Right, everyone welcome to the second update of Regnante Legacy. A few clarification before we head into the story: one, the main story takes place 15 years after the events of the prologue; two, there are going to be about two different perspectives: Demetrio and Victoria from the eyes of the beholder, with Salvatore's perspective at regular intervals; and third, this is Demetrio's chapter.
So go ahead and enjoy and don't forget to comment, like, and share! Would love to hear from all you!

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New York City, New York

Matteo remembered the first time they had met.

He had looked like a white-collar businessman in his grey a suit that fit snugly across his lean figure with his white button-down and brown leather loafers polished to a shine. He looked every bit as arrogant as his clothes made him out to be with his smirk and startling eyes, the only thing that had thrown Matteo off was the fact that his dark hair was a mess on the top of his head and that he was doing his job.

Matteo had recently begun working the morning shift at the café that could only be found by winding through alleyways and pass from the back of a variety of colorful stores in the heart of New York. The fact that he would be going straight to the café after a whole night of guard duty at the museum gave him little to no time for rest. This is why he had popped in the bakery dishes, set the timer, fixed the shade of his baseball cap and laid his head on the bar counter in hopes to get some shut-eye. Knowing he had been running on a depleting source of adrenaline from a series of all-nighters and cheap gas station coffee.

He had hoped to be woken by the sound of his alarm, and not the sound of the coffee machine hissing along with the clatter of utensils and other-equipment being shifted around.

Grunting to himself, he shifted in his spot to think it was his co-workers, but the better part of him knew that they wouldn’t have let him sleep on the job. Not even if it saved their lives.

“Ugh, shut up,” Matteo spoke to himself, burying his face in his arms and sagged.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” A deep baritone rang against the inside of his skull, his sleep-addled mind trying to place the voice with the face of his co-worker but came up blank. “I didn’t mean to wake you, I was going to pay, though,”

Raising his head, vision blurry, he saw a dark glob in front of him. Squinting and blinking to clear his eyes, his heart stopped to find the back of a tall and lean man standing on the other side of the counter, a milk jug in hand and the machine humming behind him. His throat ran dry and cursed under his breath.

Matteo made an attempt to get up but forgot that he had lost sensation in his legs and staggered off the stool instead, landing in the floor in an unceremonious clatter and winces at the sharp stab of pain to his side.

“You alright?” The deep baritone electrocuted his spine and had his eyes snap open only to stare back at the most breathtaking man he had the misfortune of encountering.

Crouching in front of Matteo in a grey bespoke suit that looked like it was tailored to fit his form with a white button-down. His gold cufflinks glinting in the sunlight. A pale complexion with soft pink lips and crystalline eyes framed by thick lashes that cast a shadow on his sharp cheekbones, making it look like he was wearing mascara. The tuft of black hair a mess like he had just rolled out of bed, yet managed to pull it off with an elegant and straight poise and a devilish smirk.

“Come on,” He held out his hand, Matteo staring at the freshly manicured nails and then at the glint of the Rolex on his wrist.

Swallowing the dryness of his throat, he shuffled away from the man and pulled himself up, straightening the apron, and fixed the cap on his head before lowering his gaze. Mentally preparing himself for an admonishing to be slacking off on the job.

“I-I am very sorry, sir,” He murmured in a weak voice. “I didn’t expect there to be anyone-”

“-Nah, no big deal,” The man waved away the apology in an accent that Matteo couldn’t quite place, and was left watching when he made his way back around the counter. “Everyone needs sleep, and you look like you could use a week of it,”

Matteo winced at the words, acutely aware of disheveled state he must be in compared to this businessman; dressed in tattered and faded jeans with an old shirt that was two sizes too big and a fading baseball cap.

His heart thundering to see the man still doing what was supposed to be Matteo’s job.

“Uh…sir, if you could just step out from there-”

“-Sure, give me a second,” He nodded and put the coffee into two disposable mugs, putting them on the counter and pulled on an oven mitt, Matteo’s stomach rolling at the action.

His face paled and he put a hand against his forehead to realize he had forgotten all about the croissant and pastries in the oven. Staggering, he grabbed hold of the counter. “Oh, I’m so screwed,”

He jumped back when a freshly baked scone with a croissant and a large coffee was placed before him, Matteo looking from the food to the man opposite him.

“Eat up,” He winked and stepped out from behind the counter, holding his coffee and a brown paper bag in one hand and picked up his leather messenger bag with the other. Slinging it over his shoulder and stepped out. Leaving Matteo to stare at his disappearing form before turning back to the coffee shop and looked around him and then at the food placed on the counter, catching sight of a fifty dollar bill and hissed.

“Sir!” He ran towards the door, stepping out and looking down the path he had gone, but found it vacant of human existence and cursed himself for not paying more attention.

“Oh, this is good,” Demetrio moaned in Italian to the two men in the front of the Range Rover.

“Really?” His guard, Umberto scoffed from the passenger seat. “Americans? And making a decent cup of coffee?”

“I’m just as surprised as you,” The younger smacked his lips together. “But it almost tastes like the one back home,”

“Bullshit,” Umberto turned in his seat at the word. “That’s complete bullshit,”

“Try it,” Demetrio held out the coffee too his guard, watching him take off the lid and inhale the strong fragrance, raising an eyebrow at the familiarity before taking a sip, eyes widening at the taste.

“Shit, is this Arabica?”

“These American cagnas wouldn’t know the difference between Arabica and Robusta even if the difference bit them in the ass,” Hugo spoke from behind the wheel, taking the cup at a red light and took a sip of the drink. Jolting back at the familiar, but slightly weakened taste. “What the fuck?”

“We’re going back there after class,”

“Yes, sir,” Both guards nodded while Hugo returned the coffee to Demetrio, the heir settling back in his seat and enjoying his breakfast. Smiling to himself at the fact that he had finally found a café that made a decent cup of coffee after having spent two and a half years trying every coffee shop in his vicinity in a desperate search for some real caffeine.

By the time they pulled up outside his university, Demetrio was finished eating.

Umberto opening the door for him as he stepped out and walked the rest of the way to the building. Meeting his friends at the entrance, greeting them with a variety of high fives, fist bumps, and hugs, telling them they would be going to a café after class.

“So Demetrio finally decided to get the group project started, huh?”

“Oh, we can do that too,”

He couldn’t wait for the classes to be over, letting out a little victory hoot when the sir dismissed them, dragging his friends and urging them to hurry up.

The group of five laughing at his enthusiasm but followed nonetheless, one went going with him while the other four left in a friend’s car, following behind Demetrio’s Range Rover.

Matteo didn’t know what that man had put in his coffee, but it had been made with heaven. He was afraid of it having been laced with cocaine, but wasn’t complaining since he hadn’t felt this awake and in the moment for years. Then the croissant and scones were something he knew no one else could replicate, his tongue itching for that taste again and pouted under the shade of his cap every time someone ordered one.

When finally he managed to catch the baker, he had to ask if she had changed the recipe, but she had looked at him strangely and told him she didn’t do anything different.

Glancing at the time, Matteo knew things would pick up – in relative terms – around this time, and greeted the people that came in one by one.

He had been manning the counter when the door opened, looking up to greet them, but paled at the sight of the stranger from his morning, swallowing to see a group of five with him.

“Hey, Joe, take over for me,” Matteo called to his coworker and disappeared into the kitchen just as the group arrived at the counter, not having the strength to face him knowing that man could have him fired.

“Welcome to The Hideout,” Joe smiled at the man, eying the group behind him. “How can I help you today, sir?”

“Right, so I want,” Demetrio turned to the group behind him, counting the heads and turned back to the cashier. “Nine cappuccinos and nine croissants,”

“The croissants are in the oven, you’ll have to wait a while, sir,” Joe typed up the order. “If you’re in a rush I can suggest-”

“-Croissants will do,” He grinned in assurance and turned to his friends. “Why don’t you guys sit down and I’ll grab the drinks,”

They shrugged and found a table to accommodate them, talking to each other as Demetrio leaned against the counter, watching the two baristas work around each other and looked up to catch sight of the man from the morning peaking his head out from the kitchen. Hiding behind the partition when he found Demetrio looking.

“Hey, Sleepy! You’re still here,” The Italian grinned and jumped over the counter, the woman dropping the milk in her fright and backed away from the clatter. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” He apologized and bent down to help clean up, glancing at the Joe and narrowed his eyes to see the way he was preparing the coffee.

“No, no! Non e 'cosi' che fai il cappuccino,” He exclaimed and jumped up, taking the cups from him, leaving Joe to stare at him work around the counter with precision.

“Joe,” Matteo hissed behind him, the man turning to be greeted by the baseball cap. “Stop him, he’s a customer,”

“Come no, Sleepy, didn’t you like the coffee I made you?” Demetrio spoke with his back to them, Matteo tensing at the words before stepping out of his hiding place, standing a good distance from the suit-clad man.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to return to the other side of the counter. You don’t work here,”

“Of course I don’t, but that doesn’t mean I can’t teach you how to make proper Italian Cappuccino. It’s really going to help business. Joe, come here,” He beckoned the man behind Matteo and talked him through everything he was doing.

“Will you look at that,” A girl appeared at the counter, holding her phone in Demetrio’s direction. “Mr. Richi Rich is making coffee,”

“Hey, you Americans can’t make a decent cup, so I came here all the way from Italy to impart some wisdom on you colonizers,”

“Oh, we are so humbled by your generosity,”

“You better be,” Demetrio scoffed and turned with a trey of six cappuccinos, Matteo wincing to think the drinks would spill but stared in awe when he put them on the counter without a mess. “Here is your order,” He grinned and slid the coffee to her.

“And the croissants?”

“Coming right up,” He winked and grabbed the oven mitt, opening the door and pulled out the trey.

“No! They’re not done!” The girl shrieked after looking at the timer.

“They’re done,” The Italian stated and took them out, putting three croissants and three plates, handing two to the girl opposite him. “There you are,” Demetrio slid them to her as she rolled her eyes and took the trey back to the table.

All three employees watching in tense silence when he picked up the remaining mugs and handed one to each with a croissant.

“Enjoy,” He winked and jumped over the counter, landing gracefully on his feet and made his way to the group he had arrived with. Asking what they thought about the coffee as they all let out moans of delight. “Good, now I’m heading off to work,”

“What? So soon?”

“Sorry, duty calls,” He winked and made his way to the door, stopping in the center of the shop and turned to address the baristas behind the counter; smiling at Joe and Abigail who were staring at their coffee and croissant, unable to comprehend the taste. “Hey, Sleepy,” He called out and Matteo winced at the nickname, looking at him from beneath the shade of his cap.

“Yes, sir?”

“Have Joe teach you how to make this cappuccino, I’ll test you in the morning,”

With that, he stepped out of the coffee shop and down the sidewalk, Matteo staring with his cup trembling and swallowed, turning to his two coworkers who regarded him with hidden smirks and raised eyebrows.

“Is there something we should know?” His boss, Abigail, intoned in a suggestive voice.

“Nothing,” He put the cappuccino down and made his way to the kitchen.

“Hey, are you drinking that?” Joe called out, watching Matteo return to pick up his beverage and croissant, taking it with him.

It itched Matteo’s skin to be taught how to make coffee by his junior, whom he had taught how to operate these machines. But given that the Italian was going to return in the morning to test him on his cappuccino, he swallowed down his pride and learned it.

After his shift at the café, he returned to his crumbling apartment and collapsed onto the threadbare mattress in the corner of the room. Sleeping for a few hours before tapping on the broken screen of his phone to turn off the alarm and pushed himself off the bed.

Taking a cold shower under a minute and shivering as he dried down and pulled on the uniform. Making his way to the Museum at the other end of the town, greeting his coworker, and dismissing each other once he signed in.

Demetrio rubbed the towel over his damp hair, stepping out of his master bath and into his walk-in-closet, before arriving in his bedroom where the ringtone of his phone swam through the interior. Collapsing onto the bed, the mattress bounced with his weight before he picked up the call with a grin.

“Ciao, bella,” He greeted in his characteristic Italian drawl.

“Ciao, bello,” Victoria’s voice laughed on the other end. “You’re in a good mood today,”

“Am I?” Demetrio teased and looked at the yang on his wrist, missing his elder sister.

“Yes, you are,”

“Tell me, what’s got you so preppy?”

“You won’t believe me,”

“Try me,”

“I found this cute little coffee shop-”

“-And you’re crushing on the barista,”

“Ha! No,” Demetrio laughed. “No, they serve Arabica,”

“No,” Victoria gasped, Demetrio hearing the stillness from her end. “You’re kidding me,”

“I’m not,”

“What? Tell me more!”

“You know how lazy I am about breakfast,”

“God forbid you make it yourself,”

“So we were on the way to university when I saw this café that seemed pretty abandoned and was nearby, so I went in, and he barista was sleeping,”

“Nice, did you get him fired?”

“No,” Demetrio scoffed.

“Shame, but go on,”

“So I went behind the counter, popped in the croissants and started making the coffee and, Tori, they have an old Cimbali that smells like coffee,”

“Whoa! Not one of those weird brand new machines?”

“No! And it tasted so good! I felt like I was back in Tuscany!”

“You have to take me there the next time I pop by,”

“Yes! That is on the top of my list,” Demetrio chuckled and sat up in bed. “What about you, what’s up?”

“Well, Professor Greyson passed away last night,”

“Shit,” Her brother hissed. “How’d it happen?”

“Heart attack, passed in his sleep,”

“Painless,”

“Better than our history,”

“Tell me about it,”

“Anyways, now I have one hour free until they get a new professor and I have no idea who that would be and if they’d be good at teaching to even begin with and ugh, we’d have to build a whole new rapport with him,”

“How are presidential duties?”

“Oh, good, everything is going well on time and it’s nice to be out and about and interact with people,”

“Miss. Congeniality, eh?”

“Please, you’re Mr. Congeniality,”

“Pft, sure,”

“So what?” Victoria changed the topic. “No cute boys in your life?”

“None that I’ve noticed,” Demetrio stretched on his bed. “But Sleepy-”

“-Sleepy?”

“The sleeping barista from that coffee shop,”

“Right, what about him?”

“He’s got a hot bod,”

“Face?”

“Can’t say,”

“Does he have an ugly scar or something?”

“No, maybe. I don’t know. He wears a baseball cap and keeps his head down,” Demetrio muttered. “I’m curious though, he kept trying to throw me out of the shop,”

“Ha! A petty little American thinking he can boss around Demetrio Regnante,”

“Hey as far as they’re concerned, I’m Lombardi,”

“Lombardi were a Mafia family too-”

“-Until dad merged the two,”

“Duh,”

They both talked for a while longer until they decided that they were each going to eat dinner. Demetrio bidding farewell to his sister before entering the kitchen, finding Hugo making Manicotti, the heir joining Umberto at the counter.

In the morning, Matteo had been cleaning the counters when the customer from yesterday entered, wearing a pair of black sunglasses and a navy blue double-breasted blazer over a white button-down with matching dress pants, his black loafers polished to a shine.

“Welcome to The Hideout, how may I help you?” Matteo’s heart thundered.

“Morning, Sleepy,” The foreigner grinned in greeting, pulling off his glasses. “Glad to see that you’re mentally present with us today,”

Matteo kept his gaze on the screen, waiting for his order.

“Straight to business, huh,” He chuckled in that deep baritone of his. “Alright then, three croissants and Breves to go,”

“Breve?” Matteo’s fingers twitched.

“Oh no, don’t tell me you don’t know how to make that,”

“Uh…well…”

“I guess I don’t have any choice,” The man sighed and jumped over the counter, Matteo startling at the sudden action and stepped back. Looking up at the empty shop and hoping to find someone to help him with his unreasonable man. Only finding two men dressed in black suits on the other side of the road, watching, but seeing Matteo’s gaze on them, they walked away. The barista’s eyebrows furrowing at the act.

“Hey, Sleepy,” The man snapped his fingers in front of his face to regain his attention. “Come here, I’ll teach you how it’s done,”

Swallowing the dryness in his throat, Matteo stood two feet away from him, watching from afar, but gasped when the man clicked his tongue and grabbed his arm, pulling him closer.

“What are you going to learn all the way from there?” He tsk-ed. “If you do this right, and I like it, I can publicize this place to help with the business. God knows The Hideout is hidden so well that people won’t find it unless they’re told about it,”

The snarky remark had Matteo let out a breathless chuckle, keeping his gaze on the way the man’s long and slender fingers worked on the coffee machine like he had been doing this for years, ignorant to the smile the man’s lips took on.

“That’s how you make, Breve,”

“Breve?”

“Yeah,” The customer nodded and put it into three take away cups, holding one out to Matteo. “Try it so you know what it tastes like,”

“Uh…” Matteo took the cup from his hand, taking a sip and wincing at the scalding liquid, gagging and coughing, covering his mouth with his hand before looking up at the man from below the shade, nodding and handing it back to him. “It’s good,”

“I know, right?” He grinned like a child, taking a sip and smacking his lip. “Sa di casa,” He hummed to himself, Matteo’s eyebrows furrowing at the sound of the foreign words but jolted to action when the man began putting three croissants into a paper bag.

Rushing forward to do it for him, but he was already done.

“Tell your chef to make them a bit thicker and add one more egg to the mixture. Also, can you guys make chocolate filled ones? I’m a sucker for those in the morning,”

“Huh?”

“Croissants,”

“Oh! I’ll…I’ll ask her,”

“Great!” The man grinned again, Matteo rubbing the back of his neck at the smile and swallowed. “Good job today, Sleepy, keep it up,” He patted his shoulder, sending tingles down his spine before jumping over the counter and onto the other side.

Fishing out his wallet, he paid another fifty dollar bill and held it out to Matteo.

“That’s more than your bill, sir,”

“Keep it,” He shrugged, putting the money on the counter when he saw that Matteo had no intention of taking it, and picked up the coffee and croissants, leaving the shop.

In the following week, Matteo saw the customer come in every morning, asking for another coffee whose name the American had never heard, and then he’d proceed to jump over the counter – despite having opened up a way for him – and teach Matteo, asking him to teach it to the other employees as well. Which he would do since the people that seemed to wander into the coffee shop asked for the coffees they had recently learned.

Quite a few of them becoming regulars.

Finishing his shift at the coffee shop at one p.m., Matteo would sleep till four after which he’d attend his night classes till ten. Getting off from there, he’d make his way to the museum to take up his shift at eleven and complete all the homework and assignments he needed to get done between his rounds. Getting off at seven a.m. just in time to open up the coffee shop at eight, the customer coming in and teaching him a new coffee before leaving.

By the time more employees arrived, he would hear about how this morning customer began showing up in the evenings as well, coming in after two, grabbing something to eat, and settling down in the corner to work. Staying until closing time and helping the staff clean up before leaving with a wave and good night.

Matteo raising his eyebrows at the words.

Being the weekend, Matteo had the evening shift and would be locking up, arriving through the back door, he greeted the staff there and was instantly grabbed by Abigail who shook his arm and squealed.

“Ow,” He pulled his arm out of her death grip, rubbing his forearm.

“He looks so hot!”

“Ow, who?”

Grunting, Abigail dragged him towards the window that overlooked the shop and pointed to a seat in the corner, Matteo looking at the man seated in charcoal grey dress pants and a black button-down with the first two-button left open and the sleeves rolled back, his blazer hanging on the back of the chair. It took him a moment, but he recognized the morning customer, eyes widening to see his hair styled back and out of his face, showing off his sharp features as his eyes were running over the text on the laptop in front of him, a notebook placed beside him.

“Okay…” Matteo pulled away. “He’s here again today,”

“He comes in every day,” Henry grumbled behind him. “Our most sought after customer,”

“You’re so lucky,” Lucy came up beside Matteo, folding her arms over his shoulder and sagged with a dreamy sigh. “It’s your turn to lock up and he’ll be there to help you, and just be so…perfect,”

“What’s so great about that guy, anyway?” Andrew growled, coming up from the back with a tray of buns in his arms. “Matteo, get changed and help me get them in, every time that prince is here, the customers increase by tenfold,”

“Isn’t that good for business?” Joe chuckled.

Matteo watching the customer, unable to stop himself from tilting his head and admiring him from the tip of his polished dress shoes, up his toned calves and strong thighs, swallowing at the flexing muscle and then eyes roamed over his waist, and his abdomen, further up to his chest and neck and the devilish smirk…

Wait, smirk?

His gaze flew to the man’s eyes, Matteo’s face flushing to see him looking directly at him with a raised eyebrow and smirk, the American stumbling back to have been caught checking him out and rushed to the changing rooms.

Matteo occupied himself with work, shifting between the counter, making drinks and calling out orders, and helping out in the kitchen. Every now and then his eyes would shift around at the number of people in the café, and land on the customer in the corner before averting his gaze to the other side. Eyes widening to recognize the two men from the other day, realizing that he sees them quite often, their gaze fixated on the foreigner.

His stomach churned with uncomfortable thoughts and shook his head before resuming his work.

As time progressed, the number of people thinned out. The customer in the corner a constant who shifted between working on his laptop, attending phone calls in his foreign language, and reading and writing in a notebook.

Finally, when it was just them left, Matteo heaved a breath of relief to know that the day was coming to an end, rubbing his shoulders and mentally preparing himself to lock up. Hearing the chair drag and knowing that it was that foreigner getting up to pack away his belongings.

Turning around, his eyes widened to find him picking up the stray mugs, plates, and cutlery left behind from the last few customers.

“I pick up the plates and stuff, and you clean the tables,” He looked up at Matteo from across the room. “Deal?”

Not having the energy to argue with him, Matteo nodded and grabbed a rag, making his way to the table he had just vacated.

Putting the chairs on top once it was cleaned, Matteo mopped the floors while the man washed the dishes in the kitchen, softly humming to himself.

Standing with his back to the counter, Matteo took off his cap, wiping the sweat with the back of his hand before fixing it back on his head. Hearing footsteps behind him as he turned to find the customer step out, unrolling his sleeves, buttoning the cuffs before pulling on the grey blazer, buttoning the front. Matteo averting his gaze when the man caught him staring.

“Well then…” He spoke placing his hand on top of the counter, and it took Matteo a moment too late to realize what he was doing.

“The floor-!” He cried out, watching the man jump over the counter and his feet slipping on the wet tiles, the customer letting out a startled sound while Matteo jumped forward to grab him but instead was dragged down. The mop clattering out of his hand while he kicked the bucket sending water spilling everywhere, and landed on top of the foreigner, eyes wide and gasping for breath.

Clambering onto his hands and knees, he looked down at the man beneath him, eyes wide at his winded expression as he grunted and sat up, Matteo leaning back to give him space.

“Are you okay?” He asked watching him rub his head and blink a couple of times. “Did you get hurt?”

“No, I’m-” Demetrio began to assure, turning to look at the man in front of him, hand lowering from his head as his eyes widened. “Whoa…”

“What? You are hurt!”

“No,” He chuckled, scratching at his jaw and smiled. “I’m just…surprised by how beautiful your eyes are,”

Matteo stilled, hand flying up to his head and came in contact with his tuft of messy hair, eyes widening as he turned to the other, realizing that his cap had flown off.

He wanted to scowl and say that he was lying because his eyes were weird. Golden brown, green, and blue fighting for dominance, both irises a different pattern with a different dominating color. A genetic weirdo. But before he could even say anything he swallowed at the soft smile on the man’s face and flushed to hear him say that, the compliment sounding so genuine.

“Uhh…” He leaned back, hand landing on something solid, turning to look at his palm, he found it resting on the other’s knee, straddling his thigh and looked up at him. Both of them blinking at each other, seemingly coming to the same conclusion as Matteo clambered off.

The customer straightening himself out and running a hand through his hair before picking up the cap by his feet, holding it out to Matteo.

“I believe this is yours,”

Taking it Matteo began to put it back on his head, noticing the other man open his mouth to say something but decided against it instead.

“I’ll help you clean up,” He grimaced at the mess they had made, Matteo nodding silently as they cleaned, putting everything in its rightful place and ready to be locked up. “Alright then, good job today,” The customer grinned and grabbed his belongings, holding out Matteo’s umbrella to him at the door.

Taking it, he held it under his arm, having brought it along since it was forecasted to rain, but the night was as dry as ever.

Stepping out, the customer watched him lock up, giving him a nod and smile before walking in the opposite direction to where Matteo was headed. Watching him walk down the pavement, ready to get going but froze to see the two men he had seen hanging around follow behind him. Keeping a distance and their gaze fixated on him.

“Shit,” He hissed, heart thundering in his chest and breathe laboring. Conflicted between calling out to the man and just leaving, praying that nothing happens. “Fuck it,” He groaned and dropped his backpack at the door, clutching his umbrella’s handle in his hand and came up behind them as quietly as he could manage.

He wasn’t quiet enough, Matteo realized as one of the men turned over his shoulder, the American hit the man with his umbrella as hard as he could manage and found the object bend in his hand staring at it with wide eyes as the man cried out in pain and held his head. The other bringing his fist back and ramming it into Matteo’s jaw, the impact so hard that it sent him stumbling into the wall of the building and then collapsing on the pavement, his head connecting with a grotesque crack.

Matteo’s vision blurred, spots dancing before him with his heart thundering in his ears, feeling something cold press against his forehead before his vision turned black.