♦♠

:[

Sorry.

But he IS legg there.

Let's lighten the mood a little bit. Here he is being legg but still smol

You need answers and he refused to talk about any of it. It’s like you're in a state of mourning. Not just mourning the loss of a stable, well-paying job that had become a significant part of your routine, but also mourning the potential relationship that had been developing. He made you breakfast, he laid on the grass with you in the sun, he made you feel important. Like he couldn’t live without you.

But that house of his…

You shiver beneath the cocoon of blankets you’ve been hibernating in for two days. Madness had invaded your brain the second you picked up the rotary phone. Closing your eyes, the receiver pricks your ear and the deafening screams of hell fills your ears. It’ll never leave. Every time it came flooding back it was visceral, consuming. Everything else faded, replaced with that never ending pain.

Suddenly, you couldn’t breathe.

After tearing the covers away and taking a deep inhale, you realize it is midday. The sun filters through your blinds, a sharp glare on the dusty screen of your television. Take out containers litter the floor.

You need to get out of here. Now.

Forcing yourself upright, you stumble to your bathroom and splash cold water on your face to help clear your mind. This needs to be resolved. Continuing to torture yourself over it was pointless. A clean break was needed.

No more job. No more seeing him. No more listening to his music…

You found yourself frowning as your attention focused on the mirror. “At least I don’t look like a complete mess.” Fingers brush through your hair. A surge of motivation courses through you. This had to happen now, before you changed your mind and sunk into sadness again.

New apartment, new job. You could do it.

You quickly change into jeans and an oversized sweater, your movements mechanical and rushed. Keys jingle as you swipe them from the counter. As you reach for the door, it swings open and you nearly collide with Aspen, your roommate.

"Hey, I haven't seen you in a few days. Are you okay?" they ask, their brow furrowed.

But you don't hear them. You merely move to the side and walk over their door as their words blur into the background. The morning air hits your face as you step outside. Helps wake you up, energizes you. You make a beeline toward your car and then slip into the driver's seat.

This is it. Time to end things with Terzo once and for all.

The engine hums beneath you, but you don't shift into reverse yet. Your hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles white, as you stare at the dashboard.

You blink and you’re there.

All of your determination evaporates when you see another car in the driveway.

It looks like a classic car, maybe late 60s? The sight is jarring because Terzo never had visitors apart from contractors. The sleek vintage car is more than out of place.

“Fuck, dude,” you huff to yourself, putting the car in park. Nothing is ever easy, is it? You force yourself out, slowly shutting the car door, allowing a small chance to turn back.

You don’t.

The familiar gravel crunches beneath your sneakers for the last time.

As you get closer, you hear yelling. You don’t think, immediately running to the door and throwing it open.

“Are you a fucking idiot?!” Terzo’s back is to you, gesturing wildly with what looks like a rolled up magazine in his hand. “If anyone knows you are here—“

“N-no one does, Papa, I swear it! I made sure I was not followed!” An unfamiliar voice pleads. Attention shifts toward the sound, your gaze falling to his bright red cassock and biretta. The man’s eyes meet yours.

Same exact eyes as Terzo.

You open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out. His mouth presses into a thin line, eyes boggled wide. You blink.

“Fool. You’re a fool. You’ve signed my deathwish!” Terzo explodes, shoulders raising and hands falling to his sides clenching in tight fists. You come up slowly behind him. Last thing you want to do is startle him while he’s steaming mad and might possibly be talking nonsense? From behind, you can see that Terzo is worse for wear, in utterly mismatched clothes with wild hair.

Your heart softens even though you don’t see his face. Gone is your plan of quitting.

Instead you are bewildered by the situation unfolding in front of you. The cardinal’s eyes flit between you and Terzo.

“That is not at all—”

“You’ve made sure to humiliate me before having me killed for good, haven’t you?” The former Papa’s sneer is almost deadly. He holds up the magazine, dramatically unfurling it and showing it to the cardinal. “Was this your brilliant idea?!”

“Allow me to speak, per favore!” The cardinal raises his voice and Terzo stiffens, like he didn’t expect such an outburst. A floorboard creaks beneath your foot, breaking Terzo’s blind rage to notice that you’re here. He merely glances at you over his shoulder and then shoves the magazine against your chest, not bothering to turn around.

“Make it quick, Cardinal,” he snarls, “so you can go back to your decadence and I can wither away in my exile.”

Some chatter begins. You flip over the magazine in your hands and stare at the cover. Metal Hammer, it says. The Cardinal is on the cover in the same cassock but black with a serious expression. An older gentleman in intricate robes stands forebodingly behind him, finger outstretched to point at the reader. In the cardinal’s hands is—

A head.

Blood is smeared along the bottom of his face. Unmistakable, it’s unmistakable. Your eyes dart to the scar that runs fully around Terzo’s neck and then back down to the magazine cover. Terzo’s head.

Terzo’s HEAD.

The room spins. The cardinal's words to Terzo begin to sound like they're underwater. Your vision tunnels, black spots appearing at the edges. The magazine slips from your trembling fingers as your knees buckle.

Then darkness.

You wake up to two pairs of mismatched eyes—one set anxious, one set irritated—staring down at you.

"See what you've done? You've given her a heart attack!" Terzo growls, frantically fanning your face with the magazine. The glossy pages create a small breeze that does little to help your spinning head.

"I've done nothing of the sort! You're the one who caused this with your dramatics!" The Cardinal retorts, carefully lifting your head with one hand while bringing a glass of water to your lips with the other. "Here, drink this, please. Small sips."

Cold water trickles down your chin as you try to comply. Your vision slowly clears, bringing the bizarre scene into focus. You're lying on the floor with your upper body propped against something soft.

"Don't choke them, for Satan's sake," Terzo snaps, snatching the glass away. "Can't you do anything right?"

The Cardinal's face flushes nearly as red as his cassock. "If you'd let me explain instead of throwing that tantrum—"

"Tantrum?! You put my severed head on a magazine cover!"

As they bicker above you, reality comes crashing back. The magazine. The head. The impossible situation unfolding in this isolated house.

"Are you both... related?" you manage to croak out, interrupting their argument.

They freeze, looking down at you with identical expressions of surprise, as if they'd momentarily forgotten your presence in their squabble.

"No," Terzo says firmly, just as the Cardinal simultaneously answers, "Yes, of course."

They turn to glare at each other, a tense silence falling between them.

"You know?" Terzo asks, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he turns to fully face the Cardinal.

The Cardinal's posture straightens, his chin lifting slightly. "Of course I know. How could I not?"

Terzo's face pales even further, if that were possible. His eyes dart to you and back to the Cardinal with something like panic.

"I need to... I need to go home," you manage, struggling to your feet despite your trembling hands.

"No, ‘fetta, stay still." He kneels, a hand hovering, hesitating before he finally settles it on your shoulder. "Deep breaths. In and out. Slowly."

You stare at him. He has the audacity to be soft with you. So different from the aloof employer, the mysterious recluse with the neck scar, the man whose severed head was just staring at you from a glossy magazine. And you came here to quit your job, not fall for him all over again.

"I can't do this," you whisper, overwhelmed by the tenderness in his expression. "I came here to—" You stop yourself. "Whatever's going on… I don’t want to hear it."

The Cardinal eyes flicker to Terzo then back. "Eh, l-lets all calm down and discuss this." he suggests.

"I just want to go.”

Terzo's face falls, hurt evident in his features before he tears his gaze from you. You stand up too quickly, the room tilting. But your legs keep moving, your whole mind and body knowing that you need to get out, need air, need distance from whatever madness this is.

You fumble with the doorknob, your vision still swimming slightly. Behind you, you hear Terzo rise to his feet, followed by the sound of hushed, urgent Italian words exchanged with the Cardinal.

"Don't—" Terzo begins, but stops himself. When you glance back, he's frozen mid-step, hand outstretched toward you but not quite reaching. The Cardinal watches silently, his mismatched eyes analyzing the scene with surprising compassion.

"You shouldn't drive like this," He finally manages, taking another tentative step toward you. "Please. Just... sit down. Let me explain."

Terzo looks lost in his own home, as if he doesn't know whether to command you to stay or beg you not to leave.

He doesn't.

You get out onto the porch, the door shutting behind you with a soft click. You've left your bag inside, but that doesn't matter now. You just need to breathe. The fresh air fills your lungs as you lean against the railing, trying to process what you've just witnessed.

Behind the closed door, the Cardinal turns to Terzo, his expression softening from indignation to curiosity.

"Who was that?" he asks, his voice lowered as if you might still hear them.

Terzo remains frozen, staring at the door you just exited through. His shoulders slump slightly, the fight draining out of him.

"My assistant," he answers flatly.

"Just an assistant?" The Cardinal raises an eyebrow, a knowing look crossing his features. "You seemed rather... concerned about their wellbeing for 'just an assistant.'"

Terzo shoots him a venomous glare. "What would you know about it?"

"I know that look, Papa," the Cardinal says gently, using the title despite Terzo's current state. "I've seen it before."

Terzo turns away, unwilling to acknowledge the comment. He paces to the window, peering through the curtains to watch as you sit in your car, head resting on the steering wheel.

"How long has she worked for you?" the Cardinal presses.

"Long enough," Terzo mutters.

"And they know nothing of..." the Cardinal gestures vaguely at the magazine that now lies crumpled on the floor, "...all this?"

Terzo's jaw clenches. “She knows I was a singer in a band.”

The Cardinal's eyes light up, as if confirming a suspicion. "Ah, but not about our family? About the Ministry?"

“How does one explain such things to an outsider, especially when…” He drifts off. "How could I explain that I died?”

The Cardinal—Copia—doesn't need Terzo to elaborate. He knows. They both know what happened that night. The silence between them grows thick with unspoken history and shared knowledge.

They stand awkwardly in the living room.

“Eh, you know what,” Copia starts, shuffling his feet, “I will go talk to her for you, Papa.”

"Absolutely not!" Terzo hisses, but his protest comes too late. The Cardinal is already striding confidently across the gravel, his red cassock swaying with each determined step. “You fucking—” He lunges out onto the porch after him but stops at the top step. His fingers curl around the railing, knuckles white with tension. His mind was spinning, fuzzy with fury at Copia's nerve, anxiety about what might be revealed, and a deep undercurrent of fear that you might simply drive away and never come back.

Satans knows spending too much time listening to Copia speak might just scare her off.

An agitated whine leaves him as helplessly watches Copia approach your car. You're still slumped over the steering wheel. How it hurt to see you in such a state. He could see it now, how he’s worn you down. A mess he created that has now become your mess to clean. It was unfair, wasn’t it?

"Copia!" he finally calls out, his voice sharp with warning, but the wind carries it away. Or perhaps the Cardinal simply chooses not to hear.

“Ah!” You jump at the tap on your window. Looking up through tear tinged lashes, you see the Cardinal standing there. His expression is almost apologetic, nothing like the intimidating figure from the magazine cover.

Against your better judgment, you lower the window slightly.

"May I join you for a moment?" he asks, his accented voice soft and measured.

This is surreal.

After several seconds of awkward silence, you find yourself unlocking the passenger door with a click that sounds too loud in the quiet afternoon.

The Cardinal walks around the front of your car and slips into the passenger seat with as much grace as one can when getting into a low passenger seat. He immediately reaches for the seatbelt, clicking it into place with a satisfied nod.

"I'm not driving anywhere with you," you state flatly, finding your voice at last.

Copia adjusts the seatbelt across his chest and shrugs. "Safety first," he says simply, as if buckling up while parked in a driveway during an existential crisis is the most natural thing in the world.

"I don't want to talk," you say firmly, staring straight ahead through the windshield.

“You don’t have to,” Copia says simply as he shifts in his seat, cassock rustling against the upholstery. A n awkward and heavy silence stretches. You can see Terzo on the porch from your peripheral vision, watching with obvious concern.

After what feels like an eternity, curiosity gets the better of you.

"Who are you, anyway?" you finally ask, turning to face him.

"I am Cardinal Copia," he says simply. "Though I suppose that doesn't tell you much." He glances toward the house where Terzo stands watching, then back to you. "I am... family. Not that he likes to admit it."

“Family? He’s never talked about his family.”

Copia makes a strange humming sound, fidgeting with his black.

"He wouldn't, no. Our family is... complicated. Very complicated." He glances at you with an expression of genuine sympathy. "I understand this is overwhelming… He cares for you very much, you know," he says suddenly, his voice quiet but firm.

You scoff, though the sound lacks conviction even to your own ears. "He's my boss."

"He is bad at showing it," Copia continues, as if you hadn't spoken. "Especially after... what happened to him." His gloved fingers tap against his knee, a nervous gesture.

You stay quiet. You don't dare ask even though it almost pains you. Cardinal Copia could spill the beans now, answer the questions that have been at the tip of your tongue for so long now. But, it should have come from Terzo and he blew his chance.

Copia clears his throat.

"There was a time I looked up to him," he admits, his voice softening. "I was so inspired by him. By his presence, his charisma." A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth. "He doesn't know this, of course. I would never tell him to his face."

You shut your eyes. Was this going to be impossible? Why is this Cardinal suddenly playing “wing-man”? More complications, more questions.

"He is a good man, deep down," Copia continues, his mismatched eyes drifting toward the house where Terzo still stands watching. "Truly." It’s as if he’s trying to convince himself as well.

"I have to leave now.” Eyes finally meet the Cardinal’s. Those same but different eyes. His are more round and wide, almost always trying to keep up with their surrounding. His expression softens with understanding. The seatbelt click with release. Finally, someone who would accept what you had to say.

"I hope we meet again under better circumstances," he says on the way out of the car. Before stepping out, he pokes his head back in to adds "He has spent years in isolation, you know. You're the first person I've seen him show genuine concern for in... a very long time."

With that, he exits the car, his red cassock billowing slightly in the breeze as he walks back toward the house. You watch in the rearview mirror as he approaches Terzo on the porch. He is pissed. Italian gestures in full force. A deep slow breath leaves you to slow your hammering heart.

You turn the key in the ignition and the engine rumbles to life.

If he wasn’t so hurt by you leaving, he would have throttled Copia right then and there. But he settles for a booming rant in Italian filled with expletives. The Cardinal cringes, averting his eyes.

“Ah! Rilassati!” He cries as he raises his gloved hands. “She seemed to consider what I had to say — per favore!”

Content with the stress in the other man’s voice, Terzo relaxes. “What did you say?

"The truth. I told her that you care for her very much. And that you have been through something terrible that makes it difficult for you to open up."

The former Papa grumbles. He nearly throws himself down son the swinging porch bench that was installed yesterday despite your absence. His head hurt.

"You cannot keep running from this," Copia sigh, his tone gentle but firm. "From her, from yourself, from what happened to you."

Terzo's frown deepens, but he doesn't deny it further. He can't. His gaze remains fixed on your car, his chest tightens painfully. He’s driven you away with his secrets and his inability to simply explain. The sound of tires on gravel fades as you drive away. He throws his arm over his eyes. Empty. That's what he feels. Hollow in a way that reminds him too much of death.

"She'll be back. She just needs time to process. It's a lot to take in at once."

Terzo wants to believe him but the cynical part of his mind, the part that's been cultivated through years of disappointment and loss, whispers that you won't. Why would you? He's given you nothing but fear and confusion.

"You don't know the half of it.”

"What do you mean?"

Silence overcomes them, growing thick and uncomfortable.

"You shouldn't be here," Terzo finally says, breaking the silence. The words lack conviction. Truth be told, he's grateful not to be alone right now, even if he'd never admit it.

"No one knows. I made sure."

"My brothers are dead, Cardinal." A deep, hurt sadness filling his words. “You shouldn’t be here for your own sake. She was running from me.”

“I… I really have a good feeling about her,” Copia assures him. “I think she could come around to you, despite the differences.”

“That’s not what I mean, idiota.”

Terzo stands abruptly and pushes past the other, knowing Copia is far too curious not to follow. The foyer feels damp, empty, like the rest of the house. It feels more haunted than usual but Terzo had had a few quiet days with you gone. He leads Copia down the narrow staircase that descends into the basement, each step groaning under their weight. Back into the musty air that scared you away.

There, in the center of the room, sits the piano.

Copia stops mid-step, eyes widening. "That's..." He moves closer, running a hand along its surface. "Beautiful. When did you get this?"

"I didn't," Terzo says flatly. "It appeared three days ago. Manifested in the middle of the night."

Copia's hand freezes. He turns to Terzo, searching his face for jest. Finding none, his expression shifts to concern. "It appeared?"

"Yes." Terzo leans against the wall, anchoring himself. "And it plays itself."

"Plays itself," Copia repeats slowly, circling the piano. His fingers trace the ornate carvings.

"There's more," Terzo says, voice dropping. He pushes off the wall and begins pacing. "A phone appeared too. An old rotary phone. That was before this showed up."

Copia's eyebrows rise. "Another manifestation?"

"Yes." Terzo stops, facing him. "I talk to Omega on it sometimes." Saying it aloud makes it real. Makes him sound insane. Copia stammers, his eyes widening in surprise. "Sometimes it's him. Sometimes it's... other sounds. Hell, I assume." Terzo explains, swallowing hard. "Screaming. Fire. Things I can't identify."

"And she encountered this phone?"

Guilt crashes over Terzo. Your terrified face flashes in his mind. "She picked it up once. It shook her badly. She's scared now, and I don't blame her." He runs a hand through his hair. "I've also shocked her. Literally. Electricity from my hands."

He can still feel that spark. Your startled cry. The way you'd looked at him—wary. Like he was dangerous. Because he is.

The Cardinal's expression darkens.

"And I've made light bulbs explode when I've raised my voice," Terzo continues, voice strained. "Things happen around me now." His eyes drop to his hands, fearing they belong to someone else. "I'm not the same," he says quietly, voice raw. "Not since I came back." Since they dragged him from death and threw him back into a world he no longer fits. The words spill from him now. "I don't understand why." Terzo's hands clench, and the overhead light flickers. "Why was I brought back? For what purpose?" The light brightens dangerously. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"I don't know.” Copia clicks his tongue before his eyes brighten. “But I am glad you were."

Terzo laughs bitterly. "Glad? I'm a walking disaster. I can't control anything anymore." The helplessness disgusts him. He used to be powerful. Now he's just volatile. A danger to anyone close.

A danger to you.

"I always liked you. Even when you didn't know I existed. Even at your peak."

The words strike deep in Terzo's chest. Someone who remembers who he used to be. Who actually witnessed his monumental ascent and gut-wrenching fall. But even that man feels like a stranger now.

"Sentiment won't help me."

"You… you seem to be touched. Touched by Hell itself. Imprinted by darkness." His voice drops to barely above a whisper, trembling with something between fear and fascination. "It's reaching out to you.”

Terzo stares at him, surprised by how quickly Copia has grasped what's happening. Then again, he supposes he shouldn't be shocked. The Cardinal had always been a teacher's pet, nose buried in dusty tomes, eager to absorb every scrap of knowledge—even the most mundane aspects of the occult. That thirst for understanding, that meticulous attention to detail, it's what set him apart and what made him annoying.

"You figured that out fast," Terzo murmurs, a hint of begrudging respect in his voice.

Copia shrugs, still circling the piano with cautious reverence. "I've read about such things. Manifestations tied to resurrection, to those who've crossed the veil and returned. The boundary between worlds becomes... permeable." He pauses, fingers hovering over the keys without touching them. "Hell doesn't let go easily. Especially not of someone like you."

"Someone like me," Terzo echoes bitterly. "A failed Papa."

"A man who wore the Mitre. A conduit for His words, for spreading His influence." Copia's voice rises, his hands gesturing wildly. "You died and went to His realm. You were meant to have your reward… but then you were plucked away from it." His eyes shine with an unsettling excitement, darting between Terzo and the piano as if piecing together a forbidden puzzle. "Hell wants you back," Copia says, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Or perhaps it's not done with you yet. Let me —” he’s babbling “—I, eh, I have resources back at the Abbey that I can—”

"No," Terzo cuts him off sharply, his voice hard as stone. "Absolutely not."

Copia freezes mid-gesture, his excitement deflating like a punctured balloon. "But—"

"I said no." Terzo's eyes flash dangerously, and the overhead light flickers in response. "I don't want the Ministry involved. I don't want anyone from there knowing about this."

The Cardinal's face falls, confusion and hurt flickering across his face. "I'm only trying to help. If I could research—"

"Help?" Terzo laughs bitterly. "The Ministry has helped me enough already, don't you think?" His voice drips with venom. "They used me. Discarded me. And then I died for their cause." He takes a step closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the confined space. "And you think it won’t happen to you, Cardinal?"

He can see his words have struck a chord. Copia takes a deep, steadying breath, his jaw working as he processes the accusation. For a moment, he simply stands there and Terzo secretly revels in the pain he’s inflicted.

Then, without a word, Copia reaches into his pocket. The former Papa watches his gloved fingers fumble slightly before closing around something small. He pulls it out slowly, deliberately, and holds it up between them.

It's an Uno card. Blue. Worn at the edges, creased down the middle as if it's been folded and unfolded countless times. A reverse card.

The same type of card Terzo had torn to shreds in that corridor years ago.

"I kept the pieces," Copia says quietly, his voice stripped of its usual nervous energy. "After you... after that night. I gathered them up and I taped this one back together." He turns it slightly, and in the dim basement light, Terzo can see the lines of tape holding it together.

He stares at it, his throat tightening so much that he can hardly breathe. Fucking Uno night. He'd ripped that card apart with vicious glee, a small act of defiance against the Cardinal who'd stolen everything from him.

"Why?" The word comes out rougher than intended.

"Because you're my brother." Copia's voice is steady, resolute. He extends his hand, offering the taped-together card to Terzo. "Here. Take it."

Terzo stares at the card, his fingers twitching at his side. Finally, slowly, he reaches out and takes it. A small, torn up thing—just like him.

"I'll be discreet. No one at the Ministry will know. I'll research this on my own time, quietly. I need to help you." He pauses, his eyes meeting Terzo's with unexpected intensity. "I owe it to you."

Terzo's jaw clenches. Can he trust him? Does he really have a choice? Finally, he gives an annoyed groan. "Fine. But if anyone finds out—"

“No.” 

Terzo stated firmly as you joined him by the trunk of the car, ready to help him carry in your bags. Or rather, his bags, full of clothes he had purchased for you. He shooed you away, carrying multiple bags himself as he led you to the door of the little cabin. 

By the time he’d finished dropping all the bags in the hall, his face, free of his paints, was slightly pink.

“Now did we really need all this for just a few days?” You laughed, shaking your head.

“Well I couldn’t settle on what you’d be wearing.” He shrugged, a weary smile on his face as he approached you, sliding his hands around your waist to embrace you. “Now… It’s been a long drive. How about we take a little snooze, hm? Test out the mattress?”

He’d surprised you with this trip - an isolated little cabin, just the two of you, free from the bustle of the ministry for a few days. He had been in better spirits lately, beginning to show glimpses of the man he was before his forced retirement from fronting the project. 

He spoiled you, especially since the two of you had begun to explore this dynamic he had wanted - with you as his doll, handing him all the reigns when it came to your appearance.

Terzo seemed nervous about this trip, so much so that you couldn’t help but wonder exactly he was planning. You knew he wasn’t exactly a marriage type of guy, so you had ruled that out. 

The first day was spent napping, before he’d made dinner. Afterwards, you’d gone through multiple different outfits before he was tired out - dressing his perfect doll, fucking you senseless before cleaning you up to do it all again.

The next day, the two of you spent the morning on an easy hike, taking advantage of the late summer weather and enjoying the scenery. On your return he had you redress, before he retrieved his sketchbook, leaving you to your own devices. He could spend hours engulfed in his sketchbooks, particularly when he was agitated or upset. 

Seeing him spend most of the afternoon hardly glancing upwards from it did nothing to reassure you, especially with how nervous he had seemed in the previous days, in spite of how much he’d tried to convince you that he was fine. 

For dinner, he’d taken advantage of the warm evening, setting up a picnic under the bright moon and stars. Everything was prepared by him, of course - caprese salad, firing up the grill at the back of the cabin to make lamb skewers, and an array of fruit for dessert. 

And of course, he’d prepared you too - for the occasion he’d given you a new dress - deep purple velvet, with gold heels.

After eating you lay sprawled out on the blanket. As tired as you were, you couldn’t fall asleep, feeling Terzo’s anxious energy radiating from beside you where he still sat upright.

“Terzo-” You murmured, deciding again to attempt to get an explanation from him, only for him to cut you off, turning to kneel beside you, chewing on his lip nervously.

“Amore… There is… There’s something I’d like you to wear for me…”

“Hm?” You hummed, brow furrowing in confusion as you sat upright. “Terzo, I’ve spent whole evenings in nothing but a thong and your old mitre. What on earth could it be to get you this nervous?”

He nodded, a bashful smile on his lips as he let out a breathy laugh, his hand slipping over yours.

“True, amore, yes. This is certainly more… tame, for certain.”

Terzo took a deep breath, as if it was one final push to get him to continue with whatever he had planned. He reached into his jacket pocket, holding a small silk bag.

“Oh…” You murmured, as he emptied its contents onto your hand. “This is lovely.”

You were brought away from your confusion as you admired the thin collar. It was pretty, but not one you imagined would hold up against being used in a scene. Thin purple suede, with gold hardware and a tiny locking mechanism.

“It’s… a bit simple, I admit.” He trailed off, becoming more flustered as he tried to explain his intent.

“No, I don’t mind tha-”

“Please, amore.” He set his hand on your knee. “I wanted something that would be comfortable for you, outside of our rooms.”

“Oh…” You nodded slowly. Although you had already given him permission to choose your outfits outside of your scenes, it wasn’t something he acted on often. “You want me to wear this all the time, love?”

“Sì, sì.” He shifted closer to you, his hands shaking ever so slightly as he allowed himself to get more emotional. “Amore, this past year, I felt like my life was pulled from beneath me. Everything I knew, I was questioning. In my darkest place you were there, and you stayed by me, helped me to find myself again.”

“Terzo…” You lifted the hand resting on your knee, clinging to his with both hands, still holding the collar as you teared up at his show of affection.

“It’s not the most obvious of collars, but… Well, I wanted some… symbol. To know that whenever we are apart, you are out there with a sign of our bond, as am I.”

He moved the collar of his shirt, revealing a gold chain with two pendants - an amethyst gem coiled with gold wiring, and the tiny gold key matching your lock. 

Gently he took the collar from your hand, his mismatched eyes wide as he held it up.

“May I, amore?”

Still sniffling, you nodded, pulling your hair away from your neck. Your chest tightened, so full with love and adoration for him, so surprised by the gesture itself, but more so by how it had struck you so deeply.

“Of course, Terzo.”

“Grazie…” 

Terzo leaned in close, affixing the collar around your neck, careful and delicate as he positioned and tightened it, watching your expression closely to ensure he fit it comfortably. 

Slipping his fingers under your chin, he tilted your head back to admire your new adornment.

You giggled as he let out a series of hums, as if appraising it, before finally letting out a contented noise. Your emotions got the better of you, a few tears rolling down your cheeks. 

“Terzo, I love you.”

In the moonlight you could see the glint of tears in his own eyes, as he pulled you into his lap to kiss you, lips gentle against yours but passionate nonetheless. 

“And I love you, my doll.”

Between giggles and tears and kisses, he eventually pulled back, his hands cupping your face as he stared at you with reddened eyes. 

“Perhaps, amore…” He cleared his throat, voice raspy, “We break out the champagne, hm? And those special brownies?”

You let out a bark of laughter, nodding as you rubbed at your wet eyes. 

“Of course. Anything you want, Terzo.”

You're nestled in the black floral wingback, feet tucked beneath you like a cat. A half eaten container of Chinese food sits on the side table next to an empty wine glass. Terzo’s eyes sweep over you, his mismatched eyes darkening with raw want. The delicate paint lines at the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly as he tilts his head, studying you like you're a puzzle he's determined to solve.

“Mmm?” You raise your brows and shift in the chair. “I’m just… enjoying the fire.” Terzo grumbles in response, frustration crossing his features.

“Well, enough of that.” He rolls not so gracefully onto his stomach then raises himself on all fours, tilting his head at you. A sly grin spreads across his face as he drinks in your reaction — your cheeks flushing crimson and lips parting so prettily. He begins to prowl towards you on all fours. When he reaches your chair, he sits back on his heels, maintaining eye contact as he takes the fingertip of one white glove between his teeth. He pulls, slowly, deliberately, until his hand is bare. The second glove follows, both discarded carelessly on the carpet.

The effect it has on you makes him growl low in his throat, eyes darkening. You want him and he can tell.

"Come here," he purrs, reaching for your ankle where it's tucked beneath you. You're speechless. You let him pull your legs out from underneath you, unfolding them until your feet rest on the floor. His hands slide up your calves, thumbs pressing into the muscles there. When he reaches your knees, he gently spreads them apart, making space for himself between them.

He looks up at you through his dark lashes, a wicked smile playing at his lips. "There's my good girl."

“Terzo—“ His teeth close over the fabric of your leggings just above your knee. You suck in a sharp breath at the pressure, just on the edge of painful. He pulls back slightly, mouthing at the spot while his hands slide higher up your thighs, thumbs pressing firmly into the sensitive flesh.

"I demand your attention, 'fetta," he murmurs against your thigh, breath hot through the thin fabric. He works his way higher, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses that make you squirm.

“You have it,” you gasp, fingers tangling in his soft lock as his mouth reaches the crease of your thigh. Even through the fabric of your leggings, the press of his tongue makes you arch. You whimper as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your leggings, slowly tugging them down. A shaky groan falls from his lips, so pleased with you as you lift your hips. He marvels at the soft skin on your inner thighs, a hand skimming along them. His eyes fall to your underwear, already damp.

Terzo’s nothing more than a starved man in this moment. Starved for the taste of pussy. For attention. For putting his mouth to good use again.

And for you.

He leans forward and traces his tongue over the thin fabric of your underwear. Your hips buck involuntarily at the contact, a soft gasp falling from your lips. He chuckles against you, the vibration sending shivers up your spine as his fingers dig into your thighs, holding you firmly in place. His eyes lock with yours, glazed over and black with lust. He drags the flat of his tongue over you again, more deliberately this time.

A ragged moan escapes you as your head falls back against the chair. You tug at his hair just enough to make him growl against your core. The vibration sends shivers through your thighs, making them quiver around his head.

"I… I need to take these off now, ‘fetta," he husks, his cheek against your thigh as he looks up at you with pleading eyes. You nod eagerly, lifting your hips just enough for him to slide the thin fabric down your legs. He tosses them aside, his gaze darkening as he takes in the sight of you completely exposed to him. His lips part, a soft sound of appreciation escaping him.

The sight of you spread before him, wet and aching has his mouth watering. The first direct touch of his tongue has you arching off the chair, a desperate mewl bubbling past your lips. Terzo responds with a deep, satisfied groan, the sound of a man finally tasting what he's been dreaming of. His eyes flutter closed as he savors you blissfully.

"I've wanted this since I first….” He cuts himself off with a scoff, his lips against you still. “Since I read your resume.” A confession, a dark one. Thighs tense beneath his grasp, his eyes darting up to see your face. Your brows are knit so tight, lips parted with shock. But you stay put. Terzo’s mouth twitches into a smirk before settling his gaze back on what lies in front of him. "Dreamed of how you would taste on my tongue,” he snarls, his mouth lowered to press a searing kiss to your throbbing core.

His tongue delves deeper, exploring every inch of you as he spreads you open with his thumbs. Your fingers tighten in his hair, squeezing your eyes shut from the building tension. Terzo sees this and lets out a pleased growl against you. Your world narrows to the hot press of his mouth.

A loud "Oh God!" escapes your lips, your head thrown back against the chair. He pauses momentarily, a flash of something like irritation crossing his features. His fingers dig slightly harder into your thighs. A breathless laugh bubbles from your throat as you look down at him. "Sorry, should I be saying 'Satan' instead?" You’re half-teasing.

Terzo slowly shakes his head, his mouth inches from your throbbing cunt. He’s in a dream. He knows what to tell you to do and he knows that you’ll obey. His head lifts, his eyes burning with a dark mixture of desire and wickedness.

It’s over for you in this moment. How delicious is it that he knows and feels this now.

He leans back slightly, just enough to break contact but keep you trembling on the edge. His voice drops to a gravelly command that sends shivers racing down your spine. "Say Papa," he instructs, his breath hot against you, waiting expectantly for your compliance.

Your breath catches in your throat, heat flooding your cheeks at his command. Papa Emeritus il Terzo. That was his title. The word you screamed this morning

“Papa," you whisper, the word barely audible even in the quiet room. A deep, primal growl rumbles from his chest, shuddering at the sounds of your voice. His cock throbs painfully against his tight dress pants. He's achingly hard, has been since he first dropped to his knees before you, but his own pleasure is secondary to devouring you completely. His mouth descends on you again with renewed vigor. Lost in the taste of you, grinding his hips against nothing as he devours you with desperate enthusiasm. The sounds he makes are almost animalistic - guttural groans and possessive snarls that make your toes curl.

"Ti adoro, ‘fetta," he pants between wet, messy strokes of his tongue. His words dissolve into another long, appreciative moan as you roll your hips against his eager mouth.

"Papa, please," you whimper, the title falling from your lips more naturally now. He doubles his efforts, tongue circling your clit with determined strokes. The tension builds rapidly, your thighs trembling around his head as you teeter on the edge. When he slides two gloved fingers inside you while sucking hard on your clit, stars explode behind your eyes. Your back arches off the chair as you come with a cry of "Papa!" that echoes through the room.

Terzo works you through your orgasm, his movements becoming gentler as you come down from your high. When you finally collapse back against the chair, he places one last kiss to your inner thigh before looking up at you with smug satisfaction in his mismatched eyes.

"Beautiful," he purrs, his painted face glistening in the firelight. “I am going to carry you to bed like a true gentleman, puffetta.”

You let out a small "oop!" as he lifts you with surprising ease, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. Your mind drifts hazily to his earlier confession as he carries you up the stairs - how he'd wanted this, wanted you, since first seeing your resume. It should disturb you, how long he's been thinking about having you like this. Instead, a delicious shiver runs through you. The thought of him fantasizing about you all this time, imagining how you'd taste... it's filthy. Depraved, even. And yet…

Nestling closer into his chest, you breathe in his sweet scent. The gentle sway of his steps lull you towards sleep, strong, warm arms holding you securely against him. He brings you to his room. Your body feels impossibly heavy as Terzo sets you down. The sheets are cool against your heated skin, a soft sigh escaping your lips as your head hits the pillow. The sound of running water drifts from the bathroom, punctuated by Terzo imitating an opera singer. You roll your eyes, sinking deeper into the mattress.

Your phone lights up beside you, the screen casting a blue glow in the dimly lit room. With a sigh, you reach for it, squinting against the brightness. It's your roommate.

Hey, girl. I’ve been hoping to catch you in person but our schedules must be opposite, haha. Wanted to let you know that I’ve found an apartment for myself. I’ll be moving out at the end of our lease. Happy to help find someone to takeover if you wanna stay

Let me know!

You suck in a breath and reread the text again. “Oh shit. Oh fuck.” Stress immediately overwhelms you, a tightness forming in your chest. The lease ends in a month. Just thirty days to figure out this out.

The notification seems to ripple through your body, leaving you numb and frozen in place. Your mind swims, thoughts racing too fast to capture any single one. What will you do? Where will you go? How much will it cost? The questions pile up, tangling together until all you can do is stare blankly at the screen, paralyzed by the sudden upheaval.

It's as if your brain has short-circuited, unable to process this new information on top of everything else. The emotional whiplash of the day—from intense pleasure to sudden anxiety—leaves you utterly drained. You can't even form a coherent thought, much less a plan.

You blink slowly at your phone, fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard. You should respond. You should start looking for options. You should... should...

Eyes flutter as the bathroom light spills into the bedroom, casting Terzo's elongated shadow across the floor. The bed dips as he slides in beside you, his body radiating warmth. Arms wrap tightly around you.. Your exhaustion is bone-deep, consciousness already slipping away as you feel his warm breath against your ear. He whispers something, the words lost in the fog of your nearly-sleeping mind. You mumble an incoherent response, a string of sleepy nonsense that makes no sense even to you.

Terzo's chest vibrates with a soft laugh against your back, the sound rich and warm. The last thing you register before sleep claims you completely is the gentle pressure of his lips against your temple.

You groan and stretch, your limbs heavy with sleep as consciousness slowly returns. The bed beside you is empty and cold - Terzo must have been up for a while. Your head throbs dully, a reminder of last night's wine, but there's something else pulling you from the cozy cocoon of blankets: the unmistakable aroma of breakfast wafting up from downstairs.

The scent of butter and cheese mingles with coffee, making your stomach growl despite the lingering headache. You blink blearily at the ornate ceiling, debating whether to venture out of the warm bed. A melodic humming drifts up from what must be the kitchen, accompanied by the gentle clink of dishes.

Finally, hunger wins out over sleepiness. You swing your legs over the side of the bed, shivering slightly in the morning air. Your clothes from yesterday are neatly folded on a nearby chair - definitely Terzo's doing. You pull them on quickly before padding barefoot toward the stairs, following the enticing smell and the sound of his voice.

You find him in the kitchen, white vest traded for a plain white t-shirt, hair slightly mussed from sleep. He's humming an unfamiliar tune as he stirs something in a pan, his hips swaying slightly to his own melody. The sight would be endearing if your head wasn't pounding and your stomach wasn't in knots from last night's text.

"Ah, toppolino! Just in time." He beams at you over his shoulder, wielding a spatula with flourish. "I make the best eggs in all of Italy. Or at least, that's what the sisters used to tell me." He winks, turning back to the stove where a pan of scrambled eggs sizzle.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee from the fresh pot, inhaling the rich aroma. The caffeine is desperately needed - especially with the weight of your housing situation hanging over your head. You try to push the thought away, focusing instead on how the morning light catches the black paint around Terzo's eyes, making his green one pop.

"Sit, sit!" He gestures dramatically with the spatula. "Let Papa take care of you this morning." There's a playful glint in his mismatched eyes as he slides a generous portion of eggs onto a plate. They're swimming in cheese, probably enough cholesterol to kill a small horse, but they smell divine.

“They smell really good. I didn’t know you could cook?” You push around the eggs on your plate, wanting to wait for him before trying them.

"That's because eggs are all I can make without burning the kitchen down," he admits with a sheepish grin, sliding into the chair across from you. "Once, I tried to make pasta for my brothers The kitchen was closed for three days for repairs." He sighs dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "But these!" He points at your plate with his fork. "These, I have mastered."

You can't help but giggle at his theatrical retelling, the image all to clear of Terzo clanging around in the kitchen, filling the place with smoke, spilling boiling water, etc. filling your mind.

“If they smell so good, why haven’t you eaten yet, ‘fetta?”

“I was waiting for you.” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended and his expression softens immediately.

"Amore, you are too sweet. But per favore, eat! The eggs will get cold, and then I will be very sad." He reaches across the table to pat your hand affectionately before digging into his own plate with enthusiasm.

You take a bite of the eggs and can't help but let out a small moan of appreciation. They really are incredible - perfectly fluffy and loaded with just the right amount of cheese. The morning sun streams through the kitchen windows, casting everything in a warm golden glow.

"The garden looks beautiful," you comment between bites, gesturing toward the window. The neat rows of plants sway gently in the morning breeze.

"The pepperoncini are finally growing," he says proudly, gesturing to a row of small pepper plants. "I almost killed them twice, but they are resilient little things."

When you've both finished eating, he reaches across the table to take your hand, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your palm. You sit in comfortable silence, sipping your coffee, enjoying the simple intimacy of the moment.

“I was thinking, ehhh… I would have some film time today.” Terzo stretches in the doorframe, his long limbs cast in stark shadows against the morning light. "I got the projector is working again, and I have a film I've been meaning to watch for ages." He runs a hand through his dark hair, the black paint around his eyes somehow still immaculate. “Join me?”

“Oh, that would be so nice but I just - I have some things to take care of.” Your anxiety is palpable. His eyes narrow, the playful look on his face faltering. He sees right through you, you know it. But he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“I will be in the den if you change your mind, amore.” He uses his entire body to blow you a kiss. It makes you smile and laugh.

You watch him leave, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips. There's something endearing about seeing him like this - so at ease, so genuinely happy. Gone is the brooding, mysterious employer who first hired you. In his place is someone warm, playful, almost... domestic?

Your coffee has cooled to the perfect temperature, and as you take a sip, you find yourself replaying little moments from the past few days. The way he purrs whenever you are near. How his accent gets thicker when he's excited. The gentle way he carried you to bed last night. He made you breakfast.

“Ugghhhh.”

You like him so much. There's something surprisingly sweet about him that you hadn't expected to find.

A crash from the basement interrupts your dreamy thoughts. Chills run up your spine as the sound morphs into a soft Clair De Lune. That fucking piano. You had forgotten how it shook you the day before and how Terzo hardly paid it any attention once he had you in front of the fireplace. He had showered you with praise, shoved some wine in your hand and ordered chinese food. All an effort to distract you. Some of your dreamy thoughts turn sour.

The ghostly piano plays throughout the afternoon. You finish updating Terzo's calendar, process the outstanding invoices, and make sure all the utility payments are scheduled. The work keeps your hands busy, but every so often you focus on the sounds floating up from beneath the floorboards, Clair De Lune ever present, weaving in melodies from Devil Church, Spoksonat and He is.

It mingles with the muffled sounds of Arsenic and Old Lace, punctuated by occasional bursts of animated Italian as Terzo reacts to scenes. You can picture him so clearly, gesturing dramatically at the screen. Not once does he acknowledge the basement.

By the time you finish your tasks, your mood has soured considerably. Great state of mind to begin apartment hunting. The search begins.

Your laptop screen glows with dozens of open tabs - apartment listings, rental websites, Facebook housing groups. After spending some time looking, there are several options that don’t sound all that bad. You're surprised at the amount that are within your budget. After all, this job has helped you save far more than any other. The thought brings a small wave of relief - you're in a better financial position than you've ever been, really. Maybe this change, while unexpected, isn't the catastrophe it first seemed. You can make it on your own, find a place that's... normal.

The sound of Terzo's footsteps on the stairs makes you quickly minimize the browser window, though you're not sure why you feel the need to hide it. The familiar creaking of floorboards that you've come to recognize as his pacing. You try to focus back on the listings.

Just as you're scrolling through another apartment listing, a soft creak in the floorboards announces his presence before you see him. The familiar sound makes your heart skip, even as you try to maintain focus on the screen in front of you. You can feel his eyes on you.

“What is this, eh?” Terzo looms in the doorway, head tilted as he studies your laptop screen. “You are moving?”

"My roommate just texted," you say quietly, running a hand through your hair. "She's moving out at the end of our lease. In a month." You show him your phone screen, the messages still displayed. "I need to find a place."

His mouth opens, then closes, eyebrows furrowing as he processes your words. "Move in here," he says simply, as if it's the most obvious solution in the world. "There are plenty of rooms, and you already spend most of your time here anyway.”

"Oh, I couldn't," you say gently, shaking your head. "That wouldn't be... appropriate."

"And why not?" His tone is light but there's an edge to it. "It makes perfect sense, no? The commute would be nothing. And I would not charge you rent, of course.” He’s slinks closer to you, his one hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

"Terzo..." You fidget with your coffee cup, avoiding his intense gaze. "I-I think I need my own space. This is still new. And living here… seems like a lot. Big step, and all*.*"

His expression shifts, a predatory gleam entering his mismatched eyes as he stalks toward you. "Tesoro," he purrs, voice dropping to that velvet register that usually makes your knees weak. "Perhaps we can... discuss this further?" His fingers trail along your arm, but you step back, shaking your head.

Seeing his seduction failing, his demeanor hardens. "You like when I'm rough with you, yes?" he growls, pressing into your space. "When I take control?" For a moment, heat floods your cheeks at the memory, but you force yourself to stand your ground.

"That's not going to work this time," you say firmly, though your voice shakes slightly. "This isn't about... that."

His jaw tightens, a flash of frustration crossing his painted features. "Ah, you are being difficult, tesoro. Always so stubborn." He runs a hand through his dark hair, clearly agitated. "I am offering you a solution to your problem, and you refuse it. Why must you make things so complicated?"

He’s not listening to you at all.

“Terzo, the piano has been playing by itself all day!” You erupt, exasperated by the situation. “This place is freaky and you know it. I don’t want to live here. And besides — we’ve only just started…" You gesture vaguely between the two of you, frustration evident in your voice. "I like you so much. I just need time to think about everything, and this house... there's something not right about it. You have to see that."

His expression darkens further. The air grows heavy with an otherworldly tension that makes your skin prickle. "You want to know what's 'not right' about this house, eh?" he growls, his Italian accent thickening with his rising anger. "This house has seen things you cannot imagine, ‘fetta. Things that would make your blood run cold." His voice drops to a dangerous whisper, each word dripping with barely contained fury. "You think a piano playing itself is frightening? That's nothing compared to what truly dwells within these walls."

A chill runs down your spine as realization dawns. He’s not talking about the house. He’s talking about himself. You almost want to laugh but look on his face stops you. Is he joking? It can’t be him — he’s just a guy. A sad, retired rocker. Isn’t he?

The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken words and mounting tension. His earlier fury seems to crack slightly, revealing something vulnerable underneath - a flash of hurt in those mismatched eyes that makes your chest ache. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and controlled, but there's an edge of pain that cuts through his carefully maintained composure.

"You want to run, tesoro? You want to pretend none of this exists?" His voice cracks on the last word, betraying the depth of emotion he's trying to mask.

“I’m not the one pretending.” You can’t hold back anymore. Ever since the phone appeared you’ve been on edge, you’ve felt crazy and you’ve pushed those feelings down because of how he’s continued to react. "You're torturing me. You've been keeping me in the dark about what's happening, never being quite truthful about anything. And you want me to live here? I don’t know anything about you Terzo.”

This silence is different, more dangerous. The way he stands there, perfectly still, jaw clenched and eyes burning with cold fury - it's unsettling. There's none of his usual dramatic gesturing or passionate Italian exclamations. Just that deadly quiet rage simmering beneath the surface, making the air feel thick and heavy around you.

“Leave. Now.”

He’s perfectly threatening.

You stare at him for a long moment, your heart pounding in your chest. Without saying a word, you stuff your laptop into your bag, movements sharp with anger. When you look up, he's already melted back into the shadows of the house, disappearing as if he was never there.Fury and hurt propel you forward as you storm through the dark hallway. The piano has finally, mercifully stopped its endless playing.