Hold (Me) Back

Vincenzo Cassano x Hong Chayoung
527 words

He's been in this business long enough to know everything he holds can be turned into a weapon:

Intel. A tailor's measuring tape. A blank piece of paper. Promises he can dangle in front of anyone like an irresistible treat.

Back pressed firmly against the wall, Vincenzo stands in the shadows and waits for the prey he lured into his trap. A flick of his thumb against the surface of his gold-plated lighter, and a soothing metal swish slices through the silence.

He flicks it shut. Click.

Swish.

Click.

Swish.

Click.

The cadence is a metronome that grounds him, a reminder to tuck his messy thoughts away and focus. 

Focus.

He closes his eyes and holds in a laugh. His focus has been shit the moment he landed in South Korea. What was supposed to be a trip to retrieve billions worth of gold underneath the soon-to-be demolished, dilapidated Geumga Plaza has become a complicated maze that led him to this moment. Thousands of miles away from the Mafia family that instilled in him the principle of not hurting innocents, Vincenzo holds a gun, seconds away from finding out who had dealt him the most devastating loss he’s felt since the spring of ‘95.

As his prey moves closer, he holds his breath. It's not for vanity this time, but more to remind himself of his mortality. 

Not that he's ever been afraid to die.

Bullets fly left and right as soon as he takes the first shot. In the blink of an eye, all three of Babo's minions are on the ground. Significantly hurt, but alive.

It surprises him, the way he'd held back, when he had no trouble shooting someone between the eyes before. Vincenzo decides now's not the time to ruminate on keeping silly promises—he needs a name, and he's confident his tried and tested brand of torture will get him answers.

But he doesn't anticipate seeing Chayoung rushing to him seconds later, her face contorted with worry. He doesn't understand how she could throw her arms around him so recklessly when she doesn't know what kind of monster he really is. His chest aches with an overwhelming feeling of guilt, longing, and anger...and he takes a moment to choose which takes the reins first.

His free hand speaks for him. Longing, it says with much reluctance, as his fingers tenderly curl around her hair. Chayoung, who is trembling like a leaf, thinking he had been hurt. Chayoung, who is holding on to him as if she sincerely wants him to never leave her side.

"I was scared to death. Why didn't you answer your phone?"

"I didn't want to put you in danger. I'm sorry."

"So what if I am?" she tearfully says, and he hears the faintest hint of anger there. "We're partners, so we should share the danger."

He's been in this business long enough to know everything he holds can be turned into a weapon. But he's never been held as though he's the one who needs protecting. And he allows himself—for only a second, he's not a fool—the luxury of forgetting how much he doesn't deserve this.