Three

Angel’s POV

Back when Angel used to come here—years ago—with Federico and Bianca, his childhood friends, they’d once snuck behind the counter.

Drunk and laughing.

And they had found it.

A slim metal door that led to the alley.

Half opened.

They had been young and stupid back then.

And now, he needed that escape route.

He pushed the bar’s door open.

The soft ring of the bell above him sounded louder than it should have.

Only two people were inside.

Intimate.

Murmuring to each other.

And one bartender, wiping some wine glasses.

Angel walked straight to the bar.

Sat on the tall high chair.

His fingers started to tap against the counter.

His heartbeat was way too fast.

‘I need a drink to calm down,’ he decided.

Even though his stomach was tight and coiled like a fist.

“Un amaro, per favore (Something bitter, please),” he said to the bartender, voice low.

Something tough.

Something biting.

To help him get a grip.

But not potent enough to get drunk.

The homey atmosphere inside the bar did nothing to soothe his nerves as he waited.

The tapping of his fingers increased.

‘Come on, come on!’

Then his hand moved fast—

As if snatching the drink from the bartender—that eyed him like he was crazy.

He trembled slightly when his hands reached for his glass.

And at the same time, the bell sounded again.

‘Someone came in,’ he thought. 

‘They can’t wait, can’t they?’

Angel didn't look up.

Instead, his body shook.

The moment he heard the sound of leather soles and the faint rustle of sleek suits—

He instantly knew.

‘Luchese.’

Angel kept his head tilted down.

His long curly brown hair partially shielded his face.

His breathing stopped.

Waiting for the inevitable.

But they did not approach him.

No.

Still holding his breath, he wondered why.

Then he positioned his glass on the counter.

Using the reflection to spy at them.

Two burly men.

Black suits.

‘Like that movie,’ he thought. ‘MIB.’

They didn't come toward him.

They sat at a table behind him instead.

Angel didn’t turn.

Did not acknowledge their presence.

But he watched.

And waited.

Slowly releasing his breath.

‘They’re killing me with suspense! My God!’

Their reflection on his glass looks warped and quivering slightly from the liquor’s ripple.

His throat tightened.

‘How do I outrun them?’

A million dollar question.

‘Oh wait! I knew the bartender here..Enro.. Endo.. It’s Enzo!’

Angel struggled to think clearly.

‘Enzo! I hope he still works here!’

He eyed the people behind the counter.

But there was none now.

‘Where did the bartender go? Come back!’

He desperately prayed for a miracle.

Enzo, the old man, had always given him and his friends a quiet nod whenever they came here.

A recognition.

‘Or something like that.’

He knew that they stumbled on the escape route, once.

When Enzo forgot to lock the door after smoking there.

But instead of getting angry, Enzo just smiled.

Angel even joked about having Enzo adopt him, just for the key.

But it had been too long since Angel left.

And now that he was back, it seemed Enzo was gone.

Thirty minutes passed.

The men still sat.

Not drinking.

Not ordering anything.

Just.. watching..

Or feeling him?

‘Where did you go, Enzo!’

He turned slightly.

Still no staff.

Just two lovers, too busy in their own little paradise to care about a person in need!

And those two suits.

Angel groaned.

The escape door!

He’d need the employee access key.

And he’d forgotten that part.

Now he felt trapped.

‘Where’s the bartender? Did you fall down on the toilet or something?’

Angel started to hyperventilate.

‘When he comes back, I’m flirting with him!’

He could feel sweat rolling down his back.

Sticky and cold.

Should he bolt?

Make a run for it?

Would they create a commotion?

Do mafias care about those things?

Angel bit his lips.

The bell rang again.

His hands twitched around the glass.

His eyes snapped back to the smooth surface of his glass.

He expected a third man.

A signal.

Someone who commanded them.

Like an underboss.

Someone from the Luchese main family.

Instead—

A Hawaiian shirt.

‘Orange?’ Angel blinked.

White shorts.

Messy black hair.

Sandals.

“An American?” he said in a low surprised voice.

A tourist?

Angel blinked again.

What kind of idiot walks around Florence dressed like that?

He turned his head slightly.

The tourist looked drunk.

Or sunburned.

Or both.

He was big.

Bigger than the two suits.

And Angel can tell—he was pure muscle.

Not exaggerated muscles like those gym addicts.

More like a sleeper build.

But not quite.

He was tall.

And his aura?

Feels dangerous.

‘Really? Dangerous?’

His eyes dropped to the tourist's left hand.

The wine bottle was nearly empty.

Then the tourist looked around—taking in the atmosphere inside the bar—slowly.

Like the world owed him something.

Then his eyes suddenly met Angel’s.

‘That scared me. Shit.’

Silver eyes.

Like a storm.

Angel hitched his breath.

But that wasn't the problem.

The problem was—

The two suits behind him had also noticed the tourist too.

And Angel had a gut feeling.

This man had just walked into something he clearly didn't understand.

And might never walk out of.

A plan formed inside Angel’s head.

‘I'm sorry tourist..’

Then he stood up.

Drank his liquor in one gulped.

‘I need it!’

A bit dripped from the corner of his lips.

Angel wiped it away.

He fully turned to the tourist.

Eyes locked on him.

He didn’t look at the two suits.

“You’re here..” Angel said.

“Alessandro!”

Guessing the man’s name.

Which didn’t really suit the man—at all.

Then he moved forward.

Angel’s steps were sure and full of purpose—

As if he really knew the tourist.

He hooked his left arms to the stranger’s right arm.

“Let’s go!”

Angel peeked into the stranger's eyes.

He expected confusion.

Maybe anger too.

But found amusement instead.

As if to say, ‘really?’

The man didn’t move at first.

Even though Angel was exerting force to pull him back toward the entrance.

Instead, the man drank from his bottle..

Emptied it.

“Hah.” the tourist said.

He even burp.

Looked around the bar once more.

“Are they bothering you, babe?”

The voice was so deep.

Manly.

Husky.

Like he had just sex.

Angel can feel his skin crawl.

From disgust or from how good his voice sounds—he didn't know.

“Let's go..” Angel hurried the man.

“Pfft…” the tourist held his laughter.

‘He was clearly enjoying this!’

Angel was slowly getting irritated.

‘Is he crazy?’ Angel can't help but wonder if his instinct had failed him.

“Wait… hang on.. babe?” 

The tourist seemed unsure what to call him.

He gave Angel a look, as if asking if it’s okay to call him that.

Then—

“Can't wait to jump in my bed now are you?”

Angel was flabbergasted from the words coming out from the man’s dirty mouth.

Chuckling from Angel’s expression on his face, the tourist continued..

“Let little Alessandrino here clean this shit up for you babe…” he teased.

The tourist looked at the two suits.

“Trash everywhere…”

The two men in suits were pulling something behind them.

‘A gun!’

Angel’s eyes widened in fear.

‘No!’

He wanted to shout and warn the strange Hawaiian shirt man.

But the stranger just smiled. 

His half-drunk eyes looked like he was undressing Angel.

It all happened in a split second.

A gun was pulled.

One man versus two.

The tourist kicked.

Bottles smashed on a head.

Chairs were thrown around.

Someone rolled.

Furniture broken.

Then—

BANG!

A gunshot rang out.

“Hah…”

The tourist stood tall.

Ran a hand through his hair.

Covered in sweat and the smell of liquor.

Looking like a damn model.

Angel looked down.

The suits were on the floor.

One was unconscious and breathing.

The other one was cursing—holding his knee.

Angel can smell the blood.

Salty.

Coppery.

‘Who the hell is this guy?’

**