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Mok was with Thee and Peach when the call came. Rome had been taken. No one knew where he was. No one knew if he was alive. An important shipment delayed without explanation, Rome had gone to check it out himself. He didn’t make it back.
Rumors came quickly after. A rival family in the south, trying to challenge The Arsenis. Quiet threats that were never loud enough to act on, until they were. Attempts on Rome’s life, news of which never reached Thailand.
Mok didn’t know about any of it.
Rome had kept it from him- the threats, the assassination attempts, the danger. All of it. He thought he was protecting Mok. As if the distance could keep Mok safe.
There was no discussion. Thee knew Mok had made a decision. “Khun Thee, I’m going to Italy. I’ll bring him home, I promise”
Time blurred after that.
The flight, the airport, the distance, everything became secondary. Mok did not let himself focus on the image of Rome covered in blood and bruises or touched by the hands that never should have even been near him.
Instead he focused on what would be needed. Names he hadn’t used in years, old routes, whispered conversations. Slippery mistakes that people make when they become too confident and imagine themselves untouchable.
By the time the plane landed in Italy, the fear had gone quiet. Resolve had taken its place. Quiet resolve and clarity, that came with deep understanding of what needs to be done, knowing exactly what he was willing to do to bring Rome home even if he had to burn the world for it.
Mok arrived at the Arseni mansion without any fanfare. The quiet that greeted him was familiar. It had been years since he had set a foot here yet the house remembered who he was, the silence settling into place and the air remained unchanged. A faint floral scent lingered beneath the stronger scent of gunpowder, exactly as he remembered.
No one announced him. They didn’t need to. Everyone knew who he was, one of the most dangerous men trained by the family. Conversations stopped. People stepped aside, and the path cleared up without a word. Guards at the gate straightened up, stood with their heads bowed, eyes dropping as they came to attention.
Alof found him in the inner corridor, moving deeper into the house.
“Mok,” he said, voice low. It wasn’t a greeting you give someone you see after years. It was acknowledgement.
“The shipment delay was intentional. Someone deliberately messed with our routes. We lost contact after the shipment entered the southern border. Rome was taken alive from the same route, we have multiple witnesses confirming it.”
He paused and then added, “We think the south did it.”
“They carried it out,” Mok said, without breaking eye contact.
Alof frowned, ”You think they had help?”
“They had access,” Mok replied, turning to look outside the window, “The timing was suspicious and carried out too smoothly.”
Understanding dawned slowly. Alof inclined his head in agreement. “An internal leak.”
Mok nodded once, ”Bring me the names of all the people who handled the shipment.”
The meeting room was small and cold. Mok took the only chair without comment. Alof stood to his right. Others entered one by one, slow steps and stood in their places more carefully than necessary.
“You all handled the shipment,” Mok said. His voice was calm, devoid of any emotion. “Which means one of you allowed it to happen.”
No one spoke.
Mok looked around the room. “I already know one of you did it, one of you leaked the information.” he said. “I’m here to find out who.”
“The route was changed ten minutes after the shipment entered the southern border.” Mok continued. “Only five of you had access to the details at that point.”
He didn’t shout, he didn’t raise his voice, he let silence do its job.
One of them shifted in his seat. Too fast.
“Matteo, you were assigned to the route, tell me why it was changed.” Mok asked. Matteo cleared his throat and answered, “It wasn’t unusual, I received information that the road was blocked. I made the decision to keep things moving.”
Mok studied him for a moment, not his face but his hands and legs, they wouldn’t stay still.
“You made a decision without authorization.” Mok said.
Matteo shrugged, a little too quickly, “It’s not the first time, I've done it before.”
Mok nodded, “You have, but never without clearance.” He leaned back slightly and continued, “The southern border was supposed to be closed, that means you knew it had reopened or someone told you about it. Now the question is which one was it.”
Matteo’s gaze flickered towards the door, hands a little too fidgety. Mok followed the movement with his eyes. Then he looked back at Matteo.
“Who told you?”
“No one, I-”
“Someone did.” Mok said, calmly. ”The timing was too convenient. No one else knew. There was no hesitation.”
Matteo swallowed, “They said it would be quick, that no one would get hurt.” he said quietly.
The room went still. Mok stood.
“You don’t get to decide that. Not now, not ever. Take him.” Alof was already moving. As Matteo was being dragged outside, Mok spoke once more, ”Get me the phone. I want to talk to the south.”
The phone rang once before it was answered.
“So,” Cairo said, amused. “You’ve finally decided to negotiate. Now let’s discuss those treaties, shall we?”
“Is he alive?” Mok asked.
There was a pause. Then Cairo laughed. ”Yes.”
Mok exhaled slowly. “Good,” he said.
“Then you still have time.”
“Time for what?”
Mok’s voice didn’t change, he answered with the same calm, “To decide who you want left standing when I get there.”
He ended the call.
Mok did not need to announce himself. His arrival itself was a silent storm that creeps up on you without you realizing it's here. The first man barely had time to register his surprise before Mok was already in front of him. A sharp crack, and his legs gave away, gun falling down before the body did. Mok’s sleeve was covered in blood. Red against the white fabric.
The second one didn’t even get a chance to speak. He was dead before he could even pull the trigger. His blood sprayed all over Mok’s arms.
By the time the third realized what was happening, he was dead. Neck twisted, gun wound on his chest.
Rome saw all of it.
From where he was tied to a chair, forced to watch everything. He noticed everything, every detail, his attention fixed on Mok alone- the way Mok moved with calm, the rolled sleeves, the guns on the vest, the muscles underneath the blood stained white shirt, blood smeared on his forearms, his collar and those damn glasses.
Mok didn’t look like he was fighting. He looked like he was hunting.
He moved through the space with a practiced certainty. Not one blind spot, bodies falling one by one. He didn’t look back.
Mok cleared the last room without slowing. The men inside were unprepared, never expecting someone to make it this far without resistance. The fight ended quickly- gunshots, bodies staying where they had fallen.
Mok stood in the center of it all. He flexed his fingers and then lifted his gaze.
Their eyes met. Rome forgot how to breathe.
Mok crossed the room, he reached Rome and cut the metal restraints digging into his arms. Rome sagged forward, arms weak from being all tied up. Up close he had blood dried along his temple, lip split open where someone had hit him. His shirt was ruined, bloody stains across the once expensive fabric.
Mok caught him gently and his hands went to Rome’s ribs, his shoulders and his jaw, gently checking for injuries. Counting the damage, the pain. Memorizing it.
Rome was here. Still breathing. Still alive.
Rome’s eyes looked at him from head to toe as if to check for injuries and hoarsely said, “You’re late.”
Mok’s mouth twitched. Just barely
“They hurt you,” he said.
Rome exhaled, leaning into him, ”You should have seen the other guys.”
Mok’s hands tightened on Rome’s sides.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” Rome whispered.
Mok let out the breath that had been trapped in his chest for days. “I’ll always come,” he said quietly.
Rome huffed out a laugh and leaned fully into him. Mok adjusted his arms without comment. Bracing him like the world had finally given them the permission to exist in each other’s gravity. Mok pressed his forehead to Rome’s.
“You’re bleeding,” Rome murmured.
Mok glanced down at his knuckles, ”It’s not mine.”
Rome smiled despite himself, ”Figures.”
Mok slid his hands to Rome’s neck and then his back supporting him. The care whispered in these silent careful touches.
The kiss came slowly. Not rushed. Not desperate. Years of longing trapped in that one kiss.
Mok waited for Rome to pull back, to remember the rules, the walls, the boundaries. Rome didn’t.
The kiss was quiet, it was certain. Blood smeared between them, bodies aligned together.
Mok quietly whispered, “We need to move.”
Rome nodded, then hesitantly asked, “You’re not staying.” It wasn’t a question. They both knew the answer. He couldn’t.
Mok didn’t answer right away. He tightened his grip and whispered, “I’ll take you home.”
Rome closed his eyes. For the first time in days he let himself relax.