I know it's not Sunday, but I decided to update since I don't think I would be able to do it over the next two weeks.
Quick reminder, this is Demetrio's perspective, and I would love to hear from all of you!

***

New York City, New York

“We’re done,” The doctor nodded to Matteo who stood and buttoned his shirt, looking around the examination room knowing that they had come to check his concussion but ended up getting a full physical examination instead. “If it’s not urgent, you’ll get your test result in the next five days,”

“Gracie,” Demetrio spoke from the corner. “E la sua commozione cerebrale? (What about his concussion?)”

“Tutto bene ora (all good now),” The doctor responded. “Ma suggerirei di andarci piano per un giorno o due (But I’d suggest that you take it easy for another day or two),”

“Umberto e Hugo sarebbero felici di sentirlo (Umberto and Hugo would be happy to hear that),” Demetrio chuckled and nodded to Matteo as if to ask if he was done.

Nodding, he stuffed his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders close to his ears and shuffled against the feel of the soft material of the clothes he wore: one of Hugo’s designer suits. The American not used to this sort of luxury, or any luxury for that matter.

The drive was spent with the three Italians speaking in their native tongue, laughing and chuckling to each other while Matteo squirmed in his seat, staring out at the whizzing view. Clearing his throat, he shifted to face Demetrio and asked about the doctor’s verdict.

“He says you’ve mostly recovered but says that you should take it easy for another day or two,”

“Oh,”

“And that you’ll get your test results by the end of this week,”

“Okay,”

“I’m still in shock that you haven’t ever had a physical exam done in your entire life,” Umberto shook his head from the front seat.

“I didn’t see the need for it, and besides I don’t get sick since I can’t afford to,”

“What If there was something underlying that get-no-sick-bravado, huh? What would you have done then?” Hugo retaliated.

“I’d have dealt with it,”

“How would you deal with it if you won’t get the appropriate tests done?” The first guard threw his hands up.

Matteo turned to Demetrio, wanting to ask if the two men were always like this but given the smile on the Italian’s face, he didn’t have to.

Narrowing his eyes at the younger’s amusement, Matteo slid closer to Demetrio, the latter looking up at the suddenness and turned to him with a raised eyebrow. Their legs touching and leaned back when Matteo turned to whisper in his ear.

“Are they usually like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like…clucking mother hens?”

“Clucking mother hens,” Demetrio echoed with a scoff, smile cracking at his lips and shook his head. “Well, yes, it’s in their job description,”

“To be clucking mother hens?”

“To watch out for me, protect me, and such,”

“That applies to you,” Matteo placed a hand on Demetrio’s knee, not ignorant to the way the Italian’s eyes darted to the point of contact before looking up to smirk at him. “What does it have to do with me?”

“You don’t know they like you?” He chuckled with a shake of his head. “Why else do you think they’ve been clucking around you?” Demetrio winked.

The words had the American lean back, clearing his throat as he felt heat travel up the column of his neck, settling back in his seat. Ignorant to the look the two guards in the front passed each other.

“I’m going to shower,” Matteo shuffled into the penthouse, making his way towards Demetrio’s bedroom. “I feel icky after that hospital visit,” He shuddered and held out his arms in front of himself.

The three watched him disappear down the hall, closing the bedroom door with a click. Demetrio letting out a choked sound when Hugo tackled him, wrapping his arm around his neck and put him in a headlock.

“We saw that,” He said in a sing song voice.

“Saw what?”

“The flirting,” Umberto made kissing faces at the younger as he laughed and pushed them away, jumping out of Hugo’s hold only to hold up his fists to his face and play fight the two with chuckles.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Matteo sighed and flushed to think about his bold assumption that he could flirt with someone like Demetrio, knowing that the boy held more secrets than the average person. Yet he couldn’t begin to deny the attraction he felt towards the foreigner.

“You’re mistaking his kindness,” He shook his head and walked onto the platform, peeling off the blazer and muttering to himself as he unbuttoned the shirt. Ignorant to the man watching him from the couch.

“I haven’t heard about you,” A deep baritone reverberated against his skull. Matteo letting out a scream and whipping around so fast, he lost his footing, staggering and falling back. Holding onto the edge of the bed with his chest heaving and eyes wide, trained at the suit clad stranger settled on the couch.

The three Italians outside tensed at the scream, pulling away from each other and reached for their guns. Rushing to the bedroom. Entering to find Matteo collapsed on the floor and eyes focused on the other end. All three training their weapons in the direction before lowering them.

Umberto and Hugo put away their weapons and bowed while Demetrio grinned and made his way across the room.

Putting the gun on the coffee table, he opened his arms, the man on the couch chuckling to himself before standing and engulfing the younger in his hold. Both of them laughing and patting each other on the back.

“Mi dispiace, penso di aver spaventato il tuo ragazzo (I’m sorry, I think i scared your boyfriend,)” Salvatore apologized, watching Umberto walk over to the man curled in the corner and helped him to his feet. “Non mi hai detto di lui, (You didn’t tell me about him,)” He gave his son a disapproving look as Demetrio chuckled and rolled his eyes, taking a step back.

“Lui non è il mio ragazzo (He isn’t my boyfriend),” Demetrio shook his head.

“Un possibile pretendente allora? (A possible suitor then?)”

“No, dad,” Demetrio chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder, leading the way out of the room, turning to Matteo’s stunned figure. “Sorry about that, Matteo, take your time to recover,”

Leading Salvatore out of the room and the door closed behind Umberto and Hugo once they assured themselves that he was alright.

Standing under the pressurized jet of water, Matteo watched it slither towards the drain and swallowed to realize that the man was Demetrio’s father, rubbing his neck to recall their reunion.

Drying up and stepping out, he groaned to find another suit laid out for him, this one more ostentatious than the one before and grumbled about finding one pair of jeans in this household.

It was a charcoal grey three piece suit with a white button down and black tie. Putting it all on, he fit his feet into the black polished dress shoes and looked around him to see if he was missing anything, spritzing on the cologne that had been kept out for his use and ran a comb through his hair. Pulling a face at his reflection before ruffling them so that his tresses came into his eyes, feeling naked without his cap, and knowing that Demetrio had kept his locked away.

Pawing at his fringe, he stepped out of the walk in closet, stepping off the platform and was about to make his way to the door to join the men but faltered, thinking it would be better to give father and son some time to themselves.

Turning around, he settled in the lounge, eyebrows furrowing at the black device on the glass table.

Settling on the edge he reached out and caressed the cold metal, marveling at the sleek feel under his fingertips. Picking it up, his eyes widened at the weight and chuckled himself to think how real it felt.

Straightening, he stretched out his arm, closing one eye and taking aim at the lamp in the distance.

“Pew,” He spoke to himself and pulled the trigger, reeling back at the recoil and collapsing into the couch dropping the gun in the process, his entire arm and the right side of his chest tingling.

Watching as the bullet miss the lamp but embedded itself into the wall, the bang reverberating through the room. Matteo jumped away from it, pressing himself into the corner, breathe choking him.

Sliding down the floor and threaded his fingers into his hair, unsure of what to expect when the door burst open, shuffling going on around him as someone cursed in Italian.

“That was a real gun,” Matteo gasped, trembling and hugged himself, arm still tingling.

“Matteo?” Demetrio’s soothing voice called out right in front of him.

“That was a real gun,” He repeated, staring up at the ruffled black hair on Demetrio’s head, eyes white in the sunlight and lips pressed into a thin line. “That was a real gun. That is a fucking real gun!” His voice raised every time he repeated the phrase.

“I have a license for it,”

“Why the fuck do you have a real gun?! You’re a political science student!”

“Paranoia,” Demetrio shrugged and tried to smile, but bit his lip instead when he saw the tears in Matteo’s eyes. “Matteo,” He reached out to him in hopes to soothe his fears, but startled when the American slapped his hand away, glaring at him and shuffled further into the wall.

“Stay away from me,” He choked. “Stay away from me.”

“Matteo!” Umberto called in disbelief, taking a step forward but was halted by Salvatore raising a hand, ordering him to stand down.

The Mafia Boss walking towards his son, patting his shoulder and Demetrio’s place, crouching in front of Matteo.

“Let me guess, you have one too,” Matteo growled at the man, whimpering when he reached into the fold of his suit jacket and took out a gun similar to Demetrio, the weapon aimed at the roof. “Get away from me,”

“Everyone in this room has at least one gun on them,” Salvatore spoke calmly. “Every single one of them is authorized by your government to be carrying a firearm. Every second person in this country owns a weapon, this isn’t something new for the American society, and then what is it with your reaction?”

“Dad,” Demetrio called disapprovingly.

“These weapons kill people!” Matteo exclaimed. “People like you kill people!”

“People like us?” Salvatore echoed with a raised eyebrow. “Who are we, Matteo? What makes you think we use these weapons to harm people and not protect ourselves?”

“What possible harm could you be under, huh?”

“Look around you, Matteo,” Salvatore put the gun away and stood form his place. “This sort of luxury doesn’t come cheap, and then when people see it, they are tempted to take it away. No matter what means necessary,”

“Yeah, right,”

“You don’t believe me?” The Mafia Boss raised an eyebrow, walking over to his son whose eyes widened and shook his head. “Show him, Demetrio, why we have guns,”

Clenching his hands into fists, Demetrio exhaled into the air above him before reaching for the top button, unbuttoning his shirt enough to expose his left side, shrugging the shirt to show an old bullet wound above his heart.

“There was a break in and Demetrio was shot. One inch lower and he would be dead,” Salvatore spoke to Matteo who stood staring at the downcast figure of the man who had shown him nothing but kindness. “Why do you think this place is wired with security, why do you think my son has bodyguards, why do you think we have guns? To stop that from happening again,” He pointed to Demetrio who turned on his heels and walked out of the room.

“Now you know why we are armed, and it’s your choice what you want to do with that information,”

“I…” Matteo sniffled, the tears blinding him. “I want to go home,”

“That can be arranged,” Salvatore nodded, turning over his shoulder and addressed one of the four men. “Hugo, kindly take Matteo home,”

“No, I’ll take a cab,”

“Fine, then get him a cab,”

“Yes, sir,” Hugo bowed and walked away to do as told, the bodyguard stopping in the hallway to find Demetrio standing with a glass of scotch and staring out at the view in front of him.

“Pay his fare, too,” Demetrio called without looking back, bringing the glass up to his lips.

“Yes, sir,”

They waited for the cab, before Demetrio led Matteo down, settling him in the back before stepping away from the curb watching the vehicle pull away and into the New York evening traffic. Rubbing a hand over his face, he turned around, nodding to Umberto in the doorway and made his way back to his penthouse, the door closing shut behind him.

“Are you okay?” Salvatore asked.

“It was going to happen sooner or later,” Demetrio shrugged and picked up his unfinished drink. “Normal people don’t have a place in our world,” He downed the remainder in one go.

“I’m sorry,”

“What for?”

“For not being able to give you a normal life without the need to carry a gun or having to constantly look over your shoulder. A life without all this loss and bloodshed and danger,”

“I don’t know any other life than this, dad, you don’t have to apologize for anything,” Demetrio put down the glass, slipping his hand into his pocket and walked towards his father’s figure, shrugging before him. “Besides, Matteo couldn’t have survived with us. It’s better this way,”

“Do you want to eat something?” Salvatore smiled sadly at him, cupping the side of his face into his hand as Demetrio covered his father’s hand with his own. “I could make you something,”

“I actually want to lie down for a bit, I’m tired,”

“Sure, go take a nap, we’ll wake you in an hour,”

Nodding to the words, Demetrio entered his room, grabbed the remote from the coffee table and bent down to pick up the gun that had been dropped. Walking over to his bed, he stared at the hole in his wall and put the weapon in his drawer. Sighing to himself, he clicked a button on the remote, watching the blackout blinds fold down on all the windows followed by the curtains sliding over them, bathing the room in complete darkness.

Rubbing his eyes, Matteo stared up at the darkened ceiling that had been white but accumulated so much smoke over the years that it had seeped into the walls. The mattress under him creaking with every movement and poking him in random spots as he winced at the sensation against his skin, his mind recalling Demetrio’s bed at his discomfort.

“No,” He shook his head and pushed himself into a sitting position, sighing to see the time being four and new he had to shower and leave for his classes.

Taking a quick, and freezing shower, Matteo walked over to the chest of drawers in the corner, and rummaged through them in search for something clean to wear, momentarily glancing up at the plastic covered suit he had arrived in. Swallowing to know that he had to return it, but didn’t have the courage to go and deliver it.

It had been three days since that incident after which he had returned home and gone back into his usual routine. Catching up on the missed work of his night classes while taking the night shift at the museum, getting off from there to open up the café and then set everything up for the other employees when they arrived.

The absence of Demetrio’s guidance was felt in the morning, so he busied himself in perfecting the beverages he had learnt. But it actually end up that Demetrio did come to the coffee shop, he just stopped coming in the mornings.

The day had been progressing like usual, other than the fact that some stranger walked in with a disquieted expression and called their boss to the side, both of them stepping out and talking in wild gestures.

“What’s going on?” Lucy came up behind Matteo, the man shrugging and pulled his baseball cap lower. “It looks bad,”

“Guys,” Joe appeared from the kitchen, face ashen and sickly. “They’re closing us down,”

“What?” The entire staff exclaimed, turning to the man in the doorway.

“Apparently business isn’t going as well as it should and they want us to shut down,”

A cacophony of sounds had Matteo loose his focus, the sounds and images blurring around him as his chest tightened, realizing that he would be losing his job. Swallowing the lump growing in his throat he rubbed at his neck and took a step away.

Everyone had been a lot calmer when Abigail informed them of what would happen. Telling them that they had two weeks to pack up their things, and vacate the shop. The staff nodding in understanding, and went their respective ways.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Matteo entered his apartment complex, checking his mailbox and grimaced at all the bills, eyebrows furrowing to see a yellow envelop. Turning it over, he tore it open and groaned at the eviction notice.

Covering his face with trembling hands he let out a shaky exhale before dragging his feet behind him, unlocking his door and staggered inside. Dropping his keys and the letters onto the counter before flopping back on the mattress, ignorant to the springs digging into his back and stared up at the ceiling. Swallowing the dryness in his throat and closed his eyes, feeling the wet sensation flowing against the side of his face.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, but jumped when a knock sounded on his door.

Sniffling to himself, he wiped the tears and pushed himself up, opening the door and stilled to find Demetrio standing in front of him, a large white envelop in his hands.

“Are you okay?” He asked, seeing the puffiness of his eyes and how bloodshot they were, grimacing when the man nodded and looked away, and rubbed at his neck. “I came to drop off your results. They got delivered to my place,”

“Oh,” Matteo took the envelope, staring at the hospital’s insignia before looking up at Demetrio. “It’s good that you came by, I’d been meaning to give Hugo’s suit back,”

“Oh,” Demetrio deflated at the words, stuffing his hands into his pockets and walked in when Matteo made way. The Italian staring around him at the small apartment. A kitchenette to his right with a worn mattress in the corner in front of him, a chest of drawers opposite the mattress and a door next to it.

Demetrio had to prevent himself from groaning at the squelching sound the carpet made under his feet, resisting the urge to throw up at the greying and cracked condition of the walls, hardly any sunlight coming in from the windows on the wall opposite him, another building facing them.

“Here you go,” Matteo murmured and held out the plastic covered suit Demetrio looking down at it before taking hold of the top. “I had it dry cleaned so no worries,”

“You…” Demetrio trailed, looking around him. “You live here?” He made an uncomfortable expression as Matteo shrugged with a humorless chuckle and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“I think you’re forgetting that your clothes are more expensive than my tiny apartment,”

“This hardly constitutes an apartment,” Demetrio scoffed. “This is in clear violation of the accommodation policy-”

“-Doesn’t matter,” Matteo stopped him. “It doesn’t matter because I just come here to have a roof over my head. I’m working most of the day anyways. It doesn’t matter to me,”

“This is no way to live, Matteo,”

“No, this is a way to live,” He turned to the Italian beside him. “You just don’t about it because you’re living up on cloud nine,”

“Cloud nine,” Demetrio echoed in amusement, scoffing to himself. “I wish,”

“Oh boo hoo,” Matteo snapped Demetrio looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “The little rich boy’s feelings are hurt that daddy didn’t get him the latest sports car? Is that it? Go cry about your rich ass problems to someone other than me because I am not interested. You don’t have problems like the rest of us, you don’t ever have to worry about going hungry for days on end simply to be able to pay for a roof over your head and then that roof doesn’t just get taken from you for no absolutely no reason whatsoever other than the fact that they want it emptied out-”

“-I can talk to your landlord-”

“-No! You’re not listening to me!” Matteo exclaimed.

“Then talk to me,” Demetrio went and sat down on top of the counter, watching Matteo grimace at him. “You’re saying I’m not listening to you, then talk to me so I listen,”

“Demetrio-” The American groaned into the air above him and crossed his arms over his chest.

“-Don’t worry, I’m not armed if that’s what you’re afraid off,” Demetrio assured and pulled open his blazer to show him that he had no weapons. “You can even pat me down if you don’t trust me,”

“No, that’s not-” Matteo trailed and covered his forehead with his hand, shoulders sagging as he flopped on the mattress, Demetrio wincing at the inhuman creak it let out. “Can’t you just leave?”

“No, I can’t leave when you’re this upset over something,”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I do,” Demetrio shrugged. “I like you, and I enjoy your company, and I thought we were friends before everything, and I do care. But if you insist that I leave then I’ll go, but I will find out what’s bothering you weather you tell me or not,”

“Yeah and how will you do that? Hold someone at gunpoint?”

“Do I look like some street thug to you?” The Italian raised an eyebrow. “I don’t use my gun until absolutely necessary, and besides, I have a horrible aim. I would simply call Joe or Abigail and ask them what’s going on,”

“No! Don’t!”

“Then will you tell me what’s happening?”

“I…” Matteo sighed and pulled his knees to himself. “They’re closing down the café,”

“The Hideout?”

“Yeah,”

“Why?”

“Supposedly business isn’t going as well as it should-”

“-Not surprising given its location-” Demetrio scoffed.

“-And they want the shop empty,” Matteo resumed like he hadn’t spoken. “We have a two weeks’ time to clear out, and today I received my eviction notice. Also two weeks’ time. Then I have my exams, my exams and then I have to find a place as well as a new job to pay for the rent because the museum isn’t going to be enough,” He rubbed a hand over his face and groaned, chest squeezing again.

“I see,”

“I’ll probably go hungry for a while,” The American muttered to himself, trying to formulate a plan. “I could walk dogs for the time being, scrounge up enough cash, maybe crash at a buddies place for some time and try to find a place because two weeks isn’t enough time and hiring a real estate agent is a bitch,” He scratched at his jaw before ruffling his hair.

“Whom do I know well enough that I could crash at their place?” Matteo asked himself, looking up to ask Demetrio something but stilled to see the counter vacant of his presence, the suit gone and the white envelope lying beside the rest of his letters. The American sagging to realize he had left and curled into himself thinking it had gotten colder all of a sudden.

That weekend when he came in for his shift, Matteo wasn’t surprised to find the place vacant of customers, but one thing that he found odd was the fact that all of the staff members were grinning and laughing. A relieving sight, he had to admit, after the tears and bitterness over the past few days.

“Am I missing something?” Matteo asked when he stepped in, everyone greeting him with enthusiasm. “What happened?” He chuckled lightly, being dragged forward into a group hug, his arms wrapped around Joe and Henry’s shoulders as he gave them a strange look.

“What?”

“We’re not getting shut down,”

“Huh? How?”

“Another guy bought the café and agreed to let us all keep our jobs,”

“What? Who?”

“He’s in there talking with Abigail, finalizing the contract,”

“Oh my God,” Matteo exhaled.

“Yes!”

“Oh, my God!”

“Yes!”

“Oh, my God!”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” All of the exclaimed, squealing and hugging each other, jumping in the center of the coffee shop, laughing and giggling.

Someone clearing their throat had everyone look up, an elderly gentleman with peppering hair and glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, stood dressed in a suit, Matteo grinning and walked over to him. Taking hold of the man’s hand and gave it a firm shake, the man taken aback by the wild gesture.

“Oh! Thank you, thank you, thank you so much! You are a life saver!” Matteo enthused, eyes bright and grinning.

“I’m hardly a life saver, I just drafted the contract and took care of all the legalities,” The man chuckled as Matteo straightened and gave him a strange look.

“Wait, you’re not…”

“The new owner? No,”

“That would be him,” Abigail’s voice called from behind the lawyer, Matteo looking over the man and found Demetrio standing beside Abigail, looking at him with an amused smile and raised eyebrow. “Our regular customer saved our asses,”

“Everyone meet your new boss, Demetrio Lombardi,” Abigail introduced him to everyone as they squealed and resisted the urge to hug him tight, Matteo standing stunned in his place and gawked at the man before him. “Why don’t you tell them what you told me?”

“Well,” Demetrio chuckled and heaved himself onto the counter, sitting on top of it. “Why don’t you all grab a chair and sit down,”

“Grazie, Albert, puoi andare ora, (Thank You, Albert, you can go now,)” Demetrio spoke to the man behind Matteo with a smile, the lawyer giving a nod of confirmation, giving him a bow before walking out of the coffee shop. Matteo dragging a chair to the back and sat, watching his new boss.

“Well, I have three simple words for you,” Demetrio clapped his hands. “Authentic Italian Coffee,”

“I’m going to teach you guys how to make Italian coffee and other baked goods and I can promise you the Italian population of New York is going to go crazy for it. We’re suckers for coffee that tastes like home. It would take some getting used to, but it’s not an impossible task. Then we’re also shifting shops,”

“Where to?” Henry asked from his place in the front.

“There is this place I like opposite Central Park, and Rose – my real estate agent – is working on securing the place. Once that place is in the bag, we can start the set up and hopefully have it up and running before winter kicks in,”

They asked a few more questions which Demetrio answered, everyone’s mouths falling open to learn that he would be increasing their salary and there would be chances for bonuses as well. He then even told them that if this expenditure is successful he’d hire more people. Eventually excusing himself when he recalled he had a previous engagement to get to.

“Hey, wait,” Matteo rushed after Demetrio when he stepped out, stopping on the sidewalk and regarded the American with a raised eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving? I have someplace to be,”

“No, I mean, what are you doing with this place?”

“Oh, you mean why I bought it?”

“Yeah,”

“Well, because this is the closest I have come to finding a decent espresso and I would hate for it to be shut down over something as trivial as rent,”

“But you didn’t even know it was shutting down until I told you,”

“You give yourself too much credit, Matteo,” Demetrio chuckled. “Abigail had a breakdown the last time I came and she told me all about it, and I can see how much this place means to all of you, and I’ve grown attached to it too, so I decided to take ownership,”

“Just like that?”

“Yup,”

“And it’s not because of me?”

“Oh,” Demetrio finally caught onto what he was asking, scratching at his jaw in thought before turning to Matteo with a smirk. “You’re an added bonus,” He winked and spun on his heels, making his way to the open door of the Range Rover standing in wait for him.