3rd POV 

Elsewhere in Italy 

The man leaned lazily against the lamppost, watching as a slender figure stumbled over his own feet a little ahead of him. At first, he thought it was a girl—delicate frame, silver hair catching the dim light. But when the figure tilted his head up, revealing hazy, unfocused eyes, the man realized his mistake. 

A boy. A drunk one. 

A slow smirk crept across his lips. Easy prey. 

The boy swayed, mumbling something under his breath, his steps unsteady. The man didn't miss the way his shirt clung to his frame, the way his lips parted slightly as he tried to regain focus. Cute. 

He pushed off the lamppost and strolled toward him, voice low and honeyed. "You alright, baby?" 

The boy blinked, his glassy eyes struggling to focus. Then, a dopey, lopsided grin spread across his lips. "Ohhh, hi, Mister. I'm all good," he slurred, dragging out the words. 

Amused, the man chuckled, licking his lips. "You sure about that? You look like you could use a little help getting home, gorgeous." 

The boy giggled, swaying dangerously. "Aww, you're really nice!" he mumbled. 

Too easy. 

The man wasted no time, slipping an arm around the boy's slim waist, guiding him away from the club. As they moved into the darker, quieter alleys, the boy leaned into him, humming softly, completely oblivious. 

Or so he thought. 

The moment they reached a secluded corner, the man wasted no time. He shoved the boy roughly against the wall, pinning him in place with his hips. "You're even prettier up close," he murmured, pressing wet, sloppy kisses against the boy's neck. 

And then— 

"Stop it! I don't want to!" The boy's voice trembled, his fingers weakly pushing against the man's chest. 

The struggle only excited him more. His grip tightened, his body reacting to the fight, to the helplessness. "Shh, baby," he murmured, hands roaming. 

Then, the boy stilled. His breathing slowed. 

And then—he laughed. 

Low. Amused. Completely sober. 

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to trust strangers?" 

The man barely had a second to react before a searing pain ripped through his side. His breath hitched. His body jerked forward, but the boy's hand was already over his mouth, muffling the strangled sound that escaped. 

Cold steel twisted deeper. 

His knees buckled. 

"What's wrong? Didn't you want to play?" 

The boy's voice was mocking now, his lips curled into something cruel, something dangerous. 

The man gasped, trying to push away, but the boy didn't let up. Instead, he tilted his head, eyes dark and amused. 

"You thought I was the prey?" he whispered. "Cute." 

Then—darkness. 

A sharp crack against his skull. 

The last thing he saw was that wicked grin, gleaming like a promise. 

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Time skip - An abandoned shed 

The first thing he felt was pain. A sharp, pounding ache at the base of his skull. Then came the cold—damp air clinging to his skin, the scent of rust and decay heavy in his lungs. 

He blinked, vision swimming, and tried to move—only to realize he couldn't. 

His wrists burned against the rough rope binding them to the chair. Ankles tied. No slack. No escape. 

Panic clawed at his throat. 

And then— 

A soft, amused chuckle. 

"You're finally awake." 

The voice was smooth, steady. Devoid of the drunken slur from before. 

His head snapped up, breath catching as his gaze locked onto the figure standing before him. The same boy from the bar. Silver hair, tousled as before, but now his eyes gleamed with something cold. Something cruel. 

Gone was the fragile, stumbling drunk. 

In his place stood a predator. 

"You must be wondering what's happening." The boy tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Let me help you out—you're tied to a chair, in a shed, completely at my mercy." 

The man swallowed hard, his mind racing. How? When? He had been the one in control. He had pinned this boy against the wall. He had been the hunter. 

But now... 

Now, he was the prey. 

The boy crouched in front of him, eyes dark with amusement. "You thought you could take advantage of me." A pause. Then, a quiet, almost disappointed sigh. "How predictable." 

The man thrashed against his restraints, heart hammering against his ribs. "You little—" 

A sharp slap cracked across his face. 

"Shh." Yohan leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed against the man's ear. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to trust strangers?" 

A cold shiver ran down his spine. 

And for the first time in his life—he felt real fear. 

————————————————

Time Skip: One Hour Later 

Yohan exhaled sharply, shoving a hand through his already messy hair, frustration crackling beneath his skin. His mind had been a storm ever since he got the news—thoughts tangled, nerves shot. He had paced, chain-smoked, tried to push it down. But nothing worked. 

So, he turned to the one thing that always did. 

Now, the body at his feet was barely recognizable. The cocky bastard from earlier? Gone. In his place—a trembling, bloody mess of torn flesh and vacant eyes. Yohan's gaze flickered to the small, discarded piece of muscle nearby. Funny. He usually liked hearing them beg. Hard to do that without a tongue. 

But even after his little distraction, the tension in his chest hadn't eased. His mind still circled back to the information his source had given him. 

He had been gathering intel on The Black Serpents—his rivals. Standard business. Nothing surprising. But then came the part that sent a chill down his spine. 

The Serpents' leader had finally announced his heir. 

That wasn't the shocking part. 

The name was. 

Jayden. 

Yohan stilled, his grip tightening on the bloodstained blade in his hand. 

Jayden. His only childhood friend. His only real companion in that hellhole of an orphanage. The boy who once stood beside him—through hunger, through beatings, through nights where survival wasn't guaranteed. 

And now? 

Now, Jayden stood against him. 

Yohan let out a slow breath, his smirk returning, though it didn't reach his eyes. Well. 

This just got interesting. 

The door creaked open, and Yohan's head snapped toward the intruder, his sharp silver hair a tangled mess, blood smeared across his cheek, dripping down his bare chest. His hands and arms were soaked in crimson, fresh from his latest 'distraction.' 

The wild sight of him made Jayden falter for the briefest second. 

Then, Yohan's lips curled into something between a smirk and a sneer. "To what pleasure do I owe this visit, Mr. Jayden—" his voice laced with mockery as he leaned against the table, arms crossed—"or should I say Jayden Calvarez?" 

Jayden's expression remained unreadable, his sharp gaze taking in the scene. The dim light cast eerie shadows over Yohan's scarred, bloodied torso. He looked nothing like the boy Jayden once knew—nothing like the boy he left behind. 

But still, for a moment, he just... stared. 

Then, finally, he spoke. "...Where the hell is your shirt?" 

Yohan let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Took it off so it wouldn't get messy." He lazily pointed to the corner where the ruined fabric lay, soaked in blood. 

Jayden's eyes flicked to the corpse on the ground, its vacant gaze staring at nothing. He hummed. "Looks like you had fun. Did it help?" His voice was steady, detached. 

Yohan's smirk didn't waver. "I don't owe you an answer. And me having fun? None of your business." 

But then Jayden's tone shifted, something colder slipping in. "Do you really need to go flashing yourself in clubs just to lure your prey?" 

Yohan's expression darkened. 

"Quite the stalker you are, Jay," he bit out, voice dripping venom. "I'm flattered. The almighty Jayden Calvarez, wasting his precious time following the boy he abandoned ten years ago." 

Jayden said nothing. 

Yohan let out a sharp breath, frustration seeping into his stance. 

But then—just for a second—he wasn't in the shed anymore. 

He was back in that damp orphanage, sitting on the cold floor with a flickering bulb above them. He and Jayden were side by side, whispering about the future. 

"One day, we'll leave this place," Jayden had said, a rare smile gracing his face. "We'll have a home. A real family." 

Yohan had laughed. "Together?" 

Jayden's expression had turned serious. "Together." 

Lies. 

Yohan had learned that promises like that meant nothing. 

His fingers twitched at his sides, his jaw clenching slightly. He had spent years telling himself that Jayden's absence meant nothing, that he had moved on. And yet, the moment Jayden stepped back into his life, all of that rage, all of that abandonment, burned fresh in his chest. 

"What a perfect reunion," he muttered sarcastically, already turning away. "But if you don't mind, I hate interruptions when I'm having fun." 

Before he could take a step, a firm hand wrapped around his wrist, yanking him back.  

Jayden's grip was tight. Unyielding. 

"We need to talk." His voice left no room for argument. 

Yohan rolled his eyes, glancing down at where their skin touched before glancing up again. "Fine." He tugged his wrist away, exasperated. "Five minutes. Make it quick. I don't have all day." 

Jayden took a slow step forward, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. "I didn't mean to leave without telling you. I'm sorry." 

His brows furrowed, his guilt evident in the way his hands clenched at his sides. "I know a small 'sorry' won't change anything, but... I missed you, Yohan." 

Yohan let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as pain twisted through his chest. "True." His voice trembled, raw with old wounds ripped open. "Your sorry won't change a fucking thing. It won't give me back what I lost." His breath hitched. "You have no idea what I felt when you left me, Jayden. I was alone. I had nothing. Even when those bastards tried to—" He swallowed hard, his fists curling at his sides. "Tried to force themselves on me, I was praying you'd come save me. But you never did." 

A shaky breath escaped him as his gaze dropped, a tear threatening to slip past his lashes. "But I don't hold that against you." His voice softened, filled with something more complicated than anger—resignation. "We were both eight. You got your own family, I got mine. There was nothing you could have done back then." 

The words barely left his lips before Jayden stepped forward and pulled him into a crushing embrace. "I am so sorry, Yoyo," Jayden whispered, his voice thick with emotion. Yohan felt something warm drip onto his shoulder—Jayden's tears. "I shouldn't have gone that day. I shouldn't have left you. I should've fought harder. I should've—" His arms tightened. "I want to kill those rascals so badly, torment them, make them beg for their death." 

Yohan let out a small chuckle, despite the weight in his chest. "First of all, drop that childish nickname. I hate it." His lips quirked in the faintest ghost of a smile. "Second, I already killed those bastards that same day." 

Jayden pulled back slightly, eyes widening in surprise, but Yohan's expression remained unreadable. "And third," Yohan continued, his voice calm but firm, "don't blame yourself. I never did. Neither of us knew what was going to happen." 

A heavy silence fell between them, thick with unsaid words. 

Then Jayden exhaled sharply. "So... you're Yohan Cassano now." 

Yohan's gaze darkened slightly as he gave a slow nod. "I know where you're going with this." 

Jayden took a step back, his jaw tightening. "We're both the heirs of rival gangs." 

Yohan nodded again. "I can't betray my father. I can't betray my gang." 

Jayden's lips pressed into a thin line. "And I can't betray The Black Serpents." 

They both knew what this meant. 

Jayden let out a quiet sigh, a shadow passing over his expression. "So, I guess... this is the last time we meet as friends." His voice was barely above a whisper. "The next time we see each other, we'll be enemies." 

Yohan met his gaze, his usual smirk nowhere in sight. "Yeah." 

The weight of those words settled between them like a closing door, final and irreversible. 

His fingers twitched at his sides. He wanted to walk away without looking back, without caring. But damn it—he did care. Even after everything, Jayden's voice still did something to him. 

For a second, Yohan thought about saying something different. About asking Jayden if they could go back, if things could be undone. 

But the weight of the world they lived in crushed that foolish thought instantly. 

He turned on his heel, his silver hair catching the dim light as he walked away without hesitation. But before he reached the exit, he glanced back over his shoulder, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. "Ciao, amico." 

Then he was gone, leaving Jayden standing alone in the abandoned shed, the echoes of their past drowned beneath the inevitability of the war awaiting them. 

————————————————

The younger generation has arrived, each carrying their own secrets and burdens. Their reunion was far from the happy one they might have once imagined. They had promised that the next time they met, it would be as enemies, not as best friends. But is it really that easy to bury the past when old wounds refuse to heal?