**(Trigger Warning BEWARE! Slight Non-Con)**
(Takes place before the Prologue)
Two days later. In an expensive hotel suite in Rome.
The quiet hum of the mini fridge and AC was the loudest sound in the suite.
Two days.
Two days since the bullets had shattered their false sense of security.
Since Tony had expertly driven them away from Calabria, ditching the beat-up, bullet-ridden car.
'I even liked that car,' Angel sighed. 'It was vintage.'
They'd melted into the chaos of a small-town train station, boarding the first high-speed service they could find across Italy—putting miles between them and their unseen hunters.
Now they were in Rome.
In a suite so enormous and sumptuously decorated in blue sapphire, it felt more like a museum exhibit than a temporary refuge.
Expensive.
Comfortable.
Not quite.
Angel sat by the window, idly tracing patterns into the condensation.
He was restless.
The silence only amplified the frantic beat of his heart.
His mind wandered—to his and Tony's first fight as a couple.
That was this morning.
Angel had just wanted to get a coffee downstairs, hoping to relieve the feeling of suffocation.
And now it was getting dark.
The lamps were on, but not the main lights.
He preferred it dim.
Like his heart.
Ever since they'd arrived here, Tony hadn't let him leave his side.
Unlike in Milan, Rimini, Tropea—even the village in Calabria where they just came from.
Yes, Tony let him walk and explore there, although he was always watching like a damned hawk.
But there were times when Tony just let him be.
Especially if he wasn't going far.
And downstairs wasn't even far.
Just downstairs.
Just two floors down.
They hadn't even gone out.
No walks.
No window shopping.
Nothing.
Tony had been increasingly getting more paranoid after they'd been attacked.
He wouldn't even let Angel pee alone.
So, earlier, while Tony was asleep, Angel tried to slip out.
Tried.
Just a quick walk.
Just coffee.
But Tony had woken up.
And the beast inside him had emerged.
Choosing violence over gentle reasoning.
Angel was exhausted too.
Afraid for their lives.
He just needed a breath of air.
But Tony wouldn't let him have even that.
It was suffocating.
So, they fought.
Yelled at each other.
Said hurtful things.
Angel refused to bow, refused to be controlled.
He knew.
He knew Tony was only worried.
But this—this was getting excessive.
It had been two days, and no sign of the shooters.
'Doesn't that mean, we managed to shake them off?'
And even if they didn't, Angel thought they wouldn't dare make a move in a place like this.
Always bustling with people.
'If they are CIA, they won't hurt civilians.'
He believed that, trusting his instinct.
His gaze drifted toward the open bathroom door.
'Too bright there,' he thought, changing his position, feet now touching the ground.
His back leaned on the edge of the window sill.
'And he (the beast) was there.'
The beast who retreated into a quiet, almost distant focus, but still not letting Angel out of his sight.
'I'm sure he was conscious of where I am.'
He could hear rapid Italian spoken in hushed whispers, and Angel could almost imagine the bastard-beast pacing inside.
Tony had started spending his time on the phone after their fight this morning.
"... assalitori (hostile shooters)… Calabria… controllare (check)... Beth… movimenti (movements)..."
Angel clicked his tongue.
'What's he planning? Calling home already like a kid?'
Then silence.
Bare footsteps echoed across the marble floor.
Tony emerged.
Eyes immediately went to Angel out of habit.
Their eyes met—and stilled.
The air went thick quickly.
Tony was shirtless, only in jeans.
A far cry from the walking shorts and blasphemous orange Hawaiian shirt he wore when they first met.
Or the tailored black suit and mask from their second.
His bare chest was on display.
'It's… distracting.'
Angel's eyes shamelessly went low.
Then he gulped involuntarily, wrapped in the hotel's royal blue robe, fresh out of the shower earlier.
Heat crawled up his neck.
He fought it.
Imagined himself pouring cold water with sheer will to his horny self.
He was still mad at him.
'Stupid fucking hormone,' he thought.
Tony, like he couldn't stay away for long, approached Angel slowly.
"I ordered coffee," he murmured, sighing as he ran a hand through his dark hair.
Messing it up.
A habit when he was at a loss at what to do.
Angel didn't smile nor take his eyes off Tony.
"I don't want your coffee," a grudge still on his voice.
A beat.
"... But thanks, I guess," Angel added.
'Damn my manners,' he thought, then looked away.
Then he felt Tony's arms wrapping around him, they were standing in front of each other.
"I… shouldn't have yelled," Tony said gruffly.
"You think?" Angel said, voice flat.
Tony rubbed his freshly-shaved cheek and jaw against Angel's, frustrated.
"I'm not used to this. Caring this much. Worrying this much."
Angel leaned back to look at him.
Eyes instantly locked with each other.
"I'm not your hostage, Tony."
"I know, babe…"
"Do you? Because it feels like I can't even breathe without you watching me."
Tony's face darkened.
"They shot at us. It could've been you. You think I can just forget that?"
"I haven't forgotten. But locking me in here—" Angel paused, collecting himself, "—won't make it better. I'm not a crystal. I won't shatter."
"You might," Tony whispered.
"And if you do… I won't survive it."
Angel's throat tightened.
Tony's arms tensed, his voice low.
"I'm scared, Angel. I've never been this scared. Not when I run away from Italy to America. Not as a SEAL. Not when I was shot and bleeding. Not with the CIA. Not even when I infiltrated my own family. But with you…" he met Angel's eyes. "I'm not rational."
"When that fucking Luchese took you, I was so goddamned scared. That's the longest seconds of my life."
Angel softened.
"I get it," he said gently.
"But you can't control me out of fear. You're starting to see me, treat me like—something you own. I'm not a thing."
Tony flinched.
"I'm not a damned object," Angel added.
"I choose you—not because you're pretty or dangerous. I choose you. But if you keep treating me like something to guard instead of someone to love—"
Tony didn't let him finish.
He dropped to his knees.
Angel blinked.
"Tony—"
"Let me say I'm sorry," Tony muttered, already untying Angel's robe.
"This isn't—"
Tony didn't answer.
He leaned in, nuzzled Angel's thigh like a cat, then took him into his mouth.
Angel gasped, hands behind him, grabbing the windowsill.
"Tony—wait."
But Tony didn't stop.
His mouth was hot, relentless.
His hands pinned Angel's hips.
It wasn't gentle.
It wasn't soft.
It was desperate.
Like he could erase the argument.
Fix the fear.
Rewrite reality with his damned tongue.
'This bloody horny traitorous body of mine!'
Angel tried to focus.
To breathe.
But it felt good—too good—but it was too much.
Too fast.
Too hard.
"Wait," Angel gasped.
"Tony. Stop. Just—"
He came, whole body shuddered, turning limp.
But Tony didn't flinch.
His eyes were shut.
Brow furrowed.
He was lost in it, in Angel.
He swallowed, licked, sucked and pumped again.
Angel's knees buckled.
His body slumped forward, hands on Tony's shoulders.
Tony's silver eyes opened.
He rose swiftly, swept Angel up, and kissed him hard, wrapping his legs around his waist.
The taste of Tony's mouth was unpleasant.
'It's my cum… Dear lord.'
But the kiss was wild, hot, obsessive, and consuming.
Hands gripped Angel's ass.
"Ahhh—"
Then a wet finger—probably coated in his own cum mixed with Tony's saliva—entered his hole.
Angel groaned from the sudden intrusion but didn't resist.
'But I'm still mad at him!'
Then a second finger, stretching him open.
"Ahhh!" Angel moaned loudly.
Tony growled.
The zip of his jeans flew open.
Angel barely registered it.
Tony gripped Angel's ass with one hand stretching his hole open.
Then the fingers left.
In its wake a blunt cock filled him in one hard thrust.
"Ahhh," Angel moaned.
Tony's mouth attacked his neck, chest, and nipple.
Sucking.
Biting.
Hard.
Arms on Tony's neck.
Then he fucked him.
He fucked Angel like a man possessed.
Wild.
"Ahhhhh.." he moaned again.
Then a growl in Angel's ears: "I love you. You're mine. Mine."
It hit him like ice water.
They were just fighting.
He was trying to explain to Tony that he wasn't an object.
Angel tried to push the bastard off, but Tony didn't stop until he came.
And came he did.
"Fuck, babe," Tony breathed.
He tried to kiss Angel.
Angel dodged.
Silently hating himself.
Tony frowned.
Releasing himself from Angel's hole, letting his feet down.
Tony tried to kiss him again.
But got denied again.
Tony started to get mad.
"Amore…"
"You treat me like a goddamned sex machine," Angel said.
Tony froze.
"No—"
"Get off me."
Hurt flashed in Tony's eyes.
But Angel ignored it.
"I said get off me."
"No!" Tony snapped, kissing him again—ravaging.
Angel refused to respond.
Will and pride stopped him.
Tony growled.
Dropped to his knees.
Took Angel again into his mouth.
"No! Get off me!" Angel protested, his voice was weak.
Then he looked down—and froze.
There tucked in Tony's waistband behind him.
A gun.
Black.
Familiar.
Deadly.
Angel's blood ran cold.
He leaned down.
Reached for it.
Gripped it.
Raised it.
"Tony. Stop."
His voice cracked.
Tony stilled.
And he saw the gun pointed at his face.
Angel's hand trembled.
His chest heaving.
"Do you see me now?" Angel whispered.
Voice jarred.
"Do you finally see me, Tony? Not as something you can hide. Or fuck into silence?"
Tony's eyes narrowed.
"Shoot me."
Angel was shocked.
"What?"
"Shoot me, Angel."
**