Manuel
"Papa," Enzo said, looking at me with surprise. When he called me Papa, it felt like a sip of water after days stranded in a desert. I had planned to scold him for sneaking out without his guards and getting into trouble, but hearing him say Papa melted my heart like butter in an instant. I rushed to him and pulled him close, holding him tightly against my chest. His scent— a mix of cologne, alcohol, and cigarette smoke—filled my senses. I felt his warmth against me, and finally, it was as if my heart started beating again after a long, empty silence.
I felt like I was in heaven, holding my son in my arms.
I knew I should let him go before anyone saw us, but he clung to me, clutching my shirt so tightly that I didn't have the strength to pull away. I could have stayed like that until morning. I couldn't believe I had survived more than two months without seeing him or hearing his voice. It was a blessing that he'd called me last week, telling me where he was. It took a few days to track down his actual address, but as soon as I knew, I flew straight to Spain. I didn't care what his brothers or his Papa had to say. I couldn't go on without seeing my son. He was mine. Only mine. No one could take him away from me.
I buried my face in his neck, feeling his hold tighten as he leaned into me, just slightly shorter than I was. I didn't know how I'd ever let him go.
I kissed his face with the same affection I had when he was little. He was still my boy. It didn't matter how old he was; he would always be my baby.
"Papa, how did you find me?" he asked at last. His voice filled my heart, the sound of it stirring a rush of emotions after so long.
"I have my ways, Enzo," I replied, gently stroking his hair as I held him close.
"I missed you so much, Papa," he said softly. I gently pulled him back to look at my son's face. He'd gained a little weight, but he still looked like an angel—more handsome and stronger than ever. He was 20 years old now. My 20-year-old baby. I kissed his forehead and studied him. His dark eyes held that familiar, empty look, but I could see every detail up close—the rich brown of his irises surrounded by a black ring. Then I noticed he was bleeding. His nose was bleeding. His lips were bruised and split, and a small cut on his throat dripped blood.
A surge of fury hit me, and I turned to see the three men still sprawled on the floor, groaning as they tried to get up. I kicked them again, seething with rage over what they'd done to my son. I threw each of them against the wall, hard enough that I guessed they'd broken a few bones. All three lay there, unconscious.
When I turned back to Enzo, he was staring at me in shock, probably because he'd never seen me so enraged before.
"Why?" I asked him, needing to understand what had happened.
He looked from me to the men on the floor and then back. "Nothing," he said quietly.
"Let's get out of here before your brothers see me," I said to Enzo, not wanting any more conflict.
Enzo
I woke up in my room, still wearing my clothes and shoes. I couldn't remember what had happened. As I tried to piece it together, memories slowly came back. Cardo and I had gone to the club. Then I'd stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. That's when Tony and his brothers showed up and tried to beat me. But Papa came and saved me.
But how was Papa even here? Was it a dream, or did it really happen? And if it did, how did he even know where I was in Spain?
I turned my head and saw Cardo sleeping beside me, still fully dressed, just like I was. I checked the clock—it was around 4 a.m. I had no idea how we got back or when.
I went to the bathroom and took a shower at 4 a.m., noticing a small plaster on my neck. I wasn't sure who had put it there, but I remembered Tony cutting me there. I made sure not to get it wet, and my lip still hurt. I remembered there had been blood on my nose and lip, but somehow it was all cleaned up.
After the shower, I changed into fresh clothes. When I picked up my jeans from the floor, where I'd left them before showering, I felt something in the pocket. Checking it, I found a small button phone—one of those basic models that's just for calls and texts, with no Wi-Fi or internet.
I had no idea how it had ended up in my pocket, so I turned it on and checked it. There was one number already saved. Curious, I decided to call the number to find out who it might belong to.
Someone picked up on the other end, but there was silence. So, I spoke first. "Hello?"
"Enzo," I heard Papa's voice.
"Papa," I replied, excitement rushing through me.
"Don't show that phone to anyone, okay? Call me whenever you need to, but don't tell anyone you saw me," he said.
"Okay, Papa," I whispered, worried Cardo might overhear.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine. But I don't remember how I got back. It's all a blur," I admitted.
"Don't worry about that. You made it home safe," he reassured me.
"You brought us back?" I asked, surprised.
"You were both drunk out of your minds. What was I supposed to do?" he replied, a hint of irritation in his voice. "Are you going out without any guards now? So your brothers don't care about your safety anymore?"
"Well, they didn't know I..." I trailed off as I noticed Cardo starting to wake up. "Papa, I'll call you back," I whispered quickly, then hung up and slipped the button phone into my shorts pocket.
"Hey, Enzo," Cardo mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
"Hey," I said.
"Last night was wild, huh?" he said, sitting up on the bed.
"Yeah," I replied.
"You got into it with Tony," Cardo said with a chuckle.
"He started it, so I had to fight back," I said.
"Anyway, your friend was cool," Cardo said, standing up. "Oh, man... I need to pee so bad."
"What friend?" I asked, watching Cardo as he headed to the washroom.
"That big guy. He drove us back because we were so drunk," Cardo said.
"Really? You talked to him?" I asked, shocked.
"No, I was wasted. I just thought he was your friend since you talked to him," he replied, still peeing inside the washroom, not even bothering to close the door.
"Yeah, he's a friend. I met him at the club. He helped me out when Tony and his brothers tried to jump me," I said as Cardo came back, his face freshly washed. He still looked half-asleep, and he unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it into the laundry basket.
"They actually hurt you?" he asked, sitting down beside me, his eyes on my lip and neck.
I stayed quiet.
"Sorry, man," he said.
"For what?" I asked.
"Because I wasn't there to back you up," Cardo said, looking genuinely guilty. "I brought you there and then didn't look out for you."
I burst into laughter. "Are you serious, man? Don't worry about it. You think I've never been in a fight before?" I said.
"Tony isn't just some schoolboy, Enzo. He's a thug," Cardo said seriously. "And, honestly, he's a bit... weird," he added, giving me a concerned look.
"Anyway, can you do me a favor?" I asked.
"Anything, bro," Cardo replied.
"Don't tell anyone about my friend," I said.
"Can I know why?" he asked.
"Nope," I replied.
"Alright, I won't," he said.
