Epilogue (Part One)

Time: Seven years after the incident with Alexandra.

Location: Italy. A company belonging to the Sicilian Mafia.

The muffled sounds of someone screaming got his attention.

Paride Casio raised his head slowly, a distasteful look in his eyes. His raven hair covered his left eye as looked over the round glasses he had on at the blond make tied on the chair in front of him, his Halo ring glowing.

With the years that had passed by, the softness of his face had morphed into hardness. High cheekbones. A sharp chin. Pronounced jaws.

And the tattoos. The tattoos couldn't be ignored.

Black ink decorated every part of his neck, trailing down to his back that held the mark of the Order while his chest held the one he treasured the most. Some part of the tattoo even showed as the first three buttons of his shirt were off, his black waistcoat hugging his perfect figure.

Paride looked like the Angel of Death.

Slowly, he placed the book with the name 'A Thousand Ways to Torture A Person While Keeping Them Awake.' and waved a hand in the air, causing a man that stood in the corner of his office walk towards the blond one, a poker expression on his face.

Once again, he stared at the tied male. He had blood dripping all over his face which was swollen and bruised, tears running down his eyes with a tape over his mouth that got ripped as soon as the man was close enough, out causing a whimper and cry o leave the man's lips the male before he looked at Paride, blinking rapidly, "I'd talk! Just— Just don't do that!"

Paride made a disgusted face, an eyebrow of his raised as he stared at the filth, "You speak like I have done anything to you."

Which was true. He had not. Not yet anyway. Unlike Alessandro that would have the male sitting on a chair of nails to get him talking because he was a bloody psychopath that most of the times led to the person they needed to question dead, he always took a calmer approach.

He got them beaten up, sitting in front of him while he said nothing and read his favourite book.

Nonetheless, there were times silence spoke louder than words did, and because of that, Paris always got the answers he needed with them still alive.

The blond male panted, his eyes darting around with fear as he said with his lips quivering, "You— You swore I'd leave alive if I told—"

"I told you. I never lie."

He licked his dry lips, wincing at their cracked feeling before saying, his words coming out in a rushed whisper. "I— I don't know much—"

Paride's green eyes lit up. "Let's hope not. For your sake."

He swallowed now, saying, "But Helstrom had all his cash in an overseas account, somewhere in the Caribbeans—"

"Under what name?"

He gave it to him.

Paride nodded his head towards Salvador, the male nodding as he pressed unto the piece in his left ear, repeating the same information to the person on the other side before a subtle frown showed on his face. "Boss?"

Paride looked up at him, the man's brown eyes crinkling. "Someone else emptied it before we did."

At those words, he turned sharply to the now panicking male as he screamed, spittle flying out of his mouth. "I didn't tell anyone! I— I swear!"

"But you told me. Didn't you?"

"Boss, there's something else." Salvador quipped in, getting Paride's attention again then added in Italian, "He says that the person that has the information we need just surrendered themselves right now and refuses to leave until they see you."

What?

As he said those words, the door to his office opened as his padrino walked in with all of his glory, his hair now a light shade of green, looking happier than Paride had ever seen him. "Serpente? Ciccio mio."

Paris tried to stop his eye roll as he stood, "What are you doing here, Padrino?"

Paride Casio was known by many names, but his true name was Paris Holmes.

Two years ago, he had taken over as the new Don of Carnefecina, the Sicilian Mafia but his godfather, Alexander, still came to check on him from time, claiming he couldn't abandon his heritage to a child but anyone who knew the male could tell he only came to make sure Paris was still alive and well.

Before he had risen to the position of Don, he had continued his trainings under Xander. They were harsh and his possiblity of survival was very little, but it didn't matter. Il Pazzo was showing every single member of their Family that their new Don was not just a pretty face as he was, and bore every thing they needed for their Cosa nostra.

Plus, ever since Paris took hold of the Mafia, they had been significant changes. During the reign of Il Pazzo, he had occupied so many enemies and money that he had no idea what to do with it but after Paris took over, he smoothed out what ever he could do and got rid of whatever he didn't think was good enough for his Family.

And the bonus part? Paris was sane. Quite sane, at least but of course, Alexander wouldn't have just retired as any normal person would. During his breaks, he spread every possible rumour he could about Paris, calling him Serpente.

"Hmm?" The green haired male walked to the one on the chair, suddenly grabbing him by the chin, ignoring his cry of pain, his blue eyes staring daggers into his face before he turned to Paris, eyes in slits. "While is his tongue still intact?"

And this fact, was the origin of his name.

When Paris read his book in front of a person that refused to speak and then they eventually did talk, he would note the number that they usually decided to start their confession and punish them accordingly.

Some always started talking at the number fifteen which involved them being electrocuted. Few people, number two hundred and two, and mostly, they always ended at number five hundred and five.

Split their tongue in two.

The book had been a gift given to him by Alexander and Paris used to spend his free time after Alex had left in the basement with Andrea, reading the book silently until the male apologized for hurting Marcos, the apology happening at number five hundred and five and he had split his tongue, but the work had been rough so the male died of an infection.

His Padrino had been upset, not because of the death of his twin brother, but because Paris had not been careful enough to keep him alive to be an experiment for the torture book.

"He ended at lock up in a room with a hundred rats," Paris answered drily, his eyes still on the male. "Not like it is any of your concern."

Alexander made a fake hurt face though it didn't last long as he stood behind the chair, his hands now on the male's tensed shoulders, massaging it as he said, "But I heard about the little problem with him, and the fact that this—" He squeezed harder on the male's shoulders. "Lovely fellow, told another person."

"No! I didn't! He's—"

Paris raised a hand, one of his bodyguards immediately rushing to put a tape over the screaming male's mouth. How had he found out when they just did? "Don't you know what fucking retirement sounds like?"

Alexander's eyes moved through Paris' body, a disapproving look on his face. "It seems like you do not either."

God, talking to this man could give any sane person migraine. "I'm not retired."

"But you're tired. You retired, get it?"

Paris felt his lips pull taut into a frown as his Padrino looked around, his face turning to a snarl as his hands left the male beneath him shoulders and snapped his neck then faced the guards around. "Why is no one fucking laughing?"

Immediately, a chorus of nervous laughs and chortles echoed in the room causing Paris to let out a sigh, rubbing his temples. "You don't always need to kill every single thing you touch. It's a wonder how you haven't killed Abraham and Elizabeth yet,"

"Oh. They say hi by the way and ask when you'd come visit."

"Hmm,"

Paris could say he had a sort of... Relationship with the children, considering the fact that he always sent as many gifts as he could, always trying to outshine Xander's and video called them when he was bullied to it, but going back to Wystwood?

Never happening.

"Don," Salvador called out, his eyes staying on his boss as he said, "The person still waits below."

"Oh, yes," His Padrino clapped his hands excitedly, hurriedly linking his hands with Paris as he said in a cheery tone that would have cause anyone else to pass out from fear because the only thing that mildly excited Xander were Hezekiah and Death. "Let's go see them together, hmm?"

Naturally, no one could ever act this way to Paris and he liked it that way, but moments like this when someone... Belittled him, or took over the reins of his life, he appreciated it.

But of course, he would never admit that. "Not like saying no would change anything, just don't fucking kill il mio giocattolo."

And the male's response had been in a sing song voice as he said, "Can't promise anything."

In minutes, they were on the first floor of the building, guards walking behind them as they moved to the foyer in which their guest was, and found his second in command, Henry Romona walking towards him.

He was a specimen of the male species that most people imagined was terrifying, considering he had a ripped and large body, tattoos covering every single space on it and a frown that could frighten a child to coma, but deep down, he was the sanest person in their Cosa nostra.

When the man was close enough and joined them in their walk, he paid his respects to Alexander whose reaction, as it always was to most people, was to completely ignore him then faced Paris as the male asked, "Have you gotten anything out of him yet?"

Henry's frown deepened, something that wasn't pleasing in the slightest, his accent smooth and prominent as he replied in swift Italian, "He refuses to speak."

Refuses to—? How was that any of their bloody business? "And what are you doing about it?"

The grim look on the other male's face deepened. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Paris repeated, disbelief evident on his face though he tried to control it back as he did not need his Padrino giving him an unnecessary lecture on their way to the fucking mole and hissed under his breath, "I don't know what game you're playing, Romona, but for the good of your balls, and my ass, I swear—"

The rest of the words choked up on his throat as his eyes landed on the male at the other end of the building, his heart stopping when the male turned, a small smile on his face.

Paris Holmes had not been the only one to age into a chaotically handsome villain. Marcos Gomez, had in all sense of the word, bloomed into something else with the years that had passed, startling anyone that set their eyes on him.

He was taller, his body lithe and trim, his skin smooth and glistening, practically begging anyone who set their eyes on him to touch and his hair... He had grown it longer, letting it reach his shoulders though it was now an ash blond colour, and when he walked to Paris, the air around him was different.

He walked more confidently, swinging his hips with every step, and his clothes—

Paris could see the numerous piercings on the males ears, and the super crop top and the shirt that exposed all of his chest to his bellybutton revealed two pierced nipples that were pink and soft with leather pants that hugged out his shape—

Fuck, the only male that could make il Serpente question his sexuality was here and he wasn't sure how to feel about it.

"Bunny!"

Alexander jumped on the male face, causing Marcos to let out a laugh. It was soft, like the wind was tickling his face before his Padrino pulled away, clasping the caramel skinned man's cheeks. "Look at you! You're so— Extraordinary! I would ask you to do a little twirl for me but I think if Paris looks at your ass, he would drool—"

"Thank you," Were the first words Paris' dry throat could cough out ever since it jumped ship on him, causing brown melting eyes to fall on his frame as he coughed again, saying with a strained smile. "For your kind words, but that will be enough." Then he turned to Marcos, trying to keep a professional look on his face, said, "And as for you—"

In one swift move, Marcos was pressed on his body, his arms wrapped around him and Paris, for the second time again, had his voice box fail him as the soft smell of cookies wafted to his nose, frying his entire senses then watched the male pull away, his hands now on Paris' cheeks, cradling it as he said in a voice only both of them could hear, "It is nice to see you as well, mayor hermano."

Hearing that name... After so many years, Paris had never thought a name could have as much effect as it did at that second as he stared back, his voice still refusing to return before he heard the green haired male behind him say, "Instead of staying here and looking longingly into each other's eyes, why don't you take him over to your place instead?"

The double meaning to that sentence wasn't lost as Paris felt the air around him and his men shift from mild confusion to utter loss. Their Don never smiled with anyone, or acted by anything. In truth, the only one he showed a sliver of emotions too was their older boss, Alessandro, and now some pretty twink had him speechless, and they were going to his house?

Paris narrowed his eyes at the male. "I don't think—"

"No one was asking what you thought," Alexander cut in, turning to Marcos with a bright smile on his face. "You must be tired from your flight and you need to rest. Plus, I bet there's some catching up to do. Don't you think so?"

"Mhm," The other male said, a soft smile still on his face before turning to Paris, saying quietly, "There are somethings I would like to speak to you about. Privately. Please."

Paris had heard many people tell him that word, please, a thousand times, and never had he wanted to do as they asked.

Not until now. Plus, he could tell that something was wrong and from his past memories, he could never sit well with a sad Marcos.  "I told you to stop asking for things. There is nothing I wouldn't give."

Marcos' smile brightened, a little, and Alexander used that opportunity to clap excitedly again, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Finally! Something to do! I shall take over while you're away. How does that sound?"

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

Which meant in other words, I care for them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paris immediately mumbled under his breath, "I left money behind, just didn't have time to stay behind and bargain a price."

Marcos turned swiftly at that point, his eyes in dark eyeliner that accentuated the pain in them as he snapped, "Of course, because you were running away from me."

Paris had never been the type to accept failure, and asides that, admitting he couldn't do something he said he could was also not his forte either. Plus, after what happened with Her, he couldn't look at Marcos anymore.

It felt like he had betrayed them. Sold out the male's trust and just proven that he was the selfish ass most people thought he was.

Deep down, he couldn't care less what they thought, but Marcos? The male seemed to see Paris as a superhero, a good guy, he knew if he stayed closer to him, he'd eventually spill out what happened between him and Alexandra so instead, after their graduation, he took Alessandro's offer up and moved to Italy for his training, telling Marcos that his internship for the job he was doing had gotten him promoted.

Of course, the other male hadn't asked, it wasn't in his DNA to be distrustful, and after Paris had gone away, Marcos, as the younger brother he was, had dutifully reached out to Paris throughout the years and with the time that passed, the amber male's reply drastically reduced until Marcos never heard from him again.

At the beginning, Paris gave himself many excuses. The training was hectic. Talking to Marcos endangered him. That too many years had passed for him to reach out but in truth, he never stayed away.

He never dug too deep into the male but knew when Marcos got the contract with a clothing company to be their face for a year, and got more deals after that, before becoming a model that was a force to be reckoned with in the fashion industry.

With his angelic looks, pure heart, and breathtaking smile, it had been easier for Marcos to grow into the media's favorite person but Paris?

Paris was literally his archenemy. The bad one. The rotten apple.

He believed if he stayed away it would be better, for him and their reputation, but apparently, seeing him now made the notion seemed so useless.

He could barely careless if his crew thought him and Marcos were an item, what mattered was that he was here, in his house, safe and alive and okay.

"I wasn't running—"

Marcos scoffed. "Right, because if you were running, I'd have seen you, but you weren't. You were vanishing. Disappearing."

It was the first time Paris was finding himself facing an angry and hurt Marcos before, and the thought that it was because of him was hurting with every second. "I know how you feel—"

"Know?" Marcos' voice cracked, his eyes slitting as he placed the palm of his head and let out another disbelieving scoff and sharply pointed his manicured nail into the male's chest, his next words cold and sharp. "You don't know anything. You, had Alexander moving you through the world and I— I had two mother's that kept worrying about what their son was doing while the other one wanted her son to make friends, but how could he? Hmm? When everyone he loved deserted him?"

"Marcos—"

The tears came. "You promised. You said you'd take care of me and I waited. After graduation, I waited two years, and within all that time, you sent money, spoke to Maria and Elise but me. You ignored me. On purpose, Paris."

"I wondered what I did wrong. I wondered what I said wrong. I knew when you were shutting me out but I kept quiet, I let you do what you wanted because I was afraid if you poked too much, but guess what? You still left anyways, so I picked up my ass and I worked myself hard so that wherever you were, you'd see my fucking face and realize that I didn't need you and that I was fine without you."

"I wasn't fine without you."

At those words, Marcos' angry one broke, a crack showing on the mask as Paris continued, "It's hard for me, to admit my true feelings to anyone. I've felt like a disappointment my entire life and you and Alex were the only ones to accept me that way, but after what happened—"

The mask came up again, stronger, angrier, "If you think for a second that—"

"Alexandra and I had sex."

And at those words, it shattered completely. "W-What?"

"Before she left." And vanished off the face of the Earth. "I hadn't been thinking. Barely. I told myself if I did that, I could convince her to come back to us. I know it was shitty but I'm a shitty person and I loved Alex, I just wanted to be with her, that last time... After it, I felt really sick, so fucking sick, having no self control, wishing I had talked her out of it but I couldn't tell you anything because I didn't want you to be disappointed. That I was weak. That I couldn't bring her back to us."

That I couldn't be your Big Brother.

Marcos stared at him silently for the first few seconds, his face still awe struck before he set the glass on the couch and held Paris' face, his words coming out sincere, "I didn't ask for you to be perfect, Paris. I know all your flaws, all of it. I know you can be selfish and cruel and unkind. I know all of this, but I loved you. There was nothing you could have done that would have hurt me because I know you would never have meant to," Then he shook his head, more tears pouring out of his eyes, "All I asked in return, was for you to just... Be with me, that was it."

Paris felt his chest tighten more, his throat clogging up. God, he could apologize a thousand times and it would never be enough. "I'm sorry—"

"Did you beat yourself up with that thought all this time?" Marcos cut in, letting out a small chuckle and stroke the male's face with his thumb. "You were afraid I wouldn't see you as I saw you? I should punch you for having such a low opinion of me."

He didn't sound angry anymore, and thankfully, Paris could feel the ropes that had tightened themselves around his heart loosen an inch as he muttered, "You'd lose your nails,"

Marcos laughed now, and God it felt nice, so nice. He kept stroking Paris' cheek, a feeling that he hadn't felt in a long time because he never let people come too close and shook his head, looking down. "I was so upset that you left and wanted to hurt you, somehow..." Then he looked at him, another smile gracing his tearstained face. "But turns out I just wanted my brother back."

Paris stared at him, his hand reaching out to hold Marcos'. The crescent and star ring glowing brightly on his middle finger. It made sense now why no one could hurt him and Henry couldn't question him.

The Venus ring holder held more authority than even him and that made Marcos untouchable. "The ring, you kept it."

"Apparently, this ring gives me immunity against the Mafia and other things," The male answered, chuckling softly. "Found out from a friend." Then he tilted his head. "But you're running a Mafia though? Not that it's too surprising, you've always wanted to take over the world."

"You're not mad?"

"It's hot," He said, his eyes bearing a mischievous glint before they moved down to the open part of his shirt, revealing the tip of the tattoo on his chest. "May I?"

Paris nodded, his eyes trailing every move Marcos' fingers made as they took off the buttons of his shirt, his neck tilting to the side, revealing the tattoo on it, his fingers now brushing the one on his chest. "Caduceus. The symbol of Hermes,"

It was a sword, with two snakes entangled on it. One that he had gotten after the ones on his back. "And you?" Paris wrapped his hand around the other male's neck, his thumb brushing the one there. "Eros's."

Marcos closed his eyes, a pleased look on his face before he opened them again, a tiny scoff leaving his lips. "You are the only one that knows."

The one on his neck was a heart in an upside down form, which in another state, would have been the letter 'A' and an arrow pierced through it with both sides pointed and bleeding from each end. "Why?"

"Because I knew I wasn't the only one missing her," Marcos answered, his eyes on Paris'. "I tried to forget, it still amazes me that she was able to do so easily. Women. Men. Name it. I've done it, and yet... Every shoot I'm at, every event, I feel her eyes on me. It's... Distracting, but I crave it. Every country I've been to, I searched for her, but it seems as if—"

"She doesn't exist."

Paris knew. Alexander never spoke of her, and he... He with all the power he had, looked everywhere but couldn't find any sliver of her existence, the only place he didn't look into being Wystwood.

But he couldn't go back there. "Why did you come? And how did you find the information I needed?"

A smile came to Marcos' face as he pulled away, picking his wineglass again and twirling it, taking a few steps back. "I've always been good with a computer. Plus, you wouldn't talk to me no matter what I did. I needed to get your attention. Explicitly."

"Still, that was dangerous, if someone else knew—"

"My Abuela is dead."

Paris stared, his eyes wide. The old lady was— Fuck, she always seemed like she wasn't going to croak anytime soon. "Shit, I had no idea."

"Hmm," Marcos said with a careless shrug, though the pain he felt was evident when he rose the glass to his lips, his eyes glassy. "She has always been in my life, you know? Like my shadow. I wasn't always seeing it, but I knew it was there, that it would always be there. Her dying, I—"

The male paused, biting hard into his lower lip and shaking his head in a way that had Paris marching to him, wrapping his arms around his body. "I'm really sorry,"

He felt the boy nod on his chest and pull away again. His nose was red now, and he sniffed, nodding again. "Could you— Come to Wystwood with me? I know you're busy and—"

"Don't complete that statement." Paris cut in, his frown in place. "You know I don't joke with Family."

A grateful smile showed on Marcos' face as he said, "Thank you."

"It's fine. What are brothers for?"