Chapter 7 - It's all your fault

Near the Shop, At noon

Alex stepped out from Mr Harris’s shop, his arms weighed with a torn paper sack. Dust clung to his sleeves. He looked tired, but his gaze was steady, almost proud.

A voice drifted from the shadows.

“Well, well. Look who’s risen in the world.”

"Hey Dante !"

Alex turned. Dante stood leaning against the wall, half-swallowed by the evening gloom, his hands sunk in his coat pockets. The usual mischief in his eyes had dulled; his features were drawn, worn by thoughts.

“So,” Dante said, eyes flicking to the sack in Alex’s arms, “old Harris kept you on, did he?”

Alex nodded, smiling. “Today, I got to clean the back room.”

Dante scoffed. “Cleaning the back room. Living the dream, are we?”

But Alex only offered a faint, almost conciliatory smile. “He’s not as mean as he seems. Just doesn’t trust easy.”

“Oh, sure,” Dante said, his tone sharp now. “Just needed to meet the right honest boy, huh?”

Alex blinked, his brows folding. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” Dante pushed off the wall. “You walk around like you’re cleaner. Never stolen a coin, never begged for bread.”

“Dante ? Of course no,” Alex said, with quiet force.

“Lucky,” Dante echoed. His lip curled. “Right. First try, and boom—some cranky old shopkeep opens the door. Guess some people just shine.”

Alex jaw tightened. His hands clenched around the crumpled paper sack.

“First try?”

he said, and the words came low, tight with something that had been building for days. “I didn’t eat for three days, Dante! I got spat on! Mocked ! One man threw a boot at me!”

Dante faltered.

“You know it wasn’t the first try !” Alex continued. “You said you followed me! You saw me!”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence thickened.

“You still got in,” Dante muttered.

“Not because I shined,” Alex said. His voice didn’t rise—but it struck harder for its calm.

“Because I didn’t quit.”

Dante’s gaze dropped. The words hung between them, bitter and bare.

“Don’t twist it to make yourself feel better,” Alex said at last, softer now, but not gentler. His stare was unrelenting.

Dante turned, his expression unreadable. He took a few steps down the alley, then stopped.

He didn’t look back when he said, “Just don’t forget where you are. This city doesn’t give second chances.”

And with that, he was gone.

__

Dante lingered in the narrow alley beside Mr. Harris’s shop, the fading light casting long shadows that danced against the crumbling brick. His breath came in low mutters, barely held back from rising too loud.

What the hell is wrong with me… he murmured, eyes scanning the quiet street.

Yesterday I was fine. Just fine.

He shifted his weight, restless, pacing the cracked stones. And here I am, lurking near that old man’s shop… and that village boy.

His voice faltered as his gaze caught something out of the corner of his eye—a figure half-hidden in the gloom beyond the corner. A boy, slightly older than Alex and him, crouched there, clutching a knife with uncertain hands. Dante’s eyes widened.

He stepped forward, voice steady but carrying an edge. “What’s up there?”

The boy startled, nearly dropping the blade. “Damn, you scared me,” he said, eyes darting cautiously. “Who the hell are you?”

Dante gave no answer, simply watched him for a moment. Then, nodding toward the shop, he asked, “You want the kid working in there?”

The boy frowned. “How’d you know?”

“He lives with me,” Dante said quietly.

A low scoff came from the boy. “Tch… Guess you’ll hand over what you’ve got, then. And stay quiet, or—”

“Relax, tough guy,” Dante interrupted, voice rough but amused.

“He’s not my friend. Just some annoying village boy. New around here.”

The boy blinked, confusion flickering across his face.

“You saw the big pouch yesterday, right?” Dante’s smirk crept in, sharp and knowing.

The boy nodded slowly, still uncertain.

“Let me help you,” Dante said, voice low. “We’ll split it. How’s that sound?”

The boy’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you? Doesn’t he live with you?”

Dante shrugged, expression darkening. “Just a roommate, not a friend.

"He also needs a lesson.”

___

Later that evening, in a distant tavern

The room was quiet, bathed in the warm glow of an orange lantern that hung low from the ceiling. Shadows flickered across the worn wood, lending a faint sense of calm to the otherwise still air. Vince sat at the counter, fingers wrapped loosely around a glass of water.

The door creaked open, and Dominick stepped in, the hem of his long coat dusted with wetness from the storm. People as usual look at him, averting their gazes or looking or whispering. He paused for a moment to brush the rain away, then nodded toward Vince.

“Hey, Domidick” Vince said simply.

Dominick returned the nod, voice calm and even. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” Vince replied, taking a slow sip of water. “Quiet days without you around.”

Dominick’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “I got him.”

“Gilbert’s kid?”

“A son. A good one.”

Vince leaned back in his chair, eyes thoughtful. “And Gilbert? Elena?”

“Safe,” Dominick said without hesitation. “The Dons didn’t complain. No tails on us.”

Vince studied him a moment, then asked softly, “And how was he? Gilbert?”

“Same as ever,” Dominick answered with a trace of disdain. “Stupid. Naive.”

He paused, voice dropping slightly. “Not like us.”

Vince chuckled dryly. “You’ve got it the wrong way. We’re the ones who’re messed up. The sad ones.”

He looked down into his glass, as if searching for something unseen. “Let me guess… he’s happy?”

Dominick’s eyes darkened. “He was.”

His voice grew quieter still. “I’d bet he’s crying his heart out now… watching his son pay for a mistake he made.”

Vince nodded slowly. “I won’t argue with that.”

A pause settled between them.

“And the son?” Vince pressed. “How is he?”

“I have hopes for him,” Dominick said, voice steady. “Smart. Observant. Obedient. Could be as useful as Dante, if not more.”

Vince raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You’ve got plans for him?”

Dominick’s smirk returned. “Soon.”

Vince leaned forward. “Like what?”

“The Marcettis are still barking,” Dominick said, his tone cold. “Even approached Frank—the bartender we executed.”

“They didn’t give up for years, they won’t now.” Vince said. “Too proud to admit defeat.”

Dominick’s gaze hardened. “We’ll take out their muscle.”

“You got a plan ?” Vince asked.

“I have a lead on two of their enforcers. I don’t know much about them, but I can use our wild cards. It’s a two-man job.”

Vince gave a wry smile. “You mean a two-kid job?”

Dominick’s eyes gleamed in the lantern light. “Same to me.”

_________________

Alex walked briskly along the familiar street, the pouch of money securely hidden beneath his worn coat, just as Dante had instructed him on his first day, calling out the danger of the pickpockets.

A smile played on his lips. It was only his second day working at Harris’s shop, but for once, things felt like they were going right. He had a job, honest work, and for now, that was enough.

Suddenly, a shadow detached itself from the gloom ahead—a figure slightly older than Alex, rough-faced and watchful, stepped into his path. No knife glinted in his hand yet, but the threat was clear.

“Hand it over,” the mugger demanded.

Alex stopped short, nerves tightening but his voice steady. “Hand over what?”

The mugger’s eyes narrowed. “You work there. You get paid daily. Don’t pretend otherwise. I’ve seen you.”

Alex took a cautious step back, heart beating faster. “You’ve been watching me?”

“And I know the route you take home,” the mugger said, voice low. “From now on, whatever you earn, you give it to me.”

Alex’s jaw clenched. Fear pressed on him like a weight, but something inside held firm. He thought of Dominick’s words on their way on the carriage—clear, sharp in his memory.

Don’t let anyone take what’s yours, Alex.

His shoulders straightened, and though his voice was quieter, it held steady. “I’ll run… as soon as I get a chance.”

Before he could move, a figure appeared behind him, blocking his escape.

“Dante!” Alex breathed, relief flooding his features.

Dante smiled back, calm and composed.

The mugger’s eyes flicked between them, surprise flickering with irritation. “Oh, hey, partner.”

Alex flinched at the word.

The mugger added with a sneer, “Your roommate here’s not on your side, you know.”

Alex spun toward Dante, eyes wide, lips parted in shock. Dante simply winked, still smiling.

"You trusted the wrong person."

A heavy silence took over the alley.

“Alright, no gam—” the mugger began, reaching into his pocket.

But there was no knife.

With a quiet snap, Dante pulled something from his own pocket. “Looking for this?”

The mugger’s mouth opened, baffled. “When did yo—”

Dante chuckled. “You’re bad at this. Keeping your knife in the easiest place for me to snatch it? And you thought you had something all along.”

The mugger’s confusion turned to horror as he reached into his pocket and pulled out— a carrot.

Dante doubled over, laughter bubbling up uncontrollably.

“Buddy! He was going to mug you with that!” He wiped tears from his eyes as his laughter shook his frame. “Damn, I wish he didn’t notice. I wish he’d grabbed the carrot and asked you to hand over your… pffttttt,” he laughed again.

Alex couldn’t help but smile despite himself, the tension easing from his shoulders. Dante was on his side. Not pretending. Not salty.

That was a good kid, alright.

The mugger indeed trusted the wrong person.

Dante turned back, grinning wide. “Hey, rabbit mugger, I challenge you to a duel—and we’ll use a cucumber.”

The mugger’s face flushed deep red, fury and humiliation mixing. Without hesitation, he charged at Alex.

Alex braced himself, but Dante was quicker.

A swift, precise bicycle kick to the charging boy’s face—knife still in hand—Dante sent him sprawling to the ground.

“Or,” Dante said coolly, standing over the stunned mugger, “we can do the duel right now!”

Alex shook his head, laughing softly despite the nerves.

With Dante around, maybe this city wasn’t so unforgiving after all.

Dante stood over the fallen kid, a cocky grin on his lips. “So what do you say, tough guy? Scared of the knife now?”

The mugger pushed himself up slowly, rage simmering behind his eyes. Without a word, he turned and stalked off, fists clenched and jaw tight. Alex watched him go, an uneasy knot tightening in his stomach.

"For a moment I thought you betrayed me."

Dante glanced at Alex, expression softening just a touch. “Sorry, buddy. I had to play it smart. He did have a knife after all.”

Alex’s face lit up, relief flooding through him. “Thank you! Thank you so much, Dante!”

Before either could say more, the sharp sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the alley. Both boys turned toward the noise, senses immediately alert.

Dante shifted, ready for another confrontation—but Alex this time was quicker.

The mugger burst back into view, swinging a heavy cinder block wildly.

Without hesitation, Alex launched himself forward, his body a charging bull despite his smaller frame.

His core strength and solid legs drove the tackle home, knocking the mugger off balance and sending him crashing to the ground.

Groaning, the mugger blinked up at Alex in disbelief. “What… just hit me?!”

Dante’s voice cut through the air, laced with disbelief. “You didn’t learn your lesson yet?”

Alex’s voice was sharp, urgent. “Leave him, Dante!”

His heart raced, his breath uneven. This was not the calm, fearless fight he wished for. The tackle had been fierce—too fierce—but necessary. The mugger lay gasping for air, barely able to breathe.

Dante muttered to himself, eyes wide with a grudging admiration. Whoa. What core strength. But he’s kind to the core…

Alex looked down at the defeated man with a mixture of pity and sadness. “Let’s go…”

Dante hesitated. “We have to make sure he doesn’t try you again.”

Alex paused, then slowly turned back to the mugger, who was now struggling to his feet.

The mugger sneered but kept his gaze on Alex who assembled some strength. “Feel free to try! But don’t use a knife!”

A smirk twisted his lips as he stepped closer.

“Or what?” he taunted, watching Alex stiffen under the challenge.

Dante smirked knowingly—his eyes flicked past the mugger.

The mugger’s smirk faded as he finally noticed the figure standing silently behind him.

Dominick.

His eyes, behind his glasses, locked onto the mugger’s with cold, unyielding fury.

No words were spoken—just the silent weight of Dominick’s presence, heavy and unmistakable.

The mugger swallowed hard, the fight draining out of him.

Alex exhaled quietly, a shiver running down his spine.

____

Dante’s voice cut through the thick silence, just loud enough to sound dramatic. “Oh my God, it’s him! Let’s run away!” He grabbed Alex’s arm, pulling him with a mock urgency—but instead of fleeing, he hopped on one foot, amusement shining in his eyes.

Alex caught the joke instantly. He remembered Dominick’s warning—not to be seen with them. Yet, despite the joke, a knot of worry twisted inside him for the mugger.

Dante leaned in, voice low and conspiratorial. “Let’s watch from here...” He ducked behind the corner, pulling Alex with him.

They hid in the shadowed recess of the alley. Dante’s grin widened. For Alex, it was something new—a first glimpse into Dominick’s world.

“He’s not... going to kill him, right?” Alex asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Dante snorted softly. “Pfft. As if. He’s not some street thug, buddy.”

They both turned their attention back to the scene.

Dominick stood still, eyes fixed on the trembling boy before him. No words. No threats. The silence was heavy. The boy shivered, unable even to summon the courage to run.

Then, slowly, Dominick reached into his coat—and drew something out.

A gun? No.

A single paper bill, crisp and unyielding—money, not coins.

Without a word, Dominick dropped the paper bill on the ground at the boy’s feet. He didn’t hand it over—he let it fall with a deliberate finality.

The boy was still on the ground, breathing hard, fingers scraped, the cinder block lying useless beside him.

Dominick stood tall above him.

He glanced down, voice quiet.

"A cinder block? Really?"

The boy didn’t answer—only trembled, his eyes flicking between Dominick’s face and the folded paper bill dropped near his foot.

"Go buy some brain with this. But stay out of this area."

The boy stared at the money, not daring to move. His lips parted.

“W-Why… did you give me that?”

Dominick didn’t move, didn’t blink.

“So you do have a tongue at least.”

“W…Why?”

A beat.

Dominick’s eyes never left his.

“Don’t get the wrong idea.”
“You’re not even a person to me."

"You’re just noise.”

He stepped back once, slow.

“And I don’t want to hear that noise around here again.”

The words cut deeper than the boy expected. He stared, small and shrinking.

Dominick didn’t wait.

“Out of my sight.”

The mugger hesitated… then slowly reached for the bill. His hand hovered, checking Dominick’s face. No change.

He grabbed it and bolted—head down, vanishing into the alleys without another word.

With that, Dominick turned and walked away, his coat brushing against the wet cobblestones as he disappeared down the path he had come.

The boy remained frozen, eyes locked on the scattered bills. Only once Dominick was out of sight did he cautiously reach down, snatch up the money, and sprint away without looking back.

Dante chuckled, nudging Alex. “Cool, right?”

But Alex was silent, watching the empty alley where Dominick had vanished.

“Just make sure to hide your pouch before you leave the shop, alright?”

Alex nodded, still caught in thought. “Y-Yeah...”

__

Next day in the evening

The sun had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards and bathing the room in a quiet amber glow. Alex stepped inside first, closing the door gently behind him. The space was still, hushed—only the faint sounds of the city drifting in through the shuttered window.

He looked around, noting the emptiness with a soft frown.

“Guess Dante can be late sometimes…” he murmured, half to himself.

Crossing to the small wooden table at the center of the room, he sat down and pulled the leather pouch from his coat. The clinking of coins spilled out softly into the silence. He counted them one by one, his brow furrowing with focus, a smile slowly blooming across his face—shy, but proud.

“I wonder if… I can get him to stop,” he whispered, fingers gently brushing over the modest stack of coins.

But the thought hadn’t even finished blooming in his mind when the front door creaked open.

He startled—shoulders tensing, hand instinctively reaching for the coins—but relaxed at once when Dante stumbled inside, coughing, clothes blackened with soot, and the scent of smoke trailing behind him like a second cloak. His face was smudged, eyes red from ash and exhaustion, his dark coat clinging to his frame like it had fought the chimneys too.

“D-Dante?!” Alex shot up. “What happened?!”

Dante kicked the door closed behind him and slumped forward with a groan. “Got a chimney sweep job,” he rasped, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Thought I’d give honest work a try.”

He coughed again, harder this time. “It’s ugly as hell.”

Alex’s eyes lit up in surprise. “Really?!”

“Yeah. But I’m not doing it again,” Dante said flatly, tossing a second coin pouch onto the table with a tired thud. “I inhaled more smoke today than the boss has in his whole life. And the pay? Barely enough to afford soap.”

Alex’s hands hovered over the coins, then back to Dante’s face. “You… you’ll look for something else?”

Dante flopped onto his bed with a groan, turning his back to him.

“It’s all your fault, you know.”

Alex blinked, taken aback. “What…?”

“I’m jealous of you.”

The words caught Alex by the collar. He stilled.

“I told you,” he began, voice soft, “we can split what I—”

“No, you got it wrong,” Dante cut in, not cruel, just tired. There was a pause.

Then, softer, almost like he was speaking to the room: “The faces you made…”

Alex stayed still, watching his friend, his own breath caught in his chest.

“I think I want to feel this way,” Dante murmured.

A quiet washed over the room, as golden light shifted on the floorboards. Slowly, a smile returned to Alex’s face—warm and hopeful, touched with something gentle.

“It’ll take a while…” he said softly, “but you’ll see. It’s worth hundreds of coins.”

He looked at Dante, eyes full of conviction.

“A fair earning, Dante—it’s the best feeling in the world.”

There was a small sound from the couch, more like a breath than a word. “Yeah… yeah.”

"Right ! I can talk to Mr Harris-"

"Nah. He will have to pay two workers. Keep that one for you. It's not the only shop in this damn city."

Alex stood and took a step closer. “I want to help you. We can split what I have, till you find something better. Something under a good boss. And…” he wrinkled his nose, grinning, “doesn’t destroy your lungs.”

He gave a mock-heroic gesture toward the soot-covered heap on the couch. “In the meantime, please… keep climbing!”

There was a beat. Then a muffled voice: “Climbing?”

“Oh right—” Alex rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I meant, uh… keep fighting!”

He turned away for a moment, muttering to himself, “Can’t believe that violin girl’s weird speech is still lurking in my mind…”

Behind him, Dante turned lazily, one eye cracking open. There was a flicker of amusement on his face now.

“Let’s see how you handle the other stuff,” he said.

Alex’s expression faltered. “You mean… Dominick’s work.”

Dante nodded.

“We saw him yesterday. He is back in the area. Means he will drop by. Maybe even later or tomorrow.”

A shadow crossed Alex’s face. He didn’t know what those jobs entailed yet, but everything in his chest warned him—it wouldn’t be easy. Or clean.

Dante watched him for a long moment, then suddenly raised his heel and kicked him—just lightly—like a brother might.

“Come on! Cheer up! Don’t worry! You’re not dying!”

He grinned, stretching his arms wide as he sat up. “Not on my watch!”

He pointed a finger at Alex like a theatrical mentor. “Just follow my lead and all will work fine, got it?”

Alex looked at him—and then smiled again. Not the proud, coin-counting smile from before, but something deeper. A warmth that spread all the way to his eyes.

He wasn’t alone.