Butterfly Storm {MINOR REVISIONS}

19 || Surrender

～·～·～

Cassio emerged from Nyxius. He observed the street's activity as he strode past, acknowledging Dingo with a nod. His focus settled ahead. His hands warmed the insides of his pockets as he breathed against the mask's fabric. Causal in his stride, he was quite aware of the silver Sherlock parked across the road. It made him suspicious of the masculine silhouette appearing beside his car.

Although he hadn't the rapport of how the fresh Olsworth operated, Cassio wouldn't put it past him to be like the father. Brazen in his accusations. Audacious in his tactics.

Nearing the end of the line, Cassio didn't react to the sudden pair of eyes glaring at him—the arrogant little cafone with a loud mouth. It reminded him of the faint rawness in his fingertips like he'd pinched them in scalding hot water.

"Yo! Yo, cunt."

Cassio gave a second of his time when passing. Blond hair poorly shaved at the sides and dark, bloodshot eyes, an oversized singlet—graphically crude—and shorts draped the boy's lanky build. Uncultured tattoos ran the length of an arm, wrapping around his pale neck. Cassio looked away with a slow blink. He'd seen children with colder menace in Italy.

"Yeah, that's right, fucker, keep walking. Better watch your back, or else I'll get the hood on yo fucking ass and it'll be on fucking sight."

Cassio paused. Finally, he slanted his head, acknowledging the urban-tongued boy over his shoulder. The cafone glared, stepping closer to assert dominance, yet not too close to stray from the scrawny muscle behind him.

"The fuck you looking at?" he barked, spitting disgustingly at the ground between them. "You don't like that, cunt?"

The mafioso fully turned around, yet said nothing, offering nothing but a gaze glinting beneath its hood of nonchalance.

Control, son. Never break character.

"You heard me, yeah?" the cafone pressed, however, uncertainty wavered his aggression.

"I heard you," Cassio replied. "The question is—" he stepped closer, tilting his head— "do you hear me?"

Bloodshot eyes stared, misty from confusion—psychologically, it always came first—then doubt, the creeping sensation that crumbled confidence. The longer the silence Cassio stared, the more the cafone's uncertainty knotted up his thick brows until it had him glancing back. Unfortunately for him, his little companion wasn't budging from the safety in the distance. He'd already shuffled further along with the line.

Cassio observed as the realization settled in—a dog realizing he'd barked up the wrong tree. His posture angled backward, feet rooted and eyes darting. He was afraid. Fearful. Which only intensified at the number of eyes fueling cold humiliation.

A quick jut of the dog's head surrendered the tough guy act. And his body language exposed the psychological response to challenged intimidation.

"Y-Yeah."

"Good."

Straightening his spine, Cassio relented himself. Although his fingers were twitching hotly within his pockets, he wouldn't give the satisfaction of freeing them. That would tempt something he'd rather not.

"Enjoy your night."

Without another word, the mafioso gave the newfound audience his back and resumed his stride. A pity I can't watch the looks on their faces when they realize they've wasted their night. After all, Nyxius' dress code had standards.