Chapter 4: Sunrise Confessions
The dawn light through the reinforced glass of the gym was pale and unforgiving. It caught the dust motes hanging in the air, the ones not yet stirred by the day’s violence. Nino stood in the doorway, a mug of black coffee cooling in his hand, and watched.
Caius stood thirty paces from a heavy mannequin, a silhouette used for knife and close-quarter drills. He was barefoot, wearing only loose grey sweatpants that sat low on his hips. His torso was a landscape of lean muscle and pale skin, the claiming mark at his shoulder a lurid purple in the cold light. He held a balanced throwing knife by the tip, his arm cocked back, his entire body still.
He didn’t breathe. He just… released.
The blade spun once, a silent, silver flicker in the air, and buried itself with a solid thunk in the dummy’s throat. Not the center mass. Not the chest. The throat. A kill shot.
Caius didn’t react. He walked to a table, picked up another knife from a lined case. His movements were economical, fluid. As if he were selecting a pastry.
“You’re up early,” Nino said, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space.
Caius didn’t turn. “Habit.” He paced back to his mark. “The quiet is useful. No distractions.”
“And what are you practicing for?”
This time, Caius looked over his shoulder. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. “Maintenance.” He threw again. This blade sank an inch to the left of the first, neatly severing the carotid artery on a living target. “Skills atrophy if you don’t tend them. Like a garden. But with more bloodshed.”
Nino sipped his coffee. It tasted like ash. The memory of the previous night was a fresh bruise on his mind—the blood in the sink, the brutal honesty in the steam, the terrifying competence. He’d spent hours awake, staring at the ceiling, the shape of Caius breathing beside him suddenly alien. A sleek, dormant weapon under his sheets.
“I could have killed you twelve different ways the night we met,” Caius said conversationally, as if commenting on the weather. He retrieved the knives with a firm yank. “The champagne flute. The stem of your tie pin. A well-placed pressure point on the staircase that would have sent you tumbling down, broken neck. Quick. Clean. Unsuspicious.”
The air left Nino’s lungs. He set the mug down on a weight bench. The casual inventory was more shocking than any confession. It was a clinical report. “Why didn’t you?”
Caius turned, wiping a blade clean on a cloth. He shrugged. “You were polite. You asked if I wanted the lamp on or off. Not many people ask me what I want.” He tilted his head. “And your security was, frankly, pathetic. It would have been… unsporting.”
A laugh, rough and unexpected, escaped Nino. “Pathetic.”
“Dreadful. Sergio by the potted palm? His weight was on his back foot. He’d have drawn too late. Marco on the stairs had a tell—he touches his earpiece before he moves. Gave me a full two-second warning.” Caius walked towards him, the knives loose at his sides. “I redesigned your perimeter layouts in my head during the canapés. A fun little exercise.”
Nino stared at him. This beautiful, cold creature he’d married for a business arrangement and then, against all odds, had started to… what? Cherish? Protect? The foundation of those feelings had crumbled. What was left was fascination, and a deep, unsettling thrill. “You know,” his voice broke the silence, gravelly. “I’ve never seen you fight.”
“Is that a request, Romano?” The omega’s voice was a sultry purr as he turned fully to face him, a challenge in his glacier-blue eyes.
“How many times have I told you not to call me that.” The Alpha’s groan was half exasperation, half something darker. He toed off his loafers.
“At least a dozen.” Caius placed the knives back on the table with deliberate care. “It never seems to stick.”
Nino pulled his sweater over his head, tossed it aside. He was bigger, heavier, a brawler’s build versus Caius’s fencer’s form. “No rules.”
“There are always rules,” Caius corrected softly, circling. “You just have to be clever enough to bend them without anyone noticing.”
Nino lunged. It was a testing move, fast for his size, aiming to grab Caius’s wrist and pivot him into a lock. It should have worked.
Caius wasn’t there. He’d shifted a micron, his body turning like a leaf sidestepping a stream. Nino’s grasp closed on empty air. A sharp, precise tap stung the nerve cluster just above his elbow. His whole forearm buzzed, went briefly numb.
“Point one,” Caius murmured, already two steps away.
Nino shook out his arm, a grin spreading across his face. It was the grin he wore when a rival family made a bold, stupid move. The grin before a storm. “Okay.”
He came again, a combination this time—a feinted jab followed by a solid sweep toward Caius’s legs. Caius didn’t jump. He stepped into the sweep, his foot hooking behind Nino’s supporting ankle as the larger man was committed to the motion. He used Nino’s own momentum, a gentle, guiding push against his chest.
Nino went down. Hard. The mat shuddered under his weight, the impact punching the air from his lungs. He looked up, dazed, at Caius standing over him, not even breathing hard.
“Point two. You rely too much on your strength. It makes you predictable.”
Nino surged up, grabbing for him. This time he caught fabric, the waistband of Caius’s sweats. He yanked, pulling him off balance, rolling them. He got his weight on top, pinning Caius’s wrists to the mat beside his head. Victory, hot and primal, flared in his chest.
Caius didn’t struggle. He went pliant, his body softening beneath Nino’s. His eyes, though… His eyes were calm. Calculating. He leaned up, as if for a kiss, his lips brushing Nino’s ear.
“You have me,” Caius whispered. “Now what?”
And Nino realized the terrible position he was in. His thighs were straddling Caius’s torso, but his own neck was exposed, bent low. Caius’s head was free. If this were real, a swift, brutal jerk of that head would break his nose, possibly crush his eye socket. If his hands were free, the thumbs would go for the eyes, or the ears, or the throat.
Nino was holding a live grenade, not a lover.
He saw the knowledge in Caius’s gaze. The patient, icy amusement. You think this is control? This is what I allow you to have.
With a growl, Nino released him, pushing himself up and away. He stood, chest heaving, sweat already pricking his skin. Caius rose in one smooth, unhurried motion.
“You’re not fighting me,” Nino accused, his voice raw.
“Of course not,” Caius said, walking to the water cooler. He filled a paper cone, drank. “I’m educating you. There’s a difference.” He offered another cone to Nino. “Fighting is emotional. What I do is arithmetic. Physics. Leverage. You have a sledgehammer. I have a scalpel. We are designed for different kinds of ruin.”
Nino took the water, drank it down. The cold shock was a blessing. “All those times I thought I was protecting you…”
“You were.” Caius said it simply. “You protected the idea of me. The vessel. It was… sweet.” He reached out, his fingertips—the ones that could kill with a jab—traced the new sweat on Nino’s collarbone. The touch was eerily gentle. “It let me watch you. Learn you. See the man behind the Don.”
“And what did you see?”
“A man who wants a weapon he can hold,” Caius said, his gaze unflinching. “But who doesn’t yet know how to hold one without cutting himself.”
The truth of it was a cold slap. Nino looked away, towards the shooting range entrance, a dark mouth leading to silent, sunlit targets. “Teach me.”
Caius went very still. “What?”
“You heard me. Don’t make me say it again.” Nino met his eyes. “If you’re a weapon in my house, I need to know your balance. Your weight. Your safety.” He paused. “And I need you to teach my men. Not all of them. The inner circle. Starting with Sergio and his fucking back foot.”
A long silence stretched between them, filled only with the hum of the climate control. Caius’s expression was unreadable, then it shifted into something unnervingly like respect.
“They’ll hate it,” Caius said finally. “Being schooled by an Omega.”
“They’ll get over it. Or they’ll be dead when a real threat walks through the door wearing a pretty face.” Nino stepped closer, into Caius’s space. This time, it wasn’t a challenge. It was an acknowledgment. “The rules have changed. Clarified, like you said. So we adapt.”
Caius studied him for a long moment, then gave a slow, single nod. “We start Monday. Early. And they will call me ‘sir’.”
For the first time since the bathroom, Nino felt the ground solidify beneath his feet. It was new ground, treacherous and strange, but it was solid. He cupped the back of Caius’s neck, his thumb rubbing the edge of that purpling bite mark. Caius leaned into the touch, a cat accepting its due.
“Come on,” Nino said, his voice softer. “I’ll make breakfast. You can explain to me, in detail, every single way you could have killed me at our wedding.”
A real smile, small but genuine, finally broke through Caius’s icy exterior. “It’ll take a while. I was very creative.”
“I bet you were,” Nino said, leading him out of the gym, the ghost of yesterday’s sweat and tomorrow’s lessons hanging in the air behind them.