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Chapter Text

Sal Deluca's reflection stared back at him from the darkened monitor screens; his face carved from stone and solitude. The leather of his chair creaked as he leaned forward, squinting at the ledger spread across his mahogany desk. The numbers never lied. That's why Sal trusted them more than people. Numbers were clean, precise – unlike the messy business of loyalty.

"Fucking Diaz," he muttered, tracing his finger down the column of figures. Three weeks with no payments from Ramon's operation. Three weeks of disrespect.

The surveillance feeds flickered across the wall of screens – his gambling operations humming along like well-oiled machines. The casino downtown, the high-stakes poker rooms in Midtown, the betting parlors scattered across his territory. All of them generating rivers of cash that flowed directly into his coffers.

All except Ramon's debt.

Sal reached for the crystal tumbler on his desk, the amber whiskey catching the dim light as he swirled it. The burn down his throat was familiar, comforting even. The massive penthouse around him fell silent save for the gentle hum of the air conditioning. Fifty floors up, and still the emptiness pressed in.

Sal loosened his tie and sank into the leather chair, feeling its cool embrace against his neck. Forty years old next month. No wife. No kids. No one to inherit the kingdom he'd built on the bones of his enemies. His father would have laughed at him. Old man Deluca had died in a pool of his own blood outside a dive bar in Queens, still clutching a roll of twenties from his last collection. The man had been a brute, but he'd never questioned his purpose. Never felt this... hollowness.

He tapped his gold signet ring against the desk – one, two, three times – a habit he'd developed over the twenty-five years he'd ruled the Deluca family. Three taps for luck, though Sal had never believed in luck. Only power and consequences.

The intercom buzzed. "Boss, the reports from the docks are in."

"Leave them," Sal said, his voice like gravel. "And get Tony in here."

He stood, straightening his tailored suit jacket and removing his tie. The mirror on the far wall reflected a man still fit, still dangerous, silver threading through his dark brown hair. What it couldn't show was the hollow feeling that had taken residence in his chest these past few years.

Tony appeared in the doorway, broad-shouldered and expressionless. Fifteen years as Sal's right hand had taught him to read the boss's moods. "Problem?"

Sal tapped the ledger. "Ramon Diaz. Three weeks, no payment."

Tony's jaw tightened. "Want me to send a message?"

"No." Sal closed the ledger with deliberate care. "We're going to deliver this message personally. Get the car. We're paying Ramon a visit at that nightclub of his."

"The El Refugio?"

"Yes." Sal slipped his 9mm into his shoulder holster, the weight of it familiar and reassuring. "Time to remind him who runs this city."

As Tony left to make arrangements, Sal stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the city lights spread below like fallen stars. His empire. His prison. He'd built it all from nothing, climbed over bodies to get here, and for what? To drink alone in a penthouse, feared by everyone, known by no one.

The thought vanished as quickly as it had come. Tonight wasn't about existential crises. Tonight was about respect. And Sal Deluca would have his respect, one way or another.

xxx

Eddie traced a fingertip over the purple-yellow bruise blooming beneath his right eye. The makeup would cover it, it always did—but the memory of how it got there would linger long after the foundation and concealer worked their magic. One hour until showtime. One hour to transform from Ramon Diaz's disappointing son into the star attraction that kept the club packed and the money flowing. The dressing room door crashed open without a knock. Eddie's spine stiffened before he even saw his father's reflection appear in the mirror behind him.

"You're not ready." Ramon's voice filled the small space, heavy with disapproval.

Eddie didn't turn around. "I have time."

"Time?" Ramon laughed, the sound sharp as broken glass. "We have important guests tonight. They've heard about you." He moved closer, his cologne—expensive, suffocating—preceding him.

Eddie's fingers curled around the edge of the vanity. "I'll be ready."

"You will be perfect." Ramon placed a hand on Eddie's shoulder, the weight of it making Eddie's stomach clench. "This deal means expansion. It means power. And you, mi hijo, you are the bait that will hook them."

The grip tightened, and Eddie fought not to wince. In the mirror, he watched his father's face—so like his own, yet harder, colder—break into what passed for a smile.

"They want a private show after. Just you."

Eddie's throat constricted. "Father, I don't—"

"You don't what?" The smile vanished. "You don't appreciate everything I've given you? The roof over your head? The clothes on your back?" Ramon's fingers dug deeper. "After your mother left, who took care of you? Who made sure you had everything you needed?"

The familiar script. Eddie knew his lines by heart.

"You did," he whispered.

"And now you repay me by doing what you do best." Ramon released him, straightening the collar of Eddie's silk robe with deceptive gentleness. "Dancing. Smiling. Making men want to give me their money."

Eddie nodded, his reflection doing the same—a beautiful puppet with invisible strings.

"The new shipment arrives during your first set," Ramon continued, voice lower now. "Miguel will handle distribution while everyone's eyes are on you. Understand?"

"Yes."

Ramon patted his cheek, right over the bruise. Eddie didn't flinch. Couldn't. Wouldn't.

"That's my boy." Ramon moved toward the door. "One hour. I want to see you rehearse before the doors open."

When the door closed, Eddie released the breath he'd been holding. He reached for his makeup kit with steady hands, trained to never tremble, no matter what. The bruise would disappear. The fear would be swallowed. The charm would be painted on as carefully as the eyeliner.

By showtime, Eddie Diaz would be reborn: desired, admired, untouchable. At least until the music stopped and the lights went down.

Chapter Text

The dimly lit interior of El Refugio buzzed with the quiet hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the soft beat of Latin jazz playing in the background. The club, with its elegant décor and high-end clientele, was a far cry from the grimy underground world it often hosted.

Sal strode in, the gleam of his patent leather shoes reflecting the low lights. He moved with the air of a man who commanded respect, brushing past tables with nods from patrons who recognized him instantly.

Sal's gaze swept over the room as he made his way past the crowded tables, searching for Ramon. He slipped through a door marked "Private" and the pulse of music grew louder. Neon lights danced across the walls, illuminating the stage where several strippers moved to the rhythm.

His eyes caught on a man in the center of it all, standing apart from the others. Brown hair clung damply to his forehead, and his lean, muscular build glistened under the lights. Sal stopped in his tracks, struck by how gorgeous the man was.

As he looked closer, Sal noticed dark bruises marring the smooth skin of the man's arms and ribs. More telling than the injuries was the defeated look in his eyes, a weary resignation that stood stark against the lively swirl of colors and sound around him.

Sal's heart knocked against his ribs, a mix of anger and something else he couldn’t quite name. Maybe pity. Maybe recognition. The man looked up, their eyes locking for a heavy moment.

Fear, confusion, and then a flicker of hope flashed across the man's face before a wary caution took over. Sal watched, transfixed, until a sudden shift in the dancers’ gaze broke the connection. He turned to see three men entering through another door: Ramon, flanked by two hulking guards.

Ramon wore a grin that was all bravado and charm, but there was unease in his eyes when he caught sight of Sal. The music thudded on as they made their way towards him, and Sal glanced back at the dancer. The man stood motionless now, staring blankly into the distance with hollow eyes.

Sal's jaw tightened. He turned sharply on his heel and stepped towards Ramon, cutting right through the heart of the room. The crowd parted for him as if sensing the heat between them.

“Ramon!” Sal's voice was smooth but carried an edge that sliced through the noise.

Ramon raised a hand in greeting, teeth flashing white against his tanned skin. "Sal, What an unexpected pleasure. I don't recall seeing your name on the guest list tonight." he said warmly when they were close enough to speak without shouting over the music.

"That's because I don't need an invitation to collect what's mine." Sal kept his voice low, but the steel beneath it was unmistakable.

"Always business with you," Ramon replied with a playful shrug. "But let's get a drink first, eh?"

One of the guards pulled out a chair for Sal at a table set apart from the stage. Sal hesitated for a heartbeat, glancing once more at the dancer who had drawn him in like a magnet. The man hadn't moved at all.

“Fine,” Sal said finally, settling into his seat across from Ramon. His eyes locked onto Ramon's, unblinking. “Let's talk about what you owe me.”

Ramon leaned back, kicking a leg over his knee as a server placed two glasses of tequila in front of them. He raised his glass in a mock toast, but Sal didn’t flinch.

"Three weeks, Ramon."

"Business has been slow," Ramon spread his hands. "You know how it is."

"Bullshit." Sal placed his palms on the table, leaning forward. "Your club is packed every night. The girls are working. The shipments are moving. My cut doesn't just disappear because you decide not to pay."

“Come on, Sal.” Ramon’s voice dipped into something coaxing. “I just need more time.”

Sal’s gaze was steady and unyielding. “I’m not your bank, Ramon.”

Ramon chuckled like they were sharing a joke, but there was tension behind it. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing around the room as if looking for backup or inspiration. “Give me another week,” he said finally.

Sal leaned in closer, lowering his voice so only Ramon could hear over the pounding music. “You’ve got one week.”

The air between them crackled like static electricity. Ramon's smile faltered for just an instant before he plastered it back on.

“I’ll come through,” Ramon promised.

“You’d better.” Sal pushed his chair back abruptly and stood up.

This time he looked straight at the dancer, who was now standing at the edge of the stage like he might bolt at any second. Sal felt something twist inside him—something tight and unresolved.

Ramon followed Sal’s gaze, a knowing look creeping into his eyes. “I see you’ve met Eddie,” he said casually. “He’s the jewel of El Refugio, you know. Brings in our high rollers.”

Sal's mouth was set in a hard line. “Who is he?”

“Does it really matter?” Ramon leaned back, playing it cool but watching Sal intently.

Sal turned to face him fully, eyes dark with intensity. “How did he get the bruises?”

Ramon shrugged, tilting his head in mock innocence. “Occupational hazard?” His smile was razor thin. “He’s not as delicate as he looks.”

Sal’s fists clenched at his sides. He glanced back at Eddie, who stood frozen like a deer caught in headlights.

“You’d better hope not,” Sal said flatly, the edge of a threat in his voice.

Ramon's eyes gleamed with a challenge. “What’s he to you, anyway?”

“One week,” Sal repeated, daring Ramon to push him further.

Ramon exhaled like he’d won a small victory. “Understood.”

Sal turned on his heel, pausing once more to look at Eddie. The dancer had moved closer, lips parted as if he were about to speak. Sal’s heart thudded in his chest, but before anything could be said, Eddie seemed to lose his nerve.

With a sharp breath, Sal marched out of the room. His own two guards fell into step behind him as they made their way through the crowd and back out into the crisp night air. The city lights blurred past during the drive back to Sal’s penthouse. He stared out the window, jaw tight and thoughts racing. By the time they reached his building, he felt wound up like a live wire.

Tony closed the door behind them as they entered the penthouse’s expansive living room. “Drink?” Tony offered, already pouring.

Sal shook his head and sank into the leather couch, “I need you to find out everything you can about that dancer.”

Tony handed him a tumbler of whiskey anyway. “The one from El Refugio?”

“Eddie.” The name felt strange on Sal’s tongue—too intimate somehow—but he didn’t flinch from it. “I want to know who he is and why Ramon thinks he's so valuable.”

“Got it.” Tony nodded, slipping seamlessly into business mode. “Anything else?”

Sal took the glass and stared down at it for a long moment before setting it aside untouched. “No,” he said finally. “Just get it done quick.”

Tony left without another word, and Sal leaned back into the couch, staring up at the ceiling with a mix of frustration and determination gnawing at him. Eddie’s hollow eyes haunted him; they stood out against the dark like stars in the night sky—distant, untouchable, yet impossible to ignore.

In his mind he knew he should ignore it, the club was full of men and women trained to be admired, to tempt and tease and disappear when the lights went down.

But this one… he wasn’t like the others.

Something about him felt wrong—not because of how he moved, but because of the bruises he didn’t bother to cover.

Because of the exhaustion in his eyes.

Because of the way Ramon was watching him like a man watching a product.

xxx

Eddie was in the backroom getting changed, his thoughts on the night’s event rolling in his head.

Eddie didn’t look at the patrons.

He never did. If he looked at them, he’d see what they wanted. He’d see their hunger, the way they leaned in, waiting for him to give them more than he was willing to. So, he kept his gaze fixed just over their heads, focused on the lights, the music, the rhythm that had long since lost its meaning.

He moved because he had to.

Because Ramon’s men watched from the edges of the room. Because if he stopped, there would be consequences. His ribs still ached from the last time he’d said no.

A sharp whistle cut through the air. Someone at a private table. Someone with money, with power. Someone who thought they could buy a piece of him if they threw enough cash at his father.

Eddie didn’t flinch. He never flinched.

He shifted, turning his back to the crowd, rolling his hips in a movement that made the audience exhale in approval. He heard the murmur that rippled through the room—some of them liked seeing the bruises it. Some of them wanted to be the ones to put those marks there.

His stomach turned, but his expression didn’t change.

Another song. Another performance. Another night in a place he couldn’t escape.

But then he noticed a different gaze. The handsome man in a tailored black suit was watching him. He was tall, broad-shouldered and muscular, his frame carrying the quiet strength of someone who knew exactly how to command a room. Tattoos peeked from beneath his crisp shirt collar and traced down his wrists where the cuffs didn’t quite hide the ink, hints of dark stories written across his skin. Not the way the others watched him—not with hunger and not with amusement. Eddie wasn’t sure how to name it. The man had looked at him like he was seeing him. The intensity of it left Eddie breathless on stage, unsure of how to react. For a moment he thought maybe the man would say something—do something—but then the stranger turned back to his father.

The man gave him one last look and Eddie had almost called out to him. Almost stepped forward and spoken a word that could have changed everything or nothing at all. But fear held him back, and he’d stayed silent, watching as the man disappeared into the crowd. The memory of those eyes lingered in his mind, different from any other gaze he'd felt before. Different enough to stand out against years of faces blending into one another.

He wondered if the man might come back. If he should want him to.

His thoughts were broken by the sudden burst of Ramon’s voice, slicing through the haze.

“Well?” Ramon strode in, eyes sharp and demanding. “What did you think?”

Eddie tensed, feeling the chill that always accompanied his father’s presence.

“About what?”

Ramon’s mouth twisted into a semblance of a smile. “Our guest.”

Eddie didn’t respond right away, keeping his face carefully neutral as he stripped off his shirt, wincing as he raised his arm over his head. “Who is he?” he asked

“Sal Deluca, head of the Italian mafia. He means business,” Ramon continued with satisfaction. “But you know what I liked best? The way he couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

“I didn’t notice.” Eddie lied smoothly, but he could feel Ramon probing for cracks in his armor.

“You’re full of surprises tonight,” Ramon mused, stepping closer. “I’d almost think you’re starting to enjoy yourself.”

The implication hung heavily between them, and Eddie swallowed hard against the bitterness rising in his throat.

“Get some rest,” Ramon said finally, heading towards the door. “Tomorrow's going to be a big day.”

The second Ramon was gone, Eddie sank down onto a worn-out couch, running shaky fingers through his hair. The night pulsed outside El Refugio, vibrant and relentless. Inside, Eddie sat alone with the echoes of music still ringing in his ears—and the memory of a Sal Deluca, who’d looked at him like no one else ever had.

Chapter Text

Sal was in his office, the harsh light of a single bulb casting shadows across the papers strewn over his desk. He rubbed his temples, trying to make sense of the jumbled numbers that were rapidly becoming a headache.

The door swung open, and Tony walked in with an urgency that made Sal sit up straight.

“Got something,” Tony said, voice clipped and efficient. “Turns out Eddie’s Ramon’s kid.”

Sal absorbed the words in silence, his chest tightening before he managed to rasp. “His son?”

Tony nodded, leaning against the edge of the desk. “He’s got Eddie working for him, keeping him under tight control. Word is Ramon’s goons are the ones roughing him up.”

“What else?” Sal asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“He doesn’t perform because he wants to,” Tony said grimly. “Ramon forces him.”

The pieces clicked together in Sal’s mind with sickening clarity, Ramon holding power over Eddie not just as a boss but as a father who didn’t flinch at using his own son.

It wasn’t business as usual. It was worse.

Sal clenched his fists, staring down at the untouched whiskey on his desk before meeting Tony’s eyes again.

“Double down,” Sal ordered fiercely. “I want everything we can use.” he paused. I want eyes on El Refugio. Every move Ramon makes, every deal he strikes, I want to know about it. And keep an eye on his son."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Eddie? What’s he got to do with this?"

"Just do as I say," Sal snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Tony gave a quick nod and pivoted to leave.

As soon as he was alone again, Sal let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The numbers on his desk blurred into insignificance, overshadowed by anger that burned hotter than before and something else he couldn’t quite admit to himself yet.

This time when he picked up the glass, he drained it in one long swallow.

xxx

Back at El Refugio, Eddie was dealing with his own problems. Ramon had been in a foul mood since Sal’s visit, barking orders and taking his frustrations out on everyone around him. For Eddie, that meant longer hours and harsher expectations.

As Eddie wiped down the bar after another gruelling night, Ramon loomed over him. "You’re slacking," Ramon growled.

"I just finished a double shift," Eddie shot back, his exhaustion edging into defiance.

Ramon grabbed Eddie by the collar, yanking him close. "You don’t get to complain. You do what I say, when I say it. Or do I need to remind you what happens when you step out of line?"

Eddie swallowed hard, his defiance flickering out under the weight of his father’s threat. "No, sir," he muttered.

"Good," Ramon said, releasing him with a shove. "Now get back to work."

Eddie returned to cleaning, his hands shaking with suppressed anger. He didn’t know how much longer he could endure this, but escape felt impossible. Ramon’s reach extended far beyond the club, and Eddie knew the price of crossing him would be steep.

Unbeknownst to him, Sal’s men were already watching. From the shadows, they reported every detail back to their boss.

xxx

Sal drummed his fingers against the sleek surface of his desk, the rhythm matching the pounding in his head. The information about Eddie being Ramon's son twisted something inside him. He'd seen fathers in this business use their children before, as pawns, as fronts, as leverage, but this felt different. Crueller somehow.

A half-finished supper sat on the desk beside him, the steak long since cooled. Across the room, the glow of security monitors threw shifting light across his face. Sal’s empire played out on the screens in real time: blackjack dealers shuffling cards, roulette wheels spinning, cash changing hands at betting parlours. Normally, it was a ritual of comfort, eating alone while watching the lifeblood of his operation flow.

Tonight, though, the footage unsettled him. His eyes narrowed at one of the feeds from his downtown casino. A roulette table spun, and the same three players exchanged quick glances before stacking their chips in the same spot. Their timing was too neat, their confidence too sharp. On another screen, a dealer shifted nervously, tapping his thumb against the felt as though caught between fear and calculation. Something was off.

Sal leaned closer, fork forgotten, the cold steak untouched beside him. His gut told him the games weren’t clean, but before he could dig deeper, a knock at the door pulled him back.

“Boss?”

Tony stepped inside, a manila folder in hand. He crossed the room and set it on the desk. “Surveillance photos from El Refugio. Thought you’d want them right away.”

“That’s all. You can go.” Sal responded.

Tony nodded, turning around and exiting the room.

Sal flipped open the folder, his jaw tightening as he scanned the black-and-white images. Eddie moving through the club, serving drinks with shoulders hunched in exhaustion. Eddie on stage, that same hollow look in his eyes that Sal had noticed at the club. And then, Sal's grip on the photos tightened, Eddie pressed against a wall while Ramon leaned in close, his finger jabbed into the younger man's chest.

The last photo made his vision blur with rage. Eddie's face was turned away from the camera, but he could see fresh bruising along his jaw, darker than what had been there during Sal's visit. Sal pushed away from his desk, the chair rolling back with enough force to hit the wall behind him. He stood, pacing the length of his office, the surveillance monitors forgotten. The muscles in his shoulders bunched with tension as he fought to control the anger simmering beneath his skin.

He'd built his empire on control, of himself, of his territory, of the flow of money and power. It was a cold business, and he'd never pretended otherwise. But there were lines. Lines that separated business from cruelty. Lines that Ramon had crossed. He gathered the photos and slipped them back into the folder, tucking it into his desk drawer. As he locked it, his gold signet ring caught the light, reminding him of who he was. What he represented.

Sal Deluca didn't get involved in other people's family business. He didn't rescue people. He ran his territory with an iron fist and collected his debts. That was the natural order of things. But as he finally left his office, the image of Eddie's hollow eyes followed him into the darkness of his penthouse, haunting him in a way he couldn't shake.

xxx

Eddie slipped the key into the lock of his apartment, wincing as the door creaked open. Two men in dark suits stood on either side of the hallway, arms folded, eyes following him with the practiced indifference of trained guards. They didn’t speak, but their presence was enough, he wasn’t free. He was under lock and key, even here.

Inside, the one-bedroom gleamed with polished wood floors, stainless steel appliances, and leather furniture that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread. But the shine only made it worse. The place was a cage dressed up as comfort, a prison cell lined with luxuries. The lack of personal touches, no photographs, no books, no evidence of a life lived, made it feel emptier than bare walls ever could.

His body ached as he shrugged off his jacket. The bruises from last week had barely faded before new ones bloomed across his ribs. He caught his reflection in the spotless bathroom mirror and hardly recognized himself. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and a yellowing bruise stained his jawline where Ramon had grabbed him two nights ago.

"You're pathetic," he whispered to his reflection, the self-loathing as familiar as an old friend.

The shower did little to wash away the night's performance. Hot water pounded against his skin, but Eddie barely felt it. His mind kept drifting back to the man in the tailored suit, Sal Deluca. The way he'd looked at Eddie like he was a person, not a commodity. Eddie had heard the name before, whispered in corners of the club, spoken with fear and respect. The Italian who controlled half the city, whose word was law in the underworld. Ramon had been rattled by his visit; Eddie had seen it in the tightness around his father's eyes, the forced smile that didn't reach them.

He shut off the water and towelled himself dry, careful around the tender spots. The gleaming kitchen beckoned, stocked with expensive liquor and imported food, but Eddie's appetite had deserted him. Instead, he reached for the bottle of cheap vodka he kept hidden in the freezer, a defiance against the curated image. The burn as it slid down his throat was a welcome distraction.

Three shots in, Eddie slumped onto the sleek leather couch. The alcohol dulled the pain but couldn't touch the hollow feeling inside him. Twenty-eight years old, and what did he have to show for it? A job he hated, a father who used him, and a future that stretched ahead like an endless, grey highway.

His phone buzzed on the glass coffee table. Eddie tensed, expecting Ramon's name on the screen. Instead, it was Miguel, his father's right-hand man.

"What?" Eddie answered, not bothering to hide his irritation.

"Boss wants you to be at the club early tomorrow. Big shipment coming in." Miguel's voice was flat, emotionless. "He says wear something nice."

Eddie's stomach clenched. "Nice" meant revealing. It meant another night of being paraded in front of Ramon's business associates, another night of wandering hands and leering smiles.

"Fine," he said, the word tasting like ash in his mouth.

"And Eddie?" Miguel paused. "Don't be late. He's in a mood."

The line went dead. Eddie threw the phone across the room, watching it bounce harmlessly off the far wall. His hands shook as he poured another shot, spilling vodka onto the immaculate coffee table. He should leave. Pack what little he owned and disappear. But where would he go? The guards outside his door weren’t just for show. Ramon’s connections spread through the city like poison ivy, choking everything in their path. And Eddie had no money of his own, Ramon made sure of that, doling out just enough to keep him dependent.

The alcohol was making his head swim. Eddie closed his eyes, leaning back against the couch. Behind his eyelids, he saw Sal Deluca again, standing tall and imposing in the club. The man had power, real power, not the kind Ramon pretended to have. The kind that might actually mean something. A crazy thought flickered through Eddie's mind. What if he approached Deluca? What if he offered information about Ramon's operation in exchange for protection? His father would kill him if he found out, but if Eddie played it right...

The fantasy dissolved as quickly as it had formed. Men like Sal Deluca didn't help people like Eddie. They used them, just like everyone else. Eddie dragged himself to his feet, stumbling slightly as he made his way to the bedroom. Tomorrow would be another day of the same hell. Another day of dancing and smiling while his soul shrivelled inside him. He collapsed onto the unmade bed, not bothering to undress. The room was pristine, like everything else in the apartment, but cold and impersonal, no comfort in its perfection. Eddie stared up at the plain ceiling until his eyes grew heavy, the vodka finally pulling him toward unconsciousness.

His last thought before sleep claimed him was of those dark, piercing eyes that had seen him, really seen him, across the crowded club. For just a moment, in that stranger's gaze, Eddie had felt something he hadn't felt in years.

He'd felt real.

Chapter Text

Three days passed before Sal returned to El Refugio. This time, he arrived during peak hours, when the club throbbed with music and bodies. He took a table in the corner, partially hidden by shadows but with a clear view of the stage. Eddie was performing, a slow, hypnotic routine that had the audience entranced. Sal watched, mesmerized despite himself, as Eddie moved with practiced grace. From this distance, the makeup concealing his bruises was invisible, and he looked almost free.

xxx

The music faded, and Eddie held his final pose, sweat beading on his chest as the crowd erupted in applause. He bowed mechanically, his smile practiced and empty, before slipping backstage. The noise of the club dulled as he made his way down the narrow hallway to his dressing room, his body aching from the performance. He closed the door behind him and sank into the chair in front of his mirror. The harsh fluorescent lights revealed what the stage lights had hidden—the exhaustion etched into his features, the fading bruises along his ribs. Eddie grabbed a towel and began wiping away the sweat, his movements automatic after years of the same routine.

A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Yeah?" Eddie called, his voice rough.

Marco, one of his father's burlier security men, pushed the door open without waiting for permission. "Got a request for a private dance." His eyes flickered to Eddie's bruised torso before looking away. "VIP room three."

Eddie's stomach twisted into a knot. He knew what that meant, what it always meant. The weight of dread settled over him, familiar and suffocating. "Who is it?" he asked, though it hardly mattered.

Marco shrugged, already turning to leave. "Didn't say. Just that they'd pay double."

When the door closed, Eddie sat motionless for several seconds, breathing through the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. Then, with practiced efficiency, he reached for the makeup kit on his vanity. His fingers trembled slightly as he applied concealer to the worst of the bruises, patting the cream into his skin until the marks disappeared beneath a smooth façade.

He traded his sweat-dampened dance outfit for a pair of tight leather shorts that left little to the imagination. The material felt cool against his skin as he pulled them on, a sensation that might have been pleasant under different circumstances. The silk bathrobe came last, sliding over his shoulders like water. It was beautiful—deep blue with silver embroidery, a gift from a client whose name he'd forced himself to forget.

Eddie tied the belt loosely at his waist and checked his reflection one final time. The man who stared back at him looked composed, desirable, untroubled.

A perfect illusion.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever awaited him in VIP room three. Private dances meant different things to different clients. Some wanted only to look. Others expected more. His father had made it clear long ago that Eddie's comfort was secondary to the club's profits.

xxx

The hallway seemed longer than usual as he made his way toward the VIP section. Music throbbed through the walls, the bass vibrating beneath his bare feet. He paused outside room three, straightening his shoulders and arranging his features into the seductive smile his clients expected. When he pushed open the door, the dim lighting momentarily obscured the room's occupant. Eddie stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. The click of the lock engaging sounded like a prison cell closing.

"I don't usually do private shows," Eddie said, his voice low and practiced. "But for the right price..."

He stopped mid-sentence as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Sitting in the plush armchair, looking simultaneously out of place and completely in command, was Sal Deluca.

Eddie's carefully constructed façade cracked. "You."

Sal's expression remained unreadable as he gestured to the chair across from him. "Have a seat."

Eddie hesitated, caught between his training to please and his instinct to run. "That's not how private dances work," he said, trying to recapture his professional demeanour.

"I didn't come for a dance." Sal's voice was quiet but firm. "I came to talk."

Eddie's face hardened. "Talk? There's nothing to talk about." His voice came out flat, devoid of emotion. Before Sal could respond, Eddie moved toward him with practiced grace. In one fluid motion, he straddled Sal's lap, the silk robe falling open to reveal his bare chest.

"This is what you really came for, isn't it?" Eddie whispered, rolling his hips in a slow, deliberate motion. His hands slid up Sal's chest, loosening his tie with nimble fingers.

Sal stiffened beneath him. "Eddie, stop."

"Why?" Eddie's lips brushed against Sal's neck, the touch feather-light but scorching. "Isn't this what powerful men like you want?" His teeth grazed Sal's skin, followed by the wet heat of his tongue. "To own something beautiful?"

Sal's body betrayed him, responding to Eddie's skilled movements even as his mind rebelled. He felt himself hardening beneath Eddie's weight, and saw the flicker of recognition in Eddie's eyes.

"See?" Eddie murmured, his voice hollow despite the seductive words. "This is all I'm good for."

"That's not true." Sal tried to push Eddie back, to create distance between them, but Eddie clung to him like a drowning man.

"It is true." Eddie's movements became more frantic, almost desperate. His fingers worked at Sal's belt, tugging it loose with practiced efficiency. "It's all I've ever been good for."

"Eddie," Sal managed, his voice strained. He grabbed Eddie's wrists, trying to create distance between them. "I said stop."

Eddie twisted out of his grip, continuing his movements. "Why?" His voice sounded hollow now, almost mechanical. "Everyone wants the same thing." His breath was warm against Sal's neck as he pressed his body closer, creating friction between them.

Sal caught Eddie's chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. "What does your father make you do?" The question came out rough, angry.

Something flickered in Eddie's eyes, pain, perhaps, or fear. "Everything," he whispered. He slid off Sal's lap in one smooth motion, dropping to his knees between Sal's legs. His fingers moved to Sal's belt, working the buckle with practiced ease. Sal felt his breath catch as Eddie's hands brushed against him. Heat pooled in his stomach, desire warring with conscience. For a heartbeat, he couldn't move, couldn't think beyond the sensation of Eddie's touch. Sal felt his control slipping as Eddie's fingers worked open his pants.

Then reality crashed back. "No!" Sal grabbed Eddie's arms, yanking him up with more force than he'd intended. His fingers dug into the flesh, hard enough to leave marks.

Eddie flinched violently, falling backward onto the floor. He scrambled away, pushing himself into the corner of the room, eyes wide with terror.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, raising his arms defensively. "I'm sorry. Please..."

The fear in Eddie's voice cut through Sal's anger like a knife. He stood frozen, horrified by Eddie's reaction and his own loss of control.

"Eddie," Sal said softly, taking a cautious step forward. "I'm not going to hurt you. I want to help you."

Eddie pressed himself further into the corner, trembling visibly now. "Please," he begged, voice cracking. "Just go."

Sal took another step. Eddie flinched again, curling in on himself like he was expecting a blow.

"Eddie, listen to me—"

"GO!" The word exploded from Eddie, raw and desperate. "Please, just go. He'll know. He'll find out." His breathing had become erratic, panic overtaking him. "You don't understand what he'll do."

The realization hit Sal with sickening clarity. This wasn't just about tonight. This was about years of conditioning, of punishment, of being treated like property instead of a person.

Sal stepped back, giving Eddie space. "Okay," he said quietly. "I'll go. But this isn't over."

Eddie didn't respond, just watched him with wary eyes, chest heaving with each panicked breath.

Sal straightened his tie and jacket, trying to regain his composure. At the door, he paused, looking back at the broken man huddled in the corner. "I'm coming back for you," he said, the words a promise more to himself than to Eddie. "Whether you want me to or not."

Then, with a flick of his wrist, he pulled a small black card from his coat pocket and tossed it gently toward Eddie. It landed softly on the floor just in front of him, the motion deliberate but without threat.

Sal’s voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible above the hum of the club. “If there is anything.”

Then he was gone, leaving Eddie alone in the dim room, surrounded by the ghosts of countless other encounters just like this one, except this time, something had changed. This time, someone had said no. Eddie sat on the floor long after Sal left, his mind replaying what had happened. The rejection had been unexpected. More unexpected was Sal's promise to return. No one had ever offered to help him before. But what could Sal Deluca really do? His father's influence stretched far beyond this club. There was no escape, no way out that Eddie could see.

Still, as he finally pulled himself to his feet and tightened the robe around his trembling body, a small, dangerous spark of hope flickered to life inside him. It was a feeling he'd forgotten, one he'd learned to suppress for his own survival.

And yet there it was, burning faintly but persistently in the darkness—the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Sal Deluca might be different.

xxx

Sal crashed through the club's rear exit, the heavy door slamming against the brick wall. The night air hit his lungs like ice water, shocking him back to reality. His hands trembled as he straightened his tie, trying to compose himself before his driver spotted the cracks in his carefully maintained control. The image of Eddie cowering in the corner haunted him—those wide, terrified eyes, the instinctive flinch, the way his body curled inward like a wounded animal expecting another blow. Sal had seen fear before, had caused it himself more times than he could count, but this was different. 

Tony stood by the car, eyebrows raising slightly at Sal's dishevelled appearance.

"Drive," Sal ordered, sliding into the backseat.

"Where to, boss?"

"Anywhere. Just drive."

The city blurred past the windows as Tony navigated through the late-night traffic. Street lights cast intermittent shadows across Sal's face as he leaned his head against the cool glass. His body still burned where Eddie had touched him, phantom sensations that refused to fade. The weight of Eddie on his lap, the heat of his breath against Sal's neck, the practiced movements of those fingers working at his belt.

And then the terror. The absolute, gut-wrenching terror when Sal had grabbed him.

"Fuck," Sal muttered, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms.

"Everything okay, boss?" Tony's eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror.

"Fine." The word came out sharper than intended. Sal reached into his jacket pocket for his cigarettes, lighting one with hands that still weren't entirely steady. The first drag burned his throat, the familiar sensation grounding him somewhat.

"Take me to La Fortuna Nera," he said after a long moment.

Tony nodded, changing lanes to head toward the casino Sal had acquired three years earlier. La Fortuna Nera was the crown jewel of Sal's legitimate businesses, a gleaming monument to his power and influence. Usually, walking through those doors filled him with a sense of accomplishment. Tonight, he doubted it would do anything to quiet the storm brewing inside him.

xxx

When they arrived, Sal didn't get out immediately. He sat in the car, watching the neon lights reflecting off the hood, casting multi-coloured patterns across the dark leather interior. The cigarette between his fingers had burned down to the filter without him taking another drag.

"I'll wait here," Tony said, killing the engine.

Sal nodded, finally stepping out into the night. The casino entrance loomed before him, doormen snapping to attention as they recognized his approach. He waved them off, walking past the main entrance toward a private side door that led directly to his office. Once inside, he bypassed the elevator, choosing instead to climb the stairs to the top floor. The physical exertion helped clear his head, each step burning away the confusion that had clouded his thoughts since leaving El Refugio.

His office was dark and silent when he unlocked the door. He didn't bother with the lights, preferring the anonymity of shadows. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city, or at least the parts of it that mattered. Sal shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto the back of his chair before lighting another cigarette. He stood at the window, watching the distant headlights moving through the streets below, tiny indicators of lives being lived, oblivious to his existence.

He'd built all of this from nothing. Clawed his way up from the streets, buried rivals and enemies alike, cultivated an empire that inspired fear and respect in equal measure. And for what? To stand alone in a dark office, haunted by the eyes of a broken man who expected nothing but cruelty from the world? The cigarette burned down between his fingers as his mind replayed every moment of his encounter with Eddie. The practiced seduction. The hollow voice saying "This is all I'm good for." The genuine terror when Sal had grabbed him.

Ramon had done that, had taken his own son and twisted him into a thing to be used, a commodity to be traded. The thought made Sal's stomach turn. He'd seen depravity in his line of work, had committed acts others would consider unforgivable, but there were lines even he wouldn't cross.

Family was sacred. Family was to be protected, not exploited.

He crushed the cigarette in the ashtray with more force than necessary, watching the ember die against the glass. His reflection stared back at him from the window, features distorted by darkness and the city lights beyond. For a moment, he barely recognized himself. The loneliness that had been his constant companion for years suddenly felt suffocating. He'd convinced himself it was safer this way, that attachments were vulnerabilities waiting to be exploited. Better to be feared than loved. Better to stand alone than risk betrayal.

But seeing Eddie, seeing the resignation in his eyes, the acceptance of his fate, had cracked something open inside Sal. 

"This is all I'm good for."

The words echoed in Sal's mind, making his jaw clench until pain shot through his temples. He'd heard the truth behind them, the belief that had been beaten into Eddie through years of abuse. The belief that his only value lay in how he could be used. He moved to the small bar in the corner of his office, pouring two fingers of whiskey into a crystal tumbler. The amber liquid caught the faint city light from the windows, gleaming like liquid gold in the darkness. Sal lifted the glass, but didn't drink.

Instead, he carried it back to the window, watching as his reflection superimposed over the cityscape below. In the glass, his eyes looked darker, harder the eyes of a man who had made difficult decisions and lived with their consequences. Eddie's flinch played again in his mind, the instinctive recoil from expected violence. Sal had caused that fear, however unintentionally. The thought sat like lead in his stomach.

"I'll make you see you're more than what he's made you," Sal whispered into the empty room, the words both a promise and a threat.

His reflection stared back at him, features set in grim determination. The predatory gleam in his eyes was familiar, it was the look that had made men twice his size back down, the look that promised consequences for those who crossed him.

Sal raised the glass in a silent toast to the city spread out before him—to the empire he'd built, to the power he wielded, and to the hunt that was about to begin.

This time, he took a sip, letting the whiskey burn a path down his throat as plans began to form in his mind. Plans for Ramon. Plans for Eddie.

Plans that would change everything.

Chapter Text

Sal crashed through the club's rear exit, the heavy door slamming against the brick wall. The night air hit his lungs like ice water, shocking him back to reality. His hands trembled as he straightened his tie, trying to compose himself before his driver spotted the cracks in his carefully maintained control. The image of Eddie cowering in the corner haunted him—those wide, terrified eyes, the instinctive flinch, the way his body curled inward like a wounded animal expecting another blow. Sal had seen fear before, had caused it himself more times than he could count, but this was different. 

Tony stood by the car, eyebrows raising slightly at Sal's dishevelled appearance.

"Drive," Sal ordered, sliding into the backseat.

"Where to, boss?"

"Anywhere. Just drive."

The city blurred past the windows as Tony navigated through the late-night traffic. Street lights cast intermittent shadows across Sal's face as he leaned his head against the cool glass. His body still burned where Eddie had touched him, phantom sensations that refused to fade. The weight of Eddie on his lap, the heat of his breath against Sal's neck, the practiced movements of those fingers working at his belt.

And then the terror. The absolute, gut-wrenching terror when Sal had grabbed him.

"Fuck," Sal muttered, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms.

"Everything okay, boss?" Tony's eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror.

"Fine." The word came out sharper than intended. Sal reached into his jacket pocket for his cigarettes, lighting one with hands that still weren't entirely steady. The first drag burned his throat, the familiar sensation grounding him somewhat.

"Take me to La Fortuna Nera," he said after a long moment.

Tony nodded, changing lanes to head toward the casino Sal had acquired three years earlier. La Fortuna Nera was the crown jewel of Sal's legitimate businesses, a gleaming monument to his power and influence. Usually, walking through those doors filled him with a sense of accomplishment. Tonight, he doubted it would do anything to quiet the storm brewing inside him.

When they arrived, Sal didn't get out immediately. He sat in the car, watching the neon lights reflecting off the hood, casting multicolored patterns across the dark leather interior. The cigarette between his fingers had burned down to the filter without him taking another drag.

"I'll wait here," Tony said, killing the engine.

Sal nodded, finally stepping out into the night. The casino entrance loomed before him, doormen snapping to attention as they recognized his approach. He waved them off, walking past the main entrance toward a private side door that led directly to his office. Once inside, he bypassed the elevator, choosing instead to climb the stairs to the top floor. The physical exertion helped clear his head, each step burning away the confusion that had clouded his thoughts since leaving El Refugio.

His office was dark and silent when he unlocked the door. He didn't bother with the lights, preferring the anonymity of shadows. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city—his city, or at least the parts of it that mattered. Sal shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto the back of his chair before lighting another cigarette. He stood at the window, watching the distant headlights moving through the streets below, tiny indicators of lives being lived, oblivious to his existence.

He'd built all of this from nothing. Clawed his way up from the streets, buried rivals and enemies alike, cultivated an empire that inspired fear and respect in equal measure. And for what? To stand alone in a dark office, haunted by the eyes of a broken man who expected nothing but cruelty from the world? The cigarette burned down between his fingers as his mind replayed every moment of his encounter with Eddie. The practiced seduction. The hollow voice saying "This is all I'm good for." The genuine terror when Sal had grabbed him.

Ramon had done that, had taken his own son and twisted him into a thing to be used, a commodity to be traded. The thought made Sal's stomach turn. He'd seen depravity in his line of work, had committed acts others would consider unforgivable, but there were lines even he wouldn't cross.

Family was sacred. Family was to be protected, not exploited.

He crushed the cigarette in the ashtray with more force than necessary, watching the ember die against the glass. His reflection stared back at him from the window, features distorted by darkness and the city lights beyond. For a moment, he barely recognized himself. The loneliness that had been his constant companion for years suddenly felt suffocating. He'd convinced himself it was safer this way, that attachments were vulnerabilities waiting to be exploited. Better to be feared than loved. Better to stand alone than risk betrayal.

But seeing Eddie—seeing the resignation in his eyes, the acceptance of his fate—had cracked something open inside Sal. A wound he'd thought long healed.

"This is all I'm good for."

The words echoed in Sal's mind, making his jaw clench until pain shot through his temples. He'd heard the truth behind them—the belief that had been beaten into Eddie through years of abuse. The belief that his only value lay in how he could be used. Sal knew he should walk away. Eddie wasn't his problem. Getting involved would complicate things, create vulnerabilities, expose weaknesses Sal couldn't afford.

And yet.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen something of himself in Eddie's eyes, something from long ago, before he'd built walls around himself, before he'd learned that survival meant never showing weakness. He moved to the small bar in the corner of his office, pouring two fingers of whiskey into a crystal tumbler. The amber liquid caught the faint city light from the windows, gleaming like liquid gold in the darkness. Sal lifted the glass, but didn't drink.

Instead, he carried it back to the window, watching as his reflection superimposed over the cityscape below. In the glass, his eyes looked darker, harder—the eyes of a man who had made difficult decisions and lived with their consequences. Eddie's flinch played again in his mind—the instinctive recoil from expected violence. Sal had caused that fear, however unintentionally. 

"I'll make you see you're more than what he's made you," Sal whispered into the empty room, the words both a promise and a threat.

His reflection stared back at him, features set in grim determination. The predatory gleam in his eyes was familiar,it was the look that had made men twice his size back down, the look that promised consequences for those who crossed him.

Sal raised the glass in a silent toast to the city spread out before him, to the empire he'd built, to the power he wielded, and to the hunt that was about to begin.

This time, he took a sip, letting the whiskey burn a path down his throat as plans began to form in his mind. Plans for Ramon. Plans for Eddie.

Plans that would change everything.

xxx

The hot water had done little to wash away the memory of Sal's hands on his arms, pulling him up from his knees, the shock in those dark eyes. Eddie toweled himself dry, wincing as the rough fabric scraped against his bruises. His mind kept circling back to Sal's parting words. "I'm coming back for you. Whether you want me to or not."

What did that even mean? No one had ever offered to help him before. Not really. There had been sympathetic looks from staff, whispered suggestions that maybe he should leave, but never this, never a promise delivered with such certainty. Eddie pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, his hair still damp against his neck. False hope was dangerous. He'd learned that lesson years ago when his mother had promised to come back for him. She never did.

The door to his room burst open without warning. Eddie flinched, his heart hammering against his ribs as Ramon stormed in, face contorted with rage.

"What the fuck did you say to him?" Ramon demanded, slamming the door behind him.

Eddie took an instinctive step back. "Who?"

"Don't play stupid with me." Ramon's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Deluca. He paid for a private dance and left after ten minutes. Marco said he looked pissed."

The walls of the small room seemed to close in. Eddie's mouth went dry. "Nothing happened."

"Bullshit." Ramon moved closer, his cologne suffocating in the confined space. "What did you tell him about our operation? About me?"

"Nothing, I swear." Eddie's back hit the wall. "He wanted to talk, but I—"

"Talk?" Ramon laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. "Men like Deluca don't pay for talk." His eyes narrowed. "Unless you gave him something worth paying for."

Eddie's stomach twisted. "I didn't."

Ramon's hand shot out, gripping Eddie's jaw hard enough to bruise. "Then why is he suddenly so interested in you? What makes you so special?"

"I don't know." The words came out strangled against his father's grip.

"You're lying to me." Ramon pushed harder, forcing Eddie's head back against the wall. "You've always been a terrible liar."

Eddie's pulse pounded in his ears. He could smell the whiskey on his father's breath, could see the vein throbbing in Ramon's temple, warning signs he'd learned to recognize years ago.

"Please," Eddie whispered. "I didn't tell him anything."

Ramon studied him for a long moment, his grip never loosening. "You know what happens to people who betray me, Eddie. Family or not."

The threat hung between them, heavy and familiar. Eddie had seen what happened to those who crossed his father, had helped clean up the aftermath more than once.

"I would never betray you." The lie tasted bitter on his tongue.

Ramon finally released him, stepping back with a look of disgust. "Get yourself together. You look pathetic." He straightened his jacket, smoothing away the wrinkles as if brushing off their conversation. "The Sinaloa buyers are coming in a few days. They asked for you specifically."

Eddie felt sick. "Dad, please..."

"Don't." Ramon cut him off sharply. "Don't start with that again. You know how important this deal is."

"I know, but..."

The slap came without warning, snapping Eddie's head to the side. Pain bloomed across his cheek, hot and sharp.

"No buts." Ramon's voice had gone cold. "You'll do what you're told. And if Deluca comes back, you come to me immediately. Understand?"

Eddie nodded mutely, the sting of the slap still radiating across his face.

"Say it."

"I understand." The words felt like surrender.

Ramon nodded once, satisfied. "Good boy." He reached out, patting Eddie's injured cheek with mock tenderness. "Remember who gave you everything. Remember who you belong to."

When the door closed behind his father, Eddie sank to the floor, drawing his knees to his chest. The room spun around him, his breath coming in short, painful gasps. He pressed his forehead against his knees, trying to regain control.

"I'm coming back for you."

A dangerous thought took shape in the darkness of his room. What if Sal meant it? What if there was a way out?

Eddie closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his father's empire pressing down on him. Hope was a luxury he couldn't afford, not when survival required his complete focus.

But something had shifted inside him tonight, something that couldn't be undone.

For the first time in years, Eddie found himself thinking about tomorrow with something other than dread. It was a small change, barely perceptible, but it was there, a crack in the prison walls his father had built around him. The Sinaloa buyers would come in a few days. Ramon would expect him to perform, to smile, to be whatever they wanted him to be. He would do it because he had no choice. But after that...

After that, Sal Deluca might come back. And Eddie wasn't sure anymore if he wanted to push him away.

Chapter Text

A week had passed, and Sal's patience had run out. The evening air was crisp as he and Tony pulled up to El Refugio, the neon sign casting an eerie blue glow across the windshield. Sal adjusted his cufflinks, the gold catching the light. Tonight wasn't about negotiations or extensions. Tonight was about respect.

"You think Ramon will have the money?" Tony asked, killing the engine.

Sal's mouth tightened into a thin line. "For his sake, he'd better."

The bouncer recognized them immediately, stepping aside with a deferential nod. Inside, the club throbbed with music and bodies, the air thick with perfume and desperation. Sal scanned the main floor, searching for Ramon in his flashy suit, but found nothing.

"Boss isn't here," a bartender volunteered nervously when Sal approached. "Left about an hour ago. Said something about a supplier meeting."

Sal's jaw clenched. Another insult. Ramon knew exactly when payment was due.

"Find Miguel," he ordered Tony. "See what he knows."

As Tony moved toward the back offices, Sal continued his survey of the room. The usual crowd filled the tables, businessmen loosening their ties, gangsters flashing money, tourists looking for a thrill they couldn't find in guidebooks. His gaze drifted to the stage, expecting to find Eddie there, but the spotlight illuminated a different performer.

An uneasy feeling settled in Sal's stomach. He moved deeper into the club, past private booths where champagne flowed and cash changed hands. That's when he spotted him, Eddie—backed against the wall in a darkened corner. Two men crowded him, their expensive suits and cruel smiles marking them as the type who believed money could buy anything. One of them, broad-shouldered with a gold watch glinting on his wrist, had his hand pressed against the wall beside Eddie's head. The other stood too close, fingers reaching to trace the line of Eddie's jaw.

Eddie's face was a careful mask, but Sal could see the tension in his shoulders, the slight tremble in his hands as he tried to look away. The broad-shouldered man said something Sal couldn't hear, then grabbed Eddie's chin roughly, forcing his face forward. The sharp crack of skin against skin echoed even through the music as the man slapped Eddie hard enough to snap his head to the side.

Something hot and dangerous unfurled in Sal's chest. Before he realized what he was doing, his legs carried him across the room, each step measured and deliberate. He didn't run. Men like Sal Deluca never needed to run.

"Gentlemen," Sal's voice cut through their laughter like a blade. "I believe you're done here."

The men turned, annoyance flashing across their faces before recognition set in. The broad-shouldered one recovered first, pasting on a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Deluca. Didn't know you had a stake in this one." He gestured toward Eddie, who had gone very still, his eyes wide with surprise. "Ramon usually shares his toys."

Sal stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. "Touch him again, and you'll lose that hand."

The second man, younger, with slicked-back hair and too much cologne—laughed nervously. "Come on, man. We were just having some fun."

"Fun's over." Sal didn't blink, didn't smile. "Walk away."

A tense moment stretched between them, the club's music fading to background noise. The broad-shouldered man's jaw worked as he calculated his options. Finally, he stepped back with a forced chuckle.

"No harm meant," he said, straightening his tie. "Plenty of other entertainment in this place anyway."

As they retreated, Sal turned his attention to Eddie. A red mark bloomed on his cheek where the man had struck him, and his eyes, those hollow eyes that had haunted Sal all week—now shone with confusion and something that might have been hope.

"You okay?" Sal asked, keeping his voice low.

Eddie swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Why did you do that?"

The question caught Sal off guard. No thank you, no explanation, just raw, honest confusion. Like no one had ever stepped in for him before.

"Because I wanted to," Sal answered simply, surprising himself with the truth of it.

Eddie jerked back, his confusion turning to anger as the reality of the situation hit him. "No," he hissed, pushing away from the wall. "You shouldn't have done that."

Sal's brow furrowed. "They were..."

"I don't need your help!" Eddie's voice was low but fierce, his eyes darting nervously around the club. "Do you have any idea what Ramon will do when he finds out? Those men were Sinaloa buyers. Important clients."

The taste of bile rose in Eddie's throat as panic clawed its way up his chest. His face burned where the man had struck him, but that pain would be nothing compared to what awaited him when his father discovered what had happened.

"Look, I can handle Ramon," Sal said, stepping closer.

Eddie laughed bitterly, the sound strangled and hollow. "No one handles Ramon. Especially not when it comes to me." His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair. "You think you're helping? You're making it worse."

He turned away, needing to put distance between himself and this man who had no idea of the consequences his actions would bring. The punishment would be brutal. Ramon didn't tolerate interference with his plans, especially not from his son. And especially not when it involved Sal Deluca.

"Eddie, wait." Sal's voice followed him, but Eddie quickened his pace.

"Stay away from me," Eddie threw over his shoulder, pushing through the crowd toward the back rooms. "Just... stay away."

His heart hammered against his ribs as he slipped through the employee door. The hallway stretched before him, empty and silent compared to the pulsing club floor. Eddie leaned against the wall, drawing in ragged breaths as he tried to steady himself. Images flashed through his mind, Ramon's rage, fists connecting with flesh, the helpless feeling of being locked in his apartment for days. His punishment would be severe. It always was when he disrupted business, intentionally or not.

The door behind him opened, and Eddie spun around, expecting Sal. Instead, Miguel stood there, his face grim.

"Boss wants to see you," Miguel said, gesturing down the hall. "Now."

Eddie's stomach dropped. "He's back?"

"Just got here." Miguel's expression gave nothing away, but his eyes held a hint of something almost like pity. "He knows about the Sinaloa buyers."

Of course he did. Ramon had eyes everywhere in the club. Eddie swallowed hard, straightening his shoulders as he followed Miguel down the hallway. Each step felt like walking toward an execution.

xxx

Ramon's office door loomed ahead, the polished wood gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. Miguel knocked once before pushing it open. The smell of expensive cologne and cigar smoke wafted out as Eddie stepped inside. Ramon sat behind his desk, fingers steepled before him. His face was carefully blank, which was always worse than open anger. It meant he was calculating, deciding exactly how to make Eddie pay.

"Leave us," Ramon said to Miguel, who nodded and closed the door behind him.

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Eddie remained standing, hands at his sides, waiting.

"The Sinaloa buyers just called me," Ramon finally said, his voice deceptively soft. "They're reconsidering our arrangement."

Eddie's throat constricted. "Father, I..."

"Don't speak." Ramon stood, moving around the desk with deliberate slowness. "You let Sal Deluca interfere with my business. With my clients."

"I didn't ask him to..."

The blow came without warning, Ramon's ring cutting into Eddie's cheek as his head snapped to the side. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.

"I said don't speak." Ramon grabbed Eddie's jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze. "You've cost me money tonight. And respect. Do you understand what that means?"

Eddie nodded as much as Ramon's grip would allow.

"Good." Ramon released him with a shove. "You're confined to your apartment for the next week. No performances, no visitors."

Relief flooded through Eddie, it could have been worse, until Ramon continued.

"And when you return, you'll entertain the Sinaloa buyers. Privately. Whatever they want."

The relief evaporated, replaced by cold dread that settled in Eddie's bones. "Father, please..."

"This isn't a negotiation." Ramon turned away, dismissive. "You belong to me, Eddie. It's time you remembered that."

Eddie stood frozen, the full weight of his situation crushing down on him. He'd been a fool to think Sal Deluca's intervention might change anything. It had only made things worse, as he'd known it would.

As if reading his thoughts, Ramon added, "And stay away from Deluca. He's not your friend. Men like him don't help people like you without wanting something in return."

The words cut deep because they echoed Eddie's own thoughts from the night before. Ramon was right about one thing, Sal Deluca wasn't his friend. He was just another powerful man who saw Eddie as a pawn in some larger game.

"Go," Ramon ordered, returning to his desk. "Miguel will escort you home."

Eddie turned to leave, his movements mechanical, his mind already retreating to that numb place he went when reality became too much to bear. But as he reached for the door handle, Ramon spoke again.

"And Eddie? If you see Deluca again, your punishment will be much worse than this. That's a promise."

The door closed behind him with a soft click that sounded like a prison cell locking. Miguel waited in the hallway, his expression carefully neutral as he took in Eddie's bleeding cheek and hollow eyes.

"Let's go," Miguel said, unkindly.

Eddie followed him through the back exit, away from the pulsing music and laughing crowds, away from the spot where Sal Deluca had looked at him like he mattered. The cool night air hit his face, making the cut on his cheek sting. As they walked to the car, Eddie caught a glimpse of a black sedan idling across the street. Even from this distance, he recognized the broad-shouldered silhouette in the driver's seat—Tony, Sal's right-hand man.

Eddie turned away quickly, hunching his shoulders as he slid into Miguel's car. He couldn't afford to be seen looking. Couldn't afford to give Ramon any more reasons to punish him.

But deep in his chest, something small and dangerous flickered to life. A feeling he hadn't allowed himself in years.

Hope.

Chapter Text

Sal was about to leave El Refugio when the door to the main floor burst open. Ramon strode in, his face twisted with barely contained fury. The crowd parted for him as if sensing the storm brewing beneath his polished exterior. Sal stood his ground, watching as Ramon scanned the room, his gaze finally landing on him with laser-like intensity.

"Deluca," Ramon called out, loud enough to be heard over the music. "We need to talk."

Sal raised an eyebrow, making no move to approach. Let Ramon come to him. The club's patrons shifted uneasily, conversations dying as they sensed the tension crackling between the two men.

Ramon closed the distance between them, stopping just short of invading Sal's personal space. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hissed, keeping his voice low despite the fury in his eyes.

"Collecting my debt," Sal replied coolly. "Though I see you've been avoiding me."

"This isn't about the money." Ramon's nostrils flared. "You interfered with my business. My clients."

Sal's jaw tightened. "You mean the men who were roughing up your son?"

Something dangerous flickered across Ramon's face. "Eddie is none of your business," he said, voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "What happens in my club, with my people, is my concern. Not yours."

"When it affects my money, it becomes my business," Sal countered, though they both knew this wasn't about the debt anymore.

Ramon's laugh was sharp and brittle. "Your money?" He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope, tossing it at Sal's chest. "Here's your precious money. Every cent I owe you."

Sal caught the envelope, his fingers tightening around it as he maintained eye contact with Ramon. The weight felt right, the full payment was there.

"Now get out of my club," Ramon said, his voice carrying enough for nearby patrons to hear. "And stay away from Eddie. He belongs here."

Sal pocketed the envelope, his expression unchanged. "No one belongs to anyone, Ramon."

"Shows what you know," Ramon sneered. "We're done here. Don't come back unless you're spending money like everyone else."

Sal held his ground for a moment longer, the weight of unsaid words hanging between them. Finally, he nodded once and turned to leave, his steps measured and unhurried. He wouldn't give Ramon the satisfaction of seeing him retreat. The night air hit his face as he stepped outside, Tony materializing at his side like a shadow.

"We leaving, boss?" Tony asked, eyeing the envelope Sal had tucked into his jacket.

Sal stared up at the garish neon sign of El Refugio, the blue light casting strange shadows across his face. "For now," he said finally.

They walked to the car in silence, but Sal's mind was racing. The debt was settled, business concluded. By all rights, he should wash his hands of Ramon Diaz and his operation. That would be the smart play. Whatever happened in that club was no longer his business now that Ramon had paid off his debt. Who was he kidding? Eddie is his business. He promised he'd get him out and that what he's going to do.

"Take us back to the penthouse," Sal instructed as Tony started the engine.

The car pulled away from the curb, but Sal's gaze remained fixed on El Refugio's entrance until it disappeared from view. The envelope of cash sat heavy in his pocket, but the weight in his chest was heavier still.

"He paid up," Tony observed, breaking the silence.

Sal nodded absently. "Yeah."

"So we're square with Diaz now?"

Sal turned to look out the window, watching the city lights blur past. "Business-wise, yes."

Tony shot him a quick, questioning glance but knew better than to push. They drove in silence for several blocks before Sal spoke again.

"I want you to keep the surveillance on El Refugio," he said, his decision crystallizing even as the words left his mouth. "And I want to know if Eddie leaves that place at any point."

"Boss..." Tony began, concern evident in his voice.

"Just do it," Sal cut him off, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Tony nodded, his eyes returning to the road. "You got it."

Sal leaned back in his seat, his mind already plotting his next move. Ramon might think they were done, but Sal was just getting started. The debt had been settled, but something else had taken its place, something Sal wasn't ready to name but couldn't ignore.

He'd seen too much. Known too much. And in his world, knowledge was power—power he intended to use.

Eddie might not believe it yet, but things were about to change. Sal would make sure of it.

xxx

A few days later, Sal sat in the dim control room of his downtown gambling operation, the glow of dozens of security monitors washing his face in cold blue light. The underground casino was one of his most profitable ventures—invitation only, high stakes, and completely off the books. He leaned forward in his chair, eyes narrowing as he studied the feed from table seven.

Something wasn't right.

Three men he didn't recognize were playing blackjack, their movements too coordinated, their wins too consistent. The dealer, one of Sal's most trusted, kept glancing nervously toward the pit boss when he thought no one was watching.

"You see that?" Sal pointed at the screen.

Tony leaned in, his shoulder brushing against Sal's. "The guys at seven? Yeah, they're working together."

Sal watched as one of the men discreetly signalled to another before placing his bet. The third man coughed into his hand, three short coughs and suddenly all three doubled their wagers. The dealer's hands trembled slightly as he dealt the cards.

"They're skimming," Sal muttered, his jaw tightening. "And our guy's in on it."

He zoomed in on the face of the man sitting in the middle, slicked-back hair, expensive watch, a scar cutting through his right eyebrow. Sal had seen him before, at El Refugio, talking with Ramon's lieutenants.

"Ramon's men," Sal said, the realization hitting him hard. "He's trying to steal from me now."

The audacity of it made his blood boil. Ramon had paid his debt, sure, but this—this was a direct challenge. A message.

"What do you want to do, boss?" Tony asked, already reaching for his weapon.

Sal held up a hand. "No guns. Not here." He pointed to the security team standing by. "Get security. Tell them to grab those three and the dealer. Bring them to the back room. Quietly."

Tony nodded and left without another word. On the monitor, Sal watched as the men continued their game, oblivious to the fact that they'd been made. The dealer's eyes darted to the security camera for a split second, and Sal saw the exact moment the man realized his life was about to change for the worse.

Sal stood, straightening his tie. This wasn't just about the money they were stealing. This was Ramon testing him, probing for weakness after their confrontation at El Refugio. After Sal had interfered with Eddie.

His thoughts drifted to Eddie, wondering if the young man was still confined to his apartment as punishment.

The intercom buzzed, pulling him back to the present.

"We got them, boss," came Tony's voice. "Back room's ready."

Sal took one last look at the monitors, watching as his security team escorted the four men through a side door, away from the main gambling floor. None of the other patrons seemed to notice, exactly as he wanted it. He made his way down a narrow hallway, the sounds of the casino fading behind him. The back room was soundproofed for a reason. What happened there stayed there.

Tony was waiting outside the door, his expression grim. "The dealer's already talking. Says Ramon approached him last week, offered him twenty grand to look the other way."

"And the others?"

"Not saying much. Yet."

Sal nodded, squaring his shoulders. "Let's change that."

He pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room was sparse, concrete floors, no windows, a single metal table bolted to the ground. The three men from the blackjack table sat in chairs against the far wall, their hands zip-tied behind their backs. The dealer was separated from them, his face already showing the beginnings of bruising.

Sal closed the door behind him with a soft click.

“Gentlemen,” Sal said, his voice low and still, like water over ice. “I think we need to have a conversation about respect.”

The man with the scarred eyebrow didn’t flinch. “We don’t answer to you, Deluca.”

Sal didn’t respond, not with words. He reached out, seized the man’s hand, and with deliberate pressure snapped his index finger. The crack echoed like a gunshot in the concrete room.

The man howled and crumpled to the floor, clutching his mangled hand.

“In my casino,” Sal said quietly, “everyone answers to me.” He turned his gaze to the others, eyes dead calm. “Especially when they’re stealing from me.”

“We were just playing cards,” one of the others stammered, sweat beading on his brow.

Sal didn’t even blink. “Is that what Ramon told you to say?”

He shifted to the dealer. “Three years. That’s how long you’ve worked for me.”

The man looked at the floor. “My kid’s sick. I didn’t know what else to do…”

“So you sold out to Ramon Diaz,” Sal said, as if it were just math. “He skims off my tables, gives me back the stolen cash as if he’s paying off a debt—using my own money.”

“He’s been doing it for months,” the man with the broken finger choked out. “That’s how he paid you back. You were funding your own damn betrayal.”

Sal’s lips twitched, but not into a smile.

“What’s his endgame?” he asked.

Carlos shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not just about the money,” he said. “Ramon’s… he’s making moves.”

“What kind of moves?”

“He’s branching out,” Carlos said. “Wants to go bigger. New partners.”

Sal’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of partners?”

“The Sinaloa Cartel.”

Sal straightened. “He’s bringing in Mexico?”

Carlos nodded once, tense. “He wants territory. Leverage. He said you were getting soft. That it’s time for real muscle.”

Sal’s voice dropped a note. “And how exactly is he pulling that off?”

“We don’t know,” Carlos said, panic rising in his voice. “He’s been quiet about it. All we know is...”

The man with the broken fingers let out a sharp, bitter laugh. It turned into a pained wheeze. “All I know…” he said, looking up at Sal with glassy eyes, “is that it involves Eddie.”

The silence that followed was instant and suffocating.

Sal’s face didn’t change, but something behind his eyes flickered. “What about Eddie?”

The man just grinned through the pain, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Sal walked up to him slowly, crouched beside him.

“I’m going to find out,” he whispered. “One way or another. And when I do, if you’ve lied to me, if you’ve held back...”

The man’s grin faded as Sal’s hand closed around his wrist.

Another crack.

He screamed.

“Tony,” Sal said without looking away, “Get in here.”

Tony stepped inside.

“Make sure they leave here with a memory they won’t forget. But leave them breathing...for now.”

Tony nodded. His silence was more terrifying than the screams that would follow.

“And the dealer?” he asked.

Sal stood, brushing dust from his coat. “Fire him. But pay for the kid’s treatment. Every bill.”

The dealer looked up, stunned.

Sal’s voice was ice. “You betrayed me. But your kid won’t suffer for your cowardice.”

He turned toward the door.

“Eddie,” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. “What the fuck have you gotten into…”

xxx

Sal stormed out of the back room, his footsteps echoing against the concrete floor. Blood roared in his ears, drowning out the distant sounds of the casino. Eddie. Ramon was using his own son as bait for a cartel deal. The thought made his stomach twist with a fury he hadn't felt in years. He stabbed the elevator button with his thumb and stepped inside when the doors slid open. As the elevator climbed, Sal loosened his tie, suddenly feeling like he couldn't breathe. What was Ramon planning? And why did it involve Eddie?

The doors opened to his private office suite. Sal crossed to the wet bar and poured himself two fingers of whiskey, downing it in one burning swallow. He slammed the glass down and braced his hands against the polished surface, head hanging between his shoulders. This wasn't his problem. Eddie wasn't his problem. He had casinos to run, territory to protect, money to collect. Getting involved with Ramon's family drama was bad business.

But the image of Eddie's hollow eyes and bruised skin flashed in his mind, making his chest ache in a way he couldn't explain. There had been something in that look, something beyond fear or resignation. Something that had reached inside Sal and grabbed hold of a part of himself he'd thought long dead.

"Fuck," he muttered, pushing away from the bar.

Chapter Text

Eddie stared at his reflection in the dressing room mirror, fingers trembling as he dabbed concealer over the fading bruises on his cheek. His week of confinement ended yesterday and tonight would be his first performance back at El Refugio. His stomach churned at the thought. The club was quiet this early in the evening, only the occasional clatter of glasses and muffled conversations from the staff preparing for the night ahead. Eddie had arrived hours before his scheduled performance, needing time to settle his nerves and prepare his body for what was coming.

He winced as he rotated his shoulder, still sore from where Ramon had grabbed him last week. The bruises had faded to sickly yellow-green smudges, but the memory remained fresh. Then voices. Drifting in from the hallway outside his dressing room, Ramon and Miguel, their tones low and eager. Eddie froze, brush hovering in mid-air.

"The plan worked perfectly," Miguel said, pride threading through his voice. "Deluca never suspected a thing."

Eddie’s heart hammered. He set the brush down slowly, carefully, as if sudden movement might shatter the world.

"We've been robbing him for weeks, right under his nose," Ramon replied, smug. "Using his own damn money to pay him back. The man's losing his edge."

Eddie moved closer to the door, silent, every nerve stretched taut.

"And the Sinaloa deal?" Miguel asked.

"Locked in. Vega himself is in town tonight to finalize it." Ramon’s voice dropped a note darker. "Once we’ve got Sinaloa behind us, Deluca’s empire falls. Piece by piece."

"And the... side venture?" Miguel’s tone shifted, greedy, conspiratorial.

Ramon chuckled. “Already in motion. The Cartel’s expanding their ‘supply chain,’ and we’ve got prime stock ready to feed it. Pretty ones. Broken ones. Trainable ones.”

Eddie’s breath caught.

"Jesus," Miguel murmured.

"Don’t act surprised," Ramon said. "Girls, boys, whatever sells. You’ve seen what the Cartel does with them. This city’s full of meat waiting to be branded."

"And Eddie’s role?"

Eddie’s stomach twisted.

"The boss loved the photos we sent. Said he’s perfect. A rare piece. Exotic, submissive, trained for performance." Ramon’s voice was gleeful. "His act tonight? It’s not just a show, it’s a presentation."

Miguel let out a low whistle. “So we hand him off?”

“Not right away,” Ramon said. “First, we let Vega see him up close. Get him hooked. Then we make the offer. A clean trade. One star performer in exchange for full territory rights.”

“And if Deluca gets in the way again?”

Ramon’s voice turned razor-sharp. “Then Sal gets buried. And Eddie? He won’t even know he’s gone.”

Their footsteps moved down the hall, fading into distance.

Eddie stumbled back, knees giving out beneath him. He collapsed into his chair, staring at the mirror, at his bruises, his fear, his face now painted for an audience that might very well decide his fate.

They’d been stealing from Sal. Using him. And now, they were about to sell him.

His fists clenched.

He wasn’t just a pawn. He was a product.

And unless he did something, they’d break him beyond repair.

The door swung open suddenly.

Eddie flinched.

But it was just a stagehand. “Five minutes till showtime,” the young man said, then vanished again.

Eddie's hands curled into fists against the vanity. Five minutes until he stepped on stage, until he performed for a room full of strangers who saw him as nothing more than entertainment. Until he took another step toward being traded to the cartel like property. His gaze fell on his phone, sitting beside his makeup kit. In that moment, a desperate, dangerous idea took root in his mind. His fingers hovered over the device, trembling with indecision.

What if he reached out to Sal? What if he warned him about what Ramon was planning?

It would be suicide. Ramon would kill him if he found out. But the alternative, continuing as he had been, a prisoner in his own life, being handed off to the cartel...suddenly seemed worse than death. Before he could talk himself out of it, Eddie pulled open the top drawer of his dressing table. Beneath stray eyeliner pencils and crumpled tissues lay a small, stiff rectangle he’d hidden there days ago. Sal’s card. He hadn’t meant to keep it, had told himself it was meaningless. but his hand shook as he picked it up now, the weight of it heavier than it should have been.

He grabbed his phone and typed in the number printed across the elegant cardstock. His thumb hovered for a single heartbeat before he hit “call.”

It rang only once.

“Deluca,” came the deep, gravel-edged voice on the other end.

Eddie’s throat closed up. What was he doing? This was madness.

“Who is this?” Sal asked when silence stretched too long.

“I—” Eddie’s voice caught. He forced himself to whisper, “It’s me.”

A pause, sharp with surprise. “Eddie?”

“They’ve been stealing from you,” Eddie blurted out before his nerve failed. “Ramon, Miguel, all of them. They’ve been skimming from your casinos for weeks.”

“I know,” Sal replied, tone unreadable. “What about Sinaloa?”

Before Eddie could answer, voices drifted down the hallway outside his dressing room. Laughter, heavy footsteps, the low rumble of Miguel’s voice. Panic clamped down on his chest.

“I have to go,” Eddie whispered urgently.

“Are you in danger right now?” Sal asked, his voice suddenly tight, sharp with concern.

Eddie didn’t answer. He ended the call and shoved the phone and card back into the drawer just as the door opened. Miguel stood in the doorway, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Who were you talking to?" he demanded.

Eddie's heart stuttered. "No one. I was rehearsing my introduction."

Miguel studied him for a long moment, disbelief written across his features. "Ramon wants you on stage now. Don't fuck this up."

As soon as Miguel left, Eddie slumped forward, hands braced against the vanity. What had he done? There was no going back now. He'd betrayed Ramon, his own father, to a man who might be just as dangerous. A man who had no reason to help him beyond self-interest. But as Eddie straightened, meeting his own gaze in the mirror, he felt something unfamiliar stirring in his chest. The first flicker of defiance that wasn't immediately smothered by fear.

He reached for his stage costume, a pair of tight gold pants and a sheer shirt that left little to the imagination. As he dressed, he wondered if this would be his last performance at El Refugio. One way or another, everything was about to change. The thought should have terrified him. Instead, as he applied the final touches to his makeup and prepared to step onto the stage, Eddie found himself almost looking forward to the chaos that would follow.

For the first time in years, he had acted instead of being acted upon. Whatever happened next, at least he'd had this one moment of choice.

"Showtime," he whispered to his reflection, and turned toward the door.

Chapter Text

La Fortuna Nera glittered with life, slot machines flashing, roulette wheels spinning, laughter and money flowing in equal measure. But Sal moved through it all like a ghost, nodding absently at staff without truly seeing them. His thoughts were elsewhere. Back in that room at El Refugio.

Eddie’s bruised face.

His hollow eyes.

The way he’d dropped to his knees like muscle memory.

Sal took a seat at the high-stakes poker table, more for show than interest. Cards slid his way. Chips clinked. He played without thinking.

“Full house,” the dealer said.

Sal blinked down at the cards. He’d won and he didn’t care.

His phone vibrated.

He glanced at the screen. Unknown number. He hesitated, but something in his gut twisted. He answered.

“Deluca.”

Silence. Then a shallow breath.

“I...” the voice broke. “It’s me.”

Sal stood slowly from the table, heart starting to race. “Eddie?”

“They’ve been stealing from you,” Eddie said, the words tumbling out. “Ramon, Miguel… they’ve been skimming from your casinos for months.”

“I know.” Sal’s voice was low, careful. “What about Sinaloa?”

There was a pause. Voices echoed faintly behind Eddie, laughter, footsteps, too close.

“I have to go,” he whispered, panic bleeding into his voice.

“Are you in danger right now?” Sal asked, sharp, already turning away from the table.

But the line clicked dead.

“Sir.” Tony appeared beside him, voice urgent. “Got something you’ll want to hear.”

Sal turned. “What?”

“The Sinaloa cartel is at El Refugio tonight. Vega himself.”

Sal’s blood ran cold.

“When?”

“As of an hour ago. Ramon’s giving him the full treatment. Closed-door meeting.”

The phone in Sal’s hand felt suddenly heavier. He could still hear Eddie’s voice in the back of his mind.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Get the car,” he said. “We’re paying them a visit.”

xxx

Eddie stepped onto the stage, the harsh spotlight momentarily blinding him as the crowd erupted in applause. The music pulsed through his veins as he began to move, his body on autopilot while his mind raced with the dangerous call he'd just made. Through the haze of lights, Eddie spotted Ramon near the entrance, flanked by a group of well-dressed men with hard eyes and expensive watches. The Sinaloa delegation had arrived. His stomach clenched, but his movements never faltered.

Ramon's face split into a wide, practiced smile as he approached the tallest man in the group, Vega, the cartel lieutenant himself. They embraced like old friends, though Eddie could see the tension in his father's shoulders even from this distance.

"Señor Vega! Welcome to El Refugio," Ramon's voice carried over the music. "I've been looking forward to your visit."

Eddie spun and dropped low, feeling the burn in his thighs as he executed a complicated move. He kept his eyes unfocused, not wanting to make direct contact with anyone in the crowd, especially not the men his father was escorting to the VIP section. Ramon guided Vega and his entourage to the best table in the house – the private booth directly in front of the stage where Eddie performed. Eddie's heart hammered against his ribs. This close, there was nowhere to hide.

"As you can see," Ramon gestured toward the stage, toward Eddie, "we provide only the finest entertainment."

Eddie felt Vega's gaze crawl over him like insects. He forced himself to breathe through it, to keep dancing as the man's eyes lingered on his chest, his hips, his face. The hunger in that look was unmistakable.

"Your son is even more impressive in person," Vega remarked, his voice cutting through the music like a blade. "The photos didn't do him justice."

"He's our star attraction," Ramon replied proudly, as if discussing a prized racehorse. "Trained since he was sixteen."

Eddie's stomach turned. He twisted his body into another pose, using the momentum to briefly turn away from their table. The respite lasted only seconds before he had to face them again. Ramon leaned in close to Vega, speaking in hushed tones that Eddie couldn't quite hear over the music. He caught fragments, "expansion into the west side" and "double the current operation" as Ramon laid out his plans for their partnership.

Vega nodded along, but his eyes never left Eddie. There was something calculating in that gaze now, something that went beyond mere lust. He was assessing value and measuring worth.

"And what about him?" Vega interrupted, nodding toward the stage. "Is private time with your boy part of our arrangement?"

Eddie nearly stumbled. His breath caught in his throat, but years of practice kept his body moving, his face a mask of seductive indifference.

Ramon's laugh was smooth as silk. "Eddie is available, of course – at a price."

"Name it," Vega said immediately, his eyes darkening with interest.

"Let's discuss the details after the show," Ramon replied, clapping Vega on the shoulder. "I think you'll find our partnership has many... additional benefits."

Vega smiled, the expression never reaching his eyes. "I believe we have a deal, my friend."

Eddie felt sick. The music seemed to fade into the background as the reality of his situation crashed over him. This was it, the moment Ramon had been preparing for. The moment he would be traded like merchandise. He spun faster, losing himself in the movement, trying to block out the conversation happening just feet away from the stage. His skin burned under Vega's gaze, the man's eyes following his every move like a predator tracking prey.

The song reached its crescendo. Eddie dropped into his final pose, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his spine. The applause washed over him, meaningless noise against the roaring in his ears. As he straightened, he caught Vega raising his glass in appreciation, a cold smile playing on his lips. Beside him, Ramon looked triumphant, already counting his profits.

Eddie backed away from the edge of the stage, disappearing behind the curtain as soon as he could. He leaned against the wall, gasping for breath that wouldn't come. His hands shook violently as he pressed them against his face.

xxx

Ramon watched as Vega added his signature to the document before him. The terms were simple. If all went well, it would become a permanent arrangement.

"This is the beginning of a beautiful partnership," Ramon said, accepting the paper and locking it in his desk drawer.

Vega nodded, sliding a sleek black duffel bag across the desk. "A token of our appreciation. Half now, half when the shipment arrives safely."

Ramon unzipped the bag enough to glimpse stacks of cash, and several small packages wrapped in plastic—samples of the product that would soon flow through his operation.

"And now," Vega said, standing, "I believe there was another part to our agreement."

"Of course." Ramon rose, moving around the desk to lead Vega toward the door. "Eddie is waiting in the private room at the end of the hall. Take as long as you like."

They walked together down the corridor, stopping outside a door marked only with a small gold star. Ramon reached for the handle, then paused, turning to Vega.

"One small request," he said quietly. "No permanent damage."

Vega's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I treat beautiful things with respect, Diaz."

Ramon nodded, stepping aside to let Vega pass. As the door closed behind him, Ramon remained in the hallway, staring at the polished wood for several seconds.

Behind that door, Eddie sat waiting on a luxurious bed, dressed only in black silk pants, his face a careful mask hiding the turmoil within. He'd been through this before, sold by his father to seal a deal, to curry favour, to prove loyalty. He knew what was expected of him.

Chapter Text

The door opened with a soft click. Eddie stiffened as Vega entered, the man's presence filling the room like smoke. His expensive suit clung to his broad shoulders, and his cologne, something leathery and sharp, hit Eddie's nostrils before Vega had even closed the door behind him.

"So," Vega said, loosening his tie with one hand. "You're even more beautiful up close."

Eddie swallowed hard and forced his lips into the practiced smile he'd perfected over years. "Thank you." The words tasted like ash in his mouth.

Vega circled him slowly, eyes raking over Eddie's bare chest. "Your father speaks highly of your... talents." He stopped directly in front of Eddie, close enough that Eddie could smell the cigar on his breath. "Show me."

Eddie knew what was expected. He'd done this countless times before. His body moved on autopilot as he rose from the bed, the silk pants sliding against his skin as he positioned himself in the centre of the room. The music wasn't playing, but in his head, Eddie heard the familiar rhythm that guided his movements. He began slowly, rolling his hips in a deliberate motion that made Vega's eyes darken. His hands slid down his own chest, fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen before hooking into the waistband of his pants. With practiced grace, he turned, giving Vega his back as he inched the silk downward, revealing skin inch by excruciating inch.

"Slower," Vega commanded, his voice rougher now.

Eddie complied, dragging out each movement until the pants pooled at his feet, leaving him naked and vulnerable. He felt Vega's gaze on him like a physical touch, crawling over his skin and leaving him cold despite the warmth of the room. Hands gripped his shoulders from behind, spinning him around. Vega's mouth crashed against his, demanding and brutal. Eddie kissed back mechanically, his mind retreating to that distant place he'd built over years of similar encounters. A place where none of this was happening to him. Vega's hands were everywhere, grabbing, squeezing, leaving marks that would bloom into bruises by morning. He pushed Eddie backward until his knees hit the bed, then shoved him down onto the mattress.

"Don't just lie there," Vega growled, already undoing his belt. "Make this good for me."

Eddie obeyed, his body going through motions so familiar they required no thought. His hands reached for Vega, helping him undress, touching him in ways he knew would please. All the while, his mind floated somewhere near the ceiling, watching it all happen to someone else. Vega was rough, his fingers digging into Eddie's flesh hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks. His teeth scraped against Eddie's neck, biting down in a way that made Eddie gasp with pain. Vega seemed to enjoy the sound, repeating the action on Eddie's shoulder, his collarbone, his inner thigh.

Time stretched and compressed. Minutes felt like hours as Vega took what he wanted, using Eddie's body with little regard for anything but his own pleasure. The headboard slammed against the wall in a rhythm that matched the pounding in Eddie's skull. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breath, in, out, in, out, until finally, Vega shuddered above him and collapsed. The weight crushed Eddie's chest, making it hard to breathe. He lay perfectly still, waiting. After what seemed like an eternity, Vega rolled off him and stood, reaching for his discarded clothes.

"Not bad," Vega said, buttoning his shirt with efficient movements. "Your reputation is well-deserved."

Eddie said nothing, watching through half-lidded eyes as Vega dressed. His body ached in places he'd stopped counting long ago. New bruises were already forming on his hips, his wrists, his throat.

Vega reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a thick wad of cash. He tossed it onto the bed, the bills scattering across Eddie's naked body. "A little extra, for a good time." His smile was all teeth. "I look forward to doing this again when I return next month."

The door closed behind him with a soft click that echoed in the sudden silence. Eddie remained motionless, staring at the ceiling as the reality of what had just happened crashed back into his body. The money felt heavy on his skin, each bill burning like a brand. Slowly, he pushed himself up, wincing at the pain that shot through him. The bills slid off his chest, falling to the mattress and floor. Eddie made no move to collect them. Instead, he curled in on himself, drawing his knees to his chest as the first tears slipped silently down his cheeks.

He pressed his face into the pillow to muffle the sobs that tore from his throat. His father would be expecting him soon, would want to know how it went, would expect him to be cleaned up and composed. But for these few stolen moments, Eddie allowed himself to feel the full weight of his despair. The tears came faster now, his body shaking with the force of them. He cried for the boy he'd once been, for the man he'd never get to become, for the prison his life had become. He cried until his throat was raw and his eyes burned, until no more tears would come.

A soft knock at the door jolted him back to reality. "Mr. Diaz?" It was Marco's voice, careful and low. "Your father is asking for you."

Eddie cleared his throat, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I'll be out in a minute."

He forced himself to stand on trembling legs, gathering the scattered bills with numb fingers. In the bathroom, he avoided his reflection as he washed away the evidence of Vega's touch. The water couldn't erase the marks left behind, but it was hot enough to make his skin red, masking the worst of the bruising. By the time he emerged, dressed once more in the black silk pants and a loose shirt that covered most of the damage, his face was a carefully constructed mask, beautiful, serene, empty. Only the slight redness around his eyes hinted at the breakdown that had occurred, and even that could be explained away by exhaustion.

The money was tucked into his pocket, heavy with the weight of his shame. He would give it to his father, as he always did. It was part of the routine, part of the life he'd never asked for but couldn't escape. As Eddie walked down the hallway toward his father's office, he felt something shift inside him. The tiny spark of hope that Sal's promise had ignited now burned hotter, fuelled by desperation and the knowledge that he couldn't endure this life much longer.

If Sal came back, when Sal came back, Eddie wouldn't push him away. Not this time. Because anything, even the unknown, had to be better than this.

He knocked on his father's door, straightening his shoulders and fixing his face into the neutral expression Ramon expected. The door opened, and Eddie stepped inside, already reaching into his pocket for the money Vega had thrown at him.

"It went well," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "He'll be back next month."

Ramon smiled, the expression never reaching his eyes as he accepted the cash. "Good boy," he said, patting Eddie's cheek with mock tenderness. "I knew I could count on you."

Eddie said nothing, letting the praise wash over him without penetrating. In his mind, he was already planning, not an escape, not yet, but the possibility of one. If Sal meant what he'd said, if he truly intended to come back...

For the first time in years, Eddie allowed himself to imagine a different life. It was a dangerous thought, one that could get him killed if his father ever suspected. But as he stood in Ramon's office, nodding at the appropriate moments while Ramon outlined the success of the Sinaloa deal, Eddie held that fragile hope close to his heart.

Sal Deluca was coming back for him. And this time, Eddie would be ready.