Steve didn't look back.
Not when Christian called his name. Not when his voice cracked with desperation.
He walked away, back into the night, into the only world he had ever known—the world that didn't betray him.
And yet, no matter how much he tried to drown it out—the weight of Christian's voice, the memory of his touch—Steve couldn't forget.
⸻
Days turned into weeks.
Christian should have stopped trying. Should have given up.
But he didn't.
He showed up everywhere. At the bar Steve frequented. Outside his apartment. Even at one of Luca's hideouts—something that nearly got him killed.
"You're out of your fucking mind," Luca had snarled, pressing a gun against Christian's temple.
But Christian had only stood there, defiant. Unshaken.
"I'm not leaving," he had said.
Luca had laughed. Then turned to Steve. "You want me to handle this?"
Steve had stared at Christian. Had seen the fire in his eyes, the way he refused to back down.
And for some reason, he had said, "No."
⸻
But Steve wasn't the only one watching.
Because someone else had noticed Christian, too.
Someone who had always been there.
Joe.
⸻
Joe had been a ghost from Steve's past. A man who had grown up in the same filth, the same violence.
They had known each other since they were kids. Had fought together. Bled together. Survived together.
And for as long as Joe had known Steve, he had wanted him.
But Steve had never looked at him the way he looked at Christian.
And that? That made Joe furious.
⸻
The first time Joe confronted Christian, it was quiet. Subtle.
A whispered threat in a dark alley.
"You don't belong in his world," Joe murmured, stepping close.
Christian stood his ground. "And you do?"
Joe smiled—sharp, cruel. "I've always been here. Long before you. And I'll be here long after you're gone."
Christian clenched his jaw. "I'm not going anywhere."
Joe's smile widened. "Then that's a problem."
⸻
Steve didn't realize how bad it had gotten—how dangerous—until Christian disappeared.
One minute, he was there. The next, he was gone.
And the only thing left behind was a message.
From Joe.
"If you want him back, come alone."
Steve knew exactly where Joe would take Christian.
There was an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city—once a drug smuggling hub, now a graveyard of forgotten deals. It was a place for men who didn't want to be found.
And if Joe had taken Christian there, it meant one thing.
He wasn't planning to let him go.
⸻
Steve arrived alone, just as Joe demanded.
The warehouse was silent except for the distant hum of traffic outside. The air was thick with the scent of rust and gasoline.
Then—
A voice.
"Right on time."
Joe stepped into the dim light, a smirk curling his lips.
Behind him, Christian was tied to a chair, his face bloodied, his curls damp with sweat. But his eyes—when they met Steve's—were steady.
He wasn't broken yet.
Joe followed Steve's gaze and chuckled. "Relax. I didn't hurt him too much. Just enough to make a point."
Steve's fingers twitched toward his gun. "Let him go."
Joe tilted his head. "You don't get to give me orders, Steve. He is the problem. He's turned you soft. Made you weak."
Steve's jaw clenched. "I'm giving you one chance, Joe. Let. Him. Go."
Joe laughed—loud, sharp.
"You're really in love with him, huh?" His voice turned mocking. "Steve, the man's a fucking Fed. He was gonna destroy you."
Steve already knew that. But what Joe didn't understand was—
Christian had changed.
Maybe it had taken a while. Maybe it had taken losing Steve.
But he had chosen him in the end.
And that? That mattered.
Steve pulled out his gun. "Last warning."
Joe's smirk faltered.
"You'd kill me?" His voice was quieter now. "After everything we've been through?"
Steve didn't answer.
Because they both knew the truth.
Joe exhaled sharply. "Fuck."
Then, suddenly—he moved.
In a flash, Joe pulled out his own gun. The warehouse echoed with the crack of a gunshot.
Christian shouted.
Pain exploded in Steve's chest.
He staggered back, gasping.
Joe had shot him.
But he hadn't gone for a kill shot. He had aimed just below the heart—deliberate.
A cruel reminder.
"You could've had me," Joe murmured. His voice was almost tender. "You should've chosen me."
Then, with a hollow laugh, he turned the gun on himself.
Before Steve could react—before Christian could scream—
Joe pulled the trigger.
And just like that, he was gone.