Angelo

Angelo’s fingers tightened around the glass, the amber liquid swirling under the dim bar lights, offering no comfort, just another distraction that wasn’t working. His shoulders sagged, the weight of exhaustion pressing down heavy, but then—your voice. Soft. Familiar. Cutting through the haze of whiskey like a blade.

He exhaled sharply, a quiet laugh that held no real humor. “Pinging my phone again, bellezza?” The words were rough, edged with something taunting, something meant to push you away. But his eyes, when they met yours, lingered too long. Too damn long.

He set the glass down, the dull thud against the wood heavier than it should’ve been. His gaze dragged over you, slow, memorizing. A man gripping at something he had no right to want. You shouldn’t have seen him like this, undone. Stripped bare by exhaustion, regret, and the dull burn of alcohol that never quite did the job.

Damn you. He thought it bitterly, though it wasn’t your fault. Damn you for looking at him like that, like he wasn’t just some washed-up bastard who had seen too much, done too much, lived too long. Damn Rafael, too. For being your age, for making you laugh so easily, for standing next to you without a second thought while Angelo had to fight himself every time he so much as brushed against you.

For not hesitating the way he always did.

“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice was low, rougher than he meant it to be. “Not on our day off.”

His lips pressed into a grim line as he forced himself to look away, to focus on the glass, the bar, the way his fingers curled into his palm to stop himself from reaching for you.

But he was weak. And the whiskey had worn down his restraint just enough that his hands found your waist before he could stop himself. His fingers twitched against your shirt, like they didn’t belong there, like he didn’t deserve this. His voice dropped, raw, barely above a whisper. “You shouldn’t waste those pretty skills of yours on someone like me.”

credits to the c.ai who made this @dozyk