Chapter Text
Oscar Piastri did not believe in softness.
He believed in control, in silence that bent rooms around him, in decisions that ended lives before the coffee went cold.
The city knew his name only in fragments—whispers passed through clenched teeth, rumors stitched together from blood and money and disappearances.
Those who worked for him never raised their voices. Those who crossed him never spoke again.
An Alpha, untouchable and ruthless.
Human emotion was a liability, and Oscar had cut liabilities out of his life years ago. So when he stepped into the small, dusty bookshop on the corner of Via Sant’Elena, it was not curiosity that brought him there. It was necessity.
The shop sat directly above one of his lesser-used routes—an old ledger had gone missing, and the trail ended here. Somewhere between yellowed pages and crooked shelves.
Oscar expected rot. He did not expect him.
Lando Norris stood behind the counter with sleeves rolled to his elbows, ink smudged faintly on his fingers.
His hair was a mess in the way of someone who didn’t own a mirror worth caring about. No guards, no scent of power. Just an omega—unmarked, unprotected—balancing receipts while humming quietly to himself.
Average, painfully so.
Oscar’s gaze flicked over him once, dismissive, a civilian. The kind of person the world swallowed whole every day without noticing. The kind of omega who survived by staying small.
“Open,” Oscar said, voice low, clipped.
Lando startled, nearly dropping the ledger in his hands. He looked up, blinking, clearly startled by the sudden weight in the room.
His omega instincts flared—subtle, untrained, confused but he didn’t bow his head. Didn’t lower his eyes. Instead, he smiled soft, polite and so human.
“Uh—yeah. We close in thirty minutes, but you’re welcome to browse.”
Oscar frowned. People did not speak to him like that. He took a step forward, shadows clinging to his shoulders like old sins. “I’m looking for a specific book.”
Lando tilted his head. “Fiction? Non-fiction?”
“Accounts.” That made Lando pause. Just for a second. Then he nodded, calm as ever. “Upstairs. Old records section. Third shelf from the left.”
No fear. No recognition. No survival instinct screaming run.
Oscar’s lip curled faintly. An omega with no sense was a dead omega. Not his problem. He turned to leave, already dismissing the encounter as irrelevant—until the scent hit him.
It's not loud not provocative either. It's warm paper, rain-soaked streets. Something quietly resilient beneath it all. Oscar stopped his Alpha instincts stirred—annoyed more than interested.
Lando noticed the pause and, foolishly, filled the silence. “If you need help finding anything, I’m the bookkeeper. I handle all the old stuff.”
Bookkeeper.
Oscar glanced back at him, eyes cold and assessing, finally seeing him not as a man—but as a variable. “You work alone?” Oscar asked.
“Most days,” Lando said easily. “It’s cheaper that way.”
Oscar nodded once. He turned and walked upstairs, already deciding that if the omega was involved, directly or indirectly, it wouldn’t matter.
People like Lando Norris were collateral and Oscar Piastri had never once lost sleep over collateral damage.
Not yet.
Oscar climbed the narrow staircase, following the omega’s instructions exactly, fingers trailing along the spines until he found the correct shelf.
The truth was simple—and irritating. The ledger mattered. Not because it was missing; things went missing all the time but because Oscar had seen it just the edge of the spine.
A date. Handwriting he recognized instantly. Enough for his mind to begin connecting lines he had no interest in seeing connected.
Information had slipped. That was unacceptable.
Downstairs, the omega remained behind the desk, sleeves rolled back down, movements calm and methodical as he counted cash and stacked receipts.
No panic. No suspicion just the quiet ritual of closing a shop that had never known real danger.
Lando yawned, stretching his arms over his head, completely unguarded. He checked the time on his phone, sighed, and began switching off the lamps one by one. The shop dimmed into warm amber shadows.
Closing.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. “Sorry,” Lando called up. “Did you find the book? I’m about to close the shop.”
Oscar’s jaw tightened. He disliked variables slipping beyond his control.
He descended the stairs and walked straight toward the counter—too close. One hand braced against the wood as he leaned in, deliberately invading Lando’s space.
Up close, the omega smelled painfully ordinary soap, dust, like an old paper. No perfume and no shields.
Unclaimed.
Oscar looked down at him the way one assessed an object whose value had yet to be determined. “That book,” Oscar said calmly. “The ledger.”
Lando blinked. “The old accounting one?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Lando hesitated, brows knitting together. “That’s… not for sale. It’s fragile.”
Oscar’s patience sharpened into something lethal. “I’m not buying it.”
Silence settled between them. Lando swallowed, fingers tightening around the edge of the desk. “Then… I can’t really help you.”
Oscar straightened slowly. “You’re telling me no.” A nervous laugh escaped the omega. “I mean—it’s not mine to give?”
Oscar’s eyes hardened. “Everything belongs to someone.”
He reached past Lando just far enough to pluck the keys from the desk. Lando froze, breath hitching as alpha presence flooded the space—heavy, suffocating, impossible to ignore.
“You don’t know what you’re standing on,” Oscar said quietly. “That book contains information that doesn’t belong in a shop like this.”
Lando’s voice trembled, but he didn’t fold. “I—I don’t read them. I just keep them organized.”
A mistake, Oscar smiled. “Then you won’t mind if I take it.”
Lando stepped back instinctively, spine colliding with the shelves behind him. “You can’t just—”
Oscar leaned in, his voice dropping low—silk-wrapped threat. “I can do whatever I want.”
For the first time, real fear broke through Lando’s composure. His omega screaming too late.
Oscar inhaled caught the scent and marked it. Filed it away. Ten minutes ago, Lando Norris had been irrelevant. Now? Now he was inconvenient and Oscar had never been kind to inconveniences.
Oscar took the book.
There was no drama to it—no raised voice, no unnecessary violence. Just inevitability.
He brushed past Lando as if the omega were nothing more than misplaced furniture, keys already in hand, steps measured and unhurried as he climbed the stairs.
Lando stood frozen behind the counter, heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else.
Upstairs, shelves shifted. Paper whispered. A spine slid free.
The ledger.
When Oscar returned, the book was tucked under his arm like it had always belonged there. Lando’s eyes locked onto it, breath stuttering.
“Please,” he said before he could stop himself. The word fell uselessly between them.
Oscar paused at the door. Not for mercy. Not for guilt.
He turned his head just enough to glance back over his shoulder, eyes unreadable. “You should forget you ever saw that book.”
Then he opened the door. The bell chimed again—bright, obscene and suddenly the street was full of men.
They moved like shadows made flesh. Watching everything and nothing all at once. One by one, they filed past the windows, coats dark, expressions blank. No one looked at Lando. No one acknowledged him.
They were already done with him. Oscar stepped into the night, never slowing, never looking back.
The door closed, the lock clicked and just like that, it was over. Lando slid down the shelves, knees hitting the floor hard enough to sting. His hands shook as he pressed them to his face, breath coming in shallow, broken pulls.
He wanted to cry God, he wanted to cry.
But the tears wouldn’t come—not yet. Shock held them back, thick and suffocating. The shop felt wrong now. Smaller and unsafe. Like the walls had shifted while his back was turned.
He stared at the empty space on the shelf upstairs in his mind—the gap where the ledger had been. The silence it left behind was louder than any scream.
Whatever that book had been…Whatever that man was… It wasn’t finished with him.
Outside, engines started. Doors closed. The street swallowed Oscar and his men whole, the city resuming its quiet hum as if nothing had happened at all.
Lando stayed on the floor long after the lights timed out. Still alive but shaken. Suddenly, terrifyingly aware that he had just been touched by something that never let go.
Something was wrong.
Oscar lay on his back, one arm bent behind his head, staring at the ceiling he’d memorized years ago.
Beside him, an omega slept—naked, warm, pliant—curled into his side like she belonged there. She purred softly in her sleep, the sound instinctive, satisfied.
This was normal. This was how it always was and yet Oscar felt nothing.
Her scent was sweet, polished, expensive—chosen carefully to please an alpha like him. Her curls spilled across his chest, dark and glossy, fingers tracing idle patterns against his skin as she slept.
But all Oscar could see was another set of curls. Messy, untamed. Falling into someone’s eyes as he bent over a counter dusted with paper and ink.
Oscar’s jaw tightened. He shut his eyes. Still there.
The wrong omega invaded his thoughts without permission—standing in a bookshop that smelled like old pages and rain, hands smudged with ink, fear flashing too late across an open, honest face.
Unmarked and so ordinary. Soft in a way that had nothing to do with submission. “Ridiculous,” Oscar muttered under his breath.
The omega beside him stirred, nuzzling closer, seeking reassurance, her purr deepening. Oscar’s body responded on instinct alone, alpha conditioning kicking in where his mind refused to follow.
He rested a hand on her back. Still wrong.
Her scent didn’t ground him. Didn’t settle the restless edge under his skin. It slid off him like water, leaving him sharper, more irritated than before.
Why? Oscar opened his eyes again, staring into the dark. Because the omega from the bookshop hadn’t smelled like desire.
He’d smelled like life.
Paper, dust and something stubborn and warm underneath fear. A scent that hadn’t tried to please him—hadn’t even known it should.
That unsettled him more than defiance ever could.
Oscar slowly withdrew his hand and sat up, the movement smooth, controlled. The omega beside him whimpered faintly but didn’t wake. He didn’t look at her as he reached for his shirt.
Across the room, the ledger lay open on the desk. Oscar’s eyes flicked to it. Information confirmed. Names matched. Dates aligned.
The bookshop omega hadn’t lied. Which meant he was either very stupid—or very dangerous.
Oscar exhaled through his nose, a sharp, quiet breath.
Outside, the city pulsed, unaware. Inside, for the first time in years, Oscar Piastri felt something slip out of place. And he did not like not knowing how to put it back.
Oscar did not sleep.
By morning, the city was still gray when he sat at his desk, shirt immaculate, expression carved from stone. The ledger lay closed now, dealt with, its loose ends already tightening under his control.
Only one thing remained unresolved. “Run it again,” Oscar said. Across from him, Luca didn’t look up from his tablet. “Already did. Twice.”
Oscar’s fingers tapped once against the desk. “Name.”
“Lando Norris.” Silence stretched. Luca finally frowned. “There’s… nothing.” Oscar lifted his gaze slowly. “Explain.”
“No criminal record. No flagged associates. No offshore accounts. No shell companies. No unexplained income.” Luca scrolled, brow furrowing deeper.
“No packs, no protectors. Registered as an omega, unpresented until his early twenties. Lives alone above the shop. Pays taxes on time. Annoyingly so.”
Oscar said nothing as Luca continued, almost uneasy now.
“Education’s basic. Dropped out of university. Took over bookkeeping at the shop after the old owner passed. No family worth mentioning—mother died giving birth to him, father killed in a car accident a few years later. Grandparents are still alive, but they live far from the city. No debts. No enemies.”
Oscar leaned back in his chair, eyes distant. An omega with access to sensitive information. A ledger tied to men who had learned to lie for a living. And yet—nothing. “So?” Oscar said at last.
Luca hesitated. “So… he’s clean. Painfully clean. Either he’s the best actor I’ve ever seen, or he truly has no idea what he was sitting on.”
Oscar exhaled slowly through his nose. Stupid, then. Innocent. The word left a bitter taste.
He pictured the bookshop again—the way Lando had stood his ground without understanding why it mattered. The fear that had come after, not before. The way he’d asked please like it could still mean something.
Oscar closed the file. “Pull surveillance,” Luca offered. “Just in case.”
“No.”
The answer was immediate. Luca looked up, surprised. “Boss?” Oscar stood, adjusting his cufflinks. “If he was involved, there would be something. A ripple. A trail.”
He paused, then added flatly, “There isn’t.” Which meant the omega was exactly what he appeared to be.
A civilian. A mistake in the wrong place at the wrong time. Oscar turned away, already dismissing the thought. “He’s irrelevant.”
“Yes, sir.” Luca watched him leave, unease lingering in his expression.
Outside the office, Oscar moved through the corridors of power like he always did—decisive, untouchable, certain.
And yet— unbidden, the image returned. Ink-stained fingers. Messy curls. A scent that hadn’t tried to please.
Oscar’s jaw tightened. Innocent omegas didn’t survive long near men like him.
But that wasn’t his concern. He had decided. Lando Norris was nothing. And Oscar Piastri had never been wrong before.
Oscar returned before sunset. Earlier than last time. Deliberately so.
The bookshop door chimed, the sound small and sharp in the quiet hour between afternoon and evening. Lando looked up instantly this time.
He didn’t jump. He went still. For half a second, neither of them spoke.
Oscar stood just inside the door, coat dark, presence filling the room like a pressure drop before a storm. No guards this time. No entourage. Just him.
Lando swallowed and stepped back from the counter, creating space without being told. His shoulders were tense, eyes alert now—not innocent anymore. Not after last time.
Oscar noted that. Good, fear learned quickly. He didn’t speak didn’t move Lando broke first. “I swear,” he said, voice quiet but urgent, “the book was already there before I took over the shop. I didn’t move it. I didn’t read it. I didn’t even know what it was.”
His words tumbled over each other, honest and clumsy. No rehearsed lies. No polish. Oscar watched his mouth move. Watched his hands tremble just slightly at his sides.
Then he inhaled and regretted it. The scent hit him again—stronger now in the enclosed space. Old paper and dust, yes, but beneath it something warmer. Something human. Something that refused to bend itself into something pleasing.
It slid straight under Oscar’s skin. His jaw clenched. “You’re certain,” Oscar said at last, voice low, even. Dangerous in its calm.
Lando nodded quickly. “Yes. I wouldn’t— I don’t want trouble. I just keep records. That’s all I do.”
Oscar stepped closer. Once, then again. Lando didn’t retreat further—no space left—but his back straightened, chin lifting in quiet, useless defiance. Oscar loomed over him, alpha presence pressing down until the air itself felt thick.
The omega smelled worse up close or better. Oscar couldn’t tell anymore. “Do you know,” Oscar murmured, “how many men have died over information they didn’t understand?”
Lando’s throat bobbed. “I’m not one of them.” That made Oscar pause. Not brave not stupidly defiant just… factual.
Oscar stared at him for a long moment, eyes sharp, assessing. The omega met his gaze—not challenging, not submissive either. Just there, breathing and existing.
Oscar straightened abruptly, stepping back as if irritated with himself. “You won’t see me again,” he said.
Lando blinked. “What?”
“This shop stays quiet. You stay quiet.” Oscar turned toward the door. “Forget the book. Forget me.”
He stopped with his hand on the handle, then added without looking back, “If I hear otherwise, you won’t get a warning.”
The door opened. The bell chimed. Oscar left. Lando exhaled shakily, knees nearly giving out as the presence vanished from the room. He pressed a hand to his chest, breathing hard.
Outside, Oscar paused in the street. Just once. He inhaled again—testing the air like an addict hating himself for it.
Nothing.
The scent was already gone. Oscar’s expression darkened. This was a mistake and he was beginning to suspect it wasn’t Lando’s.
Oscar Piastri continued to rule the dark world exactly as he always had.
Deals were closed. Territories held. Messages delivered in silence or blood, depending on necessity.
His name still carried weight—enough to make grown men lower their eyes and omegas still themselves instinctively when he entered a room.
Nothing had changed. Except this. The omega beside him was wrong.
She had been sent by one of his man—young, pretty, well-trained in the art of pleasing an alpha like him. She knelt quietly, waiting for permission that never came.
“Leave,” Oscar said. She did not argue. She never did. The door closed softly behind her.
Minutes later, another offer. A beta this time. Discreet, efficient, and safe. “No,” Oscar said, already irritated.
By the third refusal that week, Luca noticed. He waited until the office was quiet, until the walls had ears no longer worth fearing. “You’ve been declining… company,” he said carefully.
Oscar didn’t look up from his tablet. “And?” Luca hesitated. “That’s new.” That earned him a glance—sharp, warning. But Luca had worked for Oscar long enough to recognize when curiosity outweighed fear.
“Did something change?” he asked. Oscar said nothing. Luca exhaled slowly, then—boldly—slid a photo across the desk.
Not a mugshot. Not surveillance footage.
A candid. Lando Norris, standing in a small pet shop two streets over from the bookshop, crouched awkwardly on the floor while a ginger cat pawed at his sleeve. His curls were messier than usual. He was smiling at nothing in particular.
Alive and clearly unaware. Oscar’s fingers stilled Luca watched closely. “You’ve been walking that route more often.”
“I walk where I please,” Oscar replied.
“Of course,” Luca said. “Just… interesting how often it passes that shop.”
Oscar pushed the photo back without looking at it again. “He’s nothing.”
Luca didn’t argue—but he didn’t retract it either. “He doesn’t behave like someone hiding something.” Oscar knew. That was the problem.
Lando’s days were painfully simple. Mornings at the bookshop. Afternoons reorganizing shelves that didn’t need reorganizing.
Sometimes, inexplicably, the pet shop—where he played with cats like the world had never taught him better.
No meetings. No secret calls. No sudden disappearances. At night, he returned upstairs and read until he fell asleep. Oscar stood abruptly, jacket already in hand. “Enough.”
Luca watched him leave, unease curling in his chest. Because Oscar Piastri did not fixate on ordinary things.
And yet—that evening, across the city, Oscar slowed his car without meaning to. The bookshop lights were on.
Inside, Lando moved between shelves, humming softly, utterly unaware of the way the dark world bent toward him without his consent.
Oscar stayed in the car. Didn’t go in didn’t need to.
For the first time in years, power felt… misaligned. As if the center of his gravity had shifted toward something fragile enough to shatter if he touched it wrong.
Oscar tightened his grip on the steering wheel. This was not desire. This was not weakness. This was simply a problem that had not yet decided how it would end.
And Oscar Piastri always solved his problems.
The morning started like any other.
Lando unlocked the bookshop just after eight, the bell chiming cheerfully as he flipped the sign to OPEN. The smell of paper and dust settled around him like a familiar blanket.
He greeted Mrs. Eleni when she came in for her usual romance novels, joked with the university student hunting for secondhand textbooks, rang up sales with hands that had finally stopped shaking after that man stopped coming by.
Normal.
He was halfway through restocking the front shelf when the door opened again. This time, the bell didn’t feel cheerful.
Four men walked in. All alphas.
Big, broad shoulders. Dressed too well for the neighborhood and far too alert for men browsing books. The air in the shop shifted instantly—heavy, predatory. Lando’s omega instincts screamed before his mind caught up.
“Uh—hi,” Lando said, forcing his voice steady. “We’re open, but if you’re—”
“Close the shop,” the biggest one said. No accent. No emotion. Lando frowned. “I’m sorry?”
The man stepped closer. “Now.”
Lando’s heart started to pound. “I—what’s going on? Did something happen?”
The alpha’s eyes scanned the shelves, sharp and knowing. “We’re looking for a book.”
Lando’s stomach dropped. “I already told—” he swallowed hard, “—someone took it. I don’t have it. I don’t know anything else.”
The man smiled. It was not a nice smile.
He opened his coat just enough for Lando to see the knife tucked against his ribs—dark handle, well-used.
“Think again,” the alpha said softly.
Fear hit Lando all at once. His scent spiked—sharp, unmistakable, flooding the small space as panic clawed up his throat. His hands shook. He took a step back, breath coming too fast.
“I swear,” he said, voice breaking now, “I don’t know anything. Please.”
The alpha moved he didn’t get far. The shop door opened behind them.
“Enough.” The word cut through the room like a blade. Every man froze. Lando gasped, spinning around.
Oscar Piastri stood in the doorway.
Brown hair neat, coat immaculate, eyes glacial. His presence slammed into the room—an alpha pressure so absolute it forced the air from Lando’s lungs.
The men turned slowly, recognition flashing across their faces. The one with the knife went pale. Oscar stepped inside. “Did I give permission,” he asked quietly, “for you to make a mess in my city?”
The big alpha swallowed. “—we were just—”
Oscar didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to. He crossed the room in three measured steps and shoved the man down to his knees with one hand. The impact rattled the shelves. Books trembled.
Oscar leaned down, eyes burning. “Don’t you dare touch mine.”
The words were low and claiming. Lando’s breath caught painfully in his chest.
Mine?
He stood frozen behind the counter, heart racing, terror and confusion tangling until he didn’t know which way was up.
Every instinct screamed danger—Oscar was worse than these men, he knew that—but his body reacted anyway, pulled helplessly toward the alpha who had just stopped the knife.
Oscar straightened and finally looked at him.
Their eyes met. For a second, the world narrowed to that look—cold, assessing, and something darker underneath. “Get out,” Oscar said to the men.
They didn’t hesitate. One by one, they fled, the bell above the door chiming wildly as it closed behind them.
Silence fell.
Lando’s knees nearly buckled. Oscar turned fully toward him now, gaze dropping briefly to the way Lando’s hands trembled, the way his scent still clung to the air.
“You’re shaking,” Oscar observed.
Lando swallowed. “You—you said you wouldn’t come back.”
Oscar stepped closer. “I lied.”
Lando didn’t know whether to run… or why some small, traitorous part of him felt safer now that Oscar was here. And that terrified him most of all.
Oscar’s men waited outside.
Lando could see them through the glass—dark shapes posted at either end of the street, pretending to be nothing more than men passing time.
The bookshop felt smaller now, boxed in by the truth pressing against its windows. Oscar still stood where he had been.
Unmoving and clearly unbothered.
Lando’s hands were clenched at his sides. His chest still hurt from breathing too fast, but anger—hot and sharp—finally cut through the fear.
“Who are you?” Lando demanded. Oscar’s gaze shifted to him, slow and deliberate.
“You walk into my shop,” Lando continued, voice trembling but raised now, “you scare the hell out of me, you steal that book, and then you come back and tell armed men that I’m yours?”
He took a step forward before he could stop himself. “You don’t get to do that.”
Oscar watched him closely. Interested. “You want my name,” Oscar said.
“Yes,” Lando snapped. “Because I don’t belong to anyone. And I deserve to know who just turned my life upside down.”
Silence stretched.
Outside, a car door closed softly. The city held its breath.
Oscar took one step closer—not threatening, just enough that Lando could feel the heat of him, the gravity. Alpha presence pressed in again, but restrained now. Controlled.
“Oscar,” he said. Just that. No title, no last name, no warning and no explanation.
“Oscar what?” Lando shot back. Oscar’s eyes darkened a fraction. “That’s all you need.”
Lando let out a harsh laugh. “You don’t get to own me just because you decided it.”
“I didn’t decide,” Oscar replied calmly. That stopped Lando short.
Oscar tilted his head slightly, studying him like a problem that refused to resolve. “I stated a fact. Those men would have cut you open to see what else you were hiding. I stopped them.”
“So I’m supposed to thank you?” Lando asked, bitter.
“No.”
“Then what?”
Oscar’s jaw tightened. “You stay alive.” The words landed heavier than a threat.
Lando shook his head, curls falling into his eyes. “I didn’t ask for any of this!”
“I know.” That answer—quiet, certain—unsettled him more than anything else.
Lando’s voice dropped. “Then why me?”
Oscar didn’t answer right away. Because he didn’t have one he liked. Because the truth—that an omega who smelled like books had disrupted his carefully ordered world—was not something Oscar Piastri said out loud.
Instead, he reached into his coat and placed a card on the counter.
A number with no name. “If anyone comes asking questions again,” Oscar said, “you call.”
“And if I don’t?” Oscar met his gaze steadily. “Then I’ll come anyway.”
Lando stared at the card, then back at him. “You’re not my protector.”
“No,” Oscar agreed.
“I’m the reason you need one.” He turned toward the door.
“Oscar,” Lando called out, voice tight.
Oscar paused but didn’t look back. “I’m not yours,” Lando said firmly.
A beat. Oscar’s voice came back low, unreadable. “We’ll see.”
The bell chimed as he left. Lando stood there long after, staring at the card in his hand, heart pounding. Names had power. And now he had one.
Weeks passed.
The city adjusted around Oscar Piastri the way it always had—quickly and without complaint. His world remained efficient. Profitable. Silent when it needed to be. Names were erased. Borders held. No disruptions worth noting.
On paper, everything was fine.
The black car moved smoothly through afternoon traffic, engine purring, the driver focused ahead. Luca sat in the front passenger seat, tablet resting casually in his hands.
They turned onto Via Sant’Elena.
Oscar’s gaze shifted without conscious intent.
The bookshop was dark. No lights. No sign flipped to open. The windows reflected the street instead of offering warm shadows and cluttered shelves.
Oscar’s jaw tightened. “Stop,” he said. The car slowed immediately, pulling over to the curb.
Luca didn’t look surprised. Oscar stayed seated, eyes fixed on the storefront. The door was locked.
Paper still taped inside the window—Back Soon, curling at the edges like it had been there longer than intended.
“He didn’t call,” Oscar said, voice neutral.
“No,” Luca replied easily. “He hasn’t.”
Oscar’s fingers flexed once against his knee. If something had happened, there would’ve been noise. Blood had a way of echoing yet—absence was louder than chaos.
Luca glanced at him, then down at his tablet, already moving. “I do have his number,” he said mildly, thumbs tapping. “Do you want to text?”
Oscar didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Luca smirked faintly. He’d learned long ago that Oscar’s silences were louder than orders. “Drafting,” Luca murmured. Oscar finally spoke. “No threats.”
Luca paused. “I assumed.”
“And no names.”
“Of course.” The tablet chimed softly. Luca turned the screen just enough for Oscar to see.
Unknown Number:
Are you safe?
Oscar exhaled slowly through his nose. They waited. Traffic passed a pedestrian glanced at the car and looked away quickly. The city moved on.
Seconds stretched then— Luca’s tablet vibrated. He read the message once, then again, expression shifting.
Oscar’s eyes sharpened. “Read it.”
Luca hesitated just a fraction too long. “He says—”
“Luca.”
“He says he went somewhere else for a bit. That the shop will reopen soon.” Oscar stared at the dark windows. “Did he say where?”
Luca shook his head. “No.” Oscar leaned back into the seat, face unreadable.
Innocent omegas didn’t disappear without reason and Lando Norris was not good at lying. “Send one more,” Oscar said. “What should it say?” Oscar’s gaze remained fixed on the shop.
Tell me where you are. But he didn’t say it. Instead— “tell him,” Oscar said quietly, “that if he needs anything… he can ask.”
Luca typed. The message sent. The typing bubble appeared almost immediately. Oscar watched it, pulse steady, expression calm.
Waiting.
The reply came slower this time. Oscar watched the screen, the typing bubble appearing… disappearing… appearing again.
Luca stayed quiet, unusually so, eyes flicking between the tablet and the darkened bookshop outside.
Finally— the message came through. Luca read it, then let out a small breath through his nose. “He says he’s safe.”
Oscar didn’t look away from the window. “Where.”
“At his grandparents’ place,” Luca replied. “Outside the city.” Oscar’s jaw tightened, just barely. “And?” he prompted.
Luca scrolled once more. “He says he left because he’s in heat. Didn’t want customers to feel uncomfortable. Or… unsafe.”
The word settled heavily in the car.
Heat.
Oscar’s fingers curled slowly against his thigh. Of course. It explained the closed shop. The sudden absence. The way Lando’s scent had spiked so sharply that last time—raw, uncontrolled, dangerous in a world that devoured omegas who slipped even once.
“He didn’t ask for help,” Oscar said flatly.
“No,” Luca agreed. “He informed us.” Oscar leaned back, eyes closing for half a second.
An omega who removed himself rather than risk disrupting others. Who chose isolation over convenience. Who trusted family instead of power. “Anyone with him?” Oscar asked.
“Grandparents only. Elderly clean record quiet neighborhood.” Luca tilted his head. “He planned this.”
Oscar exhaled slowly. He should have felt relief.
Instead, irritation coiled tighter in his chest—at the distance, at the fact that Lando had made the choice without him, at the way his mind insisted on imagining that omega riding out something vulnerable without protection strong enough to matter.
“Respond,” Oscar said. Luca’s fingers hovered. “What do you want to say?”
Oscar opened his eyes. Tell him to come back. Tell him to let you handle it. Tell him he shouldn’t face it alone.
None of those were acceptable. Instead— “tell him,” Oscar said quietly, “that staying away was smart.”
Luca typed. “And?” he asked. Oscar stared straight ahead. “Tell him I’m glad he’s safe.” The message sent. This time, the reply came almost immediately.
Luca read it once. Then, carefully, he passed the tablet back without commentary.
Lando:
Thank you. I’ll reopen once it passes.
Oscar nodded once. Just information. The car pulled back into traffic, the bookshop fading into the rearview mirror.
He told himself that was enough. He did not tell himself why the idea of Lando returning—steady, careful, alive—felt like something to anticipate rather than dismiss.
Night settled over the manor like a held breath.
The meeting room was all dark wood and low light, a long table occupied by men who controlled different corners of the city. Alphas, mostly.
Dangerous all of them. They spoke in measured tones, reports delivered cleanly—losses accounted for, territories stable, the problem with the ledger resolved.
Luca stood near the screen, tablet in hand. “As for the bookshop owner,” he said, voice even, professional. “We’ve confirmed he had no knowledge of the ledger’s significance. No ties, no intent.”
A pause.
“He’s either a victim of circumstance,” Luca continued, “or too innocent to understand what he was sitting on.”
Several men exchanged looks. Oscar sat at the head of the table, fingers steepled, expression unreadable. He listened without interrupting, eyes half-lidded, absorbing the room.
When Luca finished, Oscar nodded once. “That’s consistent,” he said.
No one spoke.
Oscar leaned back in his chair. “Increase protection around the shop.”
A murmur rippled through the room before it could be stopped. “How much?” one man asked carefully.
“Double,” Oscar replied.
Silence fell.
Double protection meant resources. Men. Attention. It meant claiming ground without naming it as such.
A few of them looked like they wanted to question it. To ask why a small, irrelevant bookshop in a forgettable street suddenly warranted more eyes than a shipping dock.
None of them did. No one argued with Oscar Piastri when his tone was that final.
“Rotate shifts,” Oscar continued calmly. “No uniforms. No visibility. I don’t want him frightened.”
That earned another glance or two—sharper now, more curious. “Understood,” someone said.
Luca’s mouth twitched at the corner.
He caught Oscar’s eye for half a second—just long enough to acknowledge what the room would not say out loud.
The meeting moved on. Orders were issued, names assigned. The city adjusted itself accordingly.
When the room finally cleared, Luca lingered. “Protection doubled,” he said lightly. “Quiet, be invincible. He’ll never know.”
Oscar rose, adjusting his cuff. “Good.” Luca watched him for a moment. “You’re certain?” Oscar didn’t slow. “About what.”
“That he’s just innocent.” Oscar paused at the door. “For now,” he said.
Luca smiled to himself as Oscar left. Because innocence, in their world, was never permanent and protection was rarely given without expectation.
Oscar’s phone rang at midnight. Not a burner. Not a line reserved for emergencies in blood and territory. His personal phone.
Oscar frowned, already reaching for it—and then he saw the number.
Lando Norris.
For a fraction of a second, the world stilled. He answered immediately. “Oscar,” Lando said, breathless, panicked, words tripping over each other. “Oscar—can you—can you come here?”
Oscar sat up straight. “I’m here,” he said, voice steady, low. “Breathe, tell me what happened.”
“My grandma—she fell,” Lando gasped. “She—she can’t get up and my granddad’s panicking and I don’t know what to do, I—I tried calling—”
“Lando,” Oscar cut in, firm but calm. “Listen to me.” The crying on the other end hit something sharp in Oscar’s chest.
“You’re doing fine,” Oscar said. “Is she conscious?”
“Yes—but she’s in pain, she keeps saying her hip—”
“Good. Don’t move her.” Oscar was already on his feet. “Help her stay still. Is there bleeding?”
“No—no, I don’t think so.”
“Good,” Oscar said. “You did the right thing calling.” There was a shaky exhale on the other end. “Can you… can you really come?”
Oscar didn’t hesitate. “I’m coming,” he said. “Twenty minutes.”
He ended the call and was already moving. The men outside his door straightened instantly.
Oscar shrugged into his coat, movements precise, controlled. “Car ready. Now.”
“Yes, sir.” As they moved, Luca appeared at the end of the hall, tablet forgotten in his hand.
“Oscar?” he asked, already reading the tension in the air.
“My omega’s grandmother fell,” Oscar said without slowing.
Luca’s eyebrows rose—not at the urgency, but at the word my. “I’ll alert a medical team,” Luca said immediately. “Private.”
“Do it,” Oscar replied. “No uniforms.”
By the time Oscar stepped outside, the car was already waiting, engine running. He slid into the back seat, phone in hand, thumb hovering.
He didn’t call back. Didn’t want to overwhelm him. Instead, he sent one message.
Oscar:
I’m on my way. Stay with her. You’re not alone.
The car surged forward into the night.
Oscar stared out the window, jaw tight, thoughts sharp and focused—but beneath it all, something else moved.
This wasn’t territory. This wasn’t power. This was an omega asking for help because he had no one else who could make the world stop spinning.
And Oscar Piastri—who ruled the dark without mercy—found himself praying, silently, that twenty minutes would be fast enough.
Oscar arrived in eighteen minutes.
The car barely came to a full stop before he was out, coat already off, phone in hand. The house was small, quiet, lights blazing too brightly for the hour—panic always did that, turned everything harsh.
The door flew open before he could knock. “Oscar—!”
Lando stood there barefoot, eyes red-rimmed and swollen, curls falling into his face like he hadn’t bothered to push them back. His scent hit Oscar immediately—fear, distress, something raw and trembling underneath.
Omega in crisis. Oscar stepped inside without hesitation. “Where is she?” he asked.
“Living room—please, she—”
“I’m here,” Oscar said firmly, already moving. “Show me.”
The living room was chaos contained in politeness. Furniture pushed aside. A wheelchair angled uselessly near the couch. Lando’s grandfather sat rigidly in it, hands shaking as he hovered helplessly.
“She fell,” the old man said, voice breaking. “She just—she went down and—”
Oscar crouched immediately beside the woman on the floor.
Lando’s grandmother lay on her side, half-conscious, breathing shallow but steady, face pale with pain.
“Ma’am,” Oscar said calmly. “Can you hear me?” Her eyelids fluttered. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Good,” Oscar replied. “You’re doing very well. Don’t try to move.”
He checked her pupils, her breathing, the angle of her leg—precise, efficient, practiced in a way that said this was not his first emergency.
Lando hovered uselessly at his side, hands clenched, breathing too fast. Oscar looked up. “Lando.”
“Yes?” Lando’s voice cracked instantly.
“Stay with me,” Oscar said. “I need you steady.”
Lando nodded frantically. “Has she lost consciousness at all?”
“No—no, she cried out when she fell.”
“Good,” Oscar said again. “Any bleeding?”
“No.”
“Chest pain?”
“She says her hip hurts.” Oscar nodded. “Likely a fracture. Painful, but manageable.”
Lando’s breath hitched. “She’s—she’s going to be okay?”
Oscar met his eyes fully now. “Yes,” he said with certainty. “She will be.”
Lando let out a broken sound, relief crashing into him too hard. He reached out without thinking and grabbed Oscar’s hand, fingers tight, desperate. “Please help her,” Lando whispered. “Please.”
Oscar didn’t pull away. Instead, he squeezed back—once, firm, grounding.
“I already am.”
Sirens sounded faintly in the distance.
Oscar stood. “Ambulance will be here in two minutes. Private team. They’ll take her straight in.”
Lando stared at him. “You—how—”
“Later,” Oscar said gently, which startled them both.
The medical team arrived swiftly, professional and calm. Oscar gave instructions quietly, efficiently, never raising his voice. The room obeyed him without question.
As they lifted Lando’s grandmother onto the stretcher, she caught Oscar’s sleeve weakly. “Thank you,” she murmured.
Oscar inclined his head. “Rest now.”
They wheeled her out. The house fell quiet again.
Lando stood frozen in the middle of the room, shaking now that the danger had passed. Oscar turned back to him just in time to catch him as his knees buckled.
Oscar steadied him easily, hands firm on his arms. “Easy,” Oscar said. “You’re safe.”
Lando pressed his forehead briefly against Oscar’s chest, breath uneven, tears finally spilling. His scent softened—still distressed, but no longer panicked.
“I didn’t know who else to call,” Lando whispered.
Oscar rested a hand between Lando’s shoulder blades. “You called the right person,” he said.
And for the first time, the words were not strategy. They were truth.
One of Oscar’s men stayed behind just long enough to help.
He guided Lando’s grandfather into the car carefully, speaking gently, assuring him everything was arranged. Another vehicle waited to follow the ambulance to the hospital. Doors closed. Engines started.
Then they were gone. The house fell quiet in a way that felt too large.
Lando stood in the doorway for a second, staring after them, chest rising and falling too fast. “I—I should go too,” he said, already moving.
He made it two steps. Then his knee buckled. “Lando.”
Oscar caught him before he hit the floor, arms locking around him with reflexive precision. Lando’s body sagged instantly, weight too light, too fragile for someone who had just held himself together for hours.
“I’m sorry,” Lando whispered, embarrassed even as his legs refused to cooperate. “I’m just—tired.”
Oscar didn’t let go.
He felt it now—clearer than before. The lingering heat, unfinished, dragged out too long. Stress-soured. Hunger-thin. A body pushed past what it could safely endure.
“You’re not tired,” Oscar said quietly. “You’re depleted.”
Lando frowned weakly. “It’s fine. I’m almost—”
“No,” Oscar said, firmer now.
He guided Lando to the couch and eased him down, careful, controlled. Lando’s hands trembled as he tried to sit upright, pride warring with exhaustion.
Oscar crouched in front of him. “How long have you been eating properly?” he asked.
Lando avoided his eyes. “I—I forgot a bit.”
“How much is ‘a bit.’”
“…Not much.” Oscar’s jaw tightened.
“You left the city during your heat,” Oscar said, piecing it together. “You stressed yourself out. You didn’t rest. And you’re underweight.”
Lando huffed a weak laugh. “When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”
“It is bad,” Oscar replied.
Lando’s head tipped back against the couch, eyes fluttering. “I just didn’t want to bother anyone.”
Oscar straightened slowly. “That instinct will kill you one day,” he said flatly. Silence settled between them.
Oscar draped his coat and throw it over Lando’s shoulders without asking. The omega’s scent softened immediately—still warm, still vulnerable, but steadier now.
“Stay here,” Oscar said. “You’re not going anywhere until your legs stop shaking.”
“I need to go to the hospital,” Lando murmured.
“You will,” Oscar said. “When you can stand.”
Lando looked at him then, eyes glassy but sincere. “You didn’t have to stay.” Oscar met his gaze. “Yes,” he said. “I did.”
Lando closed his eyes, breathing evening out slowly, finally letting his body give in to rest. Oscar remained where he was. Watching. Guarding.
For the first time, the danger wasn’t outside the room. It was the quiet realization that Oscar Piastri no longer knew where protecting ended—and something far more irreversible began.
Oscar made the call without ceremony. “Food,” he said into the phone. “Warm. Now.”
There was no question on the other end. Fifteen minutes later, Luca appeared at the door with a paper bag that smelled like soup, rice, and something hearty meant to keep people upright.
He took in the scene in one glance—Lando curled on the couch under Oscar’s coat, eyes half-lidded, Oscar standing nearby like a sentry.
Luca set the food down on the table. “I’ll leave you,” he said lightly, already backing away. “Call if you need anything.”
The door closed. Silence returned. Oscar opened the containers methodically, steam rising into the room. He handed Lando a fork, then nudged the bowl closer. “Eat.”
Lando blinked up at him. “You don’t—have to order me.”
Oscar didn’t react. “Eat.” Lando did. Slowly, like someone relearning how to listen to their body. Color crept back into his face as he swallowed, shoulders loosening with each bite. Oscar stayed where he was, watching with an intensity that would’ve unsettled anyone else.
Halfway through, Lando glanced up. Oscar was still there still watching. “Thank you,” Lando said quietly.
Oscar inclined his head. Lando hesitated, then added, awkward and sincere, “I should… pay you something. For the ambulance. The food. All of this.” Oscar said nothing.
Lando’s fingers tightened around the fork. “I don’t have much, but I can figure something out. I don’t want to owe you.”
That did it and Oscar spoke. “Be my mate.”
The words landed flatly. No buildup. No softening. Lando choked. He coughed hard, nearly dropping the fork, eyes wide as he sputtered. “—What?”
Oscar waited, unbothered, until Lando caught his breath. “You—you can’t just—” Lando wheezed. “You can’t say that like it’s a grocery list item.”
“I can,” Oscar replied calmly. “I did.”
Lando stared at him, disbelief giving way to something like nervous laughter. “You’re insane.”
“Possibly.”
“You barely know me.”
“I know enough.”
“That’s—no, that’s not how this works,” Lando said, flustered. “You don’t just rescue someone’s grandmother and then—what—propose?”
Oscar considered that. “It’s not a proposal.”
“That does not make it better.” Lando reply.
Oscar folded his arms. “You need protection. You’re underweight, over-stressed, and you smell like you apologize for existing. People will keep trying to use you.”
Lando flushed. “That is incredibly rude.”
“And accurate,” Oscar replied evenly. “Being my mate solves the problem.”
Lando shook his head, still coughing a little. “You’re… terrifyingly frontal, you know that?”
“Yes.” Silence stretched. Lando poked at his food, cheeks warm. “Is this… real?”
Oscar met his gaze. “Yes.” Lando swallowed. “And if I say no?”
Oscar answered without hesitation. “Then I’ll still make sure you’re safe.”
That stopped him. Lando looked up slowly. “You would?”
“Yes.” No condition, no threat just fact.
Lando leaned back against the couch, overwhelmed, fork resting forgotten in his hand. “I need… time.”
Oscar nodded once. “Take it.” He reached for his coat. “I’ll stay nearby tonight,” Oscar added. “You’re not alone.”
Lando watched him move, heart racing—not with fear this time, but with something far more dangerous.
Because Oscar Piastri wasn’t asking for ownership. He was offering inevitability, somehow, that scared Lando even more.
Lando fell asleep without meaning to. One moment he was sitting upright on the couch, fork abandoned in the bowl, eyelids heavy from exhaustion he’d been ignoring for weeks—and the next, his head tipped sideways, breath evening out, body finally giving up the fight.
Oscar noticed immediately. He didn’t move him. Didn’t wake him.
He adjusted the coat around Lando’s shoulders instead, slow and careful, like the wrong movement might break something fragile.
Lando murmured faintly in his sleep, curling into the fabric, scent softening into something calmer.
Oscar straightened and took his place by the window. Outside, his men rotated shifts silently.
No lights, no visible presence. Just shadows doing what shadows did best.
Oscar did not sit. He stood watch. Hours passed. At some point past midnight, Luca called. “You should come back,” Luca said quietly. “You’ve been up too long. I’ll stay there.”
“No,” Oscar replied. There was a pause. “Boss—”
“I’m staying,” Oscar said, final.
Luca exhaled. “Then at least let me send someone to relieve you in the morning.”
“I’ll decide in the morning.” Oscar said quietly, than another pause. Luca said softer, “You’ve never done this.”
Oscar ended the conversation. The night stretched thin. The house creaked with small, ordinary sounds.
Lando slept through all of it, breath slow, face finally unguarded. Oscar watched the rise and fall of his chest, catalogued the faint dark circles under his eyes, the way his hands twitched like he was used to being ready even in rest.
Too used to it.
Dawn came quietly. Pale light crept through the curtains, touching the edges of the room. Oscar was still where he had been—jacket off now, sleeves rolled, eyes sharp despite the hours without rest.
On the couch, Lando stirred. He blinked blearily, confused at first, then pushed himself up on one elbow. “I—sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
Oscar turned at the sound of his voice. “You needed it,” he said. Lando rubbed at his eyes, then froze.
Oscar was still there. Still awake. Still watching. “You… didn’t leave?” Lando asked quietly.
“No.”
“You didn’t sleep.”
“No.”
Lando sat up slowly, staring at him like he was trying to understand something that didn’t fit with what he knew of the world. “Why?”
Oscar held his gaze. “Because you weren’t well,” he said simply.
Lando’s throat tightened. “You could’ve gone.”
“I could’ve,” Oscar agreed.
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
Silence settled between them—different now. Less sharp but still dangerous.
Lando pulled the coat tighter around himself, eyes dropping briefly before lifting again. “My grandparents—”
“They’re stable,” Oscar said. “Your grandmother’s in surgery. I’ll take you to the hospital when you’re steady.”
Lando nodded, swallowing hard. “Thank you.” Oscar inclined his head.
The morning light filled the room, catching on dust motes and old furniture and the quiet truth between them.
Oscar Piastri had stayed the night. Not out of obligation. Not out of strategy they both knew that meant everything had already changed.
The house felt different when they returned.
Not lighter—not yet—but steadier. Like the walls themselves had stopped holding their breath.
Lando’s grandmother moved slowly but upright now, supported by her walker, color back in her cheeks.
She insisted on sitting in her favorite chair despite everyone telling her not to, waving them off with quiet stubborn pride. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’ve survived worse than a fall.”
Lando smiled weakly, relief still settling deep in his bones.
When it was time to leave, he helped his grandfather back inside, tucking a blanket around his knees, checking everything twice like he didn’t quite trust the world yet.
Oscar stood near the door, silent, watchful.
Lando’s grandmother looked at him for a long moment—really looked. The way grandmothers did, sharp-eyed and unfooled by reputation.
“You,” she said, beckoning Oscar closer.
Oscar stepped forward without hesitation. “Thank you,” she said simply. “For taking care of him.”
Oscar inclined his head. “Of course.” She smiled—warm, knowing. “He’s always tried to handle things alone. It’s good he has an alpha now.”
Lando froze. “Grandma—” he started, flushing.
Oscar did not correct her. He merely nodded once. “If anything happens,” he said calmly, “you tell me.”
Her smile softened. “I will.” Lando stared at him, stunned.
Outside, the morning air was cool and bright. Oscar opened the car door for him without comment. Lando hesitated only a second before climbing into the back seat, movements tired but calmer now.
The car pulled away from the curb smoothly. Lando leaned back against the seat, watching familiar streets pass by through the window. He didn’t speak at first. Didn’t know how.
Oscar didn’t push. The silence wasn’t awkward. “You didn’t have to say that,” Lando said eventually, voice quiet. “About… being my alpha.”
Oscar’s gaze stayed forward. “I didn’t say it.”
“You didn’t deny it either.”
“No.”
Lando huffed softly, conflicted. “You’re impossible.”
Oscar allowed the faintest hint of a smile. It was gone as quickly as it appeared. They drove the rest of the way in companionable quiet.
When the car stopped in front of the bookshop, Lando looked up at the familiar windows—the place that had started all of this. Home, fragile and stubborn.
He reached for the door handle, then paused. “…Thank you,” he said again. Softer this time. More personal.
Oscar met his eyes. “You don’t owe me anything.”
Lando nodded, then stepped out of the car. As it pulled away, he stood on the sidewalk for a moment longer than necessary, heart strangely full and unsettled.
Above him, the apartment waited. Behind him, the dark world had already decided he mattered.
And Oscar Piastri—whether Lando was ready or not—had quietly positioned himself exactly where he intended to stay.
Something shifted.
It wasn’t dramatic. No single moment anyone could point to and say there—right there, that’s when it happened.
But Luca noticed. He noticed because Oscar stopped asking.
No more quiet requests slipped into conversations—no carefully selected omegas, no discreet arrangements made to fill nights between meetings. No one-night stands. No familiar patterns.
Nothing.
At first, Luca assumed it was temporary. Stress. The ledger fallout a phase. Then weeks passed.
And Oscar’s bed remained untouched. Instead, their boss stood by the window more often than not—hands folded behind his back, gaze fixed on the city like he was waiting for it to confess something.
Sometimes, he checked his phone. Too often. He never smiled when it buzzed—but he always noticed when it didn’t.
“Take Via Sant’Elena,” Oscar said one evening, tone casual. The driver obeyed instantly. They slowed near the bookshop didn’t stop.
Oscar watched the front windows—lights on, shelves visible, a silhouette moving inside.
Lando, probably. Rearranging things that didn’t need rearranging. Living. “Stop,” Oscar said.
The car pulled over. They stayed there for less than a minute. Oscar didn’t get out. Didn’t call just… watched. Then, “Go.”
Luca pretended not to see the way Oscar’s shoulders relaxed slightly as they pulled away.
Later that night, one of the men tested the boundary. “Boss,” he said carefully, “we can arrange someone if you want.”
Oscar didn’t even look at him. “No.” The answer wasn’t sharp. It was final.
Luca caught the man’s eye and gave a small shake of his head—don’t.
Because everyone could see it now. Their boss—who once ruled nights with the same precision he ruled cities—had gone quiet. Withdrawn and too focused on something no one else could touch.
Someone.
Luca stood in the doorway of Oscar’s office later that week, watching him scroll through his phone, pause, lock the screen, unlock it again. “You’re not subtle,” Luca said mildly.
Oscar didn’t look up. “I don’t need to be.”
Luca smiled to himself. “You’ve stopped pretending it’s nothing.” Oscar finally raised his gaze. “I never pretended,” he said.
Luca inclined his head. “No. You just didn’t name it.”
Oscar returned to the window. Below, the city moved—alive, careless, unaware.
Somewhere in it, an omega who smelled like old books locked up his shop for the night, never knowing that the most dangerous man in the city had quietly reorganized his entire world around the simple fact of his existence.
And Oscar Piastri—cold, ruthless, unyielding—did not once question the change. He simply adjusted.
Because whatever this was, it had already taken root. And Oscar had never been someone who did things halfway.
Saturday came quietly.
Oscar finished the night patrol just before dawn, the city finally loosening its grip as shadows retreated into corners. He was halfway back to the manor when his phone buzzed.
He checked it instantly.
Lando:
I made breakfast too much. Can you come over?
Oscar stared at the message longer than necessary. “Stop at Via Sant’Elena.”
The car slowed in front of the bookshop. The CLOSED sign hung on the door, crooked like it always was on weekends. The street was empty, early and forgiving.
Lando unlocked the door himself. “Hey,” he said, a little shy, a little hopeful.
Oscar stepped inside. The bell chimed softly.
They didn’t speak as they climbed the stairs—narrow steps, worn wood, the quiet intimacy of a space that didn’t expect visitors.
Oscar noted everything automatically the weak railing, the single lightbulb, the faint smell of coffee and toasted bread drifting down. At the top, Lando hesitated, then pushed the door open. “This is—uh—sorry, it’s small.”
Oscar stopped just inside. It was… very Lando.
Books everywhere, stacked and restacked like they’d never found a final decision. A couch that had seen better days but was softened with throws.
Plants near the window, some thriving, some clearly surviving on hope alone. Morning light poured in, warm and unguarded.
Oscar had never been here before. Not in any place that belonged to someone else. “Sit,” Lando said, suddenly busy, gesturing toward the small table.
“I didn’t know how much to make, and I panicked, and now there’s just—too much food.” Oscar removed his coat slowly, deliberately, and placed it over the chair. He sat.
Outside, his men waited. Inside, it was just the two of them.
Lando set plates down—eggs, bread, fruit, something that smelled comforting and safe. He hovered for a moment, then sat across from Oscar, hands wrapped around his mug like it anchored him.
They ate in quiet. Not awkward. Not rushed. “This is good,” Oscar said eventually.
Lando smiled, small and pleased. “Yeah? I’m glad.”
Oscar looked around again. The shelves, the plants, the open window. This wasn’t a hiding place. It was a life. “You don’t let many people up here,” Oscar said.
Lando shook his head. “No. Just… me.” Oscar nodded. That mattered more than either of them said.
Outside, the city went on as it always did—loud, dangerous, indifferent. Upstairs, time slowed.
Oscar realized something then, sitting at Lando’s table, eating breakfast meant for someone else. This wasn’t surveillance. This wasn’t protection.
This was being invited.
And Oscar Piastri—who took what he wanted and never asked—found himself careful not to break the trust quietly placed in front of him.
Not yet.
Breakfast ended quietly.
Plates sat empty, crumbs brushed aside. Lando stacked dishes at the sink, movements a little clumsy, still getting used to the fact that Oscar —that Oscar—was standing in his kitchen like it belonged there.
Oscar watched him for a moment. Then, as if discussing weather or logistics, he spoke. “How do you feel about mating.”
Lando froze. The plate slipped from his hands slightly, clinking loudly against the sink. “…What?”
Oscar continued, voice steady, expression unreadable. “And marriage.”
That did it.
Lando spun around so fast he nearly knocked into the counter. His face went red instantly, ears burning. “Oscar—!”
He crossed the space between them in two flustered steps and slapped Oscar’s hand away from where it rested on the table.
“Oscar!!” Lando hissed. “You can’t just—say that. You can’t just drop that like it’s nothing!”
Oscar didn’t flinch. Didn’t laugh, didn't even soften. He looked at Lando with the same seriousness he used when issuing orders that reshaped cities. “I’m not joking,” he said.
Lando stared at him, breath caught halfway between outrage and disbelief. “It’s— it’s breakfast. I invited you because I made too much eggs.”
“And now we’re discussing the future,” Oscar replied calmly.
“That is not how normal people work!” Oscar tilted his head slightly. “I’m aware.”
Lando ran a hand through his curls, pacing once. “You barely know me. We haven’t even— we don’t— this is insane.”
Oscar stood slowly, the movement deliberate but non-threatening. “I know you,” he said.
“You leave the city during heat so you don’t inconvenience strangers. You don’t eat enough when you’re stressed. You take responsibility for things that aren’t yours. You ask for help only when there is no other option.”
Lando’s mouth opened, then closed. Oscar stepped closer—not looming, just present. “I don’t ask lightly,” Oscar continued. “I don’t share space. I don’t stay nights. I don’t stop seeing others unless I’m certain.”
Lando swallowed hard. “So why me?” he asked, quieter now.
Oscar didn’t hesitate. “Because you calm my world,” he said. “And because if someone is going to stand beside me, I want it to be someone who doesn’t want my power.”
The room went still.
Lando looked at him, heart pounding, cheeks still warm but eyes searching now instead of panicked. “You’re terrifying,” Lando said softly.
“Yes.”
“And too frontal.”
“Yes.”
“And this is way too fast.” Oscar nodded once. “Also yes.”
Lando exhaled, long and shaky. “I’m not saying no.” Oscar’s eyes sharpened. “I’m saying,” Lando continued, holding his ground, “you need to slow down before you scare me into running.”
Oscar studied him for a long moment. Then—something rare. He stepped back. “Very well,” Oscar said. “I’ll wait.”
Lando blinked. “You will?”
“Yes.”
“How long?” Oscar considered it. “As long as it takes for you to stop slapping my hands.”
Lando huffed despite himself, pressing his palms to his face. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.
Oscar allowed the faintest curve of approval to touch his mouth. Because Lando hadn’t rejected him. He’d just asked him not to conquer this the way he conquered everything else.
And Oscar Piastri—dangerous, patient, relentless—had already decided that this, too, was worth doing properly.
The days blurred. Oscar always found a way.
Sometimes it was a black car idling across the street while Lando reorganized shelves that were already in perfect order.
Sometimes Oscar stepped inside the shop under the pretense of nothing at all—standing too tall between narrow aisles, touching spines without reading titles.
They didn’t always speak. They didn’t have to. Thursday came quietly.
The sky was already dimming when Lando flipped the sign to CLOSING SOON. He was counting the register when the bell chimed.
His head snapped up automatically. Oscar stood in the doorway. Something was wrong.
Lando caught it instantly—not with his eyes, but with instinct. The air around Oscar was sharper, heavier. When he stepped forward, Lando smelled it.
Blood.
Faint, metallic, clinging to Oscar’s fingers like something that hadn’t been fully washed away.
“Oscar?” Lando said, panic flaring hot and immediate.
Oscar’s gaze lifted to him, too calm and too controlled. “Close the shop,” Oscar said.
Lando didn’t argue. He moved fast—too fast—locking the door, pulling the curtains, hands shaking as he flipped the sign to CLOSED. His heart hammered as he turned back.
Oscar was already sitting at the cashier’s chair, elbows resting on the counter like this was just another evening.
Lando rushed over. “What happened?”
Oscar glanced down at his hands as if noticing them for the first time. “Nothing.”
“That’s blood,” Lando said, voice breaking despite himself.
Oscar met his eyes. “It’s handled.”
Lando swallowed hard. “You’re hurt?”
“No.”
“Someone else is?”
Oscar didn’t answer. Lando’s chest tightened painfully. He grabbed a cloth from under the counter without thinking and knelt in front of Oscar, reaching for his hands.
“Oscar, please—”
Oscar stilled. Not with force. With presence. “Lando,” he said quietly.
Lando froze, fingers hovering just short of touching skin. Oscar’s voice softened—not much, but enough. “Look at me.”
Lando did. “I told you before,” Oscar said. “This world is not clean.”
“I know,” Lando whispered. “But you don’t get to walk in here like this and say it’s nothing.”
Oscar searched his face, something conflicted flickering behind his eyes. “You’re shaking,” Oscar observed.
“Because you’re bleeding,” Lando snapped, then softened immediately. “Because I care.”
The word hung between them. Oscar exhaled slowly. “It was business,” he said. “Someone crossed a line. They won’t do it again.”
Lando’s jaw trembled. “You smell like you didn’t even stop to breathe before coming here.”
Oscar looked away for half a second. Then back. “I needed to see you,” he said.
Lando’s heart stuttered. He reached out this time, gently taking Oscar’s hands despite the blood, despite everything. “Next time,” he said quietly, “tell me when it’s not nothing.”
Oscar allowed it. That alone said more than any promise.
Outside, the street stayed quiet. Inside, a bookshop closed early held two men standing too close to the truth—one who ruled the dark, and one who refused to pretend it didn’t cost him something.
And for the first time, Oscar Piastri let someone see the red on his hands. Not as a warning. But as trust.
Lando finished wrapping Oscar’s fingers with a clean cloth, movements careful, almost reverent. He tied it off, then hesitated, still holding Oscar’s hand like letting go might undo something fragile.
“Stay here?” Lando asked.
His eyes were wide, dark with fear and exhaustion and something softer underneath. It wasn’t a demand. It was a question asked by someone who didn’t ask often.
Oscar looked at him for a long moment. Then—simply—“Okay.”
The word settled the room. They moved upstairs without speaking. Lando’s bedroom was small—too small for a man like Oscar, used to space and control and rooms designed to remind people who owned them.
The bed was narrow, the sheets worn thin from use and careful washing. Oscar paused at the doorway. “This is… not like my place,” he said.
Lando huffed weakly. “Sorry. I don’t usually host mafia bosses.”
Oscar almost smiled. They lay down carefully, the mattress dipping more than it ever had before. Oscar took up most of the space without meaning to.
Lando curled in beside him anyway, instinctively finding a place that felt safe—his head near Oscar’s shoulder, his body small and warm in comparison.
Too close. But neither of them moved away.
The room was quiet except for Lando’s breathing, slowly evening out. His eyes fluttered, half-lidded, sleep pulling at him whether he was ready or not.
After a moment, he spoke again, voice soft, almost slurred with fatigue. “Should I… trust you not to kill me?”
Oscar let out a low chuckle—quiet, surprised, real. “If I wanted you dead,” he said calmly, “you wouldn’t be asking.”
Lando smiled faintly, eyes already closing. “Comforting.”
Oscar shifted just enough to face him, careful not to disturb the fragile calm. His voice dropped, steady and certain. “I’ll be the one protecting you while you sleep.”
Lando hummed softly, the sound barely there. His fingers curled into Oscar’s sleeve without asking permission.
Within minutes, he was asleep. Oscar did not sleep.
He lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to Lando breathe, feeling the warmth of another person trusting him with the most dangerous thing they had.
Vulnerability.
Outside, his men kept watch. Inside, Oscar Piastri guarded something far more fragile than territory. And for the first time in his life, he did it without expecting anything in return.
Oscar was still awake.
He lay perfectly still, one arm folded behind his head, the other resting where it wouldn’t crowd Lando in the narrow bed. The room was dark except for a thin slice of streetlight slipping through the curtains, painting everything soft and unreal.
Lando slept.
Deep now. Unconscious in the way only exhaustion allowed. His breathing was slow, even—no longer sharp with fear, no longer braced for impact.
Oscar listened to it. Memorized it. Sometime after midnight, Lando shifted.
It was small at first—a restless roll of his shoulder, a quiet sigh. Then, guided by instinct rather than intention, he moved closer.
His nose brushed against Oscar’s chest, nuzzling there like he was seeking warmth without waking enough to ask for it. Oscar froze. Every instinct in him sharpened at once.
Lando’s scent changed—softened further, relaxed, something gentle and trusting that had nothing to do with heat now. Just comfort. Just safety.
He tucked his face there, breath warming Oscar’s skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. One hand curled faintly against Oscar’s side, fingers flexing once before settling.
Oscar swallowed. This—this was dangerous in a way violence had never been.
He resisted the urge to move, to pull Lando closer, to cage him against his body and anchor that trust where nothing else could touch it. Instead, he did the only thing he trusted himself to do.
He stayed still. Let Lando choose the closeness. Minutes passed. Lando relaxed fully, weight sinking into Oscar’s side, utterly unguarded.
If anyone else saw Oscar Piastri like this—pinned in place by a sleeping omega’s quiet need—they would not believe it.
Oscar stared into the dark, jaw tight, chest painfully aware of every soft breath against it. “You have no idea,” he murmured silently, not daring to speak aloud.
Outside, the city slept.
Inside, Oscar kept watch—over a bookshop owner with ink-stained fingers, over a life that had slipped into his orbit without asking, over the terrifying realization that he did not want to let go. And for the rest of the night, Oscar did not move.
Not once.
Lando woke to quiet. Not the uneasy quiet of being alone—but the kind that lingered after someone important had just stepped out of reach.
The bed beside him was empty, sheets cool where another body had been hours ago.
For a split second, panic flickered then he breathed in. Oscar is still here.
The scent was still there—subtle but unmistakable. Clean fabric, something darker underneath, steady and grounding. It clung to the room like proof that last night hadn’t been imagined.
Rain tapped softly against the window. Lando pushed himself upright, hair a mess, limbs heavy but no longer shaking. When he stood, his knees held. That alone felt like a victory.
He stepped into the main room. Oscar stood by the window.
His white shirt was untucked, sleeves rolled to his forearms, watch still on like he’d never intended to sleep at all. Rain streaked the glass in thin lines, the city blurred and gray beyond it.
He looked composed and out of place at the same time—too sharp for a small apartment, too real to be ignored. “Uh… morning,” Lando said awkwardly.
Oscar turned. His gaze softened a fraction at the sight of Lando on his feet. “Morning.”
Lando hovered, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands. “I thought you left.”
“I stepped out,” Oscar said. “Not far.” He nodded toward the small table.
There were bags there. Neatly arranged takeaway containers, a carton of milk, a small paper bag with a pharmacy logo peeking out. “I ordered food for you,” Oscar continued. “And vitamins, milk.”
Lando blinked. “You… what?”
“You didn’t eat enough yesterday,” Oscar said calmly. “And you’re still recovering.”
Lando stared at the spread, something warm and overwhelming pooling in his chest. “You didn’t have to—”
“I know,” Oscar replied.
That made Lando laugh softly, a little breathless. “You always say that like it ends the conversation.”
“It does.” Lando shook his head, smiling despite himself. He moved closer, drawn without thinking, stopping a careful distance away. “You stayed up all night, didn’t you?”
Oscar didn’t deny it. “Yes.”
“Why?” Oscar looked back at the rain. “Someone needed to.” The answer wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t romantic. It was honest.
Lando swallowed. “Thank you. For… all of this.”
Oscar met his eyes again. “Eat first.”
Lando nodded, stepping toward the table. As he reached for the milk, he hesitated, glancing back. “You’re still here,” he said quietly. Not a question.
Oscar’s voice was steady. “I am.”
Outside, the rain fell harder. Inside, the morning settled around them—soft, careful, and unmistakably changed.
After breakfast, the rain softened into a steady whisper. Lando stood near the table, milk half-finished, fingers wrapped around the glass like it anchored him.
Oscar watched him quietly, saying nothing, giving space the way he always did when something mattered.
Lando inhaled once then twice. He stepped closer. Oscar noticed immediately—but didn’t move.
Lando rose on his toes, hesitating for the briefest second, like he was asking permission from the universe rather than the man in front of him. Then he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Oscar’s lips.
It was brief but gentle. “Thank you,” Lando whispered as he pulled back, cheeks warm. “Truly.”
That was all and it was enough to unmake him. Oscar’s world tilted.
The room spun, sharp and sudden, like gravity had shifted without warning. Lando’s lips had been warm—too warm—sweet in a way that had nothing to do with intention.
The lingering heat beneath Lando’s skin radiated outward, brushing against Oscar’s senses like a shockwave. Oscar’s breath caught. This was different from anything he knew.
Not hunger not dominance, a choice.
His hand came up instinctively, steadying Lando by the waist before his mind could catch up. Lando looked up at him, startled—but not afraid. Oscar leaned down and kissed him back.
Still careful. Still controlled but no longer distant. The kiss was deeper this time—not demanding, not rushed—just certain. Like Oscar was grounding himself in the only thing that felt real in that moment.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against Lando’s. “Don’t do that lightly,” Oscar said quietly.
Lando swallowed. “I didn’t.”
Oscar closed his eyes once, steadying the dizzy rush in his head. For the first time in his life, power didn’t feel like control.
It felt like surrender. Oscar Piastri knew—absolutely, irrevocably—that nothing after this would ever be simple again.
Oscar returned to his manor alone. The gates closed behind him with their usual finality, the house welcoming him with silence and space and order. Everything was exactly where it should be. And none of it helped.
He shrugged off his coat, loosened his cuffs, poured himself a drink he didn’t touch. His mind replayed the morning again and again, unbidden and relentless.
Lando on his toes. Lando’s breath. The softness of his lips—unexpected, gentle, devastating.
It clung to Oscar like a second skin. He pressed his fingers against the edge of his desk, jaw tightening.
He’d been in control his entire life—of cities, of men, of violence, of himself. Desire had always been something he handled efficiently. Cleanly.
This was different. This lingered. The memory of Lando’s heat—subtle, natural, uninvited—still radiated through Oscar’s body like an echo. Not sharp. Not overwhelming.
Intoxicating.
Oscar closed his eyes. It didn’t fade. He could still feel the way Lando had looked at him afterward—steady, brave, trusting.
The way that trust had settled into Oscar’s chest like a weight he hadn’t known he could carry. He paced the room once then again. “You’re losing focus,” he muttered to himself.
But the truth was harsher. He didn’t want to focus. He wanted— Oscar stopped.
Desire curled low and insistent, not for possession, not for conquest—but for him. For the warmth, the quiet, the way Lando fit into spaces Oscar had never meant to open.
It was dangerous. Because for the first time, Oscar wanted something he could not simply take.
He moved to the window, city lights sprawling beneath him. Somewhere in that maze of streets, Lando was probably locking up the shop, brushing his teeth, curling into his bed without knowing the effect he’d left behind.
Oscar exhaled slowly. “Get it together,” he said aloud. But even as he said it, he knew it was already too late.
Because the desire wasn’t fading. It was settling. And Oscar Piastri—who had never wanted what he couldn’t control—found himself craving the one thing that had chosen him first.
Lando locked the shop just after sunset.
The air was cool, the street busy in that end-of-day way that felt normal again. He checked his phone—no messages—then turned toward the small grocery store two blocks away, already planning soup and bread and something easy.
He didn’t smell the smoke at first. It started with shouting then alarms. Someone screamed, “Fire!”
Lando turned just in time to see it—orange licking up the side of the old building across the street, flames crawling far too fast, swallowing windows whole.
People poured out onto the road, coughing, panicking, running in every direction. “Everyone out!” someone yelled.
Lando ran with them. Until he didn’t. Through the chaos, he heard it—thin, frightened, breaking. “Help—please—”
An elderly woman stood frozen near the entrance, clutching a bag to her chest, eyes wide with terror. Smoke curled around her like it had already decided.
Lando didn’t think. He saw his grandmother. He turned back. “Hey,” he said, grabbing her arm gently. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
The heat hit them immediately. Too much, too fast.
They made it halfway down the hall before the fire roared louder, air turning sharp and burning.
Lando pulled his jacket over the woman’s shoulders, shielding her as best he could, pushing forward through smoke that stung his eyes and throat.
“Almost there,” he coughed. Something collapsed nearby. Flames surged. Pain exploded across Lando’s arm and shoulder—white-hot, blinding.
He cried out despite himself, teeth gritting as his skin burned, but he didn’t let go. Not until they were dragged out into open air by firefighters.
The world blurred. Sirens. Shouting. Hands pulling him away. “Sir—sir, you’re hurt—”
“I’m fine,” Lando rasped, even as his legs gave out. “She—check on her—” Then everything tilted.
Oscar was mid-briefing when Luca entered without knocking. “There’s been a fire,” Luca said sharply.
Oscar barely looked up. “Where.”
“Via Sant’Elena.” Oscar stilled. Luca continued, faster now. “Supermarket building near the bookshop. Evacuations in progress. Casualties unknown.”
Oscar was already standing. Then his phone vibrated. Not a number he recognized. He answered without thinking. “Mr. Oscar?” a calm voice asked.
“Yes.”
“This is the hospital. We have an omega here—Lando Norris. He listed you as emergency contact.”
The room went silent. Oscar didn’t hear anything else at first. Just the sound of his own pulse crashing in his ears. “Is he alive?” Oscar asked.
“Yes,” the nurse replied quickly. “He has burn injuries. He’s stable, but—” Oscar was already moving. “I’m on my way,” he said.
The call ended. Oscar didn’t look at Luca as he passed him. “Car. Now.”
Luca followed, face pale. For the first time since Oscar Piastri had taken control of the dark world, fear—not rage, not calculation—sat cold and sharp in his chest.
Because Lando Norris had run into the fire and Oscar had never felt more powerless in his life.
The hospital was chaos. Sirens screamed outside, one after another, ambulances lining up like a grim procession. The air inside the ER was thick with smoke residue and urgency—burnt fabric, antiseptic, fear. Nurses moved fast, voices sharp and controlled, stretchers rolling past in every direction.
Oscar pushed through it all. “Sir—wait—” someone called.
They moved when they saw his face. Luca stayed half a step behind him, already clearing paths, already making calls, but Oscar barely registered any of it. His focus locked onto one bed near the far wall.
Lando.
He lay there too still, oxygen mask covering half his face, curls damp with sweat and soot.
His skin was pale beneath the harsh lights. One hand—wrapped hastily in gauze—rested limp at his side, the bandages already darkening where burns had blistered through.
Oscar stopped breathing.
A doctor stood beside the bed, checking monitors, fingers quick and practiced. “Blood pressure’s holding,” she said to a nurse. “Heart rate elevated but stable. Oxygen saturation—good. Let’s recheck his hand.”
She carefully unwrapped part of the gauze, examining the burns with clinical focus. Lando flinched faintly, brows knitting even through the haze.
“He inhaled smoke,” the doctor continued. “Mild to moderate burns on the hands and forearm. We’re lucky.”
Oscar stepped closer, ignoring everything else. “Can he hear us?”
The doctor glanced up, surprised. “He’s drifting in and out. Family?”
Oscar didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
She nodded once. “Talk to him. It helps.”
Oscar moved to the bedside, towering over the fragile space Lando now occupied. He removed one glove with unsteady fingers and took Lando’s unburned hand gently, careful not to disturb the lines or bandages.
“Lando,” Oscar said softly.
Lando stirred. His eyes fluttered open just enough to find him, unfocused but searching. Recognition dawned slowly. “…Oscar?” His voice was hoarse, barely there.
“I’m here,” Oscar said immediately. “You’re safe.”
Lando’s fingers twitched weakly around his. “The woman… is she—?”
“She’s alive,” Oscar said. “You did it.” A faint, exhausted smile ghosted across Lando’s lips before his eyes slipped closed again.
The doctor watched the exchange quietly. “We’ll move him to observation soon,” she said. “He’ll need time. Burns heal. Smoke damage takes monitoring.”
Oscar nodded, swallowing hard.
As they began adjusting equipment, Oscar stayed where he was, refusing to let go. The ER continued to surge around them—pain, loss, survival—but his world had narrowed to one hospital bed and the man on it.
Lando had run into fire for a stranger.
And Oscar Piastri—who ruled violence and shadows without mercy—stood helpless beside him, realizing that fear had finally found a name.
Lando Norris. Oscar prayed it wouldn’t take him too.
It was past midnight when Luca returned. He didn’t knock.
Oscar knew something was wrong the moment the door opened—Luca’s face stripped of its usual ease, jaw tight, tablet already in his hand.
Without a word, he crossed the room and shoved it toward Oscar. “From them,” Luca said quietly. “Our enemies.”
Oscar took the tablet. The screen glowed too bright in the dim room. Messages. Images. Time stamps that lined up too cleanly with the fire. Too deliberate.
Oscar’s grip tightened. “They know,” Luca continued. “They know who Lando is to you.”
Oscar didn’t speak. His eyes moved fast, mind faster, connecting dots he wished didn’t exist.
“This wasn’t random,” Luca said. “They built it. The fire, the timing, the evacuation routes.” He swallowed. “They planted the elderly woman in the hallway. Made sure she’d look trapped.”
Oscar’s breath went shallow. “They counted on him,” Luca said softly. “They knew he’d go back.”
Oscar’s hand clenched so hard the tablet creaked faintly. “How,” Oscar said at last. The word was low. Dangerous.
Luca met his eyes. “They’ve been watching longer than we thought. The shop. The hospital. The manor routes. They saw the pattern before we did.”
Oscar looked at Lando.
Asleep now, finally—sedated enough that the pain couldn’t pull him back. Bandages stark against pale skin. Oxygen hissing softly, faithfully.
“They used his heart,” Oscar said.
“Yes.” A silence fell—thick, suffocating. Oscar handed the tablet back slowly. His face was calm again, terrifyingly so.
“Lock this floor down,” he said. “No visitors without my clearance. Double rotation on guards. No names spoken outside this room.”
Luca nodded. “Already done.”
Oscar stood and moved to the window, city lights cold and distant. “Find everyone involved,” he said. “From planners to couriers. I want the chain.”
“And when we do?” Oscar didn’t look back. “They wanted a warning,” he said evenly. “They’ll get an answer.”
Luca hesitated. “Oscar… Lando will realize eventually.” Oscar’s gaze dropped to the bed again. “I know,” he said.
His voice softened only once—when he spoke Lando’s name under his breath. “They hurt him to reach me,” Oscar said. “That means this is no longer business.”
Luca inclined his head. “Understood.” When Luca left, the room returned to quiet.
Oscar sat beside Lando again, careful, restrained, his hand hovering just close enough to feel warmth without touching skin already wounded.
“You ran into fire because you couldn’t walk away,” Oscar murmured. “And they thought that made you weak.”
He leaned closer, voice a vow rather than a threat. “They’re wrong.”
Outside, the city slept. Inside, Oscar Piastri decided that no one—no enemy, no shadow, no calculation—would ever use Lando Norris’s kindness as a weapon again.
Not while Oscar still breathed.
Lando woke slowly this time.
The pain was there—dull, heavy—but distant, wrapped in cotton. His lashes fluttered, eyes struggling to focus through the low light. The first thing he felt was cool water at his lips.
“Easy,” Oscar said softly.
Lando blinked up at him. Oscar was close, one hand steadying the cup, the other braced at Lando’s shoulder so he wouldn’t strain. Lando took a careful sip, then another, throat working.
“Thanks,” he murmured, voice rough.
Oscar set the cup down and adjusted the pillows without asking. Lando watched him do it, the way he always did—efficient, precise, like this was just another responsibility he’d accepted.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Oscar said it. “Move in with me.”
Lando frowned, processing. “What?”
“With me,” Oscar repeated calmly. “My place. There will be guards. Doctors on call. You’ll recover properly.”
Lando stared at him. Then—unexpectedly—he laughed. A weak sound, but real. “Oscar,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m no one.”
The words came out light, almost joking. They landed like a wound.
Oscar didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t argue immediately. He simply looked at Lando, eyes sharp and unwavering.
“You ran into a burning building for a stranger,” Oscar said. “You stayed conscious long enough to make sure she was safe. You listed me as your emergency contact.”
Lando swallowed. “That doesn’t make me—”
“It makes you you,” Oscar interrupted quietly.
He leaned in just enough that Lando could feel his presence without being overwhelmed. “You are not no one. You are the reason my enemies tried to bait me. You are the reason I am changing how I live.”
Lando’s smile faded, uncertainty creeping in. “That’s… that’s too much for a guy who runs a bookshop.”
Oscar shook his head once. “It’s exactly enough.”
Lando looked away, overwhelmed. “Guards. Your house. Your world.” He exhaled shakily. “I don’t belong there.”
Oscar waited until Lando looked back at him. “You belong where you are safe,” Oscar said. “And right now, that’s with me.”
A beat.
“And if I say no?” Lando asked.
Oscar’s answer came without hesitation. “I’ll still protect you. I’ll just do it from farther away.”
Lando studied his face, searching for tricks, for conditions. There were none. “…I need time,” Lando said quietly.
Oscar nodded. “Take it.”
He reached for the cup again. “Drink.”
Lando obeyed, eyes lingering on Oscar like he was trying to reconcile the man who ruled the dark with the one sitting at his bedside, offering shelter instead of orders.
Maybe he wasn’t no one.
But the idea that he was someone worth moving the world for terrified him just as much.
And Oscar—watching him drink, watching him think—already knew he’d wait for the answer.
Oscar didn’t like leaving the city.
He did it anyway.
The meeting with the other families dragged on longer than it should have—old men circling power like it still belonged to them, words layered with implication and threat. Oscar stayed composed through all of it, voice even, expression unreadable.
Luca stayed at his side. Before they left, Oscar gave the order without drama. “Double the guards at the bookshop. Rotate every four hours. No blind spots.”
“It’s already done,” Luca said. “And I added a second team.”
“Good.”
They got into the car as the sun dipped low, the road stretching long and dark ahead. Two hours to get back. Too long. Oscar stared out the window, jaw tight, fingers tapping once against his knee before he forced them still.
The city lights were still miles away when Luca’s tablet pinged. Not a normal alert. An emergency channel.
Luca’s posture changed instantly. He opened it, eyes scanning fast. Oscar felt it before Luca spoke. “What,” Oscar said.
Luca swallowed. “They tried.”
Oscar’s head snapped toward him. “Who.”
“Our enemies,” Luca said, voice tight. “They moved on Lando. Kidnapping attempt—outside the bookshop.”
Oscar’s blood went cold. “And?”
“Our men intercepted,” Luca continued quickly. “No shots fired. No injuries on our side. Lando wasn’t touched.”
Oscar exhaled once—sharp, controlled. “Where is he.”
“We didn’t risk leaving him there,” Luca said. “They took him straight to your manor. Secure route. Full escort.”
The car felt suddenly too small. Oscar closed his eyes for half a second, then opened them, every line of him hardening into something lethal.
“They escalated,” Oscar said.
“Yes,” Luca agreed. “They know distance makes opportunity.”
Oscar leaned forward. “Call ahead. Lock the gates. No one in or out without my voice confirmation.”
“Already done.” Oscar nodded once. “Good decision.”
The car surged faster down the road. Oscar’s phone stayed dark in his hand. He didn’t call Lando—not yet.
Not while the adrenaline still burned too hot in his veins. He needed to see him. Needed to know with his own eyes that Lando was breathing, unharmed, still whole.
“They’re forcing the issue,” Luca said quietly.
Oscar’s gaze stayed fixed ahead. “Then the issue is settled.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. Because this time, they hadn’t just crossed a line.
They had reached for something Oscar Piastri had already decided was his to protect. And the dark world was about to learn what that meant.
The front door hadn’t even finished opening.
Something flew. Oscar reacted on instinct—pure, honed reflex—his hand snapping up as porcelain met his palm with a sharp crack. The vase stopped inches from his face, water sloshing over his knuckles, shards biting into his skin.
Silence slammed into the room.
Lando stood in the middle of the foyer, chest heaving, curls wild, eyes blazing with a fury Oscar had never seen on him before. His hands were shaking—not weak, not frightened.
Angry.
“You,” Lando said, voice sharp and breaking at the edges. “explain this. Now.”
Oscar slowly lowered the ruined vase to the side, setting it down with deliberate care. Behind him, his men shifted, already moving— Oscar lifted two fingers. “Out,” he said calmly.
They hesitated. “Now.” They left. One by one even Luca paused, searching Oscar’s face. Oscar nodded once. Luca closed the door behind him.
The manor fell quiet, cavernous and tense. Lando took a step forward. “Why?” he demanded. “Why are they suddenly interested in me? Why are men I’ve never seen before trying to grab me off the street?”
Oscar didn’t move. “Why is my shop being watched like it’s a crime scene?” Lando continued, voice rising. “Why am I waking up in your stupid big house surrounded by guards who won’t tell me anything?”
He laughed, short and bitter. “You said I wasn’t no one. Is this what being someone looks like?”
Oscar exhaled slowly. “They used you,” he said.
Lando froze. “What?”
“My enemies,” Oscar continued, voice steady, unflinching. “They staged the fire. They knew you’d go back. They used your kindness as leverage.”
The color drained from Lando’s face. “You’re lying,” he whispered.
“I don’t lie to you.” Lando shook his head, backing away a step like the room had tilted. “That woman—”
“She was planted,” Oscar said softly. “She survived. But she was never trapped.”
Lando pressed a hand to his mouth, breath stuttering. “So I— I was bait.”
“Yes.”
The word fell heavy. Lando’s eyes filled, anger cracking open into something raw and hurt. “You let me think it was random.”
“I didn’t know until after,” Oscar said immediately. “The moment I did, I doubled protection. I pulled you out. I failed to anticipate how far they’d go.”
“You failed,” Lando echoed hollowly.
Oscar took a step closer. “I won’t fail again.”
“Don’t,” Lando snapped. “Don’t say that like this is a business deal.”
He laughed again, this time wet and broken. “They burned me to get to you.”
Oscar stopped moving. “Yes,” he said. “And I will end them for it.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Lando said fiercely. “I asked why me.”
Oscar looked at him then—really looked. Not as something fragile. Not as something to shield. As someone who deserved the truth. “Because you matter to me,” Oscar said.
The room went still. Lando stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast. “That’s not an answer. That’s a sentence you say when everything’s already ruined.”
Oscar shook his head once. “It’s the first honest answer I’ve ever given anyone.”
Lando’s shoulders sagged, anger burning out into exhaustion. “I didn’t agree to be part of this world.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t give me a choice.” Oscar’s voice dropped. “I’m giving you one now.”
Lando looked up, eyes red. “What choice?”
Oscar gestured to the room, the guards, the walls. “You can stay here while you heal, safe and protected.”
“And then?”
“And then you decide,” Oscar said. “You leave, or you stay. You say yes, or you say no. I will not cage you.”
Lando searched his face for the lie. He didn’t find it. “You should be scared of me,” Lando whispered.
“I know,” Oscar replied.
“And you’re still standing there like you’d let me break things and yell at you.”
Oscar’s mouth curved faintly. “You already threw a vase.”
Lando huffed despite himself, anger leaking out in a shaky breath. He dragged a hand through his curls, voice quieter now.
“I don’t want to be a warning,” he said. “I don’t want to be leverage.”
“You’re not,” Oscar said. “You’re a line they crossed.”
Silence stretched between them—fragile, electric. Lando finally said, “I need the truth from now on. All of it.”
Oscar nodded once. “You have it.”
“And you won’t force me.”
“I won’t.” Lando looked away, overwhelmed, standing in the middle of a mansion that felt too big for his life. “Okay,” he said finally. “Then start by telling me… what happens next.”
They sat together in the quiet room long after the shouting faded.
Oscar spoke calmly, methodically—about territories and names, about power structures and blood debts, about why some men watched from shadows and others disappeared into them. He didn’t glorify it. He didn’t soften it either.
Lando listened. His eyes stayed sharp, anger still there, jaw tight as he absorbed each truth. Sometimes he interrupted with a short, cutting question. Oscar answered every one without evasion.
When it was done, silence filled the space between them.
Lando leaned back against the couch, exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with his injuries. Oscar sat close—but not touching—his presence steady, his scent low and grounding, wrapping around Lando without asking.
It calmed him despite himself. Lando hated that it worked. “So,” Lando said finally, voice quieter now. “This is your world.”
“Yes.”
“And I walked into it by accident.” Oscar shook his head once. “You walked into a fire because someone needed help.”
Lando looked away then nodded, once. “I’m still angry,” he admitted.
“I know,” Oscar said. Lando exhaled slowly. “But… I get it.”
Oscar studied him, relief flickering briefly before discipline pushed it down. “You should sleep,” he said gently. “There’s a guest wing prepared.”
Lando frowned immediately. “No.”
Oscar paused. “No?”
“I don’t want to be alone,” Lando said, then added quickly, “Not—like that. I just—” He gestured vaguely, frustration creeping back in. “Everything’s too much.”
Oscar hesitated. “You don’t have to stay near me.”
“I know,” Lando said. His gaze lifted, steady despite the fatigue. “I want to.”
The words hung there. “You mean—” Oscar started.
“I want to sleep with you,” Lando said plainly. “Just sleep. Nothing else. I trust you.” That hit harder than the vase had.
Oscar’s expression softened—not weakness, not indulgence—something rarer. Acceptance.
“Alright,” he said quietly. They moved through the manor without speaking, the halls too large, too empty.
Oscar’s bedroom was spare, controlled, everything in its place. Lando hesitated at the doorway, then stepped in like he was crossing another invisible line.
The bed was enormous compared to his own. Oscar stayed still, giving space, until Lando climbed in first and curled near the center, small against all that space.
Only then did Oscar lie down beside him. Not touching, not crowding.
Lando shifted closer anyway, drawn by warmth and familiarity, the same instinct that had guided him into danger now guiding him toward safety. “Don’t disappear in the morning,” Lando murmured, already half-asleep.
“I won’t,” Oscar said. Lando’s breathing slowed. Oscar stared at the ceiling again, the dark world laid bare in Lando’s mind now—and yet, here he was, choosing to stay.
This time, it wasn’t protection. It was permission. And Oscar Piastri understood, with terrifying clarity, that trust given freely was far more dangerous and far more precious—than anything he’d ever taken by force.
Oscar woke to awareness before movement.
He didn’t open his eyes at first. He registered warmth at his side, a steady presence that hadn’t been there in his life before this house, before this choice.
Then— “Good morning.” Oscar opened his eyes.
Lando was already awake, lying on his side, curls flattened messily against the pillow, eyes soft but alert like he’d been watching Oscar for a while. There was no fear in his expression. No anger either.
Just… there. “Morning,” Oscar replied.
It came with something rare a small smile. Barely there, but real. Lando noticed. His lips curved faintly in response.
A knock sounded at the door. Lando startled slightly and pushed himself up on one elbow. “I should—”
Oscar’s hand came out automatically, gentle but firm, resting against Lando’s side. “Stay.”
“Is it fine?,” Lando whispered.
“It’s just the maid,” Oscar said calmly. “Breakfast.”
Lando hesitated, then slowly lay back down, nodding once. He trusted that answer far more than he realized.
Oscar spoke one quiet word toward the door. “Come in.” The door opened just enough.
The maid entered without looking at either of them directly, eyes lowered as she placed covered plates on the table near the window. The smell of warm food filled the room—toast, soup, something soft and grounding.
She left just as quickly, the door closing behind her with a soft click.
Silence returned.
Lando exhaled. “This place still feels unreal.” Oscar turned his head slightly to look at him. “You don’t have to get used to it all at once.”
Lando nodded, gaze drifting to the ceiling. “I like this part,” he said quietly.
Oscar followed his line of sight. “Which part.”
“The quiet,” Lando said. “And not waking up alone.”
Oscar didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he shifted closer—not enough to overwhelm, just enough to be unmistakably present.
“You won’t,” he said. Lando turned his head, meeting his eyes. “Promise?”
Oscar held his gaze steadily. “Yes.”
Outside, the city was already awake, unaware of the small, fragile peace settling inside a room built for power.
And for the first time, Oscar Piastri let the morning unfold without planning what came next—content, for now, to simply stay.
The staff wing smelled like coffee and warm bread.
Morning routines resumed the way they always did—quiet efficiency, soft footsteps, low voices. The guards rotated off night shift, jackets loosened, tension easing as they gathered around the long table reserved for staff meals.
“Elena!” someone called as the maid entered, tray now empty. “How is it?”
Elena poured herself tea, eyes bright with something she didn’t bother hiding. “Unbelievable.”
That earned her immediate attention. “Well?” another guard pressed. “Did you see him?”
She nodded. “Mr. Piastri.”
A pause.
“He’s still in bed.” The table went silent. Someone actually stopped chewing. “That’s not funny,” a guard muttered.
“I’m not joking,” Elena said. “No newspaper. No calls. No standing by the window like a statue.”
A few exchanged looks. “And?” someone asked carefully.
Elena smiled then—soft, pleased. “Mr. Norris is still there too.”
Gasps. Actual, unashamed gasps. “With him?” another whispered.
“In the same room,” Elena confirmed. “Asleep. Peaceful.”
Someone laughed under their breath. “So it’s real.”
“It’s very real,” Elena said, sipping her tea. “And he stopped him from getting up when I knocked. Told him to stay in bed.”
A murmur spread—surprise giving way to something warmer. “He’s… different,” one of the older guards said slowly. “That omega.”
“Yes,” Elena agreed. “Too pure for this house, honestly.”
“And that’s why it works,” another added. “No ambition. No games. Not trying to use the boss’s power.”
A younger guard grinned. “Finally. Someone who won’t start a war by existing.”
They all laughed quietly. “But did you see the boss?” someone asked. “How did he look?”
Elena thought of the faint smile. The way his voice had softened without losing authority. The way the room itself had felt… calmer.
“He looked,” she said carefully, “human.” That silenced them again. No one mocked it. No one questioned it.
Because they all knew what Oscar Piastri had been before—cold, exacting, untouchable. And if someone like that could lie in bed past dawn because an omega asked him to stay—
“Well,” the older guard said finally, lifting his mug, “about time.”
Elena smiled into her tea. Down the hall, behind closed doors and heavy curtains, the most dangerous man in the city slept a little longer than usual.
And for the first time in years, the people who guarded him hoped he would.
Lando was the first to move this time. He stretched carefully, testing his burned hand, then pushed himself upright with a small wince.
“Okay,” he said, voice brighter than he felt. “I’m officially hungry.”
Oscar opened his eyes, already awake again. “Good.”
“That smells amazing,” Lando added, glancing toward the table. Then, as if remembering something important, he looked back at Oscar. “So… can I open my bookshop today?”
Oscar didn’t answer immediately. That was answer enough. Lando’s shoulders slumped a little. “Oscar.”
“No,” Oscar said calmly.
Lando frowned. “No as in no-no? Or no as in ‘later today’ no?”
“No as in not yet,” Oscar replied. “My men are still searching. Evidence, patterns. Anyone who followed you, watched you, spoke your name.”
Lando sighed and fell back against the pillows. “I’m fine now. They already tried.”
“And failed,” Oscar said. “That doesn’t mean they won’t try again.”
Lando picked at the edge of the blanket, jaw tight. “I can’t just disappear from my life.”
“You’re not disappearing,” Oscar said. “You’re waiting.”
“For how long?”
“Until it’s clear.” Lando huffed, turning his face away. “I knew it. Mansion arrest.”
Oscar almost smiled, slmost. “You have the entire house,” Oscar said mildly. “Books. Food. No customers complaining about prices.”
“That’s not the point.” Oscar watched him closely. The way Lando’s foot bounced once, then stilled. The way his mouth pressed into a thin line. Not angry—just disappointed.
Sulking.
The realization caught Oscar off guard. “You’re unhappy,” Oscar observed.
Lando glanced at him. “Wow. Very perceptive.”
Oscar shifted closer, resting back against the headboard. “You’re allowed to be.”
“I don’t like being told what to do,” Lando said. “Even when I understand why.”
Oscar nodded once. “I know.” That softened Lando a little. He sighed again, quieter this time. “I just… I miss it. The shop. It’s stupid.”
“It’s not,” Oscar said immediately. Lando looked at him, surprised.
“That place is yours,” Oscar continued. “It’s where you chose to stay even when you could’ve walked away. Of course you miss it.”
Lando swallowed, mood easing despite himself. “So I can go back… eventually?”
“Yes,” Oscar said. “I promise.”
Lando nodded, then reached for the tray. “Okay. But I’m eating everything.”
Oscar watched him do exactly that, something warm and unfamiliar settling in his chest.
He hadn’t expected this part—the quiet negotiations, the small sulks, the way Lando trusted him enough to be openly unhappy instead of afraid.
It felt… domestic. Dangerously so. Oscar Piastri, ruler of the dark world, found himself oddly relieved that Lando Norris was comfortable enough to complain.
After breakfast, Lando stayed sitting on the bed, legs pulled in, absently scrolling through his phone like he was trying to convince himself this was all temporary.
Oscar had already showered. He emerged from the bathroom composed again—white shirt crisp, black trousers perfectly fitted, hair still slightly damp. He looked like himself once more, like the man who belonged to boardrooms and quiet threats.
Lando looked at him and suddenly remembered something important. “I don’t have any of my stuff,” he blurted. “I didn’t bring anything. Clothes, books—my meds—”
Oscar paused mid–cufflink. He sighed once, controlled but tired, and reached for his phone.
“Luca,” he said. “Have a team collect Lando’s belongings from the shop. Everything personal, carefully.”
A pause. Oscar listened, then closed his eyes briefly. “Yes,” he said. “Good.” He ended the call and returned to fastening his cufflinks. “Already did,” Oscar added calmly. “They’re on the way.”
Lando blinked. “You… already?”
“I plan ahead,” Oscar replied.
Lando let out a small breath, half resigned, half relieved. “Okay.”
He shifted on the bed. “Can I go out?” Oscar looked at him—not alarmed, not angry—just assessing. Then he clicked the second cufflink into place.
“Yes,” he said. “Anywhere inside the grounds. Gardens, library, terrace, staff wing if you want company.”
“No outside?”
“Not yet.” Lando nodded. He could live with that.
“Let someone know where you’re going,” Oscar added. “They won’t follow you unless necessary.”
Lando tilted his head. “You’re really bad at pretending this isn’t a fortress.”
Oscar’s mouth curved faintly. “I’m not pretending.”
Lando stood carefully, testing his balance again. He looked around the room—vast, elegant, intimidating—and then back at Oscar. “You’re letting me walk around freely,” Lando said. “That’s… new.”
“You asked for choice,” Oscar replied. “This is part of it.”
Lando nodded once, then moved toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. “Oscar?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you,” Lando said. Not small, not timid just honest.
Oscar met his gaze. “Anytime.”
Lando left the room. Oscar watched the door close behind him, exhaling slowly. This—this careful giving of space, this trust built in increments—was harder than control had ever been.
And yet, for the first time, Oscar Piastri felt like he was doing something right.
Lando wandered. The manor was too big to pace properly, too quiet to feel natural, so without meaning to he drifted toward the only place that felt remotely alive—the staff wing.
He was still wearing Oscar’s blue shirt, sleeves too long, collar loose, paired with his own joggers like he’d given up pretending this was temporary. The contrast was… noticeable.
The moment he stepped inside, conversation stalled. A guard nearly dropped his mug. Another straightened so fast he knocked his chair back.
Lando froze. “Uh. Hi.”
“Elena!” someone hissed. The maid hurried over immediately, hands clasped, eyes wide but kind. “Sir! Do you need anything? Breakfast? More food? A doctor?”
Lando shook his head quickly. “No—no. I’m just… bored.” That earned a few startled looks.
Bored, in this big big house. Elena smiled anyway. “Then sit. I’ll make you tea.”
Lando didn’t argue. He sat at the edge of the long table, swinging one foot idly, painfully out of place among armed men and polished routines.
The guards tried very hard not to stare at the fact that their boss’s omega was wearing their boss’s shirt like it belonged to him. Because somehow, it did.
The tea arrived warm and sweet. Lando wrapped his hands around the cup gratefully. Then the room shifted, Oscar entered. Every chair scraped back at once. Every head bowed. “Good morning, sir.”
Oscar’s gaze went straight to Lando. “…Lando?” he said, clearly not expecting to find him here.
Lando looked up, caught mid-sip. “Hi.”
Oscar walked closer, ignoring everyone else entirely. The staff watched in stunned silence as their boss stopped in front of the omega, eyes softening in a way none of them had ever witnessed.
“I have business,” Oscar said quietly. “I’ll be back this evening.” Lando’s face fell instantly. Then he groaned—loud, dramatic, and completely unfiltered.
“So you’re leaving me alone now!!!”
The room froze. A guard choked on his coffee. Elena pressed a hand to her mouth. Oscar closed his eyes for half a second.
“You won’t be alone,” Oscar said evenly. “There are—”
“That’s not what I meant,” Lando cut in, sulking openly and stubbornly, arms crossing over Oscar’s shirt. “You said I could walk around and now you’re abandoning me with people who bow every time I breathe.”
No one dared move. Oscar opened his eyes again—and to everyone’s shock, sighed. “I’ll be back by evening,” he repeated, gentler now. “And I’ll call.”
Lando squinted at him. “Promise?”
Oscar nodded once. “Promise.”
Lando huffed, taking another sip of tea. “Fine but I’m stealing your library.”
Oscar’s mouth curved faintly. “You already have.”
He turned to leave, pausing only once. “No one bothers him,” Oscar said calmly to the room. “And no bowing.”
Every staff member straightened at once. “Yes, sir.”
Oscar left still the silence lingered. Then one of the guards muttered, awed, “He sulked at him.”
Elena smiled into her teapot. Lando Norris leaned back in his chair, sipping tea in a fortress that no longer felt quite so hostile—utterly unaware that he’d just rewritten the rules of the house without even trying.
It was fully night when Oscar returned. The manor was quieter than usual—lights dimmed, routines slowed, the house settling into its nocturnal rhythm.
Oscar stepped inside and paused, eyes already searching the space without conscious effort.
The guards noticed, they always did. One of them approached immediately, voice low. “He’s in the library, sir.”
Oscar’s shoulders eased—just a fraction. “He hasn’t come out since afternoon,” the guard continued. “We moved food in there. He ate. Drank tea. Fell asleep once. Woke up again.”
Oscar nodded once. “Anyone bother him?”
“No, sir.”
“Good.” Oscar handed off his coat and headed down the corridor without another word. His steps were unhurried now, familiar with the destination before he even reached it.
The library door was ajar. Warm light spilled into the hall. Oscar stopped at the threshold.
Lando was curled up in one of the deep armchairs, legs tucked under him, Oscar’s blue shirt hanging loose around his frame.
A book lay open on his chest, pages bent where he’d fallen asleep mid-sentence. Another book sat open on the table beside him and another stacked underneath.
Someone had brought a blanket. Oscar stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind him.
He stood there for a moment, just watching. This—this was what Lando did when left alone. He didn’t panic, didn’t try to escape. He found a quiet corner and made it his own.
Oscar moved closer and gently lifted the book from Lando’s chest, setting it aside. Lando stirred at once, brows knitting.
“Oscar?” he murmured, half-asleep.
“I’m back,” Oscar said softly. Lando’s eyes opened fully then, relief flickering across his face before he could hide it. “You took forever.”
“You survived,” Oscar replied dryly. Lando huffed, then yawned, stretching carefully. “Barely. I read… like five books.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow. “In one afternoon?”
“Don’t judge me,” Lando said, rubbing his eyes. “Your library is dangerous.”
Oscar allowed himself a small smile. He draped the blanket more securely around Lando’s shoulders. “Did you rest?”
“A bit,” Lando admitted. Then, quieter, “It’s nicer when you’re here.”
Oscar’s chest tightened—not painfully, but enough to remind him this mattered. “I won’t leave you again without warning,” Oscar said.
Lando nodded, satisfied, and leaned back into the chair. “Good.”
Outside the library, the guards resumed their posts, reassured.
Inside, among shelves of knowledge and shadows of power, Oscar Piastri had found exactly where Lando Norris waited and this time, he stayed.