinding his jaw, trying to control his own temper. It didn’t work. He slammed his gun on the table, going after wherever the spoiled little brat had gone. If he wanted another sore ass, then Henrik was only too happy to obey!

He noticed Alessandro in the hall, and stalked over. “Where’s the brat?” he growled, his palm already itching. He was going to enjoy smacking that rounded little ass and watching it turn pink and then scarlet.

“Boss summoned him,” Alessandro informed him. “Said he was not to be disturbed.”

Henrik’s blood immediately ran cold.

He didn’t trust Henroin Ragnetto as far as he could throw him. When he’d sworn to protect Anthony, promised him that Henroin would never abuse him again, he swore to himself that he wouldn’t leave Anthony alone with his father as long as he worked for the mafioso.

He should have gone after him.

“Shit!” He sprinted down the hall, going down the winding passageway, his heart breaking when he heard the sounds coming from the mafioso’s office.

“Oh, Pa, don’t please!” he heard Anthony beg, then heard a yelp as the sound of a hand connected with a cheek resounded across the hall, then a thud. He heard a sickening punch, before some muttering took place, words that Henrik could not catch hold of.

A guard stood sentry at the door, another of Ragnetto’s men.

“Let me through,” Henrik demanded, his eyes remote and steely.

The man gave him an unimpressed look. “Boss said no one’s to enter until he gives the order,” he informed the fuming man before him.

“Get the fuck out of my way!” Henrik tried to shove past him, but he was shoved in turn.

“Ya deaf or somethin’?” the guard snarled. “You ain’t gettin’ in here!”

Henrik’s mind darted in every angle, before time froze, as he heard a scream of pain. This wasn’t like when he spanked Anthony. This was a sound of pure agony. It was followed by a row of more heartbreaking cries, as Anthony was forbidden to him. He tried to get past, but was held off. Henrik began to lose it as he listened helplessly to Anthony’s screams.

He lost his patience then. He’d spent years dealing with fuckheads like these who thought they were tough shit, and he’d learned to take care of himself after having enough of those fucks.

He let out a sound of pure, raw, unrestrained rage, grabbing the man by the collar, and slammed him against the wall. The man had startled at the charge and impact, yelping in pain as his back was slammed against the wall. Henrik lifted his feet off the ground, his fists curling fistfuls of the man’s shirt, as he leaned in menacingly, his eyes filled with murderous wrath.

“If ya try to stop me,” he snarled, his voice deep and dark, “then you’re gonna find out firsthand exactly why my services are so sought after. If ya don’t unlock this door in minimum five seconds,” he tightened his grip, “I’m gonna rip your fucking lungs outta your throat and impale you with your own легкие.”

The man’s eyes were wide with fear, as his hand reached for the door, unlatching the lock. “Fuck, man, okay! Chill out!” he pleaded. “Here!”

***

The skin underneath Anthony’s eye throbbed with the black eye his father had given him when he punched him. The ground underneath him was harsh and unforgiving, as his father’s slap knocked him to the ground.

“Pa, I’m sorry,” he apologized, meaning it from the bottom of his heart. He clutched his cheek in his hand, cradling his injured face, the side of it already flaming red. “It won’t happen again, I promise!”

He nearly cried out in pain as his father wrenched him up to his feet with a painful iron grip around his arm, his eyes filled with silent rage. “Drop your pants and bend over the fucking desk, Anthony,” he ordered, his cold gray eyes filled with nothing, no love, no compassion, no forgiveness.

Anthony knew he couldn’t escape it. He trembled, his hands shaking, as he placed his palms on the desk, bending over. His quavering hands tremored heavily as he took down his pants, before slamming his eyes shut, clenching the desk hard between white fingers.

The strap against his back was pure agony. He hadn’t thought he would ever forget, but after going a while without beatings…when Henrik spanked him, he broke the dam, causing Anthony to lose control over his emotions. A beating was much worse. Spankings hurt, and were embarrassing as hell, but they stung, not burned. He had gotten so used to not getting strapped that he no longer had control as he used to. Before, he never made a sound. Now, he was no longer capable of even that.

He screamed in pain at the first strike, his throat hoarse. He wanted to beg for mercy, but the words stuck in his throat. He knew there would be none. The pain multiplied as he was struck, and soon he couldn’t stop screaming.

He felt the familiar feeling of his shirt sticking to his back, wet with blood, the strap having cut right through the material, searing his skin.

When his father was satisfied with his back, Anthony knew he would move on to his backside now, or the backs of his legs, then target his thighs. He let out a choked gasp, clenching the desk tightly, his eyes shut, as his father raised the strap to bring it down.

The blow never fell. Anthony waited, but nothing came. He ventured a look behind him, shocked to his bones.

Henrik had his father’s wrist in an iron grip, keeping it from descending. He’d never seen Pops so furious before, nor Henrik, either. Henrik was cold and dangerous, his amber eyes burning golden fire, piercing into his father’s silver ones.

“We had a deal,” he growled darkly. “I decide how he gets punished, and you don’t touch him.” His eyes hardened even more. “You think my former employers want me working for a mafioso who can’t even keep his word? A broken promise?”

Henroin’s face stilled, regarding him silently, before he yanked himself free of Henrik’s grip. “Very well,” he solemnly said, turning his back. “It’s not worth the effort, in any case.”

Henrik had never been more furious in his life as when he saw the bloody ruin of the beauty’s back, when he saw the kid getting mercilessly beaten by his own father. His heart cracked when he heard his screams. He noticed how the beautiful man trembled in fear, and wanted to kill Ragnetto for doing this to him.

He rushed to cover him, reaching for the pants puddling around his ankles, and yanking Anthony’s pants back up. Without even thinking of what he was doing, he rested his hand on the beauty’s hip, squeezing tenderly.

Anthony slowly turned to face him, his face streaked with tears, and Henrik’s heart broke. “Are you okay?” he whispered, his eyes filled with sorrow.

He was stunned as Anthony’s face, filled with fear, suddenly morphed into one of anger. “Don’t fucking touch me!” he shouted, his shoulders shaking as he hyperventilated. “I didn’t need your help! I didn’t want your help! I was doing just fine before you came into my life, and I don’t need you now!”

Anthony suddenly flailed, stumbling to his feet, and went down. He crashed to the ground, fast breaths coming out of him, loud and panicked, as he inched away from Henrik, his cheeks wet with his tears. He brought his long, slender legs close to his body, wrapping his arms around them, hugging himself. He brought his head down, trying to make himself smaller.

Henrik suddenly remembered the sounds he had heard coming from the room, and knelt down, reaching for his face, to check for bruises.

Anthony cried out in terror, his arms coming up to cover his face, trembling all over. “No, no!” he screamed. “I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, I promise, Pa, I promise!”

Henrik was heartbroken as he watched the lovely creature before him cry out in terror. He spoke gently and quietly, holding his hands up, to show he wouldn’t touch him. “Hey, it’s okay,” he soothed, “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.” He bent down to Anthony’s level, speaking softly. “It’s okay, baby, he’s gone,” he reassured him. “It’s just me. I’m Henrik. I’m helping you with combat. You’ve been doing good, so good, baby.” 

He smiled kindly. “You’re safe now, sweetheart,” he told Anthony. “I’m not gonna let him hurt you again.”

Anthony broke, after everything he had endured. He began to sob, crying into his hands, shaking profusely.

Henrik was slow and gentle, slowly cupping each cheek in his hand, lifting his head, cradling his face in his hands carefully, as those large sapphire-blue and chocolate-brown eyes looked up at him. “I’m not gonna hurt you, Anthony,” he whispered softly. “I won’t do anything, I promise, tesoro.”

Anthony gave another heavy sob, and suddenly lunged at him, wrapping his arms around him, squeezing him tightly.

Henrik wrapped his arms around the kid, kissing the top of his thick silky blonde hair. “I got ya, baby,” he murmured into his golden locks. “I got ya.” He lifted Anthony into his lap, careful of his back, holding him securely, as Anthony’s hands clenched onto his shirt in both hands, wailing after everything he had just suffered.

Henrik held him until his cries had quietened, then he lifted his chin, looking down at that lovely face. “Please, let me help you, Anthony,” he begged him. “Let me help you.”

Anthony gazed at him with distrust, before slowly nodding.

Henrik was careful not to let anything touch his back, slipping an arm under his knees, as he picked him up in his arms, bridal style. “Wrap your arms around my neck, sweetheart,” he instructed, which Anthony did, as he lifted him up.

He carried him out of his father’s office, sending a glare at anyone who stared, his arms tightening around him.

He carried him up to his old room, where Anthony had grown up. He took him to the bathroom, and seated him on the sink, digging through cabinets.

After getting what he needed, he held out a hand, not demanding anything, but a request. Anthony looked into Henrik’s beautiful amber-golden eyes, before placing his smaller hand into Henrik’s strong one. Henrik smiled, helping him down.

“Lie down on your stomach on the bed, baby,” Henrik requested. Anthony obeyed, stretching out, still trembling slightly from the abuse.

Henrik took out a pocket knife, slipping it under Anthony’s shirt, which he deftly cut off the slender white back. Anthony hissed in pain as the blood-soaked shirt clung to his back.

“I’m sorry, Anthony,” Husk apologized, before succeeding in getting the shirt off of him. He gently laid a clean cloth on his injured back. Anthony squeaked from the agony.

Henrik took his hand in his own, holding it firmly. “Shh. It’ll soon be over.”

After several minutes of applying slight pressure to the wounds, he set the bloody cloth aside. “Turn around.”

Anthony turned over, sitting up.

He gasped as Henrik cupped his chin in his hand, applying a cold compress to his blackened eye. Anthony drew in a breath at his close proximity and kindness, his heart pounding. Henrik then moved on to his burning cheek, laying an ice pack wrapped in a towel against the inflamed area.

Once they were done, Henrik stood up, offering him a hand, which he took.

“You gotta keep a gun on you at all times,” he told Anthony.

Anthony turned wide, surprised eyes on his father’s man. “What?”

Henrik was firm. “I meant what I said.” He stroked Anthony’s cheek, unable to stop himself from that tenderness. This kid meant something to him, he could not deny that. He’d do whatever he must to protect him. “This won’t ever happen to you again. When you misbehave,” he explained, “you get a spanking on your bare bottom, not beaten.”

Anthony’s cheeks went pink.

“That guy is a fucking piece of shit,” Henrik continued, “and the sooner you see that, the better.”

Anthony’s eyes filled with tears, before he glared. All his tender emotions and softening towards the beautiful man before him evaporated. Henrik was wrong. His father would one day be proud of him! He just had to prove himself first. He shoved Henrik away, both hands on his chest. “Ya don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he snapped.

Henrik glared back. “Brat, I may not know everything, but I do know that you’re gonna work yourself into an early grave by trying to prove yourself to someone who is never going to be satisfied. Nothing is ever enough for him! You don’t have to prove anything-”

“Shut up!” Anthony yelled, trying not to cry, as his words pierced his heart, words he knew to be true. “Just shut up! You don’t know shit!” His eyes glinted. “I didn’t need your help! I am doing just fine on my own! I never needed you before, and I don’t now! Just do your fuckin’ job, train me, and stay out of my life!” he shouted, tears beginning to spill.

Henrik’s heart twisted, as he flinched at his words. He scoffed, turning. “Fine,” he threw over his shoulder. “Serves me right for intervening. Don’t worry, brat,” he snarled. “I won’t be butting in your life again.”

The door slammed behind Henrik, as Anthony began to weep tears of anger and hurt.

Chapter Text

Henrik and Anthony did not go back to their routine.

For a week, their relationship was back and forth provocation: Henrik teased Anthony, simply to get a reaction out of him. He wanted to see those pale cheeks with their delicate bone structure and high cheekbones flush. He was enchanted with the spirited beauty. Anthony would get snarky and lose his temper, normally resulting in getting his bottom smacked, infuriating the pretty eighteen-year-old. But Anthony could not shake the feeling inside of his heart that Henrik flustered him, in a way that he did not understand.

Anthony was surprised that he missed Henrik’s treatment of him. For some reason, he missed those oh so alluring smirks, that outrageous arrogance the older man had. Anthony’s face flamed whenever he remembered when Henrik had pinned him to the wall. Anthony hated himself for his reactions to him. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Henrik no longer acted the same. The next day, he had brusquely taken him to their spot, coldly instructing him.

Anthony had snapped, “Why don’t ya just go back to Vegas if ya ain't gonna be any use?” This would normally have antagonized Henrik, but not this time.

Henrik had scoffed, his amber eyes cold. “Don’t flatter yourself, princess,” he had drawled, his cool eyes looking Anthony up and down, as Anthony’s face flushed at the nickname. “So long as your Daddy’s paying me, you’re stuck with me.”

Anthony’s heart had given a pang at that. He hated Henrik, he did! So why did he hurt so much when Henrik confirmed that he was only here for the money?

Anthony no longer brought Henrik around the house anymore, much to Nonna’s displeasure and complaints. “I need some excitement in my life, Antonio,” the old woman had groused, as she stroked her beloved grandchild’s cheek lovingly. “I can’t do what I once could, so I am unfortunately stuck here with that unbearable oaf son of mine. Why don’t you talk to him, caro mio? Bring him around more.”

Anthony did not have the heart to tell what had happened to the person he loved most in the world.

Henrik, for his part, was hurt and angry. The kid got to him like no one ever had. He had been angry at himself, in the beginning, for letting Anthony get out of the car without him, for not getting to the kid sooner. But when Anthony told him to leave him alone and stay out of his life, it had, admittedly, hurt. That hurt had turned to anger, at his words. He was now ice cold to Anthony.

He did not know why he cared, but he did, no matter how he tried to make himself stop. The worst part was that he had been beginning to care for him.

It frustrated him.

Everything came to a head one day, at Anthony’s apartment, after training. Anthony was near to tears, hurt by Henrik’s rejection, and Henrik was keeping himself as aloof and remote as usual.

Henrik had his feet propped up on the table, a deadpan expression on his gorgeous face, those amber eyes with their gold glint eyeing Anthony. “You were off balance today,” he noted solemnly.

“Maybe I wouldn’t be if my teacher took the time to fuckin’ teach me instead of barkin’ out orders all the time!” Anthony flared back, his back to Henrik, making a cup of coffee for himself, his hands trembling slightly, angry tears in his eyes.

Henrik shrugged,a cold smile on his lips, as he attempted to cover his own pain with a barb of his own. “Nothing wrong with my instructions. It’s the student that’s lacking here.” He smirked. “Didn’t your ma ever teach you better manners?”

He noted the way the kid’s back stiffened, and noted with triumph that he had hit a mark. That triumph deflated and was immediately placed with regret as Anthony swung around, tears in those lovely heterochromatic eyes of his. 

“Don’t you fucking dare breathe a word about my Ma!” he screamed, his fists clenched. “You don’t know shit about her!” He grabbed the kitchen knife on the counter, and flung it, aiming for the wall just an inch from Henrik’s head. It embedded itself into the wall, sinking hilt-deep. “Ya ever talk about my Ma again,” he breathed, “I’ll carve your fuckin’ heart out, coglione.”

Henrik had been trained too well to flinch at the knife, but his eyes had darted to it. He knew he wouldn’t kill him. On the inside, he knew he had gone too far, but his own pain caused him to push even further. “If you ever throw something at me again,” he warned him, his eyes furious, “you’ll find your pants around your ankles and yourself over my knee before you can blink.”

When Anthony screamed in rage, Henrik laughed, which only served to make him angrier. “Don’t you put your hands on me!” Anthony yelled, his eyes flashing fire.

Henrik smiled. “If I decide I’m gonna smack your ass, brat,” he told him, “then there’s little you could do to stop me. You’re tiny. No wonder your old man hired me,” he snarled, twisting the knife.

Anthony threw the coffee pot before he could think about the repercussions.

Henrik jumped to the side, untangling his legs, the coffee pot just missing him by an inch, but the liquid splashed onto his shirt, coating his sleeve. Henrik leapt to his feet, his eyes stormy. “That’s it!” he raged, heading over.

Anthony flattened himself against the counter, his lovely gem-hued eyes wide. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare!” he yelled, going for the pistol in his pocket, before he felt those strong hands around the top of his arms, seizing him, as he was jerked up. He yelped at the harsh treatment, and began to fight him. “Let me go!” he screamed in fury, shrieking in protest when he felt Henrik’s hand go into his pocket and confiscate his weapon.

Henrik cursed sharply as Anthony went for his face, nails first. He caught those tiny wrists in his hand, and slammed them behind Anthony’s back, keeping him immobile, as those long legs kicked as he was yanked against Henrik’s chest. “Stop it!” Henrik thundered, raising his voice, but Anthony reared up and kicked, slamming his foot down on Henrik’s. Henrik cursed again in pain.

“Alright, that’s it,” Henrik yelled, wrapping his other arm around the kid’s waist and lifting him off his feet, as he cried out in shock and panic. “You wanna do this the hard way? That’s fucking fine by me, brat!” he snapped, as he started dragging Anthony to his bedroom.

Anthony fought the hand on his wrists, struggling with all his might. “Get off of me!” he demanded. “No! Don’t you fuckin’ dare put your hands on me!”

Henrik flung his door open, keeping a tight hold on the squirming teenager in his hands, before suddenly dumping him face down on the bed, keeping him pinned with a hand on his waist. Anthony kicked and screamed in fury, trying to get away, but Henrik caught his wrists again, holding them behind his back.

“No! No!” Anthony protested, his temper uncontrollable. “Get off of me, you motherfucker! I’m gonna fucking kill you!” he threatened.

Henrik was too angry to care about his threats, not wasting any time. He was hurt and angry, his own temper too far gone to rein in. All he knew was he was hurt by Anthony’s rejection, not letting him help him, he was screaming at him, and he was tired of it.

Anthony shrieked as his pants and underwear were yanked down in one jerk, all the way down to his ankles. “No!” he yelped, trying to yank his wrists away, but Henrik was too strong.

He screamed in fury as Henrik’s hand came down, slapping one bare freckled cheek sharply. “Ahh!” he shouted. “You fucker!” A similar cry of rage and pain escaped his lips as the other cheek was spanked. “Stop it!” he yelled. He couldn’t restrain the howl of pain as Henrik alternated cheeks, smacking his butt rapidly, causing the skin to turn pink.

Henrik watched, still angry, as Anthony’s pretty bottom began to turn pink, his freckled ass wriggling as he tried to avoid the blows, screeching in fury. He pressed him down, causing his butt to stick up, as he slapped that fucking gorgeous, aggravating ass sharply, as Anthony cried out in indignation and protest.

“Owww!” Anthony complained, his head thrown back, his face bright red in mortification. “Stop!” he begged, as Henrik watched those long legs kick in defiance. “Ow, ow, ow!” he hissed, as the long held back tears escaped his eyes. He pressed his face into the blanket, groaning as Henrik beat his ass. “You’re hurting me!” he sobbed.

Henrik’s heart cracked as he heard those words, spoken in that forlorn tone, but he hardened himself, continuing to smack those freckled cheeks, as the kid wailed in pain, crying profusely. His shirt rose slightly, and Henrik winced as he saw the recovering injuries on his back. An instinct in him urged to reach out to hold him, but the fear of being pushed away again forced him to continue, as Anthony’s delicate, alabaster skin reddened, as the little brat shouted his anguish to the ceiling.

Anthony was crying now, his ass a burning furnace, stinging unbearably. He sobbed heavily, his wrists held behind his back, his ass bright red. “Stop, please!” he begged, hiccuping slightly. “You’re hurting me!” he said again, his voice cracking. “Owww.” He buried his face in his bed, weeping.

Henrik saw that he was done, deciding that the kid had had enough. He gave a few final spanks to the bare, red freckled cheeks before him, before stopping. Anthony went limp, still sobbing as if his heart would break, his bottom a deep red from the spanking. Despite everything, Henrik wanted to wipe his tears away and hold him until he stopped crying.

Henrik rested his hand on the burning inferno of his cheeks, feeling the heat rise from his hand, as Anthony bawled, his embarrassment increased, pressing the heat into the kid with his hand, as he lectured the sobbing teenager. “You ever throw something at me again, I’m taking off my belt and whipping your bare ass,” he growled. “Do you understand me, brat?”

Anthony nodded profusely, letting out a hoarse cry. Henrik lifted his hand, and watched the kid immediately clutch his flaming cheeks in his hands, crying heavily. Henrik didn’t think he could feel any more guilty, but he did as Anthony actually went to him for comfort.

Anthony’s head raised, and Henrik took an intake of breath as his exquisite face was shown, those gorgeous eyes filled with tears, his rosebud mouth trembling. He was ethereal . Henrik was speechless as the kid crawled towards him, and wrapped his arms around Henrik’s leg, clutching him, weeping profusely. He was shaking, poor kid, as he held onto Henrik like an anchor, his cheek pressed against his leg.

Henrik hesitated, before reaching up, placing a hand on Anthony’s head, running his fingers through his hair comfortingly, as Anthony wept. “Shh,” he said, despite himself. “It’s over now. It’s over.”

They stayed that way for a while, Anthony’s bare ass a deep red, making no move to pull up his pants, simply holding onto Henrik like he was his life line, while Henrik’s other hand gradually went to his ass, rubbing his bottom soothingly, not rubbing the pain away, but simply stroking him comfortingly, until Anthony’s whimpers died down.

Once Anthony calmed down, he was furious with himself for going to Henrik for comfort, seeking safety from the man who had mercilessly beaten his ass. He shoved himself away from Henrik, landing on his burning ass. He hissed in pain, his hands behind him on the bed, tears running down his face. Henrik never meant to, but his eyes glanced down, noticing his member out, after he’d bared him.

Anthony’s eyes were filled with hatred. “Get the fuck out!” he screamed, burying his face in his hands as he wept. “I hate you!”

Those words pierced into Henrik’s soul. “Don’t worry, I’m going,” he snarled, slamming the door behind him so hard the apartment shook.

Henrik was surprised when he didn’t go home, but went to Bridgetta. She graced him with a warm, lovely smile, the same as Anthony’s, he would guess. “I was beginning to think I had seen the last of you, bello,” she teased, her loving dark eyes piercing into his heart.

He smiled. “Non me lo sognerei, mia signora,” he whispered, taking up her hand and kissing the back of it. She smiled.

“So what’s the matter with you and my grandson?” she asked. Henrik startled.

“How the-”

“Oh, please,” she snorted, her wizened face lit up in amusement. “I have lived for ninety years, bello. There is little I do not see, and I know my grandson. He is not the same. Nor do you have the same spark. What has happened?”

Henrik sank into the chair before her. He groaned, and laid his head in his hands, now unbearably ashamed of himself. He found himself revealing all that had went down with her son, and the tension between himself and Anthony. “I did something unforgivable,” he confessed, his amber eyes filled with remorse. “I don’t think I can ever make it right.”

Bridgetta gave him a long, assessing look from her dark eyes, her white brow raising. “What have you two done this time?” she asked.

Henrik swallowed, meeting the old woman’s eyes. “I spanked him,” he revealed, his eyes shimmering gold. “I lost my temper. Fuck!” He ran a hand through his black hair, his eyes filled with regret. “I was just so angry, so hurt inside, I - the next thing I knew, I’d pulled his pants down and reddened his ass. Shit.” He glided his hand over his face, groaning.

He expected her to pull a gun on him. He expected her to yell, to scold, to show her fury.

Her snort of laughter caused him to raise his head.

Her black eyes were twinkling like a pair of priceless diamonds. “I suppose that made him angry, hm?” she speculated. “My Antonio has ever been wild. He gets that from me.” She smirked. “I know him and myself well enough to know that he went off for a reason. What caused you to snap?”

Henrik saw no reason to lie to the straightforward woman. “He was angry with me during training today,” he admitted. “I made a passing remark, asking if his mother had ever taught him any manners.” He was filled with shame inside as he remembered what else he had said. “I even told him it was no wonder Ragnetto hired me.”

Bridgetta’s eyes had grown cold, black as night. “Let’s get one thing straight, uomo sciocco,” she sternly said. “You can say whatever shit you want about my son, but never breathe a word about Caterina.” Grief was evident in her eyes. “She was a sweet, good woman, and did not deserve the fate my son gave her. Anthony loved her deeply. She was a good mother, and raised them well. When she was gone, it was left to me to raise her thirteen year old children.”

Henrik’s regret was palpable in his face. “It wasn’t right,” he agreed. “What happened to her? I’ve seen pictures of her; Anthony looks like her. How did she die?”

“My son killed her,” Bridgetta told him, her eyes shining with tears and anger. “Two sons was not enough for him. He wanted more, he always wanted more. He insisted on having another son. She died in childbirth, in pain and agony, trying to give him another heir. She perished, along with my granddaughter.” Her eyes now held disappointment. “All he ever said was she had failed him again, giving him another girl. My shining light did not live three days before I had to lay her to rest beside her mother. It destroyed Anthony. His heart was shattered, and he has built a wall around it ever since.”

Everything made sense then, why Anthony was so cold and angry. He didn’t want to be hurt again. Henrik swallowed hard.

“But I’m not angry with you,” Bridgetta Ragnetto said softly. Henrik’s amber eyes widened. “Because you are what Anthony needs . I won’t deny that Anthony has always been my favorite. From the moment he was placed into my arms at birth, he was mine, il mio tesoro. He needs a firm hand,” she admitted. “He needs someone in his life who cares, makes sure that he knows he is loved, gives him limits, protects him. Disciplines him when he does something wrong.” She looked up into his eyes. “I won’t be here forever, and when I am gone, he will be at my son’s mercy. He needs boundaries, someone to break down the carapace around that stubborn heart of his.” She smiled. “I am too old and too experienced in the ways of the world to mince words. You care for him.” Her black eyes were knowing. “You want him.”

Henrik’s amber eyes widened, getting to his feet. “No,” he denied, unsure if he was trying to convince her or himself. “No, I don’t.”

“Mhm,” she sarcastically hummed. “Sure.” She raised her brow again. “Then why are you here? Why did you spank him if you don’t care what he thinks, if you don’t want to protect him from this world? Why did you stop my son?”

“I-I-” Henrik couldn’t find an answer to that. He looked away. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s too late. Not after what I’ve done.”

“It’s never too late to go back,” Bridgetta said.

Henrik shook his head, hardening his voice. “No.” He headed for the door. “The brat made it perfectly fucking clear where we stand. I’m staying out of his life, just as he wants.” He turned around to face her one last time. “I don’t desire him. You’re wrong!”

He left the room.

Bridgetta just chuckled, shaking her head. The two had a long way to go, but she was sure with enough pushing, they’d get there.

She didn’t fucking care what the world thought, so long as her precious, beloved grandson was happy .

She had a feeling that this was just the man to break down his walls and do that, to make Anthony blossom .

***

Four days passed. Henrik and Anthony were rigid in the other’s presence. Anthony was even colder than Henrik himself, and Henrik was fighting to keep himself away from the beauty. He had to get him out of his head. Anthony’s grandmother was wrong. He wanted to stop thinking about Anthony. He turned his feelings of protection and tenderness off, as they snapped at each other.

Then Henroin had a new target.

Anthony had been walking by the office, when he overheard a conversation between his father and Russo. “No one can find him,” his father revealed. “Trevor Moore stole thousands worth of diamonds and emeralds in our safe. I want him dead.”

Russo’s deep voice rumbled. “He’s a slippery fucker.” His voice hardened. “It’d be doing the world a favor if we got rid of him. The man’s depraved. I’ve looked into his records, gathered my men to find out intel about him.” Anthony heard his footsteps as Russo walked around the room, back and forth. “He’s been reported in several saloons, abusing the women. He hires whores for the night, and some don’t come back.” A fist slammed against the wall. “My own daughter Ellaria told me he attempted to assault her. If I didn’t arm my girls with weapons and teach them to fend for themselves, she wouldn’t have gotten away alive.”

Henroin’s voice was filled with disgust and disapproval. “You waste your weaponry on your daughters?”

Russo responded coldly. “I have seven girls: Antonia, Ellaria, Daria, Evangelista, Livia, Rosalia, and little Vittoria. They are my everything. If you didn’t teach your own girl to fire a weapon, how to protect herself, then you’re a fool, Ragnetto.”

Anthony saw his chance. If he could catch this man, his father would finally be proud of him. He turned, running smack into Henrik, his palms on his chest.

Henrik’s hands rested on Anthony’s hips, as if with a mind of their own, steadying him. Henrik immediately took them away.

“Henrik!” Anthony breathed, deciding to put things aside for a time. Despite how much the man vexed him, he was very skilled, and Anthony needed to do this, needed this to work! “I have an idea! Tonight, we have to-”

“I have plans tonight,” Henrik told him firmly, his tone stern, amber eyes cool and emotionless.

Anthony stopped in his explanation, his eyes flashing with pain. He felt his stomach clench. “What?” he asked, his eyes wide. “Henrik, listen! I need-”

“I told you,” Henrik said, hardening his voice, “I have plans. You’re on your own tonight.” He tried to move past him.

Anthony’s hurt voice reached his ears. “Who the fuck do ya think you are?!” Anthony yelled, his heart hammering in his chest, panic rising within him. “Ya can’t just dismiss me like that! Just fucking listen to me! I have to-”

He yelped as Henrik grabbed his arm, then spun him around, so his back was to Henrik. Then his hand began to fall on his backside. “Ah!” Anthony cried out in shock, trying to yank himself free, but was unable to release himself. “Oww! Stop!”

“I told you I am going out tonight,” Henrik snapped, his hand falling rapidly down on Anthony’s squirming bottom, as the kid shrieked in pain and indignation. “I can’t deal with you tonight,” he said through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched. He had to get the kid out of his head. He was tired of thinking of him day and night, angry with himself for his thoughts, and angry with the shrieking beauty before him for being the cause.

“Let me go!” Anthony hissed, rising up to his toes to escape Henrik’s hand, to no avail. His heart gave a pang of pain at Henrik’s words. Going out? Despite the circumstances, Anthony suddenly felt hurt. Did Henrik mean on a date? He felt jealousy swirl in his gut. “Fuck, okay!” he yelled, tears springing into his eyes. “I get it! Stop!”

Henrik landed a few extra smacks to his cheeks, before releasing him. Anthony gasped, lowering his feet to the ground, a hand clutching his ass, his cheeks flaming. He yelped as Henrik whipped him around again, dragging him before himself, and sent him off with a sharp smack on his ass. Anthony yelped again, hands immediately going to clutch his cheeks once more, his backside stinging.

“Do you always have to follow me around wherever I go?” Henrik growled, his desperate need to get the beautiful man out of his head making him cruel. “Fuck off for one fucking minute, and hold off on being an irritation, why don’t ya?” he snarled, walking away. He’d seen the pain in Anthony’s eyes when he said this. He forced himself to keep walking, forced himself to refrain from taking him in his arms, begging his forgiveness, swearing that he meant none of it. Why did he care anyway? Anthony was just a kid, just the mafioso’s brat to him. Nothing more.

Anthony wanted to weep when Henrik spoke to him like that. He wasn’t used to this cold, cruel Henrik. Despite it all, he missed the Henrik he had met, the one who teased and joked with him, who had warm, gentle hands that steadied his waist, the full lips that bent to whisper gentle words into his ear, the soothing tone and comforting presence he presented whenever he gave him comfort, the kindness he showed to Anthony.

Had that man even been real to begin with?

Anthony angrily wiped his tears away, resolved. He didn’t need his help. He’d do it by himself.

***

Anthony peered at himself in the mirror, shocked at what he saw.

As a child, he had cried when his mother explained to him that boys couldn’t wear dresses; he didn’t understand why that mattered. Makeup was forbidden to him as well. Even now, when he saw his sister wearing a pretty dress, he could not stem the shameful feeling in him, that longed to wear something pretty and feminine.

He now wondered what could possibly be so wrong about it. Nonna was in kahoots with him tonight. He wondered what this new feeling in his chest was. He felt…beautiful.

The dress was midnight-blue silk, suiting his sapphire-hued eye, the skirt reaching all the way to the floor. It was sleeveless, the bodice heart-shaped, baring his slender shoulders, highlighting the golden freckles. Diamond sequins were embedded in the fabric, causing him to shine and glitter with each step he took. He wore long black satin gloves, and had lent him a priceless set of shimmering diamonds Nonno had given her when they got engaged: an exquisite diamond necklace on his bare pale white throat, and twinkling diamond earrings in his lobes.

Mascara accentuated his long, thick black lashes, with eyeliner touching up the look. Nonna had then styled his hair, altering the style. Tendrils of blonde hair curled at his forehead like wisps of sunshine, framing his sculpted face, set in place with a deep-blue headband with a feather.

He didn’t recognize himself, and was stunned and ashamed that he liked what he saw.

Nonna’s grin was purely wicked as she said goodbye to him and wished him luck. She had no remorse.

After listening to what information he had been given, Anthony knew this man was a danger to women. His mind suddenly remembered the large club on the other side of town, where most frequented to get drunk and to have a good time. He decided to head there first.

When he stepped inside the taxi he had hailed, he nearly fell off his feet at the driver’s reaction. He let out a low whistle, looking Anthony up and down. “Damn, baby,” he said. “You going somewhere fancy tonight?” He grinned.

As the son of a mafioso, as well as being a man, to be flirted with in broad daylight was something completely foreign to the eighteen-year-old. He shocked him. “You could say that,” he quipped back, affecting a tiny giggle at the end.

When he arrived, he paid the driver handsomely, even acting out a move he’d seen women do in the movies. If this was going to work, he knew he’d have to sell it well. He laid a gloved hand on the man’s arm, leaning over. He ran the other hand down the length of the man’s throat experimentally, relishing the intake of breath the man gave, his pupils dilating. “Little somethin’ special,” Anthony teased, whispering huskily into his ear, before stepping back and heading inside.

He had seen Trevor before. The man had worked for Pops, after all. He had never liked the look of the man: a tall, dark figure, with cruel eyes. His messy coal-black hair was always rumpled, his hard hazel eyes lecherous. He was handsome to some eyes, Anthony supposed, and he used that to his advantage to lure others in.

The drinking age was eighteen. Things weren’t as they used to be before the Prohibition age, so he went up to the bar, fluttering his lashes at the bartender, enjoying playing out this part. It was exciting, new. He felt free. Doing this for Pops helped him to try to forget his pain over what Henrik had done. He’d snorted a line before he came down here to calm his nerves.

After he was done drinking, he had decided to set out to look for his target; he had a knife hidden in his stocking. He never got the chance.

Large hands suddenly found his waist, drawing him into a lean, hard body. Anthony was stunned as he felt the man’s dick harden against his ass. A mouth bent down to whisper into his ear: “Hey, gorgeous. What are you doin’ here all by yourself?”

He looked over his shoulder, and could have wept with relief and triumph to see Trevor Moore. Luck was on his side tonight. Now he could set his plan into motion.

He batted his lashes innocently at the man, turning so he was in the man’s arms instead. “Oh, just looking for a good time,” he said sweetly, wrapping his arms around Moore’s neck, a slender finger slipping beneath his collar. “Think ya can provide one, handsome?” He winked.

Moore smiled, a smile that made Anthony’s skin crawl, the cruelty hidden beneath terrifying. “You wanna find out, baby?” he asked, continuing their game.

“You know I do,” Anthony breathed. His blue eyes shone the color of a purple amethyst in the club’s lights.

So the night went, as Moore bought Anthony a drink. Anthony’s alert eyes noted the liquid that went into it when Moore assumed Anthony was not looking. He smiled graciously, dumping the drink when Moore’s back was turned.

Moore took Anthony to the dance floor, pressing his hardening erection against Anthony’s ass. Anthony didn’t know how to react to that. The only thing he had ever felt against his ass was a hard hand. The thought of Henrik caused his chest to twist with pain. He was suddenly horrified as a thought came, unbidden, of being in Henrik’s arms instead. He rid himself of the thought, cursing. Anthony was nothing but an irritation to him; he’d said so himself. He was out with some woman even now.

Anthony bit his lip, lidding his eyes, trying to push Henrik out of his mind. He didn’t need him. He didn’t need anyone.

Moore’s hazel eyes darkened, before his mouth went to Anthony’s shoulder, suddenly sinking his teeth into the white skin speckled with golden freckles. Anthony nearly yelped. Then Moore began to suck, alternating, until a bright red surface broke out against his ivory flesh. Anthony was nearly shaking, he realized with a sudden start, from desire.

“You wanna continue this upstairs, baby?” Moore grinned.

Anthony saw his chance, and seized it. “Please.”

He giggled and smiled as Moore grabbed his hand, bringing him up the stairs, before finding them a room. Anthony took note as Moore locked the door behind them, pocketing the key. He knew what Moore was capable of. He had to act quickly.

He cried out in surprise as Moore yanked Anthony against him, kissing down the column of his pale white throat. Despite his hatred for this man, he couldn’t stop the desire that curled in his gut at the sensation. “Ahh…” His eyes involuntarily closed, and he was horrified as his mind began to imagine that it was Henrik in Moore’s stead, kissing his throat and worshipping his body. He tore his mind away from that image.

Moore suddenly knelt, on his knees before Anthony. He raised his skirt, baring one long white leg, which he reverently held in his grasp. “Fuck, baby, you’re beautiful,” he breathed, his breath hot against his bare skin.

Anthony panicked, terrified that Moore would notice the knife. He had to get to it before he did. “Could you turn around while I get ready for ya?” he asked, turning his voice sickly sweet.

An alarming look flashed in Moore’s eyes, scaring Anthony, but the look was gone quickly. “Of course, darlin’,” he agreed, but Anthony noticed his clenched jaw, as he turned his back.

Anthony bent, smoothly slipping the dagger from his stocking, gliding back up gracefully. He made sure he made no sound as he crept behind the unsuspecting target.

“Hurry up, will ya? I ain’t got all day,” Moore snarled suddenly. “If I lose my patience, it’ll only make it better for me.” He laughed, a sound of pure joy, turning around. “I love it when the woman under me gives me a good fi-”

His breath went out of him in one fell swoop, as Anthony struck.

The dagger sunk into his gut smoothly, like a fish through water. Anthony could feel everything, he felt. He drew it out, red with blood, and thrust it back in again.

“You bitch,” the man staggered, his legs going out from under him. He tried to grasp the knife, to turn it on Anthony, but Anthony kept a firm grip. When Moore lurched up, grabbing desperately for the weapon, Anthony’s thrust went at his shoulder instead. Moore screamed in agony.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you little cunt!” he screamed, but this time Anthony didn’t miss, slashing Moore’s face, cutting his cheek deep. Moore screamed, clutching his face. Blood coated Anthony’s beautiful dress, a deep crimson color spreading across the bodice, his pale skin flushed red like blush. He held Moore down and continued stabbing his stomach, before rising to his feet.

He swept the headband from his face, allowing the hairstyle his Nonna had so painstakingly perfected to revert to its usual style. “Courtesy of Henroin Ragnetto,” he told the writhing man beneath him. “And justice for Ellaria and all the other women you’ve dicked over.”

He watched silently as the life gradually went from the man’s eyes.

Anthony turned, heading back home.

***

Henrik’s date went terribly.

He couldn’t stop thinking of the horrible way he had treated Anthony, the look of pain in those beautiful mismatched eyes of his. He couldn’t enjoy a moment with the woman his friend had set him up with: all that went through his mind was that fucking beautiful face, tears in his orbs.

He cursed himself for even thinking about it still, and tried to forget about him. Anthony was just a kid.

But nothing worked. He’d never had issues sleeping with others before, but for some reason, he couldn’t bear to touch her, even in the smallest degree. When she tried to kiss him, all he could think of were those full lips, imagining them offered up to welcome Henrik’s kiss. He saw a dark head of hair; what he wanted was a mop of thick blonde hair that felt like silk between his fingers. Warm brown eyes gazed up at him. The eyes he longed for were blue and brown, the exact color of sapphires and chocolate or dark diamonds. The skin he longed to caress was pale and white as alabaster, with lovely golden freckles speckling his perfect skin, a face carved by angels, delicate cheekbones and an ass all curved and rounded, a fiery temper, someone who believed the best in others no matter what, who never backed up, those legs that Henrik wanted wrapped around his fucking waist-

He stopped in his train of thoughts. Fuck. Anthony’s grandmother had been right. He did care for him. He realized now he’d only taken this job, had done whatever he could to protect Anthony from harm, wanting to break down his walls, was because he fucking wanted him. He’d never stopped. He’d never thought of Anthony as just a kid. He was infatuated with him.

Then his heart could have howled in anguish as he thought of the way he’d left Anthony. He’d left him with a burning butt, cruel words, and an angry dismissal. He had been hurt by Anthony’s rejection; he could have facepalmed at this moment. He was ashamed of his own behavior. Anthony was only eighteen, there was still time to break down that wall. He was still so young. Henrik was amazed at his own stupidity, thinking that he could just get the kid out of his mind by fucking someone else. As if that had even worked. He hadn’t touched the woman, not even to hold her hand.

He apologized to her, excusing himself. She was incredibly understanding about the whole thing, seeming to recognize that his heart was elsewhere.

Henrik decided to head back to the Ragnetto residence. He was going back for Anthony. He didn’t care what it would take, he would get down on his knees and apologize if he had to.

When he arrived, he couldn’t find Anthony anywhere. He grasped Nico by the elbow, pulling him into a dark corridor. “Where is he?” he asked.

Nico rolled his dark eyes. “Don’t know, don’t care,” he shrugged. “He disappeared right after you left. All I got out of Nonna was that he had something to do.” Nico freed himself from Henrik’s grasp and continued on his way.

Henrik’s blood ran cold. Anthony had asked for his help, and he had left him. He didn’t know where the fuck he had went. He would never forgive himself if something had happened to him. He prayed that Anthony came back to him alive, having no choice but to wait.

Two hours passed, before Henrik heard the door creak open, before muttering cursing could be heard, heels clicking on the floor. Startled, his hand went for his gun, before he recognized the figure before him. His lips parted, his pupil dilating, the amber eyes darkening.

The creature before him was an absolute vision. Anthony was in a midnight-blue dress, his shoulders bare, the slim fit emphasizing his tiny waist. Black gloves covered his arms, and a diamond necklace and earrings glimmered at his throat and ears. Mascara and eyeliner brought out his beautiful eyes and long black lashes to perfection, his blonde hair tousled. Henrik nearly swallowed his own tongue. He was gorgeous.

His eyes widened as he suddenly saw the blood spatter on his chest. “Fuck, are you hurt?” he began, moving toward him. “Where were you? I was so fucking worried!”

His eyes filled with hurt as Anthony flinched from him. “Don’t pretend ya care,” Anthony snarled, feeling embarrassed beyond measure for Henrik to see him like this. Did he think Anthony was some sort of freak? “It’s not my blood, fuckface,” he retorted. “Pops wanted a guy gone. I delivered.” His voice cracked. “I didn’t need your help after all. Don’t worry, Tychon; I won’t ask for your help again!”

Henrik had breathed a sigh of relief as he realized that he was not hurt, before the remorse set in. His worry excelled that, resolving that he wasn’t going to allow the kid to put himself in danger like this again. “You could have waited,” he quietly said. “You could have died, brat.” He used the name that came affectionately to mind for him, but Anthony’s eyes narrowed.

“Wouldn’t that make your job so much fuckin’ easier?!” Anthony spat, heading for his room. “I hope ya had fun on your date!” he threw over his shoulder, angry, hurt tears in his eyes.

He whipped around angrily when Henrik’s hand took his upper arm in hand, stopping him from moving. “You motherfucker-”

“I’m making sure this doesn’t happen again, brat,” Henrik solemnly promised the beautiful creature before him. He’d hurt the kid, and he couldn’t change that, but he’d never stop protecting him and trying to keep him safe.

“What do you think you’re doin’-”

Anthony yelped as Henrik’s hands grabbed his waist, lifting him off his feet, then dumped him right over the back of the chair in the living room, ass up. His hands reached for purchase, landing on the seat of the chair. “Put me down!” he demanded, trying to get up, but his feet were off the ground, and Henrik’s hand was on his back.

“Sorry, brat,” Henrik said grimly. “We’re gonna take care of this here and now.”

He reached for Anthony’s skirt, beginning to lift the silk. Those pale, slim legs were revealed as the fabric began to rise.

“No!” Anthony protested, his hand reaching back, but was set off balance and lost his footing.

Henrik’s breathing grew ragged as he took in the sight before him. The kid wore black lace panties , held in place by a garter belt, attached to his long black stockings. The dark fabric was a perfect contrast to his pale skin. Fuck, he looked good. Henrik could feel his cock harden at the sight, before he steeled himself.

Anthony gasped as he felt Henrik’s fingers, surprisingly gentle, slowly untie his panties from his stockings, causing them to loosen. Henrik’s fingers then slipped underneath the waistband, curling into the material. He blushed a deep red as Henrik dragged the panties down, all the way to his ankles, baring his ass to view. It somehow felt even more humiliating than if Henrik had simply yanked down his pants. To have Henrik bare him like this, especially after Anthony had imagined him in Moore’s place…it was so embarrassing. “No, don’t!” he begged, absolutely mortified.

Henrik bared his bottom, pulling the panties down, taking in the sight of Anthony’s beautiful backside, all that pale skin and freckled cheeks. He was so fucking gorgeous, every inch of him. Anthony was his obsession, an obsession that he now decided not to fight, an obsession he never wanted to be rid of. He couldn’t get enough of this kid.

Anthony cried out at the slap that fell on his cheek, jolting. “Ah!” He tried to escape, but Henrik was too strong. “Stop it!” he hissed, not wanting to risk anyone overhearing and walking in on one of the men beating his ass. “Ah! Oh! Ouch!” His feet kicked in pain. “Stop!” he ordered him, but the only response he was given was a round of smacks on his cheeks, as Henrik’s hand alternated, smacking one freckled cheek, then the other. “Ow, ow, owww!” he complained.

“The next time you try something like this,” Henrik lectured the squirming and protesting teenager, “you wait for me. Got it?” he asked Anthony.

“Why should I?” Anthony snapped, his jealousy and temper increasing. “I’m too much of an irritation to you, remember?” His heart panged. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to disturb you and your date!”

Henrik shook his head in exasperation, both at himself for his foolishness and at Anthony’s apparent jealousy, although something inside him thrilled that Anthony was even jealous at all. “Didn’t get much enjoyment out of it, I’ll tell you that,” he said, going to slap those upturned cheeks, as Anthony yelped. “Nothing happened. Couldn’t even stand to hold her hand, much less try anything.”

Anthony couldn’t stop the warm, happy feeling in his chest, thrilled that Henrik had done nothing with her, but he buried that deep inside. “Why should I fuckin’ care where you wet your di-Oh!” Anthony’s head flung back, wailing at the sharp slaps that fell on his vulnerable cheeks. “Oh, that hurts, that hurts! Henrik, stop!”

Henrik saw red as he suddenly noticed the red mark on his shoulder, where a man had obviously bitten and sucked at until a mark as red as a blooming rose was visible. Henrik could feel a rage and jealousy inside him, such as he'd never known before. He suddenly had a longing to leave a mark of his own. He shoved those feelings aside. "What happened to you?" he growled, hearing his own furious jealousy in his tone.

Anthony flinched. "I went afta' Moore. I did what I had to."

Henrik's lip curled as his rage multiplied, furious with the kid for putting himself in danger, and filled with black fury for the dead Moore, for daring to touch his Anthony.

Henrik grasped the teenager’s waist in his hand, his hand falling rapidly, as he censured the eighteen-year-old beauty. “You could have been killed, going after Moore,” he told the moaning teenager, as his bottom wriggled, trying to get away from Henrik’s hand. “Do I have to blister your little ass every time to get through to you?” His hand fell on one of Anthony’s buttocks, causing him to cry out, his ass red.

“Ow, that hurts!” Anthony yelped. “Don’t pretend ya care!” he accused. “I can handle myself! Nonna knew what I had planned; she helped me!”

Henrik wasn’t sure if he should laugh or be angry with the older woman. Anthony was her to the life. She was too old to spank, of course, so he’d have to settle for just her grandson getting a spanking.

As Henrik’s hand continued to fall, Anthony no longer cared if anyone heard. “Owww!” he shrieked. “Oh, stop!” he pleaded, his face burning. “It hurts, Henrik!”

Anthony was miserable, feeling his ass begin to burn unbearably, and it only seemed to hurt even worse with the fact that Henrik didn’t care about him. He didn’t know why that should matter to him. But Henrik’s treatment had hurt more than anything. Remembering his words and how hurt he had been when Henrik went out with someone else, he began to cry, weeping into the cushion.

Henrik paddled the scarlet cheeks before him, until Anthony was bawling, his legs kicking slightly. “Stop, stop! It hurts, Henrik!” Anthony begged him, his voice trembling. “I can’t do this anymore - I can’t - “

Anthony’s wails increased in volume, collapsing over the chair, as the spanking turned his ass a deep, dark red, sobbing heavily into the cushion.

Henrik decided he’d learned his lesson, hearing the cries of remorse in his voice. He reached down, pulling up his panties, covering him once more. He deftly tied them back to his garters. Anthony’s breath drew in at the feeling. He was stunned at the sensation. Normally, Anthony rushed to jump up and yanked his pants back up angrily. Feeling Henrik pull up his panties after the spanking felt...intimate.

He turned Anthony over, letting his skirt fall back down to cover him. He then wrapped him in his arms, holding him close, as Anthony wept in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into his hair. “I’m sorry that hurt so much.” He kissed the top of Anthony’s head. “I don’t like making you cry. I want you to know that.” He cupped Anthony’s chin, lifting his tear-stained face up. “I’m so sorry for what I’ve said. I mean that.” His eyes were filled with remorse. “I never meant a word of it, brat.  You’ve never been an irritation. I’m sorry I treated you like that, baby.” He stroked Anthony’s cheek. “Please, forgive me,” he begged. “I never meant to hurt you. I was frustrated that you wouldn’t let me help you, but it wasn’t right anyway. I’m sorry I spanked you in anger.” His eyes were sorrowful. “You didn’t deserve that. I know this isn’t any comfort, but I don’t enjoy making you cry in pain. I’m sorry.” He held him close, holding Anthony securely.

He couldn’t describe the joy in his heart as he felt his Anthony wrap his arms around his waist. His Anthony. He wasn’t sure when he’d begun to think of him as his, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

In his heart, Anthony was relieved that Henrik had forgiven him for his words spoken in anger, and that nothing had happened when he went out with that woman. He had missed this Henrik.

But that didn’t mean he trusted him. Anthony hardened his heart even more securely. He still resented his father’s hiring of this man. He didn’t need anyone, and he never would.

Chapter Text

Henrik had resolved that he was never going to make the same mistake again.

Anthony was eighteen; he was really still just a kid. He was exquisitely beautiful, but for all that, still so young. He needed time, and patience. Henrik wouldn’t push anything. He’d wait for him, until he grew up enough to know what he wanted. In the meantime, Henrik would protect him to the best of his ability, even if that meant taking down his pants and taking his hand to that rounded pretty bottom. He would never lose his temper the way he had again. He would protect him.

He felt helpless, and like the biggest asshole in the world, as the kid couldn’t stop crying in his arms. He couldn’t resist kissing the top of his blonde hair. It had been too much for the kid, he’d had a hard day. He held him close, tightening his arms around him.

“Let’s get you home, hm?” he suggested, smiling gently. “Calm down, sweetheart. Let’s get you into bed. Everything will feel better after you rest.” He raised Anthony’s chin, as Anthony looked up at him with tear-glossed heterochromatic eyes. “Can I touch you?”

Anthony sniffed, nodding, not meeting Henrik’s eye. He was obviously embarrassed. Henrik couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t the first time the kid had gotten a spanking, but it was still a humiliating experience: having Henrik bare his bottom and redden it.

Anthony wrapped his arms around Henrik’s neck, as Henrik slipped a hand under Anthony’s knees, the other under his shoulders, lifting him up into his arms. He heard Anthony gasp, his arms tightening around his neck, clinging to him. Henrik was amazed that he could lift and manhandle the kid with ease, but it was something he liked.

He carried him to his car, setting him inside, before crossing to the driver’s seat. Anthony’s breaths were ragged, as he tried and failed to stem the tears streaming from his eyes. He listened to Anthony’s gasps and shudders, his heart aching. He’d never felt more ashamed of himself than he did now. He knew that the spanking had been necessary, in order to teach Anthony a lesson and to keep him safe, but he felt guilty nonetheless. He knew that Anthony’s tears were a compilation of factors: his pain over what Henrik had done, the pain and trauma of his life, his ass was burning, and he was simply exhausted after everything.

When they arrived at Anthony's apartment, he parked the car until his own departure. He held out a hand for Anthony when he had crossed to his side, offering his help. Anthony regarded his hand with trepidation, before slowly and silently putting his smaller hand into Henrik’s. Henrik’s heart softened at the touch.

He pulled Anthony out, careful of his long skirt. His pale skin glowed like pearls in the moonlight. He picked him up in his arms once again, his heart melting as Anthony wrapped his arms around Henrik’s neck, still crying softly.

He set him down in his bedroom, before digging through Anthony’s drawers, until he found where he kept his pajamas.

He knelt before Anthony, sitting on the edge of his bed. Anthony gasped as Henrik took his leg in his hand. “Let me help you, baby,” he begged the crying beauty before him. He slipped his heels off his small, dainty feet. They were slim and pretty, fitting his long, slender legs perfectly.

He slowly rolled down his black lace stockings, peeling them off his legs. He enjoyed hearing the tiny intakes of breath coming from the gorgeous teenager before him. He reached up under Anthony’s skirt. He felt Anthony draw in a breath, as Henrik’s experienced fingers untied his panties once again from his garters, loosening the fabric. He then took his panties by either side, slowly tugging them down his legs. “Fuck…” he heard Anthony hiss.

Henrik smiled to himself. God, he was adorable. He was so innocent, so shy whenever Henrik teased him.

“Turn around, cuore mio,” he whispered, which Anthony did. The poor kid seemed too mentally exhausted from today to even comprehend what Henrik had said.

Henrik regarded the diamond-sequined midnight-blue back, taking the laces in his hand, slowly untying them, his fingers brushing against his soft skin, causing Anthony to tremble. As the corset was loosened, he regarded the slim white back uncovered by the silk, unable to resist brushing his fingers softly against his skin. Anthony shivered at the feeling of his fingers against his bare flesh.

Henrik, having freed him from the gown, let the material flutter around their feet, as Anthony’s naked form was completely revealed to him for the first time. He gasped slightly.

His shoulders were slight, sprinkled with those gorgeous freckles. His pearly alabaster skin was white and unblemished, his chest slim, his stomach flat. His ass was uncovered; Henrik could faintly see the freckles on his buttocks, hard to due to his reddened bottom. His cheeks were a deep red and swollen from his spanking. Henrik winced slightly. Fuck, that had to hurt. His pretty pink cock was long and slim. Anthony shied away from his gaze, using a hand to cover his length, the other going to shield his blistered ass. Henrik forced himself to look away, not wanting to embarrass the brat or make him uncomfortable. He helped him dress, pulling the pajama pants up his legs, then slipping the shirt over his head.

He picked him up quickly, scooping him up into his arms, holding him tight. Anthony yelped at the quick movement. Henrik gently placed him in bed, laying him under the covers. He sank to his knees, stroking his blonde hair. “Go to sleep, baby,” he whispered. “It’s over now. It’s over.” His amber eyes glistened with tears of his own. “I’ll never hurt you or cause you pain again, I promise,” he vowed, as Anthony’s gasps and breaths began to slowly calm, and he drifted off. Henrik stayed by his side until he was asleep.

***

The sunlight was blinding, as Anthony’s eyes opened, and for a moment he forgot his throbbing ass cheeks, as he groaned, raising a hand to cover his eyes, shielding them from the light.

But the comfort did not last long, as he drew in a breath through his teeth as his sore cheeks rubbed against the mattress. “Ahh, fuck…” he moaned, sitting up. He looked down, noting that he was not in the beautiful dress from last night. His face heated as he remembered the events of last night: Henrik bending him over the chair and pulling down his panties, spanking him like he was a fucking kid, how he had cried in the handsome man’s arms, and how Henrik had driven him home and dressed him. Anthony flopped back down on his back, a heaving sigh escaping his lips. He put his hands over his face, groaning loudly. “Fuck!”

He was ashamed that he had let himself cry in front of Tychon. It only ever happened in front of him, for some reason Anthony could not fathom. Now that he was calm, he resolved that he could not let himself get carried away like this again. Trusting others only got you hurt in the end, and he had allowed Henrik to lead him on into a false sense of security. It had to be false, right?

No more. No more. Anthony hardened his heart, deciding that this could not be allowed to happen again. He had lived for eighteen years without needing anyone, and he liked it that way. Henrik had said it himself; he was only here because Pops was paying him.

No good could come out of opening his heart. So Anthony hardened the already solid walls enclosing his heart and closed his feelings against the man he was growing to care for.

He didn’t know why he was falling for Henrik. The motherfucker was arrogant, too cocky for his own good, and he thought he could take his hand to Anthony’s backside, like Anthony was a kid!

His tirade came to a halt, as he spotted something out of the corner of his eye, on the dresser by his bedside. He rolled over onto his stomach, grabbing the item in his hand gently.

It was a single red rose, blooming and fresh. He bent his fair head, taking in the scent, the sweet fragrance seeping into his skin.

He wasn’t an idiot; he knew who it was from. He scoffed. The fuck did Henrik think he was, some dame in olden times who wanted to be courted and shown romantic gestures? That didn’t even make sense. He knew Henrik didn’t feel that way toward him, and it was forbidden anyway, even if Anthony had wanted - no. He wouldn’t allow his mind to go in that direction. It was humiliating enough that Anthony had pretended Moore was Henrik, only for his father’s man to bare him and beat his ass the way he did.

His every instinct told him to throw the rose into the trash, disdainful of Henrik’s every action, but Anthony’s heart panged at the thought.

He never knew why he instead put the rose in a vase of water, and he didn’t care to explore those emotions.

***

If Henrik had thought Anthony was warm the day they met, the Anthony he was greeted with now was positively glacial. He was even more haughty and prideful than before, his head held high, disdainful of Henrik and imperious. He had given Henrik the whip of his temper many times now, and Henrik’s hand was itching to smack that aggravating ass of his like never before.

Henrik remained patient, swearing to himself to keep his word. He wouldn’t clap back like he had before. He’d wait, working on breaking down that carapace, and in the meantime do what was necessary to ensure Anthony’s safety.

The day they resumed their training, Anthony yanked his elbow out of Henrik’s grasp when he gently placed a hand on him. “Don’t touch me,” he said coldly, his eyes emotionless.

He followed him, as was his job, when Anthony visited his grandmother and sister. Bridgetta was just as witty as ever, welcoming her grandson with an embrace and loving kiss to the forehead, cupping his face in her wrinkled hands. “Come sta il mio amato tesoro?” she asked, her tone oozing her love for her grandchild.

"Così come sempre, Nonna,” he replied in turn, his eyes warm.

Henrik had never seen his eyes like that before, and wished he could see it more often.

Nico was a usual pain in the ass, as usual. Henrik had disliked the man the moment he set eyes on the black-eyed mobster. While Bridgetta’s eyes were playful and sparkling, his were hard and serious. He didn’t have the same delicate beauty about him that Anthony carried. What Henrik hated was the way he treated Anthony.

Now, Henrik could have sworn that they were alone last night when he paddled Anthony’s bottom, but from what he overheard when Nico and the kid were alone, that was evidently not the case.

“Fucker beat your ass again, huh?” Nico teased, drawing out a breath of smoke, stamping the cigarette out with his foot.

Anthony flushed. “How the fuck did ya-”

“Oh, please,” Nico scoffed, snorting derisively. “Ya were hollerin’ loud enough to bring the entire house down. Figured I’d go down and see what all the fuss was about, and what do I find? Your backside getting reddened by a guy who fuckin’ works for our old man.” He smiled cruelly at his brother’s discomfort. “Couldn’t even fend him off, could you? That had to hurt, going by the way you were caterwaulin’.”

Anthony’s eyes were full of tears as a new wave of embarrassment swept over him. “Fuck off!” he yelled, turning to leave. He yelped as Nico grabbed his slender wrist, twisting him around.

“Ya couldn’t even fight off that no good son of a bitch,” Nico snarled, his grip tight and unyielding. 

He hadn’t been able to see much in the dark last night, but he had gathered enough to know what was occurring, as he listened to his baby brother cry out in pain as Tychon paddled him. Nico wasn’t stupid. He had noticed the coldness between the two, and his former begrudging approval of the hitman had ceased, leaving only resentment and hatred. He hadn’t interfered during Tony’s punishment, but leaned against the wall where he was hidden in the hall as Anthony begged Henrik to stop. Despite all his years of Henroin’s preparation for Nico as his heir, he hadn’t been able to stop a slight wince of sympathy as he listened to his little brother get spanked on his bare ass, before going back to his own room.

“It’s fuckin’ useless, his bein’ here,” Nico continued, his hold on Anthony’s wrist tightening. Although his intentions for his next words were well-meant, he still knew he couldn’t afford to show any sympathy for Anthony, not while their father still lived, so he twisted the knife instead. “Ya can’t do one thing that Pa’s goin’ ta approve of. So spare the baseborn bastard the money and send him back to where he came fro-”

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you,” Henrik’s voice thundered, barely restrained fury evident in his tone. “See, I don’t take too kindly to people insulting my mother, or sticking their noses where they don’t belong,” he told Nico coldly. “Let go of him.” He raised his coat, to show the pistol in his hand.

Nico regarded him silently, before releasing his hold on Anthony. The skin around his wrist was red, bruising already beginning to form. “Whatever. Ain’t worth my fuckin’ time anyway.” He stormed out.

Henrik went to Anthony, his eyes drowning in worry, shining gold in the light. “Are you okay?” he asked him, taking Anthony’s chin in his hand and lifting his face. “Did he hurt you?”

He was greeted with the same cold gaze he had been graced with all day. “Mind ya own fuckin’ business,” he snapped, jerking his chin out of Henrik’s grasp, his mismatched eyes flashing. “I didn’t need your help!” He thought of what Nico had called Tychon, and the respective reaction.

This continued for days, as Anthony retained his stuck-up manner. Henrik attempted to hold the door for him: Anthony walked right past him without a word, his nose turned up at the gesture, acting like Henrik was not even there. Nonna slyly suggested that the two go out to get her something she had been craving: Anthony made the dish himself. Anthony nearly tripped, and Henrik reached out to steady him: the icy look Anthony shot at him made him think better of it. Henrik wondered what would happen if he swatted his infuriating ass as he walked by.

Anthony had his own secrets. That night, crossdressing had awakened something in him, something he could not quite fathom. He could not quite register why this had occurred. He had reveled in the way he had felt that night. He felt beautiful, in a way he had never felt before. He loved the way the silk felt against his skin, the way he had looked.

He knew he could never do it again, but it never hurt to dream, did it? Unable to believe he was doing this, he bought several more accessories: gorgeous dresses in various colors and fabrics, panties, jewelry. He couldn’t wear them, of course, but…they sat in his closet, lovely and untouched. He could fantasize. He liked how they looked in them, and he did not want that feeling to stop, even though he knew that what he was doing was wrong.

But if it was so wrong, why did it feel so right?

***

Anthony had been dreading for two weeks this day. Five years ago today his entire world had been shattered. Today was the anniversary of the day he lost his beloved mother and little sister in childbirth.

Caterina. Pure . And she was, a pure soul, nothing but good and kindness in her, nothing like her husband or Nico or Anthony. She was good , through and through, just as Molly was. Elena. Shining light . She’d had Nonna’s coloring, sharing the same face as Anthony and Molly, with Mama’s starlight-hued eyes. He had never even gotten to know his baby sister. It was just too early for her.

Nothing could stem his short temper that day, as he dressed in a hurry, determined to go and see them. Or rather, what was left of them.

He nearly jumped out of his skin as he finished his visit with Nonna, heading for the day, when an arm wrapped around his waist, sliding under his coat, as he was drawn against a lean, hard body. “Woah, woah, slow down,” Henrik’s soft voice whispered huskily into his ear. “Hold up.”

He shivered slightly, taking in a breath. He forced his reaction down, beginning to struggle to free himself. “Get off!” he raged. “Let go of me, you fuckin’-”

Henrik chuckled. “Geez, calm down, Legs,” he drawled, causing Anthony’s breath to quicken once again at his smooth tone and nickname. He released his hold on the teenager, allowing Anthony to stumble away, his back leaning against the door.

“Why don’t ya go clean a gun or somethin’?” Anthony snarked, brushing his clothes down imperiously.

Henrik shook his head, ignoring the jab. “I don’t make the rules, brat. You know I gotta come with you.” He took a step closer. “If someone were to recognize you, they might take it upon themselves to take you for ransom.” He used a finger under the beauty’s chin to tilt his face up. “There’s no telling if we’d get you back alive, let alone alright.”

Anthony growled. “And that would just ruin your reputation, wouldn’t it?” he snarled. He still hadn’t forgiven him for the way Henrik had treated him. He wanted to hurt Henrik, hurt him like Henrik had hurt Anthony.

Henrik’s first instinct was to say that it didn’t give a flying fuck about his reputation, but restrained himself, refusing to rise to the kid’s bait. “Just get in the car and wait for me, brat,” he teased, intentionally calling him that. He turned his back on him, grateful for the cover, as he smiled in amusement as the kid stamped his foot in fury.

He went to say his farewells to Bridgetta. He went all around the house, unable to find her, until he headed to the car, and found her on the porch, watching the birds sing and fly, wrapped in a red shawl against the cold.

She didn’t need any explanation. “Protect him,” she ordered Henrik, her black diamond eyes serious. “Keep him from harm. Take care of him.” Her thin hand grabbed his wrist. “Or I’ll put that pistol my Tommaso gave me to good use. Do we understand each other?” she asked.

Henrik chuckled. “Yes, ma’am,” he told her, running a hand through his thick black hair. He was solemn once again. “I’m never hurting him again,” he promised, dead serious.

“I suppose that doesn’t mean blistering his backside, hm?” she questioned, raising a brow, smiling wickedly.

Henrik grinned. “Can’t promise anything,” he quipped back. “That’s up to Anthony. I’ve learned that what works best with him is a sore bottom.”

Bridgetta’s eyes shone like two stars shooting across the night sky. “Good luck with his temper,” she returned. “He got that from me.”

“I’ll need it.”

***

Henrik drove while Anthony gave directions. Anthony sat in the passenger’s seat, his feet kicked up, his arms crossed, that haughty look still on that lovely face of his.

It was a tense car ride, as Anthony purposely pushed Henrik, snapping out responses and biting retorts.

“Where are we even headed, anyway?” Henrik questioned, as they entered the empty roadside, journeying through a deserted plain.

“None of ya fuckin’ business,” Anthony gave back, scowling. “How ‘bout that?”

Henrik’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Watch it, brat,” he warned, as Anthony flared at the name.

Anthony spat out the cigarette between his lips, sitting up. “Just shut up and drive,” he ordered, reaching into the glove compartment.

He’d been taking drugs for a while now; it was something he did without really even thinking about it. Henrik’s warning from their meeting with Russo flashed through his head, but he shook it off like a leaf. Henrik hadn’t touched him since he’d come back covered in Moore’s blood. He didn’t have the fucking nerve to follow through. Anthony needed this if he was going to get through the day, as he took out a bag of the pretty white dust.

He spread some across the steering column, using a straw to inhale the powder. Sweet bliss entered his nostrils. He moaned from the ecstasy, breathing it in deep.

Henrik had had enough of the kid testing him day after day. He was trying to push Henrik into responding, goading him, trying to get a reaction. He clenched his jaw. He’d show Anthony that he didn’t make empty promises. His breath caught in his throat, his chest twisting with pain, at the sudden image of Anthony overdosing before him. He grinded his jaw in barely suppressed anger. He’d be damned if he didn’t try to stop that from taking place.

Anthony shrieked as the car slammed to a stop by the side of the road, jolting him forward. “What the fuck?!” he shouted, brushing his blonde hair from his eyes, glaring at the gorgeous man beside him. “What do you think you’re doing-”

“I told you what would happen if I caught you with drugs again,” Henrik informed him quietly, jaw still taut with impatience. “Get out of the car.”

Anthony’s mismatched eyes widened in horror, as he realized what Henrik intended to do. “No!” He hadn’t really believed he would do it. No! He wouldn’t.

“You wouldn’t dare!” he challenged.

Henrik raised a brow. “Oh, I dare,” he shot back. “You’ll see just how much I would dare when your ass is the color of a strawberry over my knee.”

“Don’t you touch me!” Anthony warned him, planting his feet down.

Henrik didn’t respond, unbuckling his belt and making his way around to Anthony’s side of the car, wrenching the door open. He wrested his seatbelt from him, as Anthony’s small hands tried to fight him off. He grabbed him by the upper arm, dragging him out of the vehicle.

“Let go of me!” Anthony demanded fiercely, struggling against him. His eyes widened as Henrik took him to the hood of the car. “No, don’t!” he pleaded with him, but it was no use, as Henrik’s hand went to the small of his back, and bent him over the front of the car.

“Get off!” Anthony yelled, kicking and squirming, trying to escape, to no avail.

He yelped in shock and indignation as his pants were jerked down to his ankles, baring his pale white skin to Henrik’s view. Anthony’s face burned in mortification. He’d chosen today to wear some of the new panties he’d bought. He covered his face, unable to face him.

Henrik sucked in a breath at the sight before him. After he’d yanked down the kid’s pants, he almost stumbled, greeted by the absolute perfection before him. Fuck, he looked… he wore the look better than even some females Henrik had known. The black lace accentuated his nice ass and lovely freckles and pale skin. He looked sexy. Henrik would have liked to be doing something else than giving him a spanking right now. If Anthony had cared for him, if he had felt the same way Henrik did for him, Henrik would have pulled down his panties right then and there and fucked him on the side of the road, for all the world to see, his cock sinking into the beauty’s hole, as he set a passionate, rapid pace, until Anthony was screaming his pleasure to the sky above.

Instead, Henrik forced himself to start smacking those plump cheeks with their cute freckles. The kid yelped at the contact.

“Ahh!” he screeched angrily, his face burning, beating his fist against the car. “You fucker!” He tried to kick, but was unable to free himself, his feet tangled in the pants strewn around his ankles. “Get off!” he yelled, his freckled bottom bouncing under Henrik’s hand, shrieking at each swat to his cheeks, as Henrik’s hand connected with the pale bottom, as it began to rapidly turn bright pink under the black lace.

Anthony threw back his head, screaming his fury to the sky until his voice was hoarse, as the valley echoed with his shouts of rage and yells of pain. Anthony beat his fist angrily against the car, sobbing with temper. He attempted to muffle his protests. He grunted, jolting each time Henrik’s hand connected, as he bit his lip. He grit his teeth against the pain, moaning as Henrik’s hand fell on the seat of his panties.

Henrik wasn’t satisfied with his defiance. “How long are you gonna be stubborn before you realize that you’re only making it worse on yourself?” he asked him, as Anthony refused to give in.

“Do your worst,” Anthony grit out, clenching his jaw.

“Fucking fine by me, brat,” Henrik growled, taking his hand to Anthony’s irritating ass, even harder than before. 

This startled a response out of Anthony, as he rose onto the tips of his toes, shrieking. “Fuck…” he moaned, whimpering.

After a few more smacks, Anthony turned to pleading for mercy, dropping his facade. “Henrik, stop,” he demanded, his legs kicking in pain. “What if someone, ahh, sees? Anyone could, oww, drive by!”

Henrik snorted, continuing to smack the cheeks in front of him. “Not likely, Legs, even though it’s no less than you deserve. We’re out in the middle of nowhere, and any car chancing by isn’t liable to pay attention to anything we are doing.”

Tears began to travel down Anthony’s cheeks at the pain, as he cried out in pain, wailing at the pain in his cheeks. “Stop, stop!” he cried, begging for mercy, his legs kicking rapidly. “Ow, ow!” he complained. “It hurts, Henrik, it hurts!”

Henrik snorted, landing a smack on one of those cute freckled cheeks. “It’s supposed to, brat,” he rejoined, smiling in amusement. “If you don’t want a spanking, don’t misbehave.” He went to the next part, intending to deliver the rest of Anthony’s spanking on his bare bottom.

Anthony flinched as he felt a finger slide underneath the waistband of his panties. The touch against his skin sent shivers down his back, not entirely unpleasant. His eyes widened in panic as he realized that Henrik intended to bare him in public for the rest of the punishment. “Oh, don’t,” he whispered forlornly, seeming to have been robbed of his volume, pleading with the handsome man for mercy.

He grabbed Henrik’s wrist, begging him not to. “Henrik, don’t, please!” he cried, his ass wriggling as he tried to push himself away, to no avail. “I promise I won’t do it again!” he bargained, determined not to get a spanking on the bare. “Please, please , I promise it won’t happen again! Just don’t bare me!” he wailed, mortified tears in his eyes.

Henrik felt guilty in his heart for this, as Anthony begged him for mercy, but knew already that he wasn’t going to be changing his mind. He changed his mind, Anthony knew he didn’t keep his word. It would only do him more harm if he allowed him this small protection. “Sorry, Anthony,” he said quietly, knowing that this had to be absolutely humiliating for the poor kid. “But spankings are always on your bare bottom. You know that,” he lectured the pleading teenager.

“No, please, no!” Anthony implored, his pants tangled at his ankles, his ass, covered with that alluring black lace, twisting and turning as he tried to evade Henrik’s grasp. “Not in public, please! HENRIK !”

He laid his cheek on the hood of the car, whimpering in shame as Henrik’s fingers curled into his waistband, dragging the panties down, baring his pale, freckled ass to view, now flushing a rosy pink. Henrik peeled his panties down to the back of his knees, leaving them there. Anthony blushed heavily at having his bottom bared to the handsome man before him, moaning in humiliation. “Oh, stop,” he whispered, mortified.

Henrik wasn’t going to lie. He rather liked the image before him. Anthony, all submissive, bent over the car, his panties pulled down to his knees, his gorgeous pale skin uncovered, sprinkled with his perfect freckles. It was an incredibly appealing sight to the twenty-five-year-old, as the beautiful brat was bent over the vehicle, that perfect, fucking beautiful rounded ass up, his cheeks presented, propped up for Henrik to smack. Although he didn’t relish making the kid cry out in pain, he was looking forward to turning that perfect ivory skin bright pink and watching it turn as red as the blooming rose he’d left on Anthony’s bedside, feeling the soft flesh underneath his fingertips, watching that cute freckled ass wriggle as he tried to get away from the spanks as his hand bounced off Anthony’s squirming cheeks. He sure was cute, Henrik thought affectionately, a tender smile coming to his lips, a trait quite surprising for a mafioso’s son. He was fucking adorable . He was shy and timid whenever Henrik flirted with him. He was a raging torrent, until Henrik pulled his pants down to his knees. He was then all pleading and embarrassment, as he lost his tough facade. It was a sweet factor of him, one that Henrik savored and relished. It was Anthony .

His hand descended on Anthony’s pinkening skin, causing the kid to yelp at the sting. His skin was soft and silky under Henrik’s fingers. Anthony screeched in anger, slamming his fist down, his legs kicking, sobbing in temper. He watched as the kid tried to contain himself, still too full of pride to give in. Henrik shook his head in exasperation, settling down to the task of tanning Anthony’s quivering cheeks.

“Oh!” Anthony could not help the cry that fell from his lips as Henrik’s hand plummeted down on his cheeks, creating an unbearable fire in his ass. He had never been so fucking humiliated in his entire life! He was a grown man, and the man his father had hired had him bent over the hood of the car where anyone could drive by, his panties tugged down to his knees, his pants strewn around his ankles, getting his naked ass spanked. He didn’t know if he had ever hated anyone more in his life! He grunted with each spank, groaning through the pain, biting his lip.

However, this facade only lasted so long, before his mask began to crumble. “Ah! Henrik !” he reprimanded, reaching a hand back to protect his poor bottom, but Henrik seized his wrist, holding it at his back. Anthony wailed in dismay at the loss of protection.

“Ya bring your other hand back,” Henrik growled down at the whimpering beauty, “I can always take off my belt and strap your bare cheeks instead.” Henrik was bluffing; he didn’t want to hurt the kid. He’d only strap him, and only on his bare bottom, if he put his life in danger.

Anthony shrieked at the threat. “You wouldn’t!”

Henrik didn’t answer, just continuing the punishment, smacking that rounded bottom as it reddened under his hand. Anthony cried at the slaps, twisting his hips, trying to escape.

Henrik wasn’t having any of it, raising an unamused brow. “Stick your butt up, brat,” he ordered, patting one of those cute freckled cheeks.

Anthony stilled at the touch, his ass on fire. “Go to hell!” he screamed, unable to fathom his embarrassment right now, angry tears in his eyes.

Henrik slapped that same freckled cheek, causing Anthony to cry out. “Do it now,” he commanded, his voice stern, more serious than Anthony normally ever heard him.

Anthony cursed him to hell and back in his head, swearing he’d kill him for humiliating him like this. He gritted his teeth, lifting his hips, sticking his ass up. “I hate you,” he snarled, sobbing as Henrik spanked his naked bottom repeatedly, tears running down his face. “I’ll fucking kill you for this,” he wept.

Henrik’s heart hurt at that; he didn’t want the kid to hate him. God knew, he hated making him cry. It tore his heart in two. But he didn’t know how else to get through to him. The only thing that ever worked with him was a sore bottom, and if a sore ass kept him safe, then Henrik would do it.

Anthony collapsed over the car, weeping in pain and mortification, as his buttocks were paddled hard by the arrogant, sexy son of a bitch. He bawled in pain, his head back, shouting his anguish to the sky. “I’m sorry!” he wailed, shifting his feet on the ground, thoroughly abashed. “Oww, it hurts!” he whined, shrieks escaping him as his ass grew even hotter. “Henrik!” he pleaded, his breath shaky. “Please, stop! Please! Henrik, I can’t take it!” he screamed, crying in pain. “I-I can’t do this! Please, please, I’m done, I’m done! Nooo!” he pleaded, as Henrik continued his spanking.

“Oh, it hurts, it hurts! Owww!” he wept, unable to do anything to protect his poor, flaming bottom, simply sobbing over the car as he was spanked by his father’s man.

Henrik decided to draw Anthony’s spanking to a close, now that Anthony’s pride had been dismantled. “You’re doing great, kid,” he encouraged him, as he slapped his crimson butt. “We’re almost done here.”

Anthony only howled louder. He was eighteen years old! He wasn’t a kid! “Don’t call me that!” he wept, speaking shakily through his tears. “I ain’t a kid!”

Henrik chuckled. Only Anthony would argue about being called a kid when he was getting his ass beat. He gazed down at the pretty backside before him, that had looked so sexy with black lace. “I’m seven years older than ya,” he reminded the beauty. “Sorry, baby. To me, that makes you a kid. Though I guess you’re not, huh?” he murmured, his voice husky, low and spoken under his breath.

Anthony didn’t have time to think about that comment, as his butt was still smacked, as he hollered, screaming his agony into the desert, sobbing his heart out.

When Henrik finally stopped, Anthony’s butt was a deep, dark red, his legs limp, as he wept into the car, crying in pain, clutching his cheeks in his hands tightly as he sobbed. He wanted to ensure that Anthony never thought about touching that shit again. “Want me to take off my belt, kid?” he asked him sternly.

Anthony cried harder, holding his burning cheeks tighter. “Nooo,” he protested, looking back at Henrik through teary diamond-and-sapphire eyes. Henrik had never seen such beautiful eyes in his life before.

“Remember that,” Henrik told him. “Remember I beat your ass every time you think about taking that stuff again.” He stepped forward, raising Anthony’s chin with his hand, as Anthony looked up at him, full lips parted, large eyes gazing at him. “If you do this again, I’ll strap your bare bottom,” he informed him.

Anthony broke down, howling from the pain in his backside, unable to stem the flow of his tears.

Henrik felt sorry for him; he knew that had to hurt, if the flaming inferno of his cheeks was anything to go by. Poor kid. He stepped up, stroking Anthony’s blonde hair, running his hand through the silken threads. “There we go,” he soothed. “You took your spanking like a champ, kid,” he encouraged him, smiling gently. He reached down, patting an ass cheek with his hand. “Come on, you, get up,” he told him.

Anthony used his hands to push himself up, still choking on his tears. Henrik checked his ass to assess the damage. It was swollen and a deep red. He hissed in sympathy. “Hurts, huh?” he said, placing a hand on his ass, feeling the heat on his hand. “Damn, that’s gotta hurt.”

Anthony’s face flamed. He slapped Henrik’s hand away, tears running down his sculpted ivory face. He angrily tugged up his panties, hiding his member from view. He bent, yanking his pants back up, hissing in pain. His face was red. “Fuck,” he whispered, feeling the sting in his ass under his hands as he clutched his cheeks. He put his hands over his face then, crying into them profusely. It was all too much, too much. He was embarrassed, he’d just gotten spanked by the guy he had a crush on, his mother and sister were dead, his ass hurt. He was so tired of it all.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Henrik begged him, attempting to pull him into his arms to offer him comfort. He lowered his voice, speaking gently. “It’s only a spanking.”

Anthony punched his arm hard, his face on fire. “You fucking dick!” he shouted, his eyes flashing, a hand rubbing his ass.

Henrik was unable to stop the laugh that rose out of his throat. “Pissed, huh?”

Anthony screamed in fury, stamping his foot. “Ya think ya can just pick on whoever ya want just cause ya’re bigger! I’d like to see how ya like it if someone beat your ass!” he yelled, his temper flaring.

Henrik snorted. “Oh, please, brat,” he drawled, running a hand through his thick black hair, his beautiful amber eyes twinkling. Anthony tried not to notice. “You act like no one’s ever beaten my ass before.”

Anthony stopped in his tirade, turning confused eyes on him. “What the fuck are ya talkin’ about?”

Henrik hummed, a smirk on his lips. “Fifteen. Three years younger than you are now. I grew up in the casino my Ma owned. She came from Russia to carve out a new life. We lost everything that year.” His eyes darkened. “I was desperate to do anything to help my mother. I thought I was real slick, that no one would notice if I stole from the biggest fuckin’ mob leader in Los Vegas by cheating at cards.” He chuckled. “Got caught, of course. The owner I stole from, Visconti, took me out back and bent me over a crate, took down my pants, and strapped me until my throat was hoarse from yelling and I saw I wasn’t as tough as I thought I was. Seems he was impressed with my skill at the table, though.” He smiled at Anthony. “That’s how this whole thing started, the reason I’m here today.”

He gave Anthony a knowing look. “Started out reckless and inexperienced, just like you. I didn’t exactly become so sought after overnight, brat,” he told Anthony. “Visconti saved my ass more times than I can count, and I learned discipline and self-restraint under his eye, even if my ass took most of the learning.” He gazed into Anthony’s eyes, putting a hand on his cheek, stroking his face tenderly as he lifted his face up, his amber eyes warm and glinting gold. “So don’t think I can’t take what I dish out, tesoro,” he murmured tenderly. “I ain’t ever going to give ya more than you can take, or take you past your limit. A sore ass ain’t worth nothin’ if it’s only going to be cruelty. I may paddle your rounded bottom…” He watched as Anthony blushed at his touch and words. His breath was quickening, his mismatched eyes darkened, at Henrik’s close proximity and gentle hand. Henrik knew his own strength; he had the ability to use a hard hand on Anthony when he needed to, he could have easily hurt him, but he never wanted to hurt him so long as he lived. He simply cradled his face tenderly, his touch gentle. He doubted he could be as gentle with anyone else, that he would even want to show that recently discovered side of himself to anyone else. Only to his Anthony. “But I ain’t ever going to hurt you, or raise a hand to you in anger.” He smirked. “So don’t make the mistake of thinking I don’t know how it feels.” He headed back to the car.

“Oh, by the way,” Henrik called back, turning around to face Anthony once again. “You should wear panties more often,” Henrik teased, giving him a wink, although he was entirely serious. “You look fuckin’ good in them, baby.”

Anthony stared at him, his lips parted, his eyes wide, unable to comprehend what he had just heard. His face flamed again, unable to form words.

“Let’s get a move on,” Henrik told him, continuing to tease him. “Your ass is a dark scarlet color; soon your face is gonna match your cheeks.”

He laughed as he closed the car door, as Anthony took off his shoe and threw it at Henrik.

***

An hour later, Henrik and Anthony arrived at their spot, a pathway that twisted and turned through the trees, the end of the trail invisible to their eyes.

Anthony hopped out of the car, heading to the back of the vehicle and grabbing something. “Don’t follow me,” he spat, almost sighing in relief as his sore ass got off of the seat. He was tempted to rub his backside, but feared Henrik would only smack his ass more. “I’ll be back later.”

Henrik raised a dark brow, his full lips turning down, confused. “Brat, you can’t just go out into the middle of nowhere-”

“Watch me,” he snarled, turning on his heel. “Fuck off, ya daddy fucker!” He flipped him off with both hands as he stomped off, the pain in his heart only making his temper worse. “Eat my ass!”

Henrik was strongly tempted to do so. He’d fucking enjoy fingering Anthony’s hole and using his tongue to pleasure the beauty, his hands on Anthony’s slim hips, his fingers clenching his reddened cheeks, giving an occasion slap to one of those cute freckled cheeks until the kid cried out in pleasure as he came, his legs giving out, as he twitched in the aftermath of his first orgasm. But more than that, he was losing his patience with Anthony’s temper tantrum. After a few minutes of attempting to calm down and failing, he gave up the battle, cursing sharply, as he got out of the vehicle, going after the little shit. His butt obviously couldn’t be in that much pain, if he thought he could get away with talking and behaving like that to Henrik. He wouldn't be cussed at by a fucking kid. He was going to fucking bare his fucking gorgeous, infuriating ass and turn it as red as the cherry blossoms growing on the trees around the pathway.

When he caught up with him, he stopped in his tirade, his heart breaking.

***

Anthony stormed through the forest until he came to the gravesites. The roses he held in his hand were yellow and white. Mama had always loved yellow roses the most; they signified love and friendship. White roses symbolized purity and innocence, everything Caterina and Elena Ragnetto had been in life.

He sank to his knees before the graves, his golden locket swinging around his neck at the quick movement, his blonde hair tousled from when Henrik had bent him over the car. “Mama,” he choked, tears coming to his eyes.

He normally sat here in silence, his arms wrapped around his legs, if he stared off into nature, angry with the world and bitter. This was not the case today.

A guttural wail of pure agony ripped from his guts, as his legs went out from under him. All of his emotions piled up: his grief, his desperate attempt to keep his walls up, the humiliating bare ass spanking he had just suffered at his father’s man’s hand, the emotional turmoil and pain Henrik had caused him, his confusion with himself and his feelings, everything. Mama was never coming back, there was nothing Anthony could ever do about that. He was trying so hard to retain his cold heart, but he felt his grip slipping with each passing day in Henrik’s presence, when Henrik gave him those smiles, his gentle hands placing themselves on Anthony’s hips, drawing him against his body as he instructed him, his warm, soothing voice, those hands that could be so hard and hurt so much but were always gentle with Anthony besides that. Unlike Pops, Henrik had never struck him in anger, and though he generally left him with a sore ass that felt swollen to twice its size, he never left bruises. Any time Anthony checked his ass out in the mirror, it was a deep red, but no purple or yellow bruising was beginning to form. Henrik was careful in that respect. Anthony didn’t understand why his foolish heart melted at his care. He wanted to punish him, but he didn’t want to hurt him.

But Henrik had hurt him deeply. Anthony could not trust that this one was real. He had become cruel and emotionless in Anthony’s presence, frightening Anthony. It had caused Anthony’s heart to feel like it was broken in two, which literally made no sense. He hated Henrik!

…Didn’t he?

He felt his knees hit the soil, as he collapsed in a heap on the ground, his head down, sobbing his heart out. “Mama,” he wept between his cries, as he screamed out his pain and anger, oblivious to the world around him.

Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around him, holding him tight and secure, as he howled out his grief, a lock of black hair falling over Anthony’s eye, a deep voice speaking in a language Anthony could not understand. “тише сейчас, малыш,” he murmured into Anthony’s hair. “понял тебя.” He suddenly began to speak in fluent Italian, as he suddenly picked Anthony up off his feet as if he didn’t weigh a thing, and placed him on his lap, his arms warm and enveloping. Anthony let Henrik hold him, as he continued to cry. “Ti ho reso, bellissimo,” he cooed. “Non sei solo, tesoro.”

Henrik’s heart had been torn to pieces as he saw the man of his dreams break down before him, and had rushed to his side, his footsteps pounding in his ears, until he reached him. He had not hesitated to take him into his arms, holding him in his lap. It broke him to hear Anthony cry like that. “Don’t cry,” he begged, running a hand through Anthony’s tousled blonde hair, stroking the silken threads. “Please, please , don’t cry.”

Anthony felt numb, not pushing Henrik away, letting him hold him on his lap, not wrapping his arms around him, but accepting his kindness. They stayed that way, as Henrik held Anthony in his arms, as the wind whistled through the trees and rose and cherry blossom petals swirled to the ground.

Henrik’s eyes roved to the graves, having realized where they were and why Anthony had been so adamant about going here when he had caught up with him, his arms tightening around the trembling teenager. 

After several minutes as he sat in the dirt, he felt Anthony suddenly rip himself free, his eyes remote of emotion, hating himself for always wavering and allowing himself to be weak with Henrik, always only with Henrik. He regarded Henrik coolly before he turned and left without a word.

***

It was dark by the time they got back, pulling up first at Anthony’s apartment. Henrik followed him inside, just to make sure that he was alright.

Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him, watching as Anthony sauntered to the kitchen, having changed into pajamas in the time it took Henrik to get up to his apartment. A sleeve slipped down, showing Anthony’s flawless, creamy pale white skin sprinkled with lovely golden freckles, and he wore long pants that covered his long, slender legs. Anthony reached into the liquor cabinet and took out a bottle. He ripped off the cap and lifted the bottle to his lips, gulping down the substance heavily.

“Are you okay?” Henrik asked softly, knowing that he was not, but he wanted to go about this gently, in order not to scare him off.

Anthony’s heterochromatic eyes narrowed. He opened his hand, letting the bottle crash to the ground at his boots, shattering glass scattering across the floor. The kid didn’t even flinch. “Fine,” he snarled, his gaze a flashing warning. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he challenged Henrik, daring him to say more.

Henrik knew what he was doing, but he pushed forward anyway, wanting to do something, anything , to help heal Anthony’s broken heart. “Don’t give me that act,” Henrik argued, as he scoffed, taking off his coat and setting it aside on the couch.

Anthony flared up. “It’s not an act!” he protested, unrestrained rage on his pretty face. 

 “You try and pretend you don’t give a shit what I think, but we both know that’s not true,” he pointed out, as Anthony flushed, hearing the truth in his words. “You think you’re all tough and scary.  Well, let me tell you something.” He stepped closer, closing in on Anthony, until Anthony’s hips hit the top of the counter, his hands clenching the rim behind him, as his breathing quickened, his large eyes wide. “You’re not fucking intimidating in the slightest. Not to me,” he finished, raising a brow, unimpressed. 

Using his close proximity to his advantage, he brought his hand up, laying it gently on Anthony’s cheek. Anthony’s eyes widened even further at his soft touch. Henrik cupped his cheek, before softly gliding his hand down, resting on his neck, his hand closing around it. Anthony’s breath was rapid, as he could feel his very life pulse against his palm. But it was not fright that caused him to lose control, Henrik knew; he was fucking horny . Henrik had been with enough lovers to know the difference. He’d bet anything that his cock was hard by now. He let his hand travel down, his fingers brushing against his chest, where his shirt left bare skin, going down his flat stomach. Anthony gasped at his touch, as he inched closer. Henrik stopped just short of his dick, not even a looming threat, but teasing Anthony nonetheless, his hand resting on his abdomen.

“Henrik…” Anthony pleaded. Even to his own ears, Anthony didn’t know if he was begging him to stop or to never stop.

Henrik smirked at him, his full lips twitching in mirth. He hooked his fingers into Anthony’s belt, and used his grip on it to tug Anthony to him, bringing him up against his body. Anthony yelped at the quick movement, his hands landing on Henrik’s strong chest, his gorgeous mismatched eyes gazing up at him, his long, thick black lashes veiled. He bent his head, to whisper into Anthony’s ear. “Don’t pretend with me, tesoro,” he spoke huskily into his ear, as Anthony shivered, his hands gripping Henrik’s biceps tightly in his hands. “I can see right through your act.” He released him, as Anthony stumbled back, his breathing quick.

Anthony glared at him furiously. Fucking smug bastard knew exactly what he was doing. Was he a fucking joke to him? Anthony’s eyes stung with tears. He fucking knew, didn’t he? He knew Anthony had a crush on him, despite the fact that it was forbidden to ever feel that way for another man, and he was fucking enjoying it. He enjoyed ridiculing him for his feelings, leading him on, then pulling back. Didn’t he think Anthony was embarrassed enough, getting spanked on the bare by him, without cruelly playing with him? He was filled with hurt at the very idea. This quickly turned to rage. Who the shit did he think he was? He had NO idea what Anthony had been through, what he had done to prove himself to his father, the pain and suffering he had undergone. Anthony couldn’t see straight, his heartbeats and breaths pounding in his ears. His uncontrollable rage was bubbling to the surface. He wanted to hurt him for this, for his cruelty, and soon he couldn’t control anything that came out of his mouth, as he spoke without thinking as he struck.

“Fucking half-breed,” he snarled coldly, his eyes flaring to life like diamonds and sapphires.

The minute the words left his mouth, Anthony was horrified and ashamed of himself. What the fuck is wrong with me? he thought in shock, unable to believe what he had just said. It was wrong , so wrong, to say something so unforgivable, no matter the provocation. He had never been so ashamed of himself in his life. He opened his mouth to apologize profusely with all his heart, but Henrik struck first.

Henrik was rigid in his anger, never having expected to hear such foul words coming from Anthony’s lips. He was furious with him, not so much for himself, but for the age-old rage at the insult to his mother, and determined that the beautiful man he was infatuated with would never say something so vile like that again.

He grabbed Anthony by the scruff of the neck, much like you would a kitten, as Anthony cried out at the rough hold. He didn’t hurt him. When did he ever? But Anthony was still shocked nonetheless. Henrik used his hold on the squirming brat to march him to Anthony’s bathroom, slamming the door shut behind them with so much force the door rattled.

He swung him around, to face his flaming amber eyes, his hands now grabbing him by the upper arms. He brought him up, shaking him fiercely. Anthony gasped at the hold Henrik had on him, looking up into his beautiful eyes. “You don’t ever use that kind of language, do you hear me?” Henrik thundered, shaking him harshly again. Anthony closed his eyes, biting his lower lip to hide his shame. “I don’t ever want to hear you say those words again, or I’ll fucking beat your ass until you don’t want to sit down!” he threatened. “Do you understand me?!”

Anthony nodded, his eyes filled with tears, frightened. He hated himself for making Henrik so angry, for what he had done. He’d said something unforgivable. He thought of his own rage and pain when Henrik made a passing comment about his own mother, and he had gone and done the very same thing. He began to sob, trembling, feeling terrible for what he had done. He was fucking awful, and scared, and he couldn’t make it right. “I’m sorry!” he cried.

“Not as sorry as you’re gonna be,” Henrik promised. His hand gripped the scruff of his neck again, as he bent Anthony over until he was dangling by Henrik’s side. Henrik wrapped an arm around his waist. He grabbed the waistband of Anthony’s pants, tugging his pants down until they fell at his ankles, baring his soft white bottom to view. Or rather, it would have been white, if not for the spanking earlier that day. The redness had faded, until it was a bright pink.

Henrik took his hand to Anthony’s bottom, as he cried out, tears running down his face. “Oh, Henrik, don’t, please!” he begged, yelping as Henrik’s hand smacked down on his cheek, weeping from the sharp contact, feeling his hand connect with his bare skin. “Ah! I’m so sorry!” he begged.

Henrik didn’t want to hurt him, so he only smacked his cheeks ten times, then jerked him up again. He drew him to the sink, keeping a grip on him as he held him by the back of his neck. He wasn’t holding him tightly, more of resting his hand there as he kept him in place. He wasn’t going to hurt him, ever. He grabbed the soap that lay on a pretty blue-and-white platter on the sink. “Open your mouth, Anthony,” he commanded. Anthony looked up at him warily, big brown and blue eyes filled with shock and horror.

“No!” he begged, trying to escape, twisting and squirming. “Please, don’t!”

“Anthony!” Henrik snapped, raising his voice.

“You can’t!” Anthony cried, trying to find a way out of this. “Henrik, you can’t!” he tried to reason with the older man. “No, I’m not a kid! I won’t let you do this!”

He struggled hard. Henrik let him tire himself out, keeping him pinned by the waist, his hips resting against the rim, until he stopped fighting him, his efforts ceasing.

“No, no!” Anthony protested, attempting one last time to twist himself free of Henrik’s grasp, his pants still tangled around his ankles.

Henrik slapped one of those wriggling cheeks, causing Anthony to yelp. “Anthony, stop it,” he ordered. “Do it now.”

Anthony grunted, breathing hard from his exertions, before hesitantly opening his mouth, his beautiful eyes pleading with Henrik for mercy. He parted his lips. Henrik steeled himself, resolving to see this through, fighting against his every urge to take him into his arms and tell him he was forgiven.

Anthony almost recoiled as the soap entered his mouth, the taste revolting. When Henrik scrubbed, Anthony almost sobbed at the feeling, thoroughly miserable. Henrik held the soap in his mouth for a time.

“Don’t ever say something like that again,” Henrik warned him, but his voice was softer now. He landed two smacks, one on each cheek, across his ass, before resting his hand on one buttock, stroking his thumb soothingly across the reddened skin. He took Anthony’s hand, holding it in his own. “We’re done now, baby.”

He took the nasty soap from Anthony’s mouth. Anthony spat out the vile taste, sobbing heavily. He had never been so desolate. Henrik quickly filled a glass, giving it to him, as Anthony gulped it down, until the taste left his mouth. He lay his head back down, still crying. Henrik placed a hand in his thick blonde hair, stroking his locks as he wept. “I’m sorry,” Anthony sobbed, unable to stop apologizing. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was so awful!” he wailed. “I never meant to say that! I’m so sorry, Henrik!” Anthony was unable to forgive himself, he was miserable, he was frightened as Henrik showed his temper and rage. He trembled from his own inability to forgive himself for what he had done and in fear.

“Hey, it’s okay, baby, you’re forgiven,” Henrik soothed, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Hey.” He turned him over softly. Large heterochromatic eyes looked up at him, filled with tears. “Come here, baby.” He lifted him up, and pulled him into his arms, wrapping his arms around him as he trembled. “I didn’t mean to scare you, kid. I’m sorry I did.” He kissed the top of his head. Anthony’s fists curled into his shirt, holding him tightly as he sobbed into the material.

Henrik slipped an arm under his knees, lifting him into his arms. He took him out of the bathroom, taking a seat on the couch, holding him as he cried. “Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay. You’re alright. You did good. Everything’s alright now.” He brushed Anthony’s soft hair back from his face. “I’ll never hurt you, I promise.”

Anthony believed him, in the physical regard, but he knew that he could not trust Henrik Tychon in the emotional sense. He couldn’t trust anyone. It hurt too much.

When Anthony had calmed down, he shoved Henrik away from him, angrily wiping his tears away. “Get out,” he demanded through his tears, his hands over his face as he cried, too embarrassed to look at Henrik. “Just stay away from me!” He stormed off to his room, slamming the door behind him, leaning his back against it. He knew in his heart that Henrik wouldn’t ever hurt him, but Anthony was damned if he was going to lose his heart to someone who didn’t even feel the same way.

Henrik was sure he had lost him forever, until his eyes met with the vase.

It was the rose he had given Anthony, blooming and healthy, shining with its beauty like new hope burgeoning in a chest.

I'm never giving up on him.

Chapter Text

“You can get up now,” Visconti told him.

Henrik grunted through the fiery agony in his ass, gritting his teeth, breathing hard. His teeth were clenched so hard his jaw ached from the effort of it. Tears shone in his eyes, trails of the liquid running down his face.

He pretended not to care. “Whatever,” he told Visconti sullenly, defiantly . He reached down for the pants puddled around his ankles, his face flaming, angry and embarrassed. He was fucking fifteen. He was too old to get his ass whipped! Henrik swore to himself then and there he’d never put someone else through this pain and humiliation, not if he could help it.

It hadn’t even warranted getting his ass beat, anyway! Visconti overreacted about everything . As far as Henrik was concerned, those pieces of shit had been asking for it. Visconti sent him to infiltrate himself into casinos where intel had gathered rival mobsters frequented, to do what he was good at and gather what information he could.

Henrik knew what he was doing. He was good at cards. Too good. So Henrik let his cockiness loose, injuring the men’s pride while his streak was fast. He figured he might as well strike while the iron was hot.

Visconti evidently did not agree. He insisted he could have been killed for antagonizing them. That was how he ended up in this particular situation. But although Henrik wouldn’t be doing it again, he was angry and upset. It was fucking embarrassing to get your backside whipped when you were three years from eighteen.

Visconti raised a brow at the flippant remark, drawing in a large inhale from his cigar, breathing the smoke out into the cool air. “You want more, kid?” he remarked calmly, as if he were remarking on the weather.

Henrik scowled at him, as he yanked his pants back up quickly and resentfully. He cursed under his breath as the material scraped against his sore ass. Fuck, that hurt.

“I don’t care!” he yelled angrily, turning his back to hide his tears, scraping his tears away with his hand. There were humiliated tears in his amber eyes. He was too proud, too embarrassed, to let himself show any sign of weakness.

Visconti pointed a large finger at him, his brown eyes assessing him from head to toe. “First role of combat, kid,” he censured the sullen teen. “ Never invite yourself open for attack.” He caught Henrik’s eye, and snorted derisively. “Don’t give me that look, kid. You earned that one, and you know I’m right.” His eyes softened slightly. “It ain’t that bad. Sure, it hurts right now, but it gets the lesson across and the sting fades. Just don’t do it again and you and I ain’t gonna have a problem.”

Henrik hated that he was right. More importantly, he wished that he could hate Visconti, but he didn’t. Much as he was loath to admit it, he rather liked Visconti and his wife Tiziana, a tiny woman with a large personality who fussed over Henrik the day Visconti brought him home. As she could not have children of her own, she had taken to Henrik instantly.

Visconti turned, rising from his seat. “Well, if we’re done here, I had best send for Ragnetto’s man with the gifts.”

“Ragnetto?” Henrik questioned, puzzled. “What gifts?” He followed after the man he worked for, as Visconti went to his office, sitting down on the chair behind his great desk.

Visconti grunted in affirmation, drawing in another long puff from his cigar. “Mm. Just so. His wife has had two children. A boy and girl. By all accounts from my scouts, the whelps take after the mistress of the house, but with the old bastard’s mother’s face. Strong woman, Bridgetta. Much more impressive than that son of hers, I’ll have you know. Figured I should send a gift to the ‘happy’ father.” Visconti snorted. “The day I see Henroin Ragnetto happy is the day I give up my cigars.”

Henrik had no interest in babies. They were tiny, squalling things, and held no interest or importance to the fifteen-year-old boy. “When were they born?” he questioned nonchalantly, not really too interested in where Visconti was going with this.

“Eight years ago. I meant to send something then, but I forgot.” Visconti looked abashed. “Figured I should do that.”

Henrik rolled his eyes. Visconti had a habit of forgetting things, and for a long period of time. It wasn’t that he had dementia, he was just incredibly scatter-brained.

“Ragnetto? As in, the New York Italian mafioso?”

“One and the same,” Visconti smirked. “Cold fish, that man. Despite that oh-so-fearsome reputation of his, his mother’s a strong woman, stronger than I give him credit for. His wife’s lovely, exquisitely so. Don’t know how he talked such a beauty into spending the rest of her life with the likes of him .” He snorted. “Now there’s a good woman. I was there, when they married. Gentle, a gentle heart, kind eyes, a sweet smile. You could see in her eyes she loved the bastard.” A look, something that closely resembled pity, entered his eyes. “Too trusting by far. I’ve known Ragnetto for much too long, much to my displeasure. I know exactly why she said yes. It’s all part of his politics. That game. He saw her. He wanted her. He had to have her. She’s his possession.” Visconti grunted disdainfully. “My guess is he showed her the face she wanted to see, and it was only too late after the vows. A pretty ornament on his arm was what he wanted, something to look good, and he’ll have used whatever tricks he had up his sleeve to make that happen.”

Henrik woke up in a cold sweat, breathing hard, his eyes darting around.

Anthony .

He hadn’t remembered that for so long. His mind went back to the day he was told of Anthony’s birth. He would have been seven at the time. It felt oddly strange that the snot-nosed kid his old boss was telling him about grew to be the teenager who suffered spankings at Henrik’s hand. It chilled him to his bones as he remembered Visconti’s description of Ragnetto. What he must have done to ensnare Anthony’s mother. Henrik’s heart ached for the poor, dead woman. Anthony had gotten that trusting nature from her. He failed to see people for who they truly were, trusting blindly, believing the good in everyone around him. He was the most trusting of the Ragnettos.

He ran a hand through his tousled dark hair, his breath heavy. He has to chuckle at the memory of the ass whipping. He’d been so mortally offended, his pride injured. At fifteen, he thought he could handle anything life threw at him, and hated having that dismantled.

Anthony was still reeling after having his ass bared on the side of the road and getting a spanking after Henrik took down his pants and tugged down his panties. The kid was trying his best not to speak to him, only giving him clipped remarks and turning his nose up at him, to Henrik’s amusement.

“Anthony, it’s getting late,” Henrik had tried only last night. “You can’t go to bed on an empty stomach. Let’s go grab dinner, hm?”

Anthony hadn’t even graced him with a look. “Nonna,” he said loudly, carrying his voice so Henrik was sure to hear, “tell questo bastardo Tychon that I am not hungry, and he can bloody well choke on his panella if he likes it so much!”

Henrik snorted at his temper. He watched with satisfaction as Anthony nearly stumbled as Henrik winked at him. “Oh, I’d let you cook for me, baby,” he purred huskily, as Anthony’s face reddened at the name. It just wasn’t done to flirt with a guy! Well, Henrik continued anyway, teasing the blushing beauty. “Ooh, ya could wear those lacy black panties. Give me a little peek under the apron-”

“Fucking shut up!” Anthony screamed, his face on fire.

It didn’t help matters that Nonna cackled. “This is why I like you,” she informed Henrik.

“Nonna!” Anthony censured. Fuck’s sake, his grandmother wasn’t even on his side!

“Hmm, on second thought, wear one with ties on the sides,” Henrik thought aloud, as Anthony’s mouth dropped, gaping at him. “Makes it easier to-”

Anthony lunged at him, throwing his fist, but Henrik grabbed his wrist, and flipped him around, so his back was to him, wrapping his arms tightly around the struggling teenager.

Anthony was breathing hard from his exertions, his heart pounding in his chest as Henrik held him against his chest. “Let me go,” he demanded sharply. His heart leapt into his throat as Henrik’s low, warm chuckle reached his ears.

“No,” Henrik declined, smiling.

“I swear ta fuck, Henrik-”

His arms released Anthony, but he didn’t let go. Anthony was breathing heavily as he took note of the fact that Henrik’s one hand could easily hold both wrists. Henrik captured both wrists in his hand, backing him into the wall. He pinned his wrists above Anthony’s head against the wall, grinning at him.

Anthony’s cock hardened, and he felt frustrated and angry with himself. His pulse was tingling with desire at Henrik’s manhandling. Henrik leaned until his mouth was at Anthony’s ear, his hand cupping his cheek. “You like this?” he murmured, but Anthony could see that it was a question, not a smug remark, as he suddenly grasped Anthony’s thigh. Anthony gasped lowly. Henrik lifted Anthony’s leg, hooking it around his waist. Anthony looked up into Henrik’s eyes, his breath shaky and uncontrolled.

Henrik’s hand moved to cup the nape of his neck, leaning in to whisper again. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, the look in his eyes clear he would if Anthony asked him to. Anthony’s eyes regarded his, but at the close proximity and Henrik’s breath at his ear, he suddenly couldn’t control his actions. “Or do you want me to touch you?”

“Ah.” Henrik drew a moan out of Anthony, as his head fell back to rest against the wall, his lashes fluttering. Anthony flushed. Fuck, he never meant to! Anthony looked at him with panicked mismatched eyes.

“Yeah, you’re not doing this in my kitchen,” Nonna informed them, startling them both. In their desire and passion, they had forgotten that she was still here.

Henrik let Anthony’s leg fall from around his waist. He still had his hands drawn over his head, as Anthony looked at him with wide eyes darkened with lust. Anthony’s dick was throbbing with need, craving attention, much to his shame. He’d never felt like this before. He didn’t know how to temper the raging fury swirling inside, the fury that was ready to scream at Henrik to touch him.

To his disappointment, Henrik let go of his hold on his wrists, letting him go.

However, Nonna wasn’t done. “If you cannot wait and have to do it now, bello bastardo,” she informed Henrik, her black eyes twinkling, “lift tesoro up by his thigh and place him on the counter, out of the vicinity of my cooking area.”

“Nonna!” Anthony hissed, mortified. “What the fuck?!”

She shrugged her slight shoulders. “Don’t take that tone with me, Antonio. I was only suggesting.” Her grin was wicked.

They did not take her up on it.

Things had gone too far that day, they both knew. They had let things go too far. It was one thing to leave their feelings unsaid but having the tension in the air, another matter entirely to nearly cross that line. Henrik brought it up the next day.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he apologized, running his hand nervously through his dark hair. “I shouldn’t have taken things so far. It wasn’t right to do that now.”

Despite his conflicting feelings, Anthony’s heart had cracked at his words, feeling, admittedly, stung by Henrik’s rejection. So Anthony had been right all along. This was simply a game to Henrik, to tease Anthony to pass the time. He was using Anthony’s unnatural attraction to Henrik to hurt him further. Even if…even if that were not the case, in an unimaginable scenario, the fact that Henrik seemed to be making clear to Anthony was that this was never going to happen again. Was Anthony repulsive to him? Was it because Henrik realized he liked guys?

Anthony hardened himself, positively glacial. Fine. That was the way it was, then. He wouldn’t give Henrik the satisfaction of seeing his hurt. If Henrik thought he was going to see Anthony’s disappointment that this incident would never be repeated, then he was sadly mistaken.

“What are you talking about?” he coldly questioned, his mismatched eyes searing into Henrik’s, his blue eye like ice.

Henrik startled, stepping back a foot. He knew what Anthony was doing: putting everything out of his mind, daring Henrik to say anything more. “Anthony-”

“There’s nothin’ to apologize for,” Anthony snapped. “Because nothin’ happened. There’s nothin’ to talk about. Nothin’s gonna happen again? Fine!” He walked off.

Things were strained for so long, Henrik thought, buttoning up his shirt as he dressed. He wasn’t getting anywhere with Anthony, and he was beginning to doubt what he was even doing here.

His doubts were tested even more; this morning he had received a letter from Visconti. He was very sick. Visconti had been failing for some years now, slowly dying from effects of a stroke. He wanted Henrik to come back to Las Vegas, to see him. Visconti…Visconti had even asked him to stay permanently, to stay with him until the end and look after Tiziana when he was gone. Visconti’s connections would enable him to…

Henrik’s eyes shut as he thought of Visconti’s other offer. Visconti never had kids. As Henrik had grown from an unruly, defiant teenager into a man, he had become the son that Visconti and Tiziana never had. Visconti was suggesting that he become his heir. If he chose to stay, he would become one of the most powerful mobsters in the country, he knew. He’d be set for life, no longer having to scrape for a living and going at the whim of others.

Anthony. His name repeated in Henrik’s head like a mantra, as he weighed his options. Anthony. Anthony. Anthony. If he took Visconti up on his offer, he’d have to leave Anthony. He’d probably never see him again. The mere thought caused his heart to hurt so badly he almost clutched his chest from the pain.

But he did not know what reason he could possibly have to stay. Anthony hated him. He pushed him away every time. Unless Henrik was comforting him, Anthony never wanted to be touched otherwise. He flinched away from any hand Henrik might have held out, his beautiful heterochromatic eyes filled with distrust. He made no move to trust anyone. Henrik didn’t know what to do, and if the kid’s hatred was set in stone, he didn’t see how he could change that. He didn’t want to make Anthony unhappy with his presence.

So…maybe it was for the best if he did go?

He thought back to Ragnetto, his fist clenched. His heart jumped into his throat. If he was no longer there to protect Anthony, would Ragnetto continue the beatings? Would that lovely white back be scarred from being beaten? Would Ragnetto’s large, unforgiving fist shatter one of those delicate, high sculptured cheekbones? What if he killed him?

Henrik was unable to bear the thought of that. He let out a sound of pure rage, throwing his fist, crashing it into the mirror. As the glass shattered, his knuckles were bloody from the shards, but he hardly felt the pain.

He had to see Visconti. He couldn’t just stay here. He had to see him before he was gone. Visconti had been the father he had never had growing up.

He knew Nonna would do whatever she must to protect Anthony until Henrik came back.

If he came back…

***

Something was wrong. Anthony could feel it.

Nico came back even more brusque and detached than normal. When Anthony questioned him, he seized Anthony by his upper arm, his grip bruising his pale skin. He jerked him up, both hands on his arms, lifting him until his toes were on the floor. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he snarled. “Just leave me alone!” He dropped Anthony, thundering past.

The men had furtive looks in their eyes, and the murmuring he heard was alarming.

“What if someone seeks retribution?” he overheard Alessandro murmur.

“I’ve never questioned what Ragnetto’s told me to do, but even this I hesitated at. Even the children. The little children!” Ed Fletcher said in an angry tone. He was a cold, hard man who never faltered at the heartless tasks he was commanded to do, but he was a father himself: he had three girls and an infant son.

“They never saw it comin’,” laughed James Harrison, flicking ash from the tray at the others. “Shoulda seen the look on the bitch’s face when I got her!”

Anthony’s mind went back to the day Pops told him to secure an alliance with Russo, to oppose a rivalling Italian family, the mob family he had sent Nico to battle with.

He decided to go directly to the source.

“Pa,” he ventured tentatively, standing before his old man, who was in his usual place, behind his office desk. He regarded his youngest coolly with those terrifying cold silver-gray eyes.

“What is it?” he asked lowly, drumming his fingers on the table. The sound caused Anthony’s spine to tingle with fear, but he pushed on.

“I’ve been hearin’ some stuff,” he began, wringing his wrists nervously. “I don’t understand. I heard the men talkin’ ‘bout some hit.”

Anthony flinched as his father chuckled darkly. “Oh, that,” he quietly confirmed, looking at Anthony. His voice darkened. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy.”

Anthony flinched again, slowly raising his mismatched eyes to meet his father’s. He watched as that silver gaze rested on his sapphire-hued eye, the same shade as Caterina’s.

“Let’s just say the Romanos will no longer be a problem,” he informed Anthony. “Nico’s line will be secure, and I have been made the wealthier for it.” He gazed quietly at his child for a few long minutes, until Anthony was ready to scream with terror. “There are some nice lands and properties I intend to gift Molly's fiance at their wedding. Should be quite the surprise. This way, she stays in my control and my girl is never out of sight.”

Anthony felt a chill go through him, one such as he had never felt before. “Pa.” His voice was strangled, dreading the answer he would get. “What did you do?” he demanded in a choked voice, barely able to get the words out.

“Do I gotta spell it out for ya?” Henroin Ragnetto rejoined, a cold smile coming to his lips. “The Romanos got a hit of their own. I sent my most trusted men and your brother to their home, to see if Nico can handle this. It was his job to carry out the orders. They’re dead.” He leaned back in his chair. “They carried out my instructions down to the last bit. I had them tie up Enzo Romano and his little wife Margherita. So he knows his place, learns what happens to those who think they are above the Ragnettos, I ensured my men made him watch while the men raped her.” He laughed. “I’m told he pleaded and screamed, begging for mercy, offering himself to take her place.” His eyes were full of disdain and disgust. “Pathetic. Only a fool would trade his own life for a woman’s. The next orders were to slit her throat. They were not to finish off Romano until she had bled out. Blew his brains out next, execution-style, on his knees.” He regarded his son. “Couldn’t have any little bastards around to threaten Nico’s future, to carry on the Romano line. The children were next. The second boy, eight or nine. The girls. Four, three, and two years old. Then the baby son, about two, three weeks old. Doesn’t matter. Never did catch the heir, though. He’s wily in that respect. We’ll have to catch him, of course, before he aims for us.” His eyes narrowed on Anthony. “I have no regrets. What’s done is done. Don’t ever question my decisions.”

Anthony had left Pops, shaking. He tasted bile in the back of his throat. No matter how long he had been at this, all this came to naught. It was different. Killing someone who was bad, who had done terrible things, that was something Pops had trained him never to hesitate at. But Pops had massacred an entire family. The wife’s last moments were one of terror, torture, and pain. Enzo Romano had been a ruthless mafioso, but evidently a man who loved his family, and he had been helpless, forced to watch his family’s destruction.

The children…

Anthony went to his childhood room. He covered his mouth with his hand to muffle his cries. He didn’t want to imagine the end of the little ones. They were slaughtered. He couldn’t bear to imagine their terror, how they must have screamed for their parents. They were children .

He crumpled, no longer making any attempt to silence his wails, as he cried for the poor family cruelly butchered by his own father .

Nico had been there. He had been forced by Henroin to carry out his orders. It was his job to give the commands. Nico had ordered the murder of the children.

Had he turned his head away, too ashamed to watch as the wife was held down? Had he left the room, unable to watch as the children were massacred? Or had he gone through it with a stone cold face?

His breaths were staggering. I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe . He clawed at his throat with his hands, leaving red marks.

“Anthony?” The door rattled. “Is that you?”

Anthony’s only reply was a loud, agonizing sob.

The door was locked. He could hear Henrik rattling the doorknob, until he busted it open.

Anthony felt his hands on Anthony’s arms, raising him up slightly, as Henrik dropped to his knees on the floor, wrapping him up in his arms. Anthony pushed away any feelings of resentment and shame, simply clinging to him, a fist curled into Henrik’s white shirt, holding onto him like an anchor. His cries rose in volume.

“Hey, what happened?” Henrik whispered softly, rubbing his back. He tilted Anthony’s face up, to regard the lovely eyes glossy with tears, his thumb vainly trying to brush the tears away from his cheek. “Why are you crying? C’mon, baby, talk to me,” he begged.

Anthony shook his head, burying his face in Henrik’s shirt, crying. After a few gasping breaths, he managed through shaky gasps, “He killed them. He…he fucking slaughtered ‘em. They were just kids. None’a them shoulda suffered that!”

Henrik had no idea who he was talking about. He just ran a hand through Anthony’s tumbled blonde locks, shushing him softly. “Shh. It’s okay, it’s okay. They’re no longer in pain. It’s over.”

They stayed that way for a while, long after Anthony’s sobs had died down and he was calm again. He held onto Henrik, as Henrik held him in his arms, just staying there, not talking, but welcoming the silence, staying in the other’s embrace.

When Anthony was calm enough to tell him everything, Henrik clutched him in his arms, beyond even black rage at this point. Even the little children had not been spared. What worried Henrik was the fact that the eldest Romano was still out there. He would, undoubtedly, want revenge. The Romanos had had a reputation. While Enzo had been cold and ruthless, he was thought to be a good man outside of his work. His wife had been a good woman, by all reports. But their son was another matter. Everyone had heard about his ruthless streak. He took pleasure in torturing others. It made no matter to the boy whether you were man or woman. None were safe from him. He would come for the Ragnettos. For revenge. At the danger to Anthony, Henrik felt sick. His hands instinctively tightened around Anthony. He wouldn’t let anything happen to him. He’d rip Romano apart with his bare hands before he allowed him to touch Anthony.

Henrik had been at this for years. He knew how these mobsters’ minds worked. Henroin’s specific instructions had been to make Romano suffer. That was what the younger Romano would set out to do.

Henrik weighed out what dangers were likely. Romano could kill Ragnetto’s heir, Nico, his hope for his line. Henrik shut his eyes at the thought that he might go for Bridgetta, who he assumed was a frail, weak old woman. Henrik had never met anyone less in need of rescue than Bridgetta. If he were gambling, he’d put his money on Bridgetta. But he wouldn’t take any chances. He couldn’t bear it if she was targeted.

Then the twins. Romano could easily go for either of them, regardless of how Ragnetto treated them. They were still what he considered his property , and Ragnetto would rage at what he considered his possessions taken from him.

Henrik resolved he was going to have extra security applied to the house, extra guards placed at the doors, an escort to protect the two, along with Bridgetta.

He decided he had to break the news to Anthony. “Anthony, I have to go.”

Anthony’s head lifted, his body stiff in Henrik’s arms, jerking himself out of Henrik’s embrace, as they got to their feet. He looked up to meet Henrik’s face. “What are ya talkin’ about?” he asked, alarmed. What? What did he mean? He couldn’t truly mean that…

“I promise, I’m going to do whatever I can to protect you, your sister, and your grandmother,” he promised firmly. “But I have to leave. My old boss is ill. He’s dying, Anthony.” His amber eyes were pained. “I have to see him before he dies. I leave in six days.”

Anthony was quiet. He didn’t speak for several minutes, but when he did, he raised those gorgeous mismatched eyes, like a pair of sapphires and diamonds. His voice was quiet and fearful. “When will you be back?”

Henrik hesitated, but was honest with him. “I don’t know,” he told him, his eyes cold.

Anthony’s eyes widened, and tears filled the irises, the water clinging to his long dark lashes. Henrik was leaving him? No. He didn’t want Henrik to go! It wasn’t because of the danger. Anthony didn’t give a flying fuck about his safety.

Henrik made him happy . Sure, getting spanked on the bare was humiliating, but even with the spankings, he…he cared for Henrik. He had known from day one that he had a crush on the man, and though he knew he could never afford to let his walls down, he couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again, never seeing those smiles aimed his way. He liked spending time with him, he liked when Henrik complimented his cooking, despite how Anthony rolled his eyes as he scoffed, muttering a “whatever.” He liked that Henrik took care of him, he realized. Not getting his ass beat, of course, but…it was different to know someone cared about what he felt.

But that was stupid. Henrik had somehow crawled into Anthony’s heart. He had Nonna’s approval. If Henrik didn’t want to go, then he wouldn’t. He would come back! But Henrik was leaving him. Anthony hated himself then. He had broken his promise to himself. Henrik didn’t care about Anthony. He only cared about the money. He’d said so himself. He was leaving Anthony, and Anthony had been a fucking idiot to let himself grow attached.

“Then go,” he spat, tears in his eyes. “Go! Why are ya tellin’ me this for, anyway? You think I care whether you stay or go?!” His eyes were flashing. “Well, I don’t! If ya wanna go so much, I ain’t stoppin’ ya!”

Henrik flinched at his cruelty. He wanted to tell him he wanted to stay, he never wanted to leave Anthony’s side, that he wanted to be in Anthony’s life, be a part of Anthony’s life, if he let him. But the words were stuck in his throat.

He forced himself to turn his back on him and leave.

***

Henrik did as he promised. He had extra security added to the house, multiplying the guard around the vicinity. He hired an escort for each of the three of them.

Nonna complained, of course. “You think I need protection?” she had snorted. “You are a sciocco malato d’amore. If these oafs,” she gestured with her spatula to the two guards behind her, “get in the way in my kitchen, you’ll wish you hadn’t assigned them their occupations.”

Anthony chafed at being unable to leave the house for his own safety. He objected to everything Henrik did now. He pushed him at every opportunity. “I don’t need ya fuckin’ protection!” he had snapped. “I can handle myself! Just go back to Las Vegas where ya belong!”

Molly took the same stance as Anthony. “I’ve been locked up my whole life,” she informed Henrik, her sapphire-blue eyes flashing in the same way Anthony’s did, “by Pa, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to be locked up by a mere bodyguard .” She said the last word with venom, regarding him with the same look Anthony did.

Henrik had bristled at the scathing tone. “This bodyguard is all that’s standing between you and a painful death,” he shot back.

Both of the twins were defiant, refusing to cooperate. Molly wanted to prepare for her wedding. Anthony wanted to go out just because.

Anthony was just pushing and pushing. Anthony could not help acting out. Maybe a part of him, deep inside, wanted Henrik to do something about it. He wanted Henrik to care. But truly, Anthony was pushing to conceal his hurt. Henry wasn’t doing anything ! So Anthony pushed his buttons and pushed his luck to get all of his pain out of his system.

He was desperate for drugs. He wasn’t supposed to be allowed outside until Romano was caught. So he was staying at home until they had him. But he had spent eighteen years in this house. It wasn’t the first time he had snuck out before. He escaped through his window some nights, finally getting that high he was craving.

He hid it in his room, remembering Henrik’s promise. If he caught him with drugs again, his ass would pay the price, and Anthony was in no hurry to feel that hard hand on his ass again any time soon.

The five of them ate dinner sullenly. Pops never ate with them. He never had. He took his meals in his office. Nonna and Anthony cooked, then they all sat down to eat.

Nico was still suffering from what he had done, never speaking, his jaw clenched tight to keep himself from losing control. After he ate, he slammed his chair back and left. Henrik didn’t know what to say to the angry teenager beside him. He tried, so hard, but Anthony only snapped at him or got up after Nico and stormed off. Molly, having been caged in by her father her whole life, hated even this small freedom taken from her, and her normally sweet demeanor had soured.

Only Nonna made the slightest attempt to be polite to Henrik. “Well, you certainly won’t hear me complaining about eating with such a handsome young man,” she teased, giving him a wink from one of her sparkling black eyes, like a pair of black diamonds.

Anthony pushed too far one day. “I’m going out!” he challenged, grabbing his coat. “You can’t stop me!”

He didn’t get very far. Henrik caught his arm at the door, swinging him around. “If you’re just going to be defiant and act like a kid,” Henrik told him, his voice deep and stern, “then you’ll be treated like one. I obviously can’t trust you to behave.” Anthony’s eyes smarted with tears at his words. “Go to your room.”

“The fuck?!” Anthony shrilled. “I’m not fuckin’ ten! Ya can’t just-”

“I can , and you’re going,” Henry finished, his tone final. “Go. Now.”

“Get off!” Anthony yelled, struggling against the hand on his upper arm.

Henrik lost his patience, turning him around to face the stairway, and smacked the seat of his jeans hard. Anthony cried out at the slap, rising up to his toes, his hand reaching for his butt.

“Unless you want to have your ass bared and go over my knee,” Henrik growled into his ear, “you’ll start moving.”

Anthony went, crying quietly.

***

Henrik was due to leave today.

Anthony tried not to think of it. He brushed his things from his desk, sprinkling the white dust across the top, before taking a straw to line it up. Eventually, he decided to just bring it up to his nose and inhale it.

Just as the substance was in his veins, he heard his door swing open.

Mismatched sapphire-blue and chocolate-brown eyes met amber eyes. Those diamond-and-sapphire orbs widened, his long, thick black lashes framing them. Oh, shit.

Anthony’s eyes darted from the bag he still had in his hand to Henrik.

Henrik’s eyes were flaring. “You just don’t listen, do you?” he asked, his tone deadly calm. “Words just don’t fucking work with you. The only thing that gets through to you is a sore ass.” His voice was sharp. 

Anthony moved backward, peddling on his feet. Henrik had made it very clear he didn’t give a shit about him. He felt hatred bubble in his gut, at his game, pretending he cared. Henrik was leaving. He wasn’t coming back. He had no fucking right to spank him! “Don’t you put your hands on me!” he warned him. “Don’t you fucking dare touch me! Ya don’t have the right!” he screamed angrily.

“I’m sick of your fucking attitude,” Henrik continued, his voice raised. “You’ve been pushing me all fucking week, trying to get a reaction out of me. Well, I’m granting your fucking wish!”

Anthony ducked under Henrik’s arm, lunging for the door, but he never reached it. Henrik caught him by the collar of his shirt, yanking him back from the door. Anthony yelped at the hold, trying to fight him off.

“Fuck, get off!” he shouted, fighting Henrik’s grip, but Henrik only tightened his grip on his collar, marching him to the bed.

Henrik sat down on Anthony’s bed, holding onto the squirming teenager. He picked him up off his feet, bending him over his knee. Anthony screamed in fury, beating his fists angrily against Henrik’s leg as he dangled. “Let me go!” he screamed in fury, kicking his legs. “Get off of me!”

Henrik only grabbed his belt, pulling him closer, and smacked the seat of his jeans hard.

“Agh, you fuckin’ piece of shit!” Anthony screamed at the top of his lungs. “Stop it, stop it!” he demanded, as Henrik smacked the second cheek, causing him to cry out. Henrik began alternating cheeks, paddling Anthony’s ass, as he screeched and yelled.

“You fucking son of a bitch!” he raged, beating his fist hard. “I’ll fucking kill you!” he promised. He yelped as his cheek was slapped harshly. “Ow, ow, ow!” he cried out. “STOP IT!”

Henrik continued swatting those squirming cheeks, but it was only making Anthony angry and resentful. “Get the fuck off me,” Anthony demanded. “You have no right! You can’t do this to me! You’re fucking leaving! Ya can’t punish me!”

Henrik paid him no mind, setting to the task of tanning his backside. He was furious with Anthony for taking drugs again, and thoroughly exasperated from his treatment, and disgusted with Anthony’s temper. He was done.

Henrik shoved him off his lap. Anthony yelped indignantly, falling on his bruised ass, his pride even more injured.

“Ya done?” Henrik asked, his voice smug, as he grabbed Anthony’s wrists in one hand, bringing him up to stand between his legs, smirking arrogantly.

Anthony was breathing hard, filled with rage, unable to focus. Henrik had hurt him. He was leaving him, and still thought he had the right to punish Anthony. He hated him! He got Anthony to trust him, then stamped on it. He hoped he got shot on his way to Vegas!

Anthony, filled with pain at Henrik’s treatment of him, struck him hard, his hand connecting with Henrik’s cheek. His cheek flamed red. Anthony was hyperventilating, but after a few moments, he calmed down just enough to realize what he had done. He was horrified with himself, as he saw the mark he’d left on Henrik’s handsome face. He could have wept with remorse for what he had just done. He noticed the look in Henrik’s eyes, as they flared with temper.

“Fine,” Henrik thundered, his voice raised. Anthony flinched at the sound. “You wanna play rough? Fucking fine by me, brat,” he snarled.

Anthony’s mouth dropped open, eyes wide with horror, as he saw Henrik suddenly reach for his dresser and grab his hairbrush . It had a hard wooden back, made of solid polished wood. No. He wouldn’t! Henrik had never, never spanked Anthony with an implement before! He wouldn’t use that!

“No!” Anthony shrieked, twisting and turning, trying to get away. “Henrik, don’t! Please!”

“You’ve earned this,” Henrik told him solemnly, his face a stern mask. “And you know it.”

“No!” Anthony protested. “No! You can’t do this! I’m not a fuckin’ kid! Don’t you fuckin’ dare use that! No, please, no!”

Henrik seized his wrists in one hand, taking him to the window seat. Anthony struggled against him, digging in his feet, but Henrik was too strong. He cried out as Henrik threw him down face down, keeping him still with a hand around his waist. “No!” Anthony screamed, but his cries were muffled by the pillow his face was buried in.

His protests rose in volume as he felt Henrik unbuckling his belt. He lifted his face. “No! Don’t!” he begged, his hips squirming as he fought Henrik. “Don’t take down my pants! Henrik ! No, don’t!” His pleas were all in vain, however, as Anthony’s belt slid out of the loops. Henrik yanked his pants down harshly and sharply. “Nooo! Please, Henrik! Don’t do this!” he implored.

Henrik looked down at the squirming bottom, the alabaster skin dotted with freckles. He was wearing silk of dark blue, with lace detailing on the edges. As he watched his bottom wriggle, trying to get away, Henrik doubted his resolve. Could he truly leave this ? Could he leave and never look back? Never again to see those lovely mismatched eyes, never see Bridgetta again, never hold Anthony in his arms again, never see this gorgeous ass again, never see Anthony again? He had a lot of thinking to do on the way to Las Vegas.

Anthony shrieked as Henrik yanked down his panties, all the way to the back of his knees. His humiliation was mounted sky high, as Henrik bared him, ready to paddle his ass with his own fucking hairbrush. He kicked and struggled, trying to get away. “No, no, no!” he yelled. “Don’t, Henrik, don’t! Please! You can’t do this! You can’t!” His eyes glinted with tears.

Anthony screamed as he felt something hard and flat crash against his bare cheek. It stung , and burned like hellfire! “Ahhh!” Anthony didn’t know how anything could hurt so much! He yelped again as the hairbrush landed on the other cheek. “Ahh, that hurts, that hurts!” he wailed, unable to stand the pain and humiliation. “Henrik, stop!” he begged him. He didn’t know how this could possibly get any more humiliating. He was getting fucking spanked with his own hairbrush! But somehow it did, as Henrik wrapped his arm around his waist, and lifted his butt up, smacking the cheeks offered up repeatedly, changing sides. Anthony wailed at the onslaught of swats on his ass. “Owww!” he complained.

He tried to free himself, but was rendered helpless by the pants at his ankles, his underwear pulled down to his knees, that strong arm around his waist. He wailed as Henrik paddled him, the brush striking his propped up cheeks, as he sobbed and begged for mercy. “No, no, no!” he implored, glancing behind his hair at Henrik, tears in his eyes. “Stop, stop, you’re hurting me!” he wept. “Owww.” He screamed his pain out to the ceiling above, certain everyone could hear him getting his ass paddled by Tychon. “Ow! I’ll fucking kill you for this!” he swore furiously, before breaking down. “Let me go!” he sobbed through his cries.

It was even worse than Henrik using his hand. This hurt even more, and it was so fucking embarrassing .

His ass was on fire, he was positive. It burned unbearably, and still the brush came down. He screamed into the pillow, wailing out his pain and fury, as he was helplessly spanked. “I’m going to fucking kill you!” he told Henrik, crying heavily. “I’m gonna make it fucking slow, inch by inch, until you’re begging for mercy! I’ll rip your heart out!”

That hairbrush only continued to slap his ass. Henrik raised an unimpressed brow, sighing in exasperation, pulling him closer. Damn, his ass was a deep cherry red. The kid had to be hurting something awful. Henrik always had conflicting feelings about smacking his ass. He liked the outraged yelps the kid gave in indignation, how shocked and infuriated it made him, that Henrik would dare to touch him, and watching his rounded, pretty bottom turn rosy pink, then bright red, then deep scarlet. But he hated his cries of pain, as he begged Henrik to stop. He fucking hated making Anthony cry. It broke his heart. It was all he could do to not take him into his arms and hold him as he cried, to comfort him. “Keep on threatening me, kid,” he drawled calmly. “See what happens.”

As his bare ass was still whacked with his hairbrush, Anthony began to cry even louder, his breathing heavy. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” he wept, his heart hurting. Henrik was leaving him, and this was the last thing he was going to remember. Getting a humiliating bare bottom spanking from the handsome man. He had never been so humiliated his whole fucking life, as Henrik paddled his bare cheeks with his own hairbrush.

Anthony shrieked at the slaps raining down. “Owww, you’re hurting me, Henrik!” Anthony begged. He burst into tears, stopped fighting him, as he collapsed, sobbing heavily, as the pain became unbearable on his sore cheeks. “Don't, please!”

He wailed as Henrik used the brush on his sore red ass. “Oh, please, Henrik! Owww!” he yelled.

Anthony was a sobbing, whimpering mess by the time Henrik had finished.

Henrik added a few final spanks, smacking those deep red cheeks, before opening his hand, letting the brush fall to the ground. Anthony was crying hysterically, heartbreaking sobs of pain. Henrik listened, agonized, as his cries filled with room.

“Any time I catch you with drugs,” Henrik warned Anthony, leaving the insinuation open that he might come back, “I’m baring your pale freckled cheeks and paddling them with the back of your hairbrush until they’re a nice shade of deep rose red.” He kept his voice stern, not allowing himself to go easy on him just yet.

Anthony couldn’t stop crying. Henrik understood that. Henrik had never used an implement on his bottom before. Henrik knew from experience that an object hurt . Not to mention the sheer mortification of it all. He doubted Anthony would ever forgive him for this, but if it kept him from danger, he’d do it all over again without hesitation.

He rested a hand on one of those burning cheeks, rubbing his thumb soothingly across that reddened skin, as Anthony continued weeping. “Shh,” he hushed the beautiful teenager, whispering softly. “It’s okay. It’s over. We’re done now, we’re done.”

Anthony didn’t even seem to hear him, simply continuing to cry. Henrik kept his hand placed on his cheeks. They were hot to the touch. He rested his hand there, that thumb continuing to stroke his skin, drawing circles on his hip, as Anthony cried.

Anthony was crying not just from getting paddled with his own hairbrush by the man he had a crush on, but also because Henrik was leaving. He was never coming back, and Anthony hated it! He wanted him to stay, more than anything in this world. His heart was broken, his ass hurt, Henrik didn’t care. He had never felt so unhappy.

“Get out,” he wept through his tears, still crying through gasping breaths.

Henrik stilled. “Legs, listen. I-”

“Get the fuck out!” he whimpered, unable to stifle his howls. “It hurts too much! Just get out!” he begged him.

Henrik could tell it was not helping him to be here right now, so he sighed. “Alright, Legs.” He patted one of those freckled cheeks kindly, before rising and leaving him alone. His ass was deep red. Henrik wished more than anything that he could get him something for the pain, but that just defeated the entire purpose of the lesson. He hated doing that to him, but he didn’t know how else to get through to him.

Just once, he wished that Anthony would smile at him, that he would one day look at him with love.

***

“Anthony.” Henrik’s knuckles rapped on the door. “I’m leaving now.”

There was no reply. Henrik sighed, leaning his head against the door.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he told him, his eyes filled with pain. “I know it hurts. I’m so sorry that it hurts and was humiliating for you, baby. Despite what you might think, I don’t like making you cry in pain. It breaks my fucking heart.” He drew in a ragged breath. “I hope that one day you’ll see that it was necessary. I know it hurts and is embarrassing for you, but I’ll resort to whatever measures necessary to keep you safe.” His voice trembled from emotion. “I hope one day you’ll forgive me, Anthony, and understand why I did what I did.” He took in a breath. “I have to go now. I don’t know what the future will bring, but -” He stopped himself before he said anything too momentous. He waited, but there was no fall of footsteps, no unlocking of the door. He sighed again. “Good-bye, Anthony,” he whispered softly, turning to go.

There was a pause as he walked away from the man he cared so deeply for, and just as Henrik was nearly down the stairs, the unlocking of the door. Henrik heard footsteps running toward him rapidly. He turned around.

Anthony’s lovely face was covered in tears, tracks from before and new ones beginning to form. He didn’t stop in his stride, suddenly speeding up to Henrik, and lunged at him.

Anthony forgot all about his anger, his hatred, his hurt, for just a moment. All he knew was that Henrik was leaving. He would never see him again. Despite what they had done to each other, all Anthony wanted right now was to feel him, to be in his arms one last time. He couldn’t bear to remain aloof for one second longer.

Henrik caught him as he jumped at him, as Anthony wrapped his arms around his neck, lifting him off the ground as he held him in his arms, clutching him tight. Henrik laid a hand on the nape of his neck, feeling the touch of his warm skin, the silky blonde hair. Anthony cried softly, holding Henrik tighter, not ever wanting to let go.

So they stayed that way, for a long while, before Anthony felt Henrik lifting him down until his feet touched the floor. His face was tilted up, his chin caught between Henrik’s fingers, in that gesture he did so often, that never failed to make Anthony’s face flush. His amber eyes were solemn, regarding Anthony quietly. His thumb stroked his cheek, wiping the tears away. He didn’t say a word.

As quickly as his touch had begun, it was gone, as Henrik turned without a word and left, never looking back.

Anthony fell to his knees, rocking, his wails of pain filling the house as he cried his agony to the ground beneath him, as he lost the man he cared for, the last person who, in Anthony’s eyes, had finally given up on him, had seen that Anthony was a lost cause, not worth the effort.

That was how Nonna found him.

Chapter Text

It was hard. It never stopped being hard. For three weeks Anthony suffered. He chafed at his confines, until he could not bear it anymore.

His pain remained every day. He felt it beating inside, pounding in searing pain every time his heart beat. Every day Henrik was gone, he felt like he was dying.

Not only was he hurting, but he was angry. Henrik had fucking left him. Anthony hated those times he had turned to Henrik for comfort. He wouldn’t allow himself to make such a mistake again. He didn’t believe Henrik would come back, as Henrik had said was a possibility. He tried to force himself not to care.

He hated being locked up here, hated feeling the loss of Henrik every day. His heart ached and burned. He felt poison simmer in his gut as he imagined Henrik in Vegas, his tongue probably deep in some dame’s mouth, gambling and living the high life. Forgetting all about Anthony. In Anthony’s mind, Henrik had never cared to begin with.

Anthony grew reckless. The twins snuck out one day to shop for jewelry for Molly’s wedding, eventually settling on a necklace of diamonds set with sapphires and matching earrings and bracelets. Molly intended to wear Mama’s wedding gown, a lovely piece of lace and silk of pale blue and white, the blue so light it was nearly white itself. The veil was fine lace, with sapphires interlaced into the material. It would go well with Molly’s eyes and pale skin, as it had with Caterina’s.

Anthony even went out without Molly one night. His anger and pain made him rebellious. Henrik wasn’t here to keep him in check. Anthony supposed that if he had been here, he would have gotten a spanking for this, but Anthony could no longer bring himself to care. His supply was all but gone, he needed a hit, he wanted to forget the man who had taken his heart.

So he went to the dresses he had bought but never won, dressing in a different one each night.

Much like the first time he had done this, Anthony went the whole way: complete with underwear, jewels, and make-up. Anthony was startled once again by the attention he received from men. The first night, he had gone out, dressed in a lovely silver gossamer gown. The waist was slim and fit with a silver belt, sewed all over with sequins, with a low neck and see-through sleeves which ended at his wrists. Nonna had shown him how to style his hair into a bob, so it resembled Jean Harlow’s. The gowns were exquisite, and he wore them well, he had discovered.

He liked the attention men gave him, but he never let it go too far. He was fine with hands grasping his supple waist, letting a man tease him and stroke, but…He had never kissed a man before. He resented himself for the fact that whenever a man leaned in, his mind went to Henrik, and then he was shoving the man away, giggling, acting coy and drawing back, brushing back the pale tendrils of hair that fell into his heterochromatic eyes.

As a man, he didn’t often get complimented for his features, but that had ended now.

“Your lovely skin is like alabaster, and oh, baby, in the moonlight you look like a sculpted statue from Greece…”

“Your hair is so golden. It feels like silk between my fingers.”

“Your features are so delicate.”

“Your lips were made for kissin’, doll. Plump and pink and pouty, just one, c’mon…”

“I love your eyes. They’re like melting chocolate and a cobalt moonstone, and with those long dark lashes!”

So he went out, trying out new clubs, careful to hide his sex. On his third week, he felt he had really outdone himself this time.

This dress was red silk, soft to the touch and flowing through his fingers like a river. With a low neckline and a slim fit, it accentuated Anthony’s slim figure and curved backside perfectly. It was backless, exposing Anthony’s slim white back, with gold ropes embedded with rubies slung across. He wore priceless rubies at his slim white throat as well, and had put on a red lip.

He was flirting it up with the bartender that night when he felt someone’s eyes on him. He had grown accustomed to this look, but this one made his skin crawl, even more so than Moore’s had.

As he turned, he saw a man staring at him. He was young, around Henrik and Nico’s age, with sallow skin, dark eyes, and slick-back black hair. Those dark eyes were piercing into him. But Anthony could not quite put his finger on the look in those orbs. It was not quite desire, not quite disinterest. He was simply watching him. A chill ran down Anthony’s spine. He felt naked. He quickly grabbed his things and fled, his heart pounding in his throat.

Anthony was certain the man was just one of those voyeurs. Fuckers see a pretty dame and prefer to watch rather than do. He pushed the man from his mind, not thinking anything more of it.

***

“I still say he’s coming back,” Nonna argued stubbornly, her jaw set in that stubborn way of hers, so like her grandson’s.

Anthony stiffened, looking at his grandmother in her obstinate black eyes. “Nonna…” He stood up, turning his back to hide the tears in his mismatched irises. “He made it perfectly fucking clear what I - what this place meant ta him. He was only here for the money. He’s not coming back.”

Nonna snorted, causing Anthony to turn around, incredulous. “How little you know,” she crowed. “That man’s infatuated. He’s not leaving for good.”

Anthony’s face heated, looking away. “Nonna, you’re wrong,” he attempted to explain. “I don’t know where you got that idea. I’m not a fuckin’ - I don’t - look,” he stressed, “he doesn’t care for me like that. He doesn’t think of me that way.” Of this he was certain. Henrik only ever enjoyed torturing him. “Even if he did, I would never -”

“Tesoro.” Her gentle voice brought his head back up to meet her eyes. “After eighteen years, do you think I care who you feel for? I’ve known for years.” Anthony’s brown and blue eyes widened. “I couldn’t care less who you choose to love, so long as your happiness comes first. I am ninety years old, Antonio. I’m much too old and knowing in the ways of the world to care about what others deem proper or not.” She scoffed.

Anthony’s eyes teared up again at her words. She was the one constant in his life, beside Molly, the only person who had loved him no matter what and accepted him. “I love you so much, Nonna,” he choked out.

She stood, walked forward. Despite her age, she could walk as well as anyone, which she proved now, as she stroked her grandson’s cheek lovingly. “I love you, tesoro,” she told him. “More than anything.” She smirked, sitting back down. “But I still say he’s coming back. If not for you, then for me.”

Anthony smiled at her smug expression, but then was sullen again, his face a stubborn replica of her own. “He doesn’t care!” he snapped, exasperated, knowing it was useless to attempt to reason with his willful grandmother. “He’s not coming back, Nonna!”

“Oh, he’ll be back,” she affirmed, her face confident. She grinned wickedly at her grandson. “I’ll even make a bet with you, tesoro,” she challenged him, her eyes sparkling like diamonds. “If you’re right, I’ll give you my sapphire earrings, the ones your grandfather Tommaso gave me during our courtship, to keep, permanently. When bello bastardo comes back, I get them back.”

Anthony snorted. “Done.” He accepted his grandmother’s challenge.

***

Henrik was shocked by the change in Visconti.

The man he had come to regard as the father he never had had been a portly, sharp-toned capo with kind coffee-brown eyes and hair that was still thick and dark with specks of gray. The man in the bed was almost unrecognizable.

His eyes were still warm and brown, like freshly brewed coffee, which lit up as he saw Henrik, but this man was thin, almost skeletal. His hair was white from age and hardship, thin and spread out on his pillow like a veil. He was white, haggard breaths escaping him.

Tiziana had led him inside. She was still a forceful woman, insisting he eat, leaving no room for argument, showering his face with kisses. She was still as tiny as ever, a small woman, her beautiful copper hair now snow-white, but her eyes were still striking and green as emeralds. Henrik noticed the look Visconti and Tiziana shot at each other across the room: a look of pain, innumerous love, and longing. Her emerald-hued eyes were filled with tears.

“If I don’t catch the fucker soon, then I could kiss all my hard-earned work good-bye!” he heard Visconti yell. “Where the hell is Gomez?”

Henrik could have laughed at the perplexed tone of his valet. “He’s…he’s dead, sir,” the valet told him. “You killed him forty years ago.”

“I did?” Visconti asked. “Oh. I guess I did, didn’t I?”

Henrik was shocked as the frail man at the bed spoke in that booming voice of his. “Well, finally showed up, did you?” he demanded of Henrik. “I was beginning to think the next time I’d see you would be in Hell, hustling the pockets of every fucker down there, same as you did when you were a kid.”

Henrik’s throat tightened. Despite what he could plainly see before his eyes, he couldn’t bear to think of a world without Visconti in it. “You’re not gonna die,” he told him through clenched teeth, gritting his jaw against the pain.

Visconti gave a great laugh at that, gesturing for Henrik to come closer and sat on the bed at his side. “Look at me, kid. Picture of health, ain’t I? C’mon, you’re smarter than that. Do I look like I’m going to outlive you?” His eyes held pride. “You’re a man now. I hear you’ve been working under Ragnetto for a while now, training one of those spiders of his.” Visconti looked very proud of himself at his pun.

Henrik hesitated at the mention of the ‘spider’ he had left behind in New York. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “Been training Ragnetto’s kid. His name’s Anthony.”

“Ohh, the pretty one,” Visconti countered.

Henrik looked at him. “How in the fuck would you even know that?”

Visconti gave him a naughty smile. “I did tell you I was at the wedding. Tiziana is my heart, but if you had seen Caterina Ragnetto in her day! Damn.” He whistled. “Way out of Ragnetto’s league, that one. Can only imagine how her youngest looks, with her coloring and Bridgetta’s face.”

Henrik felt choked. “He’s got mismatched eyes,” he rasped. “One blue, one brown.”

“I’m sure Ragnetto loved that,” Visconti sarcastically responded. “Fucker never did like anything not of his own image, not of his own expectations.” He looked at Henrik. “I feel I don’t need to ask your opinion of Ragnetto. The man never was much entertainment. But I assume Bridgetta left an impression, and this pretty boy of yours.”

Henrik looked away, at Visconti’s title of claiming that Anthony was his. That would never happen, and besides, he didn’t like to think of Anthony as being anyone’s but his own. He did what he had to to protect Anthony, but the kid was made to be free. Henrik wasn’t going to take that away from him. “Bridgetta sure did,” he agreed, smiling.

“Bloody woman yelled at me at the wedding,” grumbled Visconti, admiration evident in his complaint. “I accidentally reached for the wrong wine glass, and the old woman snaps, ‘That’s mine, ya fucker!’”

“That’s Bridgetta, alright,” Henrik laughed. “Anthony takes after her.”

“Hope he doesn’t take after that stick-in-the-mud old man of his,” Visconti quipped. “Of course, without Caterina around, it’d be no great mystery if his whelps grew to be high-handed little fuckers, expecting life to be handed to them on a platter, believing themselves ta be the best.”

Henrik’s eyes narrowed. “He’s not like that,” he argued, rushing to defend Anthony’s honor. “You don’t know him!” he snapped. “He’s smart and kind and stubborn, just like his grandmother. He always believes the best in everyone, even the fuckers who don’t deserve him. He never backs down, but what he does wrong, he does out of love. He’s good and he is skilled at what I’ve taught him, even if he has a big temper and can be a brat. He’s a good kid, and I enjoyed being around him.”

“HA! I knew it!” Henrik realized this was the fucker’s plan the whole time, to get something out of him. He just needed to push the right button. “I know the right spots to press, kid.” He regarded Henrik with kindly brown eyes. “Why didn’t you bring him with you? I would have liked to meet the man who’s got you hot and on the run.”

Henrik shook his head, trying to ignore his words. “I’m not sure if I’m going back. Your offer-”

“Ya could accept the offer and still have brought the brat with ya,” Visconti groused. “Taken him with ya and started a life with him far from Ragnetto.”

“He’s only eighteen,” Henrik argued. “He’s just a kid.”

“Oh.” Visconti leaned back. “It wasn’t that long ago? My bad.”

His mind had slipped again. “Besides,” Henrik continued, running his hand through his thick black hair, tousling it, “he doesn’t want me, not like that. He hates me.”

“What makes you think that?”

Henrik chuckled bitterly. “Because his ass often gets spanked, and you know how that turns out.”

Visconti smirked. “Seems I rubbed off on you, though I already knew that. Did it ever cross your mind that he’s just embarrassed and will get the fuck over it, just as you did, just as everyone else did?”

Henrik shook his head, guilt in his amber orbs. “He’s really angry with me. The day I had to leave…He was acting up, and I had to spank him with his hairbrush.” Henrik put his head in his hands. “I’ve never fucking used anything on his bottom before except my hand. Fuck, I hate doing that to him, but he doesn’t leave me any choice. I know he deserved that paddling, but I still feel guilty. I fucked up, didn’t I? Maybe he wasn’t fucking ready for an implement. I should’ve just used my hand.”

Visconti chuckled. “And that made him mad, huh?” He shifted in the bed. “Look at me, boy.”

Henrik raised his head.

“Yeah, he’s fucking angry because he’s embarrassed, kid,” Visconti grunted. “He’ll fucking get over it, just as you did whenever I strapped you for bein’ a pain in the ass. You never saw me worrying about using my hand or a belt.” He scoffed disdainfully. “If it made an impression, then I say tuck that hairbrush into your belt and paddle his ass with it whenever he’s trying to test you. It ain’t gonna kill him, kid. It sure as hell didn’t kill you.”

Henrik sniggered.

“Listen to me, kid,” Visconti told him. “I will be fine, whatever you decide. Tiziana and I will be fine. But that boy? It sounds to me like he needs you. If what you say is true, then I don’t think he actually hates you if he is truly like what you say he is.”

Henrik shook his head. “It’s too late. I don’t even know if he’d want me back after I left. I told him I wasn’t sure if I would be coming back.”

Henrik yelped as Visconti stooped, picking one of the shoes on the floor off the ground and chucking it at Henrik, striking his arm. “Ow! The fuck-”

“You’re a goddamn moron,” Visconti told him. “That was the stupidest thing ya could’ve done. If the kid had wanted ya gone, he wouldn’t have cared less if you left, just shrugged and moved on. How did he handle it, I ask?”

Henrik hesitated. “He yelled that he didn’t care…”

“Exactly. Yelled, you idiot. God, you’re dense.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you care for him?”

Henrik glared back when his words struck him. “Of course I care about him. I wouldn’t have stayed for as long as I did and punished him if I wasn’t trying to keep him safe and protect him.”

“Well, then I have two options for you,” Visconti told him. “Either turn around and head back to that pretty boy of yours and ya better fuckin’ pray he forgives you for your stupidity, and forgives me and your mother Katya for raising such a fuckin’ blockhead, or head back and bring him back here, even if ya gotta put him over yer fuckin’ knee and whack his stubborn butt until he agrees.”

***

Anthony felt slight joy today, the first instance since Henrik had left.

Pops had gotten word that a sighting of the last Romano, Marco, had been spotted out of town a week past, so he and his men had gone to scour the area. Nico, Muller, Russo, and some others were searching the locations surrounded, in case Romano was on the move. Molly was on the phone right now with Tom, upstairs in her room. The two could hardly bear to be away from each other; the separation was hard on them both. It was just Nonna and Anthony, in the living room.

“How did ya even do that?” Anthony demanded, gaping at his grandmother with wide mismatched eyes.

Nonna shrugged. “I am many things, tesoro,” she said, “but one thing I am not is boring in the bedroom. If you’re not willing to experiment, then what’s the point? At least I’m fun in bed.”

“Nonna!” Anthony censured, laughing. His cheeks were pink. “Ya can’t do stuff like that! That’s…that’s…

“Unheard of?” she suggested, raising a white brow. “Remember what I said, tesoro. I don’t give a flying twit what others think. There are pleasures to be explored, and I only feel pity for those who have a boring pattern.”

Anthony flushed. Whether or not his grandmother accepted who he was, when Nonna just bluntly told him these things, he didn’t know how anyone could be comfortable doing the things she told him.

“I’m going to make pasta,” she suddenly decided on a whim, changing conversation, as inconstant as the wind.

Anthony looked at her. It was no unusual event, but the way she phrased it had him wondering. “Is there a reason for that?” he asked.

“Your father hates it,” she explained.

He stood up. The house was quiet. All was at peace.

He never heard anything.

He began to follow his grandmother into the kitchen, when suddenly he was wrenched back as he was picked off his feet roughly, an arm tight and hard as iron holding him by the waist, as he was slammed back against a hard chest. A hand came down on his mouth, muffling his scream. He tried to use his hands to fight off his aggressor, but that same hand caught his arm in his hand, twisting his arm behind his back. Anthony stilled as he felt the cold kiss of steel, as a knife pressed against his slim white throat.

A voice spoke directly into his ear. “Scream and I will slit your pretty white throat from ear to ear,” a rasping voice growled sharply. “Do you understand me?”

Anthony nodded quickly, his eyes wide.

The hand was removed from his mouth, but he was not let go. The man only held him tighter, allowing his feet to touch the ground, but he could not free himself even if he had tried.

“Tesoro, we don’t have any cheese. We need to head to the store and -” His Nonna entered from the kitchen, smiling, wiping her old hands on a towel. She froze, stilling when she saw the man holding her beloved grandson in an iron grip, a knife at his neck.

Anthony felt the man put pressure slightly on the knife. He hissed as he felt it dig into his skin, allowing a drop of blood to form to the surface and run down the milky white skin. “Don’t try anything, old lady,” the man warned his grandmother, bringing the knife up to rest the point against Anthony’s cheekbone, “or this pretty face ain’t gonna be so pretty no more.”

Anthony had never seen his Nonna obey a command before, but now she went to the seat, sitting down. Anthony took note how she sat down shakily, as if she were frailer than she truly was. Her face was like carved stone, emotionless and cold, but he saw the way her dark eyes darted, looking for something to use to her advantage.

Anthony gasped for breath, clutching the man’s arm in the hand he had free. “Who the fuck are ya and what do ya want?” he whispered hoarsely.

The man’s head bent to his ear. “You oughta know exactly who the fuck I am,” he snarled. “Your old man butchered my family. Didn’t think I’d ever find his stomping grounds; the spider’s slippery like that.” A cold chuckle reached his ears, causing Anthony’s blood to run cold. “Then some dame walks into a bar.” The knife was held sharply to his face. “I’d be fucking stupid if I didn’t recognize where that golden hair and blue eye was from. Yer eyes are all fucked up, but it didn’t take a genius to see just where you got that one eye there.” He brought the weapon up under the eye, almost stroking the skin underneath. Anthony closed his eyes, repulsed at his very touch. “Shoulda listened to whoever it was that put an armed guard around ya, pretty boy.”

“Aw, ya think I’m pretty?” Anthony choked out, antagonizing him. He knew it was stupid, but if he could get him to lose his temper, then he was liable to make a mistake.

Anthony almost cried out in pain when Romano jerked the arm held behind his back harshly, causing pain to shoot up to his shoulder. “So, Ragnetto’s youngest brat’s got a mouth on him, huh?” the man growled, his tone sounding amused, but Anthony could hear the rage and hatred behind it. “We’ll see just how much ya feel like saying after I’ve carved my name into your face!”

Nonna’s voice, that pretty Italian accent, interrupted him. “Girls, girls, you’re both pretty,” she sarcastically began, “but I’m old and tired of this bullshit. Can we go now, or did I interrupt your little speech? Or are we done here?”

Romano’s eyes were full of hatred for the tiny old lady. “You’re next, bitch. I’m gonna fucking enjoy drawing out your death, the woman who created that abomination of a capo.”

Romano was surprised that his words didn’t even phase the matriarch of the Ragnetto crime family. Bridgetta Ragnetto merely snorted disdainfully. “I’ve been firing weapons since before you were firing explosives out of your shitter,” she told him smugly. “Don’t think so highly of yourself that you presume to believe you frighten me .”

Romano was cold and deadly. “I changed my mind. I’ll start with you first,” he decided.

“No!” Anthony screamed, desperate to protect his grandmother, his instincts telling him he had to get that knife away from Romano. He reached his one free hand up, grabbing the blade, not caring that it cut into his skin, adrenaline rushing through his veins. Startled, Romano’s grip loosened, enough for Anthony to take the weapon in his grip, which he slammed into Romano’s arm, the blade sinking into his flesh. Romano screamed in pain, letting go of Anthony.

“You little bitch!” Romano brought back his hand, backhanding Anthony hard across the face. Anthony yelped, the force of the blow knocking him to the ground, as he lay there, stunned.

Anthony felt cold hands wrap around his throat, tightening. He gasped, Romano hovering over him, trying to choke the life out of him. He tried to fight him, but he couldn’t get him off.

Anthony’s hands slammed against Romano’s face, nails digging in. But Romano only continued to strangle him, as Anthony’s movements grew frantic. His vision was going black.

***

Henrik knew, despite Visconti’s objections to the contrary, that he would never see the man again. But he listened to the man he loved as his father, and hopped on the first train back to New York, to Anthony.

Just as he pulled up to the neighborhood, he saw Nico with three others. He recognized the blonde head of Muller and Russo’s scarred face, along with Alessandro. Nico was speaking rapidly, Italian coming out harshly, before his black gaze caught sight of Henrik.

“So, look who decided to come back?” Nico taunted him, a lock of dark hair falling into his face. He was rumpled, sweat trickling on his brow. “Thought we’d seen the last of you, Tychon.”

Henrik clenched his jaw, refusing to stoop to his level. “You wish, Ragnetto,” he fired back. “What the fuck is with you? What’s going on?”

Nico would have remained silent, but Russo spoke up. “Marco Romano was sighted in the vicinity. We had misleading reports that he was about fifty miles away a while back, but my sources report he came back around here.” Russo cursed. “Vehicle’s outta gas. We’ve had to run. Don’t have fuckin’ time to talk, Tychon. If I know my business, then I’d say Romano is headed straight for the Ragnetto house.”

Henrik went cold all over, frozen, but it only lasted a minute. Nico paled. Henrik didn’t even wait; he jumped out of the car, running as fast as his legs could carry him, Nico at his heels.

“Anthony!”

***

Romano yelled as Nonna fired her pistol, hitting her mark. She got him right in the shoulder, allowing time for her grandson to escape. He gasped as the hands left his throat, coughing heavily, dragging in large gulps of air.

Anthony’s eyes met Nonna’s, both gazes travelling to the emergency button inside the glass case that Henrik had installed. It would shut everything down, sound the alarm, send a telegram to the men that they were under attack, and bar Romano’s entry if he tried to go after Molly. Anthony jumped to his feet, lunging for it, as Romano tried to reach him.

He punched his hand right through the glass, his fist reaching the red button. His hand was dripping blood from the shards, but he hardly felt it, his heart pounding in his ears.

Romano yanked him back, his arm wrapping around Anthony’s neck to hold him hostage, but Anthony remembered the lessons Henrik had taught him. He went limp, using his slim frame to his advantage. As Romano felt him go loose in his grip, he loosened his hold on the teenager, thinking he had stopped his efforts, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. Anthony’s fist came up in a clean uppercut, punching him under the chin hard.

“Aghh!” Romano let go, as Anthony swung around to face him. This time his fist caught him right in the throat. Romano let out a strangled, gurgling sound at that, clutching his neck.

When he had regained his ability to speak, Anthony could have sworn that he had never seen a look so terrifying in all his life.

“I’m going to fuck you up your tight little ass, you little shit!” Romano raged.

When Anthony looked at his Nonna, he had never seen that look on her face before. She looked lost, stuck in a nightmare she could not escape from. She had a haunted expression, fear in her eyes for her grandchild.

“No!” Anthony fought him, his nails digging into Romano’s face. Romano drew back his arm, striking Anthony across the face, as he was knocked to the floor. Romano’s hands were at Anthony’s belt, trying to yank it out of its loops. “No!” Anthony struggled against him, fighting the hands at his waist. He eventually was able to inch his leg up, and kicked him, right where the sun doth not spread its rays.

As Romano was rolling on the floor, Anthony leapt to his feet, backing up. Romano was after him in an instant, despite his pain.

He never saw the knife.

A swishing sound echoed across the living room, before a dagger sunk into Romano’s eye, as he was stabbed in the skull.

“Ahhhh!!!!” The scream was blood curdling, as Anthony stood there, wide-eyed. He looked to his grandmother. She had a second knife in her hand.

Anthony went to her, grabbing the weapon, heading over on swift feet to their attacker. He grabbed the hilt of the first knife, yanking it cruelly out of the man’s skull. Romano screamed in pain. Anthony brought him close to his face.

“I want you to look me in the eyes as you die,” Anthony whispered. “I want you to look into these ‘fucked up’ eyes, the last thing you’re ever going to see.” He punched the second knife through the man’s throat, leaving it there.

He should die in a few moments, Anthony thought, as Romano fell to the ground.

Romano, however, had the slight strength left to lift his hand with that knife of his.

He never reached Anthony.

Anthony had never heard or seen them come in, but suddenly a blade came out of nowhere and cut into Romanos’ wrist, and before Anthony’s eyes the hand was gone , cut right from the wrist.

“HA!” Nonna celebrated, looking smugly at Anthony. “I was right! Pay up, tesoro.”

Despite the situation, Anthony grumbled, fishing in his pocket, and tossed the sapphire earrings to Nonna.

He was breathing hard, he was covered in blood, he was messy, and he was beautiful .

Henrik had never seen a creature so lovely, but his vision went black with rage as he took in his injuries. His hand was dripping with blood, cuts forming. His neck was red; Henrik could plainly see where hands had wrapped around that lovely pale white throat and tried to strangle the life out of him. His cheek was red from where he had been struck, and a trickle of blood ran down his throat. 

He wanted to take Anthony into his arms and never let him go, to thank God that he was alive. But he was also furious with him. Russo had filled him in on something on the way there; Romano was known to frequent clubs. He was good at covering his tracks and movements, but this was well known. The only way he could have possibly discovered where the Ragnettos were was if he had gotten a lead. Henrik knew that Anthony wouldn’t stay put for long. It hadn’t taken a genius to realize what he had done.

Anthony stared at the sight before him, as he saw those familiar amber eyes. Henrik ? No. He had left. He couldn’t be here.

Anthony never got a chance to say anything. He was still staring at Henrik, unable to understand why he was here.

He came back.

He didn’t understand why Henrik looked so angry. He and Nonna had been attacked! But he had never seen Henrik look so furious before.

Suddenly, Henrik grabbed his arm, striding over. Anthony cried out as he grabbed him. “W-What are ya doin’-”

Henrik marched to the desk in the living room, and swept his arm, scattering the contents to the floor. He sat on the desk, one foot on the floor, and used the chair to prop his leg up.

Anthony yelped as he was picked up off his feet and dumped over Henrik’s knee, face down, ass up. He cried out as Henrik’s hand came down. “Agh!” Henrik began smacking the seat of his pants hard, alternating cheeks rapidly. His feet dangled off the floor, his fists clutching Henrik’s pant leg for support.

He felt winded. One minute he was on his feet, unable to believe that Henrik had come back, the next he had been flipped over his knee and was getting spanked! He was mortified. If he had ever imagined Henrik coming home, it certainly wasn’t getting spanked first!

His fury came in full force. Anthony had fucking fended off Romano with Nonna. He could handle himself! He had no right to punish Anthony! He beat Henrik’s leg rapidly in temper, kicking his legs.

“Arghhh, no, stop it!” he shouted. “Let go of me! Ow! Ow! Owww!!!”

Henrik didn’t answer him, only continuing to slap those infuriating cheeks, as his bottom bounced under his hand, trying to get away from the smacks raining down.

Anthony suddenly remembered they weren’t alone. His face burned. He was getting a fucking spanking right in front of his grandmother. He buried his face in Henrik’s leg to hide his shame. It was only amplified as he realized that Henrik had not come alone.

He yelled and shouted in pain, crying out as he was spanked. His humiliation was worsened when he heard fucking Nico laugh. “Aw, does that hurt, Tony?” he teased him.

Muller gave a loud bellow of a laugh. “You do this often, Tychon?” he chuckled, as Anthony’s yelps rose in volume. Alessandro was smirking in amusement. In his eyes, this felt like a deserved reward for all the times the kid had taken his temper out on him.

“No, stop, stop!” Anthony demanded. “Put me down, you motherfucker!” He couldn’t bear to look at his Nonna, to see if she was watching him getting his ass paddled. "I should pull down your pants right here and now!" Henrik yelled furiously, the kid having scared him half to death. Anthony shrieked at the statement. "No!" he pleaded. "Don't, please, Henrik, please!"

Anthony began to cry from what he had just endured with Nonna, from the embarrassment of having all these eyes on him, from getting spanked the moment Henrik came back. “I hate you, I hate you!” he shouted, his butt throbbing in pain, tears running down his face, his face buried in Henrik’s leg, his eyes slammed closed. “Let me go!” he sobbed.

It was Russo who put an end to his punishment. “That’s enough, Tychon,” he decreed. When Henrik didn’t pause in the rapid spanks falling on Anthony’s rounded bottom, he caught his wrist in his hard grip, stopping the chastisement. “He’s had enough.” He stared into Henrik’s eyes, until Henrik was calm once again. “He’s had enough. He’s learned his lesson.”

Henrik looked down at Anthony, who was now crying quietly. Henrik had never been so scared as he had been today. He had almost lost him, because of Ragnetto’s pride and cruelty, because of Anthony’s recklessness. He swore he would never leave him again.

He almost chuckled as he thought of Anthony’s stubborn willfulness. He’s a handful, but damn it to Hell if I don’t love him and his obstinance-

Everything stopped as time stood still.

He loved him.

Henrik had a hard time swallowing that pill. He didn’t do relationships. He did sex. But he realized it was true. How couldn’t he? He was in love with this man.

Despite how confusing this was to come to terms with, he suddenly realized that he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

He was calm now, but he was determined on his next course of action. Anthony and his grandmother had nearly been killed because of his recklessness and defiance. Henrik was going to make sure that Anthony never put his life in danger like that again.

Anthony was suddenly lifted off Henrik’s knee and put on his feet. He cried out as Henrik landed a last spank on his ass. Anthony clutched his burning cheeks in his hands, his face deep red. Fuck…

He couldn’t stop crying. The fear from what he and Nonna had just suffered was setting in now, and his ass hurt, and everything just piled up until he couldn’t control himself.

Henrik grabbed his arm, turning Anthony to face him. His chin was caught in his hand, his face lifted to meet Henrik’s burning amber eyes. “I want you to go to your room and wait for me there,” he ordered him sternly, no leniency in his gaze.

Anthony choked on his cries, obeying Henrik, leaving the room.

Nonna broke the silence first, crooking her finger at Henrik to speak in private. “You foolish man,” she censured Henrik. “Is your head made out of crispella?” Her tone was sharp.

Henrik looked perplexed. Normally he had the advantage of having Anthony’s grandmother on his side. “You said you approved.”

“I do,” she told him. “But it was obvious he needed to be held in your arms more than he needed to be punished right now.”

Henrik recognized the truth in her words. “So you don’t think he deserves a punishment?”

“Oh, no,” she objected. “I’m not saying that at all. He definitely fucked up. But now is not the time. Wait until tonight, when you are calm and everything has settled down. Besides, I have some corpse kicking to get to, because some motherfucker made me burn my pasta.”

***

Anthony couldn’t bear to say a word when Henrik came up. He wanted to, but the look on Henrik’s face kept him silent. He could see that he was angry. He supposed he must have found out that Anthony was the reason Romano found them.

Anthony would never forgive himself for this, he swore to himself. He had put his own family in danger. He couldn’t blame Henrik for being angry.

Anthony longed to embrace him, to tell him he had missed him, to beg him not to go, but he didn’t know how to get the words out.

He had changed into a bathrobe, unable to bear the clothing against the cuts. Henrik hadn’t even said a word.

Anthony blushed when Henrik faced him silently, then turned Anthony around, placing a gentle hand on his back, and bending him over the bed, untying his robe until his skin was laid bare. He tended to his injuries, cleaning the cuts and doing whatever he could to rid Anthony of the marks on his skin. Anthony was surprised when Henrik, who had come in with a clenched jaw and was obviously angry with him, tenderly and lovingly kissed his injured hand with the utmost care.

He knew that Henrik was going to punish him for what he had done. He deserved it. Anthony knew that. But he was still dreading it nonetheless. It would never stop being embarrassing to be spanked by someone you had a crush on, someone that hot.

“I’ll be back later,” Henrik told him, “when it’s time for your punishment.” He left without another word. Anthony could have wept, certain he had shut Henrik off for good.

When the door opened again, he was in his pajamas, a long-sleeved shirt and long pants, comfortable, but dreading getting spanked. He expected to see Henrik, but it was his Nonna.

She sat down, regarding him sadly. “I’m going to tell you something, and you’re not going to be happy.”

Nonna began her tale, her eyes distant, focused on something that Anthony could not see. “When I was young, newly married to your grandfather, a man came to the house. Your Nonno was not home. He had won at gambling, but this man was certain he had cheated in some way. He took his payment in another way.” Her lips thinned. Anthony caught her meaning. She did not have to spell it out for her. “I killed him before Tommaso came home. Stabbed him in the heart.” She took out the pistol she carried on her, stroking the smooth silver barrel. “I lied to you all, when I said I never had to use this. Your Nonno gave it to me after the rape, in case he wasn’t here and I had to help myself. To ensure this would never happen again.” Her black eyes, usually sparkling and mischievous, hardened. “So if anyone thought they could put their hands on my grandson, a bullet was the least of their worries.”

Anthony hadn’t been able to refrain from embracing his grandmother, noticing for the first time how the strong woman was so frail in stature. He didn’t ever want to lose her, not the person he loved most in the world.

A knock sounded at the door. Anthony knew what it meant. He clutched the scarf he wore around his neck, fisting the material around his throat. He had tied it on to hide the red marks on his throat. “Come in,” he called feebly. He saw no reason in drawing out the inevitable. He might as well just get it over with.

Henrik entered the room. Anthony could have cried at the mere sight of him, unable to believe that he was here. He was so beautiful . Tall and strong, his black hair thick and amber eyes glinting gold, his full lips stern and unyielding.

Nonna turned to her grandson sitting beside her on the bed, and stroked his cheek lovingly, before kissing his cheek. “He’s not going to hurt you, tesoro,” she promised her precious grandson. “I love you very much.” She stood to give them privacy, although her vivacious dark eyes took note of the implement in his hand.

Anthony kept his back to Henrik, so he did not see the object as Henrik set it down. He stood as Henrik came forward. He knew he deserved this. He wasn’t going to fight it. But he was frightened by Henrik’s manner, but even more than that, he was heartbroken at it.

When Henrik’s beautiful amber eyes looked into his mismatched ones, Anthony felt his eyes fill with tears. Henrik didn’t speak, but his fingers suddenly went to the scarf. Anthony felt his pulse beating hard in his throat, as Henrik gently and slowly untied the scarf, before tugging it loose, letting the silk flutter to the floor.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of or to hide,” he told Anthony. “You did nothing to earn those marks, so don’t act like you should be shamed.”

That was all he said.

He saw the puzzled luck on Anthony’s face, his brows drawn down, his lips pouting, as he took note of the silk in Henrik’s hand, trying to figure out why he had that.

Henrik took Anthony’s wrists gently in his hand, using the silk as a restraint, tying his hands. As Anthony grasped what Henrik was doing, those eyes were glossy with even more tears, his mouth trembling. Henrik hated seeing that look on his face.

He made sure it was not too tight, before he slung the silk remaining over the canopy beam, tying those deftly. When the silken rope he had created was secure, Anthony’s wrists were drawn over his head, his feet still firmly on the ground, but he was rendered immobile, unable to do anything to protect his backside. Anthony yelped as he was secured. He struggled in the restraints. “Henrik, what are ya doing?” he cried.

Henrik didn’t answer. He rested his hand on Anthony’s ass, feeling the curve of his bottom through the silk, before drawing his hand back and slapping one of his cheeks.

“Oh!”

Henrik smacked the other cheek. “Ah!”

He switched up, smacking Anthony’s butt, as Anthony gasped under his breath, shifting from foot to foot, muttering small “ow”’s under his breath, until he could see through the thin silk that his bottom was flushed a bright pink. Anthony was flushed and breathing hard, trying to keep himself contained, Henrik could say. Henrik sighed, reaching for what he had brought with him.

Anthony gave a shriek at the next slap, this one harder and most definitely not Henrik’s hand. He rose to his toes, gasping. “Agh!” He peered behind himself through his tousled hair, his eyes widening as he saw the paddle in Henrik’s hand. “No, don’t, please!” he pleaded, shaking his wrists in their restraint, but Henrik showed no mercy, grasping his waist in his hand, pulling him closer, that paddle coming down once again.

“Ow, ow, noooooo!” Anthony begged, his ass heating up unbearably. It felt like his pants weren’t even there, the paddle searing his skin. “Please, Henrik, please! I’m sorry!” he told him.

Still the implement came down, continuing to slap his cheeks until he was yelping from the agony.

Anthony felt Henrik’s hands on his waist, softly untying the ties. “No, don’t!” He couldn’t do anything to stop him, so he resorted to pleading for mercy. It was no use.

Henrik decided it was time to move the rest of the spanking on to the bare, as he loosened the ties. Anthony’s pants loosened, falling around his ankles, baring his soft bottom to Henrik.

“Noooo…” Anthony wailed, mortified.

Henrik used his hands first to redden his cheeks. He didn’t want to strike his delicate skin with the paddle until they were ready, so he set to the task of getting the skin tender enough to handle that.

Anthony cried out as he felt Henrik’s hand plummet down on his cheeks, the other still holding his waist. “Ah, ah, ahhhh,” he moaned, tears running down his face, unable to bear the shame. “Oh, that hurts, that hurts!”

Before Anthony knew it, the paddle was back. He screamed in pain, crying out at the burn it left behind. “Owwww, it hurts!” he complained, struggling, but he couldn’t do anything to escape it. He couldn’t even bring his hands down to protect his bottom. All he could do was take it and shout at the top of his lungs.

He tilted his head, yelling to the ceiling above, shaking his hands in the silken rope, crying out as the paddle came down, again and again.

Anthony was thoroughly miserable, unable to see how to make it stop. “You’re cruel,” he wept. “You’re a cruel asshole who enjoys beating others! You’re worse than Pa!” he sobbed.

Henrik flinched at his words, stunned. “I am nothing like him, kid,” he told the sobbing eighteen-year-old, using the paddle on his sore cheeks. “I don’t ever want to hear you say something like that again, do you hear me?” He continued slapping his ass with the paddle.

“Do you realize how foolish and reckless you were?” Henrik censured him, continuing to strike his tender cheeks. “Not just the danger you posed to yourself, but for your grandmother and sister. You could have died today, Anthony.” The paddle struck his ass cheek. Anthony yelped. “I am more proud than I can say, that you and Nonna saved yourselves today. You can handle yourself, I don’t dispute that. But I could have lost you today.” Henrik’s voice broke, as he lost composure at the mere thought. “Fuck, if anything ever happened to you, Anthony, I-” Anthony heard his ragged breaths. Anthony sobbed harder; he now saw Henrik wasn’t angry with him. He was scared . Anthony had scared him.

“I’m so sorry, Henrik!” he wept. He meant those words with all his heart. “Please, forgive me!”

But still his ass was struck with the paddle, as he screeched and cried. Soon Anthony couldn’t stop crying; he didn’t know if he could. All he could feel was the pain in his butt, as Henrik beat his ass, as he stopped fighting, only crying hard and going limp in his restraints.

The paddling stopped. He could feel cool air on his burning bottom. He moaned at the feeling.

.

Henrik dropped the paddle to the ground, before reaching for the silk, and untied it from the beam, before untying Anthony’s hands. He’d chosen the silk for this specific reason: it would not irritate or bruise him.

Anthony collapsed the minute his wrists were free, as Henrik caught Anthony in his arms, holding him tight and secure, as he sobbed, his arms wrapped around Henrik’s neck. “I got ya,” he murmured, speaking into his hair. “I got ya.” Henrik stroked his blonde hair, holding him in his arms. “Shh. We’re done, we’re done,” he soothed. He heard Henrik’s voice, gentle and soothing. “Easy now,” he heard him say. “Easy.” He felt a kiss, feather-light, on the top of his head

Anthony buried his face in the side of Henrik’s neck, crying heavily. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he apologized, finally letting himself cry over what had happened.

“It’s alright,” Henrik assured him. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s over now.”

Anthony’s hands shifted to grip Henrik’s white shirt tightly in his hands, clutching Henrik tightly, as if he was afraid he would disappear if he let go, crying into Henrik’s chest. “I’m sorry I was so awful!” he told him, heaving sobs leaving his mouth. “I-I didn’t mean it!” he cried. “You’re nothing like him ! I never meant any of it!”

Henrik’s heart melted at the kid holding onto him for dear life, stroking his hair. “Shh, I know, sweetheart,” he reassured him. He sat down, holding Anthony on his lap, his pants around his ankles. “I know you didn’t mean it. It’s okay, I’m not mad.” He kissed his forehead lovingly. “Hush, sweet one. Shh, tesoro.”

“He - he was going to rape me!” Anthony howled, his shoulders shaking. “I was so afraid he was going to - to - “ He couldn’t finish.

Henrik held him tighter, wishing with all his heart he could take his pain and fear away. He continued holding him, kissing the top of his head again. “It’s alright,” he told him. “It’s alright. Just let it out, baby. You’re safe now, you’re safe. I got ya.”

He held him until his cries died down, his tears dried. But Anthony still didn’t let him go, only holding Henrik tighter. “I missed you so much,” he whimpered, fisting Henrik’s shirt in his hands. “Please, don’t leave me.” Anthony trembled from the very fear of Henrik going away forever. He needed him.

Henrik’s heart softened. “As if I could, Anthony.” He held him close. “I won’t leave you ever again, I promise. I missed you more than I can say, my heart.” He gently pulled Anthony's pants back up, covering him.

They cuddled for a long time, before Henrik rose, Anthony still in his arms, to put him into bed. Anthony caught his hand.

Henrik’s eyes met mismatched sapphire and diamond ones. “Please,” he begged. “Stay with me.”

Henrik’s eyes regarded him, before he nodded. “Alright.”

He didn’t crawl under the covers, not wanting to cross any boundaries, but laid beside him over the blankets, wrapping his arms around Anthony, spooning him with his larger body. Anthony immediately relaxed in his embrace, drifting off.

He had never felt so at peace and safe.

Chapter Text

It took Anthony a while before he could control his sobs, hugging the pillow to his chest as his butt throbbed in pain after getting a spanking with his hairbrush. The air was cool on his burning backside, a stark contrast between the two. He gritted his teeth, groaning through the fire in his ass. Gradually, he was able to calm down and attempted to rise.

He got to his feet, moaning in discomfort as he felt the pain. On a curious whim, he trudged to the mirror, his pants and underwear still around his ankles, turning around to view the damage. He hadn’t checked since that first time, the very first time he had gotten the first spanking of his life, and, to his indignation and outrage, his father’s man, of all the audacity. Anthony gasped in shock as he saw his bottom in the mirror, horrified.

His ass was a deep, dark red, hot to the touch, and it burned like hellfire. It was swollen from the spanking, covered in oval marks from the hairbrush, strewn all over the angry red surface. Anthony was the son of the capo, and he had thought that made him untouchable. It was humiliating and outrageous that someone like Tychon was giving him spankings as punishments. At this moment, he didn’t know if he hated anyone more than Tychon right now. He tried to touch the reddened skin softly with the tip of his fingertip, then hissed as he felt the stinging sensation. “Ow,” he whispered.

He turned away from the sight, bending over, and gingerly pulled up his panties, sucking in a breath of discomfort as his cheeks throbbed in pain, before pulling up his jeans and retying them.

***

Anthony woke that morning, warm and comfortable. He felt safe and welcomed the embrace, snuggling back into the warmth.

When Anthony was less groggy, his eyes widened. He cursed himself mentally. He was still letting himself open up around Henrik. Last night he had been an irreversible mistake. He’d asked Henrik to spend the night.

He could faintly remember Henrik stroking his blonde hair until he fell asleep, his arms wrapped around him as he cried himself to sleep. Anthony looked down to see Henrik, his arms wrapped around Anthony’s waist, black hair rumpled in sleep, his cheek pressed to Anthony’s stomach. Anthony slouched up to his elbow to look down on him.

Anthony’s heart turned over. Asleep, his features relaxed and vulnerable, Henrik looked younger, almost Anthony’s age. A boy. Anthony’s heartbeat increased to a rapid pace as he felt the weight of his head on his flat stomach, the material of his shirt barely seeming to be there.

Anthony could not still the tenderness in his heart, no matter how hard he tried. He knew now he could not afford to let himself let Henrik in ever again. It would only hurt him more when Henrik ultimately betrayed him or left. Loving only got you hurt. Anthony swore he would never allow himself to misstep so again.

And yet…

Anthony’s touch was gentle, as a look of tenderness stole over his face as he gazed down at the sleeping hitman before him. He raised his hand, fingering a black lock between his fingers, before his hand stroked through the darkness on Henrik’s head, softly running his hand through his hair. His hand traveled down, running along the shape of Henrik’s full lips. He was so beautiful. Anthony didn’t know how a man could be so handsome. So long as he slept, Anthony could pretend, for just one moment, that things could be different. 

He didn’t know why he did it, but as he felt his soul fill with an emotion he could not explain as he looked at Henrik Tychon, he lowered his head, pressing a soft, tender kiss to his cheek, wondering for an instant what it would be like to feel those lips on his, before banishing the thought from his mind.

Anthony slid out of Henrik’s arms, reaching for his pink silk robe, tying the sash around his waist. He gasped slightly under his breath as the soft fabric rubbed against his sore cheeks, and he was brought to mind of the paddling Henrik had given him last night, for defying Henrik and putting his family in danger.

A fucking paddle. There were two things Anthony never wanted to feel on his ass again: a paddle or his own fucking hairbrush. Anthony hated that hairbrush now with a burning passion. He had half a mind to throw it away or burn it! Anthony was determined that Henrik was never going to use an object on his ass again. He just simply wouldn’t allow it.

He turned to face the mirror, curious to assess the damage. He’d never gotten whacked with a paddle before, and was anxious to see how his butt was faring. He pulled up the skirt of his robe, holding it above his waist as he peered in the mirror, giving a small intake of breath.

His ass was red, but it had faded slightly after several hours. Anthony wondered how that was possible; he had felt like he was being branded. His cheeks were burning unbearably, and they were swollen from the paddle, but otherwise he was unhurt. He looked at his freckled bottom, his round ass cheeks reddened. That was the worst fucking part. He had a crush on the hot fucker, and Henrik treated him like a child who was young enough to be put over his knee for a spanking. It hurt, admittedly, that Henrik only saw him as a child.

He tried to touch his bottom, but gained the same result as last time, hissing from the pain, certain his ass was never going to go back to pale milk white again.

“I don’t take pleasure in making you cry and yell in pain, kid, but I gotta say, I do enjoy the sight of your red bottom out and bare, and turning my pale rose red.”

Anthony’s head darted up, to see that Henrik was awake, and grinning at him boldly.

Henrik had woken up a few minutes after Anthony, wondering where the solid warmth beside him had gone. As he adjusted to the morning light, he smirked in amusement as he saw Anthony, his robe raised over his hips, checking his ass out in the mirror, peering over his shoulder, a pout on his full pink lips, his cheeks deep red and swollen from his spanking from getting his cheeks paddled by Henrik last night.

“Ohhh!” Anthony yelled in fury, yanking his robe back down, his face red. “Shut the fuck up, ya fuckin’ asshole!”

“Your face matches your pretty ass,” Henrik teased him, his amber eyes gold. A lock of unruly black hair fell into his face. He meant it, and would have used it as a compliment, but for this situation he reserved it for teasing the kid. “Your freckles are fuckin’ adorable.”

Anthony lunged at him, trying to attack him, but Henrik was prepared. He chuckled at the attempt, and caught him by the wrist, and gave a tug. Anthony yelped as he tumbled into the bed. Henrik rolled over, trapping Anthony underneath him, smirking down at the beautiful teenager arrogantly. “Cute,” he quipped. He saw his mismatched eyes darken with shyness and want. He used one hand and softly took both hands in his grip, drawing them over his head, pinning him. He took note of how the kid’s breathing quickened rapidly. His second hand, pinning him down by the hip, began to travel up. He roved his hand over his flat stomach, as Anthony gasped, traveling up his chest, before coming up to his neck. He knew he was still bruised, so he was careful. He gently clasped that long, slender white throat, not tightening his grip harshly, his hold erotic, looking into his eyes. Anthony’s eyes were lidded, his long dark lashes framing them as he stared up at him, and Henrik could see the desire pooling in that lovely gaze.

Anthony watched as Henrik’s own amber-golden eyes darkened. “God, Anthony -” he said hoarsely, his voice choked. His head dipped down, leaning in.

The door flung open, to reveal Muller.

He misinterpreted the situation, as Henrik’s head swiveled around, and Anthony stared at him with wide, terrified eyes. “Geez, ya don’t gotta throttle the poor kid,” Muller chuckled. “He’s as slender and delicate as a lady; ya don’t need ta restrain him so severely, Tychon. He’s a literal twig compared ta ya. Ya havin’ this much trouble overpowerin’ a teenager?” He shook his head in mirth.

Henrik slowly removed his hand from Anthony’s throat, before releasing his wrists, his hand going down Anthony’s chest to his abdomen, tenderly closing his robe, which had opened during their scuffle, to cover him. Anthony took in a sharp intake of breath, at Henrik’s close proximity to his dick, which was hard as a rock from Henrik dominating him and pinning him to the bed.

But Muller wasn’t done. Having finished teasing Henrik, he went for Anthony now. “If you’re havin’ so much trouble restrainin’ him,” he began, his light blue eyes twinkling, “flip him over yer knee and give his ass a couple’a swats.” He laughed.

Henrik could have socked Muller in the jaw for his big mouth, but knew that was not advisable, due to him being a mafioso and all. Muller was a joker, but you did not want to get on his bad side. Anthony burned bright red, remembering the humiliating public paddling he had suffered at Henrik’s hand yesterday. It wasn’t a comforting thought to know that it was now public knowledge to Nonna, Nico, Russo, Muller, and Alessandro that he got a spanking whenever he messed up. Anthony could not have borne it if anyone else were to know.

“Go fuck yourself, Muller,” he snapped, his cheeks flushed. Muller only laughed, going on his way.

Anthony shoved Henrik off of him, rising to his feet, brushing himself down, running a hand through his blonde locks, fixing his hair.

“Bend over.”

Anthony whirled, blazing eyes meeting Henrik’s. “The fuck did ya just say?!” he demanded, his face flushing.

Henrik rolled his eyes. “Relax, brat. I just want to make sure I didn’t bruise your ass or anything. Your skin’s pretty sensitive, so I’m not taking any chances.”

If Anthony could let himself soften, he would have, at Henrik’s care. He wanted to keep him safe, even while admitting that Anthony could handle himself, but he never wanted to hurt him.

Anthony haughtily tossed his head, brushing his hair from his eyes, meeting Henrik’s gaze disdainfully. “I’m not fuckin’ bendin’ ova’,” he denied, defying Henrik, meeting his eyes stubbornly. “Ya can’t force me to, and I’m not doin’ it.”

Henrik chuckled huskily, crossing his arms, a gentle smirk on his full lips. “That’s true,” he drawled. “I can’t force you. But,” his smirk only grew more arrogant, “I thought you’d prefer the choice of turning over yourself more than you would if I had to bend you over and bare you myself.”

Anthony could have screamed at his cockiness. He hated this man and his smugness more than he could say. What he hated even more was that something in him responded to it. He scoffed, turning around. “Fuckin’ dick…” he muttered under his breath. He lowered himself back onto the mattress, laying on his stomach.

He felt Henrik’s hand on the small of his back, keeping him steady. Anthony bit his lip, almost losing control of himself at his touch. He felt Henrik’s hand slip underneath the pink silk, dragging it up, pulling it above his waist. Anthony lowered his head to the mattress, groaning in embarrassment as Henrik bared his ass.

Henrik gave a sound of approval. “No bruises,” he announced in a satisfied tone. “Your ass is a bit red, but the sting should fade soon.” He chuckled low. “Damn, that looks like it hurts. Looks good on ya, though, baby. Nice to know I haven’t lost my touch.”

Anthony grit his teeth, not sure how to take his teasing and compliment, if it could even be considered that. “Just let me the fuck up, ya dick,” he demanded. “You’re an asshole, ya know that?”

Henrik laughed again, backing away. “Geez, kid, don’t bite my head off. Also, yes, you’ve mentioned it a time or two.”

“I told ya I ain’t a fuckin’ kid!” Anthony snapped, rising back up, lowering the silk, fixing himself, his cheeks pink, avoiding Henrik’s gaze.

“Yeah, yeah,” Henrik droned, biting the inside of his cheek to hide his grin. “Just learn to behave and me and your ass ain’t gonna have a problem, capisce?” He patted Anthony’s bottom softly. Anthony yelped at the touch, and slapped Henrik’s hand.

“Don’t fuckin’ do that!”

Henrik choked on his laughter, and gave Anthony a wink as he left, causing Anthony to turn as red as his backside.

***

Henroin and Nico were arguing. Anthony was surprised that Nico was even talking back to begin with. He never did. But now, before the other men and Anthony, he was like a snarling black cat, hissing, his back up in rage, spitting at his aggressor.

“I don’t care if your skull’s been cracked open on the sidewalk, you are doing it,” Pops commanded Nico, gray eyes like silver daggers as he glared at his oldest son.

Nico only glared back. “I’m not doing it. What makes ya think they’ll even accept anyway, after you fuckin’ slaughtered their closest ally?” he spat back.

Henroin’s low chuckle was chilling to hear, as the sound echoed under his breath. “Me?” he asked quietly, a cold smile on his lips, although his eyes were as cold as ever. “Why, I didn’t do a thing.” He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “As I seem to recall, that was you and you alone. I wasn’t even at the scene of the crime. Or don’t you remember?” His eyes challenged Nico to argue the point.

Nico’s jaw was like granite, his eyes murderous, his fists clenched. “No,” he spoke through his gritted teeth. “Ya weren’t.” He didn’t dare argue.

“Very good.” Henroin’s finger traced patterns on the large garnet ring on his finger. “Now that that’s settled, and your little tantrum is over, I expect you to obey me.” His voice left no brook for argument. “You will go there, you will relay my message, and you will marry her.”

Everyone was shocked at Nico’s next words. “Kinda hard to get them to agree to that if ya show your weakness by eliminating any threat to your domains. Or don’t you remember?” He threw his father’s words casually back at his sire. 

Anthony restrained the gasp that nearly bubbled up from his throat. His hands went to his shirt, fiddling with it. If Henrik weren’t here, this was usually the part where his old man dismissed everyone and beat Anthony bloody as a way to get out his anger. Even now, he worried that not even Henrik’s presence protected him.

Anthony flinched as a hand took his own tenderly in its grasp, causing his breath to hitch, stopping his nervous fiddling. He looked up, meeting amber eyes with his own mismatched blue and brown. Henrik didn’t smile. He merely gazed into Anthony’s eyes, his thumb circling soothing patterns on the back of his hand.

Anthony and Henrik’s focus was torn away by the sound of a sickening crunch, as a fist met a cheekbone. Anthony’s head whipped up, as Nico cursed, his head whipped to the side, Henroin’s large garnet ring with the gold set cutting his lip, his cheek bruised where Pop had punched him.

Henroin seemed to loom over everyone in the room, as he stared down at his child, who refused to show any emotion on his face. “Don’t ever disrespect me like that again, boy,” he told him calmly, his fist red with Nico’s blood. “Ya gonna do as I say, or do I gotta make myself more clear to ya?”

Nico was silent for a bit, before giving in. “Yes.”

“Good.” Henroin sat back down, spreading his papers before him as if nothing had occurred. 

***

Two weddings now, with a bride that could hardly wait and a groom who was going through with it against his will.

Nonna was happy at the prospect of living to see great-grandchildren in her arms, but furious that Nico would have to enter a forced marriage. Henroin had received a dressing down from his mother, just as he always did whenever he dared to touch her grandchildren. If in his heart the capo felt shame when his mother censured him, he kept it to himself. The only emotion and love Henroin Ragnetto had ever showed were for his mother, and even that he kept bottled up.

Today was the day Molly planned to introduce her fiance, Tom. Pop couldn’t have cared less. Molly was too frightened of what the repercussions could be. She wasn’t afraid of their father, but afraid for Tom, not for herself. It was instead left to Nonna, Anthony, and Nico to meet the new addition to their family, with Henrik sticking around.

Henrik rather liked Anthony’s twin. Besides the one instance where she rebelled against being confined to her home, Molly Ragnetto had always been sweet. She was one of the kindest people he had ever met. Her big heart was extraordinary to witness in a crime family. She was like Anthony: they both were too innocent, believing the best of others.

But she was not fragile. She could shoot a gun with the best of them, and never took shit from others. She could handle herself.

Everyone had always thought of her as pretty, and she was: she had thick blonde hair, lovely pale white skin, and large eyes as blue as sapphires, fringed like long black lashes, with high cheekbones and a full, pouting mouth that she had inherited from Bridgetta, freckles sprinkled across her tiny nose, golden and gorgeous. She was very lovely, although personally, her pretty brother was more to Henrik’s tastes. He liked his mismatched eyes, like a pair of diamonds and sapphires, the soft, silky hair that fell into his eyes, that long swanlike throat, his pretty pink cock, that rounded bottom that he was always having to bare and redden. He loved Anthony: the way his eyes flashed with temper, how he blushed when Henrik teased him and when he was embarrassed, the way he never backed down, his stubborn nature, his love for his family, the way he clutched Henrik after his spanking, his fists curled into Henrik’s shirt, seeking his comfort and forgiveness.

She was all ready for Tom to come over to meet her loved ones, her hair in a bob and framing her delicate face, thick lashes accentuated by mascara, her eyes large and vibrant, wearing a soft blue evening dress to match her eyes. She had somehow needled Nico into coming. Anthony was looking just as beautiful as his twin, although dressed more comfortably: a plain buttoned white shirt, pants, and boots. He always wore the look well: the shirt showed his slender torso and chest to perfection, the pants hugging his tiny waist and complimenting his rounded bottom, his boots showing off those long legs of his. Nico was, conventionally, a handsome man, the definition of tall, dark, and handsome, and looked well, even if he was menacing with his dark scowl.

Nonna made no promises to be good. She was elegant and regal, even while resting in her chair by the fireside, wearing black silk, with diamonds glinting in her snow-white hair, a perfect match to the diamond of her eyes. Henrik briefly wondered what it would be like to deck Anthony up in jewels. Something to match his extraordinary eyes… “I make no vows to be on my best behavior, cara,” she informed her granddaughter. “If he gives me shit, I will give shit right back.” Her grin was wicked as ever, utterly unrepentant.

Henrik snorted under his breath when Tom arrived. Oh, the irony. There was nothing wrong with the man. That was the problem. The only daughter of the capo was marrying this sweet-hearted, gentle man. It was almost amusing to see, if he weren’t happy for the two.

Molly greeted her fiance with a kiss, introducing him to her family. “Darling, these are my brothers,” she began. “Nicholas and Anthony.”

Tom was handsome, Henrik had to admit, with his startling blue eyes a shocking contrast to his dark hair, with masculine features and broad shoulders. He bore a certain resemblance to Cary Grant, a new upcoming actor in Hollywood.

He looked uncertainly at Anthony, who was strewn across the couch, his boots kicked up over the arm of the couch, sitting up on his elbow. “Your brother?” he asked, stunned.

Henrik glowered at the man, feeling what he knew was unnecessary jealousy in his gut. The man was exceptionally good-looking, and although he knew what times decreed, he hated the thought of any man touching his Anthony.

Anthony grinned up at the man, unabashed, a lock of blonde hair falling into his face. “Don’t let this pretty face and long eyelashes fool ya,” he teased the man, drawing out Tom’s torture. “I got a cock, same as the rest.” He fluttered his lashes.

Molly was horrified. “Anthony!” she scolded him.

Anthony merely shrugged.

Henrik made himself calm down. He knew there was no reason to be jealous.

Nico didn’t bother with niceties. He gave Tom a long, cool, assessing look with his black eyes. “Whatever.” He turned away, walking out.

It turned out Tom wasn’t as shy and faltering as he seemed. He was reserved around those he did not know, but once they got to talking, they saw the intelligent, passionate man behind it, who obviously loved Molly with all his heart and was looking forward to starting a life with her.

Anthony liked Tom. He was a good man, and he knew he and Molly would be happy together. But his mind was whirling from Pops’s demand.

All this bloodshed had been because Pops was desperately trying to keep his power. He sought alliances with Russo, Ruiz, and Muller to use for extra arms against another rivalling capo, Diego Santiago. The Romanos had been tied to Santiago in alliance. Henroin had eliminated that potential threat. Now he sought one more thread to strengthen his status. An alliance through marriage, hopefully one that could not be broken due to blood ties. The Brackens were an old family, originating from England. They had had ties to royalty and underground crime since the medieval era, and were a respected name throughout the crime world. Henroin intended to marry Nico to one of their daughters.

Nico showed his disdain and hatred for Anthony every day, Anthony knew that. Yet…

Anthony’s memories were faint. He could hardly recall them, but they were still there, vague memories of when he was young: Nico leading Pops off when he was five, to save him from his anger, Nico jumping into the water to rescue him when Anthony was first learning to swim, being given warm, sweet smiles from when he was too young to remember how old he could have possibly been. But they were there.

Anthony didn’t hold out hope for things to ever be like that. They weren’t kids anymore. Pops had shaped Nico into who he wanted him to be. Anthony wasn’t the same person he had been at thirteen, when…when Mama died.

But Anthony wondered if there was a way to free Nico from this marriage. An idea came to him. It was risky, and dangerous, and Henrik would beat his ass if he ever found out, but…Nico wouldn’t have to be forced into a marriage he did not want, and who was to say Henrik ever had to find out?

He knew where Santiago’s domains were.

He only needed to catch him alone.

***

Anthony had kept his word. Things were different between Henrik and Anthony now, and Henrik could see no way to break through his wall.

Anthony acted the way he had when they first met: cold, aloof, disdainful. He was the perfect image of the haughty kid he had been introduced to.

Anthony spoke to him harshly, or not at all. He made his position clear. Henrik tried what he could, but nothing ever worked.

Anthony could see his efforts. He did not want them. He wanted this wall to never be knocked down again. It had cost him everything to not have his heart guarded once. Henrik had come too close to breaking it. He would not let Henrik hurt him, cruelly use him. He wasn’t going to be so foolish again.

Now back in his apartment, he dressed for his plot, putting on his shoes, the quiet ones. They never made a sound. Santiago’s residence was out near the desert, near the place where Henrik had upended Anthony over the hood of his car, so he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, a flimsy material, allowing wind to pass through his sleeves. He slipped his arms through a black coat, then put a cap over his head to hide his features.

Henrik was busy that day. It was perfect. Pops said he needed him for a raid on a shipment coming in. Anthony could use that to his advantage. He’d be in and out before anyone noticed he was missing, he hoped.

The drive was long, and his hands were shaking. If he failed, he’d die. He knew Santiago would show no measure. Hell, he might even send Pops his head as a gift. If he succeeded, and anyone discovered what he had done, he didn’t think his ass was going to survive the beating it would get. He wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week. He inhaled PCP to rid himself of the thought.

But he couldn’t turn back now. He knew he technically could, but he wouldn’t falter now. Despite the way Nico treated him, he wanted his brother to at least have a choice. Fuck him for caring, but a part of Anthony still loved him, the brother he used to know. Maybe something deep inside Anthony wanted to do this to get that brother back again.

Santiago’s stomping grounds were in an isolated area, with nothing but the sand for company, if not for the armed guards. Anthony cursed, having walked for a while; he knew a car pulling up would have undoubtedly drawn suspicion. He needed a way to slip past them.

He spotted Santiago by the front of the residence, leaning against the lean-to, his legs crossed, smoking a cigarette. He was lean and dark, but his arms bulged with muscle. He was no longer young, but his face was still pleasing, with a strong jaw and coffee-brewed brown eyes. This man was a danger to the Ragnettos. Always had been. Anthony never was told why. No one was ever told. All they had ever known was that Pops hated him more than anyone, thus the need for his destruction.

He found an entrance along the backway that entered into the house. If he could make his way inside, he’d be able to get a clear chance at Santiago. He’d never even see him coming. He slipped through, slowly and stealthily making his way behind Santiago, his steps quiet.

Soon he was close enough to hear him breathe, as he assessed the hard back of Santiago. He was watching his men at work, no doubt plotting the fall of Anthony’s dad. Anthony could not allow that to happen any more than he could allow Nico to be trapped into marriage.

He shoved the gun into the man’s back, noting the way the man stilled, going quiet, although his demeanor never wavered, continuing to retain a pleasant stance.

“If ya move,” Anthony threatened, pushing the gun harder into the capo’s spine, “I’ll fill ya with so many bullets you’ll whistle when ya walk.”

He was surprised and slightly insulted to hear a chuckle, the man’s back rumbling with the sound. “That’s cute,” he shot, his voice strong and masculine, thick from years of smoking. “Ya think ya got the upper hand here? Tell me.” His tone was amused. “What did I do to cause ya ta be intent on my death, ya little shit?” 

“I don’t gotta answer any of your questions,” Anthony whispered harshly. “Ya gotta be fuckin’-”

Santiago was fast, striking quick as a snake. For an older man, he was still agile, and suddenly Anthony’s arm was seized harshly, and he was yanked up off his feet as Santiago grabbed him by both arms, slamming him against the door, yanking his cap off to see his face. Anthony yelped as his back met the door painfully, his hands clutching Santiago’s wrists for balance.

“If someone wanted me dead, they probably shoulda sent someone a bit older,” Santiago mused, his brown eyes searching his face. “You’re kinda young ta be in this business. Why are ya here? Ain’tcha got some-”

He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he caught sight of Anthony’s eyes. One a deep brown, like melting chocolate, the other a deep blue sapphire. The deep-blue orb caught his gaze the most. “Yer eye…” Santiago said, his voice choked.

Anthony glared at him, his gun having been kicked to the floor. “Yeah, yeah, I know, fucked up eye,” he snapped, struggling in the man’s grip. “Get the fuck ova’ it and let go of me!”

Anthony was shocked at the gentle look in his eyes. They were almost tender in that moment. He lowered Anthony to his feet. Anthony almost flinched, as Santiago reached out, fingering a strand of blonde hair between his fingertips, feeling its silkiness.

“Caterina…” he murmured.

Anthony’s eyes widened. “How the fuck do ya know my Ma’s name?” he demanded to know.

Santiago didn’t answer, suddenly stepping back, irritation clear in his face. He cursed harshly in Russian, and gave Anthony a fierce glare, one that caused Anthony to feel rooted to the ground. “What’s Ragnetto thinkin’, sendin’ a fuckin’ kid ta take out a capo-”

“Hold the fuck up, shitstain,” Anthony interrupted. “No one sent me to shit! I came on my own!”

Santiago stopped, looking at him, now looking annoyed with him. “Ya got no business ta be taking out mafiosos,” he informed him sternly. “Who the fuck put in your fool head that you’d come out of this alive? You oughta be spanked for attempting something so idiotic.” His eyes were flashing.

Anthony took a step back. He already knew his ass was in trouble with Henrik, but he was damned if he was gonna let his Pops’s enemy talk down to him. “Don’t treat me like I’m a fuckin’ kid,” he snarled. “If you’re gonna kill me, then get on with it.” He wouldn’t beg, if he was gonna die. He didn’t want to die, not now, not like this, but he wasn’t going to go out a fuckin’ coward, either.

Santiago stilled, his eyes softening. “I’m not gonna kill ya,” he informed Anthony. Anthony’s eyes widened. What the fuck?

Santiago continued. “What I am going to do is send ya home, along with a little message to your old man that if he wants to kill me, at least be enough of a man to do it himself instead of sending a fucking kid to carry it out.” He chuckled low. “Never thought I’d see the day that Caterina’s kid would try to off me. But here.” He kicked the gun toward Anthony with the toe of his boot. “Shoot your shot. Try me.”

Anthony scowled at him. Santiago was quite obviously making fun of him. He’d show him he wasn’t some amateur kid, as he seized the gun, ready to paint him with shots.

His men didn’t take too kindly to their capo being threatened, evidently. He heard the click of guns being readied behind him, causing him to whirl at the sound.

Santiago chuckled behind him. “Seems you might have a little more trouble draggin’ my sorry carcass outta here than ya thought,” he commented.

Anthony’s eyes were glistening with humiliated tears. His mind was darting all over the place. Remembering his last resort, he bent, snatching the knife from his boot, ready to gut him the same way he did Moore, but he never got the chance.

A hand seized him around the scruff of his neck, yanking him away from Santiago. He shrieked in shock, being forced backward, as he was whipped around. Absolutely furious amber eyes met his own. Anthony’s mouth dropped. No! He had been so careful!

Henrik grabbed his arms, shaking him harshly, causing Anthony’s world to tremble. “Are you fucking stupid or something?!” he thundered, shaking him violently again. “Do you not realize you could have been killed, huh?! Do you never think about what anyone would go through if you got yourself killed? Answer me!” He shook him again.

Anthony’s eyes filled with tears at his rage. He was suddenly frightened of Henrik. “Henrik, stop!” he begged. “Let go of me!”

“Trust me, brat, you do not want to make me angry right now,” Henrik growled. “You’re already getting a spanking when we get back.” He bent his head to speak directly into his ear. “Do you seriously want your spanking over my knee right here? Think carefully.”

Anthony blushed at his threat, thankful no one heard, but evidently only Santiago had. He gave  a great belly laugh. “Called it,” he quipped.

Anthony wrenched himself free of Henrik, backing up. It was then that he noticed several of his father’s men, including Nico, guns already out. Nico was beyond angry.

“Didn’t think we’d have to get to this so soon,” Nico commented, almost nonchalantly, “but, thanks to Tony here, guess we’re doin’ this.”

“I guess we are,” Santiago agreed, reaching for his own weapon.

Anthony felt guilt. What had he done? He was only trying to help. “Nico, wait. I-”

He turned blazing black eyes on his brother. “Shut the fuck up,” he snarled. “You’ve done more than enough.”

Anthony’s mismatched eyes filled with tears at his brother’s fury. It hurt, even now. “But ya gotta listen! I was just-”

Nico stalked closer, causing Anthony to back up in fear. “The fuck were ya thinking, coming here alone? You ruined our cover. Pops didn’t trust ya to know who we were taking out on a raid, but no, you just had to go and fuck it up, as always.” He shoved Anthony hard. “Couldn’t ya just stay and do as you’re told for once in your fucking life?!”

Anthony’s back hit the lean-to, his hands grasping it behind him for support. “I just wanted to help! I-I thought if I got ‘im, then ya wouldn’t have to marry! I was only tryin’ to-”

“I NEVER ASKED FOR YOUR FUCKIN’ HELP!” Nico raged, his face red with anger. “Ya think I want help from you?! As if you could help anyone! All ya ever do is fuck up!” He grabbed Anthony, his hands cruel and bruising Anthony’s flesh through his shirt. “Ya weakened Ma in childbirth, ya always gotta go and try to win Pops’s approval, ya let that fuckin’ piece of shit -” he pointed at Henrik - “beat ya. I don’t want you or your help, do ya understand? Just get out of here, ya fuckin’ f-”

“Back the fuck off, Ragnetto,” Henrik said coldly, shoving Nico away from Anthony, causing him to lose his grip on his brother. “You’re hurting him.” He grabbed Anthony’s wrist, pulling him to his chest. He rubbed Anthony’s arms, to alleviate the bruises.

“I’ve heard enough,” Santiago said solemnly, looking at Anthony with sympathy. Anthony could have shot him. He hated that look. He didn’t need his pity.

Anthony’s heart was turning over in wrenching pain. The words his brother had thrown at him hurt unbearably, and he was embarrassed, having gotten shouted at in front of everyone. In thirty seconds, he had been reduced to a foolish little kid, and Nico only made clear what Anthony already knew: that Nico resented him, and always would. His breath was coming in quick, as he tried to calm down, his breaths shuddering. He couldn’t calm down. He didn’t mean to - he only meant - he wasn’t -

Henrik may have helped him, but he was no less angry than Nico. “Come on, Legs,” he said sternly, quiet. “Let’s get this over with.”

When he looked at those gorgeous eyes like two gems, they were sparkling with tears.

“Quite a drama, this family,” Santiago mused, his eyes regarding Anthony with tenderness and that infuriating pity. “Unless I miss my guess, you’re that hitman Tychon everyone’s always going on about.”

Henrik looked at him icily. “I don’t know why you spared his life, but I’m grateful just the same,” he thanked his boss’s rival. Santiago only grunted.

“For my love Caterina’s sake, if not for his own,” he muttered, looking at Anthony’s features.

Henrik turned back to the teenager, who was obviously angry, upset, and dreading his punishment. He sighed, stooping down, his shoulder making contact with Anthony’s hip, as he tossed him over his shoulder. Anthony cried out as he dangled, beyond mortified, his cheeks flaming. He hated this position. It was humiliating! It was worse that his father’s men saw him being carried out of there, thrown over Henrik’s shoulder, taken back to the car.

Henrik slowly let Anthony down, steadying him with his hands on his hips, opening his car door. Anthony slid inside, trying not to cry, and knowing he was in so much trouble. He brought his legs up to his chest, hugging them tightly, turning his face to the window.

***

When they got to Anthony’s apartment, Anthony all but bolted to his room, turning and locking the door behind him before Henrikk could reach him. He slid to the floor, arms once again wrapping around his long legs, staring dully into nothing.

“Anthony.” He heard Henrik knock, the vibration that went down his spine at the contact. “Anthony, open the door. You can’t hide in there forever, kid.”

Anthony didn’t reply. He saw no reason to cooperate. He couldn’t do anything right. Henrik was so angry with him, he probably hated Anthony. Anthony couldn’t stand to be here another minute.

He used the silence to his advantage, deciding he needed to forget. He went to his mirror, staring at his ravaged face. His cheeks were wet with tears, his mismatched eyes shining, his mouth trembling. He tried to compose himself, pressing his hands to his cheeks.

He disguised himself, tugging over his head a short-sleeved white blouse, buttoning it up his chest. He pulled a black skirt over his hips, stopping just above his ankles, fitted with a slim black belt. He fluffed and styled his hair, going for that style he had perfected in drag, then doing his makeup, doing his eyeliner and painting his lips a reddish hue. When he assessed himself in the mirror, he had to admit he fit the look well. He slipped on some black heels to complete the look, before yanking his window open.

***

He snorted PCP until he was stumbling home, pocketing some bags in his pocket. Several men had been more than willing to give him what he wanted. Why not? They saw a pretty girl with long fluttering lashes and long, slender legs walking up to them. Anthony knew they’d do what he wanted, if he gave them the right touch, putting a gentle hand on their arm, kissing their cheek, promising them a night together sometime soon.

He hated it. He loved how he looked. That was why he loved to do this. He liked the mystery, the attention men gave him. But he hated what they expected in return. He wanted to be who he was, without hiding.

He prayed Henrik was not still at the apartment. He didn’t want to see him. He didn’t want to get spanked. He didn’t want to see his kindness, his anger, he didn’t want anything Henrik could give him. He wanted to be alone. He preferred it that way. So long as he was alone, he was safe.

He unlocked his door, the keys jingling in his hand, as he turned the doorknob. Hearing nothing, he let out a sigh of relief, stepping inside. It was afternoon, almost dinnertime. He felt no hunger, deciding to skip food.

He remembered Nico’s words: Ya weakened Ma in childbirth. His fault, his fault…If it weren’t for him, Mama would have been strong enough to carry another child. If it weren’t for him, for coming after Molly, for being born, she would still be here. His fault, his fault, all his fault-

“Have a good time?”

Anthony jumped at the voice, seeing Henrik in the doorframe of his bedroom, arms crossed over his chest, his face stern and unyielding, a dark brow raised in question.

“I…” Anthony faltered, backing up a step, “I was just…”

Henrik snorted. “Spare me your excuses, Legs,” he interrupted him, pushing himself off the doorframe, walking over. “Let’s get this over with, then we’ll start over.” He held out his hand.

Anthony backed up more, his eyes wide. “No, Henrik, don’t,” he begged, his gaze pleading with Henrik for leniency. “Please.”

Henrik’s face never softened, although his eyes were kind. “You know you earned a punishment for this,” he told Anthony quietly. “You know the rules. If you misbehave, you get a spanking.” Anthony blushed. “Come on, Anthony. Let’s get the spanking over with, and we’ll move on from this and get past this, after your spanking.”

Anthony reddened even further at his words, and tried to make a run for it, slipping past Henrik, but Henrik caught him by the waist.

“No, no, no!” Anthony protested, fighting the hands on him, struggling against Henrik. “Henrik, no! Don’t!”

His pleas were useless, as he was tugged over to his table. Anthony remembered how he had thrown a coffee pot at Henrik in this very spot. He gasped as he was bent over the table, his butt sticking up, his cheeks upturned, his mortification skyrocketing. “Henrik, no…” he whimpered.

He was deep red as he felt Henrik pulling up his skirt, baring his panties to view, more black lace to match his skirt. Anthony panicked, squirming ferociously, angry. “Get off of me!” he shouted, banging his fist against the table.

Henrik pulled Anthony’s skirt up above his hips, so they no longer framed his backside. His cheeks were covered by a layer of fine black lace, a lovely contrast to his pale skin, the freckles on his cheeks dotting his flesh like golden flecks. He rested a hand on his ass, feeling Anthony still at his touch. He glided his hand across the mounds, feeling the texture of that lace. His hand drifted to the side, feeling a sliver of lace between his fingertips. He took the pretty lace panties in his grasp, tugging them down to Anthony’s knees. Anthony gasped at the motion, feeling his underwear getting dragged down his legs, kicking slightly, as he protested, a long whine coming from his throat, as Henrik exposed his bare ass. Henrik smiled grimly, raising his hand and bringing it down on one of those cute freckled cheeks.

“Ohh!” Anthony cried out, his head thrown back. It never ceased to amaze him how much it stung, just how much Henrik’s hand hurt, how strong Henrik was, not to mention just how embarrassing it was. Anthony would have preferred a beating to being subjected to the indignity of a spanking.

Henrik smacked the other cheek, causing Anthony to cry out again. He paddled the cheeks before him, alternating, using his hard hand on Anthony’s cheeks, as they began to flush pink under his hand, the aforementioned cheeks squirming as they tried to escape Henrik’s slaps.

“Ow, it hurts!” Anthony whined, top and bottom cheeks blazing. “Fuck! Stop, Henrik, stop! Ah!” But Henrik paid him no mind, only continuing his descent on Anthony’s vulnerable buttocks. Anthony reached a hand back, traveling behind his skirt, shielding his poor bottom, but Henrik grabbed both wrists, keeping them pinned behind his back, leaving Anthony ass up, his cheeks offered up for Henrik to spank. “Owwwwwwwww!” he protested, kicking his legs at the onslaught of strikes. To his horror, at the combination of the table underneath him and Henrik pressed behind him, Anthony could feel Henrik’s shaft pressing against his ass. Despite the circumstances, Anthony’s cock twitched, causing his cheeks to flame even more.

As he shifted on his feet, yelping, he heard the telltale sound of rustling, drawing Henrik’s attention. “No!” he shrieked, as he felt Henrik reach for his pocket, and his hands touched the bags of powder.

He was glad he couldn’t see Henrik’s face, not wanting to see the disappointment and anger on his face. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Henrik scolded him. “I told you you’re not supposed to take this crap. You know better than that, Anthony.”

Anthony wasn’t truly crying, but he still felt desperate as he tried to explain. “It’s mine,” he gasped, his breaths shaky and quick. “I need it, Henrik! I need it!”

“No, you don’t,” Henrik told him strictly. “I was going to finish up and draw your punishment to a close, but you just earned yourself more. I hope it was worth it, Legs.”

“Nooo!” Anthony protested, feeling Henrik’s hand plummet down on his ass, crying out at the smacks, feeling Henrik’s hand on his bare skin, his kicking having caused his panties to fall to his ankles. Henrik marveled at how soft his skin was, every time. His skin was reddening; that had to hurt a lot. Henrik winced in sympathy for the kid, giving him a couple more swats.

Anthony was surprised as he was pulled up, having expected something harsher after his angel dust was confiscated. He looked at him, his lips parted, wide eyes gazing up in question. Henrik took his wrists in his hand, leading him into the bedroom, taking him to the wall.

“Stand in the corner,” he ordered him, shocking Anthony to his core. “Pull up your skirt and bare your bottom. Leave it bared and don’t move until I say you can.”

Anthony gasped in horror at the mere idea, cheeks blazing. “No!” he refused. “I’m not doing that! I’m not five! Ya can’t! Ya can’t just-”

Henrik turned him around, giving his backside some stinging swats, causing Anthony to howl and rise to his toes, trying to get away from his hard punishing hand. “Yes, you will,” he told the fighting teenager. “You’re gonna stand there, and you’re gonna bare your ass, because I said so, and you’re gonna think on what you’ve done, and why you’re never gonna do something so reckless again.”

Anthony sniffed, wanting to rub his burning bottom, but he knew better. He cried softly as he waddled to the corner, his underwear puddled around his ankles. He shakily reached back, taking his skirt tentatively in his hands, and raised his skirt, baring his reddened bottom to Henrik, choking on his cries and mortification. He had never been so embarrassed in his whole life. What was worse was that the impact of the table underneath his stomach and Henrik’s closeness had caused him to become aroused. He was mortified. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Henrik watched him for a moment, gazing at his crimson cheeks, feeling slight guilt for embarrassing him like this, but he didn’t want Anthony to ever put his life in danger again. He could have died today. Henrik had been terrified that he wouldn’t get there in time, that he was already too late. A little embarrassment was a small price to pay over getting killed.

He rose, walking over to him.

Anthony heard him return, but couldn’t bear to look at him, as he was forced to bare his bottom, clutching his skirt tightly. It was beyond embarrassment, even, knowing Henrik could see everything, his cheeks burning unbearably from Henrik’s hand. He gasped under his breath as Henrik’s hands settled on his hips, turning him around softly. His chin was caught, his face raised.

“Don’t ever do what you did today again, brat,” he told him, before going to sit on the chair in his room. He looked at him, his look of determination never changing. “Bring me your hairbrush,” he ordered.

Anthony’s mouth dropped open. “No!” he argued. “Ya already used your hand! I ain’t bringing you shit!”

Henrik regarded him calmly. “You’re going to bring it to me, because I told you to, and because if I have to go and get it, your ass is going to pay the price.”

Anthony slammed his foot on the ground in rage, his eyes flashing diamond and sapphire flames, then turned, snatching up the brush by the mirror, his steps awkward due to the underwear still tangled around his feet, stomping back to Henrik. Henrik’s eyes glanced down. Anthony’s pink cock was out, his pants and underwear down. He was hard, he realized, a bead of precum glistening at the tip, although that could be due to the cold air. Yet he wondered.

Henrik held out his hand expectantly, one brow raised, an amused smirk on his sexy lips.

Anthony bit the inside of his cheek to rein in his temper, yet failed. He didn’t say a word, merely slapping the brush hard into Henrik’s hand, relishing the smack that echoed across the room. He gave a shrill sound as Henrik’s hands shot out, grabbing his hips, and he was tugged closer. A hand came down, cupping the back of his neck, as Henrik bent his head to Anthony’s ear. He chuckled huskily. “That was a very bad idea, brat.” His breath stirred the wisps of hair at Anthony’s ear. He shivered.

Anthony was unable to restrain his cry as Henrik’s hands lifted him, dumping right over his lap. Anthony could feel his butt sticking up in the air, his cheeks bared and lifted for Henrik to spank. Anthony knew he was going to feel the back of his hairbrush soon.

Henrik stared at the pretty bottom over his knee, propped up and presented for the hairbrush. His skin was always so unbelievably soft. He could feel the anger radiating from the kid, as he dangled over his knee. He held his waist in his hand, deciding to get this over with.

“Ah!” Suddenly, the brush came swishing down, striking his cheek harshly. Fuck, that hurt! “Oh!” The other cheek was given the same treatment. Anthony kicked his feet in protest at the feeling. He had never been more embarrassed as Henrik took to slamming the brush down alternatively, striking one cheek, then another. His butt was a burning furnace, stinging unbearably. The hairbrush was cold and unforgiving as it slapped against his butt. Anthony gritted his teeth, his fist clenching the material of Henrik’s pant leg tightly. He didn’t know what to do with himself, how to handle the pain.

A choked gasp fell from his mouth as the brush fell, as Henrik continued to rapidly paddle his bottom. “Ow, owwww!” Anthony wailed, his head turned up to the ceiling, grateful he was not at home, in the vicinity where anyone could walk by and hear, but it was small comfort to be had when you were getting your ass beat. “Ahh, God, that hurts!” he complained. He moaned in pain. “Ahh.”

“I warned you what would happen if I ever caught you with drugs again,” Henrik censured the moaning teenager over his knee, the brush slapping his upturned cheeks harshly. “Not to mention after what you pulled today. You could have fucking died. If Santiago hadn’t been in a merciful mood, then you would be. Ya think I wanna tell your grandmother and sister that you got yourself killed?” He brought the brush down again.

Anthony shrieked at the impact, his eyes filling with tears at his words. “No, no, please, I’m sorry!” he wailed. He hated begging for mercy, but right now he’d do anything to get away from that horrid hairbrush. He was going to burn it, he vowed to himself. He never wanted Henrik to use that on him again. “I won’t do it again, I promise!” he swore to Henrik. “Oww! Ahh! Stop!” he yelled.

“You’re not nearly as sorry as you’re gonna be,” Henrik promised him solemnly, using his waist to pull him closer, paddling the cheeks before him thoroughly. Anthony wailed at the onslaught of smacks, screaming his outrage and pain to the ceiling above, his legs kicking.

He yelled until his voice was hoarse and ached from the effort, collapsing over Henrik’s knee, angry tears running down his face. He wasn’t truly crying. He did not weep during the occasion. But tears had escaped him nonetheless. He didn’t think there was anyone in this world with a harder hand. In some small sense, he was relieved not to feel the mortifying contact of Henrik’s hand on his bare ass. That was beyond infuriating, and his dignity and pride could not have borne it.

Once he stopped struggling, Henrik drew it to a close. “Almost done, brat,” he told Anthony, giving those swollen crimson cheeks a few final smacks, before setting the brush down.

Anthony moaned at the feeling of cool air on his burning bottom.

Henrik gently lifted Anthony to his feet, his hands spanning his tiny waist, his skirt falling down to cover him, his panties pulled down to his ankles. “There we go,” he soothed softly. “See, all done now.”

Anthony’s face was deep red. He resisted the urge to reach down and rub his sore bottom, but knew Henrik wouldn’t like that. He bent, pulling his underwear back up, sucking in a sharp breath as the lace rubbed against his sore cheeks.

He straightened his shoulders, fixing his hair, which had become tousled during the struggle, preparing to face Henrik with the same icy exterior he had been greeting him with for a while now.

Henrik was chilled by the look the kid graced him with. His heterochromatic eyes, chocolate-brown and deep sapphire-blue, were cold and glacial. A tender look in his eyes, Henrik lifted his hand to brush a tendril of hair from Anthony’s face, which had fallen during his spanking, but Anthony stepped back from his touch, looking at him with hatred.

“Get out,” he spat, his words dripping with poison. “I don’t want ya here. Ya beat my ass, we’re finished here. So leave.” His gaze was positively dead as he gazed into Henrik’s eyes. “I don’t want ta see ya around my apartment again. Got that?” He turned, having evidently dismissed Henrik.

This was not the Anthony that Henrik knew. It was his act. The Anthony he knew hid his true exterior under a haughty, arrogant manner, using his status to push others away. His Anthony was loving, with a bad temper, who let go of his act when Henrik had smacked his bottom long enough, who loved his family deeply, who was dangerous in combat but only ever wanting to make his family proud. This was the Anthony he had originally met.

Anthony didn’t turn around, acting as if Henrik wasn’t here.

Henrik sighed, heading out the door.

***

Everything was finalized within three weeks. Ruiz agreed to the match. Nico and one of his daughters were to marry in a week.

Pops never left anything to chance. When Russo brought Ruiz and Muller along for a joint alliance with Pops, it had not mattered to Pops that Ruiz was not his ally as well. Alejandro Ruiz and Enzo Romano had been a close-knit combination of forces for decades, and those close ties made Pa feel threatened. He eliminated the Romano line to ensure that Ruiz could not betray him and rejoin with Romano.

Ruiz was sending his girl over today, so Pops and Nico could inspect her and see if she would do.

Ruiz was an even stricter and possessive family man than Pa, surprisingly, so much so that none knew much about his family. He kept his wife and female family members isolated, under heavy guard, at home, where they were forbidden from leaving. They had most likely never seen a man who had not been their family or working for their father. No one was even sure how many daughters he had. He had no sons, but a large amount of daughters.

Ruiz had been born and raised in America, but his blood hailed from Spain, and the women were kept even more confined, per ancient traditions. Alejandro Ruiz’s strict, conservative Spanish grandmother insisted that no man should look on the girls’ faces, but that they should be heavily veiled in priceless black or white lace manillas, until they were married.

Her name was Elaine.

Nico, Nonna, Molly, and Anthony were there to greet her. She was a dainty, slim fit of a girl, her tiny feet making no sound as she crossed the threshold. She wore an exquisite gown of white silk, with lovely tight white sleeves of lace. She was draped in a white manilla, hiding her face from view.

Anthony could see the shock on Nico’s face as she suddenly knelt at his feet like a supplicant, her head bowed. God, what had Ruiz done to this girl? Nico put an end to it, taking her hands and lifting her to her feet.

Pops came to see if she was…suitable, in his mind. Henroin Ragnetto had always put great pride in his selection of a bride. Caterina had been a great beauty, and a credit to him, he had always felt. He was equally determined that his son should have a beauty to greet and grace others with as well.

His silver eyes looked at the delicate girl, looking at her white-clad figure with disdain. “Fucking espanoletes,” he swore harshly. He lifted the veil to bare her face, taking her chin harshly in his hand, tilting her face up. The girl looked up at him with large eyes, until he released her. “Good,” he affirmed. “She will do nicely.” He turned on his heel and left. Nico was looking on her with horror.

Anthony caught a glimpse of his future sister-in-law. She was pretty. Her hair was a dark red, auburn, thick and soft. When loose, it would probably fall down to her hips, curling softly at the tips. Her eyes were large and green, the color of mint, with a heart-shaped face, a button nose, her skin was smooth and creamy, and lips full and pink.

But then he saw why Nico was looking at her in that way. She was so young . Too young. Certainly too young to consent to marriage.

She was…sweet. It broke Anthony’s heart. She gazed up at Nico through thick eyelashes, speaking in a quiet, sweet-toned voice. “My future husband, I hope I am not a disappointment to you.” She greeted Nonna with an embrace and a kiss on the cheek, calling her “grandmother”, before embracing Molly and calling her sister. Once reassured that she would not need to remain on her knees before them, or else Anthony feared she would have knelt to him, she enfolded Anthony in a warm clasp, calling him “my loving brother”. 

She revealed she had brought them all gifts. For Nonna she had sewn a beautiful red-and-black shawl made of fine silk. Having found out about Molly’s own upcoming marriage, she gave her a magnificent necklace of diamonds and sapphires. “To match your eyes,” she added. Molly exclaimed over the gorgeous gift, thanking her profusely, deciding then and there that she would wear this for her wedding. She shyly offered up to Nico a marvelous scarlet ruby ring, and gave Anthony a blue sapphire one in a black set. It perfectly matched his heterochromia. Her smile was sweet and innocent. She intended to give Pa something, but Nico evidently feared for her, and she was dissuaded from giving it to him in person. Nico promised to give it to him later, giving her a gentle smile.

Nico had good reason to be worried over her age, it turned out. Later that night, after dinner, which had been prepared lavishly to greet the future Mrs. Ragnetto, Nico was yelling at Pa.

“She is sixteen!” Anthony heard Nico shout. “You knew this, and decided to force her into a marriage with a man eight years older than her! She’s a kid! She’s closa’ in age ta Tony and Molly! I won’t go through with it.”

But they all knew that he had no choice.

Anthony liked her, but his heart broke after learning of her young age. He would be happy to call her family, but it was disturbing just how young she was. The worst part was that Pops knew the whole time, but he went through with it anyway.

His next words were haunting. “She’s young enough to bear children,” Pops maintained, his tone cool and collected. “Your mother never complained; she knew her duty. She was nineteen when she had you.”

Mama. Anthony stilled. He had not been able to forget about Santiago, and his reaction to Anthony’s mismatched eyes. He had known his mother’s name. He had spared Anthony’s life on account of Mama.

He needed to know why, and he would stop at nothing to figure out the truth. Who was Santiago really, why did Pops want him dead, and how did he come to know his mother?

Henrik wasn’t an issue. Anthony had coldly dismissed him every day. He normally left Anthony alone when he made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with him.

Anthony penned a message to Santiago, determined to find out the truth.

***

Ragnetto wanted to see him, Henrik had been told, as he came at Ragnetto’s summons. Henrik was saddened by Anthony’s dismissals. He had reverted back to that haughty, cold individual he had met in the beginning, and if Anthony had sworn to himself to never let down his guard again, he had evidently kept that promise.

Like it or not, though, today Henrik was supposed to train Anthony, but he could not find him anywhere. That was nothing new. Anthony gave him one of his remote responses and gave Henrik his back every day. “I don’t need your help,” he informed him yesterday.

His mind was still on Anthony as he arrived.

The instant he stepped through the door, he knew that something was wrong. A handful of men were present, Nico included, and none of the faces were friendly.

Henroin’s disturbing gray eyes seemed to pierce right through Henrik’s soul. He didn’t speak for a while, but when he did, his voice was as cold and terrifying as always. “You came to me highly recommended,” he told Henrik. “I hired you to make my son less of a disappointment, nothing more.”

Henrik’s skin crawled. “Boss, I don’t understa-”

“Remember your place, boy,” Ragnetto silenced him, his eyes silvery and contemptuous. “You forget yourself. You are not a made man, you were not born into a family of wealth or influence. You obey orders, and your superior decides whether or not you rise.” His lips thinned. “You have no authority here. And yet you decide to question how I punish my son, decreeing that you know best how to carry out his punishments. You have interfered once already, and saw fit to intercede and stop my hand. You have also evidently deemed it permissible to threaten my heir with a deadly weapon. I don’t think you understand the order of things around here. I am capo, not the other way around.” His eyes seared into him. “I’ve come to the decision that this cannot be abided.”

Henrik knew that he was entering dangerous territory here. The look in Ragnetto’s eyes held a promise of something dangerous. He gritted his jaw. “If you feel my respect and obedience is lacking, then I am happy to adjust to whatever you feel is necessary.”

Ragnetto smiled slightly, although his eyes didn’t. “See, I don’t think that would teach you anything. My son really fucked up with Santiago, nearly costing me years of careful planning. I can’t have that here.” His eyes were dead, cold as a glacier. “Something you should learn here and now, Tychon: no one walks away from me or disobeys my orders and lives.”

Henrik’s eyes widened. Henroin had never taken affront with his policies before, having decided to ignore them, deciding to let Henrik do his thing, due to his experience. This wasn’t about his methods with Anthony, or his feuds with Nico. This was a punishment. For Anthony. 

“Kill me,” he warned Henrik, his amber eyes flashing and glinting golden as a spitting cat’s, “and Visconti will tear New York to the ground. If you think you’re punishing the kid here, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I thought I’d steal a fast one on your jumped-up lackey here,” he threw his head in the direction of Nico, “and take Santiago out myself. The kid must have heard me boasting and wanted to help.” He grinned at Ragnetto. He’d do whatever it took to protect Anthony, no matter the cost.

That chilling smile again. “Die?” Ragnetto questioned, his eyes slightly amused. He shook his head. “You’re not going to die. Whatever gave you that idea?” He rose to his feet. “No, what I have in mind is…more prolonging. I’m not such a fool as to risk bringing Visconti down on my head.” His terrifying eyes struck Henrik in the gut. “No. I think you need to be taught a lesson. I won’t kill you, but you’ll wish I had. Consider this a valuable lesson. Along with my son. Nico.”

Nico moved at his father’s word, leading the first attack. He didn’t give a shit about Tychon; any remorse he felt was for his brother. He’d never forgive either of them for this. But Nico would be lying if he said he didn’t take a small satisfaction out of beating the man who beat his baby brother. Although he knew that Pops had only been telling half the truth. He would let Henrik live…if Henrik was able to survive.

Nico’s face caught Henrik’s face, the blow hard and unyielding, cruel in its strength. Henrik was knocked off his feet by the sheer force behind it. The other men recruited for the beating began their assault.

Henrik felt the kicks to his gut and side, the numerous hard shoes aimed for him. He grunted in pain as he felt something crack. More swings came at his face, as he was struck, sometimes in the same place. But he would have taken all of it willingly, if it kept Anthony safe.

Something sharp and cold tore through his abdomen suddenly, and this time Henrik couldn’t keep back his scream of agony. When the knife flashed down again, his orearm was caught, the blade digging into his flesh painfully.

He wasn’t sure if it ended then. Everything had gone black by then. He drifted in and out, the pain either waking him up or causing him to collapse again.

When he came to, he was no longer at the Ragnettos’. His mind was disoriented. Everything felt foggy, as if it were a dream.

A blast sounded near him, excruciating pain entering his shoulder, before his body thudded to the ground. He didn’t have the strength to get up; the pain was overwhelming him.

The last thing he processed was the rain pattering down on his face softly, before he gave up the struggle and let go.

Chapter Text

The rain was raining softly down on him, landing against his skin like flecks of teardrops.

Anthony pulled the hood down even farther, hiding his face. He couldn’t risk anyone he might meet by chance recognizing him. He had covered himself in a long black cloak. It looked almost theatrical, he had to admit, like something you might see in the movies, but it suited his purpose and kept him shielded from the rain and hidden from all eyes.

He lifted the latch of the abandoned warehouse, opening the door just enough to slip through.

The water pooled in puddles around his feet, as the door clanged shut behind him with a bang. He shivered, the sound echoing throughout the house. He rubbed his arms with his hands, looking tentatively around, turning. Was he not here? He faced the door, still assessing his surroundings.

Suddenly a hand grabbed him out of nowhere, causing him to shriek in shock, his arm seized in an iron grip. He was whipped around, slammed against the door hard, his back meeting the wood with a slam. His eyes widened in fear at the rough treatment.

Santiago was quick, moving fast. One minute he had him pinned to the door, then he caught a glimpse of Anthony’s face under the hood, the large mismatched eyes gazing up at him, one orb a deep sapphire. “You?” he choked in a strangled voice, his brown eyes flashing with surprise, and Anthony caught rage within the coffee depths as well.

Anthony yelped as Santiago’s hand tore the hood from around his face, wrenching his cover from him. “Hey-” He was only held in a firmer grip. He wasn’t hurting him, but it definitely wasn’t gentle.

“What’d I tell ya before, huh?” Santiago thundered, his deep voice booming. “The fuck are ya even doin’ here? Do ya mean to tell me that you wrote that damned paper?”

Anthony lifted his chin, refusing to cower, defiantly looking into Santiago’s eyes. “I want answers. It got ya to come, didn’t it?”

Santiago released him, pacing back and forth anxiously, a hand going through his hair, now unkempt from his fingers. It was a fine black, gleaming blue in the light. His eyes clashed with Anthony’s harshly all of a sudden. “I hope Tychon fuckin’ spanked your bare ass raw with a belt until ya can’t sit down,” he growled, taking a step forward menacingly.

Anthony backed up, his eyes widening, his temper flaring. “Thanks to ya, he beat my ass with a hairbrush,” he flared, his heterochromatic gaze piercing, like sapphires and diamonds.

He was stunned when Santiago stopped mid-stride, and chuckled deeply. “Thanks to me?” he repeated, shaking his head in mirth, lips twitching upward. “I didn’t ask ya to come and try to fill me up with bullets. That’s on you.” He choked on his laugh. “He didn’t beat you, kiddo; he gave you a spanking.” Anthony’s face flushed deeply, his cheeks burning. “You deserved that paddling.”

“Fuck off!” Anthony snarled.

Santiago only laughed at his temper. “Why are ya here? Ya wanted to see me. Now I’m wondering why.” He inched closer. “Why are ya comin’ here now? What is it ya want?”

“I want answers,” Anthony demanded from the man, slipping the golden locket over his head, undoing the clasp and opening the case. He held out his hand for Santiago to take the necklace. “How do ya know my Ma?”

Santiago’s brown eyes traveled down to the locket. As his eyes recognized the picture, they softened. Tears glistened in his eyes. He cursed under his breath, turning from Anthony. “Go home,” he muttered, his voice full of pain.

Anthony charged forward, infuriated at his dismissal. “No! Ya can’t just send me home! She was my mother; I have a right ta know!” He grabbed Santiago’s arm, twisting him around, his big eyes looking up at Santiago’s.

The man regarded Anthony’s blue and brown eyes, his look anguished. He did not say a word. When he spoke, his tone was hoarse with grief. “Ya look just like she did, that night. She was wearin’ a knitted cap that matched her eyes, to cover her face, no no one would recognize her.”

Anthony almost choked. “What?” he breathed.

Santiago looked at him sadly. “Caterina and I were childhood friends, then lovers. We were supposed ta be married. She was going to be my wife…” Anthony had never heard a voice and face so filled with heartbreak.

Anthony fell silent, watching Santiago pace.

“I’ve lived in New York all my life,” Santiago began, closing his eyes in thought. “I grew up in the countryside. When I was six years old, just a kid, a new family moved in across the street. My parents went to go greet the new neighbors, and I was dragged along. The couple had a daughter a year younger.” His eyes grew clouded, and filled with love. “She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.”

Anthony couldn’t speak. His throat was closed, tight as a fist. He had never heard this story. Mama never liked to talk about her family. Nico, Anthony, and Molly had never met their maternal side of the family. He had never been told anything about his mother when she was a girl. Henroin never spoke to them about anything regarding her.

“We became fast friends,” Santiago continued. “She was everything to me. The moment I laid eyes on her, nothing else mattered to me. I was young, but I knew then and there that she was the one. She was good , too kind for this world. She trusted others blindly. She had the biggest heart, and treated me like I mattered.

“Things soured when I turned fourteen. I was too cocky, tryin’ to prove to the world that I was tough. I joined a gang, thinking if I proved myself, it would impress Caterina.” Santiago snorted. “I was stupid. As if Caterina would have been impressed by that.

“I was beaten pretty bad one day, drunk off my ass for the first time. Caterina and I fought over my inclusion in the gang, begging me to leave. But I didn’t know how. I was addicted to that adrenaline, the rush of adventure. She was the one to patch me up. My head was filled with confidence I wouldn’t normally have had, fueled by the alcohol. I kissed her.” Santiago’s lips spread in a smile. “She didn’t push me away.

“We were together ever since. For five happy years, we were together. I had gotten out of my rut by then. When I asked her to be my wife, she said yes. I’ll never forget her smile. Like a million jewels shining in the light. We moved to the city, to find work, and start our life together.

“That’s where your old man came into the picture. I’ll never forget the first time I saw those eyes: silver. Silver and deadly.” Santiago snorted. “He was nearing thirty, ten years our senior. Well meaning people warned us ta steer clear of ‘im. He was a rising figure in the underworld already. I thought we would be fine. I thought we were safe.” Santiago struggled to find the words.

“I saw it in his eyes the day Caterina and I crossed paths with him. He wanted her. He wanted her, and nothing would stand in his way. Oh, he was clever, I won’t deny that. He was gentle, speaking softly to her. He gave her the face she wanted to see. She was too pure to see through his act. He would bring her gifts, gifts that warmed her heart. She was never once unfaithful to me, of that I am certain. We loved each other. But he had his talons in. He would never stop until he had her. I struggled to find work, eventually turning back to my old connections. I did things I’m ashamed to admit, so we would live.

“One day, we received word that her mother and father had been found dead. An accident, we were told. Her Pa had lost control of the wheel, it was said, and the car went right over the hill. They were discovered with head wounds from the accident. That is what we thought. An accident. Until they found that the wheels had been broken by a human hand. Upon closer inspection, they discovered deep red marks on her mother’s neck, where someone had grasped that swanlike milk-white throat and strangled the life out of her. She must have survived the accident. The crime scene indicated she fought for her life.”

Anthony turned pale. His own grandparents. That was why Mama never spoke of them. He could feel the dread coiling in his stomach. His grandmother…his grandmother, just like Nonna was. He wondered what she was like, the grandmother who was stolen from him. Was that where his pale skin had come from? Did she have the same golden freckles sprinkled across her nose? Did Caterina inherit her golden locks, or were those from his grandfather? His heart bled for his mother, and for himself.

“I knew. Even then, I knew. There was nothing to tie Ragnetto to their murder, but I knew in my heart that he had mercilessly slaughtered my Caterina’s parents. They had nothing on him. But Ragnetto did, on me.” Santiago stared down at his hands, calloused from years of hard work, suntanned from the sun. “He went to her, forlorn and oh so saddened, tellin’ my fiance my knife had been found at the sight. She wouldn’t believe it, not until he showed her the knife. She knew that knife. It was given to me by my father. I’d had it since we were kids.” He closed his eyes to hide his pain. “His theory for my reason was I must have hoped she’d turn to me in her grief, to keep her away from her ‘friend’.” Santiago laughed harshly, his fist clenched. “That was what he said he was. Her friend. He planted the evidence, and it was so compelling…I was on business when the murders were carried out. I was involved in gangs from both our old home and in the city, and their methods of carrying out executions was identical. It was perfect. She threw the ring in my face. It sent her right into Henroin’s waiting arms.

“It didn’t take much for him to draw her in. He let her cry, holding her and her broken heart. She loved him. That was how Caterina was. She loved with all her heart, unconditionally. When he asked her to be his wife, she did not hesitate.

“He only revealed his true nature after the wedding. I don’t want to imagine the bruises he must have inflicted, how he must have forced himself on her countless times. He wanted a beautiful woman on his arm, a prize, and that was what she was to him. She was his property. Your brother was born that same year.

“I never stopped loving your mother. I tried to forget her.” Santiago’s fists were clenched so tightly they were trembling. “I told myself I didn’t love her. But in my heart I knew the truth. I couldn’t let her go, not from my heart. We moved in different directions. She was the wife of the ‘Spider’, and his web of crime. Her purpose was to give him heirs. I left my connections and never looked back. When you and your sister were born, I was called to war. I half hoped I did not survive. For over ten years, I lived without her. I fucked to hide my hurt, I worked any odd job I could.”

“You ain’t a capo?” Anthony asked, confused. That was what Pops had always insinuated. He wanted Santiago dead, and Anthony had always assumed it was because this man was a threat to his power.

Santiago chuckled. “No. I’ve never been a mafia man, kiddo. After the war, seeing so many lost souls, with a lot of them just kids, I realized what I wanted in life was to help kids like that. I was robbed of my life with yer Ma, but I find my purpose elsewhere. Kids who are hurt and angered by the world, who need to know they are loved and matter to someone. I set up my place to give them a home. In the meantime, I prepare. After the war, ya only had to be there to see something else was coming. I wanted to be ready. That’s what we do: train for whatever happens next, and defend our earnings and lives against your old man.”

Anthony was surprised at this turn. He felt like he had been slammed flat on his back, as he discovered the truth about their feud.

“Yet, we almost found each other again. ‘S the reason why I got a bone to pick with the Spider. What he did. What he stole from me, from his own family. Nineteen long years after she was lured in, we met again.” Tears glistened in his eyes. “She was not the same woman I had grown up with since we were kids.

“She had this feeling of sadness and grief always attached to her. Something tragic and dead. She was broken from her marriage. Her heart was broken, as Henroin first tore your brother from her breast and taught him the family business, no matter how she wept and begged him to be merciful, then when he took you. She was powerless to stop him. I never met yer grandmama, but Caterina told me that she felt she had regained a mother, albeit a different one. Caterina’s mother Tabitha was gentle and sweet-natured, much like Caterina, but I’m told Bridgetta is…not someone to be subjected to being in a cage.” Santiago smiled slightly. “But your mother…she was different. We both were. We were not the same kids who fell in love and were going to be married. Her pain and suffering had added a look of agony to her. She was no longer young, and beaten down by grief, but still…beautiful. She looked younger than she was. We met one night.”

Santiago turned, facing Anthony. “You look just like she did that night. We met in this very warehouse.”

Diego turned as the door slammed behind him, as Caterina Amata, now Ragnetto, arrived. She wore one of those newly fashioned caps, deep blue in color, shielding her face. If anyone of her husband’s order recognized the wife of the mafioso…Caterina knew she would have a visitor that night, leaving the area between her legs sore, her skin bruised. As she lifted her face, Diego assessed her. She was thirty-eight, but still as beautiful as the day they parted. She wore that blue cap over her corn-gold hair, the deep blue headdress matching her large cornflower blue eyes. Rain clung to her lashes like tears of diamonds. She faced him coldly, her head lifted proudly.

“What do you want, Diego?” she asked him loftily, clutching the blouse she wore at her throat tightly in her fist, where Diego could plainly see a red bruise, where someone had grabbed her breast cruelly. Her lovely face was inflamed, her cheek swelling, purple in color and turning yellow in some spots. There were red fingerprints across the smooth pale white skin, where someone had grabbed her face harshly, in an attempt to make her eyes meet theirs.

“Did he do that to you?” Diego asked quietly, his voice soft. He lifted his hand, placing it gently over the bruised flesh.

Caterina shied away from his touch, ducking away. “It doesn’t even hurt,” she denied, long, slender fingers gently touching the angry skin. She narrowed her blue eyes.  “It’s a small price to pay, rather than being married to a man who wouldn’t hesitate to butcher my family.” Her eyes glinted with tears, shining like sapphires.

Diego sighed. “I’m done trying to tell you otherwise,” he informed her. “Believe what you will. But I ask you this, Katharos,” he began, using his affectionate name for her, Katharos, which in Greek meant the meaning of her name. Pure. “Throughout the time you knew and loved me, I never once raised a hand to you. But your ‘beloved’ husband has struck you, raped you, ripped your children from your arms. But he is to be believed?” He laughed lightly, bitterness rampant. “I loved your parents. They loved me like one of their own. Open your eyes, Katharos. It was all a trap.”

Caterina’s eyes widened, the blue striking against her ivory skin. She took a step back, her hand held aloft, as if to steady herself. “No,” she denied, shaking her head. “No.”

“Caterina, you know it’s true,” Diego gently said. “Think about everything we were and everything he has subjected you to. Who do you think had more motive and was more likely to not hesitate to kill?”

Caterina nearly collapsed, but Diego held her up, catching her as she slid to her knees, holding her in his arms. “Katharos,” he murmured into her hair as she wept. “I got ya. I got ya.”

Caterina must have had suspicions after her marriage, despite the evidence and Ragnetto’s seeming innocence, but had never wanted to believe it of her husband. Caterina had loved him. It was something she never wanted to confirm in her heart, despite what she knew to be true.

“I’ll never be free of him,” she wept. “My children, my children! I fear I have lost my Nico already, my little one, my first baby! He - he is so cruel to Anthony.” Her big blue eyes looked up at Diego, clutching his shirt for support. “Anthony is too trusting. He only wants to please Henroin, to make him proud, for my husband to love him. He’s turning them into his creatures, and I can do nothing!” She sobbed in helplessness. “What have we done to each other? What have I done?”

Diego held her until her cries subsided, before he spoke. “No,” he mumbled. “It’s not too late, Katharos. We have a second chance now.” His hand sunk into her soft blonde hair, softly drawing her head back until her eyes met his own. “You don’t have to stay with him.”

“He’ll never let me go!” she cried. “I belong to him, I-”

“No,” Diego firmly said. “Ya don’t. Ya don’t belong to anyone.” They pressed their foreheads together, their breathing heavy. “I’ll think of something, I promise, Katharos. I’m gonna get you out of there, and your kids with you.”

They both moved for each other at the same moment, their lips meeting for the first time in almost twenty years.

“We knew it was a risk. We knew we would need to be careful. We began to plan their escape, working through every detail. Nico was an adult now, but Caterina was determined to try to convince him to come with us. She wouldn’t give up on him. We planned to take you and your sister, go so far away Henroin could never find us, and raise you two as our own.” He turned to Anthony, looking at him solemnly. “Your grandmother was part of our plan. She was coming with us. She loved your mother as her own. She had connections.”

Anthony’s brain stilled. “My aunts aren’t part of the mafia,” he realized. “They live in Europe.”

Diego Santiago hummed. “Just so. Caterina revealed they lived in Northern England, far from your Pa’s reach. 

But we never made it. Ragnetto found us out. He would never let her leave.” Santiago’s eyes closed, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “He wouldn’t give her up for anything. He would rather she be dead than no longer under his control.

“Your father told her he wanted another heir. Two sons was not enough. She was carrying his child soon, but this did not halt our plans. We planned to make our escape as soon as she was well. She had a hard pregnancy, which we didn’t know fit Henroin’s plans all too perfectly.

“She was weakened from childbirth, but she should have lived. She should have lived.” Santiago’s breath was staggering and loud. “If she had recovered from giving birth…she would not have survived long.” He looked at the teenager, his eyes hard. “The Spider was clever like that. She died from lack of care in childbirth, because he let her die. When he demanded another child, it was only a trap. He couldn’t have borne it if she left him. This way no one looked twice at her death. It seemed like horrible luck. I heard what your brother said. Sayin’ you weakened your Ma when you and your sister were born. None of that is true. She was deliberately given lack of care after the birth. He let her die. That was his plan - hey. Can you hear me? Anthony - come on, kiddo, stay with me here. Snap outta it.”

Anthony’s ears were ringing. His throat was dry, his heart hammering painfully. He could hear it thudding. His vision blurred before him. Everything was black. He felt dizzy. Santiago’s words turned over in his head again and again. That was his plan. That was his plan. That was his plan.

His stricken expression suddenly connected with Santiago’s anguished eyes. Anthony shook his head, trying to rid himself of the ringing in his head. “N-no. You’re lyin’. You’re lyin’!” he screamed.

“Woah, hold on,” Santiago objected, frowning. “I know this is hard to process, but you need to calm dow-”

“You’re a fuckin’ liar!” Anthony yelled hoarsely, tears streaking his face. “Pops wouldn’t have killed her! You’re - you’re just a pathetic old fuck who thinks he knows everything! You don’t know shit!” Anthony sobbed. His knees buckled under him, and he fell against the floor, howling, his hand curled into a fist, doubled over as if he had taken a wound to the belly.

Pops had killed Mama. Anthony knew it to be true. He let her die. Pops had put his family through all this pain and suffering, had taken his mother away from him. Everything Anthony had become was because of him. He put Anthony through this agony, just because he couldn’t bear the thought of Mama leaving him. Anthony had tried so hard, for so long, to gain his father’s love, but the fact he put Anthony through this pain with no remorse hurt more than anything. He thought of when he had wept at the grave of his mother and sister. He slammed his fist against the ground hard, giving a feral scream, half-rage and half-agony.

When he couldn’t scream any longer, his sobs began to die down. He lifted his head, to see Diego watching him quietly, his face expressionless, waiting for Anthony’s cries to stop. Anthony pushed himself up onto his elbows, brushing his tears angrily away with his slender fingers, before sitting back on looking at the man his mother had loved.

“Why didn’t ya come and get us?” he asked, his voice raspy. “If Ma wanted us safe, why didn’t ya come?”

Diego smiled grimly. “Look at me. I got nothing left to give. I’m embroiled in a war with your old man, until one of us dies. I don’t intend that to be me. Your brother ain’t exactly the listening type. Our plan turned to ashes in our mouths when Caterina died. Ragnetto knew about everything. I’d have to be a magician to have been able to get you and your sister and grandmama out of that heavily guarded place.” He turned away, no longer facing Anthony. “So now you know the truth. I didn’t want to be the one to tell you. To revisit this pain.” He came back, crouching, offering Anthony a hand.

After regarding him warily, Anthony placed his hand in the man’s, letting him help him to his feet.

“So that’s why Pops wants ya dead,” he whispered. “‘Cause of you and Ma.”

Santiago nodded brusquely. “I never should have brought your mother to the city all those years ago. It was the beginning of our undoing.”

“So what happens now?” Anthony asked, tilting his head to look up at the man.

Diego laughed. “What else can we do? I think the answer is obvious. I’m sending you home, where I suspect you have a spanking coming - “ Anthony turned red with humiliation - “I go home as well, and that appears to be that.”

Anthony knew there was no other option. He nodded slightly. He turned on his heel, heading for the door.

He stopped, just as his hand was on the latch, turning around. “Will I - “ he gulped in the air - “will I eva’ see ya again?”

Diego looked back at him silently. “Only time will tell.” He drew a paper from his pocket, tossing it at the teenager. “Give me a ring sometime.” He disappeared as silently as he had entered.

Anthony unraveled the paper to reveal Santiago’s phone number.

***

Anthony drew the hood back over his head, to protect his face from the rain pouring down. It was getting heavier, as he stepped over a curb, watching a vehicle drive by. He ducked under the building of a bar, where one of his dealers normally frequented. He got his angel dust and left through a back alley.

He lifted his head, as tears fell on his face. It felt soft and gentle. He brushed his blonde hair back from his eyes, deciding to head back to his apartment.

His foot connected with something, causing Anthony to stumble slightly. He had walked this path several times. He knew it well. The fuck? His eyes traveled down.

There was a body at his feet, lying motionless. Anthony’s eyes widened. His face was battered and bruised, all across, wet blood strewn across. Even his body had not been spared, littered with even more injuries. His shoulder was wet with blood, and there was blood along his arm. Anthony’s eyes widened as he saw his abdomen, the white shirt already darkening to nearly black. Black hair matted the man’s face.

Realization hit, as he immediately recognized the man before him. No. 

A cry of horror was ripped from Anthony, as he sank to his knees, gasping for breath. “Henrik!” His hands were searching, reaching for the older man. His hands found his face, cupping it between his hands, looking at the man. “No…”

What the fuck happened to him? Why was he here? Who had done this to him?

Anthony knew the answer to that. He only knew one man with this type of brutality. He knew this, because that very same brutality had been inflicted on him before.

Pops.

Anthony felt a rage such as he’d never felt in his life before. So this was to be his punishment for going after Santiago before it was time? If what he suspected was true…

He’d never forgive his father for this.

Anthony gritted his teeth, shifting, placing Henrik’s head in his lap. “Come on, ya gotta wake up,” he said through his clenched jaw. “Ya ain’t allowed ta die. I won’t let ya.”

Anthony knew he had to move quickly, before Henrik’s condition worsened, before he bled out. He lifted Henrik’s arm, placed it over the back of his neck, using all of his strength to lift him, until he could support Henrik’s weight, almost carrying him as he got him to his feet. He nearly lost his grounding, but he pushed through, hailing for a driver.

He got Henrik into the car, before sliding in himself. He sidled Henrik’s body to be at his midsection, bringing his head to rest on his lap once again. He stroked his black hair back softly, looking at those beloved handsome features, now suffering from a beating. Anthony’s heart hurt just seeing him like this. A tear slipped from his eye. He stroked Henrik’s hair, trying to give what small comfort he could, until they reached Anthony’s apartment.

He paid the driver, who, although curious, decided it was not his problem. Anthony got Henrik’s arm over his neck again, holding him up, beginning the long track up to his room.

His hands fumbled with the keys, rattling the door open, grunting through the effort. He dragged Henrik to his bed, laying him down.

Anthony almost sobbed with relief when Henrik moaned in pain. It was small, but it was enough. He still had a chance.

Anthony wouldn’t give up on him. He couldn’t let go of him. Not Henrik. Never Henrik. He was all he had.

His hands shook as he crossed to the phone stand in his room, picking up the receiver. He instructed the operator to dial back at home, praying to God that either Molly or Nonna would pick up, and not Nico or Pops.

“Please, please, pick up…” he pleaded.

“Hello?” His sister’s sweet voice picked up, and Anthony nearly sobbed in gratitude.

The tears began to slip from his eyes. He was so fucking scared. If he didn’t get help soon, he didn’t even know what would become of Henrik. “Molly,” he sobbed into the phone.

“Anthony? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” Molly asked, alarmed, as her twin cried into the receiver, his breaths staggering.

“I…I need ya help,” he explained through his cries to his sister. “It’s - it’s Henrik. He’s hurt , Molly. He’s hurt bad! Please, Molly, please, I can’t lose him.” At the mere thought, Anthony’s howls only grew louder.

“Calm down, Anthony,” Molly’s gentle voice soothed. “Calm down. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Please hurry,” Anthony begged, his eyes filled with pain. “I don’t know how much time we have left.”

When Molly hung up, Anthony crossed back to Henrik, taking his hand in his own, holding it to his cheek. “Don’t leave me,” he whimpered.

It was a long time.

Molly and Anthony worked on him steadfastly. He slipped the knife from his belt, cutting the shirt from Henrik. He winced. The wound was gaping and deep, a red gash sliced across his taut, lean torso. Molly mended what she could, having brought a needle with her, then she set to dressing the wound. Henrik drifted in and out. Anthony was thankful that he was not conscious for this. He cleaned the slight injury on his arm while Molly stitched him back up, where another knife had grazed him

He got a different knife to dig out the bullet, working at it until he had the shiny contraption. He got a towel to press to the wound.

Molly had done what she could as she assisted Anthony, but before she went home again before Pops noticed that she was missing, she told him she feared only time would tell if Henrik would survive.

Once his more pressing injuries were taken care of, Anthony painstakingly cleaned his face, wiping the cuts and putting ointment on his bruises to reduce the severity. He swept the thick black hair back, cleaning his face tenderly.

But things quickly worsened. As Henrik drifted in and out, still healing, his body began to burn up with fever. Anthony was terrified.

He kept him cool with wet cloths, trying to bring down his fever. For days on end, he watched over Henrik. He never left his side once. When night arrived, Anthony, wanting to feel close to Henrik, slipped in beside him, bringing Henrik’s arm down to wrap around himself, sleeping beside him.

Henrik was slowly recuperating, but Anthony was terrified of losing him, even now. He sat by Henrik’s side, holding his limp hand.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, his voice choked and strangled. “Please live. I need ya to wake up.” His eyes filled with tears. “Henrik. Come back, please, please, come back. I can’t live without ya…” 

His words reached his own ears. He was shocked to his core, what this man had come to mean to him. He knew it could never be. Henrik didn’t care for him like that. What Anthony felt for Henrik was unnatural, vile, a sin. Yet somehow Henrik had broken down his walls. He…cared about Henrik. He didn’t want to. He wished he could stop his foolish heart. He couldn’t even begin to describe the feelings he felt for this man. The thought of continuing on without Henrik was unbearable. It caused his heart to twist agonizingly in his chest. He had to live. Anthony was nothing without Henrik, and he didn’t want to be anything if Henrik was not there beside him.

Anthony wept with joy when Henrik’s fever broke, but still Henrik wasn’t out of the woods yet. He sometimes called out.

“Anthony…” he murmured softly, his breath of a voice wispy, barely there. “Anthony…”

Anthony raised his head, gasping for breath, clutching his hand, bringing it to his cheek. He hushed him, brushing the hair away from his eyes.

***

One day, as he was by his side, he saw his eyes begin to flutter. “Henrik?” he rasped. Gold irises became visible as Henrik finally opened his eyes.

Anthony fell to his knees, weeping profusely, his hands at his face. He was alive. He was alive, he would live. Henrik was awake. He had supplied Henrik with “medication”, to reduce the pain he would feel. He hoped he had done the right thing. He was glad he had done it this morning.

Henrik could hear rustling around him, the motion of someone moving. His lids felt heavy, as though they had not been used in a long time. His body ached all over. His limbs felt as if they were weighing him down like an anchor.

He groaned in pain and discomfort. Slowly, his eyes began to open.

“Henrik?”

An absolute vision appeared before him. For a moment, Henrik was certain he had gone to Heaven; surely this could only be an angel before him. A delicately sculpted face, blurry at first, then clear as day, was before him, with high, defined cheekbones and a full, pouting mouth. The ethereal creature before him had a spattering of golden freckles across his nose, dainty as stars sprinkled across the night sky. Brown and blue eyes looked back at him, deep as melting chocolate and sapphires. A fall of blonde hair fell into his eyes, soft as silk. His skin was white as milk.

Anthony. His Anthony.

“Anthony,” Henrik murmured softly, reaching out for the beauty, and took his tiny hand in his larger one gently, raising it to his lips, and kissing the back of his hand lovingly. “My love.”

Anthony’s eyes widened, and he could feel his face burning furiously. Okay , evidently the drugs were making him loopy or something. It had to be the drugs that made him say something like that, he was positive. But even that sort of rationalizing failed to stem the pounding of his heart, as he felt Henrik’s full lips on his flesh. Shimmers ran through his body. He felt like sparks were running up the length of his arm. He drew in a breath at the tone of endearment.

Henrik was groggy, his head felt heavy. Slowly, everything was becoming clear to him, but…this didn’t make sense. Why was he in an apartment? He didn’t remember getting here. Granted, he didn’t remember where he had been last, but that was besides the point! “Sweetheart, where am I?” he asked the angel before him, going to the prettiest sight in his vision for help. “How’d I get ‘ere?” His speech was starting to slur.

Anthony bit his lip, pushing away the tremor that rushed through him when Henrik called him sweetheart . His heart softened as he looked at the man on his bed, still holding his hand tenderly, as if his smaller hand were the most delicate thing in the world. “Shh,” he soothed. “Don’t try to talk now.”

He reached for the iced water he had just filled, at his table by the bedside. “Here. Ya gotta drink.” He slipped his arm under Henrik’s shoulders, lifting him up, to help him drink. Henrik didn’t entirely catch it all, but once he realized what Anthony was doing, he reached for the glass with his own hands, gulping it down like a man dying of thirst. Anthony couldn’t say that that was an unfair assessment.

Anthony took the glass from him, going by the sink to refill, bringing him another, which he readily drank.

After he was done, Henrik’s bright amber eyes found Anthony’s mismatched orbs. “How…how long was I out for?” he asked, his voice quiet and resembling that of a recalcitrant child.

Anthony knelt by the bed again. “Six days,” he rasped. Even now, it hurt to even say. He could not believe how blessed he was, how blessed they both were, that Henrik had woken.

Anthony knew that he could not entertain this fantasy for long. It felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest when he thought Henrik would die, when he saw what Pops had done to him. But Anthony had already dealt with the death of his mother. It had broken him. Now that he learned the true cause of her passing, he was even more resolved than ever. He could not trust Henrik. He couldn’t trust anyone. It would only get him hurt, when the day came that Henrik left, or if Henrik betrayed or hurt him, or when Henrik grew tired of him and realized that he was worthless. Anthony wished with all his heart that he could have the freedom to give his faith to Henrik Tychon. But he couldn’t. He was too afraid of being hurt again. He would be gentle for the time being, and care for Henrik until he recovered, but then it had to go back to the way things were before.

But that didn’t mean his anger for what his father had done would be forgotten.

Henrik reached again for his hand, holding it close. Anthony swallowed hard at the gesture. He stood, and went to pull his hand from Henrik’s grip.

For a moment who was all fucked up and weak to boot, he sure had a strength to him. Henrik suddenly gave a tug; Anthony yelped as he was jerked over, landing on top of him, his hands splayed across his chest. Henrik grunted in discomfort as the younger man landed on him. A warm hand came to hold his waist in his hand.

Anthony’s hand brushed his hair out of his eyes. His gaze met Henrik’s burning amber stare. Henrik lifted his hand, cupping Anthony’s cheek, his touch so gentle it nearly broke Anthony’s heart. “Don’t go,” he begged him.

Anthony’s heart was hammering in his throat as he lay atop Henrik. He tore his gaze away sharply, trying to get out of his grip. “Henrik, come on, let me go,” he told Henrik gently, his hands trying to be careful not to hurt him. “You’re injured. Ya need ta rest.”

“You’re so pretty,” Henrik whispered, his pupils dilated, his thumb traveling down Anthony’s face, stroking his bottom lip softly. It was reminiscent of how a child might speak. Anthony’s face turned red. “I love yer eyes,” he slurred. “A guy could drown ‘n ‘em, baby,” he purred. He suddenly lurched forward, planting a quick kiss on Anthony’s tiny freckled nose, giggling like a child, as both hands traveled to hold Anthony’s hips in place, fingers strewn across his ass.

Anthony’s lips parted at his compliment, his skin tingling where Henrik had leaned forward and pressed his lips to, his cheeks pink. His breath hitched audibly, sharply, as Henrik’s hands went farther down, his hands cupping his ass cheeks in each hand firmly, holding him securely on top of him, his grip possessive and unyielding. Yet, Anthony didn’t dislike the touch in any sense of the word. Far from it, actually. It felt…well, good. He felt…desired. Oh, fuck. He’d called him my love, sweetheart, baby. Anthony wished it wasn’t just the drugs talking, that Henrik could truly see him like this, if Anthony could have allowed it.

“T-Thanks, tesoro,” he quietly said, the word of endearment slipping out as Henrik held him against his chest. “Yer eyes are real pretty, too. Like molten gold. But ya gotta let me up, honey. It's not good fah ya. I don’t wanna hurt ya.”

Henrik, his mind going from one thing to another, changed his direction just as quickly as he had grabbed the kid. “Good point, you’re right,” he groaned in pain. He took his hands from Anthony’s backside, allowing him to slip off him.

Henrik didn’t stay awake long, drifting off once again. This time, Anthony didn’t pull away. It wasn’t like Henrik was going to remember this anyway.

***

Pain.

That’s all Henrik felt as he opened his eyes. Pain. His shoulder, her stomach, his arm. Those were the worst of it. But he winced every time his face moved, his body feeling littered with bruises. 

Henrik groaned, struggling to sit up. His eyes adjusted to the light, forcing themselves open.

He was in Anthony’s apartment, he saw. Specifically in his bed. He wasn’t exactly sure how he had gotten here in the first place, but he’d figure that out later. He had slight memories, somewhat distorted. He remembered waking up, the feeling of cool liquid running down his throat. He remembered pulling Anthony on top of him-

Oh.

Flustered, Henrik gripped the bed sheets tightly in his hands as they curled into fists, gritting his teeth as he struggled to pull himself up. Yeah. If anyone was looking for specifics here, he’d held Anthony’s ass in his hands, relishing the feeling of the soft white flesh between his hands, cradling those plump speckled cheeks firmly. He’d also kissed Anthony’s nose, and if he was completely honest with himself, he had briefly entertained the thought of kissing each and every freckle he could find. He’d told him he thought he was pretty and that he liked his eyes.

Henrik hadn’t been lying when he said those things, that wasn’t the issue here. Anthony was absolutely gorgeous, and Henrik loved those unusual eyes of his that sparkled like jewels. Even while out of his mind, he couldn’t help but admire the mafioso’s son’s features, although he’d love him no matter how he looked, so long as he was still his Anthony.

The problem here was that he had touched Anthony. He’d taken liberties that he should not have. He’d held Anthony’s fucking ass in his hands as if he had a right to it, as if they were in a relationship. He’d kissed Anthony. Henrik was grateful that he didn’t go for those rose-petal lips, that pouting mouth instead. Henrik would have never forgiven himself if he had forced unwanted advances on the kid, if he had taken Anthony’s first kiss from him by force. Henrik thanked the stars above him that Anthony had not seemed to be upset by the kiss or frightened; he’d only blushed and wriggled his hips, trying to get off of Henrik so he didn’t hurt him, which was more than Henrik deserved, telling him he thought Henrik had nice eyes as well.

Henrik knew how he felt. It had taken him a while to realize what it was that he felt for the kid. He hadn’t fallen for his looks. He had fallen for his heart. At first, he was filled with panic, and tried to deny it to himself. Henrik wasn’t a guy who did relationships, or love. He was a one-night stand kind of guy. Henrik took pride in the fact that he was considered a skilled lover, but commitment scared him. That meant accepting that he cared and staying in one place.

Now he had accepted what he felt. He loved Anthony Ragnetto, more than he had ever loved anything in this life. He wanted to kill anyone who had ever hurt him, to ensure that they could never touch him again. He wanted to protect Anthony, to keep him from harm, even though that meant yanking down his pants and smacking his pretty bottom. He wanted Anthony to be happy. He tried every day to break down those walls around his heart. Anthony didn’t want to be hurt again. He understood that. He could see what Anthony didn’t want him to see: an eighteen-year-old man who believed that he was worthless, who was self-conscious in his sexuality and identity, and Henrik wanted to dismantle that, to watch him blossom. He wanted to see him smile, genuinely smile. He wanted to hear him laugh.

Henrik refused to think of himself first. It did not matter what Henrik felt. Anthony Ragnetto was young, fighting his inner demons, and inflicting his feelings on Anthony was not what he needed right now. Even if Anthony did feel the same, as Bridgetta and Visconti seemed to believe, it wouldn’t matter regardless. He would protect Anthony and look after him, be what he needed, and put his feelings aside. He wouldn’t falter until or if Anthony was ready for what Henrik had to offer.

Besides, Henrik knew he had nothing. Anthony was the son of a rich capo, accustomed to privilege, raised where he was worshipped, his favor sought. Henrik was a hitman, a man who worked odd jobs for different mafiosos and gangs. He gambled and cheated his way through state after state. He fucked men and women; he knew some regarded him as a rogue for this lifestyle. People found him alluring and attractive, something dangerous and excitable, and he knew it. What could he possibly have to offer Anthony? He had nothing. He could only give Anthony his heart, and fuck him into the mattress until he was wailing as Henrik made him come. He could only ever give Anthony his love, and try to protect him. Why would Anthony choose that, or the stability he had now?

He wasn’t stupid. He saw the way the kid looked at him. It was a look he had seen often throughout his adult life, yet somehow it was different. He blushed whenever Henrik teased him, and sometimes those gorgeous irises would darken with need, but it wasn’t the thing that Henrik himself was used to. He was accustomed to the steady, repeated advances of people who knew what they were doing, and loved the game of it all. Anthony was innocent. For some reason, Henrik loved that about him, how shy he was whenever Henrik had flirted with him. He found it cute. It was endearing. He also took into account of how embarrassed the kid got whenever he got spanked, especially when it was on bare skin. He supposed that in Anthony’s mind, he thought that Henrik only thought of him as a child. It was understandable that his mortification also came from attraction to Henrik.

But, to put it plainly, Henrik wouldn’t do or say anything because he didn’t deserve Anthony.

Henrik wasn’t good enough for Anthony. He knew that. It had nothing to do with wealth and position. It was Henrik himself. Anthony had no idea what Henrik had done to get to where he was. The lives he had taken. Henrik knew it was all part of the life of crime, but he had done it. At the end of the day, it had been his choice. 

Henrik had never been the most devoted of partners. He had learned, quite recently due to his time with Anthony, that he hated anyone making advances on someone he had feelings for. His mind brought to his attention the protectiveness and respect for Anthony when one of Russo’s sons had suggested he take down Anthony’s pants for the rest of the spanking, but Henrik had to admit that he also didn’t want anyone else seeing Anthony like that. There was a part of him that liked having these intimate instances with Anthony, just the two of them. No one would dare touch Anthony like that, or he’d kill them. He also thought of when he briefly regarded Tom as a threat, Molly’s fucking fiance. 

The kid deserved better. Henrik had done terrible things. He didn’t deserve to be with him. He didn’t even fucking deserve to be in the presence of the capo’s son. Anthony deserved so much more than what Henrik was and what he had to offer.

Henrik would put his feelings for Anthony aside. He would be what he needed, try to protect him, and put Anthony first. Anthony was not ready.

He saw a blonde head of hair by the bedside, and turned. Anthony was on his knees on the hard floor, his cheek pressed against the cover, his eyes closed. Henrik suddenly realized that his hand was holding Anthony’s captive. Shit.

Anthony’s long dark lashes fluttered as he stirred, groaning softly. His lids rose, and his mismatched eyes saw Henrik, blue and brown depths flickering with life.

Henrik had no idea how Anthony had found him, nor how he had got here. He parted his lips to ask what had happened, but was stunned silent by Anthony’s manner.

Anthony dropped his hand like it was a red-hot coal in a fire, his eyes cooling. He stood up, putting distance between the two. Henrik dropped his hand, gazing at Anthony, trying to get Anthony to look at him, but he was unsuccessful.

After a moment of quiet, Henrik ventured to break the silence. “How long?” he asked him quietly.

Anthony’s voice was reserved and aloof when he answered him. “Ya already asked that, but six days,” he told Henrik. “Didn’t know if ya were gonna make it.” He left the room, returning some time later with ointment. He sat on the bed, opening the casements.

Henrik felt his slender fingers grasp his chin, as his other hand tended to his injuries, giving medicine to his face. Anthony’s face was blank.

“Ya can’t leave until ya recover,” Anthony informed him, his face stern. Henrik almost chuckled; he sounded as strict as Henrik himself had to be with him when he misbehaved. “I don’t want ya openin’ your wounds or exhausting yaself, got it? I can’t be here tomorrow.” This he grumbled, his eyes narrowed. “So if I come back and find ya bleedin’ out on my floor, I’ll fuckin’ shoot ya myself.”

Henrik snorted. “Yes, nurse,” he mocked. He smirked, his amber eyes flashing. “You won’t see me complaining, I’ll have to admit. You’d make one hell of a sexy caretaker, baby.” He was duly rewarded with Anthony turning pink.

“I’d punch ya, but I might accidentally cause ya ta bleed ta death,” Anthony mumbled sullenly. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“How did you even find me?” Henrik asked him. That was the one thing he didn’t understand. How could Anthony have possibly known where to look?

Anthony looked down at his books, hesitant. When he lifted his gaze, Henrik saw honesty, but he also saw something furtive hidden in his gem-hued depths. “Stepped on ya,” he informed Henrik bluntly.

Henrik raised a dark brow.

Anthony grew flustered, having finished with Henrik, and stepped away again. “Nothin’ else to it.”

“So you’re not gonna tell me why exactly you ended up stepping on me in the first place?” Henrik came after him, the question cutting through the air like a sword.

Anthony flinched. He didn’t speak. His eyes turned cold once more. “Just focus on gettin’ better. The sooner you’re better, the sooner ya can stay the fuck away from me.” He spun around on the back of his heel and left, the door slamming shut behind him.

***

Anthony did not get about consequences anymore. He did not care what they did to him. All reason had flown from his mind, leaving only anger. He wanted to hurt them for this, hurt them like they had hurt Henrik, the way they had been hurting Anthony all his life. He could feel himself trembling with fury as he slammed the door closed. The slam seemed to shake the entire house.

He winded the long intricate hallway, not pausing in his stride, as he got closer and closer to his father’s office. His vision got black the nearer he got, highlights of red streaking through. He had never been more furious.

But fire began to spark through the landscape of his fury as he remembered what his own father had done to his mother. He had let her die. He planned it all. He let his own child die, simply because she was a girl. How had Elena succumbed? Lack of care and neglect in childbed explained Ma, but Elena…She was just a baby. He did not know how Pops had done in the little girl. He prayed he never would.

He fling the door open, as it hit the wall with an ear-shattering bang. “Pa!” he thundered, his eyes flashing.

His anger boiled unmeasurably as he saw him. Henroin Ragnetto. His dark hair was perfectly slicked back, his suit immaculate, his sharp eyes emotionless as he looked up from his papers. He looked at the man who had taken everything from his mother, who had orchestrated the brutal murder of his grandparents, the man who nearly killed Henrik, had ruthlessly ordered the beating of the man Anthony cared for more than anything. His father had known that. That was why it was his punishment. 

Anthony struck him.

He relished the crunch as his fist made contact with Henroin Ragnetto’s jaw, watching his father’s head swing to the side from the blow. Anthony’s eyes were blazing with murderous rage, as he stood over him, his hand bruised.

“Don’t ya ever touch him again,” Anthony coldly told his father, his voice curiously dead and final. “If ya ever hurt him again, I’ll kill you. ” He left without another word, not caring enough to take pleasure in whatever way his father must have looked at him.

As the image of an unconscious Henrik appeared before his mind, unmoving, Anthony wrapping himself in the man’s arms every night, sitting by the bed, holding his hand, the fear that Henrik would never wake up again, suddenly all Anthony’s fear left him. He couldn’t feel the terror of the consequences anymore. He didn’t care what Pops did to him anymore. He hated Anthony so much, he was prepared to kill the man Anthony lov-

Everything came to a stop.

No. Oh, God, no.

He couldn’t, he couldn’t be in love with Henrik! It was wrong! Henrik was a man, for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t right. That wasn’t even close, however, to what was terrifying Anthony right now. He was in love with Henrik Tychon.

Anthony had never hated himself more than he did now. Five years. Five years of resilience, never letting anyone see who he truly was, and Henrik had dismantled that quickly. Anthony had only ever been punished for loving others, losing them, no matter what. Now he had gone and had his heart stolen by his father’s man.

No. No. Absolutely not. Anthony refused to allow himself to fall for him.

You can’t prevent what has already happened, his mind told him. You can’t just brush it off. You love Henrik Tychon, and nothing will ever change that.

He refused to believe that. No. He was only lying to himself. He just had a crush on the son of a bitch, nothing more. Henrik would leave him soon enough. It made no matter to Anthony.

The man was arrogant and cocky, teasing Anthony, embarrassing him, flirting because he knew that Anthony had a crush on him. He liked torturing him for his own amusement. Henrik was a cheat, he had said so himself. He gambled like there was no tomorrow. Henrik was attractive, and he knew it. Anthony had no doubt that meant he had had plenty in his bed throughout his life. Henrik had treated him cruelly after he told Henrik to stay out of his life: he had been brusque and abrupt in training, he beat his ass after Henrik made a comment about Ma, he spanked him in anger, left Anthony to take out Moore by himself while he went to fuck another woman, told Anthony how much of a bother he was to him. He had fucking bent Anthony over the sink and washed his mouth out with soap. He acted above his station in life, pinning Anthony to the wall and stroking him like a cat, always placing those fucking hands on his waist intimately and familiarly. Anthony understood why he had had to leave. His father figure was on his deathbed. He did not blame him for leaving. What he could never forget was that Henrik said he probably would not come back. Anthony was not worth his time. He’d humiliated him, having tossed him over his shoulder three times already: robbing him of having a good time with some guys, carried him out of a meeting, carrying him off for a spanking, twice in front of the other mafia men.

But what was worse was the spankings. Anthony blushed whenever he even thought of it. Those were the worst. Henrik had humiliated Anthony more times than he could count. The first time he met him, Henrik had tossed him over his knee and yanked down his pants, giving Anthony his first spanking, the first spanking of his life, until his ass was cherry red and he was in tears. He made fun of him after a spanking, taking note of the freckles on Anthony’s ass cheeks. Anthony had never liked his freckles, especially there. Freckles felt…like something youthful, something that as an adult he should not have. It made him feel cute. It made him feel that he was not taken seriously, that he was a kid still.

Henrik had spanked him in public twice! Anthony turned bright red as he remembered that. He’d fucking picked Anthony up off his feet, put him on his hip as if he didn’t weight a thing, and took his hand to Anthony’s backside until he was kicking and hollering, and didn’t put Anthony down on his feet until he apologized. He had been publicly spanked in front of the other capos twice. Fuck, a week ago after he came back, the first thing Henrik did was prop his leg up and dump Anthony over his knee, smacking his bottom as if he were a disobedient child until Anthony burst into tears.

He’d constantly humiliated Anthony, yanking down his pants and whacking him. He always took his underwear down, too. He had made it clear he didn’t believe in giving Anthony something for his modesty. That was the most embarrassing part. He had had a crush on him from the moment he saw the hot stranger, and each and every time Henrik paddled his butt he could feel his hand making contact with his soft white skin, as Henrik spanked his bare bottom.

He bent Anthony over the hood of the car, despite the fact that anyone could drive by. He’d fucking dared to -

Anthony didn’t think he could turn any more red, but he somehow did. Henrik had fucking spanked him with his hairbrush. He’d never used anything on his bottom before. He took Anthony’s hairbrush to his bottom for striking Henrik, paddling his bare bottom until his cheeks were glowing scarlet. It was the most embarrassing, mortifying thing that Anthony had ever endured. As if getting it once wasn’t bad enough, Henrik seemed to have decided that the brush was a successful method to keep Anthony in check. He’d given it to him again for going to Santiago. Anthony didn’t think he’d ever forgiven him for making him stand in the corner and bare his bottom to Henrik as his father’s man leaned back in his chair and stared at his handiwork.

The man who beat his ass without remorse. The man who obviously only thought of Anthony as a kid, treating him like a child, who needed a good spanking. The man who had been unkind and was arrogant and cocky and proud. He was a no-good bastard, who would leave at the first offer of a new job, who thought that he could turn the capo’s eighteen-year-old son over his knee and give his ass a beating. He presumed too much. He was not Anthony’s dad or his brother or his boyfriend or his husband. Yet he acted like he had a right and was in a higher position to whip his butt and punish him. The man who was breaking his heart every day.

The man who stopped his father from beating him with a belt. The man who tended to his injuries. The man who apologized when he was wrong. The man who held him in his arms after his spanking, stroking his hair and kissing the top of his head, letting him cry as his cheeks burned from getting a sore bottom. The man who never stopped trying to protect him from others who might do him harm, took a stand against Pops and Nico, who didn’t want Anthony to take drugs, who had punished him in public simply to appease the crime lords, to shield him from their wrath. The man who had still offered him comfort even after Henrik had yanked his pants down to his ankles as his ass was blistered over his bed. The man who believed that Anthony was better than he was, soaping Anthony’s mouth, truly shocked that Anthony would say something so foul, expecting him to be better because he knew, believed that Anthony was good. The man who felt bad for scaring Anthony, swearing that was never what he meant to do. The man who didn’t hesitate to take Anthony into his arms on the ground, who picked Anthony up gently, like he was a piece of fine glass, carrying him in his arms as if he were the most precious thing in the world to Henrik. The man who hugged Anthony to him as they said good-bye, who placed his hands on Anthony’s hips to steady him when he put him down, who tenderly lifted his face, fingers on his chin, stroking the sides of his face with so much love, swearing he would never raise a hand to Anthony. Some part of Anthony thrilled that Henrik cared enough to discipline him, instead of letting Anthony walk all over him. He tested Henrik, and Henrik didn’t take his shit. He gave as good as he got. He liked that Henrik took charge. His dominance…aroused him. This was the man who had held him in his arms at night, promised he would never hurt him. He had checked Anthony’s reddened bottom to make sure that he didn’t bruise him. The man who came after him, terrified that he would be dead. The man who always put Anthony first.

Anthony closed his eyes. He loved Henrik more than anything, with all his heart. And he hated that he did.

He wouldn’t let himself be hurt again. It had hurt too much the first time, when Ma was taken from him, from those crumbs of affection he had always desired from Pops, from Nico’s treatment of him. He couldn’t bear to go through that with Henrik.

He wouldn’t soften or let go of his act for Henrik. He couldn’t. Too much was at stake for him if he did.

He wouldn’t be making that mistake again.

Nico was next on his list. He didn’t care what happened to him anymore. All he cared about was getting through to them the message that if he and Pops ever touched Henrik again, then they would pay costly.

“Where is he?” he barked at Alessandro, causing the man to jump. He was in the lounge room, hands folded behind his back, to see the youngest Ragnetto “spider”, smoke practically coming out of his ears, as dainty and pearly as seashells.

Alessandro had watched these kids grow up. He knew the tension that existed between the sons. He knew exactly who Anthony meant in that scathing tone. But Alessandro decided to draw it out. Tychon had given him a spanking over his knee as if he were no more than a willful child. He wasn’t as invincible as he thought he was. Alessandro intended to take the kid down a peg or two. “Who?” he taunted, feigning ignorance.

Anthony was on him before he could blink. He couldn’t cover the yowl that flew from his lips as Ragnetto’s youngest suddenly grabbed him by the ear, yanking his head down to his height. That tiny wrist came flying at him, and the next thing Alessandro knew his ear was thudding in pain and ringing, as Anthony gave him a hard clout on the ear.

“Don’t fuckin’ play with me,” Anthony snarled in a dangerous voice, tugging Alessandro closer. “Fuck with me again and you’ll be fuckin’ Moore in rigor mortis in the same place I put him.” His eyes were terrifyingly cold, resembling black diamonds and ice glaciers.

Alessandro’s hazel eyes widened in alarm at that threat. “Room with the window,” he admitted.

Anthony dropped him like Alessandro was a scalding hot frying pan, heading in that direction.

Nico was pacing back and forth in the same room where Henrik had first put Anthony over his knee, regarding the wedding ring in the palm of his hand. He clenched his jaw, slipping it back on his finger. It was an heirloom: white gold with a large diamond of 56 carats. Nonna used to tell him stories when he was a kid that one of their ancestors, an Italian noblewoman, had been gifted it by Eleonora di Toledo, the Duchess of Florence, wife to the great Cosimo de Medici. No one actually knew if the story was true, but…it made for a nice fairy tale. Perhaps it would entertain his little wife.

His head turned as he heard the door thud into the wall with a searing crash. At such fury, he could only expect Pops. He began to turn. “The fuck do ya-”

Anthony’s fist, still bruised from striking the father, hit the son with all his strength, sending all of his strength behind the punch, as he now struck Nico hard in the jaw. Nico hadn’t been expecting the attack, and so was unprepared. His head swung to the side. He clutched the bruised flesh, breathing hard, before slowly facing his little brother. “What the actual fuck was that?” he demanded, his black eyes flaring to life.

Anthony shoved him hard by the chest, pushing him back, Nico almost losing his balance from the action. “How dare you put your hands on him!” he shouted, shoving him again, nearly knocking him down. His heterochromatic orbs were alive with fatal rage. “Don’t you ever fucking touch him again, do you hear me?! You left him to die! You absolute sick fuck. ” He spat out the words viciously, never pausing in his stride.

Nico didn’t have time to respond or to block him before Anthony struck again. This time his swing came for his eye. Nico was unable to restrain his shout as his eye pounded with sheer agony. He clutched his face, stumbling back.

“Tony, back the fuck off,” he warned him darkly, his eyes dangerous, the skin around his eye beginning to bruise. “I’m warnin’ ya.”

“Ya can shove yer warnins’ up your ass!” Anthony yelled vehemently, tears sparkling in his eyes like crystals. “He almost died!” He shoved him hard.

This time Nico retaliated. He was tired of Anthony just sitting back and taking it from Tychon, not doing anything to stop him, and now he was pissed with Nico for doing the same to Tychon?

He grabbed Anthony’s arm, jerking him around and twisting his arm behind his back. Anthony shrieked and kicked, trying to fight him off. “Get offa me!” he yelled.

“Shut up already,” Nico snarled, pulling his arm harder. Anthony gasped, pain shooting up his arm. “Ya think I’m just gonna sit there and take this from you?!” Nico tightened his grip. “Are ya gonna calm down?”

He got his reply in a kick, leveled at his shin. Nico dropped his brother, cursing. Anthony hit him a third time, catching him in the throat.

Nico gurgled at the punch, clutching his throat, knocked off his feet. “You little shit,” he groaned through gasps for air.

He was yanked upward suddenly by his collar, Anthony on top of him. He straddled Nico, his fist red with blood, but he paid it no mind. He began raining blows down on his older brother, his vision turning to black, feeling his hand come into contact with skin and bone repeatedly. He didn’t stop until Nico stopped struggling.

When his vision cleared, he saw Nico’s bloodied face, his eye blackened. He had broken his brother’s nose. His lip was swollen.

Anthony rose to his feet, wiping his hand on his shirt. “Don’t ever lay your hands on him again,” he murmured quietly, but coldly. “Or I’ll take ya out back and put ya down like the monster ya are.”

He turned his back to leave, when Nico’s voice reached him, as he groaned in pain, trying to sit up.

“Why the fuck are you protecting him?” he snarled, his tone scathing. “He’s a cheat, a scoundrel, a no-good son of a bitch. He beats ya! Why do you care so much if he gets a little bruised?! Huh?! Why the fuck do ya care?!”

Anthony let him throw the words at his back, eerily calm, his eyes cold as they regarded Nico Ragnetto. His voice was filled with hate, cool and aloof.

“I’d take a thousand spankings all at once, I’d take a beating from Pops until my back ripped open and I was scarred for life,” he told Nico, “if it meant I could take his pain away.”

He left without another word.

Chapter Text

Pain.

He still felt the pain, even now.

The pain was so severe it hurt even more than the physical pain, leaving him feeling as if his heart had been torn in half. Henrik ran a hand through his hair, his breathing heavy as he tried not to put pressure on his recovering wounds.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know that he could do anything.

Anthony had been cold for a long time. Henrik had seen every day, since the day he met him, that Anthony was desperately trying to hold on to the carapace around his heart, and each and every time it slipped from his fingers, he was snatching it back up again. He would tell Henrik to stay away from him and shout him down after he got his ass reddened, forever telling Henrik not to touch him. Henrik would not have had a problem with that request if it were simply something Anthony wasn’t comfortable with. But the fact was that Anthony didn’t want to accept Henrik’s comfort or let anyone touch him, pushing people away.

He had told Henrik time and time again, in bouts of rage, how much he hated him, that he didn’t care if he left. Ever since the day Henrik had told him he might not return, Anthony had attempted to treat him as if nothing had happened between them, treating him coldly and acting imperious and above him, up on his pride. Henrik had never given up on him, had never stopped trying to dismantle his walls and trauma, but he now began to wonder whether Visconti had been wrong, and that he truly did despite Henrik.

He’d hurt the beautiful man, he knew that. He had promised to look the other way when it came to Anthony’s father’s cruelty, and then continued his own cruelty by snapping commands and orders at him, until he was almost in tears. He told him he was only in it for the money, had left him alone to try to get him out of his head, he had almost left him.

He knew it was his anger that had been speaking, his own hurt. But that didn’t excuse it. Although if Henrik was completely honest with himself, he doubted that even their strained relationship could have stopped him from killing his father if he laid another hand on Anthony. He also hadn’t wanted Anthony to see that he still cared. He was trying to convince himself that he didn’t care for the kid, so spoke to him in the manner he had to deny his feelings and banish them. It didn’t work once. Every time he saw those beautiful brown and blue eyes fill with tears, he felt as if his heart was breaking. He hadn’t wanted to want him. He felt desperate to rid himself of his image, wanting to fuck these feelings away, deny and prove to himself that he didn’t have feelings for him, that Anthony Ragnetto was just a kid to him, that he thought of him as a kid. That also hadn’t worked. At the time, he was unable to understand how just thinking of Anthony was enough to keep him from wanting to do anything with the woman. He hadn’t even been able to bring himself to touch her hand, something as small as that.

Henrik had taken this job for the money, despite his initial distaste for what exactly he was going to be doing. He didn’t want to play babysitter to some spoiled mafioso’s brat, and had already decided on his way to New York that if Ragnetto’s kid was defiant, then he would feel Henrik’s hard hand on his butt. It had not even crossed his mind that he could possibly get attached. Henrik Tychon didn’t get attached. Something long-term had never interested him. He liked traveling and seeing the world, trying something new in each place he visited. He didn’t like being tied down.

Everything was different now. The instant he laid eyes on the exquisite creature before him, he thought he would enjoy this post more than he originally thought. He agreed to stay and train him simply because he fucking wanted him. He desired him, was attracted to his spirit, temper, and attitude. He hadn’t found it unpleasant when he took his hand to the lovely man’s bottom. His rage amused him, he was pretty, he had a soft, rounded bottom that had flushed a pretty rosy pink before reddening, and he had a mind of his own.

But for the first time in his life, Henrik wanted to protect someone. The instant he saw those marks on the kid’s pale skin, he wanted to hurt his new employer. He didn’t understand how someone so slight, so fucking tiny, could deserve to be beaten ruthlessly like that. Henrik wouldn’t hesitate to bare the kid’s butt and take his hand to his bottom, but he would never leave him with bruises, or draw blood. He was always careful with that. His method when giving a punishment was to smack their cheeks until they were a deep red, sobbing over his knee, subdued, remorseful, ensuring they would not do it again. It got the lesson across without hurting them.

When Henrik finally accepted that he cared about Anthony, he knew that the money had nothing to do with it. He stayed for Anthony , not what Henroin could pay him. He didn’t give a shit about the money. He’d stay even if he wasn’t being paid to. He didn’t want to leave. He hated the very thought of never seeing him again, but…he couldn’ fathom that Anthony felt the same.

Why had Anthony saved him? Why was Henrik alive? He knew he wouldn’t be, if it wasn’t for him. He didn’t believe that Anthony would have left him to die. Anthony was not like that. He had a good heart. It wouldn’t make sense for him to do something so heartless. But Henrik wondered why he had dragged Henrik to his apartment, healed him, stayed by his side for almost a week.

Henrik wished he didn’t love Anthony so goddamn much. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much when he told Henrik he wanted him to stay away from him the moment he was recovered, the pain of the way Anthony treated him.

The door was thrown open harshly. Henrik's head turned toward the sound. If he had been a cat, it would have been reminiscent of a feline’s ears flicking toward the noise. Anthony reappeared, his tousled blonde head shaking back and forth as he brushed his hair out of his eyes. Henrik watched those long, slender fingers elegantly push his blonde locks back from his eyes, the movement graceful even without effort. His heart pounded as those beautiful mismatched eyes became visible.

Henrik’s eyes drifted down to his hand. His knuckles were blistered and red, his hand dripping blood.

Henrik’s eyes widened. He attempted to rise to go to him, forgetting his state, and his attempts were only rewarded with a searing pain in his abdomen. He went right back down again, groaning in pain. His head swam. “What - what happened to you?” he asked him heavily, his eyes worried.

The minute Henrik tried to rise and fell back down, Anthony rushed to his side. He cursed himself and his love for Henrik in his head. He was resolved to push away that love, but the moment he saw Henrik in pain, he went to him to help. Anthony bit his lip. He watched the handsome hitman, his heart aching. God, he loved him. So fucking much.

He grabbed Henrik’s hand. “Shh,” he hushed him. “Don’t try to get up yet. Ya need to give your injuries time to heal.”

Henrik only pointed at his injured hand, his eyes stern and burning like amber jewels. “If ya don’t answer me,” he bit out, groaning through his aches, “the minute I can stand without getting dizzy, I’m turning you over my knee and smacking your bottom until it’s a nice shade of red.” He was only half joking. He gripped his hand back. “What. Happened?”

Anthony swallowed hard, his eyes lowering to his feet. He hardened his voice, along with his heart. It proved his point. Henrik would only ever see him as a kid, a child in need of a good spanking. “You’re in no position to make demands of anythin’,” he flared, his eyes flashing. “Good luck beatin’ my ass when ya can’t even stand.” He smirked at Henrik.

Henrik glared, his golden-tinged eyes blazing. 

Anthony paid him no mind. He reached for the ointment by the bedside, and held Henrik’s jaw in his hand, gently applying it to his face. He checked his wounds, to make sure they had not opened. “I need to redress the wounds.”

Henrik sat up, rolling his eyes, his hands going to the collar of his shirt. He began undoing the buttons, one by one, his shirt parting to reveal his bare skin. Anthony’s eyes followed the movement, as Henrik’s fingers undressed. Anthony eyed the smooth skin. God, he was so hot…

Henrik smirked at him when he saw him watching. “You enjoying the show, baby?” he asked, winking at him. 

Anthony blushed furiously. “Shut up and get yer fuckin’ shirt off,” he snapped harshly. Henrik just laughed, shrugging out of his shirt.

Anthony unwound the bandages around Henrik’s lean torso, his cheeks pink, as he places his hands on the taut skin, the muscles working underneath. He was positive his entire face was red, as he inspected him. He gave him a second dressing, his hands touching Henrik’s chest, gliding down, feeling that tanned body underneath his fingers. He checked his shoulder and arm, both healing successfully. He looked up at Henrik from under his lashes, finding him watching Anthony silently, his gaze unreadable, his jaw clenched.

Fuck, Henrik wasn’t sure how long he was going to last if Anthony kept on touching him, his hands roving over his torso and chest, in such close proximity. He tried to keep his breathing under control, clenching his jaw so hard it hurt. He refused to touch Anthony when it was unwanted, and especially refused to touch him because Anthony had made it clear that there was nothing between them. Fine, that was fucking fine by him. He didn’t care.

“Thanks,” he gritted out, his voice hard, along with other things.

Anthony flinched slightly at his harsh tone, his eyes beginning to feel damp. Oh, he got the message loud and clear. Henrik resented that he had to stay here. He didn’t want to be around Anthony a second longer than necessary. Anthony looked away, anger stirring in his gut. He didn’t want to see the look of disgust and annoyance he was sure to have found on Henrik’s strikingly handsome face. Anthony was incapable of being loved, he was worthless. Anthony had known that his whole life. But he didn’t want to see that in the eyes of the man he had fallen in love with.

His eyes filled with tears, and anger began to boil deep inside. He didn’t care what Henrik thought of him, or when he would leave. He didn’t give a flying fuck! Henrik was nothing but a bastard. Anthony hated him, he did! Henrik could go fuck himself, for all he had to say about the matter.

Anthony glared at Henrik, tears shining in his eyes like diamonds. “If ya think I care what ya think of me, then you’re sadly mistaken,” he blurted out, speaking rapidly, his breathing heavy. “If you think ya can hurt me by showin’ just how much ya hate it here, you’re wastin’ your breath. I hope ya recover soon.” He jerked his face out of Henrik’s sight, so he couldn’t see the pain written over. “The sooner ya’re better, the sooner you’re out of my life and we can go back to a professional relationship, one where ya know your fuckin’ place. You’re just a fuckin’ bodyguard; stop actin’ like ya can presume to treat me so familiarly.” 

Henrik’s heart gave a pang. If he had had any doubts before, this only confirmed it. Anthony had hardened his walls, and they were not coming down again. His eyes hardened. He wasn’t going to break his heart over Anthony if he truly resented him so much. “Fine,” he spat, his eyes turning gold in the light. “I know my fucking place. I got the message loud and clear.” His temper leashed out. He wanted to hurt Anthony the way he had hurt him, to make him understand what Henrik was feeling. “I’m the bodyguard. You’re the capo’s brat of a son. Don’t know why I wasted my time on ya in the first place, all those fucking times I saved your ungrateful ass.” His next words shot out like a bullet, and he was unable to stop them in time. “I’m only doing this for the money, anyway. Have been from the start. The day the money stops coming, so do I. I got nothing keeping me here. You’re nothing to me.”

The instant the words came out, he wished he could take them back. His vision had gone black, wanting to get Anthony to see, anything, to prove to Henrik that he was wrong. As the last word passed his lips, he suddenly realized what he had done. His eyes widened in horror.

No. No, no, no, no, no. What have I done? He’d just thrown unforgivable words at his Anthony. Why would he say something like that? None of it was true! He never cared about the money! He only stayed for Anthony. Anthony was everything to him. He was his light. Henrik couldn’t even say that he had a heart in his chest, because Anthony was his heart. He’d spoken to him so cruelly in a fit of anger. 

He thought back to when he was considering Anthony’s own insecurities, how he might believe that Henrik didn’t care for him. He thought of Visconti’s words. If there had been any chance that Visconti and Bridgetta were right about Anthony’s feelings for him, then he had just confirmed to the kid that he meant nothing to him.

Anthony looked as if he had been slapped. His eyes filled with pain, such as Henrik had never seen before. Henrik broke as he saw tears on his face, as he looked at Henrik. He looked at Henrik like he had broken his trust. He looked at him with a look of such betrayal and hurt, a look Henrik had caused. “You’re right,” he whispered. “Ya never should have saved me.”

“No, no, no.” Henrik leaned forward, desperately reaching for his hand. Anthony yanked himself out of reach, a hand covering his mouth as he tried to stifle his cries. “Wait! Anthony, I didn’t mean that. I’m so fucking sorry, baby. I didn’t-”

“Shut up!” Anthony yelled, turning his head away, wiping his face with his sleeve. “I don’t care what the fuck ya have to say! My Pops ain’t gonna take money out of your pay just ‘cause ya spoke the truth!” His mouth trembled, his voice breaking. “I already know I’m nothing,” he rasped, turning to face him once again. “I am nothing. But I thought that I meant something to you.”

Henrik’s eyes were agonized as he looked at him. “You always have, baby,” he choked. “Fucking Christ, I didn’t mean to hurt you. You mean the world to me-”

“Stop fuckin’ lyin’!” Anthony screamed, turning his back, stomping away. “You’re right. You never should have rescued me all those times! I’m not worth it! You’ve made it clear from day one that I’m just a walking bag of gold to ya!” he accused. “You’re a gambler, nothin’ but a hustler. The day your pay’s up, ya won’t even bother to say good-bye. I know there’s nothing here for you.” He threw one last scathing look over his shoulder. “I don’t want you! I don’t need you! I don’t need fuckin’ anyone, do you hear me, you heartless son of a bitch?! I’ve never needed anyone! The minute ya are better, save my Pops the trouble and pack your things like ya always planned! Just go! I can take care of myself! I’ve lived my life this way for five years, and I’d like to keep it that way! I don’t need or want you in my life!”

He left the room, closing the door and going to make dinner.

***

That night everything went wrong. Anthony brought Henrik food, but did not sit with him. Instead, he went up the steps and to the top of the apartment, smoking a joint, watching the blue-black sky alight with twinkling stars, the moon cast overhead. He wrapped his arms around his legs, pulled tight against his chest, tears drying on his face.

He didn’t want to go back. He wanted to jump off the building and end his suffering. His father had always hated him. Nico hated him, enough to brutally scar and scour the man he loved. He didn’t know how to process what had happened to his mother, and to his baby sister, what his father had done. What Pops had done to his grandparents…

Anthony didn’t matter. He had never mattered to anyone except his mother, Nonna, and Molly. Pops never forgot what a disappointment he was. He was weak. He was sinning; he had fallen in love with another man. But for the first time in his life, he had thought that someone saw him for who he was, and cared for him, wanted to protect him because they cared. But it had all been a lie from the start. All those times Henrik had wrapped him in his arms, his kindnesses, calling him baby, it had all been for the money. He had never meant a thing to Henrik Tychon. He didn’t know why that hurt the most.

He didn’t want to go back to his room. Every night Henrik had been here, he had climbed under the covers at his side, wrapping Henrik’s arms around him, to feel close with him, to be near him, to pretend that he was consciously there with Anthony. It gave him an escape, to pretend that Henrik was safe, that he was okay. He felt safe and at peace when wrapped in Henrik’s arms.

But Henrik woke up today. Anthony only had one bed. He didn’t want to go back. But he knew he had no choice. He couldn’t jump from the apartment building. He couldn’t do that to Nonna and Molly.

He wanted to live long enough to get to know Diego, the man his mother had loved when she was his age. How different his life would have been if they had escaped. Anthony and Molly could have had a normal childhood. Maybe Nico could have been gentled, could have become a happier man, a better man. Pops’s abuse would have stopped; Anthony would never have had to feel the belt on his back again, never again feel blood running down his body. If Anthony had had a different life, then Henrik would never have broken Anthony’s heart.

He eventually pushed himself to his feet, heading back inside.

Being in the same room with Henrik did nothing to alleviate his hurt. Every time he looked at him, his heart felt like it was broken. It was broken. Henrik had only proved to Anthony that all his doubts and insecurities were right. Despite his resolve, despite the way his father and brother had treated him time and time again, some part of him hoped that he was wrong, that Henrik was different, despite everything. But he had meant absolutely nothing to Henrik this whole time. He had never cared. It was all only ever about the money.

Henrik was just as tense and angry as when he had left him, his jaw clenched so hard it was like granite. His eyes roved to where Anthony stood in place, hostility swirling in his molten golden-amber depths. He only looked at Anthony coldly, giving him a look so indifferent it only solidified in Anthony’s mind just exactly what Henrik thought of him.

His eyes flashed, although the rest of his expression was unreadable, his probable poker face on. “So you’re back, huh?” he said, in a subdued manner. “Thought you were gonna freeze out there, considering how long you were out.”

Anthony clenched his fists at his sides. “I didn’t wanna spare you the trouble,” he shot back, glaring right back at him. “Look, I only got one bed, so why the fuck would I be eager to come back here, if it means I gotta deal with your disdain, huh?” Tears stung his eyes. “Ya know what? It was a mistake coming here. I’d rather take my chances with the night air! Frankly, I’d rather freeze than spend another minute in your presence!” He whirled around, stomping toward the door.

Henrik’s derisive snort met his ears, causing him to turn around. “Oh, please,” he returned, and Anthony just knew he was giving his arrogant grin, firing back at Anthony, coming in with a jab of his own. “Don’t flatter yourself, kid.” This he said in such a scathing tone, so condescendingly, that Anthony flinched from his tone, flushing at the injury to his pride. “I’m not exactly rushing to be in your presence either, but you’re not doing us any favors if ya die. Not gonna get paid by your old man if you freeze to death, am I?” His smile was satisfied, cutting like a sword.

Anthony’s heart hurt so much at that, the pain so severe, he nearly clutched his chest and fell to the ground in agony, twisting on the floor. He tossed his head, meeting Henrik’s gaze disdainfully. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing that his arrow had struck.

“I hate you,” he told him quietly, but his voice was filled with loathing and dripping with poison. Now it was Henrik’s turn to flinch, as he heard the vehemence in his voice.

Henrik recovered from his shock, adopting his arrogant stance again, his only protection against letting Anthony see that his actions affected him. He raised a brow. “Ya think I care?” he asked him, giving him an unimpressed look.

Anthony screeched, stomping his foot in pure rage. Henrik only laughed at him and his temper. “Take down your pants and shirt and get in already,” he told him.

Anthony blushed pink, his mouth dropping open. “What?” He wasn’t sure he had heard him correctly.

Henrik chuckled. “Don’t give me that look. Unless you want to go to bed in your day clothes, then I suggest you start stripping.” He leaned back against the pillows.

Anthony clenched his fists, fighting back the urge to pummel him. He turned his back to Henrik, growling, “Do ya mind?” His voice was sharp, giving him the hint he didn’t want him to look his way.

Henrik merely crossed his arms over his chest, a smug grin on his lips. “Nope.” He smirked at Anthony.

Anthony huffed, giving him his back once more.

He wasn’t ashamed of what he liked to wear, so he felt no shame. The sleepwear he chose was a slim fit of a dress. It was virginal white silk, with lace on the borders, stopping at his thighs. The bodice was gathered full at the breast, displaying his lean chest to advantage and the golden freckles dotting his skirt, with thin straps for his shoulders. It was…gorgeous.

Henrik knew he was being an ass, but the moment Anthony’s back was turned, he felt ashamed of himself. Dammit, he should look away. He turned his gaze to the wall, but his resolve only lasted so long when he saw that creamy skin.

Anthony was cursing him in Italian under his breath. He could hear him. Anthony lifted his hips, undoing his belt, dropping his pants and tugging them down angrily. Henrik’s eyes dilated as he saw his rounded bottom in red silk, his freckled cheeks perfectly accentuated by the fabric. Anthony’s fingers brushed against the soft skin of his thighs as he grabbed each side, bending as he pulled them down. Bared from the waist down, he turned even more, his fingers going to his shirt to unbutton it.

Slender white shoulders pale as milk, sprinkled with golden freckles, were uncovered as the shirt slipped from his shoulders. The shirt traveled down, revealing the pale skin of his slim white back. It was a sight to see, unmarked by Ragnetto’s strap. Henrik forced himself to look away, cursing himself and Anthony.

Anthony slipped from the shirt, dressing himself in the tiny nightdress. It hugged his tiny waist and curved bottom, suiting his frame to perfection. Against the paleness of his skin and long, slender limbs, the ivory nightdress was dainty, pure, and fit him well. Anthony picked up the sheer lace robe cover, slipping his arms through, so he would have some protection from the cold air, and not feel so vulnerable before Henrik.

The moment Anthony was dressed, Henrik looked back, having done his part and averted his eyes. His mouth dropped as he looked at the absolute vision before him.

In that tiny white nightgown of lace and silk, with a coverlet robe atop, he looked angelic, innocent, a picture of both allure and purity. The ivory silk ended at his thighs, displaying his creamy flesh and those long, gorgeous legs of his. His freckles were covered, much to Henrik’s disappointment; he loved those freckles. His eyes were big and blue and brown, like melting chocolate and sparkling sapphires, fringed with long, thick black lashes. His sculpted cheekbones showed off his delicate bone structure, complimented by his pouting lips and Bridgetta’s face.

Henrik swallowed hard. He was beautiful, every single inch of him lovely. But he would never have the opportunity to tell him that. He didn’t deserve him, not after everything he had done.

The moment he saw the tears in Anthony’s eyes, he would have given anything to take back what he had said. He loved Anthony. God, he never meant to hurt him, not like that. But despite his remorse, he couldn’t shake off the hurtful things that Anthony had said as well, all of his disdain and how he pushed Henrik away time and again. It hurt, no matter how hard he tried to make the pain stop. It made him angry, for trying when Anthony only gave him cruel words back.

Anthony rubbed his arms, shivering. The cold air bit through the silk. Winter had set in, and the air was chilling. He began walking toward the bed slowly, not meeting Henrik’s eyes.

He drew back the covers, climbing into bed beside him, his every move graceful and filled with disdain, making clear that he did not want to be near Henrik. They were both filled with anger and hurt by the other.

Anthony slipped under the covers, trembling from the cold. Despite the protection they were given against it, it was still going to be a cool night.

Henrik begrudgingly wrapped his arms around Anthony, pulling him against the heat of his body, his jaw tight, his teeth clenched, still angry. He dragged the kid against him, spooning him with his larger frame. He placed his chin on the top of Anthony’s head, holding him tightly, his arms enfolded Anthony in a close embrace.

Anthony knew this was the practical thing to do, to absorb body heat. His temper was still up, his pride injured, but he didn’t fight him. He turned to face Henrik, exhausted after the day he had had, hurt, heartbroken. He buried his face in Henrik’s chest, staring into nothing, letting his tears soak Henrik’s shirt as he silently cried. Tears were still wet on his cheeks as he drifted off.

Henrik didn’t understand this warm feeling in his chest as the kid nuzzled against his chest, feeling his tears soak and dampen on his shirt. He held him tighter, refusing to let him go. He loved him, dammit, that wasn’t something he could deny. He loved him so goddamn much it hurt.

He settled his head atop Anthony’s, following him into sleep.

***

Henrik was pulled awake by the pain in his limbs, drawing on all his self-control to deal with the pain. He felt a weight in his arms, and warmth, causing him to look down at the package he was holding in his arms.

Anthony was still asleep, his cheek pressed against Henrik’s lean abdomen, one hand resting on Henrik’s hip. A tendril of blonde hair had fallen into his face, his pink lips parted in sleep. Henrik could feel the silk of his nightdress under his fingertips, the sheer fine fabric soft and delicate. His nightdress had ridden up over his thighs, only covering his ass now. He could feel Anthony’s skin against his hip, his body heat searing his skin like lightning. Henrik tried to stop the thudding in his chest, attempting to force his feelings down, to rid himself of his love for him. But he couldn’t.

He stroked Anthony’s cheek, holding the side of his face in the palm of his hand, sighing in defeat, a hand going through his thick black hair. “Shit.” Everything would be simpler if he didn’t love this kid so fucking much.

“Anthony, wake up,” he commanded, using the voice he only used on Anthony when he was in serious trouble. If he couldn’t stop loving Anthony, then he could at least pretend that he didn’t.

Anthony didn’t stir. He moaned in his sleep, pressing closer, turning slightly. His rounded bottom pressed against Henrik’s covered cock, as he rubbed that fucking infuriating little ass against him. Henrik hardened immediately, causing him to suck in a breath.

Damn him.

Anthony turned on his stomach, slight little breaths coming from him.

Henrik’s anger only rose. This beautiful man had been flouncing around in his face every day, knowing exactly what he was doing to him. He had made it clear that he didn’t care for Henrik’s feelings, treating him as being beneath him countless times. The little brat would probably take satisfaction in seeing him getting all worked up if he was awake.

His temper flaring, his anger still burning, he slapped that aggravating little ass hard.

Anthony was startled awake by the harsh slap that came down on his butt, the force behind it hard and unyielding. He gasped in shock, his eyes flying open, his silk nightgown the only protection against the sharp swat delivered to his backside. “Ahh!” He moaned in discomfort, a hand rubbing his abused ass cheeks, throwing a glare behind his tousled hair at Henrik. “What the hell was that for?!”

The arrogant son of a bitch fucking laughed at him! “Hey, don’t blame me! You were the one who told me you would be gone all day. I’m only helping you; you should be grateful. This way you won’t be late.”

Henrik rose up to his elbows, standing over the glaring teenager. “Come on, brat,” he taunted him. “Get up.” Anthony’s nightdress had edged up, baring his cheeks to Henrik’s gaze. His pretty, freckled cheeks. He smacked Anthony’s left cheek sharply, watching the skin turn pink. 

Anthony yelped. “Oh!”

Henrik spanked the right cheek then, giving it a matching rosy pink shade to its twin. Anthony arched his back, his head flung back, hissing. “Aghhh!” His cheeks were pink, Henrik saw, but he also noticed that his flushed face wasn’t just from being embarrassed. Kid was aroused.

“Stop!” Anthony yelled, glaring at him.

Henrik choked on his laughter. “Hey, you were asking for it,” he jeered at him. “Your cute freckled cheeks were bared.” Anthony turned red, only making him laugh harder. “If you don’t want your pretty cheeks with those adorable freckles smacked, then cover your ass.” Anthony’s face was veritably scarlet.

“Ohhh!” Anthony screeched in anger, yanking his skirt down. He rose to his knees, fixing himself, his cheeks pink. When he raised his head, he found Henrik grinning at him, an amused glint in his gold eyes, the arrogant bastard.

“Ya think this is funny, huh?” he flared. His mouth dropped when Henrik smirked at him.

“Oh, I sure do,” he hummed. Still looming over Anthony, he used a finger to tilt his chin up, forcing him to look into his eyes, flustering the kid. “What’s not to enjoy, baby? Your ass turns such a pretty shade of pink, like roses blooming, all bright and flushed, causing you to shriek and curse and yell at me.” He leaned down.

Anthony’s eyes widened. Was he going to kiss him?

He leaned down, their lips an inch apart, looking into his eyes relentlessly. Up close, Anthony could see the bright golden flecks in his irises.

He flipped Anthony, causing him to shriek. Henrik landed on his back, holding Anthony on top of him by the waist, his hands flat against Henrik’s chest. He roved his hands down, clutching Anthony’s burning cheeks possessively in his hands. Anthony gasped heavily at his touch. His ass pressed back against Henrik’s hands, longingly, despite his anger, being rewarded with Henrik’s fingers holding the skin of his flesh tighter. He arched his back, breathing heavily. Henrik saw his eyes darkening. The kid was fucking horny. He could feel Anthony’s dick twitching. Anthony was breathing hard, his breath hitching. He hid his face in Henrik’s shirt, groaning.

Henrik smirked, dragging him closer, feeling Anthony’s soft skin under his fingers.

“You got a great ass,” he tortured Anthony. “Always takes a spanking so well, baby. Flushing and turning pink under my hand, repeating the method until it’s the same color all over. I always did love the color red,” he smirked. 

He’d never seen Anthony turn so red before. His face bloomed carmine, getting even more vivid with each word. He ducked his head down, too mortified to look him in the eyes. This was a game he was too timid to play. He buried his face in Henrik’s shirt, refusing to meet his eyes. “Stop,” he moaned.

Henrik chuckled, looking down at the blonde head trying to hide his face in Henrik’s shirt. “That ain’t gonna protect ya, sweetheart,” he mocked. “What’s the matter? You don’t like it when I tell you how your ass looks when it’s all red and getting a spanking, how well your bottom takes a spanking, while propped up over my knee?” he whispered huskily. “You gonna think about how nice and pink your butt looks every time you sit down today, squirming in your seat?”

Henrik’s hand drifted down the slim back, taking the edge of Anthony’s nightgown in his hand, and pulled it up over his hips, draping it across his back. He cupped one of those bare cheeks. Anthony’s gasps rose in volume. He fondled and stroked his cheek, as Anthony’s gasps grew louder.

Anthony gasped as cool air washed over his backside, the fists buried in Henrik’s shirt tightening, his eyes slamming closed, his face burning scarlet. He moaned, mortified, burying his head in Henrik’s shirt to hide his shame.

“Ahh!” Henrik once again smacked a cheek, startling him out of reverie. It wobbled from the impact. Anthony hissed, pressing his face closer into Henrik’s chest, whimpering, his hands tighter. “Henrik, please. Mph!” The other cheek was given the same treatment, as the flesh burned. Anthony had never been more embarrassed. He jolted forward, hiding his face.

He tried to squirm off of Henrik, but Henrik only tightened his grip on Anthony’s waist, keeping him still, so his buttocks were presented, his hips lifted, and began to smack one of his cheeks several times. Anthony yelped, squirming, burying his face in Henrik’s shirt. Henrik grinned, then using the palm of his hand to turn the other cheek pink, smacking the plump flesh as Anthony’s bottom bounced under his hand. Anthony’s fists squeezed, his face flaming, hiding his face in Henrik’s shirt, groaning in embarrassment.

“Enjoying your spanking, baby?” Henrik smirked at him, patting a pink ass cheek condescendingly. “Get up, brat. Unless you like it when I smack your bottom-”

Anthony’s face was crimson. He glared at Henrik, hands still curled into his shirt. “Fuck you,” he spat, carefully rolling off of Henrik, furiously yanking his nightdress back down, cheeks flaming in humility and anger. Henrik only chuckled, crossing his arms behind his head, evidently very pleased with himself. The action caused him to recoil in pain, forgetting about his injured shoulder.

Anthony wished that he took pleasure in his pain. He didn’t.

***

Anthony arrived for his brother’s wedding, dressed to perfection, but on the inside, he was squirming.

Henrik had been cruel, making it quite clear that Anthony meant nothing to him, that he was merely a means to an end. He had told him more than once that all he cared about was what Pops was paying him.

But the moment Henrik pulled him on top of him, he was melting in his arms, arching his back and purring like a kitten as he was stroked and fondled.

Henrik had just fucking…just…

He had spanked him. He was gasping and moaning, trying to hide his reddened face, unable to face Henrik as he paddled his bottom, ashamed that he was turned on by getting his bottom spanked. Then he shamed Anthony, after holding Anthony’s ass in his hands like he had a claim to Anthony, instead drawing his hand back and landing a spank on each upturned cheek, knowing what Anthony thought was going to occur. Instead, he just spanked him like a naughty little kid, laughing at him the entire time.

It hurt to sit down. It only made him remember what he and Henrik had done.

Why had Henrik pulled him onto his lap and held his ass so…dominantly? To Anthony’s horror, he had not demanded to be put down; he had pressed back like a whore, arching his back, pressing his ass into Henrik’s grasp, and was rewarded with his fingers closing even tighter around him, giving him just what he craved.

Henrik was right. Every time he sat down, he squirmed in his seat, remembering how Henrik had turned his ass hot pink and stroked him.

Anthony knew he had to face the music for what he had done to Pops. He preferred that he went himself, not dragged into Pops’s office by his men. So he began moving down the hallway.

He heard voices instantly: his grandmother’s pretty accented-Italian voice and Henroin’s deeper tone.

“How dare you hurt him like that!” Nonna reprimanded her son. “He is a good man, and he makes my Antonio happy. I don’t care even if he did something that you considered as injuring your precious pride, stolto figlio mio, but how could you be so blind? He is favored by Visconti, who controls all of the casinos and gambling provinces throughout the nation. He even has connections in bloody Europe! But you chose to harm him simply to teach my grandson a lesson?”

“He is a jumped-up nobody who comes from nothing,” Henroin retorted. “Visconti picked him up ten years ago like the stray that he is. A half-breed from Russia, no doubt his mother was a whore, considering how his background turned up no father. If Visconti got himself attached, then he is a fool. I will also remind you, my dear mother, that if Anthony wants to fuck up, then he can suffer the consequences.”

A long silence followed, before Nonna broke it. “That boy has protected your son, the son you never showed an ounce of affection for, time and time again. With all your connections and the necessity for alliances, haven’t all your years in the underworld taught you anything? That birth and heritage does not matter? This is not the medieval age, my son.” Her voice was sharp. “Yet you insist on forcing your eldest child into an arranged marriage, with a girl who can’t even say no. She is a good, sweet girl, I have seen that, but a child nonetheless. Yet she is to spend the rest of her life with a man that is almost half her age?” Her voice now dropped to a scathing, disdainful tone, such as Anthony had never heard from her before. “Strange, is it not? That I trusted Tychon to be alone with Anthony because I knew that he was safer with him than he ever was with you.”

A slap echoed in the room. Anthony drew back, startled, shock freezing his bones. Dad had just struck Nonna.

“You will never speak that way to me again.” Pops’s voice was as cold and cruel as ever. “If you ever-”

A crack resounded across the room, hard and final. He heard his father’s loud footsteps stop as, unknown to Anthony, he fell to his knees, clutching his face.

“Don’t you ever touch me again,” Nonna warned him. “You forget yourself, my son. You may be a capo in your own right, but don’t let it slip your mind who brought you into this world. And if I hear about you going after Tychon again, then I will take you out of it.”

When Nonna left the room, Anthony saw through the open door his father’s face. A sharp streak of blood pooled from his forehead where the skin had been split open, his cheek also covered in blood. Nonna had struck him with her cane.

He regarded his tiny grandmother, silent. “Molly told ya?”

Nonna nodded. “I have seen my son do things I wasn’t capable of imagining, tesoro, but I’ll be damned if he takes your happiness from you, too. I will also not hesitate to strike him again if he takes away the company of such a bello bastardo.” She winked.

“Nonna.” Anthony stepped closer, sliding his arm through hers as they walked. “I need to tell ya something, and ask something as well.

“Follow me to the kitchen then, tesoro.” Nonna led the way.

Nonna settled down to rest in one of the chairs, leaning on her cane. Anthony had been suffering so long, unable to tell anyone what he had found out, but he had to know.

“I went to see Santiago.”

“I know.” The old woman smirked.

Anthony blinked. He wasn’t entirely surprised that she knew ahead of time; Nonna usually knew more than she let on. What did shock him was why she never said anything. “But…why didn’t ya do anything? Henrik made it clear I was never to do something like that again! Why didn’t ya tell him?” He sat across from her.

“Mm.” She gave him a knowing look with her beautiful slanted dark eyes. “Because I know what you wanted to hear from Santiago. It was time you found out. Your sister should be told as well. I would normally counsel you to also tell your brother, but considering he is mostly your father’s creature now, I don’t know that he can be trusted.”

Anthony’s throat tightened, tears in his eyes. “Why didn’t ya tell me?” he blurted out, his mismatched eyes agonized.

Nonna sighed, pain in her black eyes like two diamonds. “I couldn’t. Think, tesoro. He killed her. That also meant no one could know the truth outside of the room. It wouldn’t have done any good for you to know. You were thirteen, forbidden to leave. Even the law would not allow you to leave home. For all I know, he could have taken your life as well, to hide what he had done. To my credit, I did try to save her. I tried to nurse her back to health before she succumbed.” Tears shone in her eyes. “It wasn’t enough.”

“Why does Pops care so much if anyone were to find out how she died?” Anthony wondered. “I don’t get it. The police wouldn’t dare touch him. He’s too powerful. He has connections to powerful Families all over the world.”

“Because, tesoro,” his grandmother explained patiently, her black eyes kind, “your mother was beloved, even by the most hardened of men. As wife to the mafioso, normally she would have been paid little mind. But she won the respect of capos, members, hitmen, gangs alike, for her beauty, her gentle heart, her kindness, those smiles she gave them.” She looked him over. “I assume Santiago informed you of his own connections. He may not be a capo, but he still has large influence with powerful men, men who govern and rule. If he got hold of any proof, then the men working to nail your father would show no mercy. So he will silence whoever he must to keep his power and livelihood.”

Anthony’s eyes grew wide, his long black lashes framing his orbs. “Why did you protect her all these years?”

“Because she was married to my son.” Nonna’s voice was final. “She needed kindness in her new life. She had lost her own mother. I knew I was a different woman; from all reports, like oil and water, but I tried to be a mother to her, and if I couldn’t stop my son, then I swore I would never leave her to face him alone. I never left after her death because you and Molly and Nico are my grandchildren. He would never let you go. If we ever tried to leave, do you think we wouldn’t suffer Caterina’s fate?”

Anthony considered this, realizing his ninety-year-old grandmother was right.

“I do not mean to alarm you, tesoro,” Nonna continued, “but it is the wheel of fortune, passed down from generation to generation, the cycle of possession and power coming again and again.” Her eyes were haunted as they stared into nothing. “You know your mother wore a lovely pale blue and white gown interlaced with sapphires, a delicate, dainty piece. But my son gave her a gift to wear for the wedding. Something that stood out so stark the significance was not lost on me.

“He made her wear a necklace of rubies, red as blood, tight around the collar so that it hugged Caterina’s pale white throat like a choker. It was clamped down much like a collar, to show who she belonged to now. But I shall never forget what I saw in that moment. It did not look just like a collar.” She ran a soft hand through Anthony’s blonde hair, so like Caterina’s. “It was as if her neck was dripping blood, the red gleaming and bright.” The look she gave him now was sorrowful. “He has decided that your brother’s bride will also wear the same necklace.”

A chill went through Anthony then. He shuddered. His mother’s marriage had begun with a choker like blood, and ended it dead. Was his soon-to-be sister-in-law to suffer the same fate?

***

The ceremony was largely uncomfortable.

Elaine Ruiz was delicately beautiful in a wedding gown of white silk, covered with a white lace manilla. Her tiny feet made quiet steps as she moved down the aisle, only a slim slip of a girl.

Nico was evidently still healing from the beating Anthony had inflicted on him. It gave him pleasure that he could not hide the fact of what he had undergone. Luckily for Nico, no one present thought it passing odd, due to the work the Ragnettos and Ruizs practiced.

Anthony had heard Nonna describe the haunting jewelry piece, but now he understood, when Nico took the edge of the white lace in his hands and lifted the veil to view his bride. The necklace sat on her throat, a startling contrast to her creamy milk-white skin, encircling that fragile neck like a collar, as she was sold to the Ragnettos in marriage. The rubies would have suited the auburn hair cascading down to her hips that curled at the tips, if not for the resemblance to a cut throat. Her eyes were large, green, and filled with tears. Even at his seat, Anthony could see her throat moving as she breathed, the rubies clinking against her skin, the cold metal rubbing her soft skin raw.

Yet she never once faltered, never resisted, never begged to be freed from the wedding. She couldn’t, Anthony knew. Both Nico and his young bride had no choice in the matter.

Anthony was surprised by the gentleness in his brother. Nico kept the kiss they had to seal to signify their union short and quick. He guided her slowly to their table, pulling out her chair for her, offering to give her any food or drink she desired. Her hands were twisting the white silk on her lap in fear. But she always responded in the way she had been taught, telling Nico she would take whatever was his pleasure to give.

Nico stayed by her the entire time. His jaw visibly hardened when Pa approached, whispering into his ear. Nico’s eyes grew defiant, but he didn’t object, nearly offering his bride his arm, showing her to the guests that had come, presenting his wife to the people who would be in her presence for the rest of her life, as Pops’s men and associates were introduced to the next Mrs. Ragnetto, the wife of Ragnetto’s heir.

Anthony’s eyes filled with tears. He prayed her marriage would be happier than the previous lady of the Ragnetto home.

***

Pops made it clear the marriage was to be consummated immediately, leaving no room for argument. He had cemented that order the day he told Nico about his upcoming marriage.

“You may be my designated successor,” he told Nico brusquely, “but it will not be long before you sit in my chair, and you will wish our Family be secured, leaving no room for opposition. So you will do as I say. I do not care for her tears, if it hurts, if it makes you uncomfortable. You need sons. Any daughters you have I will regard as bad fortune, for your sake. Make me a grandson.”

Nico couldn’t do it. For an entire week, he tried to think of some way to get through it, ultimately deciding that he would just have to close his eyes when he did it. He didn’t want to see the child he had wed looking up at him with fear, pain, and tears, hatred, the woman he would spend the rest of his life with, younger than his twin siblings; his wife looking at him with terror. He didn’t want to see that childlike elfin face, with her trusting mint-hued eyes, button nose, thick lashes framing her eyes.

But he realized that no matter what Dad had told him to do, no matter the cost to him, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He saw where that horrible choker had chafed her skin, the fair skin red and raw. As they were left alone in their room, he swept her auburn locks over her shoulder, unfastening the heavy necklace. “Let’s get this offa you,” he said gruffly.

He went to the bathroom to change, leaving her to undress. When he was done, he found her already in the bed, having dressed in a robe over her nightgown to cover herself, her burnished red hair spread across her shoulders like a veil. Her eyes were frightened as he reappeared. He could hardly blame her.

He carried that feeling of dread all the way under the covers, wishing he didn’t have to do this.

The girl lay flat on her back, stiff and obedient, ready for what she knew they had to do. Nico frowned when he saw the marks on her throat. He clasped that slender neck, uncomprehending of the tenderness in his heart for this child, doing what he could to alleviate the bruising, stroking the skin. She looked surprised by the touch and his gentleness.

He tried. Pa could not fault him for trying. He rolled on top of her, dragging up her nightgown and robe, until she was naked from the waist down. He knew what he must do; their parents had ordered them to do it. But then -

He looked her in the eyes.

They were terrified. She wasn’t fighting him, only lying down, ready for him to enter her. However, he saw her tensed up, her hands clenching the covers so hard her hands were trembling.

Then he knew.

He flopped back onto his back beside her. “I can’t do it,” he told her. “I just can’t.”

She rose up, and Nico could only imagine she was relieved, but she was also afraid. “I hope the fault is not with me, sir,” she said humbly.

“God, ya don’t hafta call me that,” Nico grumbled. “We’re married, for better or worse, until the day one of us dies, which is most likely going to be me.” He attempted a smile. “We shouldn’t be so formal with each other, should we?”

No one had to know that they had not had sex. Nico resolved that that could wait. Two years, perhaps? Or at the very least until they were comfortable around the other, or even when they liked each other. So far, they were complete strangers.

Elaine’s eyes calmed, smiling shyly and sweetly. “Nico.”

***

Henrik knew that what he had done was wrong.

Why did they keep doing this to each other? It was thrust after thrust, throwing a jab at the other until both were hurting, until it destroyed both of them.

He’d not just embarrassed the kid; he’d hurt his feelings. To avoid losing face, he retained his smug facade, but the instant Anthony was out the door, the smirk fell, to be replaced by regret. He already knew that Anthony had a crush on him, at the very least, and he had just taken those feelings and shat on them, made him feel like a silly little kid beneath Henrik’s notice. He had shown Anthony that he would only callously throw his feelings back in his face, that his feelings were something to be ridiculed. He had seen the look on Anthony’s face when he flopped onto his back. He had looked humiliated, angry, and hurt by Henrik’s actions.

Would it ever end between them, this charade, this game? It was a game created of their own foolishness. Anthony never wanted to trust anyone, and lashed out when he felt that his walls were being threatened. Henrik had resolved to be patient, but he had almost lost hope of ever seeing the Anthony that he had known. The kid had placed his carapace back up once more, and showed no signs of moving it. It broke Henrik’s heart, and with the pain wracking his body, he was prone to retaliating. It was no excuse.

As if what he had done this morning wasn’t bad enough, he had spoken atrociously to Anthony, said unforgivable things to the man he loved. He lied to him. It had never been about the money. He had never once regretted saving Anthony’s life. Then to top it all off, he treated Anthony’s feelings as if they were nothing. Why did he do it? Because he was angry?

He agonized over this all night, knowing there was nothing he could do to bring the words back, knowing that nothing could change. Anthony made it clear that they were to be nothing the moment Henrik was better.

He was dimly aware of the door unlocking, and soft footsteps, careful not to disturb him - even now Anthony was showing Henrik the kindness he had never deserved - as he heard the sounds of Anthony undressing: tugging off his boots, letting his pants fall down around his ankles, taking off his shirt, and slipping into sleepwear. You have been the purpose, the grace of my life…but I never deserved you. I’ll never deserve you. You deserve better than what I can give.

The minute Anthony got into bed beside him, he turned, wrapping his arms around him tightly, pulling his tinier body into his own. Anthony gasped under his breath as Henrik pulled him close. Henrik could feel tears prick in his amber eyes. He ducked his head, burying his face in the side of Anthony’s neck, breathing in his sweet scent, like strawberries and cream, wishing he had the courage to say what was in his heart. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Don’t leave me. Don’t push me away. I love you. I love you. I love you. Forgive me, please. Forgive me, my heart. I love you so much.

So they pretended that things could be different, too exhausted to remember how they needed to act. Anthony turned, wrapping his arms around Henrik’s back, laying his head on Henrik’s chest softly, so as not to injure him. Henrik clasped the back of his neck in his hand, leaning down to kiss the top of his head.

At least by night they could pretend that things were different, that they had the freedom to act differently. That their hearts weren’t on the line here. That Anthony didn’t have everything to lose. That Henrik hadn’t already lost everything before it had ever even begun.

***

Anthony ran through the streets, his eyes blinded by tears. He didn’t notice the multitudes of people out as he fled, his feet smacking against the ground as he quite literally ran from him. His heart was pounding in his ears. No, he didn’t have one anymore. It had been shattered and cascaded around his feet in broken pieces. His face was drowned in tears as he tried to get as far away as possible, where he couldn’t find him. Despite how absurd it may have sounded, he wanted to run far enough away that he never saw him again.

Wracking sobs left his mouth as he sped on his way. He made no attempt to muffle his cries. Everything hurt. His heart, his bottom, his body, his feelings, his soul. He didn’t know where he was going, only that it had to be anywhere but where he was.

He had been wrong about Henrik. This whole time, he was wrong. He hadn’t even had to say anything to break Anthony. But it was his actions that had hurt the most. He knew what Pops had done to him, and now he…he…

Anthony howled in pain, picking up the pace. He couldn’t let Henrik catch up to him if he tried to follow him, he couldn’t! This whole time, he thought Henrik was different, but Henrik had only ever been like his father in the end. He had fucking trusted him. He had loved him. He still did.

Anthony had to get as far away as possible. He couldn’t stand to be there, with his broken heart, not after what Henrik had done.

He had thrashed Anthony.

Anthony slammed into a wall, his back slapping against it, as his hands went up to cover his face, screaming his pain into his palms. It was worse than anything Henrik could have said to him. He would have welcomed Henrik’s hand, if he struck him, punched him, anything but this.

He’d beaten Anthony. Anything but that he would have preferred. Anything but the belt. But the fact that it was Henrik who did it hurt most of all. Worse, he was afraid of him now.

He saw what his father did to him. He promised to protect him from that. But he used the belt on him, whipping Anthony until he couldn’t take it anymore. His skin screamed in agony. He had screamed, again and again, but Henrik didn’t pause, only continuing the strokes. He’d never begged before, not truly. He told Henrik it hurt before during a spanking, and told him to stop, but this time he had pleaded with him to stop, screaming that he was hurting him. Henrik didn’t pause once nor hesitate each time he brought the belt down. Had he been in a black rage? Did he enjoy it? Did he not care that it hurt? The sick, heartless son of a bitch then acted all caring and concerned, when the boxes fell, as if he hadn’t just mercilessly beaten him.

It had all gone downhill. Several spankings, before everything changed for them. His flesh throbbed in pain from the thrashing from when Henrik beat him.

He had to get away.

***

And so they kept at the same old routine, for an entire week, as Henrik slowly grew stronger. Every day they ignored or had spats, Anthony still making sure Henrik was comfortable and continuing to apply medicine and always careful not to hurt him. Every night ended the same, despite what they did to each other during the day: they fell asleep in each other’s arms, Anthony enveloped in Henrik’s warm embrace, Henrik holding him close to his chest as they slept. Despite their rage, they couldn’t let go of that one privilege. It was all they had. There was only one bed, after all. They did it to keep warm during the night, relentlessly stubborn, still angry, still hurting, but wrapped in each other’s arms, still loving each other.

But their arguments were getting worse. They didn’t insult each other, not since that day, but they argued over everything, from when Henrik could finally get up to the food to how Anthony said he didn’t want Henrik waiting up for him.

He knew Anthony liked to crossdress and frequent the main club in New York. He never had a problem with that. Anthony’s reasons were his own. He wasn’t his keeper. Besides, Anthony looked pretty in a dress - he looked pretty in anything - and if it made him happy, then Henrik was satisfied. That didn’t stop him from teasing.

“You should wear the pink diamonds,” he called to Anthony, who was by his vanity, trying to decide on what jewelry he wanted to adorn himself with. Pink diamonds were extraordinarily rare, yet somehow Anthony had gotten his hands on them, probably because his family was rich. “They match your pretty bottom.” He ducked, laughing at Anthony when a pillow came flying for his head. 

The soft pillow caused his black hair to become tousled. It only made him more handsome. Anthony swallowed, looking away.

They knew it would reach a breaking point eventually. But they never thought it would explode so violently.

Chapter Text

Henrik was able to move on his own by now, although he was still recovering. Anthony told him to lean on him for the first few days, guiding his steps, ready to catch him if he fell.

The first time Henrik tried to walk, unused to using his legs after so long, he went down, unprepared, causing him to go down like a rock, bringing them both down with him.

He was now able to walk by himself. Anthony, however, made it clear that he didn’t want Henrik overexerting himself, and told him he still needed a few more days to give his injuries time to heal.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better,” Henrik quipped, “I’d say you were getting fond of me.”

Anthony scoffed derisively, not turning around, bending slightly as he applied his eyeliner, making his mismatched eyes stand out with their long, thick black lashes. “Don’t bet on it.”

Anthony didn’t want Henrik to try to take on more than he could handle, so Henrik was still technically mostly confined to the bed. Henrik used the bedpost to pull himself up, with great effort. His strength was returning. He got to his feet, slowly and carefully making his way to the gorgeous man before him. His soft rose evening gown was silk, swishing to his ankles, his hair styled and held in place with a fancy headband. It was the new style of the times. He didn’t need anything for his lips. They were naturally full, pink, and pouting.

His makeup tonight was striking. Henrik had never seen its like before.

His long dark lashes were already lovely, framing his orbs, always giving him a look of innocence. But Anthony had lengthened them, applying more fake lashes, which he lined in black. His eyeliner was meticulous, just underneath his brown and blue irises. He wore a soft palette of eyeshadow that blended into his skin, and had defined his high cheekbones so they stood out against his lovely face. He had smeared Vaseline over his pretty mouth, to make his lips shine and softening them. He looked exquisite.

Henrik placed his hands on Anthony’s slim hips, causing his breath to hitch, as he spanned his waist. He took note of how Anthony’s hand dropped his eyeliner pencil, his hands gripping the chair, the knuckles white.

“W-What are ya doin’?” Anthony gasped, looking over his shoulder at Henrik, his eyes heated.

Henrik smirked, pressing closer, his growing erection pressing into Anthony’s soft, rounded bottom. Anthony gasped, his eyes closing, lifting himself to his toes.

One hand still on Anthony’s hips, he used the other, stroking that perfect, fucking gorgeous ass of his over the dress. Anthony let out a moan, which Henrik guessed had been unintentional. He lifted a dark brow, amused. “Ya wearing panties?” he asked him.

The gasp this time was both outraged and horny. Anthony stumbled, almost tripping, catching himself with the large mirror on his vanity, clutching the frame. “Henrik!” he reprimanded. Henrik only grinned at his reaction.

Anthony bit his lip, he saw when he glanced at their reflections, as Henrik lifted that long rose-colored skirt, the silk flowing like a river through his fingers, to uncover his backside. As Henrik had guessed, he was wearing panties. Henrik’s pants felt too tight all of a sudden. Specifically fucking pink silk panties, tied with garters.

“Mm, you are,” he approved, a finger drawing circles on his thigh, as Anthony’s breaths shuddered and his eyes fluttered. “Remember what I said about ya wearing panties with ties on the sides?” He hooked a finger through one of the garter’s straps on his thighs. “Makes it easier to pull ‘em down those gorgeous thighs of yours.” He let the strap go, causing it to snap against his skin.

At the quick stinging sensation, Anthony buckled, the quick pain sending a shock of pleasure through him, causing him to harden instantly. Henrik suddenly noticed that Anthony was hard. Anthony groaned, arching his back. “Ahh, God, Henrik,” he whimpered.

It scared Henrik.

This was supposed to be taunting, not for Henrik to turn it into this. He was afraid, so afraid of what they were doing right now. Because this wasn’t a game. But he didn’t know how to stop.

He pulled Anthony back, pinning him to the wall, his amber eyes flashing and heated. He used his grip on Anthony’s hip to lift him up. Anthony shrieked, legs wrapping around Henrik’s waist to keep from falling, as Henrik held him up by his waist.

Anthony’s eyes were wide with shock, gazing at Henrik with surprise. Henrik took that slim leg in his grasp, holding it tenderly in his hand. Anthony’s breath quickened. He looked into Anthony’s eyes intensely, holding his gaze.

Then he released him.

Anthony was surprised as Henrik put him down, lowering him until his feet touched the ground once again. Henrik’s hand suddenly enclosed his long white throat, holding it in his grasp, causing Anthony to lift his head to look at him. He wasn’t choking him. Anthony knew Henrik would never do that. But his fingers were closed around his throat, the hold erotic and dominant. He gazed up at Henrik through his lashes, his pulse thudding.

Henrik spoke while holding eye contact, his face expressionless, still holding his throat. “Come to me when you’ve grown up,” he told him flatly, then loosed his hold on Anthony, turning and walking away from him.

Anthony was unsure what to make of what had just happened, merely staring in stunned silence, before he processed Henrik’s words. His eyes narrowed. “I’m eighteen years old, you fucking son of a bitch,” he yelled after him, his pride injured. “I’m not a fuckin’ kid, so stop treating me like one! Even if I wasn’t, I’d never come to ya! I hate you!”

Henrik chuckled, having resumed his post by the bed. “Keep on telling yourself that,” he drawled, his amber eyes sparkling. “Says the one who was just pressing his round little ass against me and gasping like a bitch in heat with your legs wrapped around my waist while I had ya pinned against the wall.”

Anthony’s eyes were accusing jeweled daggers as they shot at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he bitterly rejoined, his voice low. “You know nothing about me.”

Henrik swallowed, unsure how to take that. He nearly said something, to reach out, to apologize, but Anthony was already stamping out the door, as it slammed behind him.

***

Pink diamonds glistened at his throat, shining against his white neck. His gown of soft rose silk brought out the color of the jewelry to advantage. Anthony had to admit that the look suited him, with his alabaster skin and blonde hair. Evidently, his admirers thought so, too.

He let himself forget. He immersed himself in the club, letting himself be spun around, letting an arm wrap around his waist. But Anthony wasn’t comfortable enough to risk it going beyond that. He was frightened of what could happen, if anyone were to discover that he was a man, and not take it well.

Anthony had been lucky. So far, whenever a hand or mouth was going somewhere he didn’t want it to, they backed off. Anthony knew that it was risky nonetheless. He might not be so fortunate the next time.

A hand grasped him by the waist harshly, fingers digging into his skin, startling him. His drink slipped from his hand. 

Anthony had frequented the establishment often enough that he and the bartender were on friendly terms. 

Mark recoiled as the dark liquid splashed across the counter, but noticing the hold someone had on the pretty lady. He mopped up the mess, ready to intervene if asked, but so far the kid had been scrappy enough to handle herself.

Anthony twisted to assess the situation here, and his eyes widened in alarm when he saw not one man, but three. The one with Anthony in his hand was blonde and blue-eyed, all three possessing broad shoulders and strong builds. They seemed friendly enough.

It didn’t matter what Anthony himself wished. He wanted to be seen for himself, not just as a pretty girl that caught a man’s eye. He wanted to be loved, for himself. He wanted… Henrik to love him for himself.

But that would never happen. Henrik didn’t even have feelings for him, let alone like him. All those times Henrik made advances were purely to be cruel. He knew Anthony’s secret, what he was, and enjoyed drawing out his suffering, as if Anthony didn’t already feel disgusting enough.

So he resolved to forget him. If he was lucky, maybe these three would have some pick-me-up on them.

He felt himself wrap his arms around the blonde’s neck, pouting his lips. “Ya got my attention,” he teased. “Ya want something, suga’?”

The man winked at him, fingers drifting down to squeeze his ass. Anthony tried not to wince. “Oh, yeah,” he murmured, his head lowering, placing his lips against his collarbone. The man brushed aside the diamonds, trying to angle the necklace out of his way, but his grip was so forceful, he was so impatient that instead he gave a jerk on the necklace. Anthony gasped as pink diamonds went flying, rolling onto the floor around their feet as the necklace came off in his hand. The cold stones scratched his neck, a drop of blood forming.

Anthony mourned that lovely necklace, the lovely piece that Henrik said had looked like-

No. Don’t think about him. Don’t give him your thoughts.

He let the three men draw him out of the club, into the alley. He inwardly rejoiced; hopefully this meant that they had some dust on them. He assumed he was to play his little “game” with the blonde who held his wrist tightly in his hand, and wondered why his guard dogs were still trailing behind.

Anthony grunted as the blonde roughly shoved him up against a wall, a rough hand, tough as leather, wrapping around his bare arm now angling his face to the rough surface. He soon figured out why the others had followed. Another mouth planted down on his shoulder from behind, while the third man ground his erection against Anthony’s ass. Henrik’s hands were gentle, treating Anthony as if he were a piece of fine art that should be cherished.

Stop it. Stop it.

Anthony struggled to turn, but eventually managed to twist his body around to face the three. Anthony gasped as the blonde man nipped at his neck. The man suddenly grabbed both sides of Anthony’s face roughly, moving in for a kiss.

Anthony panicked, beginning to struggle in the man’s grip. No. He didn’t want his first kiss to be like this, to be with someone like this, to be -

With someone that isn’t Henrik.

Anthony swallowed hard, using a hand on the man’s chest to push him away. “Ya goin’ too fast, honey,” he told him, trying to smile. He fixed his hair, grinning.

The man’s hand came slamming beside his head on the wall, a leer fixed on his face. Anthony felt his body pressing itself against the wall in caution, wary of this man.

“Come on, sweetheart,” the guy said, trying to charm him into it. His glinting blue eyes gazed down at him, but the eyes Anthony wanted right now were warm and amber, turning gold in certain lights. “You don’t gotta play the timid virgin with me. If ya didn’t want it, then why did you agree to come here?”

Because I want the drugs, the high, to forget.

Anthony never saw his next move coming, and tried to shout a protest. “No!” he began, but it was already too late.

The man’s hand reached up for the front of his gown, obviously intended to cup what he assumed to be a pussy. Instead his hand came into contact with Anthony’s cock. Anthony gasped, his mind calling to memory the times when Henrik’s hand had drifted near his dick, but never touching. Henrik would never touch him if he didn’t want it.

“What the fuck?!”

The angry tone startled Anthony right out of his reverie. He realized just what had occurred; dread settled in his gut.

“You’re a fuckin’ guy?!” the blonde man yelled, disgust written plain on his face.

Anthony flattened himself even further against the wall, his palms slapping against the concrete. He was too terrified to even attempt a response.

The moment the sentence left the man’s lips, the others panicked. They literally backed away from him like he was on fire. The second man smashed his fist against the walls enveloping them. “I can’t be fucking gay, man,” he protested, hyperventilating. The third didn’t say a word, merely grabbed Anthony’s skirt.

“What the fuck? Get offa me! Stop-”

He jerked Anthony’s skirt up to bare his waist and slender hips, seeing the evidence for himself: Anthony’s dick in his underwear.

Anthony wished he hadn’t left his weapons at home. Then he might have had a chance to fight his way through the three of them and escape. But he had nothing to defend himself with.

The blonde, only a few minutes ago passionate and handsy, was now up on Anthony’s face. “The fuck is wrong with you, man?! What the hell is your fuckin’ game here, huh, lurin’ us in and tryin’ ta fuck us!” He distinctly ignored the fact that he and his friends had been the ones to pursue Anthony. “You fucking faggot!” he screamed.

The blonde’s fist came colliding with his face, crashing into contact. For an instant, Anthony thought that his cheekbone had shattered. He yelped, the blow catching him off guard. His head swung to the side. He immediately clutched his injured cheek in shock, looking back at the man with horrified eyes. Anthony wasn’t a stranger to getting punched. His old man had done it more times than he could count. Even Romano had knocked him to the ground. But he was a mafia man. For Anthony, the son of a capo, who had been near on untouchable, to get struck, it was shocking. He cradled his face, stunned.

“Ya think you can just get away, pulling shit like that?!” This time a blow caught him right in the stomach. The air was knocked right out of him, causing him to choke and heave on the air. He would have bent over, but the third man was holding him in place all of a sudden.

He tried to get free, kicking his long legs, scratching at the man’s face, trying to peel the second man’s hands off his waist. “Stop! Get the fuck off of me! Don’t you fuckin’ know who I am?!” he shouted. “I’m the son of Henroin Ragnetto; he’ll kill you if you touch me! Stop!”

But they had gone too far now to back down. The third one, who had bared him, tightened his grip. He grabbed Anthony’s face in his hand harshly, his finger digging into the bruised flesh, forcing Anthony to look at him. Anthony gritted his teeth, trying not to scream in pain. “Your daddy ain’t here to protect you now,” he growled.

Anthony had always had a temper. It always got him into trouble, mostly with Henrik. But he couldn’t free himself, he was frightened. Who the fuck did they think they were?! How dare they touch him! Only eighteen years old, Anthony was outraged that these men had dared to touch him, to restrain him. He was a Ragnetto! He was shocked and angry. They couldn’t touch him! Blinded by rage, he tilted his head back and spat.

The man flinched, cursing as Anthony spat at him. “The little bitch fucking spat at me,” he yelled. He grabbed Anthony’s wrist in one hand, keeping him still. He was the strongest of the three, with cruel, hard hands. He raised one hand now, and brought it careening down toward Anthony.

Anthony cried out as he was slapped, a metallic taste filling his mouth. He spat out blood onto the ground.

He now noticed the second also had a hold of him. Anthony screamed, as he took the front of the dress in his fist, yanking. The silk tore easily, shredding, baring Anthony’s chest. He tried to cover himself, but the third man still held his wrists in an unyielding grip.

Anthony’s eyes filled with tears. He couldn’t get free, they were hurting him! He began to cry, loud, terrified cries, as they continued their abuse. If Henrik were here, he’d make them stop. He would have killed them for touching him. But Henrik wasn’t here. He was at home. I want Henrik, he thought through his cries of terror and pain. What if they kill me? What if I never see him again? 

“Bring him here,” the blonde said. The third man passed him to him. Anthony tried to fight him, but it was three against one, and he was eighteen, against three grown men. He was thrown to the ground, his naked back meeting the pavement, his head smacking against the ground. He gasped, the wind knocked out of him.

The blonde got on top of him, grabbing Anthony’s hair, yanking his head up. Anthony cried in pain, sobbing with fear, trying to escape, but his attempts were futile. The blonde’s fist came down on him, striking him hard.

“Ya fuckin’ fag,” the blonde cursed, his blows raining down on him. “All you fairies are fuckin’ disgusting, good for nothing but being put down! Why don’t ya do the world a favor and fucking end it all, if your old man’s so all powerful, huh?! As if that ain’t bad enough, ya’re a fuckin’ nelly.” He yanked on Anthony’s thick blonde locks. “Dressin’ up like a lady, wearing jewelry, as if that makes up fer yer fucked up eyes.” He grabbed Anthony’s face harshly, forcing him to look at him. “You’re a fuckin’ freak,” he snarled. “Look at him, fellas.” He laughed cruelly. “One blue. One brown. He’s a fuckin’ freak.” His fingers dug into Anthony’s face.

“I betcha thought you were something special,” the blonde grit out, “if what ya say is true and you’re Ragnetto’s kid. Don’t matter to the likes of us, or you, for that matter. Ragnetto’s a cold son of a bitch. He won’t care if we rough ya up a bit.” Anthony flinched, sobbing, trying to turn his head away, but his face was held too tightly for him to move. “Thinkin’ ya were somethin’, with your long lashes and pink lips, thought you were so pretty. But those fucked up eyes are always goin’ to be a tell.” He gripped his face even tighter. “I want ya ta say it. Tell me how screwed up your eyes are.”

Anthony only sobbed harder, nearly screaming with his cries. No. No. He didn’t want to say it! Henrik thought his eyes were beautiful. He’d told him so. Maybe it had been fake, for all he knew, but it was Anthony’s, that sweet memory belonged to him! “No,” he wept, before crying out again as the third man suddenly flipped him over.

A searing pain spread across his back. He screamed in agony, peering over his shoulder. The third man had grabbed a cane from the club: the long, thin black ones that men sometimes used as they walked about the city. Anthony screamed again as it struck him, this timing striking his shoulders. He was unable to stop screaming as his voice tore through the city, as his back was beaten bloody. He felt his skin break, as his back bled. All he could think of was that Henrik would never have done this. Henrik only ever spanked his bottom. He never once hit him on the back, and he never made him bleed. He turned his ass red, until it was swollen and burning to the touch, but he never went too far. Anthony saw that now. He knew Henrik would never forgive himself if he even accidentally broke the skin. Henrik wouldn’t have been able to tell him enough that he was sorry, that he would never hurt him on purpose, would have done what he could to fix his mistake. Anthony also knew he didn’t even have to worry about the possibility of being actually harmed by Henrik. Henrik had never hurt him.

“Say it!” the blonde shouted, flipping him over once again. His back screamed in agony at the motion as he was slammed down again. He grabbed his face again, keeping him still.

Anthony’s eyes were haunted, filled with sorrow. “My…my eyes are fucked up,” he sobbed. He broke down, collapsing under the weight of everything.

It seemed that they had decided they had had their fun. The second man had helped to hold him down, as did the third. They finally let go of him, as the blonde let go of his face. Anthony wept hoarsely, unable to stop crying, shaking violently, turning on his stomach, clutching the remains of his silk gown.

The blonde bent down to his ear, his words causing Anthony to choke. “I should pin ya down and fuck ya up the ass,” he threatened. “Maybe that’d cure ya of bein’ a fag.” He grinned at the frightened teenager. “But I’m feelin’ generous tonight.” He kicked Anthony in the side, causing him to curl up.

He stayed there long after the men had left, unable to stop trembling, sobbing his heart out. Everything hurt. He didn’t want to move. That meant accepting that this was real.

He slowly raised himself to his hands, clutching the tattered dress to him. His eyeliner was ruined, black lines running down her face. He was still covered enough that no one could tell that he was a man, but anyone could see that he had been brutally beaten. He had no choice but to get up. He had no choice but to go back.

***

Henrik couldn’t sleep. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as it once did to move. He was thankful for that, and he knew he wouldn’t have gotten better without Anthony. It was because of his Anthony that he had even made it this far.

He heard the front door open all of a sudden. Henrik frowned, slouching up onto one elbow. It was earlier than Anthony was normally home. He glanced at the cloth. It was only 9:00. Anthony normally stayed out until 11:00, sometimes not even coming back until after midnight.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, heaving himself out of bed, as he trudged to the bedroom door, to see his Anthony.

Just as he entered the room, he heard glass shatter. “Shit,” he then heard Anthony say under his breath.

Henrik could hardly see him, it was so dark. He went towards him, a dark silhouette. Anthony was on his knees, clutching his gown to him with one hand, the other hand trying to pick up shards of glass with those tiny hands, those long, slender fingers, flinching as the glass cut his finger. Henrik reacted instantly, dropping to his knees beside him, and taking those hands in his own.

“Hey, don’t,” he told him softly. He lifted both of Anthony’s hands, planting kisses on them tenderly. As his lips touched his skin, he suddenly noticed that his Anthony was trembling violently.

“Sweetheart?” Henrik’s brows furrowed. Anthony flinched again. He was crying. His shoulders shook as he wept, Henrik could audibly hear his shudders and gasps. He turned, cursing, and flipped on the light, and wished he hadn’t.

Mascara and eyeliner ran down his face, that meticulously applied makeup ruined. His face was drowned in tears, his eyes red from crying. He had a black eye, and his face was bloody, covered in bruises from fists. His dress was in tatters; Anthony was clutching it feebly to his chest in vain, trying to keep himself covered, huddling on the floor. Henrik saw bruises on his Anthony’s pale skin, at his side and stomach. But when Henrik saw his back and shoulders…

Anthony had been caned.

Henrik had never felt such rage bubble in him as he did tonight. A murderous feeling such as he’d never had before rose within him. Someone had dared to touch his Anthony, to ruthlessly beat his lovely face. They had made him cry. They had ripped the dress from his back. Fuck, had they -

No. Henrik couldn’t bear to think about that. If Anthony had been raped and he hadn’t been with him to protect him, he would never forgive himself.

He had been punched and kicked like a whipped dog. His pink diamonds were gone, and Henrik suddenly saw why: his neck was red where it must have been yanked from his throat. But the three things that hurt Henrik the most was his battered face, the once beautiful dress he was clutching to himself, and his skin. Someone had used a cane and whipped him. His shoulders and back were covered in red lines.

Henrik remembered how furious he was when he walked in on Ragnetto mercilessly beating Anthony. But this time he couldn’t protect him.

Anthony shied away from the light, as Henrik stared at him in horror and agony, his eyes filled with indescribable pain. He kept his eyes averted, unable to stop crying.

God, he must hate me. I’m such a fucking freak. They were right. I’m a fucking faggot, I’m naked before him, I’m such a failure, I-

Hands suddenly placed themselves on either side of his face, but unlike the last touch, these hands were gentle, as they always were. His face was lifted, cradled in Henrik’s hands.

Burning amber eyes met his. Anthony was shocked. Henrik was crying. Tears ran down his handsome face as he held Anthony’s face in his hands, stroking a tear away with his thumb.

“What happened, my heart?” Henrik whispered. His voice sounded broken.

Anthony couldn’t do this. Terror was still settled in his bones, he hated himself even more than he could have thought possible, he was with Henrik again. He wanted to push him away, for his own safety, but he was as damaged and broken as Henrik’s voice. He broke.

Anthony began to wail, huge, gulping sobs leaving his mouth. Henrik didn’t hesitate, immediately sitting on the ground and lifting him onto his lap, wrapping his arms around him. Anthony’s hands grabbed Henrik’s shirt, for something to hold onto, squeezing the fabric tightly in his fists as he howled out his pain.

“They hurt me,” he wept, pressing his face into Henrik’s chest, crying loudly. He was breaking Henrik’s heart. “They - they wanted ta fuck me, b-but…they touched me!” His voice rose. “When they realized I wasn’t a woman…one of them pulled up my dress ta see, and - and - they started beating me!” Anthony gasped for air, his grip on Henrik tightening. “They called me such horrible things!” he wailed. “They wouldn’t let me go, they grabbed my face, then they r-ripped my dress from me. They fucking passed me from one to the other like a fuckin’ doll. They threw me to the ground, and the blonde one started hittin’ me. I wanted you so much!” He buried his face in Henrik’s shirt. “I wanted you to hold me, to make me feel safe. I wished I hadn’t left! I was so fucking scared! I was so afraid I wouldn’t ever see ya again! T-They told me to just end it already. The blonde kept on yanking me up by my hair.” He screamed into Henrik’s shirt. “They told me I was a freak. They m-made me say that my eyes are fucked up.” He sobbed harder. “When I wouldn’t, one of ‘em turned me over and started whackin’ me. The bl-blonde guy threatened to fuck me before they let me g-go.”

Henrik listened to his story, his heart breaking with each word. His sight turned to black. They thought they deserved to look on Anthony’s lovely skin, to touch him. They’d molested him. They had humiliated and abused him, physically and psychologically. He could’ve never seen Anthony again. His arms tightened around the shaking eighteen-year-old at the mere thought that this kid could be taken from him forever. No. No! He wouldn’t let that ever happen, he swore to himself.

They whipped Anthony, and forced him to lie. They had made fun of his eyes, those beautiful eyes of his, like a pair of diamonds and sapphires, or the former one of melting chocolate. He could have been raped.

His arms tightened around Anthony, as he rocked them both. He laid on his back, bringing Anthony to lay on his chest. He ran his hand through his beautiful blonde hair, cupping the back of his neck in the palm of his hand gently but firmly. “Shh,” he whispered to the crying beauty. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here.” He kissed his forehead softly. Anthony’s fists clenched around his shirt. “They can’t hurt you anymore, baby. There’s nothing wrong with you, sweetheart.” This he said passionately, determined to get the point across. “Look at me, Anthony,” he ordered him firmly.

Anthony raised his head, choking on his cries. Was Henrik mad at him?

“Your eyes are fucking beautiful,” he told Anthony sternly. “They are a bunch of hateful fucks, who hate others for who they love. They were bitter that you rejected them, and for a reason I cannot understand and never will, the way we are repulsed them. But it’s not your fault, amore mio.” His eyes filled with tears. “It’s not your fault. Shh, it’ll be okay, I promise,” he vowed. He cupped Anthony’s face in his hands, bringing his head down, kissing his forehead again. “You are perfect, baby.”

Henrik went to get the ointment to heal Anthony’s wounds, also stopping to grab some wet cloths. He did what he could to reduce the swelling, tenderly dampening Anthony’s face, washing his wounds clean, then used the ointment Anthony had used for his own face to take care of Anthony. He carefully attended to the wounds on Anthony’s slender back, before lifting him to his feet.

“I’ll be back,” he told him brusquely, heading for the door.

Anthony’s eyes widened in alarm. Henrik was still healing. He wasn’t strong enough yet to be out, to hold his own! “Where are you going?” he tremulously questioned, dread in his voice.

Henrik didn’t respond. “I’ll be back later,” he told him sharply, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Henrik!” Anthony yelled.

***

Henrik knew he wasn’t as strong as he usually was, but he knew his limit. Anthony had been treating him like a stained-glass window; he snorted at the very thought. The kid thought he worked for the mafia for ten years and didn’t have a reputation for a reason? He was a hitman, a dealer, a gambler. Back when he regularly had sex (that had ended the instant he set eyes on his Anthony), the women loved that about him: his arms corded with muscle, his strong chest and lean stomach. His skills were so highly sought after because of his power. He knew he could take them on.

He didn’t know how he would find them, he only knew that one was blonde. But he was going to make them regret every instant they were touching his Anthony, until they were begging for death.

He headed to the club that Anthony frequented, his footsteps loud and angry. When he slammed the door behind him, several heads lifted at the hard crash. He stalked up to the bar, where a man with his sleeves rolled up to the elbow was cleaning an empty beer bottle and servicing customers. He slammed a hand down on the counter.

“I’m looking for three men, one of ‘em’s a blonde,” he growled, his amber eyes terrifying in their rage. “They were harassing my -” He cut himself off, nearly swallowing his own tongue in the process. He had almost said My Anthony. “They were harassing a lady here. Pretty, with golden locks, rose-colored gown.”

The bartender’s eyes widened in realization. He jerked his head in the direction of the back of the club. “Out back. They headed out there after they returned.”

“Thanks,” Henrik mumbled, his head pounding with pain. He felt dizzy, but he continued on his way.

He used the skills he’d been taught and handcrafted over the years to his advantage, creeping slowly along the walkway, flattening himself against the wall. The back of the club led down a narrow alley, closed in on both sides. As he drew near, he heard voices, drawing closer with each second.

“Served the little bastard right,” a gruff voice insisted, the movement of a hand wringing blood from his fist. “The fucking bitch spat at me.”

Henrik knew he had his men. His eyes narrowed. He had Anthony’s fucking blood on his hand. He was glad Anthony had fought back, given as good as he got, but he just wished that he could teach the kid when it was not a good idea to antagonize his aggressors.

“Didja see the look on his face?” another voice said, this one higher pitched than the one before. “Thinks he’s untouchable, just cause of his old man.” He laughed. “Well, he learned he ain’t so untouchable soon enough when we had ‘im crying underneath me. Sure took him down a peg! He probably ain’t so haughty now, huh?”

Henrik’s mind gave him a clear image of Anthony weeping in his arms, clutching his shirt for comfort, how terrified and hurt he was. His fists curled. He had to wait for the right moment to strike.

A third voice, this one spoken in a thin volume, rasped, “Sure was pretty, though. Even if he was a guy.”

The high-pitched man spat phlegm on the ground. “He got what he deserved. Fuckin’ fags deserve nothin’ less. He was a fuckin’ fairy.” The men came into Henrik’s vision, only a few feet from him. Pressed up against the wall and hidden by shadows, they couldn’t see him. “Hell, let’s go check and see if he’s still there. Who says the night has to end?” Henrik saw his white teeth flash in the moonlight.

The men were heavily built, but Henrik knew he could take them. He may be weak, but he was getting stronger each day, his rage was fueling him, and he had spent a decade improving his advantages and honing them, they were nothing but small men pretending to be big.

He slid along the wall, knife in hand. They never saw him coming. Henrik went behind the skinny one, trailing his every step, then he pounced. He grabbed the man by the hair, wrenching his head back, and sliced his neck open from one end to the other before he could scream. He went down like a brick. The sound of steel cutting through flesh caused the other two to whirl, as they gaped in shock, their buddy sprawled out behind them, a man holding a knife dripping with blood over him.

Despite the fact that the man was already choking on his own blood, Henrik bent down, and grabbed the man’s collar. “Ya tore the dress off my amore’s back,” he snarled, his voice terrifying and filled with murderous rage. “Let’s see how you like bein’ stripped and left vulnerable.” He gave a hard jerk to the fabric, splitting the seams down the middle.

The others recovered from their stunned state, beginning to advance on him. “The fuck is your problem, man?!” the blonde man yelled. Henrik recognized him as the main aggressor.

Henrik stood up, straightening. “You fucking attacked my heart,” he growled, his amber eyes flashing golden fire. “You fucking dared to touch the man I love.” He took a step forward, his grip on the knife tightening. “I’m gonna give you the same you gave him,” he promised them, “until ya understand the true meaning of pain and feel everything you put him through. Then…” He grinned. “I’m gonna take your life.”

The blonde’s eyes showed a hint of fear, but his bravado never swerved. “Faggot,” he spat, his tone dripping with scorn and disgust.

Henrik smirked. “And proud of it,” he returned. “Ya thought you could touch my Anthony, that you deserved to feel his gorgeous fucking skin with your hands, that he was yours to touch. That was your fatal mistake.” He switched his grip to the other hand. “Man or woman, he ain’t an object, ублюдок. He doesn’t belong to anyone.” His eyes were cold as amber. “He just belongs with me, and I with him.”

The two men moved at once toward Henrik, but he was ready for them. When the burly one was within arm’s length, he grabbed him by the elbow, jerked him around, and twisted his arm behind his back, twisting it hard and jerking upward. He heard a sickening, satisfying crunch as his shoulder was dislocated, relishing the man’s scream of pain. As the man slid to his knees before him, Henrik whirled to face the blonde, and raised the knife, getting him right where he aimed, as the knife plunged into his shoulder.

The blonde went down, yelling in pain. The minute he was flat on his back before him, Henrik knelt at his side, grabbed the blonde’s hand, and pinned his hand to the ground with the weapon, as the steel sunk through his flesh. As the man screamed, Henrik grinned at him, smiling down at the man. “Why don’tcha wait here for a minute?” he said, as if the man had any choice. “I got some business to take care of first. Then, I promise, you and I are gonna have a long talk together.”

He rose, going back to the thicker man, who was holding his shoulder, trying to rise. Henrik sent him careening back to the ground, sprawling on his back, as Henrik slipped a second knife from his pocket, and set it beneath the man’s chin. “Ya didn’t hesitate to raise my love’s skirt, as if ya had a right to look on his perfect skin, as if you deserved to see how fucking gorgeous my amore is,” he flared. His hand suddenly shot down, grabbing the man’s face with a grip so hard, cruel, and tight, that no one would have believed there was a way to pry it off. “Ya grabbed his face,” Henrik growled, his voice deep, filled with unrestrained rage. “You had no fucking right to touch him, to put your fucking hands on him! Then you dared to strike him.” Henrik released him, drawing his hand back. He backhanded the man with all his strength, causing the man’s hand to swing to the side from the sheer force of it. The burly man beneath him screeched in pain, and spat out a tooth that Henrik had dislodged from his mouth, blood pooling on the floor.

Henrik jerked his face up, digging his nails into his skin. “Does it make ya feel like a big man, to use the back of your hand on someone smaller, younger, someone who can’t fight back?! Does it make you feel good, huh, picking on a person cryin’ under you and beggin’ ya to stop?” He dug his nails deeper, feeling a surge of satisfaction as the man screamed. “You had to hold him down and beat him bloody, huh?! Is it ‘cause your ugly mug needs to feel validated, ya feel weak because you know that he’ll always be so fucking beautiful, that he’ll always be better-lookin’ than you, ya dumb fuck! You passed him around like he was a piece of meat! My Anthony!” he screamed into the petrified man’s face.

He jerked the man onto his stomach by his collar, forcing him facedown. The man choked on blood and spit, trying to get away, but Henrik was too strong, even while injured. His rage was driving him. “No, the fuck are ya doing,” the man shouted, panicking as he tried to scramble away from Henrik.

“Givin’ ya the same mercy you gave my amore.”

Henrik didn’t care anymore. Let people think he was a monster, irredeemable. He didn’t care if religious fucks thought he was going to Hell for what he had done, for what he was doing. They deserved it, as far as he was concerned, for hurting the love of his life. Because that was what Anthony was to him. He was his everything. He’d kill a thousand of these men for Anthony if it came down to that, and never shed an ounce of remorse.

He snatched the cane beside the man, which he had dropped when Henrik dislocated his shoulder and popped it from its socket, raising the implement and slamming it against the man’s shoulder blades, making sure to hit his injury. The scream was unlike anything human Henrik had ever heard.

It showed to Henrik just what his strength was. Henrik was a strong man, tall, and his body bore the scars of his occupation. He’d used brute force more times than he could count, yet he was unbelievably gentle with Anthony, he saw that. As he beat the fucker below him, he thought of the stark contrast. Whenever he used his hand on Anthony’s bottom, he had never used his full strength, giving just enough that Anthony could take, making sure he never hurt him. It stung and made his ass throb, but Henrik had never hurt the kid. He had the ability to break him in half, but he would rather chop off all his limbs and cut his heart out than ever lay a violent hand on his Anthony. He made sure he was gentle when he had to use his hand on Anthony’s cheeks, and didn’t use his full strength on the kid. The kid probably would beg to differ, that Henrik was using all of it on his ass, but Henrik could have laughed at the mere insinuation. Anthony would never know just how much he was holding back whenever he got a spanking; he wasn’t even using a tenth of his strength.

He beat the man ruthlessly, wherever he could get him, saving the backside; that was a mercy he did not deserve. He struck his back, his shoulders, littering his arms in lines. Once the man was covered in the same horrible marks he had left on Anthony’s back, Henrik broke the cane over his knee.

He flipped the man back over, uncaring of his screams, of the blood pouring from the wounds. He raised the knife, plunging it into the man’s black heart. Once the man was no longer moving, the life in his eyes fading, until empty pits stared back at him, he yanked the knife from his victim, before rising, his hands wet with blood, to the main aggressor. Henrik was going to enjoy drawing out this one’s torture the fucking most.

He squatted down to the man’s eye level, as the blonde man frantically tried to wrest the knife pinning him down in vain. Henrik grinned at his useless attempt. “Here, let me help ya.” He yanked the knife out brutally, causing him to scream in agony.

Henrik grabbed a fistful of the man’s blonde hair, and yanked his head up, their faces inches apart. He saw his gray eyes, different from Henroin’s, a light gray instead of silver daggers, darting furtively around, terror in their depths.

“Your hair’s not as pretty as my Anthony’s,” he assessed. He played with his knife, dragging it down his lower lip thoughtfully. If any man attracted to the same sex had seen the motion, it would have sent them throbbing with desire. Henrik was a gorgeous man, and the movement only drew attention to his lips and striking eyes, that luscious black lock falling into one of his eyes, giving him a distinctly roguish look. He bit the edge of the knife between his teeth, before drawing it away, smiling. “Yours is more dirt colored; it doesn’t shine like the sun. Betcha thought it was a huge source of pride for ya. Thought the ladies loved it.”

The blonde man tried to kick Henrik off of him, but he was unsuccessful. “You’re a fucking psychopath!” he screeched, his eyes filled with hatred.

“Hmm, you may be right,” Henrik intoned. “But if I’m crazy, then so are you. After all, you’re better at beating a fucking kid than you are at gettin’ laid.” That slow smile came to his lips once more. “If your vanity’s so high, why don’t we do something about that?”

The blonde saw the intention in his eyes, as the knife slid through his hair. He began to struggle, screaming in protest. “No! No, no, no! Noooooo!”

Henrik cut away at that hair he was so vain of, shearing his head until only a thin bristle covered his scalp, so translucent that it looked as if he had no hair left. Henrik paid no mind if he nicked the man’s skin. Then he began his real work.

“Ya fuckin’ assaulted my heart,” he sneered, jerking the man up by his shirt, bringing their faces even closer, as the blonde’s eyes widened in fear. “You grabbed him. You didn’t take fucking no for an answer, you son of a bitch. Sick fucks like you are what’s wrong with the world. Now, because I’m a gentleman - although my Anthony would disagree with that statement - I’m not repaying you in kind. Because I actually give a shit when someone tells me to fucking stop.” He used the knife to trail it under the blonde’s chin, breaking the skin, as a drop of blood rose to the surface. He couldn’t stop the fond smile that came to his mouth then; Anthony would probably think of him differently. Gentleman was probably the last word that came to the brat’s mind when Henrik was using the palm of his hand on Anthony’s bare bottom, spanking his bare, freckled cheeks until they were bright pink and then turned rosy red.

“You called my amore vile words, words that no one should ever fuckin’ use,” he accused. “You beat his face bloody, that gorgeous lovely face. You left bruises on his stomach and side.” Henrik brought his fist down, smashing his hand into the blonde’s face. He heard a crack as he broke the man’s nose. The blonde yelled in pain, bringing his hands up, but Henrik continued, relentless.

“Stop, stop, you fuckin’ psycho!” the blonde shouted, his features twisting. “Just let me go! I won’t tell anyone, I swear, just get off!”

Henrik didn’t even respond, merely continuing his tirade. He beat his face in every place, not caring what he broke. They would have done far worse to Anthony. They had. They hurt his Anthony, and he would kill each and every one of these fuckers who ever dared to touch him, never stop trying to protect him, until the day Henrik died.

“You told him to take his own life,” he shouted down at the blonde, and drove his fist into the man’s stomach. The blonde shouted out a curse, trying to curl up into a ball, a reaction to the drive into his stomach, but with Henrik atop him, the movement was impossible to see through. He used his grip on the man’s shirt to jerk him to his feet, and slammed him against the wall, holding him off his feet. The blonde choked as his back hit the wall, glaring defiantly at Henrik, unyielding.

“Yeah,” he shot back, smiling, his teeth streaked with blood, giving him a hideous red smile. “I did, and I’d do it again, ya fuckin’ fag. I hope he takes one of those guns he’s so proud to boast that his Daddy’s got, and shoots his brains out. I hope he saves a bullet for you,” he finished, blood spewing from his mouth. He used a hand that was free, swinging at Henrik’s face.

Henrik felt his face thud with pain, the pain so reminiscent of what Nico and Ragnetto’s men had done to him several weeks ago. He shook his head, almost reeling from the swing, but he used his grip on the asswipe to fling him to the ground. The yell was loud and filled with agony.

“You gotta learn to control your fuckin’ mouth,” he told him, standing over the blonde, before lunging, getting on top of him quickly, the knife in his hands. He sliced either side of the man’s face, the blonde unable to do anything but scream as he was held down and cut. “Look at ya,” Henrik gritted out. He continued pummeling the man’s face. “Ya have the gall to call my amore a freak, to say there’s something wrong with his eyes, when you don’t even have half of his beauty, let alone his good and kind heart. He wouldn’t sleep with ya when ya thought he was a woman, so you go to insult him, making him lie about his eyes and say something that isn’t true, like a sulky little kid who didn’t get their way. You also grabbed his face.” He snatched the man’s face in his own hand, giving him the same treatment he gave his friend. “Need I remind ya what I do to those that touch my Anthony’s face?!” He smirked. “Pathetic. He looks fucking gorgeous in a dress, doesn’t he? Ya must feel really shitty, that ya can’t even get one person horny, but I can get him moaning under me and saying my name.” Like this afternoon, before he left.

“You threatened to rape him.” His voice was cold and dead. “If you had, then I promise you, not even death could stop me from finding you, no matter where you ran. I’d come for you in Hell if I had to.” He stood, and placed a foot on the man’s windpipe, causing him to gurgle and choke, his eyes wide and frantic.

“P-Please-” The blonde’s hands scrambled for purchase, trying to claw Henrik’s foot away from his throat.

“‘Please’ is not an answer.” His voice was still cold as ever, but he lifted his foot, only to draw his leg back and kick him in the side. He didn’t hear the man’s yelps, he was too focused on dealing out the same treatment that this monster had inflicted on his Anthony. He brought his leg back several times, until he lost count of how many times he had made contact with his side, stomach, and ribs. He slipped the second knife from his pocket, ready to finish him off.

“See ya in Hell,” he grinned, and threw the knife down, watching as it imbedded itself in the man’s throat, giving him no time to even scream. He used the first to get him in the eye. He didn’t deserve a quick death. None of them did.

Henrik didn’t wait to watch his last moments. He turned, going back the way he had come, leaving the man to a slow, painful, agonizing death.

He didn’t go back home. He left the city, driving until he came to one of the casinos he loved to frequent, covered in blood.

He headed inside, slumping into a bar stool, his glower hard and unyielding.

“Get me a drink,” he bit out.

***

Henrik wasn’t home when Anthony woke up. He had stayed up late, sitting on the couch, waiting anxiously for Henrik to come home, to have that reassurance that he was safe, that somehow Henrik would be alright. But eventually he drifted off without intending to.

Henrik was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t come back. Anthony waited. He had no incentive to do anything. He only wanted Henrik to be safe, but Anthony had no idea where he could even find him. For all Anthony knew, those men could have been gone by the time Henrik had arrived, if he had even headed in that direction. Anthony didn’t want to seem like an idiot and assume that Henrik had gone after them in the first place.

But Henrik didn’t come back, and Anthony’s fears went from bad to worse. What if he collapsed on his way there? What if he had suffered internal bleeding? What if he was overpowered by the three of those men? What if-

No. No. Anthony could not bear to think that Henrik was dead. He couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t be!

When night fell, and Henrik had officially been gone for twenty-four hours, Anthony could no longer push the doubts from his mind. Use your head, Anthony! If Henrik hadn’t come back by now, then…then he was dead.

Anthony curled up in his bed under the covers, his face drowned and numb with tears. He didn’t want to get up ever again. He didn’t want to be alive, to feel this pain in his chest. It hurt too much to fathom, too much to endure. He would rather be dead than continue to live without Henrik. Every time he thought that he could not cry anymore, more tears slipped from his eyes.

But another possibility entered, one that made him feel sick to his stomach. What if Henrik had left him for good? What if he had had enough of Anthony’s temper and having to rescue Anthony from instances? Anthony didn’t know. It made him feel dead inside. He clutched his knees to his chest tighter, wincing as his bruised flesh throbbed in pain.

The next day he didn’t even have the energy or heart to get up. He refused to shower, to eat, to drink, to dress. What was the point? Either Henrik had left him - he truly hadn’t cared for him, Anthony saw that now - or he was gone, and Anthony was all alone, would never see the man he loved so much again. Either way, he would never see him again. He would never see that dazzling smile, his beautiful amber eyes, his handsome face, never again feel his kindness or his arms around him. He was dead. He swore to himself then and there, if Henrik truly was dead, nothing would be able to spare those three from his wrath. He'd kill them all. He would declare an all-out war and hunt them down and end them himself, then weep over Henrik's corpse, fall to his knees, and die with him.

On the third day, he forced himself to get up. He felt cold all over, and like nothing could ever hurt him anymore, nothing could ever possibly hurt more than this. He washed himself, scrubbing his skin raw, to feel something other than the pain in his heart. He could hardly feel the cold floor beneath his bare feet as he stepped out of the shower, slowly getting dressed.

When he looked in the mirror, his face was ravaged by grief, his face puffy from crying, his eyes ringed with red. His face was recovering swiftly from the bruises, but Anthony recoiled in revulsion at the sight. He was ugly, ugly. No wonder Henrik had left. I’m so fucking stupid. They were right, he was unnatural, he was useless, worth nothing. Why would Henrik feel the same, when it was sinful, not right, disgusting? He began to cry, hands covering his face, slumping over the desk, his cries echoing across the apartment.

He filled his empty stomach, drinking water to soothe his aching throat, hoarse from crying and dehydration. He made himself something to eat, but he hardly tasted it. Nothing mattered anymore.

He knew nothing was impossible, so Henrik could still be alive, but he doubted it. Henrik had been gone for three days.

Around noon, he resolved to do something to take his mind off of him. He felt tarnished and broken after his experience three nights past. There had to be something wrong with him. He didn’t feel the same, didn’t feel as comfortable and free as he once did while dressed in clothes traditionally worn by women. But it was the only way he knew that he could escape his pain.

This time he dressed for shock value, uncaring of what others saw, what others thought. His blouse was of pure white satin, and thin, almost transparent sleeves shaped like straps that bared his shoulders, cut off at the top of his arms. It showed off his pale skin to advantage, and coupled with the white hue of the top, it made his skin shine like pearls in the moonlight. He daringly chose a simple pair of jeans, just for shock value. He didn't care what anyone thought of him anymore. Nothing mattered.

He had never hidden his hair before, but this time he didn’t want to take any chances. The more feminine he looked, the safer he would be. He had gotten his hands on a long golden wig, the length reaching to his mid-back. Liking the simple yet striking adornment of his face that he had done three days before, he did his face in the same way.

Just as he had finished and was ready to go, he heard the door suddenly bang open. Startled, Anthony yelped, his heart pounding. The fuck?

Anthony reached for his hairbrush. It wasn’t much, but it would give him enough time to escape or grab something more heavy and damaging if it came to that. He slowly inched his way out of his bedroom, creeping down the hall until he was in the living room, which also contained his kitchen.

He heard heavy breathing, liquid swishing, and heavy footsteps crashing against the floor. He tightened his grip on the handle of the hairbrush as they came into view.

Henrik felt unsteady on his feet as he got into the apartment, clutching a bottle in his hand, which he raised to his lips, continuing to swig back the alcohol. He wasn’t sure how much he had had to drink. He couldn’t remember.

He had been gone for three days, he was almost certain of that. He spent his time cruising around New York, going from one gambling house to the next, drinking his way through each supply.

Henrik and Anthony were destroying each other. It was nothing but fights and insults and hurting each other. Henrik knew Anthony would never love him. He would never love Henrik the way Henrik loved him. He gulped down more of the substance, to drown out his feelings and love for the kid he had fallen in love with.

He had needed to get away, even if only for a little while. He wanted to escape what their situation had become, the unending stream of back and forth. He wanted to forget him. He wanted to forget that Anthony had ever meant anything to him, that he still meant everything to Henrik. He wanted to forget that he loved Anthony Ragnetto.

He nearly tripped over his own feet as he entered the apartment, his eyes searching the premises for a pretty face with freckles sprinkled across the nose and mismatched eyes with long lashes. Eventually, his eyes settled on what he was looking for.

Anthony. His Anthony was right there in front of him, his lips parted, looking shocked beyond measure. Huh? What was that about? His head pounded with pain. Anthony was as beautiful as ever, dressed in a top that bared his flawless skin and lovely freckles. Those fucking beautiful long legs and gorgeous ass were accentuated to perfection in a pair of pants, decked out in black heels. Henrik couldn’t deny that he did his makeup well, it was nice. But Henrik thought his natural face was prettier.

His gaze drifted down to the hairbrush that Anthony was gripping in his hand. “Put that down,” he slurred, swaying on his feet, “or ‘m gonna take it from you and p’ddle yer ass wit’ it.”

“What the fuck?” He heard Anthony’s voice, raised in anger. Henrik frowned in confusion. The fuck was he angry for?

“I thought you were dead!” Anthony yelled, his eyes enraged. He let the hairbrush fall to the ground. “You son of a bitch!” he screamed, his eyes filling with tears.

Henrik shook his head, Anthony’s voice causing his head to ring. “I came back, didn’t I?” he sputtered, glaring right back.

“You’re such a fucking asshole!” Anthony shouted, his voice shrill. “Do you never think about anyone but yourself?! I was so fucking worried that they killed you, that you were dead! Why can’t you understand?!”

Henrik waited for his brain to catch up to his words. Once they registered, he gave a dry chuckle, lifting the bottle to his lips, taking a long drink. “No need to worry on that count,” he told Anthony. “They won’t be bothering anyone ever again.” His vision was blurring, going black. Oh, shit.

Anthony stopped in his tirade, looking at Henrik, seeing him for the first time that night. He gave a shout as Henrik collapsed, managing to catch him as he blacked out.

***

“What did you do?” he finally managed to get past his lips, filled with dread. Henrik had woken, his head pounding from a hangover, and had eventually been able to get back on his feet. That hadn’t even stopped him; he went right to the liquor cabinet and grabbed another bottle.

Henrik laughed, the sound dry and without amusement. “I killed them,” he told Anthony. “I fucking annihilated them, is that what ya wanted to hear?” He took a step forward, as Anthony’s eyes widened. He set the bottle down, and put his hands on his knees, bending down to Anthony’s eye level. “I inflicted the same torture on them that they subjected you to,” he murmured, gazing into his eyes, his own orbs filled with anger. “I drew it out. I fucking enjoyed their pain. By the time I was finished exacting out their agony, I killed each and every one of them. I slit the throat of the one who ripped your dress from your back. Remember the one who ya spat at? Stabbed him, right in the heart. I kept the blonde pinned with a knife through his hand. But I saved his torture for the last.” His eyes were cold and serious with intent as he gazed into Anthony’s eyes. “I left my knife in his throat, and planted the second in his eye.”

Anthony swallowed, his eyes meeting Henrik’s, as he calmly looked through Anthony’s. He could feel his throat thudding with every breath he took. He was shocked and unable to believe what he was hearing. He had assumed that Henrik would have beaten them, made them pay. But killing them in cold blood? “You’re not a good man,” he whispered hoarsely, looking at Henrik.

Henrik rose to his full height again. He chuckled darkly. “You’re right,” he told Anthony bitterly. “I’m not. You’re a fool if you ever thought otherwise.”

Anthony’s heart gave a pang at that. “You can’t just go out and kill people like that! They weren’t in the mafia, this is different!” 

Henrik turned away from Anthony, lifting the bottle, downing the bitter liquid. “Go away, kid,” he dismissed Anthony. Anthony flinched harshly, the word ‘kid’ coming out sharp and hard. He had never made Anthony feel like more of an insignificant child than he had at this moment. “I ain’t in the mood to take this from a fuckin’ kid.”

Anthony’s heart stopped.

Anthony had been right from the very beginning. That was all he was to Henrik, a kid. Henrik thought of him as nothing but a little kid who annoyed him and was beneath his notice. Of course that’s all it was, you idiot, Anthony silently chastised himself. That explained the spankings. He spanked Anthony like he was a child. He obviously just considered him to be a fucking kid who needed a good spanking; he gave Anthony a spanking as if he were a misbehaving child! He had never been more to him.

As Henrik continued to down the alcohol, Anthony snapped. He treated him like he was throwing a temper tantrum! Temper flaring, Anthony stomped over, and yanked the bottle from Henrik’s hand, smashing it against the countertop.

Henrik choked as the bottle was swiped from him. His eyes widened when the bottle broke, shards of glass strewn around their feet, then narrowed on the teenager. “You spoiled little brat!” he growled, charging.

Anthony glared right back, hands on his hips. “You’re a dick!” he accused, his eyes blurring. “I’m ain’t a fucking kid! Stop calling me that!” he screamed. “I’m so tired of you treatin’ me like a child. I’m eighteen years old! Start treating me like one!”

“Okay,” Henrik snapped, slamming a hand down on the counter. “I’ll treat you like you’re eighteen: I’ll put you over my knee and spank your bare bottom until it’s red and I have ya hollering and kicking.”

Anthony’s face flushed vividly. “Stop!” he yelled.

“No, you stop!” Henrik raged, advancing on Anthony. Anthony backed up, frightened; the anger in Henrik’s eyes was terrifying. He kept on stumbling backward, and felt his back hit the wall.

Henrik began to pace back and forth, his hands running through his black hair as he yelled. Henrik had had enough.

“Fuck you, Anthony!” Henrik spat, his amber eyes flashing. “Fuck you! Why do we even bother talking, if you hate me so much, huh?!” He swung around, closing in on Anthony. Anthony pressed himself against the wall. “You told me that the minute I was well, that you wanted me out! You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass from the day I got off the train, but you continue to send me mixed messages, drawing back and then feeding me one small scrap of affection! Разве ты не видишь, что ты со мной делаешь? I can’t continue like this!” His face was close to Anthony’s, their eyes clashing. Anthony’s eyes were heterochromatic: brown and blue, darkening with emotion. They were full of tears as Henrik vented his anger and hurt out at him, having had it with him.

“Why the hell did you waste your time healing me?!” he shouted, his gaze filled with pain. As Henrik’s rage and hurt built, he soon couldn’t control what he was saying. His Russian got angrier and angrier. “Why the fuck did you save my life, when you’ve made it perfectly fucking clear how much you hate me?! You’ve told me that so many times! Боже, ты такой ебаный негодяй! Я бы перевернул тебя через колено и шлепнул по заднице, чтобы ты меня увидел, но только повредил бы руку! Why didn’t you just fucking let me die?! Because let me tell you something, Anthony!” Their faces pressed close, inches from each other. Henrik’s hand slammed down on the wall beside Anthony’s head, caging him in. They both knew that this had gone too far, but they were young, hurt, and desperate to be heard. “Let me tell you something! I wish to GOD that you had!”

The silence after that was deafening.

All the two of them could hear was the sound of their heavy breathing, as they stared into each other’s eyes: Henry’s burning, angry amber; Anthony’s hurt, glossy heterochromatic brown and blue eyes.

Those eyes were wide after Henrik’s tirade. They looked at Henrik with an emotion so profound, one that Henrik had never seen in Anthony before. He was hurt beyond measure, as those beautiful irises welled up with tears. Anthony’s mouth trembled. Tears clung to his lashes.

Henrik realized what he had just said. What have we done? Why do we keep destroying each other? But he kept his lips closed. He wasn’t going to be the one to make the first move. He had done that too many times.

Anthony stared at Henrik, unable to do anything. He felt frozen in place. He didn’t know how to make the pain in his heart go away from what he had just said. Was that truly all he was to Henrik, a pain? Henrik had sworn that he was never a burden, once. Why couldn’t Henrik see that he had to push Henrik away?! Anthony didn’t want to be hurt again, not after everything everyone had done to him.

But that Henrik would have preferred that Anthony let him die rather than continue like this…that hurt most. He believed Anthony hated him enough to let him die. He really thought he was like that. The pain was so severe he was nearly brought to his knees from the agony in his heart.

He couldn’t bear to be around Henrik a moment longer.

He narrowed his eyes, his anger returning as swift as a river. “Fine,” he spat, shoving Henrik hard, with enough force to make Henrik stumble back. “I don’t need ya!” He headed for the door. “I’m out of here!”

“Kiss me arse!” Henrik threw back, slowly coming down from his high of speedy Russian, causing his voice to come out slightly accented.

“Go fuck yourself!” Anthony retorted. The door slammed shut behind him.

Chapter Text

The first spanking happened because he put himself at risk.

Slowly, Henrik grew sober as the hours went by. With a rational mind now, Henrik was haunted by what he and Anthony had said to each other.

Henrik wasn’t ready to pretend that things weren’t different. Anthony didn’t want to be hurt, he understood that. But Henrik felt like his heart was broken.

He was angry, and he was not yet ready to try again. He couldn’t give up on Anthony, much as he tried to forget him. He still loved him. He loved Anthony more than anything.

Cursing, he grabbed his jacket, heading after him. He’d been an idiot. He’d come home drunk, and pushed Anthony too far. Maybe things couldn’t be as they once were, but he wasn’t going to allow the kid to be reckless, or to forget that he would never stop protecting Anthony, at all costs.

Henrik grinned across the table at the mobsters impudently, feeling the rush of adrenaline in his veins, that thrill he so loved. His mom never liked him to work at the tables when her casino still belonged to her. Hell, Mom would throw a fit if she even knew where he was, let alone what he was risking.

Henrik and Katya had lost everything a few months ago. The casino was ripped from their hands, despite Mom’s management of the establishment being effective and respected. Sometimes, Henrik felt a deep resentment for this country he had been born and raised in. People would rather see a pale American man as the head of establishment than a foreign female from Russia and skin with an alluring tan to it.

They had nothing now. Mom had lost hope. Henrik hated to see her like that, and he had gone out every day since then, bringing back money however he could. He was filled with hatred for the way the world treated them, making him bitter and angry. No one would give him a job because of his background. So soon living the life of a thief seemed just as appealing as that of any other profession.

Growing up in a casino, he knew his way around tables, and had always been good at cards. Very good. He could run circles around grown men and take all they had, and more. He relished in the feeling of power it gave him. He kept his tricks to himself, close to his heart. These men who worked for the mob, all muscled and hardened, were losing every penny to Henrik, who was only fifteen. He felt cocky and proud.

But then he slipped up.

“Y’know, kid,” the man across from him began, glaring, “ya better watch that smart mouth of yours, before it gets ya in trouble.”

“Seems to be working out for me so far,” Henrik retorted, flashing him a confident smirk, leaning forward to scoop his earnings towards him. “After all, I ain’t the one with empty pockets.”

At fifteen years old, it never seemed to occur to Henrik that antagonizing men who worked for the mob wasn’t the best idea. But he was feeling the rush of the high that was gambling, his everyday life since before he could remember, he was proud of the fact that he could cheat grown men easily. At this age, as most teenagers were wont to do, he was in his “acting tough” phase, and just having his skill and prowess proven wasn’t doing anything for his ego right now.

Henrik realized he was in deep shit when suddenly that same man struck, quick as a snake, snagging Henrik’s wrist. He gave an inelegant grunt as he was dragged forward, allowing the man to catch sight of the cards he had substituted in place, instead of the ones he’d been dealt.

“You little shit!” the man growled; his eyes were flashing in a terrifying manner, it seemed to the teenager. “Oy! Visconti!” As he realized the jig was up, Henrik saw the other men jump to their feet. He was distinctly aware that he was right in the center of a group of mobsters, in the casino controlled by their boss: Visconti himself.

Henrik noticed a man against the wall, smoking a large cigar, watching the spectacle with amusement. He doused his cigar, putting it out under his heel, and pushed himself from the wall, heading over.

Henrik moved before they could touch him. He kicked the table with his boot, scattering cards and drinks everywhere. He shoved the table over, interrupting the mens’ advance. He whirled, darting this way and that. As more and more mobsters came flying at him, he used his smaller and younger body to his advantage, darting between their legs and tripping them up.

He was positive that the man who had been solemnly watching this all play out was Visconti. Shit, shit, shit! was all that was running through his mind as he practically leaped across the room, dashing down the stairs. If those guys caught him, he was dead!

He was almost to freedom, he could see the large double doors as he sped down the staircase, the cool air rustling his black hair. Almost, almost there-

Henrik was suddenly jerked back violently, tugged off his feet as he was dragged back over the stairs by his assailant, as a hand grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt, yanking him back. Henrik yelped as he was whipped to face the perpetrator, his eyes widening in fear as he recognized the man who he had gathered to be Visconti.

That man was now looking at him with fiery retribution in his eyes, those eyes filled with a terrible rage, such as Henrik had never seen before. “What makes ya think ya can just come into my territory and steal right under my nose?” he growled. “I’m an old hand at this game, ya think I wouldn’t notice?”

Henrik tried to get free from the iron grip. “Get offa me, old man!” he yelled, trying to squirm free.

“No one disrespects me and just gets away with it,” Visconti snarled, never softening his hold on the fifteen-year-old boy. “You want a problem with me? I’ll give ya one.” He seized Henrik by the scruff of his neck, dragging him up the stairs, his other hand pulling him along by the arm. “Amato, Bianchi!” he snapped at the two men standing by the doorway from the staircase he had just darted down. “Stand guard!”

Henrik struggled with all his might, but Visconti was too strong. He attempted to free myself, kicking and turning, hands flailing, but Visconti kept him restrained by the large hand clasped around his neck. He marched Henrik through the room he had just escaped from, past the watching passerby, and through a back door.

This was at the back of the establishment, far from any eyes. Henrik could tell it was around the back, outside, but a large wall rose over their heads, hiding their surroundings from view. Crates were strewn across the ground, presumably with apparel and weaponry. After rapidly whisking Henrik up here, Visconti slowed his movements. Henrik’s heart and mind were racing a mile a minute. Oh, God, Visconti was going to shoot him, wasn’t he? He was taking him out back to put him out of his misery.

“Ah!” Henrik yelped as he was suddenly thrown over one of the crates, a large encasement that came up to his waist. His hips dug into the edge. What the fuck?! Another cry was drawn from his mouth as his pants and underwear were suddenly jerked down to his feet. What the hell was he doing?!

Henrik heard the sound of a belt being unbuckled. He didn’t have long to think on it, however; all of a sudden, a line of fire struck his backside, stinging like a thousand suns. He gave a strangled gasp. “Ahh!”

The strap had been doubled, held in Visconti’s fist, which he was now using to strap Henrik’s ass. Henrik’s mom didn’t believe in such things, so this was the first time Henrik had ever felt something like that before. It fucking hurt, he realized with a shock. It burned. Fucking Christ, how could anyone ever bear this? His pride was bruised; he was fifteen years old! He shouted as another flick of Visconti’s wrist caused him to lay the belt against his ass for the second time. The licks were laid down firmly, each stroke making him cry out. It hurt! As he struggled to grasp what he was being subjected to, Henrik vowed he would never, never inflict this same torture on anyone, not even with a hand! He didn’t know that he would break that promise in the future.

“Ahhh!” Henrik cried out again, as another searing thwack found his skin. He gritted his teeth, trying to breathe through the pain, but his resolve was broken quickly. He could feel tears in his eyes as his ass was mercilessly beaten. “Fuck!” he yelled. “Stop!”

Visconti snorted. “Not a chance, kid. You had this comin’ to you.”

Henrik lost count of how many times the strap found his backside. All he was capable of doing was throwing his head back and screaming as the belt strapped him, tears running down his face. His cries echoed across the establishment, as he hollered until his throat was hoarse. His ass felt like it was on fire.

By the time Visconti was satisfied that Henrik had learned his lesson, the kid was slumped over the crate, crying with every breath he took, angry, humiliated, pained tears running down his cheeks, his breaths rattling and ragged.

Henrik was faintly aware of the sound of Visconti putting his belt back on, sliding it through the loops. Henrik didn’t move a muscle, his butt screaming in pain. The strap marks pounded every second.

Finally, Visconti spoke. “I went easy on ya,” he growled. “If it were anyone else, they wouldn’t have taken the time to give you a good whipping. They woulda just taken ya out back and shot ya.” His voice thundered across the small space. Henrik flinched, his fingers tightening around the crate, clutching onto it for dear life, unable to muffle his heavy sobs. “Don’t mess with me, kid. That was stupid.”

Henrik was beginning to agree.

With great effort, he raised himself with two shaky hands planted on the crate, climbing unsteadily to his feet. He reached for his pants, his face burning in humiliation, yanking his trousers back up. A yelp left his lips as the material scraped against his strapped cheeks.