Chapter Text
Peach couldn’t stop smiling as he carefully closed the door.
Just as he stepped out, he heard a sound he had not heard ever since moving into the mansion. He went down the stairs, already knowing where the sound was coming from.
Thee had said that it was just there for display, but Peach had always felt like it had been used before, long ago, perhaps.
The sound immediately stopped the moment he reached the west wing, where the grand piano was placed. He crossed his arms as he leaned against the frame, unable to stop himself from chuckling at how vigilant his brother-in-law was. Always alert.
“P’Peach,” Rome acknowledged, removing his fingers from the keys.
“Rome,” Peach replied with a smile.
“Have they slept?”
That made Peach laugh.
“Oh, they finally did. Mhork couldn’t stop talking about the bumper cars, while Marn is already planning your next agenda once you come to visit again… something about Disney?” Peach replied, which made Rome smile as well.
“P’Kian will sulk.”
“Oh, don’t mind him,” Peach waved his hand. When did his husband not sulk? Their children loved their Uncle Rome so much that when Rome offered to take them to an amusement park “all secured, I promise. I won’t let harm come upon my nephew and niece” Thee had run a security detail with his brother several times before finally allowing it.
Mhork and Marn had been vibrating with excitement when they left, and they were vibrating with happiness when they returned, running straight into Peach’s arms as they eagerly told him everything they did with Uncle Rome.
Rome seldom came to Thailand. His life was no longer caged in Hong Kong, he was handling the family’s dealings all over the world, wherever he was needed. That was why, when he called for a “play date” with his nephew and niece, Peach agreed without even telling Thee first. It wasn’t like Thee would ever disagree with him.
Rome had laughed at his reply, while Peach’s eyes drifted back to the grand piano once more.
Rome had been playing a melody, an English song that captured him and drew him here. Who would have thought that the youngest of the Arseni did not only hold a gun with deadly precision, but could also play the piano beautifully?
“You play,” Peach said, trying to sound casual. But he saw how Rome averted his gaze as he took a deep sigh.
“Haven’t done so for years…” Rome replied. “I thought of dropping by my room but this caught my attention, I didn’t know the sound would carry that far.” His voice sounded low, almost shy, which made Peach smile.
“You played it well. Slipping Through My Fingers.”
Rome looked at him this time. “You know the song.”
“A classic.”
Rome’s gaze returned to the keys, his fingers touching them, but not pressing.
“It is one of mom’s favorite songs.”
That made Peach press his lips together. He had known his mother-in-law as a positive woman with so much substance behind her classic, eccentric fashion, but she never struck Peach as someone who would choose a song like that as her favorite. It was a song about a parent’s realization of how quickly their children grow up and become independent. It was bittersweet.
Then again, when Peach thought about it, it made sense especially when it came to the Lee brothers. They were forced to grow up quickly. They were awakened to a world where vigilance meant survival, friendliness could be seen as weakness, and peace was always borrowed.
Nathalada must have seen that happening to her sons, thus making the song her favorite.
For Rome to play it tonight…
Peach pulled his lips inward as he stepped closer.
“Thee is running late. They have a meeting with foreign investors who arrived in Bangkok this morning,” Peach said, even though he knew Rome was already aware. Rome had spoken to Thee over the phone that morning to run one more security check for Mhork and Marn’s amusement park date. Thee had to leave early despite wanting to push everything back just to accompany their children. It was Peach who made him leave, knowing how important today’s work was.
Rome simply nodded as he sighed.
“Thee don't play instruments.” It was a statement, Peach knew that much. His husband should never be near any musical instrument. The memory of him playing the handpan was proof enough.
Rome chuckled, shaking his head.
“P’Kian must stay away from any form of music,” Rome replied.
“But you play the piano.”
Rome met his eyes and nodded.
“Mom and Dad are romantics. When we were young, they danced whenever someone played the piano during parties. I… told Mom I wanted to learn,” Rome smiled as he recalled his youth. “When I started learning, P’Kian would be in the same room, reading or watching mom’s lakorn in low volume.”
Peach smiled, vividly picturing the scene.
“Sometimes, Mom would come and listen. When I got better, P’Kian once asked Mom to dance with him.” Rome’s smile turned melancholic. “I played while they danced. It… became our little secret time.”
Tears pricked at the back of Peach’s eyes as he imagined it – young Rome at the piano, young Kian dancing with their mother.
“Then P’Kian entered boarding school for high school. I had to focus on other things, so playing the piano became a luxury.” Rome ran his fingers over the keys again. “One day, I asked Mom what song she wanted me to learn so I could play it for her. She said that song… said it became her favorite.”
Rome pressed a key, then immediately lifted his finger. The sound echoed through the hall.
“It was years later when I realized what the song meant… and what it reflected about our family.”
“N’Rome.”
Rome’s eyes widened a little at the address. Peach does not call him nong. It never felt fitting for a mafia heir. And yet tonight, it felt right.
“This amusement park date… no, this entire trip to Thailand—it wasn’t just a random, impulsive plan, was it?”
Rome let out a breath, then laughed softly.
“No, it wasn’t.”
“What made you?”
Rome looked out the Victorian-style window, where the greenery surrounding the mansion was lit beautifully even in the night.
“I was in Japan,” Rome began. “Let’s just say I helped a friend, and that friend showed me what he would do for his family… something I would do too. Even above and beyond.” There was acid beneath the words, Peach knew it wasn’t simple help.
“He has two children. A girl and a boy. They reminded me of Mhork and Marn.” Rome’s lips pressed into a thin line before he glanced at Peach. “They lost their childhood that night, P’Peach.”
Rome sounded haunted. Peach’s breath hitched.
When Peach accepted Thee as his boyfriend back then, he had also accepted the life Thee carried and how it would change everything. When they adopted Mhork and Marn, Thee promised safety. He promised they would be far from the danger of his world. Peach knew that. Thailand wasn’t safe but Theerakit Kian Lee made sure he was on top of the mountain and no danger came in Thailand without passing through Rome. Even if they never said it aloud, Peach knew.
Mhork and Marn knew about the mafia. Peach didn’t want to hide it from them even if he knew they cannot fully grasp what it meant but Peach wanted them to know about taking good care of themselves, about danger, about trust.
Peach asked for a normal childhood – as normal as possible and Thee promised him that. He has been keeping that promise since Mhork and Marn entered the mansion as their children officially.
“They’re safe now. My friend made sure of that,” Rome said quietly. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about Mhork and Marn. I had to see them, so I made arrangements.”
Peach didn’t openly involve himself with the mafia, but he heard the guards’ whispers no matter how much they tried to keep it down.
Rome was scary.
Scarier than Thee.
On his way to becoming even scarier than their father, Vassili.
He didn’t let emotions dictate his dealings.
He was a thunderstorm no one could control.
Peach knew it must be true.
And yet all Peach saw was a younger brother – spoiled, as Thee claimed but is someone who loved his family fiercely. He loved chocolate cake but couldn’t grill to save his pride. He spoke softly with his family. He adored Mhork and Marn.
He had emotions. Perhaps fewer eccentricities than Thee, though he had his moments – especially when annoying his brother.
“They’re safe,” Peach said gently. “You and Thee are making sure of that.”
Rome laughed dryly as he turned to face him.
“We’ll aim to keep it that way.”
“I know you would.” Peach knew Thee would burn the world before letting harm touch Mhork or Marn.
Peach glanced back at the piano.
“Will you play it again, N’Rome?”
Rome raised a brow, tilting his head.
“I –” Peach didn’t know what to say next but Rome just chuckled, straightened his back, flexed his fingers, then rested them on the keys.
The moment the first note played, Peach leaned against the piano, feeling it vibrate with every sound. He closed his eyes and listened. It was Canon in D, a music that people often learn first when learning how to play the piano… and yet… and yet Peach feels like the song carries more than just its melody as Rome plays.
Then Rome stopped.
Peach opened his eyes, the sudden silence leaving him hollow. Rome glanced sideways as Peach looked toward the entrance.
“Alof.”
“K’Krit, K’Peach,” Alof, Rome’s secretary, bowed as he approached.
“K’Krit, we must leave. Your flight is scheduled in thirty minutes. The plane is being prepared.”
Rome ran his palms over his lap before closing the piano, covering the keys as he stood.
“Ah, P’Peach. I think my performance ends there,” he said, straightening the crease in his trousers.
“I’m glad to be your audience,” Peach replied as they walked away from the west wing.
Rome chuckled, hands buried in his pockets. Peach studied him: cashmere sweater, soft linen trousers, expensive oxfords that should have looked out of place in an amusement park, yet somehow, Peach knew it didn’t.
Thee wore suits like armor. Peach rarely saw Rome wear them. When Rome was in Thailand, Peach knew he was there for family – not as Khun Kritdanai.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Peach wet his lips, unsure if he should. “Where are you headed next?”
Rome laughed, sensing his unease.
“I’m off to Russia.”
“Too bad P’Kian and Mok aren’t here to see you,” Peach said, immediately regretting the slip. He looked at Rome's reaction but the other just smiled and shook his head.
“My purpose was my niece and nephew. I’ve had enough of P’Kian’s whining while we were doing the security detail,” he clicked his tongue. “At least Mhork and Marn can tell him stories. He’ll sulk for missing it.”
Peach smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He waited for Rome to mention Mok. He never did.
Peach wished he could treat Rome like his sister, Plub – to pull him into a hug, to comfort him over a love so beautiful it remained longed for by both sides. He didn’t understand why he and Thee were allowed happiness, while Rome and Mok were denied theirs. Why did the world have to be so unfair?
When they reached the door, the Maybach was already waiting below.
They paused as Rome faced Peach.
“Thank you for letting me borrow my niece and nephew for a day, P’Peach. I didn’t mean to tire them too much… but I think it was a good kind of tired.”
Peach huffed, shaking his head. “A very good one. They won’t stop talking about it for the next two weeks.”
Rome smiled.
“Then I’ll see you around, P’Peach. Take care.”
Peach took a deep breath and nodded.
“You too, N’Rome. Take care.”
Rome went down the stairs and turned back once more to wave before entering the van. Peach watched as the door slid shut. Alof bowed to him before taking the front seat. Peach waited until the van disappeared before turning back inside.
When Thee and Mok arrive, Peach could already imagine his husband’s reaction, how he would mask his worry behind his whines over his younger brother leaving without seeing him.
Peach didn’t know how to face Mok. His heart broke just thinking about seeing his reaction.
Why did the brothers have to go through this?
It made Peach feel guilty. He and Thee basked in love – two years married with two children while Rome and Mok felt like star-crossed lovers. Orbiting each other since they were young. Holding their feelings back. One hoped for freedom someday. The other is bound by the rules he grew up with.
And now, nothing was working out.
Peach looked up the moment he heard the familiar footsteps approaching the west wing. He didn’t know why his feet had brought him back to the grand piano. He just felt like there was something raw left there – like Rome’s heart had been left behind, and he had to accompany it… somehow.
“P’Kian,” Peach smiled as his husband approached him, automatically pressing a kiss to his forehead, which made Peach smile wider.
“Mok,” Peach acknowledged him as well. Gone were the days when he called him khun, at Thee’s insistence, something Mok had agreed to, too.
Thee’s eyes scanned the area, while Mok simply stood there, hands folded in front of him, still holding his bodyguard’s stance.
“Why are you here?” Thee asked. “I was told you’ve been here since earlier.” His gaze shifted to the grand piano. “Do you want to learn how to play? I can –”
Peach was already shaking his head before Thee could continue as he reached out to hold his husband’s wrist.
“No. I just…” Peach paused. “I like it here,” he chose to say.
Thee raised a brow.
“You never really stay here,” Thee pointed out. The west wing was Rome’s. This wing was maintained by the maids.
Peach hesitated, his gaze drifting back to the piano.
“Did he play?” Thee asked quietly, as if wanting only Peach to hear, though Peach could sense a slight shift from Mok in his peripheral vision.
Peach sighed, lowering his head as he gave a small nod.
“I just…” Peach didn’t know what to say.
Thee sighed.
“He left after bringing them home?” Thee asked.
“Yes. He did a short debriefing with me, just as you instructed. Nothing concerning, aside from Marn’s frequent trips to the toilet…” Peach paused, shaking his head, unable to stop himself from smiling fondly. “Only for Rome to find out she was eyeing a princess doll from the souvenir shop near the restroom, but she was too shy to ask for it.”
There were still untouched paper bags inside Marn’s room. Peach had told her she could fix her new things tomorrow. The doll was now securely hugged in her arms as she slept.
Thee smiled as well. He was number one when it came to spoiling their children, never letting them learn the word no – yet Peach’s discipline was still deeply ingrained in them.
“Of course he spoiled them. Our children deserve that much.”
Peach clicked his tongue as he stood. Thee’s arm automatically circled his waist. Years ago, Thee would’ve been floating from a simple touch. Now, at least, he could hold himself back a little.
Peach glanced at the grand piano again. He’d been thinking a lot since Rome left.
“He said he’s off to Russia,” Peach mentioned, glancing at Mok, who stared straight ahead, avoiding everyone’s eyes.
Thee nodded.
“I see. There are some… movements that need to be checked there,” Thee said carefully, glancing at Mok as well.
Peach looked at his husband with concern, but Thee simply shook his head.
“Nothing to worry about.”
Peach nodded, though his eyes lingered on Thee before shifting to Mok.
“Have you eaten dinner, Mok?” Peach asked. Thee had already sent him a photo of his dinner earlier.
Mok blinked, as if being pulled back to awareness after being addressed.
“I have, Khu – Peach.”
Peach smiled at the near slip. Mok still called him khun in public to honor his position as Thee’s partner, but when it was just them, Peach insisted on being called by name.
“That’s great! Then both of you can have some late-night dessert… and I won’t take no for an answer,” Peach said, looping his arm through Thee’s and patting Mok’s shoulder to signal him to follow as he led them to the kitchen.
When they arrived, Peach opened the fridge, revealing a cake box. He took out saucers and utensils and set them in front of Thee and Mok, gesturing for them to sit at the bar stools while he carefully lifted the cake from the box. He placed two slices onto the saucers and slid one each toward Thee and Mok.
Thee smiled as he began eating. Mok only stared at the cake.
A chocolate cake.
“Where is this from?” Thee asked, glancing at the box.
“From the amusement park. The dessert shop caught their attention, and Mhork insisted on bringing something home for us too,” Peach explained simply as he returned the box to the fridge. He leaned against the counter, watching his husband eat. Thee cut a small bite and fed him. Peach smiled and then glanced at Mok.
He hadn’t touched the cake.
Peach swallowed, his gaze shifting to Thee, who followed his line of sight.
“Mok,” Peach called softly.
Mok swallowed, taking a shaky breath as his hand slowly reached for the fork. Peach bit his lower lip, doubting himself, wondering if he had only made things worse.
Mok took one bite. His cheeks barely moved as he chewed, eyes cast downward. It hurt to see this strong young man on the verge of breaking over a slice of cake… though all three of them knew it wasn’t about the cake at all.
Rome came and left without seeing them. It felt deliberate. Like he planned it that way. Planned not to see Mok.
“I’m done,” Thee said as he stood, pushing his empty plate aside. Mok immediately followed suit.
“I’ll clean up,” Mok said hoarsely. Peach was about to protest, but Thee stopped him with a simple shake of his head.
“You’re done for today, Mok,” Thee said as he reached for Peach’s hand.
Peach grimaced, guilt sinking deep. He felt like he’d hurt Mok. He wanted to say something but no words came. Thee squeezed his hand as they walked away.
They hadn’t fully left the kitchen when they heard it.
A soft, restrained sob.
A sound held back for too long – until it finally broke free.
“Oh, P’Kian…” Tears burned in Peach’s eyes as Thee pulled him into an embrace.
“They don’t deserve this… they don’t,” Peach buried his face into his husband’s chest. “I… I didn’t mean to,” he whispered.
“Shh… it’s alright. It’ll be okay,” Thee murmured, gently rubbing his back, knowing Peach’s heart had only been in the right place.
“Why can’t they have good things?” Peach lifted his head, meeting Thee’s tear-filled gaze. “We’re happy… why – why can’t they be?”
Thee pressed his lips together and sighed. Deep down, they both knew the answer. He just refused to say it aloud.
Guilt.
It was guilt that kept them apart.
And that guilt…
Might consume them both.
Thee closed his eyes, pulling Peach closer and letting his head rest against his chest. He couldn’t imagine living Rome’s life. Just the thought made his hold tighten.
The day his parents found out about Peach, the day he had talked to his father about Peach being the right one for him and finally accepting their relationship with their mother already planning for the wedding, Thee had seen the light. He had hoped – he had eagerly hoped that Rome could also talk it out with their father about him and Mok. If only he could do something but he knew his stubborn younger brother could do it by himself. He's extremely capable of doing so.
Who would have thought that things would turn out this way?
They knew Mok would refuse comfort, just like he had three years ago. They were both hurting and this… this wasn’t something Thee could fix on a whim.
Mok pressed his palm against his mouth, as if he could physically force the sound back in. As if grief could be commanded the same way he commanded himself on missions: stop, stand down, move on.
But his tears refused to listen.
They slid hot and relentless, blurring the familiar walls of his room. The same room he had occupied for years. The same room where he had disciplined himself into silence, where he had learned to breathe shallowly so his heart wouldn’t betray him.
Three years.
Three long, unforgiving years since the day his blood soaked into concrete and the world tilted on its axis.
The day he was shot.
Mok squeezed his eyes shut, but the memories came anyway, sharp, vivid, merciless.
He remembered the sound first. The gunshot echoed too close. The smell of iron. The weight of his body hitting the ground before his mind could catch up. He remembered thinking, absurdly, This is inconvenient. Remembered worrying not about himself, but about how making sure Thee was safe.
He had thought of Rome too, on the moments when he could hear the rest of the bodyguards arriving for backup while he was sure that Thee was safe beside him, calling his name, asking him to stay awake.
He had thought of Rome. His smile, his laughter, of how Mok missed him.
When Mok awakened with IV hooked on his arm, cannula on his nose, and a crushing ache on where the bullet hit, Mok learned that Rome had dropped everything and came.
Rome had annihilated the Pithakorn family. He brought down the entire syndicate group. No negotiations, no warnings, no survivors.
When the plans for the wedding of Peach and Thee started, it had become grand without them meaning to – the CEO of Arseni is marrying a famous Thai photographer. His mother, Nathalada, a former actress and model is the one organizing the wedding.
And so, no matter how much they wanted to keep it from the eyes of the enemies, there were too many variables.
The Phithakorn family had a long standing beef with Thee, both in the underground and the legal business.
When they learned that Thee had negotiations with someone from the Shohei family, they thought that Thee had gone soft. That love had weakened him, not knowing that there was another reason why Thee started working with the Shohei family. That is all because Plub had fallen in love with Touch, one of the sons of the Shohei family who chose independence and freedom, giving way to his brothers to continue their family legacy in the Yakuza.
They thought they could get to Thee now. They were wrong.
But the cost –
Mok’s breath hitched as his fingers curled into the bedsheet.
Nathalada.
The cost was the matriarch of the family.
Rome had been in Japan by his mother’s side. It was a quiet visit that was supposed to be peaceful, away from the blood and violence. Rome had been with her when the call came.
She had been left alone.
Surrounded by hundreds of bodyguards, yes – but even that hadn’t been enough. There was an attempt. There was chaos and resulted in her injury. There was a huge terror of almost losing her.
Vassili’s rage had been absolute. Even after Nathalada was confirmed to be safe.
Rome had come back to a father who looked at him like a failure incarnate.
Nathalada had insisted to her husband that it was not Rome’s fault. That she has allowed his departure.
Vassili did not hear any of it. He had looked at Rome like a son who had chosen wrong. Like a man who had abandoned his duty.
Rome had taken it all. No apologies could change what happened.
The people responsible had been killed, all through Vassili’s gun. Rome had cleaned up for the rest but he knew it would never be enough.
Rome still returned to Thailand to see him.
Mok had seen it in his eyes when Rome visited the hospital – dark circles, hollowed cheeks, shoulders held too rigid. A man standing upright only through sheer will.
And Mok had broken.
He had begged to be punished the moment he could leave the bed despite Thee’s insistence that he would not allow him to ask for that.
The memory still made his chest constrict. He had been barely standing, stitches pulling, pain radiating through his body, and yet he had bowed anyway. Had asked for consequences. Had asked for atonement.
Vassili had refused.
“You were doing your job.”
Those words had sealed everything.
Because Mok knew then – truly knew that the price had already been paid elsewhere. That Rome was paying it with every breath.
Mok now learned the reason why do not fall in love was a rule. He had learned it the hard way.
So Mok had made a choice.
He had stopped seeing Rome the way he did before.
He told himself it was logical. That it was duty. That it was for safety. The safest thing they could ever do for the family, for Nathalada, for Rome himself was distance.
He rejected Rome’s calls. His messages. His attempts to reach out, each one careful, restrained, aching between the lines.
“I am Thee’s secretary.”
“I am his bodyguard.”
“Stop treating me differently. I am your family’s employee.”
And when Rome just wouldn’t stop trying despite Mok seeing how he had been carrying the guilt of what happened to his mother, Mok decided on a way he knew would work.
“There is nothing between us, Khun Krit. Please do not confuse a teenage infatuation in the past with what we have in the present. I am your employee, please treat me like one.”
He remembered the silence that followed. Not immediate – Rome had resisted at first. Tried once more. Twice. Then… nothing.
Rome had taken a step back.
And the pain…
God, the pain had been unbearable.
It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t dramatic. It was quiet and deep. The kind that settled into the bones and refused to leave. The kind that didn’t heal, only hardened.
Rome stopped coming to Thailand.
And Mok buried himself in work. He stood beside Thee, organized schedules, guarded doors, followed every order to a T. He watched Thee and Peach have something that he may never have. He's happy for them. Happy that whatever happened to him and Rome did not affect Vassili’s blessings to their relationship, to their union.
But sometimes – sometimes, the happiness hurts.
Because it showed him what was possible. And what he had chosen to give up.
The universe, cruel as it was meticulous, made sure they never truly crossed paths. Always a missed arrival. A departure too early. Everything was at the wrong time.
Even at the wedding.
Mok swallowed hard, tears spilling freely now.
It was the first time they saw each other after Mok had said those words, after Rome had stepped back.
He was not there during the preparation but he came on the wedding day.
Rome had appeared like a ghost – there for the vows, there for the embrace with his brother, there to welcome Peach (and Plub) into the family.
Mok had not stepped in his way, stayed away as much as possible and yet he felt his presence the whole time and then he was gone.
Always gone before Mok could even give him a second glance.
The next time Mok saw him was during the arrival of the 4-year old Mhork and 3-year old Marn in the family, officially adopted by Thee and Peach from the orphanage a few months after their marriage.
Mok loved them. Truly. He had vowed to protect them as much as he protects Thee and Peach. They called him uncle Mok at Peach's insistence.
They added more color to the Lee family’s life after Peach and Plub.
Mhork and Marn adored their uncle Rome whose face they seldom see but presence undeniably there. A package sent from New York because uncle Rome saw it and thought Mhork and Marn would love it. A gift sent from Hong Kong just because. Several sets of new clothes in correct sizes because Rome knew it’ll look good on them.
Now, the children are six and five and they have learned how to use the phone which ended up with them learning how to video call with their uncle Rome. And Rome answers, no matter what timezone he was in, he would answer with a wide smile on his face as he listens to Mhork and Marn tell him stories about their day.
Most of the time, Mok would be there, assigned babysitter by Thee because he’d rather lend his secretary to his children than have others look after them (though Peach would often protest this).
Mok would listen to Rome’s voice while feeling the pain in his heart like a masochist. He would stand away from the camera but would sometimes take a glance, just once or twice… just to see Rome’s face over the screen.
He knew this was the choice he made. They cannot make any mistakes again. That one time Rome did, it almost caused them the matriarch and Mok wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if something happened to Nathalada, the woman who had reached out to him during his darkest times and brought him to the family that meant so much to him.
Mok held himself together. He told himself again and again: This is the rule. This is the boundary. This is how you keep everyone safe.
Until tonight.
Until a slice of chocolate cake undid his resolve.
Until Peach’s nod confirmed what Mok already feared when they were told by the butler that Peach was at the west wing – Rome had played.
The piano.
The memory crashed into him without mercy.
The last time he heard Rome play the piano was in the boarding school.
It was late, students were already returning to their dorms. It was almost the end of the semester and Thee and Mok, who had skipped a grade, were graduating then.
Rome pulled him into the music room. He will never forget. He knew Rome plays the piano at home, he seldom sees him play playful notes and then would stand and leave to do more important matters than music.
Rome's fingers settled on the keys, hesitant at first and when their eyes met, his confidence rose, his playing sounded sure.
Mok found the melody familiar, it felt like Rome was talking to him through the song. He felt something flutter inside him as he listened.
And when the last note faded, Rome patted the space beside him. Mok walked in careful steps and sat beside him.
Rome then revealed the title.
The Last One.
Then he played again, this time he was singing. Soft, unpolished, broken Thai and yet he sounded earnest. Mok could still remember how his heart was pounding so loud, he thought Rome might hear it.
When the song ended, Mok’s head had found Rome’s shoulder naturally, like it belonged there.
There had been a promise in that silence.
Unspoken.
Fragile.
Sacred.
And now –
Now Rome was oceans away. More than distance separating them, there are rules, guilt, blood, family.
Mok had refused to fight for their love. And in doing so, had forced Rome to stop fighting too.
His sob finally broke free, ripping from his chest as he curled inward on the bed. His hands shook as he pressed them to his face, shoulders trembling.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the dark. He didn’t know who it was for anymore.
He cried until his chest ached, until his throat burned, until exhaustion dragged him under.
And somewhere far away –
Rome stared at the dark cabin of a plane, fingers twitching to his wrist as if searching for a bracelet that wasn't there, heart breaking in the same quiet, merciless way.
Rome knew his arrival in Moscow would end with blood. Perhaps that was why he chose to see Mhork and Marn first – to anchor himself to something soft before the inevitable violence. To remind himself that there were still things worth protecting, even if his hands would never be clean enough to touch them without staining them red.
The deal had been rotten from the very beginning. Rome knew it the moment the information crossed his desk. The routes were sloppy. The silence around the players is too deliberate. But his father instructed him to intercept and when Vassili wanted something, the world bent… or broke.
Ever since his father has handed over the mafia side of the family to him, he thrived to prove that he is capable of handling things.
So Rome pushed through.
He already knew the ending Vassili wanted. There was never going to be a negotiation. Never a compromise. The only acceptable conclusion was annihilation.
Still, Rome gathered information as he cannot afford any failure. Not now.
And when he uncovered the truth, something ugly and feral coiled inside his chest.
They were trafficking Asians – Southeast Asians teenagers, boys and girls, barely grown into their limbs, sold like merchandise for obscene prices. Numbers instead of names, bodies instead of lives.
Rome didn’t feel rage explode inside him.
It settled: cold, heavy and absolute that he saw red the moment he entered the warehouse.
The first gunshot cracked through the air like a starting bell.
Two hours.
That was how long it took to end everything because the other came prepared with guns and people.
Two hours of blood and screams and commands barked in clipped Russian and English. Two hours of bodies hitting concrete. Two hours of Rome moving like a machine, efficient and merciless, because mercy had no place here.
When it was over, the silence felt unnatural.
Fifty-five.
That was the final count.
Fifty-five teenagers, ranging from fourteen to nineteen of different nationalities. Some clutching each other. Some shaking. Some were staring into nothing, eyes too old for their faces.
They were scared, traumatized in ways Rome could not imagine.
Rome stood there, gun still warm in his hand, chest rising and falling slowly.
He would never call himself good. He had long stopped pretending he could be. The blood on his hands was real. Permanent.
But something inside him eased, just a fraction.
Because this – this mattered.
And because it reminded him of someone.
Mok.
Mok, who had been sold by his own father like he was disposable.
Mok, who had wandered off a blazing building the Arseni burned to end the human tracking where Mok was once shackled in.
Mok, who had been found by Nathalada with gentle hands, kind voice, an offer instead of a command.
Mok, who Vassili approved of not because of pity, but because of potential.
Mok, who became Thee’s shadow.
Mok, who became Rome’s world.
Until he wasn’t.
Mok had been in this situation back then. That is why human tracking, parents abandoning their children is a sore topic for Rome. He hates them. He feels for Mok.
Rome’s jaw tightened as he watched his people guide the rescued teenagers toward the transport vehicles. The Arseni would offer them a choice: shelter, education, training. A future that wasn’t dictated by fear. But Rome refused to call it salvation. He did not believe in that. He'd like to call it a chance. And it is up to them to decide.
He turned away, signaling Alof to follow.
Then he saw him.
A boy lagging behind the group.
Tall but painfully thin. Glasses slightly crooked. His arms wrapped around himself as if trying to fold into nothing. His steps are uneven. His head bowed.
Rome’s chest tightened so sharply it almost hurt to breathe.
It was like looking at a ghost.
Mok.
Not the man he was now – but the boy he used to be. The one who learned too early how to disappear so the world wouldn’t hurt him more than it already had.
Rome lifted a hand sharply.
“Klev,” he said.
One of his close aides turned immediately.
“Help him,” Rome ordered, voice low. “He’s injured.”
Klev nodded without question and moved toward the boy.
Rome didn’t wait to see more.
He walked away.
Because if he stayed – if he looked any longer, he might do something reckless. Something human. Something that would split him open right there on blood-soaked concrete.
Alof followed silently, as he always did.
Alof had been there back then. He had seen Mok arrive in the family, quiet, guarded, eyes sharp with survival. He had seen Rome watch him without realizing he was doing it. Had seen the way Rome’s voice softened, the way his steps unconsciously matched Mok’s pace.
Alof knew what his master had seen.
And he felt the same hollow ache he had carried for three years now.
If only there was something he could do.
Anything.
Thee had his happiness: A husband, children, laughter filling the halls of the mansion.
Rome was thriving, by all external measures. He’s powerful, respected, and feared. He did everything expected of him. Everything demanded.
Why wasn’t that enough?
Why couldn’t his young master be allowed something more than duty?
Why couldn’t the patriarch, Vassili see it?
Why couldn’t he see that his son was breaking – quietly, catastrophically?
They reached the vehicles.
Alof slid into the shotgun seat and signaled the driver to move and the engine roared to life.
Rome leaned back against the leather seat, closing his eyes briefly. For just a second, Mok’s face surfaced in his mind, not the stoic man in a tailored suit, but the boy in a dim music room, head resting against Rome’s shoulder, a promise hanging unspoken in the air.
Alof’s phone rang. The secretary stiffened, checking the caller ID before answering.
“Yes,” he said.
There was a pause.
Then Alof’s grip tightened around the phone.
“…Understood.”
He ended the call and turned slowly to face Rome.
“One of the Sicily safe houses was breached,” Alof reported.
Rome’s eyes opened.
All warmth drained from them.
“Details?” he asked calmly.
“Not yet. But it’s deliberate.”
Rome exhaled once, sharp and controlled.
“Change course,” he said. “We’re going to Italy.”
The car sped forward, carrying him toward another storm.
And somewhere far away, Mok stood at the side, chest aching with a pain he had taught himself to endure as he listened to Mhork and Marn talk their hearts out about their new friends. Thee and Peach listening attentively, catching fallen pieces of food while their children animatedly explain a new learning in school.
“Uncle Rome showed me a video of the Symphony of lights! My classmate saw it, can we see it with uncle Rome too?”
Mok had to look ahead, not wanting to show Thee anything as his heart continued to break… never knowing how close Rome was to breaking in the same way.