Despite the heat, the city felt colder as night fell, painting the Roman skyline in shades of fire and shadow. From the balcony of his house, Mr Bagrovskiy watched the chaos from above—just another king surveying his burning kingdom.

Haruto stood a few feet behind him, drinking a glass of whiskey. He hadn’t spoken much since the meeting. But he knew the silence wasn’t weakness. It was the calm before the storm.

“You handled them well."

“They’re wolves in sheep's clothing,” he replied without turning. “They’d rather see me fail than admit I’m stronger than their sons.”

He took a sip. “You are wiser… and strong.”

He finally looked at him. “That’s the second time you’ve said something like that. Why?”

“Because I’ve worked with powerful people. Men who bring down governments. And none of them scared me, and wiser as you do.”

A pause. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. Soft, genuine

“You still afraid of me in that state? You asked many questions without thinking first, and you're scared of me. That’s either the best compliment I’ve had in years… or the most dangerous one,” he kept laughing. 

Haruto stepped closer, enough that the chill night air didn’t feel as cold. His heart suddenly beat faster than usual after he saw him laughing. 

“You finally take the mask off."

Mr Bagrovskiy’s expression tightened. “What mask?”

“The one that says nothing gets to you, an evil and expressionless man. That you’re made of marble,” he said as if he was talking to his soul. His heart kept beating fast, and Haruto had no idea why he was feeling that way.

He looked away. “That mask kept me alive. Kept me in control.”

“You should take them off. You look better without them,” he said without thinking, “I… I mean… forget it. That was nonsense,” he said, laughing awkwardly and slapping his own mouth.

He looked at Mr Bagrovskiy to check why he was silent. And their eyes locked. There was tension there — charged, electric, undeniable.

“Do you do it with men, too?” he asked in a serious tone.

“Do what??” he asked with a blank face. "Sorry, Mr Bagrovskiy. I think the whiskey's getting to me… I can't think properly. Do it with men...what?"

He sighs and walks in front of him. “Even without whiskey, you're not thinking properly.”  

He stepped backward. “What?” he lifted his head and looked at him. “I think it’s getting late, Mr Bagrovskiy, you should take a rest. I’ll go to my room also...Good night...”

Haru was shocked because Mr Bagrovskiy pulled him and kissed him hard; he couldn’t resist because his hand wrapped around his waist and neck. He tried to struggle, but he held him tightly, and he got pinned against the wall.

When they pulled apart, he shouted, “H..hey, what do you think you're doing? This can’t happen, you pervert!!”

Pervert? He thought to himself, “It already did."

He smacked Mr Bagrovskiy on the face, and this shocked him at what Haruto did. Haruto mumbles, “Y…You Pervert, asshole!!” Haru is still shocked by what he did, and his face is red. 

Mr Bagrovskiy rushed towards Haruto as if he was going to beat him up. And Haruto was still shocked. “You...” He stopped when his phone suddenly buzzed.

A buzz stopped him—his phone. Gabriel.

He answered, frowning. “What is it?” 

“A warehouse on Via Ferrini. Bombed. San Diego’s signature. We’ve got three dead.”

He hung up, face hardening.

“We move now,” he said, grabbing his coat.

Haruto nodded, clenching his hand. The moment was over—but the memory lingered, burning like embers.

Because beneath the mask, Mr Bagrovskiy was fire. And fire always left a mark.