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Sage hadn't cooperated for a second of time as he was moved through the house. He was set down in a small room after a while of walking, and left there. There were no windows, no way of escaping. The door had locked from the outside. He didn't care. He moved to try and calm himself down, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths through his nose, which the gag wasn't interfering with. Once he was calm, his hands steady enough, he began to carefully work away at the ropes around his hands. It took him some time, but eventually he was loose. He tore the gag from his face, rising angrily and grabbing the chair that was there, kicking it until a leg broke off. He gripped it tightly, breathing heavily and teeth get together with rage. Whoever these men were, when they came back they would not meet a scared little boy. He was desperate. That's what the fear had turned into. And when they came back, hopefully with someone in charge to take a look at the captive....they'd meet a stubborn fighter willing to take them out with the nails in a chair leg. |
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Alessandro didn’t look up when the notification light pulsed on the edge of his desk. He was signing off on shipping reallocations—quiet corrections to routes Casper had once relied on, now rerouted under different names, different flags. Work didn’t stop because violence happened elsewhere. In his world, it accounted for it. Blitz lay stretched across the rug near the door, head up now, ears forward. Stryker sat at the window, massive frame still, watching the dark grounds below as if he could see through walls and miles alike. “Report,” Alessandro said calmly. The voice on the line was tight, respectful. “Subject’s secured in Holding Room C. No injuries from extraction beyond preexisting bruising. He—” A pause. “—freed himself from the restraints. Improvised weapon from a chair. He’s alert. Aggressive.” Alessandro’s pen stopped mid-signature. Not anger. Not surprise. Recognition. He leaned back slowly, fingers brushing the edge of his signet ring as his gaze unfocused. For a brief moment, Sage’s eyes surfaced in his memory—not frightened, not pleading. Calculating. Enduring. “So,” Alessandro murmured, mostly to himself, “the fear burned off.” Blitz rose to his feet with a low, curious rumble. Stryker turned from the window, ears pricked, tail still. They both felt it—the shift from prey to cornered animal. Alessandro tapped the desk once. “Did he hurt anyone?” “One man,” the voice replied. “Nothing serious. We disengaged as instructed.” “Good.” Alessandro’s tone didn’t change, but there was approval there. Clear. Intentional. He stood, straightening his cuffs. “No one goes in alone. No one touches him. And no one mistakes resistance for hostility.” “Yes, Don Moretti.” Alessandro moved toward the door, the wolves immediately flanking him—Blitz to his right, Stryker to his left, silent and massive. He didn’t head for the holding room yet. That would come later, if at all. “Keep eyes on him,” he ordered as he walked. “I want updates every five minutes. Breathing. Behavior. Words he uses. Especially words.” A pause. Then, softer: “He’s not begging.” Alessandro allowed himself the faintest exhale through his nose. “No,” he agreed. “He never was.” He stopped in the corridor, resting a hand briefly on Blitz’s head, fingers sinking into thick fur. Stryker leaned into his leg, solid, grounding. “A cage teaches two things,” Alessandro said quietly, more to the wolves than the men on the line. “Submission—or teeth.” His eyes hardened, not with cruelty, but resolve. “Make sure,” he finished, “that when he realizes where he is, he understands this isn’t the same kind of cage.” The line went dead. Somewhere beneath the estate, a man stood gripping a broken chair leg, ready to fight shadows. Alessandro Moretti returned to his work. And adjusted the plan. |
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Sage had started pacing a few minutes in, grumbling quite a list of vulgar words and phrases as he moved. Eventually though, he grew impatient. Glanced up at the camera he'd found with a scowl. "Fine then," he breathed, flipping it off before using the chair leg to smash it. Then he moved to the door, working at the lock quietly as possible. He was out before the men outside knew what was happening. A quick hit, a smashed in face. He grabbed the sword, whirling and taking out the other man, grabbing his sword too. Then he took off down the hallway, rage moving his feet along at an incredible pace. Fine. He was an attack dog for a long time. He'd do it again. He'd fight until his last breath. And he would find their leader. That's where he was heading....deeper into the building. To find whoever was in charge of this place. And he would kill him if it was the last thing he did. (Kinda short lol) |
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Alessandro heard the alarms before he saw the damage. Not the blaring kind—those were disabled the moment Sage smashed the camera—but the subtle shift in the house’s rhythm. Footsteps out of pattern. Heartbeats running too fast. Men moving when they shouldn’t have been. Stryker’s ears snapped forward. Blitz’s hackles lifted. “So,” Alessandro murmured, calm as ever, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. “He’s not the type to wait.” He stepped out into the corridor just as Sage came around the corner—blood on his knuckles, stolen blades in his hands, eyes bright with the kind of fury that burned everything else away. The man moved like someone who’d learned violence early and never forgotten it. Efficient. Desperate. Dangerous. Their gazes met. Alessandro didn’t raise his weapon. Didn’t bark orders. He simply lifted two fingers. Stryker and Blitz moved. They didn’t maul. Didn’t tear. They struck with precision—Stryker taking Sage’s legs out from under him, Blitz knocking the sword from his grip with a sharp snap of teeth inches from flesh. The impact sent Sage sprawling hard against the floor, breath leaving him in a harsh gasp. Before Sage could recover, Alessandro was there. He drove a knee down—not to break, but to pin—twisting Sage’s arm back and disarming him completely. The fight drained out of the moment as quickly as it had ignited, Alessandro’s weight and control absolute. “Enough,” Alessandro said quietly, close to Sage’s ear. Not angry. Certain. Restraints were brought within seconds. Clean. Efficient. No unnecessary cruelty. Alessandro watched Sage carefully as his wrists were bound and his ankles secured—tight enough to hold, not enough to harm. “Sedate him?” one of the men asked. Alessandro shook his head once. “No.” He straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his jacket, and looked down at Sage with an expression that was unreadable but intent. “You wanted the one in charge,” Alessandro said evenly. “Congratulations.” He turned on his heel. “Bring him.” — Matteo was already waiting when they reached the drive, engine running, eyes narrowing only slightly at the sight of the bound man between the wolves. “Change of plans,” Alessandro said as he opened the rear door. “We’re going to my place.” Matteo’s brow creased. “Your house.” “Yes,” Alessandro replied. “Not the estate.” That earned a single nod. No questions. Sage was placed carefully in the back, Alessandro settling in beside him, Stryker on one side, Blitz on the other. The wolves never took their eyes off Sage—not hostile now, just watchful. Assessing. As the car pulled away, Alessandro studied Sage in the dim interior light—the bruises already forming, the defiance still burning behind exhaustion. “You fight like someone who’s been cornered too long,” Alessandro said calmly. “That tends to make people sloppy.” He leaned back, folding his hands. “You’re safe,” he added, not expecting belief. “For now.” Outside, the city lights gave way to darker roads. Alessandro’s private house lay ahead—separate from the rest, isolated by design. A place without an audience. Without noise. A place where truths surfaced whether people wanted them to or not. Stryker’s tail thumped once against the seat. Blitz huffed softly. Alessandro Moretti watched the road ahead, already deciding what came next. |
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Sage hadn't expected to find anyone in charge that quickly. And he certainly didn't expect the man to just....not fight. Or the wolves. No, that was a new one. He had raised his weapons, charging the man the instant their gaze locked, recognition flickering within them. Then the wolves hit his knees. He hit the ground with a curse, though then the breath had been knocked out of him so he couldn't say much more than that. His breathing was heavy as the man...who he now had a name for....took the sword back, holding him down quite effectively despite the fight he gave him. "Fuck you," he wheezed out in response to his comment, but he'd gone still as the restraints were put around his wrists and ankles. Chains this time ...he supposed they'd learned their lesson about ropes. He glared daggers ag Alessandro when he spoke up again, his little congratulations making him dart forwards again with a spewed list of curses, though since he was being held he didn't get very far. He fought getting shoved into the car, though he was in fairly quickly, lip curling as Alessandro slid in beside him. He chose to ignore him for the time being, mind racing as he thought about what to do here. He snapped his head back towards him when he spoke uk again though, breathing picking up again as anger flared in his chest. "Safe," he hissed. "You call this safe?!" He shook his head, twisting his body around to confront the much bigger man without much regard to it. "You dragged me from my home, killed the people I've lived with for yours, bound and gagged me, locked me up, and now you're dragging me to your house, chained up," he hissed, eyes flashing. "I don't know about you, but that's pretty well not safe," he all but spat, clearly not happy with this whole situation. |
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Alessandro let Sage burn himself out. He didn’t interrupt the curses. Didn’t flinch at the glare or the way Sage twisted toward him despite the chains biting into his wrists. He watched the way anger sharpened every movement, the way fear hid beneath it like a second heartbeat. He’d seen it before—in mirrors, in men who hadn’t survived long enough to learn when rage stopped being useful. Stryker shifted first, a low warning rumble vibrating through the car. Blitz followed suit, eyes never leaving Sage. Alessandro lifted one hand. The wolves settled instantly. “Easy,” he murmured—not for Sage, but for them. Only then did he look back at Sage fully, expression composed, voice level in a way that made shouting feel pointless by comparison. “You broke out,” Alessandro said calmly. “You armed yourself. You killed my men.” Not an accusation. A ledger. “You ran deeper instead of away,” he continued. “That tells me two things. One—you weren’t thinking about escape. Two—you were looking for someone to blame.” He leaned back against the seat, giving Sage just enough space to feel the difference between restraint and threat. “You weren’t taken from your home,” Alessandro went on. “You were taken from a situation that would have ended with you dead within the year. Probably sooner.” Sage’s fury didn’t move him. What did was the word safe—the way it had hit something raw. “You’re right,” Alessandro said quietly. “This doesn’t feel safe.” He met Sage’s eyes then, unwavering. “Safe doesn’t feel like anything at first. It feels unfamiliar. It feels like loss of control. Especially to men who’ve survived by fighting every hand that touched them.” The car rolled through a gate, tires crunching softly over gravel. Trees closed in on either side of the road. No guards visible. No noise. Intentional. “I didn’t gag you,” Alessandro added. “You’re breathing. You’re conscious. You’re alive. And you’re sitting next to the only man in this city who can make sure you stay that way without expecting obedience in return.” A pause. “Chains come off,” he said. “Tonight, if you don’t give me a reason not to. Permanently, if you don’t give me a reason ever again.” He glanced forward as the house came into view—separate, modern, quiet. No audience. No spectacle. “You can hate me,” Alessandro finished evenly. “You can scream. You can try to kill me again if that’s what you need to believe you’re still yourself.” Then, softer—but no less firm: “But you’re here because I chose not to let you drown while you were still fighting the waves.” Stryker’s tail thumped once against the floor of the car. Blitz huffed quietly. Alessandro looked back at Sage one last time before the car slowed. “So decide,” he said. “Do you want out of the water—” “—or do you want to keep pretending the net is the enemy?” |
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Sage didn't listen at first. He's promised himself he wouldn't let this end the way he'd been expecting it to. But....this wasn't exactly going how he had expected either. As Alessandro spoke, the calm tones of his voice hit him harder than he'd have liked. There was no threat there. Because he did know that if the man had wanted him dead, he would have been taken out with Casper. The hackles came up again when he claimed he would have been dead within the year if he'd stayed. "I've lived there for years just fine," he grumbled, but deep down he knew he was right. There wouldn't have been a good ending for him there. And it likely wouldn't have been too far away. But would this be any better? His eyebrows lifted slightly when he talked about what was safe, giving him a rather bored look despite the way his mind was whirling a million miles a minute. Then he said it. Chains come off. That took him back for a moment, and he sort of just....gaped at the other man in the car, not entirely sure how to respond. Finally, his shoulders slumped, a silent resignation that if he wanted any good he'd have to agree. Behave. "That depends on what will be kinder....drowning or getting out," he murmured, gaze flickering to look out the window as the car stopped. It was a silent question...could he trust this man? He'd need to prove that. He didn't fight as he was brought out of the car, not as he was brought into the house. But there was energy there, simmering beneath the surface. He would behave....but if one thing told him he wasn't safe? He'd fight. He'd fight until he had nothing left. He was sure of that. |
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Alessandro noticed the shift the moment Sage stopped fighting. Not relief—never that. It was restraint, deliberate and wary. The kind a man adopted when he’d decided resistance would cost more than patience. Alessandro respected that. He led him through the house at an unhurried pace, boots quiet against polished stone, Stryker and Blitz moving ahead out of habit, clearing the space before them. They stopped at a set of double doors at the end of a private hall. Alessandro opened them and guided Sage inside. The room was large—far larger than anyone expecting a cell would have anticipated. High ceilings with recessed lighting cast a warm, even glow across dark wood floors. One entire wall was glass, looking out over the hills and city lights below, curtains drawn halfway for privacy. A king-sized bed sat centered against a paneled wall, dressed in crisp linens and a heavy throw. A seating area occupied the far corner: a couch, two chairs, a low table. Tasteful art lined the walls—expensive, understated. Nothing here was improvised. This was not a holding room. “This will be where you stay for the time being,” Alessandro said evenly, closing the doors behind them but not locking them. He stepped closer and, without ceremony, reached for the cuffs. Sage tensed; Alessandro felt it immediately. He paused just long enough to make sure Sage was looking at him. “Stand still,” he said—not a command, but reassurance. The cuffs came off cleanly. First the wrists, then the ankles. Alessandro set the restraints on the dresser, deliberately out of reach, and stepped back, giving Sage space the moment the metal was gone. “You’re not restrained in here,” he continued. “That’s intentional.” He gestured toward a door set into the far wall. “Bathroom’s connected. Shower, towels, toiletries. Use it.” Then, carefully, precisely—no softness, no cruelty: “I’m giving you privacy to wash up. If you need time, take it.” A pause. “If you try to end your life, I will come in.” Not a threat. A boundary. “I won’t punish you for needing air,” Alessandro added quietly. “But I won’t let you disappear.” He crossed to the dresser and opened it fully this time. Inside were neatly folded clothes—dark shirts, soft pants, clean socks. Quality fabric. Comfortable. “I didn’t know your size,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder. “They might be a bit big” He stepped back toward the doors, giving Sage the choice to claim the space rather than feel placed within it. “You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” Alessandro said, voice low and steady. “Survival comes first. Answers can wait.” At the threshold, he stopped once more and met Sage’s eyes—measured, unwavering. “You’re not a prisoner here,” he said. “But you are my responsibility.” Then he turned and closed the doors behind him—not locked, not left wide open. Balanced. Out in the hall, Stryker lifted his head. Blitz rose smoothly to his feet. Alessandro exhaled once, slow and controlled. |
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Sage hadn't paid much attention to the house as he was led through it, though when they moved into the room and Alessandro allowed it to just be the two of them. No guards, the wolves were left outside. It seemed less threatening than being surrounded by men. That was probably the point. His eyes widened when he noted the room he was being given. It was huge....much larger than even what Casper had owned. And Casper had been plenty rich himself. His gaze travelled over every surface of the place, though listened as the man beside him talked. He'd stiffined when Alessandro reached for him, an old habit. But when he realized he was just reaching for the cuffs, he stilled, allowing him to unlock them and set them to the side. He rubbed his wrists, which were raw...though that was more of his own making than anything, given how hard he'd struggled against them. He glanced towards the door when it was mentioned, and then at the clothes. He supposed he would need to change ...he was in his work clothes, which had been bloodied by the men he'd killed. He just nodded dumbly when Alessandro finished up talking and moved to leave, still just standing there once the doors were closed, listening for the dull click of the lock. It never came. He frowned slightly, waiting for the footsteps to move away from the door before testing it. It was unlocked. He let out a quiet breath of relief, standing around for a moment longer before moving towards the bathroom. A glance in the mirror pulled a wince from him...his hair had come out of its hold, and hung in ragged patches. It was tangled and sticky. He was covered in blood. Sweat. Who knows what else, really. His clothes smelled like alcohol and iron. He turned the water on, quickly stripping and hopping into the tub, chuckling to himself when it seemed large enough for like five men. It felt good to wash off though, and he nearly scrubbed his skin raw as he stayed there until the water started to run cold. He slipped out quickly then, digging through the dresser to find clothes that seemed comfortable and would fit him well enough. Brushed his hair. Little tasks that just seemed normal. Then he collapsed on the bed with a groan, passing out nearly immediately. He didn't even make it under the covers. The day had been long despite barely being half over. The night too, he supposed. Really he was just exhausted. |
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Alessandro moved down the hall and into his study, returning to the rhythm of work as if nothing extraordinary had happened—because to him, it hadn’t. Violence was finished. Control was restored. Now came structure. He sat, reviewed a tablet, and spoke into the secure line without lifting his eyes. “Status.” “He checked the door,” came the quiet reply. “Didn’t run.” Alessandro’s fingers stilled briefly on the glass. “Bathroom’s running,” the voice continued. “Water. Long shower.” Alessandro leaned back slightly, gaze drifting to the window as city light bled into the room. “Let him be.” Blitz shifted outside the door, claws clicking once against stone. Stryker huffed softly. Alessandro didn’t look up—but he heard them. He always did. “Report breathing cadence,” Alessandro said. Another pause. Then: “Shower’s off. He’s dressed. On the bed now.” Silence stretched. “…He’s asleep.” Alessandro exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. He touched the signet ring on his finger—not from nerves, but from habit, grounding himself in certainty. “Good,” he said quietly. “That means he feels safe enough to stop fighting.” He stood and crossed the room, checking feeds without sound. The camera angle was discreet, positioned high, unintrusive. Sage lay sprawled on the bed, clothes rumpled, hair still damp, utterly spent. No weapon in hand. No tension in his shoulders. Alessandro shut the feed off immediately. “No guards inside,” he ordered. “Rotate watch outside the hall only. Wolves stay.” “Yes, Don Moretti.” Alessandro moved to the doorway and opened it just enough to rest a hand briefly on Blitz’s broad head. The wolf leaned into the touch, solid and warm. Stryker’s eyes flicked up, sharp and intelligent. Both wolves settled. He returned to his desk and resumed work—contracts, shipments, numbers that would quietly erase what remained of Casper’s footprint from the city. The night went on. The world turned. |
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Afternoon Storms, then Clearing
