The mornings began with the precision of a sniper's bullet. Nox and Leo trained in tandem—sunlight gilding their skin as they sparred, sweat dripping, breaths synced like twin war drums. They moved like mirrors: Leo's brutal efficiency, Nox's elegant lethality. There were no commands. No need. They knew each other's rhythms now.
After the final set, Leo tossed a towel at Nox and said, "You're slower today."
Nox lit a cigarette. "I was being merciful."
Dominik whispered from behind the garden curtain, where he and the ex-boss hid. "He's smiling. Did you see that?! HE SMILED. He has fangs but he smiled!"
The ex-boss sipped his tea, unimpressed. "Shut up and pass the binoculars."
—
They moved to the marksmanship range. Leo barked orders to the gathered mafia members, sharp and ruthless:
"If you miss the target's head, you're the one getting shot. Understood?"
A chorus of "Yes, sir!" rang out.
Nox, behind him, leaned casually against a table, assembling one of their new sniper rifles— Nox's new toys.
Dominik, from the garden, clutched the binoculars to his chest. "Matching rifles. That's marriage in gunman language!"
The ex-boss hummed. "I had to propose twice to get Dominik to agree to matching daggers."
—
Later, Leo approached Nox silently with a small box. Inside, a black tactical face mask.
"You might want to wear this," Leo murmured, reaching up and adjusting it on Nox's face, fingers brushing his jaw.
Nox didn't flinch. "You just miss the mask."
"No. You look too good without it. They'll get ideas."
Dominik shrieked. "HE'S JEALOUS. HE'S MARKING HIS TERRITORY."
The ex-boss calmly took notes. "Yes. Emotional constipation in full bloom."
—
After breakfast—made by Nox, because Leo still burned rice—Leo handled documents, his bare chest dotted with healing scars. Nox sat beside him on the couch, hacking silently.
"Who are we hacking today?" Leo asked.
"Two Upper Tears governors and one arms dealer with bad password hygiene."
"You worry me," Leo muttered.
"You need power. I'm laying the network."
Leo didn't look away from the screen. "We need funding too."
Nox's fingers didn't stop moving. "Handled. Guatemala paid in full. Plus…"
He stood, vanished, and returned with a bag.
"Here." He tossed it on Leo's lap.
Inside were daggers, movie posters, two matching sniper rifles with their initials, and a sleek box of dark metal accessories.
"Thought you might like them."
Leo's eyes sparkled. "Wait here." He came back minutes later with a velvet box, opening it to reveal five sets of matching piercings: cat, serpent, tiger, flower, and one crimson heart.
"For your…collection."
Nox's lips twitched into something that could almost be a smile.
Dominik nearly dropped the binoculars. "OH MY GOD THEY'RE EXCHANGING LOVE TOKENS. The rifals have their initials This is a proposal. I've seen less dramatic weddings."
The ex-boss muttered, "You cried at a wedding where they used grenades as centerpieces."
"They were biodegradable!"
—
In the garden, Nox smoked, leaning on the stone banister. Leo walked out, wordless, took the cigarette from his lips, and put it in his own mouth.
He didn't light it.
Instead, he reached up, fingers tracing the scar on Nox's neck. His touch was fleeting but left something raw in its wake.
Then, nonchalantly, he lit both cigarettes. "Don't smile in front of the secretary again. He'll faint."
Nox exhaled. "Noted."
They didn't say more. They didn't need to.
Behind them, from the garden:
Dominik: "I'm going to combust. Emotionally."
Ex-boss: "I'm giving them until winter. Then they'll accidentally marry in a weapons expo."
Dominik: "I'd cry. Again."
—
And still, Leo and Nox moved like they had always been this way. The mafia followed them. The world waited.
But neither of them knew.
This wasn't brotherhood. This wasn't loyalty.
This was something else. And they were too emotionally constipated to see it.
Yet.