Chapter 67

  ? Theatrics ?

  Pinch pressed himself against Tonno, trying to shrink from the sight. Tonno’s stomach churned violently, and Lino’s eyes widened in disbelief... This was the first corpse any of them had ever seen, let alone in this state.

  Mira froze, her breath catching. “What… is that?” she whispered, voice barely carrying over the stillness.

  The calmest among them were Dante, Alex, and Leo.

  Dante’s eyes narrowed, trying to blur the corpse into something less hideous. A flicker of disgust crossed his face.

  Alex felt a different weight settle—sorrow. He knew the victim. Someone he had tried to save. Someone who had chosen another path. And now this… this was its end.

  Leo’s gaze lingered on Pablo only a moment, wide but steady. Then he turned. The fear twisting the Wolves’ faces was far more repulsive to him than the hanging body

  “Guys,” he said quietly, “What do you think of that?”

  Every pair of eyes—wide, unsure—shifted to him.

  Mira was still trying to steady her breath. Finally, she spoke. "What do you mean by what do we think of that?!"

  Pinch swallowed, peeking from behind Tonno. “That's scary! Who the hell would do that?”

  Lino whispered, all his playfulness and joking attitude gone. “Is that… the mob’s doing?”

  Tonno tried to speak, but no sound came out.

  Leo continued, voice flat and unimpressed.

  “I mean... Imagine the trouble they went through. Dragging the man to a rooftop, tying the rope, lifting him over, writing a whole sign. All that work just to... what? Scare bystanders? Terrorize us kids? Instead of giving him a proper burial?"

  "They’re weak. That’s why they need all this performance.”

  “Pathetic.”

  And just like that, the image shifted in the Wolves’ minds.

  Mira, Lino and Tonno no longer saw just the rotten corpse. They pictured grown men sneaking around dramatically in the middle of the night, wrestling with a rope, stepping in the rot, gagging at the smell… all to set up this spectacle.

  Didn’t they have something better to do?

  The terror cracked a little. Suddenly it looked like theatrics, not power.

  Then, Leo turned to them, scanning al their faces, one by one.

  "Don't worry. We are not him up there. We are alive and safe. All of us. Alright?"

  And just like that, some calm crept back into their shoulders.

  All except Pinch.

  The seven years old boy rubbed his index fingers together, frowning as something clicked in his mind.

  “But… you said they’re weak. And that means I’m scared of someone weak. Isn’t that… also pathetic?”

  Leo let out a small breath, almost a laugh. The kid’s instincts were too sharp for his age.

  It wasn’t that Leo had lied to make him feel better, but Pinch was simply following the thought to its end.

  Leo crouched slightly to meet his eyes.

  “Being scared keeps you alive. Courage isn’t walking around with your chest out. There is nothing wrong with being afraid. In fact, we have to be."

  Then softer.

  "You’re not alone out here, Pinch. You will never be. We will all walk you home.”

  He smirked as he ruffed Pinch's messy hair.

  "Besides, you're too fast for them to catch."

  Pinch looked down, and up... and down and up again. Then finally smiled, "Mhm."

  The wind shifted through the alley, carrying the faint, metallic stench of the corpse, and somewhere above, crows circled and croaked. The street seemed suddenly smaller, colder, and infinitely more dangerous. And yet, in that moment, Leo’s presence made the terror almost manageable.

  Tonno whispered to Lino, “How does he do that?”

  Lino responded. “Told you. This guy’s forty, not fourteen. Need to verify that birth certificate someday.”

  Alex glanced at Mira, who is not only breathing normally now. She was smiling, proud, relieved, almost… home-like. When she realized he was watching her, her smile grew even winder.

  “He ain’t just fists, you know?” she said, tilting her chin at Leo. "That's why we follow him."

  Alex felt the truth of it, and returned the smile. “I'm happy he is here... for all of you. A true leader.”

  The words carried a quiet relief... the relief Alex felt seeing Leo looking after the gang instead of going after Dominick for revenge.

  Every time he learned more about him, the admiration in his chest grew.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  "This... this is strength."

  That Is what he wanted to say out loud, but chose to keep to himself.

  Mira huffed a laugh.

  “Unlike you, with your soft heart and all. You would have hugged Pinch and told him 'everything will be a'right', right?”

  "Hugs work too. Isn't that right, Dante?" Alex turned to Dante, but the latter was deep in thought, solving a very complex puzzle.

  "L-E-E-D-E-R... Correct. Must be correct."

  "It better be correct."

  ...

  "Correct, right?"

  He barely had time to dwell before the sharp, rhythmic whistle of boots and the pounding of hurried steps cut through the alley. The sound grew louder, echoing off the brick walls like a drum of approaching judgment.

  “Ohoooh, look who’s here,” Dante muttered under his breath, unimpressed.

  A swarm of constables poured into the street, the leather of their belts creaking and the brass of their buttons glinting dully in the pale morning sun. Their caps were pulled low, faces set in a mix of duty and unease. They moved with practiced efficiency, the clatter of heavy boots on cobblestones announcing authority, yet also tension—the slums were never forgiving to outsiders, even uniformed ones.

  Some carried long poles tipped with hooks, others brought coarse ropes. One constable, younger than the rest, faltered slightly as he looked up at the hanging figure, the stench and the sight clearly shaking him. A grizzled sergeant barked orders, the words sharp and clipped, slicing through the murmurs of the gathering crowd.

  The people of the slums peeked from windows and doorways, faces etched with both fear and grim curiosity. Mothers pulled children back into doorways; older boys and girls in worn boots and patched coats exchanged uneasy glances. Life in these alleys had always been precarious, but the sight above them—the body swinging faintly in the morning light—drove the fear into a sharper, almost palpable edge.

  The constables worked quickly. Two climbed the nearest rooftop with ropes, moving with a careful precision that betrayed years of practice. Others below coordinated, forming lines to secure the area, keeping the crowd back. Their movements were methodical, almost mechanical—trained responses to the horrors the city could throw at them, yet even they didn’t seem entirely comfortable with what hung before them.

  A hush fell over the street, punctuated only by the swish of rope and the low, muttered commands. The people of the slums knew better than to interfere.

  The tension in the alley was thick enough to choke on. Every movement of the constables reminded them that the world they were navigating had rules, but not ones that guaranteed safety. The slums had their own rhythms, and the Dons’ message had just rewritten the morning entirely.

  Pinch suddenly yelled, noticing someone. "Oh! It's the slashed copper!" pointing with his finger.

  Tonno and Lino jumped on him to muff him and stop the gesture. "Sssht, idiot!"

  Alex looked at Dante, confused.

  "Why are they muffling him? Is 'slashed' copper some slang I haven't learned here yet?"

  Dante glanced at the crowd of constables moving through the alley, then back at Alex, his voice low and deliberate.

  "Buddy… how many times have you seen coppers in these streets? In the slums? Actually doing anything about a crime?"

  "Rarely…I know that much already," Alex admitted. "And this is the first time I see this many here."

  Dante leaned back against the wall, picking at the edge of his sleeve.

  "Exactly. People here… they don’t trust the law. Cops rarely care unless something big enough to bother the upper streets happens. Mostly, they show up to remind us who’s supposed to be in charge—or to make themselves look busy. The folks around here? They learned early. Stay outta trouble, stay quiet, or get hurt. And the cops? They don’t care about the small stuff unless it’s noticed upstairs. That’s why Tonno and Lino covered Pinch’s mouth. You point, you shout, you get noticed, and in the wrong place… trouble comes for you."

  Leo approached Alex and Dante, voice low, making sure the Wolves are not within earshot.

  “Did you know about this hanging body?”

  Dante shook his head. "Not at all."

  Alex frowned. “Sorry. We really haven’t seen Dominick since that night we talked. But…” He glanced up at the grisly display. “I know that person. He tried to kill a Don, one of Dominick's bosses, and failed on that same night.”

  “Though… this message is a little over the top." Dante admitted. "Everyone in the neighborhood will hear about it. The slums will be thrown into chaos. Coppers moving in this quick, and with this many, tells you why.”

  Leo and Alex listened intently as Dante continued.

  “The mob displaying this kind of message is saying one thing very clearly: We control this area. We spread fear here. The coppers on the other hand aren’t here to protect anyone or showing us the goodness of their hearts. They’re here to put on a show. Look at the numbers... they’re more than necessary to remove a single corpse. It’s a public announcement. Like they are saying: Careful. We’re still the authority.”

  Alex swallowed. “Are you saying… the slums might turn into a battlefield between the mob and the police? I thought they get bribed easily.”

  Dante nodded at the line of uniformed boots “This comes from higher up. They answer to the Crown and the nobles. They have to show they still hold some control. A stunt like this?” He exhaled sharply. “It could start a riot in Portenzo City.”

  Alex’s eyes widened. “That… serious?”

  Leo's gaze had moved to the Wolves. Pinch still being muffled by Tonno and Lino. Mira, tense, staring somewhere in the crowd. Then, he turned back to Dante.

  "How can you tell all of this?"

  "I guess I learned from the best—Dominick." Dante answered after hesitating for a moment. "He doesn't just give you tasks and tells you to piss off. He teaches you and answers questions."

  “Spare me the praise. Not about him.” Leo's gaze sharpened—his voice didn't rise but it still carried a quiet storm that pinned Dante in place.

  Alex put himself between the two, putting a hand on each's shoulder.

  "He wasn't admiring him."

  “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it… Just saying.” Dante said without meeting Leo's eyes.

  Leo sighed, calming himself for a second.

  Then, his expression turned gentle, respectful.

  “I heard about a Don gone missing. Enzo Marcetti. Since you're good at this, how do you think that will affect the slums?”

  Dante blinked, surprised by the sincerity of the question. He felt that trust and the weight of it.

  “Don Enzo is one of the five Dons... weak, but a symbol." He cleared his throat, then continued. "Now that his seat is empty, every ambitious thug is going to want it too... Coppers. Thieves. Mobsters. I’m afraid all hell’s breaking loose.”

  Before anyone could respond, movement cut through the thick air.

  One constable peeled away from the formation.

  Heads turned—slum-dwellers first, then the older constables beside him. A few raised brows.

  It was the young one—the warm face among a sea of stone.

  Daniel. The knife slash healed but the trace is still there on his cheek.

  He ignored the strange looks from both sides and stepped toward the gathered kids with quiet purpose.

  The Wolves tensed like cornered strays. Tonno’s hand drifted toward Mira’s sleeve—not grabbing, just seeking closeness the way kids did when something felt off. Lino’s jaw clenched as he kept a firm arm around Pinch, who finally breathed properly after being muffled for what felt like eternity.

  Even the adults in the crowd leaned back, murmuring uneasily, unsure if this was going to turn into a scolding… an arrest… or something worse.

  Daniel stopped in front of them.