"Noooooo, no, no, no! Dannazione! Why would you have them do that?!" Rufino whined while he paced dramatically in Mitchell Berti's dining room. "I just gotta guy in there! On the inside! You could've ruined everything!"

"Look, this wasn't the first time the Gallaghers have had their shit shot up," Arturo snipped.

"I know that! What if you'd killed my fucking spy, stronzo?"

"Ruffi, take it easy," Mitchell said as smashed the end of his cigarette into the ashtray next to his breakfast plate. It was about nine in the morning, and he had a hell of a headache. He didn't really appreciate Andrea Dina's boy pestering him before he'd even had the chance to finish a single cup of coffee.

"We didn't!" Arturo held his arms up in frustration. "But I stopped them from getting their hands on another one of your family's shipments! Are you really gonna stand here and cry about that like a fucking child just 'cause we might have hurt some little weasel you found, willing to squeal on the Irish for a little cash?"

A slew of slurs were flung back and forth across the table, as heavy and disruptive as physical objects. Some in English, some in Italian, either way, it was all beginning to get drowned out by the pounding in Mitchell's temples, just behind his eyes.

"Arturo," Mitchell finally said. It wasn't loud. In fact, Mitchell Berti was an incredibly soft spoken man. He didn't have to raise his voice... Didn't need to. He and Benni Dina had all the biggest sticks.

"Yeah, boss?"

"Keep your dogs on a tighter leash for now... If Ruffi really thinks there's something to gain outta this mole of his, I wanna see where it goes," he said, before spearing more soft, fluffy eggs with his fork.

Arturo's shoulders slumped. "Yeah, boss..."

It felt good to be back in his own clothes. The way they clashed with the tidy, bright and gilded interior of the mansion only brought more attention to a fact that Oscar was all too aware of—he shouldn't be there.

He was a blemish on an otherwise perfect canvas of whites and beiges. He was the crack in the perfect crystal glasses sitting polished and ready for use above the bar. And he was completely alone... At least, that's how it felt.

He'd not seen Max since they'd parted ways at his guest room. Since then, Oscar had taken a long, long shower, to relieve some stress. Then, he'd dressed and made one complete round of the main floor and had seen no one.

At first, it'd been fine. Oscar strolled around as if he were admiring some art installation he didn't understand. But by the second time through, he'd lost interest, and the novelty of the mansion slowly faded, and it began to feel more like a pretty holding cell.

He supposed that there was some part of Max that felt the same. Why else would he willingly spend so much time in the west end?

The punk's gate slowed to a stop in the hall as the realization of where his feet had brought him sank in; back to Max's room... Like some lost cat finding its way to the last place it had been fed.

He knocked, but after no reply came, he checked the hall to make sure no one was coming, then let himself inside. Again, he found the space overly staged and neat. It was a little disappointing. Here, he'd come to what should have been the center of who Max was, and it felt as hollow as an empty room. If anything, he felt even further from Max there, but then maybe that made sense as well. He reminded himself that this wasn't Max's room, this was Marcus's room.

He didn't know Marcus. Not really. So, he was essentially in a stranger's space.

Oscar decided there was no reason to stay and snoop any further. He knew the comfort and feeling he was searching for wouldn't be found there; not in that room. The only things he'd find there were what Marcus wanted people to find... But then...

Where did the real Marcus stay—where did Max stay?

Oscar mulled over that thought as he strolled back to the bar in the sitting room.

Not in Applerock... That place had been just as empty of personal touches as everything else. He opened one of the crystal decanters and took a whiff before snatching up a glass. He knew the jet wasn't it either. That felt more like it belonged to Max's dad, he reasoned, as he tossed in a few ice cubes and then poured a little bourbon over the top.

"Where do you hide away, Max?" Oscar wondered as he took a sip and slumped down into the creaking leather of the couch.

About ten minutes later, the sound of clacking drew closer and closer until it was very clear that two people had joined him in the bar, though it didn't sound like they'd noticed him yet. Max's sisters... Their conversation might as well have been in another language or have been heard underwater, because none of it made much sense to the punk. He didn't know the context, didn't recognize the names... None of it meant anything because it didn't have to do with him or his world. Within this place, those things were foreign and so distant that they could be dismissed as some dark, grungy fantasy.

"Oh! Oscar," Elise said, making her way around the side of the couch with a drink in her hand. "I didn't realize..."

"Were you just sitting in here alone?" Angela questioned.

The two looked nice. Like they were dressed up to go somewhere formal but light. Some fancy brunch or garden party maybe.

"No, I'm day-drinking alone." Oscar punctuated his statement with a sip followed by a sharp click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth before adding, "...there's a difference," with a half smile.

Elise tried to restrain her grin, but Angela didn't seem to find his correction as amusing. "I see. Well, we'll join you then," the older of the two said, as they both took a seat on either side of him on the couch. "You don't know where Marcus is, do you?"

"Nope," Oscar replied, taking another sip, but realizing he was dangerously close to finishing off his drink already, and so he stood. "What'll it be?" he offered as he stepped back behind the bar to add a little more to his glass.

"Just grab me one of those sparkling waters, please," Angela said, slightly pointing in the general direction where he'd find them.

"I'm good, thanks," Elise chimed, holding up her orange juice for emphasis.

"I told you something must have happened," Angela said to her sister. "He's probably talking with Dad right now."

"It's not really our business, though."

Angela huffed. "Pft. I'll remember you said that when we find out we can't go anywhere today. Possibly not even this evening. Not even to your recital."

"Da wouldn't do that," Elise balked.

"He would if it was serious," Angela countered. "Oscar, are you on lock down with us?"

"I don't know, probably," Oscar said after topping off his glass. He poked through the mini fridge and grabbed one of the little glass bottles, bringing it with him and passing it off on his way back to his seat.

"Thanks," Angela said, just as her brows drew together, but Elise got out the question on her lips before she did.

"Are you alright? What happened there?" Elise motioned to the spot on her own forehead where Oscar was sporting a bandage.

"Traffic jam," Oscar replied as he leaned back and brought the cup to his lips, unaware of how much Max would want his sisters to know about what happened.

"Traffic jam?" Elise echoed, chuffing.

"Yeah, no one ever told me you needed to wear a seatbelt in a limo!" Oscar clarified.

"I'm sure it's not our business," Angela said with a coy smile, repeating her sister's words back at her. "I feel for you, though, Oscar. It's gotta be awkward for you, being trapped around a bunch of snobs like us... You're not like Marcus's other friends. At least none that I've ever seen him bring home."

The punk smirked. "It's cool, he's not really like any of my other friends either..."

Angela's smile edged towards something more knowing. "I bet he's not..." She took another drink from the little glass bottle.

"I'm glad you're not put off, Oscar," Elise commented, smoothing the hem of her sundress. "I think you're refreshing to have around."

A soft snort left Angela. "We should probably go change, since we won't be making it to Gaylyn's... I'll call and let them know," she said as she got up.

"I'm gonna keep Oscar company for a little longer," Elise replied, "Make sure he doesn't drink too much and fall victim to the shin-killer." She glanced at the low coffee table where she'd just set her drink on a marble coaster.

Her older sister pursed her lips for a moment, before replying. "I'll send a footman then, just to keep an eye on you."

"That doesn't really seem-"

"It is necessary, Ellz, because charming doesn't necessarily mean safe," she said in a tone very reminiscent of their mother. "No offense, Oscar."

Elise sighed, rolling her eyes.

Oscar's eyes followed Angela's retreating form while his nose remained buried in his glass for a sip that was suspiciously the exact length of time it took for her to disappear without draining the cup. Then he lowered the glass and leaned back into the soft leather cushions of the couch, resting one foot on the 'shin-killer' table. "She's right. I could be an undercover agent," teased the punk.

"Goodness," Elise chuckled. "I hope our footman gets here quickly, then," she said, crossing her legs so that she could face him more, draping one tan, slender arm over the back of the couch. "I wouldn't wanna be interrogated," she added with a suggestively playful smirk, before it melted back into her soft, contented smile.

Oscar's smile faded as silence settled in between them, aside from the gentle clicking of the ice in his glass. He wondered what Max's other friends were like. They never really hung out with them, and he figured that was because Angela was right. He wouldn't fit in with them.

"I...didn't mean to make you uncomfortable if I did," Elise said. "Wanna go somewhere else? Or do something?" She picked up her glass and brought it back over to the bar. "I could show you the gardens or something, or the bowling alley, or..."

"Pool?" Oscar offered with a smile.

Elise's face lit up. "Like, swimming pool, pool, or billiards pool? We have both!"

There was so much on Max's mind, and he was so ready to retreat and de-stress after he left his Da's office, that he'd actually gotten almost all the way to the top floor of the country club, his personal sanctuary, before he froze mid-way up the steps leading to the spacious, loft-like area.

"...Fuck," he exhaled, rubbing his eyes. "Oz..." He'd left him at the main house... Not a cool move. Not even a bro move, much less a lover move. "Shit." With a groan, he turned around and sat down on the stairs, pulling his phone out and texting Oscar to let him know he'd meet him in the main foyer in twenty minutes...

Where would you rather hang out with Oscar? At a swimming pool or in a billiard room~? 👀

Shout out to our silent readers! Thank you so much for being along for the ride!!