The sun filtered weakly through the curtains of the safehouse, casting a warm glow across the room. Elijah sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing against the hem of Dominic's shirt as the mafia boss lay asleep beside him, an arm draped lazily around Elijah's waist. His chest rose and fell with slow, steady breaths—peaceful, something rare for a man who lived constantly in war.
Elijah's eyes moved over the healing scar near Dominic's shoulder, the one that still haunted him. The memory of that bloody night, the panic in his chest when he saw Dominic collapse—he couldn't shake it off.
"I hate how close I came to losing you," Elijah whispered, fingers ghosting over the scar.
"I'm still here, Eli," Dominic murmured, eyes fluttering open, voice low and rough from sleep. "You won't lose me. Not now, not ever."
Elijah turned to face him, their eyes locking.
"I don't care about mafia wars or power or any of this chaos," Elijah said. "I just want to be with you, Dom. I want peace."
Dominic pushed himself up on one elbow, studying him. "Then let's take it. For once in my life, I want something just for me. You."
Their lips met—slow, desperate, and full of all the unspoken promises that had built between them. Dominic's hand slid under Elijah's shirt, pulling him closer until Elijah straddled his lap, breathless.
"I'm not your possession," Elijah said, eyes fierce but warm.
"No," Dominic said, cupping his face, "you're my choice. Every damn time."
Just then, a knock shattered the calm. Vincent barged in, his face tense. "We've got something," he said. "One of Matteo's lieutenants has gone rogue. He's not backing down. And he's calling in outsiders."
Dominic's expression darkened. "It never ends."
"But it can," Elijah said, standing. "Let's end it on our terms."
Vincent looked between them and gave a sharp nod. "Gear up. We finish this—tonight."
The private villa Matteo chose wasn't heavily guarded. Suspicious. Too quiet. Dominic stood in front of the wrought iron gates, looking up at the warm lights flickering inside the mansion.
"This doesn't feel right," Vincent muttered beside him, his hand resting near his gun.
Dominic's jaw clenched. "If he wanted to kill me, he would've done it long ago. He's inviting me for a reason."
Inside, Matteo waited at the long dining table, wine poured, candles lit, and not a weapon in sight. He stood when Dominic entered, offering a tired smile.
"No guards. No threats. Just us," Matteo said, gesturing to the table. "Let's talk."
Dominic's steps were cautious. His gaze scanned the room—every corner, every angle. He didn't sit right away.
"This better not be a game," he said.
Matteo shook his head. "It's not. I'm done with that."
He poured a glass for Dominic.
They sat.
Minutes passed, and the conversation flowed like old wounds reopening—quiet, slow, heavy.
"I hated you for having everything," Matteo admitted. "But it wasn't really you I hated. It was what I lost trying to be you."
Dominic stared into his wine. "I never wanted this war, Matteo. I never wanted Elijah to be dragged into it."
"I know."
Matteo raised his glass. "To surviving what we shouldn't have."
They clinked glasses.
But just as Dominic brought his wine to his lips, a crack sliced through the room.
Gunfire.
Matteo's chest jerked forward, blood blooming through his white shirt.
"Matteo!" Dominic shouted, catching him as he slumped over the table.
Chaos erupted. Vincent burst in, gun raised, eyes blazing. Matteo's guards turned, confused, and one of them—the youngest, with shaking hands—was tackled to the floor.
"He was aiming at Dominic!" one shouted.
But Matteo, coughing blood, reached up and grabbed Dominic's wrist.
"You were right... about everything," he rasped. "Make sure it ends with me... not with revenge."
Dominic swallowed hard, nodding once as Matteo's hand slipped from his arm.
The war, it seemed, had just ended—by the hand of one of Matteo's own.
And Dominic didn't look back.
Back at the safe house, the air was thick with tension, yet eerily quiet. Elijah sat on the couch, curled up with a blanket, his eyes glued to the door. Adrian sat beside him, arms crossed, pretending to scroll through his phone—but he hadn't looked at the screen for a while.
It had been hours since Dominic left.
When the door finally creaked open, Elijah shot up.
"Dominic?" his voice cracked.
Dominic stepped inside, blood on his shirt—not his own this time—but the heaviness in his eyes said more than any wound could.
Elijah rushed to him, cupping his face, inspecting every inch.
"You're okay... You're okay," Elijah whispered, pulling him into a desperate hug. Dominic didn't respond at first, just stood there, holding Elijah like he might fall apart.
"I couldn't save him," Dominic finally said.
Adrian looked up sharply. "Matteo?"
Dominic nodded. "Someone from his camp. He died protecting me."
The room fell into silence again.
Elijah pulled him toward the couch. "Sit. Rest. Talk later."
Vincent came in behind him, shutting the door and leaning against it with a sigh. "It's over, boss. For real this time."
Adrian glanced at him, their eyes locking briefly. He quickly looked away again, mumbling, "Took you long enough."
Vincent smirked, stepping closer. "Missed me?"
"In your dreams," Adrian snapped, though his voice was far too soft to match the glare.
Dominic laid his head against Elijah's chest, letting his guard down for the first time in years. Elijah ran his fingers through his hair, whispering softly.
"I'm not leaving you again. Ever."
Dominic closed his eyes.
"Good. Because if you try," he murmured, half-asleep, "I'll burn the world down."
Outside, the sky began to clear. The storm had passed, but the weight of everything they had lost—and won—still lingered.
The funeral was quiet. No reporters. No headlines. Just men in black suits, silent tears, and the weight of unfinished forgiveness.
Matteo Romano was laid to rest in a private cemetery on the edge of Florence. Dominic stood still beside the grave, his hands clasped behind his back, Elijah at his side.
Elijah glanced at him, uncertain. "You okay?"
"No," Dominic admitted. "But I will be."
There were no long speeches. Just silence. A man who had once been a threat, now just another grave. One more ghost in Dominic's long list of regrets.
Back in the villa, Adrian paced.
"I'm just saying," he said, folding his arms. "Maybe now that the war's over, we should go back to school."
Elijah blinked. "School?"
"Yeah. Our lives. The world before all of this." Adrian looked over at Vincent, who was sipping coffee like he hadn't almost died several times this year.
Vincent smirked. "You're cute when you pretend we're normal."
"I'm serious," Adrian snapped. "I want to graduate. I want... I want my life back."
Vincent stood, walked over, and leaned down until they were nose to nose. "You can have all of that. But don't act like you're going back without me."
Adrian blushed, quickly looking away.
Dominic and Elijah entered then, Elijah's hand still locked in Dominic's. There was something in Elijah's eyes—something peaceful.
"We're going home," Dominic said quietly. "To Naples. The villa. A fresh start."
Adrian turned to Elijah. "Are we really done with all this?"
Elijah smiled softly. "We'll never be completely out. But we're stepping away from the chaos. Finally."
That night, they packed up what remained of the past. Old files. Weapons. Bloodstained memories. Dominic walked through the halls of the safe house one last time, hand brushing the wall as if saying goodbye.
When they drove out the next morning, the sunrise bathed the road in gold. Elijah leaned against the window, eyes closed, Dominic's hand resting over his.
No words were spoken. None were needed.
They had survived.
And for the first time, they were finally free.
Naples was quiet in the spring.
The villa on the cliffside stood like a monument to everything they had lost—and everything they had finally won.
Elijah sat on the balcony, watching the ocean, the breeze rustling his shirt. He was barefoot, calm. He looked like someone who had finally remembered how to breathe.
Dominic joined him, two glasses of wine in hand.
"Still like red?" Dominic asked.
Elijah took the glass, their fingers brushing. "Still like you," he replied with a small smile.
They sat together in silence for a moment. Below, the waves crashed gently. In the distance, seagulls cried.
"Elijah," Dominic said, voice low. "If we hadn't met the way we did... do you think we'd still be here?"
Elijah turned to him. "No," he said honestly. "But I don't care how it started. You're where I ended up."
Dominic reached into his jacket, pulling out a small, black velvet box.
Elijah's breath hitched. "Dom—"
"Don't freak out." Dominic smirked. "I'm not asking you to marry me right now. But one day. When you're ready. When we're ready."
Elijah stared at him. "This is your way of saying you want forever?"
Dominic nodded. "You, Elijah Sinclair... are my forever."
Elijah leaned in and kissed him—deep, slow, like a promise sealed with the sea breeze and years of obsession turned devotion.
From inside, Adrian groaned dramatically, "Ugh! You two are disgusting!"
Vincent only chuckled, pulling Adrian closer on the couch. "Jealous?"
"Of him? Please." Adrian paused. "Maybe just a little."
Vincent kissed the top of his head. "Don't worry, I've got something planned for us too. The chaos might be over, but our story's just beginning."
THE END.!