Snow Against Shadow

by DawnTheFox

Summary:

And here he thought it was a great idea.

Due to his own stupidity, Chance found himself in debt to the mafia. He had just fished a round of poker, and won as always, with his ex’s friends: Caleb and Elternate. But little did Chance know, there was a certain mafia boss watching from the shadows.
Chance was a well known gambler in his city, always at the casino every day of the week, every hour. No matter what, Chance was either smoothing talking the employees to allow him to stay, or making promises he knew he couldn't keep.

Which is exactly why Mafioso was after him. Chance was heavily in debt to several people, most he just owed ~$100 to, all the way up to the Sonnelios (Mafioso) where he owned a whole $2.4million.

Chance was screwed and he knew it, but that didn't stop him.

Notes:

This was previously written on a Google doc. also, sorry for the very, very, short chapters, they'll get longer I swear-

Chapter 1: "... Its Nothing Personal, really."

Chance didn't know where it all went wrong. He was walking home one night when he suddenly came face to face with his ex, Itrapped. Chance and Itrapped didn't have a very good relation ship, as they constantly fought and never agreed on the same thing, Itrapped also kept asking to borrow money he’d "swear to give back once he had the time” but Itrapped always came back with something new and expensive that he had bought with Chance’s money.

Chance and Itrapped stood there for what felt like years, staring each other down with equal amount of disgust and disdain.

Then it happened.

It happened so, so, so fast. Chance couldn't even breath before it happened. Itrapped had lunged forward, his darkheart in hand, the same sword Chance had bought at an auction for $1.9million, said to be created by the Telamon himself.

The sword plunged into Chance’s abdomen, he could fear the sword ripping and tearing his flesh and muscle apart, he could feel each ridge and imperfection destroying his organs. The blade’s shadow-like ability makes his body decay from the inside out. He could feel his intestine decaying and falling out every second.

 

It made him sick.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

 

…?

Chapter 2: The Void

“...Where… where am I…?”

Chance murmured to himself, yet his voice was unheard even to his own ears as the void around him seemed endless and dead. Could he move? No. Could he breathe? No. Every movement and action made him want to double over and cry. It hurt. Every muscle, every small bit of his flesh that he tried to twitch, it felt like fire sprinting through his veins.

He tried to scream

Only silence answered, maybe even the pounding in his head, the strange ringing from the constant quiet, or maybe further off, deeper within this void, he heard a beep. Then another. A constant rhythm that seemed to sync with his heart.

 

He felt cold, tired, pained, and… at peace.

 

Yet he couldn't die yet. Could still feel the constant decomposition of his guts, he could smell the rotten stench that seemed to flow from his very core. He gagged internally, yet he didn't feel any bile rise in his throat, all the more to just feel sick.

 

Then relief…?

 

He felt lighter in the void, but now his whole body seemed to feel heavier than a pile of rocks, his previous pain fluttering to a softer feeling like an embrace of warmth with a chilly after shine. It felt weird, but probably in the best way possible.

Then a bright, blinding white light shot through his vision like an explosion, the beeping grew louder, but it was soft and quiet still. The place felt colder, no longer having the warmth he craved so suddenly.

 

Chance was alive, as Lady Luck never intended for him to die.

Chapter 3: The Wake Up To Reality

Summary:

Chance wakes up to an unexpected surprise beside him

Chance woke up in a hospital bed, the thin sheets making him shutter at the cold breeze of AC. he groaned, his eyelids feeling like they had been glued shut for centuries, his vision blurry like a fog, his lips crusted and cracked uncomfortably, his limbs sore with random splinters of aches and throbs.

It sucked, and that was an understatement.

 

Chance blinked open his weary eyes, taking in the sight in front of him. It was strange, uncomfortable, and almost otherworldly.

 

Right across from where Chance laid, there was a TV which was showing the weather report, but that wasn't what caught Chance’s eye.

Right next to Chance, where there should have been an empty armchair, was instead an armchair with someone in it, and that someone he knew all too well.

 

Don Sonellio.

_________________________________________________________________

 

Chance laid there like a statue. The mafia boss sat unstirred, his fedora tilted down and casting a shadow on his face. He seemed peaceful from the surface, but Chance knew it was all just a hoax, a wolf in sheep clothing.

 

Chance looked around, looking for an escape route just in case the man woke up. Windows were tightly shut, the door ajar but too far to bolt for in a desperate attempt. In other words: if chance tried to escape, he’d be dead no matter what.

But it was still worth a shot... Right?

Chapter 4: Just Give Up, Chance

Chance’s mind raced through different scenarios, most ending up with him a free man and away from Mafioso. So Chance put his plan into action without a second thought.

 

Chance crept up and out of his bed, his feet landing on the cold floor silently. Chance looked at the messy bed, then at Mafioso, smirking to himself.

 

This was easy. almost too easy…

 

Chance shook the sudden wave of unease away, muttering a few curses under his breath as he made his way towards the door, forgetting his shoes behind like the moron he is.

 

As Chance’s hand grazed over the door handle, the sound of rustling clothing made Chance jolt. His head spun around quicker than ever, spotting Mafioso steadily stirring awake with a soft gruff groan.

 

Chance swore under his breath, yanking the door open and bolting down the hallway. Chance was about half way down when he heard the pounding footsteps after him. Chance ran faster, internally panicking as the mafia boss gained on him quicker than he’d hope.

 

Unfortunately for Chance, it didn't take too long before Mafioso caught up, yanking his arm heavily and causing Chance to yelp. The sound barely slipped past his lips as Mafioso slapped a hand over his lips, his own hand flying up to grasp Mafioso’s wrist as he shouted out muffled protests of sheer panic and fear.

 

“Just shut up, will ya?”

Mafioso’s voice was low and commanding, nearing the edge of a snappish growl. Chance shuttered at the tone, still struggling but not as desperately as before.

“And stop squirming you vermin!”

Mafioso yanked Chance back again, causing him to stumble and practically collapse backwards onto Mafioso’s broad chest.

 

If Mafioso wasn't going to kill Chance soon, then the embarrassment of it all would probably get to him first.

Chapter 5: The Recovery

Mafioso had dragged Chance back to the hospital room, forcing him to stay in bed until a nurse could come and check up on him. Chance felt fine before trying to flee something that most likely wasn’t going to kill him… yet anyways…

But now it felt like he got hit by a bus, his abdomen throbbing with an unidentified burning in his organs, everything was starting to hurt again.

 

Chance was squirming and writhing in pain while simultaneously silencing his own yowls of agony. Mafioso was standing off to the side, not caring that Chance was in pain. As in his opinion, Chance was deserving of every ounce of the pain, it’s what he gets for trying to scam the infamous Sonellios. So silently, despite the small smirk being suppressed on his face, Mafioso was enjoying Chance’s suffering.

 

Eventually a nurse finally came in, Mafioso’s smirk faltering subtly but Chance was still practically crying.

 

“Greetings Mr.Sonellio, I apologize for the small delay.”

The nurse’s voice was soft, almost like an innocent being that has not yet faced the harsh truth of reality, her worth flowing like honey.

 

“...no need to apologize, you could've taken longer if needed.”

Mafioso replied with an unreadable expression, his arms crossed over his broadened chest as he casted a side long glare towards Chance’s whimpering form.

“His wound probably reopened when he tried to run.”

 

The nurse nodded, wincing slightly in sympathy for Chance's agonizing moment. She walked toward the bed, her shoes barely making a soft click with each step.

The nurse worked in mostly silence, humming a soft and slightly off-pitch tune, her hands working across Chance’s abdomen with practiced ease; re-cleaning the wound, dressing it, and making sure to give Chance a few painkillers before stepping back with a small smile.

“Let me know if you need anything else, the cafeteria is open to any and all,”

 

Mafioso nodded as the nurse sauntered off, her hips unconsciously swaying with each step.

‘...she’s cute,”

Chance muttered suddenly, his voice strained with lingering pain, weak from whimpering like a beaten dog.

“Of course, you of all people would say that.”

Mafioso snapped suddenly, his jaw tight with unsaid words, his eyes gleaming dangerously in the shadow of his fedora.

 

Chance raised a brow, his charmingly smug smirk spreading across his lips.

“Oh? Is someone jealous they're not the center of attention? ~”

 

Mafioso groaned lowly, his expression the definition of ‘shut up before i punch you’, yet Chance didn't seem to get that memo and continued to tease and mock Mafioso, his smirk only widening.

 

But Mafioso was barely paying attention now, his gaze solely fixed on Chance’s grin. It infuriated him to an ungodly degree.

“Chance.”

Mafioso hissed suddenly, his voice taking a whole new edge of pissed off,

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, i swear to every god above I'm shoving my sword so far up your ass-”

 

Chance paused, raising his hand is a surrender.

“Woah now! No need to go ‘round threatening me over some teasing, Maf!”

 

“...Dont call me that.”

Chapter 6: Harsh Treatment

After what truly felt like long and drooling days of sitting in a hospital bed, getting cursed out a few times by Mafioso, getting checked up on by the same nurse, who Chance thought was cute…

 

Chance was finally released from the hospital, Mafioso right behind him with a sharp scowl.

“...How you Americans deal with this bullshit health care is beyond me.”

Mafioso commented, walking towards his sleek black car with heavily tinted windows.

 

“Ah well, y’know how it is. America, home of the brave and free, causers of bankruptcy and debt.”

Chance snickered to himself, hands stuffed in his pockets as he fiddled with his coin, the ridged surface having a stage calming effect on Chance’s nerves.

 

“Speaking of debt.”

Mafioso stopped suddenly, causing Chance to walk a few steps ahead before turning his head to peer over his shoulder.

“You owe me. A whole lot more than before.”

 

Chance hesitated, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly before speaking in a small voice.

“R-right! The debt…! Look Maf… I don't have any cash on hand right now, so you're going to have to bear with me here…!”

Chance took a subtle step back, his fingers trembling in his pockets with every passing moment.

 

“I know you don't have cash on you, dumbass."

Mafioso sneered, his hands balling up tightly to the point his knuckles turned white.

“That's the whole damn reason i paid your medical bill. So. You will get the money in a month, and if you still don't have it by then…”

Mafioso leaned closer to Chance, his anger practically etched into his features, a hand roughly coming up to grab the collar of Chance’s suit.

“…I’ll personally reopen your wounds with a sword…”

 

Mafioso’s threat hung in the air, his breath warm against Chance’s face.

Chance swallowed hard, carefully prying Mafioso’s hands off his suit collar, though quite shakily as he gave a nervous laugh. 

“Yep-! Heard ya loud and clear-!”

 

Mafioso let go of Chance, but not without shoving him harshly towards the ground.

“Remember, a month. No more extensions, no more excuses. You either have it or you don't."

Mafioso spun on his heels, his coat billowing out behind him at the sharp turn, opening his car door and slamming it shut, the driver already driving Mafioso off.

 

Chance laid there in the hospital parking lot, his hand coming up to adjust his collar where Mafioso had yanked. He swallowed hard, looking back at the hospital before looking back towards Mafioso’s retreating vehicle. Chance gave a heavy sigh, slowly crawling back up to his feet, dusting off debris from his suit.

He didn't have a ride.

No cash.

No one to stay with.

 

He was screwed now, wasn't he?

Chapter 7: Miss me yet?

Chance walked slowly down the sidewalk, shoes scuffing the concrete quietly. He sighed heavily, tearing his gaze up from the ground to the sidewalk ahead. The streets were empty; no cars, no people, not even a leaf scurried across the road. It was quiet. The type of quiet to make the ears ring uncomfortably, the one where a pin drop could sound like a gun going off. It was awful, but in its own twisted way, it was comforting to know no one was following you.

 

Above, a street light flickered before dying out, leaving the sidewalk in front of Chance draped in shadow that was barely lit from the lights of closing stores.

Just from the moon’s place in the sky, it was probably around 10:00 at night, a time Chance didn’t really care too much about.

Chance was lost in thought, thinking about all the things that had happened from when he remembered… Itrapped betraying him, laying in a hospital bed while Mafioso sat next to him, failing to run… it felt like just a few hours, but it was really days, probably even a week or month. Chance’s whole deception of time was knocked off when he passed out, he had no clue what day it was, the month, or truly if it even was 10:00. It was all too much for Chance to handle, yet he had no tears left to cry, especially alone on a barren sidewalk. He couldn’t afford to stop walkinging, hell he couldn’t afford anything.

 

Chance groaned to himself as he walked silently, his ears only picking up the sound of the breeze and the light sound of his own shoes on the ground. Nothing else. But he wasn’t alone now. No where near it in fact.

 

An arm suddenly shot out from a passing alleyway, followed by another clasped over his lips, his shocked gasp turned into a muffled cry. The hands on his body were ice cold, and whoever it was was staying directly out of Chance’s peripheral. And so, without putting too much thought into it, Chance slammed the heel of his foot down onto whoever it was. The person hissed in pain, their hands leaving Chance’s arm and face as they took a few steps back.

Chance turned sharply to face them, but their body remained in the shadows as if they were one themself. The only thing Chance saw before a fist came crashing into his jaw, was the faint glint of a blue crown that seemed as sharp as knives but looked as delicate as glass all at the same time. Chance’s head snapped to the side with a small crack, from where though was unknown. His jaw throbbed with a burning sensation, but the lingering cold from the hand was strangely effective at numbing it. As Chance was stunned however, a second blow landed in his stitched abdomen, causing him to hiss in pain and double over. But this was only the start.

 

CRACK

 

Another blow to the abdomen, this time a knee.

 

Chance crumpled to the ground like a ragdoll, his body unable to hold up his body anymore from the fire blazing through his body. He could feel a warm liquid seeping from his stitched wound, causing him to internally panic. Chance tried to rise to his feet, but was forced back down by a heavy heeled boot slamming into his back. Chance’s head was jerked back as the same hand form before grabbing his hair, his fedora falling off somewhere to the side.

“How the fuck are you still alive?!”

 

It was Itrapped. His voice was ice cold and filled to the brim with anger and disgust, his boot digging into Chance’s back like a warning.

 

Chance tried to speak, but the words died in his throat before he could even utter a whimper, his hands weakly trying to find something to haul himself upright, yet all he found was the cold hard floor of the alleyway, his nail scraping across it as if he was trying to crawl away. But that only made his nails give way and start to bleed as well.

 

“Well? Do you have something to say?!”

Itrapped continued to press on, trying to force the very words out of Chance’s throat as his boot dug more firmly into Chance’s back, directly on his spine.

 

Chance groaned loudly, trying desperately to curl up into a tight ball. But that was futile. Itrapped had him pinned in the worst way, his boot digging into Chance’s spinal column as if it was about ready to snap it. Chance finally parted his lips to speak, but all that came out was a weak whine, his body quivering with each useless attempt at speech.

 

Itrapped was on his wits end with Chance, but he probably was a long time ago. Itrapped’s boot came crashing down onto Chance's back, causing him to practically get flattened like an insect. Itrapped did this several times, over and over again without a single pause in between, as if he was trying purposefully to snap Chance’s spine. When itrapped finally let up on his assault on Chance, Chance’s back was probably coated with bruises and a few shattered ribs from where they connected with his spine, his chest heaving as his solar plexus pressed into the concrete for way too long. Itrapped gave Chance’s ribs one last kick before starting to walk off, a few ribs giving way at the impact.

 

Chance was left on the ground, eyes wide in pain and panic, his stitched wound now wide open, his ribs broken and or shattered, his back bruised like there was tomorrow, his once already broken confidence and pride were now practically blended into nothingness. Chance laid there for god knows how long, his body too weak to even attempt to stand or sit up. He wanted death to come pick him off its door step more than ever by now.

 

The cold of the alleyway was steadily seeping into Chance’s body, causing him to shiver then tense as pain immediately spiked through him. Chance tried to scream, to cry, to anyone that might be near. But he was alone once more. No help. No one to save him. And Mafioso being nearby was certainly out of the picture. That man left hours ago in the parking lot, driven off like he had something important to attend to. So Chance laid there. Alone. Cold. his eyes heavy as they tried to shut, yet he didn’t let them. He craved death more than ever by now, yet he didn’t want to die in some random alleyway where no one would look.

He was scared of dying alone. And that occurred to him way too late.

Notes:

Feel free to suggest what you wish to happen in the comments ^^

Chapter 8: An Unwanted Guest

Notes:

hi !!
yes, hello !!
I'm still alive and posting !!
(Literally had no idea how to continue this on so uhh... here you all go! enjoy whatever this is lol)

|…A few days have passed by now…|

 

Chance had managed to find a low quality motel after walking for what felt like miles. His feet ached, his eyes heavy with unrest, his body tense with regret. His wound naturally closed up, leaving a nasty infected mark across his mid section, his suit caked with blood old and new, dirt and grime from the streets and alleys, sweat and tears from the hell he’s endured…

But now Chance can rest, the weak mattress dipping heavily under his starved weight. He hadn't had anything to eat since before he left the hospital. His stomach felt cold and empty, gnawing at itself for whatever fake food it can grab. His ribs hurt from Itrapped. He couldn't get help, he had no money…

 

Chance rolled to his side, facing the wall. The wall was chipped, the wall paper peeling like the dead skin on his wound. The room felt like a reflection of himself; gross, falling apart, weak, and something people only went to when they needed something…

Somewhere in the distance, or maybe a few doors down, a couple fought about something, the sound of things breaking against any surface felt louder than a breath in a stiff wind. Chance covered his ears with a pillow that felt more like a cinderblock wrapped in a pathetic yellowed rag… not to mention it smelled like literal piss and vomit… Chance held back a gag, tossing the pillow onto the floor and instead covering his ears with his hands. He didn't know where his headphones went, maybe they're still in his hospital room, in the chair or on the bed, but maybe they were in the parking lot, destroyed from cars running them over.

But now, none of that seemed to matter. He needed to get home… but where was that…? He didn't know where he was, His phone sat dead and cracked in his worn suit pocket, the material cold against his thinned clothing.

 

Chance’s eyes threatened to close, and he didn't stop them.

His eyes closed, the noises fading into the background.

The faint sound of crickets, the fighting couple, the footsteps outside…

The last one made Chanse suddenly pause, yet he was already drifting into sleep, his limbs lax with aches and burns… he didn't have the energy to turn or move. Which was bad. Very bad.

 

It didn't take long before his motel door slammed open, the lock ripping out of the door. Chance couldn’t move, his body stiff with fear yet relaxed with rest. He wanted to scream, to yell, to plead for mercy to whoever was now in his room.

But he couldn’t.

He physically can't anymore…

 

It felt like his very body gave up on life, accepting its pathetic fate.

 

Something soft and damp pressed against his nose and mouth, the smell of chemicals heavy, the feeling of a calloused hand evident. He could only breathe it in, his body and mind now absent to what was happening.

 

He could feel himself moving, but his eyes stayed shut, mind absent and fogged, limbs aching and relaxing all at the same time, his lips feeling dryer by the second

Chapter 9: Rise and shine

Notes:

woah, almost 1.2k words on this one

…Everything hurt…

 

His ribs felt shattered.

His face felt broken beyond healing.

Rope binding his wrists tightly till they were raw.

His neck sore from being slumped for so long.

His lungs burned with the lingering chloroform.

Something warm and sticky crept from his nose, blood maybe.

His lip busted, the metallic tang of blood sharp on his lips.

 

Chance’s eyes weakly fluttered open, the bright light above where he was tied assaulted his vision till it felt white. Everything felt cold and hot at the same time. Sweat, though blood was still a high possibility, ran down his cheek and the side of his head,his ears ringing despite the distant hushed murmurs. Chance couldn't tell what they were saying, it didn't sound like English.

A pathetic groan slid past Chance’s lips as he managed to raise his heavy head, only to be met with a hard knuckle to the jaw. Something cracked, maybe the person’s knuckle. But from the way his jaw burned, it was probably his jaw fracturing… god… whoever was doing this had one hell of a right hook. From just that second of contact, Chance knew he was in deep shit again, and not just because he got punched. But because the hand felt calloused, so the person must’ve been through a lot. A lot more than Chance has in a lifetime… which is saying something.

 

His mind wandered back to Itrapped.

His once beloved, he now considered a rat. He loved Itrapped, yes. But now? After everything that bastard had done?! Just the thought of his name made Chance’s blood boil. HIS beloved, HIS everything, the one he called dear. Betrayed him. And for what reason? Chance didn't know. To raise in popularity? Wealth? To just get a kick out of beating someone when things didn't go the right way? He felt a tear creep down the corner of his eye. But why is he crying now? He didn't cry when Itrapped stabbed him… maybe he was in too much shock… But, being with Itrapped felt right… almost good in a way… but it seemed to good to be true, and that was definitely the cruel reality hitting home…

 

He was knocked from his thoughts as a shoe came crashing down on his foot, causing Chance to grit his teeth and bite back a yell.

If he wasn't awake before, he definitely is now.

Chance’s eyes flickered up towards his assaulter, but he didn't know who it was. They had yellow skin, almost like Mafioso, but they didn't have hair, but did have black shades and what appeared to be a black ear piece.

Chance’s eyes narrowed as he took in their appearance fully, taking in the small details that he might miss.

 

A scar on the chin.

Broad form.

Sharp jaw…

The man looked like some type of secret agent disguised as a bodyguard… and it was almost unnerving. Almost. 

 

“…What do you want from me…?”

Chance surprised himself by talking, he didn't even know those words left his mouth. It didn't sound like him. Annoyed, tired, done with it all, deep and hurt…

 

The other man seemed to be surprised as well, raising a brow like he heard something shocking instead of a straight forward question.

“He’s up!”

 

The man called over his shoulder into the darkness, feet shuffled, things hit the ground. Weapons, Chance presumed.

Yet Chance still paid attention to everything. Because maybe, just maybe, if they slipped up and let him go, he could spill everything to the cops.

 

The broad man had a thick Italian accent, just like Mafioso. Which was already not a good sign in Chance’s eyes.

 

Three others emerged from the shadows.

 

One had a white top hat and a white suit with heavy black accents, their long yellow hair matching their skin flowed messily in a ponytail swept over their shoulder.

 

Another had a white button down, black vest and slacks, black headphones under a black hat. Same yellow skin and hair.

 

And the third had a black urshaka, same clothing as the one with the headphones and shades. And again, still the same yellow skin and hair.

 

Were they related? Maybe. But that was difficult to say plainly just because they had the same things.

 

“…step aside, boys. I need him alive.”

 

Chance froze. He knew it was Mafioso. The sharp tone, gruff edge, and Italian accent thicker than honey… strangely alluring and captivating- Chance caught himself before his mind wandered too deep into Mafioso’s voice.

Why the fuck was he suddenly day dreaming about a mafia boss? The same one he owned millions to?

 

Mafioso’s hand snapped out, grabbing his face harshly to force Chance into staring directly into those obsidian orbs.

…he was sexy… Chance couldn't deny that though… no matter how much he tried…

 

“…Your time is almost up, gambler. But before you even utter a word…”

Mafioso’s sharp tone trailed off, his nails digging into the beaten flesh of Chance’s face.

“…you obviously don't have a lick of cash on you. Do you?”

 

It didn’t sound like a question. It was more of a statement. And acquisition that made Chance’s heart stop.

“…Why does it matter to you? You're just going to keep beating me even if I had it.”

Chance snapped harsher than he intended. He was trying to be ignorant, defiant in some stupid way, but he was practically begging for a goddamn death wish.

 

Mafioso laughed. Mafioso actually laughed. The sound for some reason made something flutter in Chance’s chest. And he hated it. He wanted to ignore this… this sudden attraction towards some damned mafia boss!

 

“You're as sharp as a marble, Chance.”

Mafioso chuckled darkly,his thumb pressing hard into Chance’s right cheek. He swore it broke skin before Mafioso pulled his hand away.

“Though despite your idiocy, you do have common sense… in some pathetic way.”

 

That made Chance’s blood boil for some reason, he didn't know why Mafioso saying something true made his jaw clench and his hands ball up. But it did… Maybe it was the sorrow and hurt from Itrapped, the way his heart is now aching for revenge on the person that did everything to him.

“Oh really? Like you're not one to talk?! You left me in a fucking parking lot! For saving my ass you obviously don't give a shit. You're just a pathetic excuse of a man. Using your power to make people cower and kiss your fucking feet!”

Chance regretted his words almost immediately, but what was said, was said, and he couldn't take back anything.

 

“…Bold words for someone who weeps when they bruise.”

Mafioso’s voice dropped an octave, his anger palpable in the already tension tight air.

 

Mafios raised a fist before Chance could even breathe, he only knew he got hit when his vision flashed white and a giant pain spread like a wildfire across the side of his face.

 

Chance didn't remember anything else from that point on, Mafioso having hit him hard enough to make Chance black out.

Chapter 10: [Extra Scene 1]

Notes:

To feed you guys until next week...
(Maybe... still trying to figure out a post schedule)

     Mafioso sighed heavily as he ran a bloodied hand down his face, his men chattering in Italian in the background.

“…Get him back in the car… make it look like we weren't even there.”

Mafioso’s voice lowered to an almost disappointed groan. He didn't wait for his men to start working before walking out of the room.

 

The mansion was quiet this time of night, the only sound being his men struggling in the background to haul Chance’s body out of the room. It makes a small impeccable grin spread across Mafioso’s lips, the type people have learned to fear over the years; when a mafia boss smiles, it usually doesn't mean anything good, especially when it comes to the Don Sonellio.

 

Mafioso’s eyes trailed the expensive marble across his floor, his shoes clicking softly but threateningly and precisely on its cool surface.

 

Mafioso’s mind buzzed as he thought about tonight; capturing Chance and forcing him to learn a lesson made some tension rise off his shoulders, though it wasn't enough to break his tall and stiff stature.

 

Chance was a gambler, that was obvious just by his name.

He was annoying. Ignorant. Arrogant. And very stupid when it came to common fucking sense…

Chance had taken millions from the Sonellios in just a few poker games, ranting about how ‘lady luck must be on his side.’ No man can possibly win hundreds of times in a row without cheating. It couldn't be possible.

That's the very reason why Mafioso was hunting Chance down, because after all these years Chance hadn't paid a penny back of what he owed.

 

Each win. Every poker chip obtained. It was a part of Mafioso’s plan to break Chance.

He knew the man was broken already, suffering from a failing relationship…

 

Mafioso wanted to break Chance further.

 

But he did not intend for Chance to rob him of his money and proceed to gloat about his stupid fucking luck and odds…

 

Mafioso didn't realize he hit his room, only knowing when he looked up and saw the expensive wood with intricate gold carvings staring directly at him.

 

Mafioso pushed the door open, the hinges silently welcoming him without a creak or groan of protest.

 

The door shut behind him with a soft click, Hiding Mafioso’s broad form as he shifted around to room…

Chance was still on his mind, and he would force that damned gambler to pay him back sooner or later…

 

Chance only had 2 weeks left until Mafioso returned. Mafioso knew Chance wouldn't have a lick of cash on him, and it would bring him so much pleasure to beat that gambler’s head open as revenge.

Chapter 11: May I wallow in my sorrow alone, now?

Chance woke up with a start, his heart practically pounding in his ears, his breathing sharp and shallow. His eyes flickering around the broken motel like something was watching him. Yet there was nothing. Maybe the walls were off, the wrong shade of musty peeling yellow; though maybe it was the door, slightly askew and twisted, the rustic hinges catching the light differently; or it's that way his tattered clothes clung to the worn sheets and his body, feeling too thick and rough to the point he could feel every fiber that grazed his grey flesh.

 

The air felt off as well, too quiet and lonesome. He remembers vaguely hearing a couple fight in the distant rooms, but now they seemed to have gone silent. Asleep, maybe. Though perhaps one left the one and the other was wallowing in their sorrow and regret… heh… doesn't that feel familiar.

 

A weak humorless smile spread across Chance’s cracked lips, a horse laugh slipping past. He couldn't believe it. Here he was, sitting in his stupid motel, internally sobbing about his ex. Trying to believe they were a good person. Oh how fucking wrong he was. He couldn't help the pained grin and chuckles that slid from his throat.

 

He was alone.

Insane, maybe.

He misses Spade… he hopes his neighbors are taking care of the poor rabbit alright…

Maybe a quick stop wouldn't hurt…

…But where was he? North? West? South? East? Everything felt backwards and upside down. He was probably in the outskirts, miles away from his home. Miles away from his beloved rabbit…

 

Despite his laughter, Chance was crying on the inside. He misses his old life. His parents, his brother, his Spade… he missed the old times with ITrapped… even when now he knew it was all a hoax for cash.

 

He didn't know how long he sat on the edge of his bed, laughing like a mad man while tears fell down his cheeks. He felt like a failure. Would his parents ever welcome him back with open arms? Would his brother even remember his name? Does his family hate him?! Is he all alone in this pathetic world with nothing but debt to his name?! IS HE WORTH ANYTHING ANYMORE?!

Chance was spiraling badly, his head bowed low to where it almost touched his knees, his hands helplessly gripping and pulling his dirty hair.

 

Chance didn't realize he slumped to the floor until his knees hit the disgusting carpet with a muffled thud, his insane laughter evolving into pathetic ugly sobs that wrenched his body. His hands gripped the grimy carpet, feeling every small speck of dust or dirt… He ignored what other possibilities could be in the carpet… especially when he felt something small and quickly brushed his hand… yeah, that caused him to suddenly screech and fly backwards towards the bed.

That small moment managed to pull him from his spiraling…

 

He wanted out badly now.

Chance grabbed his dead and broken phone from the splintered nightstand, speed walking out of the motel with more determination than he had when winning poker… which is surprising.

 

The door closed behind Chance with a soft click. He forgot to grab the key from inside and was most definitely locked out, so he prayed he didn't forget anything and continued to speed walk out and away without paying his nightly stay. Which was stupid, but he didn't have any cash in hand and knew the owner probably would forget he even existed…

He hoped…

 

____________________

 

Chance walked a good three miles without stopping for a break once, his feet throbbing and his knees threatening to give out. But he didn't allow himself to just collapse on the side of some random road in the middle of nowhere. So, he continued to walk, despite his body’s protest against every move.

His eyelids felt heavy and weak, his hands numbly stuffed in his pockets, which had a massive hole he didn't know existed.

 

A cold breeze made Chance’s body shutter, but he still kept walking.

Though now is when his body had enough.

 

Chance stiffly fell to the ground with a concerning thud and grunt, his arm bending awkwardly under his chest, his legs buckling under him. His head throbbed like it had been smashed with a hammer, a strange metallic aftertaste leaving his mouth dry and rough, his jaw feeling like a brick slammed into it… his eyes blurred weakly as he stared at the fading horizon.

 

Night was coming quickly, and he didn't have any way to keep moving… maybe if someone took pity on his pathetic soul, he could make it, or end up getting robbed and left with nothing but his name and maybe his dignity… Though the second one was definitely a harsh maybe…

 

…God… how much he just wanted it to be over already… To escape this reality and be alone again…

Things would've been so much better… he wouldn't have gotten his heart broken, sewn back together, then shattered again…

Chapter 12: an (un)welcoming surprise

Notes:

1.5k words long, mostly just dialogue making it that long

Chance’s eyes, bleary as ever, steadily blinked open with a pained wheeze. It felt like the very air had been sucked out of his lungs, his brain foggy and unable to focus on the car around him-

…a car?

 

He was moving… he could feel every small imperfection in the road the car hit.

 

Chance’s eyes blinked open wider, his senses coming back to him in a flood.

 

The air smelt of old blood, cigar smoke, and something akin to whiskey or expensive cologne, the wrists were bound together with thick ropes, alongside his ankles, he felt something pressing into his mouth, another across. Probably a gag and tape… weird combination but he couldn't exactly question it.

 

The car seat beneath him was surprisingly plush, probably leather. The seats ahead of him were a deep hazy grey, possibly having some fancy red or maroon ascents, it was hard to tell what colors were what in the dark car. Maybe it wasn't detailing but instead blood that stained the leather, that could explain why he smelt the metallic-ness.

 

Chance attested the small space next to him; to his right was a familiar figure, yellow skin and black shades; to his left was… Mafioso. Chance blinked a few times, utterly confused.

 

Was he getting kidnapped again? Has it already been a month? Was Mafioso going to kill him and dump his body in a river?!

 

Chance was… being delirious… probably from the fact that a handsome fucking mafia boss was literally inches from him and not even batting an eye. But he couldn’t lie, Mafioso did look pretty good when he had a neutral expression- okay he’s getting side tracked-

 

Chance quickly shook those gay stupid thoughts from his head, his eyes narrowing irritably at himself. He needed to think clearly for once, to somehow find an escape route out… which was practically impossible, considering the fact that two men that could snap his spine in half without breaking a sweat, were right next to him.

 

Chance tried to turn his head to his shoulder to try and slowly peel the tape from his mouth, though it was a lot easier said than done. He probably got a single corner’s edge up before Mafioso’s head trend towards him with narrowed eyes.

“…You're a pathetic vermin, Chance.”

 

Mafioso’s insult laid heavy in the silent car, the only sound being the sound of cars passing in the opposite direction and the sound of the engine humming.

 

Chance glared at Mafioso, hiding the fact he was trying damn hard not to gaze over Mafioso’s face like some male model getting viewed in public. It was sad and pathetic, and Chance couldn't help himself.

 

Mafioso, without warning, and probably knowing that Chance wanted to open his mouth to retort something stupid, grabbed the corner of tape that Chance had barely lifted and unceremoniously ripped it off with no care.

Chance gave a muffled cry of pain, the gag still hindering his ability to speak. His face burned from where the tape had stuck to whatever facial hair he had and ripped out.

“Happy now, you piece of shit?”

 

Chance shifted his head to his shoulder once more, trying to get the cloth gag out of his mouth. The worn fabric bit into his lips and clung to them like a dehydrated man to a drop of water. And Chance didn't want to think about how many times the cloth had been used, or if it had ever been cleaned at least once… The thought sent an uncomfortable shutter down Chance’s spine.

 

Chance made what could only be described as a ‘bleh’ sound when the gag slipped out from his mouth, his face screwed up with annoyance and shame.

“You're a jackass.”

 

Chance’s words bit back sharper than expected, causing Mafioso to don a sly fox-ish grin.

“I might be a jackass, Chance. But at least I saved your ass from getting stolen off the side of the road. And how many times  have I saved you by now? Twice? Three times maybe?”

Mafioso’s wording weren't true questions, but rather mocking statements to try and break down what little Chance had left.

 

“Well, the first time I didn't ask to be saved. Your ass just came out of the blue just to say I owed you more than I did before.”

 

Mafioso just chuckled, his grin showing he probably knew those words were coming from Chance’s mouth.

____________________

 

It took about an hour before the car came to a smooth stop, the tires not even screeching against the smooth pavement.

The driver stepped out first, a man he hadn't seen before but still looked similar to Mafioso in one way or another.

 

Before the car stood a large mansion, its wall painted a casual yet pristine white, the orange-yellow lights from inside lighting the ground and outside walls dimly, the grass cut neatly, windows perfectly tended and clean.

 

Chance felt poor just being in a 50ft radius.

 

“Hurry up and get out. Or stay locked in the car. I could care less.”

Mafioso’s stern voice broke through Chance’s awe, causing the gambler to quickly shift closer to the door. He wanted to bite back a sharp retort again, say he was fine staying in the luxury car, but a bed and clean clothes sounded hella fucking good… if Mafioso was even going to offer that to him.

 

“So… what's this all about? You going to stuff me in your basement and feed me prison food?”

Chance’s lips moved before he could stop them, though he didn't regret asking. He was curious to see how Mafioso would respond to his blunt question.

 

“Do I look like the type of gentleman to do that?”

Mafioso didn’t answer the question directly, raising a brow without looking at Chance, who was still struggling to get out of the car with bounded legs and arms.

 

“Yes. You're a mob boss who doesn't believe in mercy.”

 

“But I gave you second chances. I even gave you a third to try and save your ass. But here we are now. You're more in debt than when we last met.”

 

“All because of you.”

 

That's when Mafioso turned his head towards Chance, his expression neutral but his glare lethal. Not to mention the sadistic grin that subtly curled the edges of his lips.

“What a sad man you are, Chance. You're hurting on the inside, aren’t you? Hurting the people that are trying to help you recover… it's ironic, isn't it?”

 

Chance’s face formed a scowl before he could stop it, just as he managed to shift out of the car.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Chance snapped with a sneer, his eyes practically burning with hatred and disdain.

“You have no space to talk or even be in my personal life. You're nothing but some random bitch trying to make me feel worse!”

 

“…Marvelous words, Chance. But now isn't the time to be a comedian. Get your ass out of the car and move.”

 

“If I could fucking move!”

Chance hissed through gritted teeth, unceremoniously wobbling on unsteady legs.

 

Mafioso rolled his eyes, taking a few long strides forward to grab Chance’s arm. And before the gambler could protest, Mafioso hitched Chance upwards with a sudden pull of strength, causing Chance to squeak in surprise as his body heavily landed on Mafioso’s shoulder, his core practically being split in half by Mafioso’s shoulder.

“Put me down you fucker-!”

 

“I’ll put your weak ass down when we’re inside.”

 

“I don't give a shit-! Put me down before I kick your dick in-!”

 

Mafioso gave a hearty laugh, a sound that made Chance’ face burn with irritation and shame.

“I’d love to see you try. You're weaker than a fawn trying to stand for the first time.”

 

Chance squirmed with an irritated groan, trying to kick his knee into Mafioso’s solar plexus, which was a pathetic attempt as from which the way Mafioso was holding him barely even allowed his feet to move.

 

Chance only knew he was inside the mansion when a surprisingly comforting breeze of warm air hit his face, causing his cold skin to suddenly feel like it was burning. But not the type of burning that hurt, but the type he wanted more of just to relish alone. And even now that he was in a genuinely warm environment, he could feel every muscle in Mafioso’s body working together to carry him.

Chance suddenly felt very at peace, even his squirming dying down.

 

All he could see was the front door Mafioso had walked through, the floors a polished marble with deep and intricate patterns. There was a plush white carpet that didn't even seem to be tainted by dirt or grime, simply being a clean white.

 

Chance had to blink a few times before realizing he was in the mansion of an infamous mob boss, who had willingly taken him inside without even saying what he was planning to do with Chance now that he was here.

 

Was he going to end up dead in that river he thought about before? Maybe.

If Mafioso was truly taking him in, was he just going to end up killing Chance in his sleep? Also maybe.

 

It was hard to tell the mafia boss’ intentions, and it was confusing the hell out of him as to what was planned.

Notes:

Okay- a came across some of my old and unfinished fics, if you guys want to read em I'll post them as is and you can suggest things you'd like to see happen in the comments.

Chapter 13: Over Dinner, You May Fall.

Notes:

1.6k words... we're slowly getting there

Chance didn't know how much time had passed, or even how many that had passed.

All he knew was that was locked in a random room, fed three times a day, sometimes a fourth with desert. And he had to admit, it wasn't all that bad.

Chance came to know the names of Mafioso’s men; Caporigme, Consigliere, Soldier, Contractee, Britallian, Made man; which he did not understand if that was his actual name or just a rank, and even an android called Eunoia… She was sweet, though he didn't understand a single word she said.

 

As of now, Chance was laying on the plush bed, resting his bruises and cuts boredly. He tossed his fedora into the air, catching it with a small sigh, his gaze fixated on the pristine white ceiling above him. The bed beneath him was way softer than any mattress he had ever slept on, the plush material feeling like heaven under his aching body.

He had bandages practically wrapped around every surface of his body; arms, chest, abdomen, a few parts of his shoulders, and a few band aids on his face. He felt utterly broke and useless.

 

Chance sat up with a soft groan, even the slightest movement causing his entire body to ache with white-hot pain, blazing through his skin and bones like fire with wood.

Chance placed his fedora on the nightstand beside the bed, his eyes lingering on the torn black fabric for a moment longer than necessary.

His gaze flicked down to his bandaged body, his expression softening with something akin to sadness, or maybe it was guilt. But guilt for what? Taking a room in Mafioso's mansion? Realizing he failed the only person he thought he loved? It all seemed stupid and pathetic, but it didn't stop his heart from aching and twisting uncomfortably.

 

A soft knock on the door stirred Chance from his inner turmoil, his eyes avoiding the door like a man looking away from Medusa. He didn't want to see anyone right now, especially not if it was Mafioso or one of his men. Eunoia would be fine, she's the best one, to him at least. He’s seen how Mafioso will cower if she even smiles the wrong way… so maybe he should just wish it was someone knocking on the wrong door.

 

“…Chance? Are you still awake?”

And it was Mafioso… the one person Chance really did not want to talk to.

 

“…Unfortunately… what do you want?”

Chance reported, his words mumbled with irritation. Though maybe it was sorrow, the loneliness possibly caught up to his brain at last.

 

“Food is on the table. It's your choice if you eat or not.”

Mafioso’s words were blunt and straight to the point, as always. He never beat around the bush, even in a life or death situation… Chance learned on several occasions what that man can do when he was serious and tired of everyone’s shit.

 

“…I’ll just eat up here.”

 

“That’s not a choice. You either come down and eat, or you don't."

 

“Then I won't eat.”

 

There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence, only being broken by the soft rustle of Mafioso’s shifting.

“…Fine. Starve.”

 

The way Mafioso said it, so annoyed and almost disappointed sounding, it made Chance pause. He really didn't want to eat with the rest of the Sonnellios. It felt and sounded like a trap. But again, they were giving him hospitality and a chance to recover in their own place.

“Wait.”

 

The word slipped past Chance’s lips before he could stop it. He dropped his gaze to the silken sheets pooled around his waist, ignoring how he could feel Mafioso’s hard stare boring into the side of his head.

 

“…I’ll go.”

 

“Good choice. Be down in five.”

 

Chance nodded silently, he had five minutes to look even close to being presentable. So, he made it quick.

Chance tossed the sheets off his legs, quickly moving towards the closet that was practically stacked with fine tailored black suits and vests with matching black slacks, cleanly pressed white button downs, silken black and navy pajamas… it impressed Chance more than it should've.

He grabbed a random shirt, pants, and vest, not really checking if they were his size nor not, and quickly changing into them.

 

The fabric felt surprisingly pleasant against his battered skin, way nicer than his worn suit. Chance pulled the collar to his nose, inhaling its soft scent. It smelt faintly of lavender, maybe even a little bit of sage and something else he couldn't place, maybe a cologne of some type.

 

Chance couldn't really place it at the moment. He quickly buttoned the last button near the collar, rushing out the door despite the aching pain of his legs and abdomen.

 

Chance reached the kitchen right at the mark, Mafioso and the rest of his men glancing judgmentally up at Chance. Though maybe, it could've just been the glint of the chandelier light, but Chance could’ve sworn he saw something akin to surprise or… no, he’s getting ahead of himself. Mafioso was probably just glaring daggers into Chance. He awkwardly bowed, taking an empty seat away from the others.

 

The food was served a few moments later, something Chance had never seen or heard of before. Mafioso and his men muttered in hushed words on the other side of the table, a few chuckling softly or casting side glances at Chance’s awkward posture.

 

God he felt so out of place…

 

Chance picked up his fork, gently prodding at whatever it was he was being served. Chance’s appetite seemed to evaporate all of a sudden. Maybe it was the anxiety of being talked about by the Mafioso and his men, he could've sworn he heard his name every now and then, and it just made his gut twist. Maybe this was a mistake… thinking he’d be treated like a guest… he’s just a pathetic gambler with a ruined life and more debt than a million men combined.

 

Chance hesitantly raised his fork to his mouth, the food grazing his taste buds pleasantly. It did taste quite nice… though maybe that's just his hunger talking.

Chance continued to harshly avoid eye contact as he silently ate, his stomach feeling hollow now that he had something to eat in god knows how long… maybe it was a few weeks ago, since after his run in with his… his ex…? But they hadn't officially broken up… neither of them said ‘it's over’ or ‘we’re done’ But saying ‘ex’ did feel right. ITrapped had never loved him, but he loved ITrapped. That fucking brat… he should’ve known that he was using him from the start… asking for money like a kid asking for candy… it made Chance’ blood boil, his heart ache with sorrow he couldn't suppress, his eyes suddenly burned. But he didn't dare let a single teat fall. Not in front of Mafioso and his men. It’d just make him more pathetic than he already is.

 

As Chance’s plate emptied, Mafioso and his men steadily stood, already finishing their servings and moving towards the kitchen, possibly to get more or put their dishes in the sink.

 

Silence followed soon after, leaving Chance alone with Mafioso. He surprisingly didn't feel… uncomfortable. Scared, yes. His fear was probably palpable. But he felt an odd sense of warmth on his face from it. Mafioso was staring directly at him, attesting his existence. Or maybe he was judging, like a predator seeing if its prey is worth the energy.

 

“You're wearing my old suit.”

 

Mafioso’s words caused Chance to pause, his mouth suddenly dry.

“…What…?”

 

“I said you're wearing my old suit.”

Mafioso’s repeated words made a wash of stupidity across Chance, but Mafioso’s words weren't annoyed or mocking, he sounded genuinely amused.

 

“Oh… well id didn’t know- i can change if you need me to…”

 

“No, you can keep it. It wouldn’t even fit me if I tried.”

 

Chance blinked a few times, thinking he misheard Mafioso. Maybe it was a joke, something to screw with Chance’s head. But Mafioso’s expression was deadpan but serious, his eyes raking Chance’s body almost… appreciably? But that didn't seem right.

 

“…right…”

____________________

 

Dinner ended in silence, Mafioso continuing to stare at Chance with a questionable glint.

 

Chance quietly rose to his feet, making his way towards the kitchen like everyone else had, his shoes barely making a sound on the firm tile below.

Mafioso’s hand abruptly grabbed Chance’s forearm, stopping him in his tracks.

“Chance.”

 

Mafioso’s voice was low, almost accusing.

“Your relationship with ITrapped… how is it?”

 

Chance’s blood boiled at his ex’s name, his jaw tight with unsaid words.

“…I’d rather not talk about it.”

 

Mafioso simply nodded, letting go of Chance’s arm with a thoughtful expression.

“…do you know if he’s taken anything… illegally…?”

 

Chance thought for a moment, a small grin spreading across his lips, maybe he could make ITrapped pay for what he’s done…

“…He’s taken a few limiteds, selling them on black markets for cash, killing the seller so he can keep the money and the limited…”

 

It wasn't entirely the truth, though it wasn't entirely a lie either. It was true that ITrapped took limited, though more than just ‘a few’, though he made the last part up. ITrapped wasn’t the type to kill people… though that actually could’ve made sense with how ITrapped betrayed him, even the thought of that sword made his abdomen hurt all over again.

 

“Alright. We’ll see how well he fares.”

Mafioso did not elaborate further, simply standing from his seat and walking out of the dining room.

 

Chance stood there with a small grin still plastered on his lips, even as he sauntered into the kitchen to clean his dishes, humming softly at the thought of ITrapped finally getting what he deserved.