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They appear like shadows from the alleyway - a group of four men, dressed too cleanly for this part of town, too neat and sharp to be just another gang of thugs. Their approach is too synchronized to be natural, the way their eyes shift to Manuel and him without fully making contact. Davide’s instincts kick in, but not fast enough. Before he can make a grab for his gun, the barrel of a silenced pistol presses into his side. He glances over at Manuel, who freezes mid-step, eyes wide with terror, as another man approaches him from behind.
“Not a word,” the man next to Davide says, voice calm, too calm. “Do as we say, and you might make it out alive.”
“Davide?” Manuel’s voice cracks with fear.
“Shut up, move,” the kidnapper snarls at Manuel, pushing him toward the van.
"Do what they say," Davide says. His heart races, but he keeps his face calm, as controlled as he can be.
The man holding him seems to notice too and steps in closer, gun discreetly jabbing against Manuel’s side.
"Don’t do anything stupid, boy. No one has to get hurt,” the kidnapper hisses, his voice cold, almost bored. “You try anything, and I’ll shoot you right here. No one will even know.”
Manuel’s face drains of color, his eyes wide with panic. He swallows hard, nodding, but Davide sees the tremble in his hands.
The street is bustling with pedestrians, but the men are so precise, so discreet, that no one has any idea they’re being kidnapped in broad daylight. Clearly professionals.
The door of the van slides shut with a heavy thud, sealing them inside. One of the kidnappers pulls out a zip tie and tosses it to Davide.
“Here. You do your friend first.”
Davide hesitates for a moment, his stomach churning, but the man’s glare leaves no room for defiance. His hands are shaking slightly, but he grabs Manuel’s wrists, avoiding his wide, terrified eyes as he wraps the plastic tie around them. It feels wrong, too intimate in a way, binding Manuel’s wrists together like this. It’s something they’d do to a target, not to each other.
“Tighter,” the man next to him comments.
“I don’t want to hurt him,” Davide says, his voice low but steady.
“I said tighter.”
Davide swallows hard, hating himself for what he’s about to do. He tightens the zip tie, wincing as Manuel lets out a sharp gasp of pain, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment.
"Sorry," Davide whispers under his breath.
Manuel nods, eyes downcast.
"Good. Now hands behind your back," the man says, shifting his attention to Davide.
The plastic digs into Davide’s skin, but he barely registers the pain. They bite into his skin, cold and unyielding. Davide flexes his fingers, already feeling the blood struggle to circulate, but he doesn’t flinch. He won’t give them the satisfaction.
"Who sent you?" Davide asks. His voice comes out more steady than he feels.
“It’s not about you two,” one of the kidnappers says. His voice is level, almost casual, like they’re discussing the weather. “If it was, you’d already be dead. If everything goes well, you might live.”
Davide’s jaw tightens. Might live. The words offer little comfort. It’s not about them? Then it has to be about Rino.
The car accelerates, weaving through the streets. The city passes by in a blur, but all Davide can think about is Manuel’s uneven breathing next to him, the panic that’s building in the tight space.
"Where are you taking us?" Manuel’s voice cracks.
"Shut up," the man in the passenger seat says coldly. "You’ll find out soon enough. Just sit still, both of you."
Davide swallows hard, his mind racing. Rino. Of course, this had to do with him. Everything always came back to Rino. But Rino isn’t just their boss. He is Patrick’s boyfriend. This isn’t just about business, it’s probably personal.
Before Davide can think further, the man in the front seat pulls out two black cloths. Manuel shifts beside him. He’s still too pale, his breaths too rapid. Davide can feel the panic rising in his brother, can sense it in the way Manuel’s fingers tug helplessly at the zip tie, as if trying to test its limits.
“Blindfold them,” the man orders, tossing it to the guy next to Manuel.
“No, no, no,” Manuel whispers, his breathing already quickening. “Please, don’t do that, don’t...”
But the man ignores him, tightening the blindfold over Manuel’s face. Manuel gasps, his head jerking back.
"Manuel," Davide hisses, as the fabric is pressed over his own eyes. He’s plunged into darkness, the sensation disorienting. For a brief second, the panic hits him too, but he swallows it down.
Manuel’s breathing quickens, a soft whimper escaping his lips, and Davide tenses. He can’t see him, but he knows that Manuel is about to lose it.
“I can’t… I can’t…” he gasps. "Please, take it off… I can’t…”
“Shut up!” one of the men in the front barks,
Davide hears Manuel shift again, more agitated this time. "I can’t…” Manuel whispers, barely loud enough to be heard, but the tremor in his voice cuts through Davide like a knife. "I can’t breathe.”
“Yes, you can," Davide insists. He tries to keep his voice soothing, even though his own heart is pounding in his chest. He doesn’t have the luxury of panicking. Not now.
“No,” Manuel gasps. “Please… please, I can’t…”
“I said shut up!” the man barks again, this time louder, the edge in his voice sharper.
Davide snaps, his temper flaring despite the danger. “He’s claustrophobic,” he says, his voice tight with anger. “He can’t control it.”
“I don’t care what his problem is,” the man barks back. “Keep him quiet, or I’ll make sure he doesn’t have to worry about breathing ever again.”
“I can’t... I can’t...” Manuel’s voice is barely audible, his panic making him hyperventilate, and Davide grits his teeth, anger flashing through him at the kidnappers.
“You can breathe, okay?” Davide’s voice softens, fighting to stay calm. "I know it feels like you can’t, but you can. I’m right here. We’re still together, okay? Breathe. That’s it. Just like that. We’re gonna be alright.”
Manuel quiets down, though Davide can tell he’s still scared out of his mind. The car drives on, and the silence in the backseat feels heavy. Davide can feel the zip tie digging into his wrists, the plastic biting into his skin with every jolt of the car.
Whatever these guys want from Gattuso, they mean business.
~ ~ ~
Patrick has just got out of the shower and changed into a comfy pair of sweatpants and a hoodie when his phone rings.
He glances at the screen. An unknown number.
Frowning, he picks up. "Hello?"
The voice on the other end is cold, unfamiliar. “Hello, Patrick."
His blood runs cold. The way the person says his name, so calm and assured, sends a chill down his spine. "Who is this?" he asks, sitting on the armrest of the sofa, already on edge.
"You don’t need to know who I am," the man replies. "What you do need to know is that we have your friends, Davide and Manuel."
Patrick swallows hard. “Wh-what?”
"They’re alive, for now," the man says, his tone almost bored. "But whether they stay that way is entirely up to you."
Patrick jumps to his feet, pacing the room. "What do you want? Money?"
The man laughs softly, the sound more unsettling than comforting. "This isn’t about money. This is about something else. Something we can only get from you, Patrick. It needs to stay between us. No police. And, most importantly, no Gennaro.”
Patrick’s pulse spikes at the mention of Rino. "What does he have to do with this?"
"You know exactly what he has to do with it. He’s been keeping you on a tight leash ever since you got hurt, hasn’t he? Not letting you work. Not letting you do anything important. But we know better, don’t we? You’re more than capable. You’re the one we want to deal with."
Patrick’s mouth goes dry. He knows this is a trap, that they’re trying to lure him out to hurt Rino, but he can’t think about that now.
"Let me talk to them. Prove that they’re alive."
Rino always told him not to show weakness, but his voice shakes so much that they have to know he’s close to breaking down.
He hears a muffled sound on the other end, some shuffling, then Manuel’s voice.
“Patrick?” Manuel’s voice cracks, the fear in it all too real.
“Manu!” Patrick almost shouts, his grip on the phone tightening. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
“They haven’t. But...” Manuel’s voice cuts off abruptly.
The man is back on the line. “Satisfied? You’ve heard him. They’re alive and unharmed, but that could change if you don’t follow our instructions. We’ll call you back soon."
Before Patrick can respond, the line goes dead. He stands frozen, the phone still pressed to his ear.
“Patrick, what’s going on?”
Rino’s voice almost startles him. Patrick turns to find him standing in the doorway, concern etched in his face.
"They’ve got Davide and Manuel," he says, his voice shaking.
Rino’s expression hardens immediately, his eyes narrowing as he steps closer. "What do you mean? Who has them?"
“I don’t know. Just… they told me not to call the police. And…” Patrick stops, hesitating. "They said not to involve you."
Rino steps forward, his voice firm. “We’ll handle this. I’ll get-”
“No!” Patrick cuts him off, surprising even himself with the force of his response.
Rino looks at him, startled.
“They said not to involve you!” Patrick protests, his voice rising. “If I don’t do what they say, they’ll kill them.”
Rino takes a step toward him, his expression cold, controlled. “Patrick. This is clearly my father. I’m not letting you walk into a trap. They’re using them to get to you, Patrick. They want to lure you out, and once you’re in the open, they’ll either take you or kill you. They know you’ll come running, that you’ll make yourself vulnerable. That’s what this is about, getting to you."
"Let them come after me, then!" Patrick snaps. "I’m not afraid. But I’ll be damned if I let Davide and Manuel suffer because of me. Please, Rino. Please."
Rino grabs his arm, his grip firm but not painful. “Listen to me, Patrick. You’re not doing this alone. We’ll get them back, but you are not walking into whatever this is without me. I’m not going to let you die.”
“I’d die for them,” Patrick says softly, his voice breaking. "And you know it."
~ ~ ~
The blindfolds are off, but the room is dark enough that it hardly makes a difference. The kidnappers had left them alone a few minutes ago, not saying much, just a brief command to keep quiet.
Manuel seems a little calmer. His breathing has slowed, and Davide can feel him shifting beside him, his muscles tense but no longer frozen in fear.
“They’re not going to kill us,” Davide says softly, more for Manuel’s sake than his own. He’s not sure if it’s true, but it’s the only thing keeping them both grounded. “Not yet, anyway. We just need to hold on.”
Manuel is silent for a moment, his head tilted back against the wall, eyes closed. Then, his voice comes out in a low, angry mutter. “I’m going to kill him.”
Davide blinks, startled by the sudden shift in tone. He turns his head slightly to look at Manuel. His eyes are still closed, his jaw clenched tight.
“I swear, Davide,” Manuel continues, his voice shaking with fury now instead of fear. “When we get out of this, I’m going to kill Gattuso.”
Davide almost laughs. For the first time since they were taken, he feels a flicker of relief. The fear, the panic, it’s being replaced by something else.
“He’s supposed to protect us. We’re supposed to be a team. But instead…” He breaks off, shaking his head, his teeth grinding together. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Good,” Davide murmurs, leaning his head back against the wall, his eyes fixed on the shadowed ceiling. “Hold onto that. Don’t let it go. It’ll keep you focused.”
Manuel doesn’t respond, but Davide can feel him fuming beside him, the tension practically vibrating off of him. In a way, Davide is glad. The anger is keeping Manuel from sinking back into that suffocating panic. As long as he stays angry, they have a chance.
Davide’s mind drifts to Patrick, the weight of worry pressing down on him. The thought of him walking into a trap to save them gnaws at him.
Rino will never let Patrick go without a fight. But Patrick… Patrick will do anything for them, no matter how dangerous. He’d die for us, Davide thinks, his stomach twisting at the realization.
“You think he’s okay?” Manuel asks suddenly, as if reading his thoughts.
Davide’s heart skips. He doesn’t have to ask who Manuel is talking about. “Patrick?”
“Yeah,” Manuel says, his voice quieter now, the edge of anger softening just a little. “You think he’ll try to come after us?”
Davide clenches his jaw, not wanting to say what he knows is true. “He’ll try,” he mutters. “Of course he’ll try. You know how he is.”
Manuel scoffs, though there’s a bitterness to it. “Yeah, well, I hope Gattuso is smart enough to keep him out of it.”
“Patrick would do anything for us,” Davide says softly, his voice heavy with both pride and dread. “You know that.”
Manuel lets out a harsh laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Yeah, I know. That’s the problem.”
“They’re using us as bait,” Davide says, his voice quieter now, as if saying it out loud makes it more real. “Patrick’s the one they’re after. They knew we’d be the way to get to him.”
“No,” Manuel retorts. “Gattuso is the one they’re after. And if he lets Patrick get hurt instead of stepping up himself, I will kill him. This time, I will.”
~ ~ ~
Patrick jumps up, his breath catching in his throat as he sees the unknown number flashing on the screen. He looks at Rino, who nods once, a silent signal for Patrick to answer.
Patrick swallows hard and picks up the call. “Hello?”
“Patrick.” The same cold, gravelly voice from earlier. “I hope you’re ready to cooperate.”
Patrick’s grip tightens on the phone, his knuckles turning white. “I want to talk to them.”
“You’ll get your chance, if you do what we say,” the man replies smoothly, as if they’re discussing something as simple as a business deal. “We need something from Gennaro’s agency. Something sensitive. And you’re going to deliver it.”
“What?” Patrick’s brow furrows in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Gennaro has documents, classified, high-level stuff. You know the kind I’m talking about. Sensitive intel. We want them. And you’re going to get them for us.”
Patrick’s heart pounds harder. Documents? This doesn’t make sense. Why would they need him for something like that?
“Don’t play dumb, Patrick. We know you have access. And if you don’t bring us what we want… well, let’s just say Manuel and Davide won’t make it home alive.”
Patrick’s stomach churns at the threat, but he knows he can’t let fear cloud his judgment. “Let me talk to them,” he demands, his voice steady despite the panic rising in his chest. “I need proof they’re still alive.”
“You’re not in a position to make demands, Patrick,” the man snaps. “But fine. Hold on.”
There’s a moment of silence, and then a muffled voice filters through the phone. “Patrick?”
It’s Davide. His voice is strained but steady, and Patrick exhales sharply, relief washing over him for a brief second. “Davide, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Davide says quickly. “We’re fine. Just… don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
“Enough,” the man interrupts, taking the phone back. “You’ve heard your friend. Now, we don’t have all day. Get the documents. We’ll tell you where to deliver them soon.”
“Wait,” Patrick says, his mind scrambling to process everything. “How am I supposed to get those documents? I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“You’ll figure it out,” the voice replies coldly. “And remember, no Gennaro, no police. If you so much as breathe his name, your friends are dead.”
The line goes dead before Patrick can respond. He stares at the phone, his heart racing, his thoughts spinning.
“They want documents,” he mutters, his voice shaking as he looks up at Rino. “From your agency. They’re asking me to deliver them.”
Rino, who has been standing still for the last few seconds, trying to catch some of the conversation, narrows his eyes, his expression hardening. “What documents?”
“They didn’t say,” Patrick says, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “They just said I know what they’re talking about and that if I don’t bring them, they’ll kill Davide and Manuel.”
Rino’s lips press into a thin line, and Patrick can see the wheels turning in his head. He’s silent for a moment, and then his eyes flash with understanding. “It’s a trick.”
“What do you mean?” Patrick asks, confused.
“They don’t want documents,” Rino says, his voice steady but sharp. “They’re using this as a way to lure you in, get you to move. This is about you, Patrick, not intel.”
Patrick blinks, the realization slowly sinking in. “They’re trying to draw me out.”
“Exactly,” Rino says, crossing the room and sitting next to Patrick.
Patrick feels a wave of panic rising again, but he forces it down. He knows Rino’s right, but the thought of doing nothing while Manuel and Davide are still in danger makes him feel sick. “So what do we do? If I don’t deliver what they want, they’ll…”
“They won’t,” Rino interrupts, his tone firm. “Not yet, anyway. Killing them now wouldn’t get them anything. They need you to move, to do something reckless. If you stall them, we’ll buy ourselves time.”
Patrick shakes his head, his hands trembling. “Stall them? Rino, I can’t…”
“Listen to me,” Rino says. “You’re scared. I get it. But rushing in without thinking is exactly what they want. You need to stay smart. Stall them. Make them believe you’re trying to get the documents, but take your time.”
Patrick swallows hard, his chest tight with fear. The idea of playing games with their kidnappers feels like a dangerous gamble. But Rino’s eyes are locked on his, steady and sure, and Patrick knows that if anyone can see through this trap, it’s Rino.
“Okay,” Patrick says, his voice barely above a whisper. “But what if they don’t buy it?”
“They will,” Rino replies confidently. “You’ve got something they want. Yourself. They’ll wait.”
Patrick nods, though his stomach twists with doubt. He trusts Rino, but this feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, not knowing whether the ground will hold when he takes the next step.
“When they call again, you tell them you’re working on it, that the documents are harder to access than you thought. Drag it out. The longer we can keep them on the line, the better chance we have of finding them.”
Patrick takes a deep breath, steadying himself. He knows there’s no other choice, but all he can think about is Davide and Manuel, tied up, scared, and counting on him to save them.
~ ~ ~
They’ve been sitting like this for what feels like hours, waiting for something to happen. The longer they wait, the more dread builds in Davide’s chest.
Suddenly, the door creaks open, and Davide’s stomach tightens as two of the kidnappers step inside. The taller one, the one who had been barking orders since the beginning, stands with his arms crossed, a cruel smile on his face.
“Your friend Patrick,” he says slowly, as if savoring every word. “Is taking his time.”
Manuel’s eyes narrow, and Davide’s jaw clenches. Stalling, he thinks, immediately realizing what’s happening. Patrick’s trying to buy them time, but the kidnappers are losing patience.
“Maybe if we show him what happens when he doesn’t play along, he’ll be more motivated.”
The man steps closer, his gaze flicking lazily between Davide and Manuel, as if he’s trying to decide something. Then he grins. “Now, I’m curious,” he muses aloud. “Which one of you do you think Patrick would like less to see hurt? You…” He nods at Davide, his smile widening. “Or your little brother here?”
Davide’s mind races. He knows they’ll choose Manuel. Manuel’s more vulnerable, more emotionally reactive. Hurting him will break Patrick down faster. And they know it.
“You don’t have to do this,” Davide says, his voice shaking despite his efforts to stay calm. “Patrick will come through. Just give him more time.”
The man chuckles, clearly enjoying this. “But we need to make a point, don’t we? We need him to take this seriously.” He steps forward, his cold eyes settling on Manuel, who’s gone pale but is glaring up at the man with all the defiance he can muster. “I think Patrick would really hate it if something happened to you,” he says softly, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Wouldn’t he?”
Before Davide can react, the two men step forward, grabbing Manuel roughly by the arms. Manuel struggles, thrashing against their grip, but they’re too strong, and his wrists are still bound behind his back. Davide lunges forward, the plastic digging painfully into his wrists, but he doesn’t care. He can’t just sit here and let them take him. “Wait,” he pleads, his voice low but urgent. “I’m… Patrick… he cares more about me. Take me instead.”
The two men exchange a glance, clearly enjoying the situation. The shorter man lets out a low, mocking laugh. “Oh, look at the big brother, always so noble. It’s touching, really.”
He slams a fist into Davide’s chest, sending him crashing back against the wall, the wind knocked out of him. He gasps, his head spinning from the blow, but his eyes stay locked on Manuel as they drag him toward the door.
Manuel shakes his head slightly, as if telling him not to try anything else, and then he’s gone.
~ ~ ~
Rino is pacing in the living room, keeping a calculated distance from Patrick, almost like he’s afraid to set him off if he gets too close. Patrick can see that Rino’s thinking, planning, but Patrick’s patience is running thin. He feels like a caged animal, trapped between Rino and the kidnappers, who all tell him what to do, and he has to choose the option that will keep Manuel and Davide alive, except he doesn’t know which one it is… if there is even one.
Suddenly, the phone rings.
His hands shake as he reaches for it, dread curling in his stomach. It’s the third call, and Patrick knows it won’t be good news.
His fingers fumble as he accepts the call, pressing the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“Patrick,” the familiar voice growls on the other end, cold and taunting. “We had a little chat with your friend Manuel.”
Patrick’s heart stops. His mind goes blank for a moment, the words not fully sinking in. “What?” His voice cracks. “What did you do to him?”
The man chuckles darkly, a sound that sends a chill down Patrick’s spine. “He’s alive… for now. But he’s had it rough, I’ll say that. See, you’ve been stalling us. And we don’t like to be kept waiting.”
A cold sweat breaks out across Patrick’s skin, his grip tightening on the phone until his knuckles turn white. “Let me talk to him,” he demands, his voice trembling with fear. “I need to hear him.”
There’s a pause, followed by a muffled sound, like a scuffle or someone being moved. “Patrick?” Manuel’s voice is faint, weak, and slurred. There’s a raspy edge to it, like he’s struggling to breathe.
Patrick feels his heart drop to his stomach. He can hear the exhaustion, the strain in his brother’s voice, and the terror of what they’ve done to him grips him in a way he hasn’t felt since the moment they were taken.
“Manu,” Patrick chokes out, his voice raw. “What did they do to you?”
“I’m… I’m fine,” Manuel says, but Patrick can hear the lie in his voice. He’s not fine. He’s far from fine. Manuel’s breaths come in sharp, shallow gasps, and Patrick can hear the pain in every word. “Just… don’t listen to them. Do what you need to do.”
Before Patrick can respond, the phone is ripped away, and the kidnapper’s voice returns, cold and mocking. “As you can hear, your brother’s still alive. But if you don’t bring us what we asked for soon, he won’t stay that way. Understand?”
Patrick can’t breathe. He stares at the floor, his mind spiralling as images of Manuel, hurt and broken, flash before his eyes. He can’t let this happen.
“We’ll keep in touch. You have work to do, I guess,” the voice says and the line goes dead.
For a moment, the silence in the room is overwhelming.
“Patrick,” Rino says from across the room. “Don’t let them get in your head. We need to stay ahead of them.”
Patrick stands up, knocking the coffee table with his knee as he whirls toward Rino, his eyes blazing with fury and panic. “They hurt him!” he shouts, his voice breaking with emotion. “Manuel’s hurt, Rino. I heard him. They’ve beaten him… God knows what else they’ve done to him! I can’t just sit here and wait! They’re going to kill him if I don’t do what they’re asking!”
Rino steps forward, his expression controlled but serious. “Patrick…”
“No!” Patrick cuts him off, shaking his head violently. “I don’t care about that right now! Manuel is my brother, and maybe he’s bleeding out somewhere because of me! I can’t just sit here and do nothing while they torture my brothers! I have to go, Rino!”
Rino raises his hand, trying to calm him. “Listen to me, Patrick. You can’t rush into this. That’s exactly what they want.”
“I don’t care!” Patrick shouts, his chest heaving. “I’m not going to let Manuel die because I sat around waiting! I have to do something!”
Rino steps closer, lowering his voice but keeping it firm. “We’re not going to let him die. But you going in unprotected isn’t going to save them. If you go, we need to figure out how to protect you.”
Patrick turns to face Rino fully, his eyes blazing with frustration. “You don’t get it, Rino. I know what they’re doing. I know they want me to come to them. But I heard Manuel, and next time… next time they call, I’m going. I don’t care if it’s a trap. I’m not sitting here while my brothers are maybe dying.”
Rino opens his mouth to protest, but Patrick cuts him off. “It’s up to you how you handle it, Rino. If you want to help me, then help. But I’m not waiting anymore. I can’t.”
~ ~ ~
The door slams open without warning, and Davide’s head snaps up. He’s been listening, waiting, praying, for any sound, any clue of what’s happening to Manuel on the other side of that door.
Two of the kidnappers drag Manuel back inside, his body limp between them. When they let go of him, Manuel’s body hits the cold concrete with a sickening thud. His breath is ragged, shallow, and he doesn’t even have the strength to cry out. The door slams shut behind them.
“Manu!” Davide gasps, lunging forward, yanking against the zip ties binding his wrists behind his back. He can barely feel the plastic digging into his skin as he thrashes, desperate to get free, to get to him.
Fresh bruises are blossoming on Manuel’s face, his lip split. Every inch of him looks battered, like they’ve taken their time making sure he felt every blow. But it’s when his gaze falls to Manuel’s wrists that his heart nearly stops.
They’ve been cut.
Deep, jagged slashes run across Manuel’s wrists, and blood is still trickling from the wounds, staining the concrete beneath him. For a moment, Davide can’t breathe. His mind races, his vision blurring with panic.
In a burst of pure adrenaline, he pulls hard against the zip ties binding his wrists. The plastic digs into his skin, the pain sharp and blinding, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. His brother is bleeding out in front of him, and there’s no time.
With a desperate cry, Davide yanks his arms apart, feeling the plastic dig into his flesh, ripping his skin as the zip tie finally snaps. His wrists are raw and bleeding, but the pain barely registers. All that matters is Manuel.
“Manu, hey,” Davide whispers, his voice shaking as he gently rolls him onto his back. Manuel’s face is pale, his breathing shallow and ragged, his eyes fluttering open and closed as he drifts in and out of consciousness. “Stay with me, come on.”
His fingers tremble as he rips a strip of fabric away from his shirt, his heart pounding so hard he can barely think straight.
Manuel groans, his head rolling weakly to the side, his eyes barely open. “D-Davide…” His voice is barely more than a whisper, slurred and distant.
“Shh,” Davide mutters, his hands shaking as he wraps the torn fabric around Manuel’s wrists, trying to stop the bleeding. “Don’t try to talk, okay? Just rest. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”
He knows it’s a lie.
The blood keeps coming, soaking through the makeshift bandages. Manuel groans, his body twitching in pain as Davide ties the cloth tighter. “I know, I know,” Davide whispers, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Manuel’s body trembles weakly under his touch. His skin is cold, far too cold. Davide pulls Manuel’s limp body closer, using what little warmth his own body has to keep him from going into shock.
“Stay awake, Manu,” Davide mutters, his voice desperate. “Don’t you dare pass out on me.”
Manuel shivers violently, his body trembling beneath Davide’s hands. His skin feels like ice, and his breathing is getting shallower by the second. “I’m… cold…” he mumbles again, his eyes fluttering open for a brief moment before drifting shut. “Davide… I’m so cold.”
Davide pulls his own jacket off, ignoring the sharp pain in his wrists as he moves, and drapes it over Manuel, trying to keep him warm. Manuel’s head lolls back, his eyes slipping shut again.
“No, no, no, no,” Davide murmurs, gently shaking him. “Stay with me! You can’t go to sleep, Manuel. You have to stay awake. Please.”
Manuel’s eyelids flutter again, and for a second, his eyes lock with Davide’s. There’s pain in them, so much pain, but also something else, something like apology. “Can’t… can’t stay awake,” he whispers, his voice weak and breathless.
“Yes, you can,” Davide insists, his voice thick with emotion. He presses his forehead against Manuel’s, his tears burning hot in his eyes. “You’re stronger than this. You’ve been through worse, right? This is nothing. You’re not giving up now, do you hear me?”
Manuel’s shaking is growing worse, his body shivering violently. Davide lifts Manuel’s hands higher, trying to slow the blood flow.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Davide mutters, his voice hoarse. “Not without me. You hear me?”
Manuel’s lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile, but it’s weak. So weak. “Tell… Patrick…” His voice trails off, his eyes slipping shut.
“No, no, no!” Davide shouts, panic flooding every inch of him. He grabs Manuel’s face again, forcing him to look at him. “Don’t talk like that. You’re not saying goodbye. You’ll tell him yourself, you hear me? You’re going to see him. You’re going to tell him yourself because you’re not dying here. I won’t let you.”
Manuel’s body suddenly goes limp in his arms, his weight sagging against Davide’s chest. For a terrifying moment, Davide can’t feel his breath. Panic grips him like a vice, and his heart nearly stops.
“Manuel!” Davide’s voice is frantic, raw, as he shakes him again, harder this time. “Come on, Manuel! Don’t do this. Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare do this to me!”
And then, after what feels like an eternity, Manuel takes a small, shaky breath. His eyes flutter open again, just for a moment, and he looks at Davide with a faint, exhausted smile. “I’m… trying,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.
Davide lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I know you are,” he whispers. “Just keep trying. For me. Please.”
~ ~ ~
Patrick stares at the phone, willing it to ring. His foot taps anxiously against the floor, and his heart is in his throat.
The phone rings, slicing through the tense silence like a knife. Patrick’s hand shakes slightly as he picks it up. He meets Rino’s eyes for a moment before answering.
“Hello,” he says, his voice steady, despite the dread gnawing at him.
“Well, Patrick,” the kidnapper’s voice comes through. “I hope you’ve been productive. Do you have what we want?”
Patrick takes a deep breath, keeping his voice controlled. “I have it. The documents.”
There’s a brief pause on the other end, and Patrick imagines the kidnapper’s smile. “Good. We were beginning to think we’d have to send your friends back to you in pieces.”
Patrick swallows hard, pushing the image out of his mind. “Where do you want me to bring them?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line, then the voice comes back, sharp and calculating. “Good. There’s an old factory off Route 9. We’ll send you the coordinates.”
Patrick nods, though they can’t see him. “I’ll be there. But there’s… one problem.”
“What problem?” the voice snaps.
“I can’t drive,” Patrick says. “Not since I got shot in the head. The injury… it affects my peripheral vision, and I get dizzy. I need someone to drive me.”
There’s silence on the other end, and Patrick’s stomach clenches.
“And why should we believe that?”
“I got shot in the head,” Patrick snaps, a genuine edge of frustration creeping into his voice. “I’m not trying to play games. I’m doing what I can here.”
The voice on the other end hesitates, and Patrick presses on, sensing an opening. “If you want the documents, I’m going to need someone to drive me. I’m going to do whatever you want. But I physically can’t get there without someone driving.”
“Okay,” the voice says. “But just one driver, and they never get out of the car. They drop you off and leave. You try to bring anyone else in on this, your brothers are dead. Clear?”
“Yes.”
“Be there in an hour,” the kidnapper says. “And don’t be late. I think your friend Manuel literally can’t wait… any longer.”
The line goes dead, and Patrick sets the phone down, exhaling slowly. He looks up at Rino, who is staring at him with a mixture of surprise and approval.
“That was smart,” Rino says, shaking his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t see that coming.”
“It was the only thing I could think of,” Patrick says. “Also, I actually wasn’t lying.”
“Fikayo will drive you,” Rino says, already reaching for his phone. “The car will be tracked the entire time. We’ll follow from a distance, but we need to stay out of sight until we’re ready to move in.”
"Good," Patrick says. “I mean good that it’s Fik. Because I need someone who can stay calm when everything goes to hell."
~ ~ ~
The silence in the car stretches on until Patrick finally speaks, his voice low. “Rino doesn’t want me to go inside. He knows they’ll take me the moment I step in there.”
Fikayo’s eyes flick toward Patrick for a brief moment before returning to the road. “I know.”
Patrick takes a deep breath. “But I have to. They won’t let Davide and Manuel go otherwise. I have to go in, even if it’s a trap.”
Fikayo nods. “I figured as much.”
Patrick gives him a surprised glance. “You mean you’ll let me?”
Fikayo sighs. “And if I say I won’t, is it going to stop you?” he asks. “Listen, I know the boss is probably going to kill me for it, but… if I’m to be honest, your plan has at least some chance to work. If the goal is getting them out alive.”
Patrick lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Good.”
“We’ll use a stun grenade to raid the place,” Fik says, his tone matter-of-fact. “Just so you know. It’ll give us the element of surprise. When it goes off, you’ll need to be ready. They’ll be disoriented, but so will you. The noise, the flash… with your head injury, that’s not ideal.”
“I’m ready for it,” Patrick says, his voice firm. “I don’t care what it does to me. Get Davide and Manuel out. They’re the priority."
The car pulls to a stop at the designated spot. It’s an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. The area is desolate, the kind of place where no one would hear you scream, where no one would ever hear a gunshot, where no one would question strange activity in the middle of the night.
Fik glances at him from the driver’s seat, his usual calm, steely gaze unshaken. “You ready?”
Patrick gives a tight nod, then opens the door. The cool air hits him as he steps out of the car. His legs feel heavy, but he forces himself forward, focusing on the building ahead. Behind him, Fik revs the engine and drives off, disappearing into the shadows, leaving Patrick standing alone in front of the warehouse.
He makes his way to the entrance, where two men, armed and grim-faced, are waiting. One of them gestures for Patrick to follow, and without a word, he steps inside. The air is thick and stale, the concrete walls thick enough to cover up whatever is going on inside.
They lead him down a long, dimly lit hallway to a larger room, where another man stands waiting.
“You brought what we asked for?” It’s clearly the one he’s been talking to on the phone.
Patrick’s pulse quickens, but he forces himself to stay calm. He meets the man’s gaze head-on. “I’ve got it. But we both know it’s not about the documents. You want me, right? So let’s cut the bullshit. You’ve got me now. Let my brothers go."
The kidnapper smirks, stepping forward with slow, deliberate movements. “You’re right. We’re not interested in your intel anymore.” He gestures to the two men flanking Patrick. “Get him.”
Patrick doesn’t resist as they grab him, one of them wrenching his arms behind his back while the other checks him for weapons. One of them pushes Patrick to his knees, binding his wrists tightly with a zip tie. Patrick feels the bite of the plastic digging into his skin, but he doesn’t resist. They need to believe he’s playing along.
The kidnapper tilts his head, a mocking smile playing on his lips. “We’ve got what we want. But your brothers? Well, they’re still useful. You’re not calling the shots here. You’re all going to be our guests for now.”
Patrick’s heart races, but before he can say anything more, there’s a sudden, loud bang, a metallic clatter echoing through the room. And then the world explodes into chaos.
The stun grenade goes off, filling the room with a blinding flash of light and a deafening blast. His vision blurs, and the high-pitched ringing in his ears drowns out all other sounds. For a few seconds, he’s frozen, overwhelmed by the sensory overload. His head injury amplifies the disorientation tenfold, making him crumple to the ground.
The sounds of gunfire and shouts echo in the distance, but he can’t move. It feels like his head is going to explode.
The next thing he knows, Fikayo is there, pulling him up and cutting the zip tie. “You okay?” he asks. “Maybe you should…”
“We need to find them,” Patrick interrupts him.
“Here!” someone shouts.
Patrick stumbles over his own feet, fighting the dizziness, trying to keep up with Fikayo. The door is already kicked open when they get to.
Inside, they find Davide, sitting on the floor and cradling Manuel in his arms.
Davide looks up, and Patrick’s heart nearly stops. He’s never seen him so scared. Never.
“Ambulance,” Davide breathes out. “Fik-“
“No time for that,” Fikayo says resolutely. He carefully lifts Manuel, cradling him in his arms as if he weighs nothing. “We’ll get him to the hospital faster this way.”
Davide scrambles to his feet, his eyes wide with panic. Patrick grabs his arm to steady him, despite feeling like he’s going to pass out any second himself.
“We’ll call the hospital from the car,” Fikayo says as they lay Manuel on the backseat. “Grab the first aid kit. Do whatever you can on the way.”
Davide nods, and Patrick marvels at how he’s still somehow holding it together. He watches him from the front seat as he grabs rolls of bandages, pressing them to Manuel’s wrists the way they come in the packaging, rolled up, securing them with a tight layer of more gauze. He pulls out the thermal blanket and wraps it around Manuel.
“We’re almost there,” Fikayo says.
He’s driving so fast the car is barely touching the surface. Patrick’s head is pounding, but all he can think of is Manuel’s lifeless form and Davide’s bruised and bloody wrists.
~ ~ ~
The hospital lights are too bright, sterile, and uncomfortably cold. The headache intensifies. A team of doctors and nurses appear almost immediately, taking Manuel from Fik’s arms and whisking him away on a stretcher. The chaotic blur of hospital sounds, wheels screeching against the floor, medical jargon he doesn’t understand, and the beeping of machines, it all swirls around Patrick as he watches them disappear into the trauma room.
He puts a hand on the wall, steadying himself.
Matteo arrives a few moments later, breathless, his face pale as he bursts through the entrance. Patrick has no idea who called him - maybe Fikayo, maybe Rino, maybe whoever from the team who had their shit together enough to remember to call the emergency contact in Manuel’s file. The moment his eyes land on Patrick, the desperation in them is raw, nearly unbearable.
“Where is he?” he asks Patrick.
“They… they took him in,” Patrick mutters, his voice shaking. “The doctors are with him now.”
Matteo nods, swallowing hard, though his hands are shaking. Without another word, he pulls Patrick into a tight hug, and Patrick doesn’t hesitate. He feels Matteo’s ragged breaths against his shoulder, and finally, he allows himself to break, leaning into the embrace and squeezing his eyes shut.
“He’s strong,” Patrick murmurs, trying to convince both Matteo and himself. “He’s going to make it.”
Matteo nods against him, but Patrick can feel the way his body shakes, can hear the unspoken terror in his silence.
He didn’t even see Manuel. He doesn’t know how bad it is. He just… senses it.
When he lifts his head slightly, Patrick can see Rino, standing near the entrance awkwardly. Nearby, Davide is also being tended to by the nurses. He’s refusing to sit down at first, shaking his head every time they try to get him to stay still, his eyes darting toward the trauma room where Manuel was taken. But eventually, they manage to convince him, and he finally relents, sinking into a chair as they examine the cuts and bruises that cover his arms.
A nurse approaches them.
“You cannot stand here,” she says. “Come sit in the waiting room. I’ll get you some water.”
Patrick is about to protest, but Matteo nods weakly, following her. He sits down in one of the plastic chairs, burying his face in his hands, his shoulders trembling. Patrick takes the seat beside him, staring blankly at the floor, the events of the past hours swirling in his head.
Every second feels like an hour. His legs feel stiff from sitting, but he’s afraid to stand, afraid that if he moves, something terrible will happen while he’s gone.
Rino walks in and looks at him for a moment, his sharp eyes taking in the tension in Patrick’s face, the way his fists are clenched, his knuckles white. He sighs softly. “Patrick, you need to get checked out. Fikayo told me everything. You were in the middle of an explosion. The doctors need to make sure you’re not-”
“I don’t care,” Patrick cuts him off, his voice tight with anger. He shoots Rino a hard look, his chest heaving with frustration. “I’m not moving. Not until I know Manuel’s going to be okay.”
Rino exhales slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he doesn’t push. Patrick can see the concern in his face, but Rino knows better than to argue with him when he’s like this. “You need to rest,” Rino says quietly. “You’ve done everything you can.”
“Rest?” Patrick scoffs, shaking his head. “How am I supposed to rest when my brothers... when Manuel might...” He cuts himself off, swallowing hard, the lump in his throat making it impossible to finish the sentence.
Matteo lifts his head, his red-rimmed eyes meeting Patrick’s. “I’ll be here, Patrick,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “If you need to…”
“I’m fine,” Patrick says. “I’m not leaving him. I’m not leaving… you.”
He catches Rino’s glance. He looks like Patrick has just stabbed him in the heart.
Davide reappears from down the hallway, his shirt changed and bandages visible under the cuffs. His face is pale, drawn, but he joins them silently, no words necessary. He squeezes Matteo’s hand briefly and then sits next to Patrick, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s shoulders.
Finally, after what feels like hours, the doors to the emergency room swing open, and a doctor in scrubs steps out. His face is calm but tired, and Patrick immediately feels a tightness in his chest. He stands up straighter, as does Matteo, both of them holding their breath.
“How is he?” Patrick asks, his voice shaky.
The doctor looks at them for a moment, then nods. “He lost a significant amount of blood,” he says, his voice measured. “But we were able to stabilize him. He’s going to be okay.”
Patrick feels his knees weaken as relief crashes over him like a wave. He has to put a hand on the wall to steady himself, and beside him, Matteo exhales sharply, his hand flying to his mouth as tears start finally falling.
“But it was very close. If you had arrived even a bit later… he wouldn’t have survived.”
The words hit Patrick like a punch to the gut. So close. The thought of what might have happened if they had been just an hour, a few minutes later makes his knees weak. He feels Davide sway slightly beside him.
“Can we see him?” Matteo asks, his voice small.
The doctor nods. "Briefly. He’s still very weak, and he’ll need a lot of rest. Don’t expect him to stay awake for long."
The room is quiet except for the soft beeping of monitors, and Manuel lies on the bed, pale and motionless. There are dark circles under his eyes and he looks fragile, smaller somehow. Seeing him like this, so vulnerable, so hurt, twists something deep inside Patrick’s chest. But he’s alive, and that’s all that matters.
Davide leans forward, gently brushing a hand over Manuel’s hair. “Hey,” he whispers softly, his voice thick with relief. “You did it.”
For a moment, Manuel doesn’t stir, but then, slowly, his eyelids flutter open. His gaze is unfocused at first, but when he sees Davide, a faint smile touches his lips. “I didn’t… give up.”
Davide smiles back. “Yeah. Good boy.” His voice is soft, teasing, but filled with affection, the way only an older brother can speak to a younger one.
Manuel’s eyelids droop slightly, but he turns his head slowly, searching the room. When his gaze lands on Patrick, his face relaxes further, and he lets out a small, relieved breath.
“Patrick…” he whispers. “You’re okay.”
Patrick steps closer, forcing a smile past the lump in his throat. “Yeah, I’m okay. You’re the one who scared us all half to death.”
Then his gaze shifts again, this time finding Matteo standing just behind Patrick. For a long moment, they just look at each other, and Patrick feels Matteo tense beside him.
Manuel reaches out weakly, his fingers brushing against Matteo’s hand. Matteo steps closer, gently taking his hand in both of his. Manuel’s grip is weak, but it’s there, and when he speaks again, his voice is so soft that Patrick almost doesn’t hear it.
“I love you,” Manuel whispers.
Matteo’s eyes widen slightly in surprise. Manuel isn’t usually one to talk about his feelings so openly, and Patrick knows how much this simple confession means.
“I thought...” he says, taking a shaky breath.
Matteo shakes his head slightly. “Shh, Manu.”
“I was scared… I’d never get the chance… to fucking say it.”
“I love you too,” Matteo says. He squeezes Manuel’s hand gently, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “I love you so much.”
Manuel’s eyes drift shut again, but there’s a small, content smile on his face. Matteo keeps holding his hand, his thumb tracing small circles over Manuel’s knuckles as if to reassure himself that he’s still there, still alive.
“We should go,” Davide says quietly, his eyes still on Manuel. “Let him rest.”
As soon as they step into the hallway, the tension returns, like the air thickening around them. Rino is waiting just outside the room, his face set in a hard line.
“Patrick, I think it’s time you get checked out. You…” Rino starts, but Patrick cuts him off, his voice cold.
“Don’t,” he says sharply. “Don’t talk to me.”
Rino’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t move. He stands there, his eyes locked on Patrick’s, waiting.
“You wanted me to stall,” Patrick says, his voice rising, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You told me to waste time, to play their game, and if we had waited any longer, Manuel would be dead.”
“I was trying to protect you!” Rino says sharply, his voice rising to meet Patrick’s anger. “I didn’t want you to walk into a trap that could’ve gotten you killed.”
“I don’t care!” Patrick shouts, his voice echoing down the hall. “I don’t care about me right now. I care about them, about Manuel, about Davide. You weren’t willing to risk anything for them.”
He takes a deep breath. He knows Rino would do anything to save him. He would do the same for Rino. But he would also do the same for Davide and Manuel, and he now knows that Rino wouldn’t. And he doesn’t know how to accept that. He doesn’t know if he wants to accept that.
“If I listened to you, Manuel would be dead right now. He almost was. So no, I’m not going anywhere,” Patrick says, his body shaking. “And I don’t want to hear a word from you about plans or strategies or anything else.”
Rino’s eyes narrow slightly, but before he can respond, Patrick stumbles back, his vision blurring. The room spins, and the sharp pain in his head, pushed aside for so long, finally catches up to him.
“Patrick!” Matteo’s voice calls out, but it’s distant.
Patrick sways on his feet, his knees buckling as his body gives out. Matteo catches him before he hits the ground, his consciousness briefly flashing back.
Fikayo is at his side in an instant, helping Matteo lower Patrick to the ground gently as a nurse rushes over. He can hear Fikayo telling her about the stun grenade, can hear Matteo trying to calm him down, but it all sounds like buzzing, static.
Then everything goes dark.