Matteo's lungs burned.
Each breath came sharp and uneven as he tore down the street, boots slapping against wet pavement, shoulders clipping strangers as he swerved through bodies and cars like a lunatic. Someone yelled something in Russian. Another cursed him out in English. A horn blared so loudly it rattled his teeth.
He didn't stop.
Didn't slow.
Didn't look back—
Until he did.
Big mistake.
He twisted his head just long enough to check behind him—and completely missed the black luxury sedan sliding to a halt directly in front of him.
"SH—"
Impact.
The world flipped.
Matteo slammed into the hood, his body rolling over smooth metal before gravity yanked him down hard onto the pavement. Pain exploded across his ribs and shoulder as he skidded, breath knocked clean out of him.
"Owww—fuuuuck—" he groaned, vision swimming.
A door opened.
Before Matteo could even sit up, rough hands grabbed him by the collar and hauled him like dead weight toward the car.
"HEY—!"
Too late.
He was shoved into the backseat, the door slamming shut with a final, soul-crushing thud.
Outside, people stared.
A few reached for their phones—then froze.
They saw the symbol on the car.
The phones lowered.
Everyone suddenly remembered they had somewhere else to be.
Matteo turned his head slowly.
Aleksander sat beside him, perfectly composed, cross-legged, dressed in a tailored black coat over a charcoal suit, silk shirt open just enough to be irritating. Not a hair out of place. Not a wrinkle. He looked like violence in human form—clean, elegant, inevitable.
He smiled softly.
His eyes did not.
Yup, Matteo thought numbly.
I'm fucked.
The car pulled back into traffic like nothing had happened.
Aleksander spoke calmly, almost conversationally.
"How about telling the truth now, hm?"
He turned his head slightly, studying Matteo.
"I'm very curious why you lied to me, little zaika."
Matteo's jaw tightened.
He better stop with that shit.
"Alright—alright," Matteo snapped, voice rough. "First of all—stop fucking calling me that fucking name. It's pissing me off."
Aleksander raised a brow, unimpressed.
"Maybe I wouldn't call you that if you told me your real name" he replied coolly.
Silence.
Matteo leaned back, grimacing as pain flared through his side.
"…Fine," he muttered. "Fine. My name's Matteo. That's it. That's the only thing I lied about. Everything else? Truth."
Aleksander studied him for a long moment.
Then he chuckled quietly.
"Oh, I know." he said.
Matteo blinked. "—What?"
"I already ran a background check." Aleksander tilted his head, amused.
"Very interesting history."
Matteo stiffened.
"You're not fully Korean," Aleksander continued lazily.
"But I could tell. You don't run like one."
Matteo stared at him. "What the fuck does that even mean?"
"When did you even do a background check on me?" Matteo demanded.
"And how did you find me if I gave you a fake name?!"
Aleksander smiled wider.
"I am the most powerful crime boss in Russia."
He leaned back.
"Do you really think I can't do whatever I want?"
Matteo shut up.
"…So," Matteo muttered after a moment, "whatever. Let me out, yeah? All I did was lie about my name—"
He stopped.
Aleksander had leaned closer.
Too close.
His expression shifted—not angry, not amused—focused. Like a predator deciding whether the chase was worth continuing. His smile was slow. Knowing.
"I don't like being lied to," Aleksander said quietly.
"And you don't just walk away from me."
Matteo pressed his back against the window, heart hammering.
"So," Aleksander added mildly,
"you're going to pay for that mistake by letting me fuck you."
Matteo stared at him, brain lagging behind fear.
"…Wait," he blurted. "You're—what—gay?"
Aleksander paused.
Then looked at him like he was genuinely confused by the question.
"…That," he said slowly, "is what your mind jumps to?"
"No— I just—" Matteo is cut off.
"I like people," Aleksander interrupted flatly.
"Men. Women. Power."
He tilted his head.
"You just happen to be entertaining."
Matteo's mouth opened.
Closed.
Then—dead serious—
"No."
And before Aleksander could react—
Matteo threw the door open.
The wind screamed.
"YOU'VE GOTTA BE KIDDING ME—"
Matteo launched himself out of the moving car, hitting the asphalt hard, rolling, scraping skin and fabric as pain flared everywhere at once.
He staggered to his feet just as the car screeched to a halt behind him.
Matteo turned.
The car was already reversing.
"Ohhh yeah," he breathed, laughing weakly.
"I should run now. Haha."
He ran.
Again.
People shouted as he bolted through the streets, grabbing sleeves, begging for help.
"PLEASE—HE'S GONNA KILL ME—"
They looked past him.
Saw the car.
And scattered.
"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—" Matteo panted.
"I'm gonna die. I'm actually gonna die."
Behind him—
The engine roared.
Slowly. Steady. As if playing a stupid game with him.