Chapter Two-Hundred Sixty-One: A Night of Consequences

Chapter 261

A Night of Consequences

Celeste and Trevor teleported to The Dessert Ranch and stood in front. Celeste’s outfit consisted of a Lita Ford tank top, a denim skirt, a spiked collar, leather mules, and a leather fringe purse slung over her shoulder. Trevor was dressed in a Batman shirt, black shorts, crew socks, untied sneakers, and a fedora.

Celeste: “So this is where you want to go to give me information on how Ivy for her dad’s house?”

Trevor: “I never had enough money for ‘Mr. Nice Cream’s Freshest Ice Cream’.”

He drawled, scratching his ass.

They entered the ice cream shop and went up to the counter. Trevor went up to the girl dressed as a cheetah.

Trevor: “Uh, we want Mr. Nice Cream’s Freshest Ice Cream Special.”

He drawled.

Cheetah Girl: “Sure! That will be twenty-four dollars!”

She smiled. Celeste groaned. She unzipped her purse, got out her wallet, and paid the girl exactly twenty-four dollars.

Cheetah Girl: “Take a seat, and we’ll bring it out to you.”

Celeste and Trevor sat at a booth by a cardboard cut-out of Mr. Nice Cream. Celeste eyed it up. She rested her elbows on the table and drummed her nails on the surface.

Celeste: “So if you get this, you will tell me how Ivy got her house?”

Trevor: “Celeste, I have her bake me yummy treats if I teleport her to places! I hear LOTS in that house!”

Celeste: “Would you tell me more?”

Trevor hummed and nodded.

Trevor: “For this sundae, it’s worth it.”

The Cheetah Girl and a man dressed as a dog brought out “Mr. Nice Cream’s Freshest Ice Cream” special, which was 12 scoops of ice cream, hot fudge, whipped cream, bananas, cherries, marshmallows, and peanuts to their booth. They handed a spoon to Celeste and Trevor.

Trevor: “Why did they give you a spoon?!”

He pouted as he dug in.

Celeste: “Trevor, come on, you can’t eat all this on your own!”

She huffed and scooped up some ice cream with her spoon. Trevor pulled it away.

Celeste: “Trevor, come on, I cut your wood for ya!”

Trevor paused and nodded.

Trevor: “That is true.”

The table soon became a battlefield of sticky syrup and melting dairy. Trevor attacked the sundae with a prehistoric intensity, his spoon a blur as he hoarded the maraschino cherries and shoveled massive, multi-colored bites into his mouth, barely pausing to breathe. Celeste, her brow furrowed in deep annoyance, had to skillfully dodge his flailing elbows just to secure a single scoop of vanilla. Between Trevor’s brain-freeze winces and his frantic slurping of the pooling hot fudge, he began to mutter something, his voice thick with marshmallow fluff. Celeste leaned in, trying to filter out the sound of his aggressive chewing to catch the vital information she had just paid twenty-four dollars for.

Brad stolled in and plopped his big ass into the booth across from theirs.

Brad: “Hey, the usual! Put it on Makayla’s tab!”

He laughed.

Celeste: “It’s that fat guy again!”

She whispered hoarsely.

Trevor: “Holy schnikes, and I thought my ass was big.”

He drawled, with syrup all over his face.

Celeste: “Whatever! So how did Ivy get her dad’s place?!”

She asked with irritation. Trevor let out a loud belch that echoed through the restaurant, causing everyone but Brad to stare at him. Celeste furrowed her eyebrows in annoyance.

Trevor: “She got this crystal vial from Lazaros and read Deimos’ mind to know what it does. Zhaolin Lan, this dragon lady crime lord, wanted some ‘Aetheris-9,’ and Ivy told her it was that and said she would give it if Zhaolin got her dad’s house for her.”

He explained. Celeste paused as she took in that information.

Celeste: “Zhaolin got the mystical spirit water?!”

She gasped. Trevor bobbed his head and lifted his asscheek to rip a giant fart. Celeste gagged.

Celeste: “Trevor, for fuck’s sake!”

She threw her hands up.

Celeste: “Basilia and Zhaolin have been at it for years, so I guess this means they will finally crush The Flores Crime Family.”

She muttered.

Trevor: “It’s not my problem.”

He shrugged.

Celeste: “I guess not, but I wonder how this will affect us.”

Celeste stood up to browse the shelves filled with Mr. Nice Cream memorabilia and plushies. She picked up a container labeled “Cow in a Can” and turned it over, reading the description that explained a cow plush was inside. Glancing toward the kitchen, she caught sight of the top of Mr. Nice Cream’s head.

She crept over and slightly opened the door to peek in. She saw Mr. Nice Cream with his pants down, squatting over a table as scoops of ice cream dropped out of his ass into the giant sundae bowl that Mr. Nice Cream’s Freshest Ice Cream Special was served in.

Celeste’s face drained of all color as her stomach did a violent somersault. She clutched her midsection, a wave of cold nausea washing over her that made her vision swim. Without a word of explanation, she turned and bolted for the exit, her leather mules clattering frantically against the tile as she scrambled to reach the fresh air before her stomach emptied itself. Trevor sat frozen at the booth, a streak of chocolate syrup on his cheek, watching her retreat with a look of utter, sugar-dazed confusion.

Celeste burst through the exit doors, the humid afternoon air doing nothing to settle the chaos in her gut. She stumbled across the manicured grass, clutching her stomach, and finally collapsed to her knees near a decorative hedge. The retching hit her in violent, shuddering waves, and she emptied her stomach onto the pristine grass, gasping for breath while the world spun around her.

She heard footsteps on the grass and raised her mascara-streaked face to Tristan. Tristan wore a black button-down shirt, a vest with Oliver, Francis, and Kyle on it, jeans, and black loafers. He knelt, handing her a handkerchief.

Tristan: “Are you all right, Celeste?”

He asked softly.

Celeste: “Don’t fuckin’ go in that place and order ‘Mr. Nice Cream’s Freshest Ice Cream’.”

She gagged and coughed. She took Tristan’s hand as he helped her up.

Tristan: “Is it that bad?”

Celeste: “It’s fuckin’ worse!”

She groaned.

Tristan: “Come on, I’ll drive you back to my place and get you some cold sweet tea.”

He said gently as he walked her to his car.

Tristan opened the passenger’s door to his Toyota MR2 Convertible and helped Celeste get in. He closed the door for her. He then walked around the back of the car, climbed into the driver’s seat, and shut the door. He turned the key in the ignition, the engine purring to life instantly. He depressed the clutch, shifted the MR2 into first gear, and smoothly pulled away from the curb, driving down the street.

~

Celeste sat at Tristan’s backyard patio with Tristan and Deimos. She sipped on a glass of fresh sweet tea that Bastien made and told the men everything Trevor told her. Tristan cupped his jaw.

Tristan: “She’s crafty; I will give her that.”

Deimos: “Why doesn’t she use her expertise to gain her dad’s fortune instead of trying to break you and Fabien up? She doesn’t even want him.”

He said gruffly. Celeste bowed her head.

Celeste: “That’s why I did this! I don’t want just Tristan to do this stuff! I wanna help.”

She mumbled. Tristan smiled.

Tristan: “Thank you for that, Celeste. Much obliged.”

He said genially. Celeste brightened.

Deimos: “What does this crime boss lady getting her mitts on the mystical spirit water have to do with us? We don’t give a shit about Basilia or her crime family.”

Tristan turned to Deimos.

Tristan: “No, but Zhaolin may do whatever Ivy asks of her. She didn’t give her the Aetheris-9… That would be in… me.”

He hung his head. Deimos knitted his eyebrows and put his arms around his boyfriend. Tristan smiled and leaned into him.

Celeste: “What if Zhaolin finds that out?”

Tristan: “That’s not my problem, Celeste. It’s out of our hands, but we now know where the other vial of that mystical spirit water went.”

Deimos: “So, uh, why did you puke up that ice cream? Is it that bad?”

Celeste groaned and clutched her tummy.

Celeste: “Don’t get that Mr. Nice Cream special.”

She gagged.

Tristan: “Isn’t that over fourteen dollars? I am not paying that much for ice cream.”

He twisted his mouth.

Deimos: “Twenty-four dollars.”

He corrected him.

Celeste: “Yeah, his power is that ice cream coming out of Mr. Nice Cream’s ass!”

She coughed and gagged. Tristan’s face twisted in disgust. Deimos looked away.

Deimos: “I am going to be fucking sick.”

Celeste: “Maybe it explains the price…”

She groaned.

Tristan: “If I am not about to pay that price for real ice cream, I definitely won’t for ice cream coming out of his rectum!”

He gagged as the thoughts flooded his mind.

Tristan: “There goes my appetite.”

~

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon that evening, painting Juniper Street in a warm gold. Fabien stepped out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist after showering and shaving. He spritzed on some Gucci cologne to his chest, neck, and wrists, and dropped his towel to the floor. He squeezed a dollop of hair gel into his palms, rubbed them together, and worked it through his damp hair, slicking it back until it was perfectly smooth.

Twenty minutes later, a sleek, jet-black stretch limousine glided smoothly down the lane, its tinted windows reflecting the manicured lawns before coming to a stop directly in front of Fabien’s house. Jaxon was on his patio smoking and reading a manga in Japanese. He wore a black button-down paisley shirt, black jeans, and black sheer socks. He raised his head at the limousine. What the fuck is that? He wondered.

The rear door clicked open, and Balderico stepped out onto the driveway. He looked as dashing as ever in his black tuxedo, clutching a small corsage box with eager, aristocratic anticipation.

Then, the front door of the house swung open. Jaxon raised his book to his face when he saw Balderico Belloni.

Fabien stepped out onto the porch, and the transformation was nothing short of breathtaking. He wore an impeccably tailored green Italian-cut suit that hugged his lean frame perfectly. Underneath the jacket, he wore a light green vest layered over a crisp, white pressed shirt, paired with a rich green silk tie. His white hair was slicked back smoothly, highlighting his sharp features and dark green eyes, while a pair of pristine, polished brown wholecut oxfords clicked against the pavement.

Balderico gasped, practically losing his breath as he took it in. He clutched the corsage box to his chest, his eyes wide with unadulterated awe. Fabien casually slid a hand into his suit pocket, offering a smooth, confident smirk as he walked down the driveway toward the limo.

Fabien: “Hey, do I pass the test?”

He asked wryly. Balderico closed his eyes for a brief, heady second as the refined scent of Gucci cologne washed over him. When he opened them, his gaze was practically glowing with devotion.

Balderico: “Most definitely.”

He purred, his voice thick with admiration.

Balderico: “You look absolutely breathtaking, Fabien. A vision of sheer elegance.”

With deliberate, romantic care, Balderico opened the small box he was holding and retrieved a boutonnière crafted from a single, deep green orchid. He stepped close, his hands remarkably steady as he pinned it to the lapel of Fabien’s tailored green Italian jacket.

Fabien looked down at the orchid, then back at Balderico. He let out a low chuckle.

Fabien: “You really go all out on this, don’t you?”

Fabien smirked, offering his arm with a breezy, aristocratic flourish.

Fabien: “Lead the way, my friend. Let’s go crash this gala.”

Balderico beamed, taking Fabien’s arm with proud, theatrical triumph, and guided him into the plush, leather-lined interior of the limousine. The door clicked shut, and the long black car glided away.

Jaxon lowered his manga and watched them go. Should I tell Tristan or Celeste? He wondered. Then he remembered how Fabien hurt his feelings and furrowed his eyebrows. No, fuck him, he thought and continued reading his manga.

~

The limousine pulled up to the Donati Tower. Valets in crisp white gloves rushed forward to open the car door, and Balderico stepped out first, offering a dramatic hand to Fabien. Fabien slid out of the leather interior, adjusting his suit jacket. The Donati Tower’s seventh-floor ballroom was visible through towering glass windows above, glowing with amber light and buzzing with the murmur of high society.

Balderico proudly tucked his arm through Fabien’s, beaming as he’d just walked in with royalty.

Balderico: “Shall we?”

He whispered.

Fabien: “Lead the way!”

He said as the two men entered The Ocean Concourse and went inside the elevator.

The glass elevator swept them up to the seventh floor, opening directly onto a sea of opulence.

The Donati Tower ballroom was magnificent—a cavernous room lit by towering crystal chandeliers, lined with floor-to-ceiling glass offering a panoramic view of the Pink Top City skyline. Live orchestra music drifted over the gentle clinking of champagne flutes and the muffled hum of high-society chatter. Elite guests in black tuxedos and elaborate silk gowns milled about, sipping vintage wine under the warm amber glow.

Balderico walked with the proud, posture-perfect swagger of a man who owned the room, but all eyes inevitably drifted to Fabien. He glanced around the grand ballroom, casually resting one hand in his trouser pocket while his emerald eyes took in the high-ceilinged room. He gave a soft, amused chuckle, leaning slightly toward Balderico.

Fabien: “This is nice… Very nice.”

He nodded in approval.

Fabien: “It’s… different to be here. I don’t go to these things anymore.”

He added, thinking back to when his father forced him to go to these galas as a child.

Balderico let out a delighted, melodious laugh, tightening his grip on Fabien’s arm as he guided him further into the crowd.

Balderico: “Fabien, my dear, wherever you stand is the center of the world.”

Balderico guided Fabien out onto the center of the polished hardwood floor, directly beneath the grandest crystal chandelier in the room. The orchestra launched into a sweeping, romantic waltz, the violins soaring high above the murmurs of the elite crowd.

Balderico placed one hand securely on Fabien’s waist, holding his other hand high with immaculate ballroom posture.

Balderico: “Allow me to show you how a gala truly dances.”

He purred, his eyes shining with pure adoration.

Fabien chuckled, falling into the rhythm with effortless grace. He moved smoothly as Balderico swept them into a series of flawless, grand box steps. They spun past wealthy socialites and high-society couples who paused, flutes of champagne held mid-air, entirely captivated by the pair. Fabien caught the gazes of the onlookers and flashed his cool, signature smirk, taking the dramatic turns in stride.

Fabien: “You know…, this is kind of… fun…”

He murmured casually as they completed a graceful turn. Balderico let out a rich, joyful laugh, pulling Fabien slightly closer as the music reached its crescendo.

Balderico: “Nothing in this world competes with you, Fabien.”

With a final, dramatic flourish of the violins, Balderico led Fabien into a deep, sweeping dip right in the middle of the dance floor. Fabien’s green orchid boutonnière stayed perfectly pinned as he looked up at Balderico, completely unbothered and thoroughly enjoying the show, while the surrounding crowd burst into enthusiastic applause.

Balderico smoothly brought Fabien back up from the dip, but he didn’t let go right away. Instead, he kept his hand resting gently at the small of Fabien’s back, his palm warm against the fine green wool of the Italian suit. He stroked the small of his back with a slow, tender rhythm, his eyes locking onto Fabien's with unshielded devotion.

Balderico: “An absolute triumph!”

He said, his voice soft against the lingering applause of the gala guests around them.

Balderico: “You dance like you were born for the grandest ballrooms in the world.”

Fabien snorted. He held his ground, resting his hand casually on Balderico’s shoulder as he felt the subtle, affectionate rub against his spine. He tossed his hair slightly and let out a smooth, low laugh, his eyes glinting with that familiar, cool charm.

Fabien: “Careful, man, you’re going to have people think we’re serious.”

Balderico’s heart practically skipped a beat at the teasing banter. He gave Fabien's back one last affectionate press before reluctantly easing his hand away to offer a polished, gallant bow.

Balderico: “I am entirely serious, my dear Fabien.”

He purred, holding out an arm once more.

Balderico: “Now… shall I fetch us two flutes of champagne to celebrate our victory on the floor?”

Fabien: “Sure!”

Balderico glided back through the crowd with two crystal flutes of vintage champagne, moving with the practiced grace of a man in his element. He handed one to Fabien, their fingers brushing lingeringly, and immediately brought his hand right back to rest at the small of Fabien’s back, giving it a soft, gentle caress through the tailored green fabric of his suit.

Balderico: “A toast.”

He raised his glass, his dark eyes sparkling under the crystal chandeliers.

Balderico: “To the most extraordinary man in this room—and every other room.”

Fabien took the flute, clinking it softly against Balderico's with a subtle, melodic ping. He brought the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip of the sparkling wine while feeling the warm, persistent hand at his back.

He set the glass down slightly and looked over at Balderico, a teasing, irresistible smirk dancing on his lips.

Fabien: “You really can’t keep your hands off the suit, can you?”

He chuckled softly, leaning in close enough so only Balderico could hear over the background orchestra.

Fabien: “I gotta admit, though... you buy a great drink, you dance a hell of a waltz, and you sure know how to make me feel like a million bucks.”

Balderico leaned closer, his expression pure adoration.

Balderico: “Because, my dear Fabien... to me, you are worth a million dollars.”

Fabien let out a rich, easygoing laugh, taking another sip of champagne while letting Balderico keep his hand right where it was.

Balderico slid his hand down from the small of Fabien’s back to wrap securely around his waist, pulling him closer until there was barely any air left between them. Fabien didn’t pull back. Instead, he cradled his champagne flute and let out a low, amused breath against the murmur of the ballroom.

Balderico looked into Fabien's face, his grip on his waist firm and tender, his expression filled with complete, unabashed adoration.

Balderico: “I want the entire city to see that I am holding the most magnificent treasure in the Donati Tower tonight.”

Fabien chuckled, shaking his head as he took another slow sip of vintage champagne.

Fabien: “Man…, you really are something else.”

Balderico gently lifted Fabien’s free hand, tracing his fingers lightly across the center before giving his palm a soft, lingering tickle with his fingertips. Fabien’s breath hitched for a split second, and he laughed softly. He reflexively curled his fingers inward, looking down at their hands and then back up at Balderico, his eyes dancing with playfulness.

Fabien: “Hey—watch it.”

He chuckled. Balderico offered a thoroughly delighted, mischievous smile, keeping his grip warm and steady against Fabien’s waist.

Balderico: “I couldn’t resist… To see a smile so genuine on a face so striking... it is worth any risk in the world.”

His thumb lightly caressing the back of Fabien's hand now.

Fabien: “Hahahaha, okay.”

He shook his head, a rich, warm laugh rumbling in his chest as he took another sip of champagne.

Balderico smiled, his hand trailing down to cup Fabien’s ass. Fabien’s eye flashed with a sudden, sharp glint, the cool, lighthearted humor instantly vanishing from his expression.

In one swift, fluid motion, Fabien brought his hand up, his fingers locking around Balderico’s wrist with a firm, unyielding grip before Balderico's hand could go any further. He stopped him cold, holding Balderico’s arm static in mid-air between them. The effortless, playful smirk was gone, replaced by a cool, razor-sharp glare.

Fabien: “All right, knock it off!”

He hissed, his voice dropping into a low, steady tone that cut straight through the orchestra's music.

Fabien: “We’re having a good time, but keep your hands where they belong.”

He didn’t make a scene or draw the attention of the surrounding gala guests, but his grip remained solid, making his point completely non-negotiable.

Fabien: “Understood?”

He added, raising an eyebrow as he waited for Balderico to step back. Balderico smiled tightly.

Balderico: “My apologies, Fabien… Whatever was I thinking?”

Balderico slowly withdrew his hand, holding both palms up in an apologetic gesture while maintaining a smooth, contrite smile.

Fabien relaxed his grip on Balderico’s wrist, letting his arm fall back to his side with practiced ease. He smoothed down the front of his green Italian jacket, tossing his slicked-back silver hair as the cool, unflappable smirk returned to his face.

Fabien: “All good, man…”

He said smoothly, taking a slow, steadying sip of his champagne.

Fabien: “So…how about we catch some air and actually enjoy the view?”

He gestured toward the glass balcony doors overlooking the city lights.

Balderico: “Absolutely…”

Fabien gave a quiet, satisfied nod and stepped through the tall glass doors onto the Donati Tower balcony.

The cool night air washed over them instantly, a welcome relief from the warm, crowded ballroom. Seven floors up, the city skyline stretched out before them in a sprawling grid of golden streetlights and blinking neon signs, glowing softly against the dark horizon.

Fabien walked up to the stone balustrade, resting both hands on the cool marble ledge. He looked out over the city, the night breeze gently tugging at a few loose strands of his white hair.

Fabien: “Now this… is a view worth putting on a suit for…”

Balderico stepped up beside him, resting his elbows on the railing and gazing at Fabien with that same quiet, enduring admiration.

Balderico: “It certainly is, Fabien. It certainly is.”

Fabien didn’t take his eyes off the glittering city lights. He swirled his champagne in his glass and took another sip. He then set his champagne flute down on the marble ledge behind them.

Balderico placed his hand at the small of his back, and he cupped his ass. Fabien’s expression went completely flat. Without a word, he grabbed Balderico by the front of his tuxedo collar and forced him backward, pushing him against the balcony wall with enough sharp, heavy leverage to rattle the glass behind them.

Fabien’s green eyes were burning, his jaw set in a hard, dangerous line as he held Balderico pinned.

Fabien: “I gave you ONE warning.”

His voice dropped into a razor-cold, lethal quiet that cut right through the distant hum of the party inside.

Fabien: “I told you to keep your hands where they belong, and you blew it.”

The grip on Balderico’s lapels was iron-tight, his chest heaving as he stood nose-to-nose with him.

Fabien: “This night is over.”

He growled, letting go with a forceful shove that snapped Balderico back against the masonry. He straightened his tie and retrieved his champagne glass from the ledge, draining it in one swift swallow.

Fabien: “I am calling a cab.”

He slammed the crystal flute onto a nearby table with a sharp clink, gave Balderico one last, searing glare, and turned on his heel to go through the glass doors back into the ballroom.

Balderico grabbed his wrist and yanked Fabien back with great force. Fabien’s back slammed against the wall, and he let out a grunt.

Balderico: “Don’t go, Fabien, the fun has just begun.”

He beamed, reaching into his tuxedo jacket and pulling out a Beretta 92, pointing it at him. Fabien’s eyes widened.

Balderico: “Get it? Gun?”

Fabien froze as the cold steel pressed into his vision, but he didn't flinch. He looked from the barrel of the gun directly into Balderico’s eyes, the last traces of his unbothered smirk completely evaporating into a hard, stony calm.

Fabien: “Put that gun down…”

He said sternly, his voice dropping an octave into a low, deadly quiet. He didn't pull against the grip on his wrist, keeping his center of gravity rock-steady on the balcony floor.

The orchestra music inside continued to play softly behind the thick glass doors, entirely oblivious to the standoff on the seventh-floor balcony. Fabien kept his eyes locked on Balderico, his green eyes calculating every inch of distance between them.

Fabien: “Let go of me, and don’t do something you’re going to regret.”

Balderico: “I would never hurt you, my sweet Fabien…”

He purred, his smile widening into something entirely unhinged.

Before Fabien could react or throw his weight into a counter-strike, Balderico lunged forward. In a flash, a small silver auto-injector slid from his sleeve, and Balderico jammed the needle directly into the side of Fabien’s exposed neck.

Fabien gasped, his eyes widening in sudden, sharp shock as the heavy chemical surged into his bloodstream. His hand flew up to grab at Balderico’s lapel, but his fingers instantly lost their grip, clutching uselessly at the fabric.

Fabien: “Espèce… de sale… taré…”

He muttered, his voice slurring heavily as his vision swam and the terrace lights blurred into streaks of amber and gold. His knees buckled beneath him. Balderico caught him seamlessly around the waist, pulling Fabien’s limp frame against his chest before he could hit the stone floor. Fabien’s head fell back, his slicked-back white hair disheveled, completely unconscious.

Balderico looked down at him cradled in his arms, smoothed down the lapels of Fabien’s jacket, and smiled with quiet, terrifying triumph. The small dark on Fabien’s neck vanished before his eyes. Balderico took note of this. Ah, he’s one of those freaks, he thought. No, Fabien, you are superior to those cretins, he thought.

Balderico effortlessly hoisted Fabien, slinging the unconscious man's arm over his wide shoulder and taking on his entire limp weight with absolute mastery. Keeping Fabien tucked tightly against his collar, Balderico secured him firmly by the waist and hooked his other arm under Fabien's legs to carry him.

Balderico: “My apologies, everyone! Just a bit too much vintage champagne for my radiant companion.”

He announced with a booming, theatrical laugh as he maneuvered Fabien through the glass doors.

The gala guests chuckled politely, stepping aside to make way.

Older Man: “Ah, happens to the best of us!”

He called out, raising his glass in solidarity as Balderico glided past.

Balderico whisked Fabien down the private service elevator and out into the crisp night air of the Donati Tower valet drive. Henry, the driver, seeing his boss approaching with the unconscious guest, immediately sprang into action, throwing the rear door of the stretch limousine wide open.

Balderico slid Fabien smoothly onto the plush leather seats, making sure his sharp green Italian jacket was straightened, and his polished brown oxfords rested comfortably on the floor mat.

Henry: “Home, sir?”

He asked, closing the door behind them.

Balderico: “No, quite, Henry.”

He purred, settling into the leather seat beside Fabien and running a gentle hand over Fabien’s disheveled white hair.

Balderico: “To the estate. We have a long, glorious evening ahead of us.”

The limo pulled away from the curb, its tinted windows swallowing them into the night.

~

A low, mechanical growl echoed down Juniper Street. Jordi’s Purple Ferrari 328 swept into the driveway, its pop-up headlights winking as the engine gave one final, throaty rev before falling silent. Jordi hopped out of his car. He wore a white pressed shirt, black tie, black pants, and black zip-up boots, while carrying his suit jacket into the house.

Jaxon lay waiting for him on the couch with sultry eyes. His red-black hair cascading around him.

Jaxon: “You’re late. Did Blair hold you hostage or throw another tantrum?”

He teased. Jordi tossed his keys onto the ceramic bowl and draped his suit jacket over the armchair.

Jordi: “I had to help Demetrio organize a gala being held in the ballroom in the Donati Tower…”

He pursed his lips.

Jordi: “And comfort him some more after Blair destroyed Sylvia’s portrait in her memory. He doesn’t want to believe Blair did that because he’s not getting his way. No, he thinks he’s grieving.”

He rolled his eyes and threw his arms up.

Jaxon reached up, grabbed his tie, and pulled him down into a kiss. Jordi didn't hesitate, his hands finding Jaxon's waist as he leaned in. The kiss was deep and hungry, a silent release after the tension of the day, their breaths mingling in the quiet space as Jaxon’s fingers tangled in the front of Jordi’s shirt, pulling him closer.

~

Tristan and Deimos were walking down the street that night. They held hands, their fingers interlaced.

Tristan: “So Jasper wants to propose to Papa…”

He began, his voice trailing off.

Deimos: “Does he know… you know who is alive?”

Tristan heaved a deep sigh and shook his head.

Tristan: “No, he doesn’t. Jasper came to me before to ask if he should propose, and I told him to hold off while we mourn Sylvia’s death… This was before we found out… It’s alive.”

A mirthless laugh escaped his mouth.

Deimos: “When is a good time to propose?”

Tristan: “I don’t know anymore, Deimos. I hate to say that this is the last thing on my mind right now.”

They saw Celeste outside on hers and Fabien’s lawn, embracing herself and knitting her eyebrows.

Tristan: “Everything okay, Celeste?”

Celeste: “Where’s Fab?”

Tristan raised his eyebrows.

Deimos: “I thought you two made up.”

Celeste: “We did make up, but he’s not here, Deimos! His flip-flops and Danny Donger sneakers are still on the porch!”

She exclaimed, her voice laced with worry and panic.

Deimos: “Did he get stoned to go off and troll Blair?”

He asked evenly. Celeste looked away.

Celeste: “No, because his shoes would still be here!”

She said with frustration in her tone.

Tristan: “And his car is still here.”

He nodded to his Shelby Mustang.

~

Jordi held Jaxon’s head on his chest. Jaxon’s fingers trailed up his chest, up to the knot on his tie.

Jordi: “Everything okay, Jaxon?”

He asked softly.

Jordi: “Are you upset I came home later than I said I would?”

He knitted his eyebrows. Jaxon looked up at him, smiling.

Jaxon: “No, it’s not you! I’m not upset!”

He snaked his arm around his waist. Jordi paused when he heard Celeste whimpering along with Tristan and Deimos replying.

Jordi: “Why is Celeste whining to Tristan and Deimos?”

Jordi rose, and Jaxon caught his arm.

Jordi: “What is it, Jaxon?”

Jaxon: “I know why she’s like this!”

He knitted his eyebrows. Jordi turned to lock his gaze on him. Jaxon heaved a deep sigh.

Jaxon: “Don’t hate me, Jordi! I didn’t tell anyone because he hurt my feelings, but I don’t want you to hate me!”

He cried as he clutched his shirt. Jordi gazed down at him.

Jordi: “What’s going on, Jaxon?”

Jaxon: “I saw a limo pull up to his house and Fabien stepped out in a suit. He got in the limo with Gina’s dad!”

He cried. Jordi’s eyes widened.

Jordi: “WHAT!? Jaxon, why didn’t you tell me?!”

Jaxon buried his face into his hands and sobbed. Jordi knitted his eyebrows and wrapped his arms around him.

Jordi: “Look. I know Fabien can be… difficult, but if something like this happens, you have to tell me. We’re a team.”

He said gently.

Jordi stepped out of the house to Tristan, Celeste, and Deimos.

Jordi: “Guys, I overheard you all. Fabien got into a limo with Balderico.”

He said firmly. Celeste gaped.

Celeste: “Jordi, how do you know?!”

She stomped her feet.

Jordi: “Jaxon saw him earlier.”

Celeste turned to Jaxon in a fury.

Celeste: “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME, JAX?! WHY DO YOU ALWAYS DO THIS SHIT!?”

She screamed as tears welled in her eyes. Jaxon knitted his eyebrows and looked away, embracing himself. Jordi stood protectively in front of him.

Jordi: “Please don’t be angry with him, Celeste!”

He pleaded. Tristan put his hand on Celeste’s shoulder and smiled.

Tristan: “He told us, okay? Now, we have a lead.”

He said calmly. Celeste wiped her eyes and nodded.

Tristan locked his gaze on Jaxon.

Tristan: “Jaxon, what exactly did you see?”

Jaxon: “Are you mad at me?”

He asked him. Tristan raised an eyebrow.

Celeste: “STOP DOING THAT SHIT! EVERYONE IS MAD AT YOU, ESPECIALLY ME!”

She cried and flailed her arms. Jaxon drew back and embraced himself. Jordi held him in his arms, comforting him.

Tristan: “Celeste, don’t speak for me, please.”

He chided her gently.

He turned to Jaxon.

Tristan: “Jaxon, I am not angry with you, but the clock is ticking.”

He said firmly, but gently. Jaxon drew a breath.

Jaxon: “He was in his suit and got into the limo with Gina’s dad.”

Tristan cupped his chin.

Jordi: “He must have been headed to the gala at the Donati Ballroom.”

He nodded.

Celeste: “Let’s GO!”

Jordi put his hand up before she leaped.

Jordi: “Celeste, it’s almost midnight. That event ended about an hour ago.”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

Celeste: “Then let’s go to his shithole mansion!”

Jordi: “Somehow, I don’t think he’d be there.”

Tristan nodded in agreement.

Tristan: “Jordi, you know Gina and her family well. Do you know where he would keep him?”

Jordi cupped his chin.

Jordi: “I remember him mentioning a summer house where he takes his companions.”

Tristan: “Did he tell you where it was?”

Jordi shook his head.

Jordi: “I only know he and his wife, Mina, are in an open marriage.”

Tristan heaved an exasperated sigh.

Tristan: “We’re going to have to pay a visit to Etsuko to find out where this place is.”

Deimos: “You seem thrilled.”

He said dryly.

Tristan: “It means I have to withstand her foot stink to get this intel.”

He huffed.

Celeste: “You get a waft of Deimos’ feet all the damn time, and they could kill rodents!”

She threw her arms up. Deimos turned to her and sneered.

Deimos: “HEY!”

Tristan: “Then let’s not waste anymore precious time.”