Chapter 2: Pact in the Rain

Leo slammed the warehouse door behind him, the thud bouncing off the concrete walls. He tossed the damp parchment onto a metal table—edges curled from the rain—and checked his watch, the glass fogged wet: 1:12 a.m. He ran a hand through his soaked hair, shaking off drops—habit kicking in when his temper flared. Rain lashed the windows, a steady roar against the tin roof, and a spider crawled slow up the glass, legs twitching black. He flicked it off with his thumb—hit the floor, scurrying away—and cursed Marco’s raid under his breath. He pulled his Zippo from his jacket, lit a cigarette—flame snapped bright—puffing smoke slow to steady his pulse.

He stepped to the table, boots scuffing the gritty floor, and unfolded the parchment. Crimson script glowed faint under the bulb’s hum—“Alpha binds alpha—oath of blood”—words twisted old and sharp. He kicked a crate nearby—wood splintered loud—splinters scattering across the concrete. “Bullshit!” he yelled, voice echoing off the walls, but a pull tugged his chest—quick, alive—Marco’s dark eyes flashed in his mind—smirking, too close—damn it. He grabbed the whiskey bottle from the shelf—twisted the cap—poured a shot into a chipped glass—downed it fast—burn hit his throat—set it down—glass clinked soft.

The door banged open—Vito stormed in—grabbing the bottle—tilting it back for a swig—habit when his nerves jangled. Whiskey dribbled down his chin—gray stubble glinting wet. “Marco’s playing you—saw his crew peel out,” he said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve—flannel stained dark from the rain. He nodded at the parchment, brow creasing. “What’s that?”

Leo brushed his jacket, shoving the pact into his pocket—crumpling parchment crinkled loud. “Nothing,” he muttered, lighting another cigarette—Zippo snapped again—puffing smoke to dodge the question. He grabbed his knife from the table—flipped it once—slipped it into his belt—headed for the door—boots splashed a puddle by the threshold. “Keep the crew tight—I’m out,” he said, stepping into the night—rain soaked his boots—wind bit his face—a passerby in a hood stared from the pier—Leo flipped him off—strode into the dark.

He pulled his phone—texted Ezra—“Crash tonight—your place.” Rain pelted his leather—hair stuck slick to his forehead—boots crunched wet gravel as he cut through alleys—water trickled down brick walls—a crow flapped overhead—cawing sharp—black wings slicing the mist. Marco’s shove replayed—hot breath—hard grip—damn smirk—Leo kicked a trash can—metal clanged loud—echoed off the narrow walls—why’d it stick?

Marco’s east-side loft rose sharp against the skyline—glass and steel jutting over the waterfront—rain streaked the windows like tears. Leo slipped a lockpick from his sleeve—jiggled the back door—clicked it open—kicked it wide—frame rattled soft. He stepped in—boots scuffed polished wood—air smelled of cigar smoke and leather—Marco’s scent—damn it again. He flipped his knife—stalked through—dark hall stretched—city lights glinted faint through glass.

Marco stood by a bar—shirt open—silk parted—lighting a cigarette—silver lighter snapped—smoke curled slow. He smirked, tilting his head—dark hair fell damp across his brow. “Knew you’d come, Russo,” he said, voice low—smooth—puffing smoke like he owned the air. Leo pulled the pact from his pocket—slammed it on the bar—glassware rattled faint—crumpling parchment glowed crimson under the dim lamp. “What’s this?” he snapped, stepping close—boots scuffed—knife flipped once in his hand—smoke stung his nose.

Marco stubbed his cigarette in a crystal ashtray—ember hissed out—grabbed Leo’s wrist—twisted light—parchment crinkled between them. “You’re mine—oath says,” he said, voice cutting low—dark eyes locked—too close—too steady. Leo yanked free—kicked a barstool—wood scraped loud—flipped his knife—point grazed Marco’s chest—silk parted—skin bared—red line welled faint—blood beaded slow—warm.

“You’re insane,” Leo said, stepping back—boots scuffed—puffing air—he lit another cigarette—Zippo snapped—smoke curled thick—Marco’s grip lingered—hot—why’d it burn? He brushed his jacket—pocket bulged—parchment glowed—pulse quickened—sharp—alive—Marco’s smirk widened—damn him—damn this.

Marco poured a whiskey—glass clinked—slid it across—ice rattled soft. “Read it—blood don’t lie,” he said, leaning on the bar—shirt open—cigar smoke lingered—dark eyes glinted—city lights flashed behind—rain streaked glass—steady—relentless. Leo grabbed the glass—downed it—burn hit—set it down—clink echoed—checked his watch—1:49 a.m.—ran a hand through his hair—wet strands stuck.

He pulled the pact—unfolded it slow—crimson glowed brighter—“Bound by blood—alpha to alpha—life or death”—letters twisted—old ink pulsed—hot—like a vein. He kicked the bar—metal rang—glass tipped—shattered soft—ice skittered. “What game, Vitale?” he said, voice low—knife flipped—smoke puffed—Marco stepped close—too close—breath brushed—smoky—warm.

“No game—truth,” Marco said, grabbing Leo’s collar—tugging light—silk brushed leather—dark eyes locked—steady—sharp—Leo’s pulse jumped—not just hate—damn it—why? He shoved Marco—chest bumped—silk crumpled—boots scuffed—Marco laughed low—released—stepped back—lit another cigarette—smoke curled slow.

Leo brushed his sleeve—grabbed his phone—texted Vito—“Check east—now.” He slipped it back—pocket crinkled—parchment glowed—faint—alive—kicked a stool again—wood tipped—clattered loud—turned for the door—boots splashed a puddle—rain drummed on—Marco’s voice cut—“You feel it—don’t you?”

He froze—hand on the knob—twisted it—door creaked—wind blasted—rain pelted his face—crow screeched—faint—dark wings vanished—passerby stared—hood up—Leo flipped him off—stepped out—boots crunched wet gravel—Marco’s laugh trailed—low—sharp—damn him—damn this—pull tightened—hot—alive—why’d it stick?

He pulled his Zippo—lit another cigarette—flame snapped—puffing smoke—rain soaked his jacket—boots scuffed—parchment burned in his pocket—crimson pulsed—steady—like a heartbeat—Marco’s eyes—dark—smirking—damn it—why? He tossed the cigarette—ember hissed out—checked his watch—2:03 a.m.—ran a hand through his hair—wet—sticky—headed west—rain fell—relentless—a shadow moved—quick—gone—passerby or worse? He grabbed his knife—flipped it—strode on—wind howled—what pact woke—what bound him now?