Archive of Our Own

Gennaro Savastano had yet to present. It was a fact everyone knew. Ciro, Bookie, Prince, probably that piece of shit Conte, Don Pietro, his wife, their doctor, hell, even the family lawyer knew it. Ciro found that instead of finding it in their hearts to keep quiet about it, they all talked about it in their own ways. The amount of conversations he was privy to amongst Don Pietro's men about his unpresented son could fill a book.

Of course, everyone said Alpha. Everyone said that. Saying anything but that would be enough cause to put you in front of the wrong end of a gun. In the event you were fool enough to say, for example, Omega, or somehow more insultingly, Beta to the wrong person, the most convenient thing about your death would be that you'd know exactly why there was a bullet with your name on it. A privilege of information most other men in their line of work didn't get to experience in their lifetimes.

Ciro remembered all of their desperation, (the nervous sweat, the sycophancy, you could smell it in the air) as they had toasted the Savastano Heir at the club. Their cries of "To Genny!" As Don Pietro stood around with his hands in his pockets. He had nodded once, approving of their devotion, and they found he had given them all their breath back again. It was pathetic. It was ridiculous. How long could they hope to placate Don Pietro as the simple men they were, when the very outcome of the situation he was majorly concerned with, was the only thing that ever could? And God help them all if Gennaro wasn't set to be the heir after all.

Ciro looked at his burner phone blankly, turning it over in his hand. He felt unusually fidgety today, as if he'd forgotten a laundry list of chores. The shadow of something loomed over him, even in an open space where the light poured in through the cafe windows.

See, it wasn't that Don Pietro didn't love his son. Ciro thought privately the problem was the opposite- he loved him too much. Too much to admit that one day, his Gennarino, with his love of flashy bikes and pretty women; his boyish grin, always planted in the middle of his big ram's head, forever gesturing with those large hands and making plain a clumsily loveable personality, that he could ever, in only a matter of time, become something unfamiliar to him.

The love made him weak, twisted him inside as much as it distorted Genny. Yet the love was never anything but itself, drawn from the best intentions. Don Pietro and Imma, they'd always said soberly with their hands on top of each other's at the dinner table, (after Genny had safely gone out to ride around, utterly oblivious) that they'd love him no matter what he presented as. Yes, it worried them that he was a late bloomer, but that was all they worried about. Wasn't it?

Well, wasn't it?

Ciro had known Genny since he was a kid. Keeping his expression neutral as the men around him talked, he smiled inside at the memory. It was true he had the advantage of closeness with Genny over the others, but even he couldn't say what Genny would be. Yes, there were certain traits that signified the Alpha in him, the Alpha he was born to be as Pietro Savastano's son. Many traits, in fact. Genny could be stubborn and headstrong, not exactly quick to temper perse, but ruled by said temper all the same. Like some great moon-calf, sculpted by the waxing and waning of that little light in the sky, he lived with his own capriciousness. He could be an idiot like an Alpha too, chasing glory and identity with a single-mindedness that had the illusion of making him seem to have the potential his father wished to see in him.

As for the other, more obvious support regarding bets placed on Alpha, there was the main thing: physicality. It would make a lot of sense if he became exactly what he already seemed to be. Ciro recalled once (it made him feel dirty to think of it like this) he'd watched Genny bathe in the sea. Never one to think ahead, young Genny had been closed off in his fortress to the extent that he had jumped at the chance of being free. Even it meant being washed entirely out to sea, cause the kid plain sucked at swimming.

Ciro had had to wade in after him, eventually dragging him to land and patting him on the back as Genny snorted up sea water. He'd caught a glimpse then, awkwardly, of what the adolescent was packing in those trunks. He was barely supposed to be full grown, but running with arms and thighs and other things that would put a bull to shame.

Genny hit puberty like a man racing past a red light, going over some death-defying barrier at top speed. It had embarrassed him, at first. The lack of presentation paired with his accelerated growth. Ciro had noticed that even before the other boys' balls had dropped, Genny had developed structure, muscle and bone, that rivaled his teachers. Not that Genny had had much schooling to witness such glaring differences, growing up, thankfully. As the other boys gradually began to break off naturally into their respectful factions, Genny found himself in the middle, painfully undecided. Lucky for them, the other kids he played with didn't rib him too much about it. It wasn't just because he was the son of Don Pietro Savastano, and his father could have their fathers killed anytime, anywhere, that they didn't say anything. Ciro had made sure that their words never reached Genny's ears on the few occasions he'd got wind of them. Back then, he hadn't been as close with Genny, more so his father and Attilio. But he's still lied so much that Genny was already an Alpha to people, that at this point it seemed like the truth.

The truth! What an inconsistent thing to live with.

Except… Something else. The gentle way Genny had about him, his self-conscious smiles at Ciro when he was included in some part of his father's criminal enterprise, with his permission. Always with his permission. Slowly, as Gennaro began to learn the way of the world he'd been born into, Ciro had noticed aspects of Genny that gave him pause to consider.

For one thing, Genny tried hard to be brave, he tried harder than anyone Ciro ever knew. Yet when something scared him, it showed clear as day on his face. Ciro had always found Genny's fear hard to take when it showed itself. It was the horror of the innocent, the way his soft brown eyes widened and his mouth parted comically to show his teeth when something surprised him. When Genny made that expression because of something he'd done, or made him do, Ciro got to feeling somewhat shitty for it.

Mean in a way he didn't even feel when a dumbfuck civilian got in the way of gunfire and crumpled to the pavement, and he happened to see their body on the news later. With the stranger, they brought it on themselves by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

With Genny, it seemed like his whole life, he had wrestled with the same out-of-placeness. Every day, it came home to roost in his heart. Rendering him stranger, making him more silent, less… Himself. Everyone knew that Genny was prone to making stupid choices when no one was looking out for him. At first, Ciro had taken it as more signs the boy was spoiled rotten and too money-dumb to understand anything. Except now, the risk had become intensified in a way he couldn't anticipate. It seemed like everything he tried to teach Genny on paper, (just to get him to trust) made Genny beat himself up worse.

He had to keep Genny close, or else… Or else.

It wasn't Genny's fault he pissed him off by accident. The man's ever-same expression made you want to hit him. To shake him. To tell him in no uncertain terms to never, ever, let the rest of them see him bleed so openly. Ciro had to check himself with Genny, to stop him from screaming at the guy. Never wince, never need another's strength to have your own. Never be a burden someone else has to carry, even once. It was what got you hurt worse in this uncaring world.

Could you divert nature? Or nurture? Could you ever hope to? Genny had always been protected, coddled by some angelic providence. Occasionally his manner reminded Ciro of a confused prince in a fairytale, furrowing his royal brow when he witnessed poverty just beyond the kingdom's gates. Ciro hoped, at least for Genny's sake, it was simply ignorance that made him like that. He hoped.

Because if not… Then they'd have to confront a lot at once. Namely, who would take Don Pietro's place as the Alpha to the Savastano clan, if the son was- let's say, indisposed. The secret, guarded shame of it all. It would weaken every bit of their operation. (Ciro often found himself privately wishing it would happen). They'd have no choice but to scramble to make sudden calls, to see who was loyal and who wasn't. No doubt there'd be more bloodshed, with Don Pietro so emotionally sawed-off, exposed. He'd already killed another boss for his son's mistakes.

But he couldn't kill everyone.

Ciro supposed there'd be a coverup of some sort. In the event Genny presented and he wasn't what they were collectively after. Only, if there was a coverup and Genny ended up on the throne anyway- what would that mean for him? For the other men who knew, who'd found out? Fuck it. He was an Alpha. It wasn't a question of if, but when.

Ciro leant back in his chair, propping his head up by interlacing his hands above the back of his neck. His mind kept casting back, to that day when they'd watched Attilio's funeral from the window. The place has been crawling with cops. A few short lines of men at the burial, like somber ants. In that cramped place, Genny had turned his head to Ciro while on the subject of father figures. He'd admitted bashfully that he knew Ciro would make an easy father, that he was like a father to him, in a way. In one's own thoughts, at least you couldn't get killed for thinking it- Alphas just didn't say things like that.

Ciro got up, snapping himself out of it. It would do no good to question himself in circles. He claimed to the other men, with a tone that suggested he was not exactly relaxed, that he was going for a walk.

Nobody acknowledged the statement. That was alright for him. He put his phone back into the pocket of his tracksuit, stepping outside and letting the bland white sun wash over his face. The plan now, was to collect Genny for another ride. This time he'd take him to the warehouse where they unloaded the adulterated food products. Genny might find that interesting, the idea that it wasn't all drugs drugs drugs and the unpleasantness of money that had been stuffed down a junkie's underwear to his father's business. That sometimes it was as simple as something expensive being made up of cheap ingredients. An understanding that as long as those in official positions, more inclined towards cleaner money, kept the demand high, they'd keep lovingly watering quality down.

His phone rang. He answered while walking, still half musing about that line of Don Pietro's business. Donna Imma's voice broke him out of his reverie.

She sounded strange, stranger than she usually did on the phone. Ciro often thought Don Pietro had married more than a direct woman, he'd married a blunt one. She often said what she needed to say, and that was that, ending her phonecalls with a prim little click. No added niceties, only what she'd scripted herself on, what you got. It wasn't as if she wasn't friendly or anything, but she made it very clear her loyalty was constrained to her husband. If you listened, you could discern it even in her tinny voice through the phone speaker.

This time, her breath hitched on the line. "Ciro, it's Gennaro. Please come. Don't say anything to the others. Don't say a thing at all. It's serious." Then she hung-up. Just like that.

Holy Mary Mother Of God, if Genny had crashed another fucking bike…

Ciro got into his car and peeled away.

From the outside, the house looked the same. It stared at him with stony opulence, colorful greyness that invited only those who were trusted by its major inhabitants to cross the threshold. The image gave him an obscure convergence of confidence. He was trusted, wasn't he? Trusted over the other men to be called forth when Genny had got himself into another idiot mess, trusted to talk to his father in private, drink his father's piss- he knocked. The door opened to Imma's drawn face.

"Ciro." She said, as if she hadn't been the one that called him, hadn't expected him at all.

"Yes Lady Savastano?" Ciro said, with an abrupt amount of formality. He felt, oddly, like he was accepting an award. Or that he was on candid camera, filmed without knowing via some bizarre mob-based prank show. Ciro opened his mouth to speak again, but Imma cut him off.

"He's upstairs. Won't come out. I think-" She looked into the house, turning her body towards the hallway.

"Well, you'll see."

"Has he been injured?" Ciro asked, following her into the house. He closed the door and locked it awkwardly, half in awe of a potential scenario that would distract her from doing it herself.

"No." Donna Imma said sharply. Her voice became fierce, imbued with motherly protectiveness. As if, with a mama bear-like certainty, to warn Ciro away from the insolence of his implication that she'd ever allow Genny to get hurt and lock himself away. Away, where she couldn't reach him, tend to him, fuss over him.

There was dissonance in that. Genny wasn't hurt, but he was upstairs, and not coming down, for whatever reason. And his mother was downstairs, not actively up there right now breaking down the door. Instead, leaving him alone, to his devices, like she wasn't concerned at all. Except, she obviously was concerned. That was why she'd called Ciro. It was all very strange.

"What's wrong with him?" Ciro blinked.

"Just go up, up, for Christ's sake. My son is in his room. Ciro." Donna Imma hissed. She pushed him forwards, span him towards the staircase like he was some gangster's moll Genny had dragged home, and she was now pointing the little bitch to the door. Her urgency made him yip. Mrs Savastano's nails were long and sharp.

"Okay, okay."

"If you say a word to Pietro, I swear, I'll kill you." She called, her voice floating up to him, but dying away before it reached the top step. If Ciro had heard her at all, he didn't give her any confirmation. His heart beat in his chest. He felt the whoosh of blood pulsing at his temples.

Ciro made his way over to the door with the fancy S embossed on it. His brown eyes, light enough to be as amber as the symbol in the sun, looked it over. As if he'd glean any further information from that family mark, other than the smugness of Savastano power. What the fuck was he doing, playing detective? He knocked. He knocked again.

"Genny." He called. "It's me, Ciro!" He felt pretty stupid, shouting it outside so this time Donna Imma would hear him. Yeah, hear the effort he was making for her dipshit son. If only the world knew the crap he really had to deal with.

He listened to Genny's anxious breathing in the room. It sounded as if he'd been pacing.

"Genna!"

There was a pause, and a shadow showed through the frosted glass.

Then the door jerked open, and a hand grabbed him by the shirt with such force Ciro yelled. He was pulled in almost immediately, as if it wasn't Genny in there, but instead some feral, hungry animal.

As quickly as the hand had grabbed him, it fell away when Ciro became defensive.

"What's a matter with you, Genny?"

He snapped at him, before he knew what he was really saying. Ciro smoothed the ruffles Genny's sweaty hand had made off of his shirt, using guarded, wide gestures to ensure subconscious distance.

"What?" He looked up into Gennaro's eyes, and then balked.

Genny's face had always struck Ciro as cupid-like in its roundness. It bared those generously lashed, dark eyes that were his main (Ciro had to grudgingly admit it) endearing feature. Then, the signature, childish Savastano snub of his nose. Beneath, gently curved lips, seeming like they had been made personally by a God that wanted him to permanently appear boastful. Like He'd opted, in His insane wisdom, to add a pinch of psychopathy. Encapsulating said mouth- that was familiar to Ciro in the way he was always using it to talk- was Genny's impressive jaw. Padded with puppy fat but prominent, lending him a handsome Romanness.

There was another painting of Genny, the exception to the one hanging in Pietro's office, believe it or not, that Imma had commissioned. It was tucked away somewhere for her to look at in private. She was probably terrified of Genny chancing upon it and accidentally putting his foot through it, since it wasn't up on any wall, which is why she kept it hidden away. It was perfect in a way her son wasn't, an idealized image, a golden prince chained to his youth.

In motion, Genny was usually a different story.

Today, like most days, Ciro was looking at the man in the flesh. He didn't have the time to take in those defining features of his like he usually did with a languid ease, however. Because today, Genny's eyes were wide with that look of fear Ciro had come to dread. His mouth was not smiling to greet Ciro, but parted, so as to let out the erratic breaths that moved his chest up and down in heaves. His eyebrows were knitted together in a look of what, pain? Anger? Making his eyes, narrowed under the shelf of his brow, appear more small and hunted.

Ciro had made two mistakes already. He'd thought the bearer of the hand that had initially grabbed him with such force was a vicious animal, not Gennaro. Now, he realized it was indeed Genny. Except he couldn't entirely feel foolish for assuming the animal part, to let himself laugh it away internally quite just yet. No. He was certain the animal was there, in the room, too. Spelled out on Genny's face, within him. Except it wasn't vicious. It was in a state of clear, defenseless panic.

"Ciro, Ciru-" Genny breathed like a mantra, his normally jovial voice breaking in places, like someone in the swells of great emotion. Ciro felt the thump of Genny's head abruptly connecting with his shoulder, as his big arms wrapped themselves around him and held him. God, he was warm. Was he drunk?

Genny was still speaking, his words making muffled vibrations against Ciro's shirt.

To hear him better, (yes, Ciro reasoned- that was why he did it) he pulled Genny away from him, holding him back. A creeping sense of understanding was already dawning on him.

"Tell me this is not what it is." He said.

Genny let out a shout of exasperation.

"I don't know! I woke up this morning and I-" He gestured to the disorder the room was in. For the first time, now glancing behind Genny, Ciro noticed the clothes thrown on practically every surface. The sheets that were prized off the bed, that lay crumpled in the corner. It looked like a whirlwind had blown through the space. Even the picture frame on the wall hadn't been left unscathed, hanging at an unhappy angle.

"I feel hot, too hot, Ciro, feel!" The bigger man grabbed Ciro's wrist and held his palm against his own forehead. If it wasn't for the seriousness of the situation (more specifically, what it entailed and what that meant for Genny) Ciro would've found the action comical. The boss' son swooning, like some kind of beset princess. Instead, his mouth opened a little in surprise when he actually felt Gennaro's face. A fever. This was bad. No good at all.

"Then, then! I get this terrible feeling. Like-" Genny's eyes widened, and he paused as he swallowed dryly.

"Like I'm going to die." His voice, anguished. "But I don't want to see the doctor like mama says, because it's not just that feeling." He held his hands up as if to make some delicate point, backing further into the room so as to give Ciro space.

"The other feeling is..." Genny glanced around, seemingly searching the air for the impression he wanted to convey. "It's saying nobody should come here, too."

This was it, then. Gennaro Savastano, son of Pietro Savastano, heir to the criminal empire that brought in millions every year and had killed more men than the biblical Philistines, had presented. Ciro felt a plummeting in his stomach. The consequences would be insurmountable. The future was now uncertain. There only thing that would remain certain, was that Genny would be protected at all costs. Most likely by his father's white knuckling of the dynasty, which would all come to a crashing halt in terrible and swift retribution (at least for him). Genny would be safe, but the world around him would become a once famed temple, pulled down by some tyrant upon the heads of dissenters and allies alike.

Another alternative would be some genius scheme cooked up by Don Pietro and his wife, along with a few other trusted insiders (him included), to convince the men that Genny was competent enough to lead. That he'd presented, seamlessly, perfectly, and now he had the knot, he could wear the crown. Knowing the truth in that scenario... Would be of particular advantage. He could seed the conflicting rumor carefully, watch it spread and ruin their plans. Or, or- Ciro racked his brains. There was another option. He could get Genny out of there before it was too late. Take up the mantle for him, once he described the pitiful situation to Don Pietro.

He could be the boss. That could be an actual, tangible reality. Of course, Ciro would pretend vehemently that he didn't want the position, that it would be awful (sacrilege) to take Genny's birth right from him, when Don Pietro called him into his office. He'd protest. Say he was Genny's best friend. So what if the other cowards weren't prepared to back a genuine Savastano, purely because of an irrelevant little thing like alignment? The old man would practically beg him to take the position from him upon retirement or death.

Yes, Don Pietro would eventually come to see it his way, once he realized how dangerous it was going to become for Genny to do his old man's particular devil's work. It would seem cruel to put Don Pietro's son out there in the big bad world, after he'd presented as something nobody had anticipated. Sure, they'd all discussed it, but that was different to it actually happening.

Certain men, surly, proud types, might get more than their panties in a twist if they were expected to work for the likes of Genny. A man, (poor savage thing) who found himself a leader solely because dear old dad had wanted it for him so desperately. A leader who would have to swallow suppressants and have triple the men around him at all times. To keep him from being bred, from getting on his knees and asking anybody, (anybody at all) helplessly for it. Ciro felt a perverse glee in coming to imagine that outcome. The Savastano clan, brought to the end of the road, all because of the biology of their idiot son. The irony. A cosmic joke.

Ciro's face darkened. What a terrible thought, a monstrous thing to say to himself in Genny's distressed presence. Sure, he often felt, self-admittedly, that he had no pity for the young man. A lot of the trouble he got into, he brought it on himself. This caused him to treat Genny more often than not as a means to an end, manipulating him with his penchant for hero worship. Still. He wasn't that twisted, was he? He shook his head, as if to clear the impression of it away.

It was a pure fantasy, anyway, to expect Genny's father (or Genny, for that matter) in a realistic scenario to relinquish their grip on their title for an outsider. However close Ciro was to them, to the family, he was still a stranger. Don Pietro would smile to his face, let him walk out of that meeting believing he had it all, and then have him killed without ceremony for even implying he could be his son's emergency replacement. The role was either inherited, or a civil war broke out amongst their ranks. Don Pietro was a proud son of a bitch. He'd rather have war over breaking tradition any day. It was delusional to believe for a moment it could be otherwise.

Ciro became aware that Genny was saying something else.

"-Waiting for something. The right thing." He was making little unconscious noises. Then realizing that he was doing it, and biting his lip to stop himself. White round teeth digging into the plushness of his lower lip. The sounds were coming out anyway. Uncomfortable whimpers, the clamor of pain. Ciro watched Genny very conspicuously pull his shirt down, so as to hide the erection he was sporting from him. Smooth, Genny, smooth.

"Get out, Ciro." Genny half-heartedly mumbled, his gaze lowered to the floor. He'd evidently seen something in Ciro's expression, something that hadn't exactly lessened his panic. "I don't know why I let you in."

Like all good second in commands, Ciro decided what had to be done, at least for now, while Genny was in no position to think clearly.

"Gennaro." He walked to him. Slowly, trying not to spook him. The young man had gotten used to his touch, but had begun to associate it with death now, too- which is why he had to be careful.

Genny was starting to get wary of being shoved forwards by the same hands that patted him affectionately. The very hands that showed him love and care one moment might bat at him and cuff him angrily the next, so that he'd always be kept guessing. Ciro figured this behavior kept Genny in a state of confusion, malleable. That way, the next time Ciro asked, he might cave completely in, in a search for certainty. Genny would learn eventually to shoot blindly on his orders. Signing his will over to him, never questioning him. It was fated.

Yet, it was counterproductive to train him up like that. Because Ciro had found himself only beckoning Genny closer in recent days so that he'd get the skinny of a new plan, a fresh outing and scheme that would give him a taste for blood. Except there was one little hangup. Anyone could see that Genny, when he tasted the glory of violence at all, found the taste unpleasant.

The dumb boy was getting wise to the fact that after the praise and promises, there was the act of brutality, the one he had to face. The thing that he hated, that his body rejected so strongly. Then the memory of the act, (of driving away after the aftermath) that made the gifts and rewards Ciro heaped upon him in return round on him like cruel friends when he was alone.

Ciro watched to see if wariness would come into Genny's eyes. When it didn't, he cupped Genny's cheek, looking at him with an unreadable expression. He let his other hand curl around the back of Genny's neck, resting comfortably on the nape of it, as if to steady him. Genny sighed and closed his eyes at the touch. Subconsciously, he leaned his head closer into Ciro's hand. He sought out the familiar touch like a dog seeking out the praise of his master, like the burning seeking out the relief of a cool spring.

"You've presented. That's good, Genna. That's good." Ciro said, his voice scarcely a whisper, keeping the man's gaze to stress his words. He let his fingers move up. Trailed a path through short black hair. He'd always thought Genny's hair was nice to touch. Thick and dark, like an animal pelt.

"It's not. I know it." Genny muttered, shaking his head from left to right. When it looked like Ciro was going to remove the hand, he chose instead to stop and bury his face into it, so it would cup his jaw and partially hide the shame written on him. "It's bad. I'm no good, Ciro."

Ciro felt a thousand pangs of guilt for thinking of replacing Genny first, instead of sympathizing with his predicament. Genny was the unwitting mascot of the Savastano clan, only there due to the misfortune of being born. Never fully aware, in his ignorance, what his family stood for. He didn't know. That was the most guilt inducing thing of all. However much he hated Genny, he didn't know. He wanted to please his father, like all children.

There wasn't anything wrong with Pietro's son, when it came down to it. But there truly must've been something wrong with him. Him, Ciro Di Marzio. Not a Savastano but just as fucked up, it seemed.

"Genny, look at me." Ciro said, his voice half angry. When Genny raised his face, there were tears shining in his eyes. His breath was ragged at Ciro's touch. Ciro felt an unnameable thing begin to stir in him.

"You're Don Pietro's son. You're not bad. You're not good, either. You're something greater than good. Better. Better than the rest, you understand?"

Genny sniffed, nodded automatically.

"Yes, Ciro."

The sadness that remained thickly in his voice made it seem as if he was reacting to Ciro telling him that the tooth fairy still existed. Ciro felt Genny's shoulders tense up under his hold. Like he was waiting for a lecture, an impatient dismissal, some insult to his intelligence.

Ciro sighed. It wasn't a case of explaining to Genny what he had to think, but showing him. He drew close to the other man, as close as he could.

"Ah- Ciro, you have to go." Genny muttered at their proximity, trying to back away. Ciro held onto him tighter. He wasn't going to let this gangster's son, so frustratingly meek and nervous about what he was, retreat into himself again. And no wonder he was prone to doing it. Genny's life was so screwed up it could make Ciro cry. His parents, the other men, rivals, bosses, Naples itself- all discussing him like he was livestock behind his back. An investment. At best, some neat statue they put up in the city one night. Not a person, not really.

"You want me to go?" Ciro said, doubtfully. He knew that the tears in Genny's eyes were from the frustration of being alone, of having to weather his presentation unprepared for it and afraid of what it meant. But if Genny really insisted on it, he would go. It would hardly help the situation for him to do anything Genny didn't want. He'd made a promise to Don Pietro he'd never take advantage of his son, not least like this. It could get him killed, doing what he was doing now, anyway.

It was still, however, Ciro's job to alleviate Genny's stress. To make him as fit for his duties as possible. Despite the fact that those duties, depending on how this played out, probably didn't matter in comparison to the fact that Genny was an Omega and people were going to find out, sooner or later. Whether they'd be the right people was up to Ciro.

But he had to focus on right now. Right now Genny was in no position to see anybody else but him. His heat, it was bothering his friend. So it was only right to help take it away, right? To spare Genny from all unnecessary pain.

Genny let out a shaky cry after he kissed him, overwhelmed.

"I'm sorry Ciru, I didn't mean it, I don't know what I'm saying, I'm sorry." He began to babble, to plead. The words stroked Ciro's ego like it was a cat. This was as close to power as he was going to get. Genny was still young and inexperienced. Scared to move, scared to breathe lest, in his ineptness, he sent an entire empire crashing to the ground. He idolized Ciro, his little crush so obvious in the recent days it had almost made Ciro roll his eyes. Except now, he felt both sick of himself at Genny's predicament and excited. Here he was, in control, Don Pietro's son practically eating out of the palm of his hand.

"Get undressed." Ciro said quietly.

Ciro noted a change in Genny's scent now that he'd kissed him. The scent that had wrapped the room in tight, boxed-in misery only a moment ago, had transformed into something pleasant. It was a positive change, hesitant and subtle, like all finer feelings in life.

Ciro kissed him again, to soothe his nerves. For his first heat, Genny seemed remarkably polite about it. Subdued was the word Ciro would use. Perhaps he wasn't as spoiled as Ciro expected. Although, it was probably because he didn't know what to expect. Maybe nobody had told him, and up until now he'd been stumbling through his existence, pathetically confused. He'd have to show him.

"Go on. It's alright." He promised.

Genny began to take the layers of his clothing off, painfully aware of Ciro's direct stare. First one hooded jumper, then a shirt. Then he fidgeted with his jeans, waiting for some sort of order. Ciro, in less of a hurry, began to undo his shirt, lingering nearer to the door. Genny stopped fucking around just to watch him unbutton his shirt like he was taking notes, eyes shining with gratefulness.

Then they were on Genny's bed, except there were no damn sheets on the bed, cause in his pre-heat mania, Genny had apparently ripped them off. Ciro had often thought, despite his hatred of the Savastano family and all it stood for, that they had produced a son with a wonderful sense of comedic timing. A hilarity the poor guy just couldn't shake. What must it be like, to be so amusing so naturally, when nobody gave a damn?

"Why did you throw all your clothes around?" Ciro whispered, kissing the space between Genny's neck and shoulder, where the scent was strongest. Lapping at it. He let his teeth graze the spot, as if it was by accident, and Genny keened under him. It distracted him enough for Ciro to part his legs apart wider, to gain better access. When he pulled Genny's boxers down, he saw that his cock was a frustrated shade of red, leaking pre like a tap.

It seemed as thick as a damn coke can, but it had length to it, too. Ciro found himself again in a state of disbelief that Genny wasn't an Alpha.

"Don't- don't laugh if I say, Ciro." Gennaro blushed at the crudeness of the act, paired with his sincere attempts at describing the chaos to Ciro, before Ciro had arrived. Ciro saw that a pinkness had risen to his cheeks- it was fucking delicious. The man's tone was practically indignant, as if he'd recovered some of his sense back, but only enough to be embarrassed, sheepish.

"There was a voice inside, saying I needed to make a nest." He said, the bewildered earnestness clear on his face. Ciro smiled. Of course when Genny presented, he'd be as primitive as he was in daily life. His instincts were in overdrive, and not being particularly smart outside of them, Genny had probably tried his best to follow them on his own, however awkwardly.

With that, Ciro became faintly glad that the young man really had turned out to be an Omega and not an Alpha. Who knew what kind of shitstorm they'd be in for, had Genny suddenly gone into a rut while Don Pietro wasn't home. He'd probably have headbutted Ciro, and ran down the street, challenging various cars to hand to hand combat. Ciro could picture Donna Imma in her dressing gown, chasing him and screaming at him to come back. He would've arrived at that blonde whore Noemi's abode in less than a minute, his shoes still smoking from the speed of his running.

Ciro lowered himself enough to nip at Genny's stomach, making his thighs twitch. More slick wet the back of his hand. Genny really was his own marionette, wasn't he? So easy to pull his strings.

"Ciru'-" Genny had tilted his head back while shuffling closer to the headboard, as if to get away from the pleasure that was becoming painful.

"I promise I'll do what you say. From now on." The dark haired man whimpered, his words coming out hoarse and wrecked. "I won't mess up anymore. I promise. Just knot me." It sounded more obscene than any erotica in the world, to hear those words coming from that mouth. Still, Ciro felt an ache in his heart that Genny was trying to bargain with him. As if without Genny's promise that he'd be good, Ciro would leave him cold, forcing him to ride out his heat maddeningly on his own like a big boy.

He wasn't an Alpha, so it wasn't as if he could really help Genny in that department, but there were advantages to being what he was. Balance, for one thing. An even temper.

"You don't have to beg with me, Genna." Ciro said softly, gesturing for him to turn over. Genny obliged unthinkingly, baring his broad shoulders to Ciro. He lowered his head when Ciro slipped a knee between his legs to support him. Ciro placed a pillow under his stomach to prop the man up. At least Genny had left the pillows intact.

"Don't tell dad." Genny blubbered to himself, barely reacting to Ciro's attempts to accommodate him.

"He's going to hate me. They're all going to hate me. If you hate me too, Ciro, I won't know what to do." Genny's voice was building to some sort of hysteria, a hysteria that Ciro realized that he had to put on pause somehow, before it reached a crescendo and the track of it derailed the train they were on. He thought quickly.

"Nobody's going to hate you. We all want what's best for you. I'm proud of you." He assured, and stuck his first two fingers in Genny's mouth.

Genny's mouth parted wider almost immediately for them with a gasp, the velvety insides of his cheek and tongue nearly burning to touch. Genny moaned, too occupied with Ciro's fingers to contest the statement. Probably enjoying the words themselves, the rush of dopamine at the word "proud".

Ciro noted that Genny had been grinding his teeth before this, judging from the way Genny seemed to be struggling to keep himself from biting down on his fingers, even now. His jaw flexed, and then lightened up on him, then instinctively lowered. Ciro resolved not to begrudge him too much if he did accidentally bite. It happened.

Slapping Genny's side as a signal, he withdrew his fingers from Genny's mouth once they were wet enough. Then lowered them near the meat of Genny's thighs, burying them into his ass. He was tight. Almost ridiculously so.

"F-ah, ah." Genny puffed, and Ciro grabbed onto Genny's hip with his other hand to steady him, seeing the way Genny's arms shook with his exhaustion.

"You got nice hips Genna." Ciro commented, working him open. "On the dance floor, sometimes I looked at you more than I looked at the girls, because of them."

Genny buried his face into the crook of his elbow, making a desperate noise that seemed to communicate that he'd heard, and it was good. Some drool had ran down his chin from Ciro's fingers being in his mouth, and he'd rubbed his face into his elbow. It made his cheek very shiny. Ciro was both satisfied and scared, to see Genny brought so proverbially low. Messed up on his touch as if Ciro was an Alpha, going from crying about his father to getting settled when Ciro promised him his dick and complimented him.

"Bravo." Ciro praised as he finally entered the man with a patient thrust. Somehow, even with all the preparation and care he'd taken with Genny, (they really should've had lube, but like fuck did Ciro carry that on him, and anyway, Genny had already been as wet as he could get when Ciro had came on the scene) Genny went rigid when he felt his dick. He bucked forward, as if his body resisted the invasion vehemently. He bit his lip, and made a strangled noise, struggling against Ciro without really knowing why.

"Try to relax, huh?" Ciro kissed between his shoulder blades. Genny's back had rose suddenly to hit him in the chest a moment ago. Granted, an automatic reaction (he had to cut the kid some slack, it was his first time) but it had still made him grimace at his lack of grace. Why did he always have to make everything difficult? Even when Ciro gave him the best, he acted like if it wasn't enough. Like he'd rather an Alpha in his room, doping him with pheromones and making it so he didn't have to work at all.

"Fuck, sorry. I can't..."

"I know, it takes getting used to." Ciro said gently, pulling his hand over Genny's ample chest. Rubbing circles. His chubby pectorals were warm like the rest of him, and he felt the muscle lying underneath. Ciro marveled that everything about Genny, his mind, his personality, his form, each thing seemed to be waiting in the wings for him to grow up a little, so as to properly bestow their gifts. The same adorably doughy Genny would probably make a frightening adversary in the future, if he lived that long. No one expected it, not now, but Ciro had always considered himself to be ahead of his times with his predictions.

People were quick to dismiss a predator in adolescence, especially when they were still hiding behind their mother. But sooner or later, the same product of the woods would learn how to hunt, how to kill.

He started to piston his hips, giving Genny friction against the pillow and mattress. When he pinched at a nipple, Genny made a noise like Ciro had suddenly kicked him in the side. He practically had to fight Genny off, because the man kept forgetting himself, trying to get up and ride Ciro's dick himself. Something which he obviously had only the requisite greediness and instinct for, but not enough will or understanding yet to do properly. Ciro resolved that he would have to dally for longer than he anticipated with the Savastanos. To teach Genny more expertise.

Trying to get Genny to do as he said could be a real pain in the ass, but it certainly had its perks, after all.

Genny's thighs trembled when he found the sweet spot inside him. The loud groans were muffled by another pillow Genny had grabbed, his skin getting all sweaty. Yet Ciro noticed he smelled so clean and fresh, like spring, like his mother's perfume. Of course when Genny presented he'd smell like his mother. It was poetic. None of Pietro's forceful nature showed in his scent, the cold and stark smell of metal and ash. Instead, Genny was all warmth and sentimentality, an undercurrent of honeyed citrus signifying innocence.

Genny had started up again on begging for his nonexistent knot. He pushed his dick in and out of him, feeling the clinginess of Genny's nervous guts try to keep him inside. Fine, I'll give him as close to what he wants as he can get, if only to shut him up, Ciro thought to himself, not without some affection. But first, he wanted to see how far he could really push it, before Genny completely broke.

Genny made uneven grunts as Ciro began to rabbit fuck him, simply chasing his own enjoyment. He became a teary bundle of limbs and panic when Ciro grabbed him by his hair and pulled his head back, so as to bare his throat. Genny's adam's apple bobbed, up and down. He could barely keep his eyes open. He shivered all over, fighting hard to keep calm for Ciro. Trying his best to thank him properly for what he was doing for his sake.

"Do you want me to claim you?" Ciro said, with a straightforward business-like tone into his ear, pretending to be helpfully concerned with his comfort. His lips brushed the shell of Genny's ear as he said it.

"Will it hurt?" Genny asked, trusting of him enough, even in his fever, to try to understand Ciro's intentions. If Ciro had asked him, it would be better to say yes, wouldn't it? Or was Ciro testing him, to see if he'd have the agency of a True Savastano, enough to say no to him. He'd always listened to Ciro's guidance with a sort of awe, because he was right, he was right about everything. He'd promised to do as he said.

Ciro smiled. It wasn't as if just because he'd presented, that Genny would be any different. He'd probably be proud, in a somewhat juvenile way of rebellion, to bare Ciro's mark. Until he realized that Ciro had ensnared him, in his ignorance. Until he grew ashamed of his first encounter for what it signified.

"Would I hurt you?" Ciro released his grip on Genny's hair. He kissed the tears from his face. He breathed his scent. It was addicting. In an ideal world, it would have driven Noemi wild, if she wasn't just some pissant little Omega who only wanted to date Genny cause she thought she was making a good investment, putting all her chips on him presenting as an Alpha. Waiting for the payoff like the jackal Genny never saw her as.

No matter. There'd be other girls. And he'd always be there for Genny when they hurt him, let him down.

"They'll see the mark and understand." He announced. Ciro traced the spot with his tongue to demonstrate, still buried to the hilt inside of him.

Genny had stilled, his breath becoming scarce. His eyes seemed to be the only thing that didn't move in half-measures. Broad shoulders shook minutely and he panted.

"Everyone will know you're mine."

Then, before he'd bent to claim him, as if the words alone had scratched some itch inside of him, Genny went limp. He had painted his lower stomach with come. Genny groaned and collapsed into the bed, too heavy with exhaustion to be moved much.

"Genna. Genna." Ciro slapped at his face insistently, not sure whether to keep chasing his own release now that Genny was down for the count. Whether he'd be too oversensitive, start to complain. He tested it, gathering a drowsy Genny up in his arms and resuming his thrusts.

"Mm, Ciro, pull out." Did he really say that? The selfish bastard! It was anyone's guess how long Genny's heat would really last, the first ones traditionally were known for being unpredictable. If it started up again in the next few hours and Genny started calling for him again, needing to hear his romantic promises to come all over himself, with no consideration for him… Ciro vowed not to be there. He could ask for Noemi and have her sent up to him. Get his heart broken, for all he cared.

"A moment." Ciro mumbled, and Genny whined, trying to wriggle in vain away from the drag and pull. Ciro frowned in concentration. He tried to think about something that would make him come faster, but all he kept thinking about was how testy Genny was becoming underneath him. Finally, an image came into his head. No, not an image, a scenario. Genny in the backseat of his father's car with his girl, taking her hand in his. His shirt collar more open than usual. Just before he presents her with another frivolous gift, she sees the mark by his neck and goes quiet. Genny smiles bashfully, "Oh, this? It's from Ciro. He's crazy about me." He announces, and she slaps him hard across the face.

Ciro came finally, yelling in surprise at how fast it suddenly happened for him. It had hit him like a fucking train. He blinked, and then looked down to see Genny still fussing, mumbling something.

"Okay, Genny, okay." He breathed evenly through his nose, easing his way out. The movement made Genny whimper automatically. He saw his large hand clench uselessly against the mattress. Ciro finally lowered himself to Genny's side.

Everyone knew it was important to make proper bonds with Omegas. It would have the benefit of showing Genny he was safe to go to when he was in trouble. If he'd hurt him, done something wrong, maybe even failed at sating the fever, Genny might be more likely to take up suppressants earlier. Then maybe, Ciro would be replaced by a person with better influence on his friend. The man's parents were always deciding what was best for him, after all. They might rule that Genny's attachment to him was no good, if he couldn't be of use to him. He was pretty sure Lady Savastano had it out for him already, somehow.

He touched Genny's back possessively. He knew with a foreboding certainty that it was a good thing he had come along at the right time. The guy was lucky. He didn't quite yet know that some men were wolves in this world, worse than he'd ever imagined. That they dreamt and fantasized of the idea of taking naivety like Genny's away, of replacing it with terror and submission overnight.

Ciro took the opportunity to kiss Genny again. To ruffle his hair. Embrace him while he could. His heart beat in his throat. He needed to have done the right thing. He had to have. For Genny.

"Uh huh." Genny responded to nothing. He turned over at Ciro's affection, his voice muffled and thick with sleep. Ciro could tell he was barely awake. With an investigative hand, he reached out and felt at Genny's forehead nervously, now the man was facing him. Well, one plus was that his temperature was coming down. He wasn't as hot and clammy anymore, but it depended on how well he'd done his job regarding whether Genny would settle. Distantly in the aftermath, he could hear a phone ringing in the house. Mrs Savastano was talking in a low voice somewhere else.

"I'll tell your mother you're okay." Ciro muttered, wiping himself off with one of Genny's discarded shirts. It wasn't proper, but Genny had a thousand more. For all he cared, he could use this one as a keepsake. He looked around for his own shirt, hunting through the carnage.

He could see Genny lying on the bed in the mirror on the wall. Genny shifted in Ciro's absence, sighing quietly, barely audible. The corner of his mouth lifted.

"The truth?" He asked.

Ciro turned to look at him, still caught in putting one leg back into his jeans. There was no time to shower or hang around, as much as he'd like to. After all, at some point he'd have to get out of there.

"Yes?" He cocked his head to the side. Ciro's defensive hackles rose. Was this Genny's evaluation of his performance? If Genny had the gall to criticize him, just because he wasn't some Grade A hooker his mommy had hired for his benefit, he'd run right back and bite him. Beggars couldn't be choosers.

"Ma, she sometimes says…" Genny yawned. Something else, then. "That I shouldn't place my trust you, cause you're not family."

Ciro raised his eyebrows.

"But in this case…" Genny battled with himself to stay awake long enough to finish his joke. "Aren't you glad you're not?"

Ciro laughed for longer than he expected to.