Chapter 9: A Kiss of Defiance

Leo paced the little office perched on top of his west-side warehouse, boots scraping the weathered wooden floor, the squeak hardly breaking through over the rain's steady drumbeat beating against the tin roof. The air was thick—cigarette smoke hanging heavy in greasy wisps, diesel fumes wafting up through the warehouse below, mixed with the tang of metallic grime from scrubbed but uncleaned bloodstains on Gia's brutal whack last night. The long shadows hung on peeling walls, the solitary swinging bulb casting them, its hum vibrating soft in the darkness. He snapped his Zippo alight—flame crackled sharp against darkness—lit a cigarette, smoking swiftly to choke the heat that was clawing his chest, a fitful fire which had not ceased since Rico's blood drenched his hands in that east-side alley. His phone was dark on the cluttered desk—11:12 p.m., March 04, 2025—no buzz, no call from Vito after he'd dispatched him to case the docks an hour ago, with Leo pinned in the tempest and ghosts of his dead crew. He adjusted his jacket—parchment creased soft—red throbbed faint through the leather, a living belt tightened around his ribcage, constricting tighter with every breath. A gull shrieked far away over the Sound, its scream engulfed in the wail of the storm, and he kicked the leg of the desk—wood groaned deep—smoking in into the shaken light, watching it spin towards the cracked ceiling.

Sleep hadn't come—not real sleep—just ragged nightmares ripping in every time he shut his eyes—Marco's loft—cigar smoke filling the air, thick and suffocating—silk shirt tearing beneath his fingers—claws ripping wild—blood gushing—red—hot—Marco's chest gaping open—Leo's hands wet—sticky—warm—screaming—then Ezra—silent—paint-stained hands smoothing cool—calm—drawing him back—claws folding back—Marco's laughter—low—keen—blending into heat—sweat—release—wild—raw—bolting upright—gasping—heart pounding—damn it—why both—why now? He swept a hand through his wet hair—sticky with sweat—head pounded—vision wavered at the edges—oath seared—choking—unraveling him—piece by jagged piece—thread by thread—until he didn't know what kept him together anymore. The heat wasn't confined to his chest anymore—it climbed up his spine, spiked behind his eyes, a fever he couldn't rid himself of—Marco's hellish scent—cigar smoke—leather—Ezra's silent hazel eyes—paint—soft—both ripping at him—damn them—damn this.

The door burst open—Marco strode in—silk shirt open at the throat—cigar smoldering red between his fingers—silver lighter snapped home with a flick of his wrist—rain glistened on his skin, dripping from his black hair onto the floor—dark eyes locked on Leo's—steady—sharp—damn him—always there—pushing—prying—too close—too often—too much. "Falling apart, Russo? "he said—low voice—smooth—smoking slow—leaning his head to one side—smirk twisting like a knife—rain in small puddles at his feet—silk clung wet to his body—tattoo pulsed—twin-headed raven—crimson—faint—alive—teasing—damn him—why'd it stick like that?

Leo's heart jumped—not hate only—damn it—something else—oath pounding—hot—alive—pulling—always pulling.

"Fuck off," Leo snarled—kicked a chair—wood scraped hard across the floor—flipped his knife—blade caught the dim light of the bulb—charged—slashed air—Marco dodged easily—grabbed his wrist—twisted hard—knife clattered to the floor—shoved him—Leo crashed into the desk—wood creaked—papers flew everywhere—old invoices fluttering like dead leaves—heat roared—claws itched under his nails—shift teased—damn it—fraying fast—control slipping—Marco stepped closer—boots crunched on grit—cigar fell—ember hissed out on the wet floor—grabbed Leo's throat—fingers clamped tight—breath brushed—smoky—hot—dark eyes glinted—calm—too damn calm—pushing—always pushing—past every limit—past every wall.".

“You’re breaking,” Marco growled—voice rough—hand squeezed—Leo’s pulse raced—wild—raw—oath pulsed—crimson flared—heat surged—sharp—suffocating—damn him—why’d it burn so deep? Leo roared—twisted—kicked—boots scraped—Marco grunted—grip slipped—Leo broke free—grabbed Marco’s collar—silk crumpled under his fists—yanked hard—bodies crashed—desk rocked—glass shattered—a whiskey bottle tipped—amber pooled—sticky—spilling over the edge—damn it—snapped—lost it—lips slammed—violent—hard—kissed him—teeth clashed—tongue fought—rage—fire—defiance—wild—raw—Marco froze—split second—then kissed back—fierce—deep—hands gripped—Leo’s waist—pulling tight—silk pressed—leather—damn him—damn this—heat spiked—wild—alive.

Leo's hands wandered—silk tore lightly—skin exposed—Marco groaned—low and rough—lips pressed harder—oath seared—crimson throbbed—hot—sinking—losing—damn it—too much—too quickly—heart pounded—lungs seared—Marco's flavor—smoke—whiskey—pouring in—overwhelming—Leo's nails bit—Marco's shoulders—red stripes welled—silk gave—blood beaded—lightly—hot—Marco's palms slid—lower—gripping—pulling—bodies crushed—hard—wild—raw—Leo's breath caught—gasped—damn it—losing himself again—oath burst—crimson—alive—not just hate—not just rage—something else—damn him—why'd it fit? He pushed—hard—Marco staggered—hit the wall—wood creaked—panting—enraged—Leo cleaned his mouth—blood smudged—bit lip—red—hot—chest heaved—smoke burned his nose—eyes fixed—Marco smirked—dark and steady—damn him—why'd it feel—right—wrong—everything—all at once?

"Run now," Marco said—low voice—raw—straightened—torn silk hung—cigar lost—dark eyes glinted—daring—rain streamed the window behind him—steady—harsh—unrelenting—Leo spat—hit the floor—clutched his knife—flipped it—boots thudded—stormed out—door slammed—rain lashed his face—wind screamed—ran—boots splashed puddles—alley stretched—dark—wet—pulse hammered—not hate—not rage—damn it—something else—unraveling—suffocating—Marco's taste—smoke—whiskey—lingering—burning—damn him—why'd it pull so hard—so deep—so fierce? His head throbbed—vision swirled—heat clawed—oath pulsed—alive—tearing—breaking—damn it—why couldn't he stop? He rounded the corner—boots slipped—crashed—Ezra—there—paint-splattered jeans—hazel eyes open wide—dark—saw it—everything—damn it—no—Leo froze—breath stuck—rain penetrated—jacket adhered—Ezra moved close—quiet—steady—boots scuffed soft—hazel eyes darkened—not anger—something else—something deep—sharp—unreadable—whose heat—whose pull—whose heart—shattered him—next? Ezra's eyes, normally soft and compassionate, now burned with an intensity that made Leo's skin crawl. It was a silent question, an unspoken accusation, a knowledge that cut through Leo's carefully built walls. The rain continued to pour down in driving torrents, echoing the tempest that raged within Leo. He stood naked, exposed, open not to the rain, but to the ferocity of Ezra's gaze. The atmosphere was heavy with unspoken words, with the unspoken treachery that hung heavy between them. The oath pulsed, a burning reminder of the tangled web of loyalties and wants that threatened to overwhelm him. He had to say, to justify, to explain the chaos that had exploded within him, but the words clogged his throat, choking on the weight of his own actions.He was trapped, between Marco's fiery touch and Ezra's quiet understanding, and he didn't know which way to turn.