Sons and Heirs

Chapter Two

"Yes. I have no doubt it was that German." Aaron laughed coldly into the receiver of the phone. "That is what I have surmised. I do not know what his plans might be,” he lied. “I need to know. I need to know now." He nodded. "Very good." He hung up.

Borden Prestise, who was standing in front of the door, his arms crossed and staring down at the floor darkly, looked up and stepped forward as soon as Aaron was off the phone. Clumps of his black hair fell into his pale green eyes, something he normally took care to prevent, but in the current situation hadn’t paid any mind to it.

“Well?” he asked briskly, repressed anger and bitterness rippling in his voice. “Who do I kill for this?”

Aaron gave him a look halfway between compassion and disdain. "You're not killing anyone for this I'm afraid. Unless..." He looked him over. "You're going to take on the entire German syndicate on your own."

Borden's hand twitched, a sign of his irritability and restlessness. "My closest mentor, trainer, and friend, not to mention my mother's younger brother, is dead," he growled. "The way I was raised, that is not something to just be ignored. If you do not have anyone precisely to point me to just yet, perhaps you could point me in the right direction, and I'll hunt down the bastard myself."

Aaron pointed to the seat across from him. "Sit,” he said, sliding into his own chair at his desk. "I understand the pain you're going through, losing a mentor." He steepled his fingers. "But you cannot just break into their ranks and start shooting people at random." He sighed. "I could tell you who it is. I could give you the man's address. But none of it would matter, as you cannot kill him."

He sat down, willing to listen to what he had to say. "Don't take this as arrogance, Mr. Devreux, but I hope you're not talking about my inability to kill him. One person is not that hard to find- and kill- once you've set your sights to it."

"I am telling you that should you decide to dispose of this man then you will be likewise disposed of." The Frenchman’s expression darkened. "In a much less pleasant way."

"I wouldn't 'dispose' of him in a very pleasant way to begin with," Borden said in a low voice. "Why do you want him alive?" he asked. "If I'm assuming right, then he's the one that's been sabotaging the Italians- you- for quite some time now. He should be taken care of."

"Then you are very much mistaken," Aaron said, looking out the window. "Not that I need to tell you, but the German syndicate head is a man we need alive."
He frowned, his interest piqued. "What have the Germans got against you, anyway?"

“We’re not on the best of terms,” Aaron growled.

“No kidding.” Borden crossed his arms and leaned back. “I’m aware of the whole German-Italian war going on and such, but what exactly did you do to piss them off so bad?”

"It’s a personal problem between the three of us," Aaron said with a sigh. He looked at the shorter man. "It’s rather unprofessional."

He nodded. "I had heard that you were acquainted with the leader of the Germans," he commented, giving him a thoughtful look. "As I'm not allowed to take him out, is there any other job you'd like me to do?"

The Frenchman shook his head. "No. I can think of nothing for you."

"Very well." Borden stood up, inclining his head to him. "You know how to contact me if you do."



There was something wrong, Seraph thought, pacing around the flat nervously. Adrian was known to be gone for long periods of time- he was technically retired, but he still did a lot of business- but he always called if he wasn’t going to be coming home at night. Now, however, he’d been gone for almost sixteen hours, and not a word. Terrible scenarios kept running through his mind, and he kept doing his best to keep them out. Everything was going to be okay, he was just overreacting…

He forced himself to stop pacing and sat down, bouncing his leg nervously. He thought about trying to turn on a movie or the radio, or maybe read something, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on any of it if he did. He stood up again after a few moments and resumed his pacing.

Some time later, there was a knock on the door. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Adrian wouldn’t knock. With shaking hands, he went to the door and opened it slowly, telling himself everything was okay, nothing had happened, but getting a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Seraph’s worst fears were confirmed when he saw who was standing on the other side of the door. He never just stopped by; he always called first to at least make sure Adrian was there. He was not a spur-of-the-moment type of person. Seraph started to shut the door, but the other man reached out to catch it, for the first time giving him a look that could almost be called understanding. Seraph shook his head, turning away and forcing himself not to break down.

“No,” he said, balling his fists. “Go away; you’re not welcome here. He’ll be back, he’s just doing business… go away Borden!”

Borden looked down, allowing the other his outburst. He clasped his hands behind his back, schooling his own expression into one of calm indifference. He was angry, just as upset as the other was, but if anyone was equipped to handle death, it was him.

“I said go away!” Seraph repeated, turning on him and glaring at him. They were just about eye-to-eye in height, and although Borden had a bigger frame, Seraph seemed ready to use force if necessary to get him to leave.

“I’m very sorry about this, Seraph,” he answered the other man evenly. “I understand what you must be going through-”

“Don’t you fucking say that!” Seraph yelled. “You couldn’t possibly have an idea of what I’m going through!”

“Maybe you’ve forgotten, but he was family to me,” Borden pointed out coolly.

“He was more than family to me!” Borden frowned, looking back down at the ground again. He didn’t feel up to arguing with Seraph today. God knows they’d gotten in enough fights over the years; it seemed a dishonor to Adrian’s memory for the two of them to fight today.

“He left almost everything to you,” Borden said after a long moment. “The apartment, his money, and everything he owned but a few family keepsakes.” Seraph crossed his arms, glowering at a spot off to his right. “And… your freedom.” At this, Seraph carefully altered his expression, trying to hide his pain at hearing that, but it was still apparent. No doubt it was the one thing he'd always secretely longed for, but never wanted to get this way. Borden took a deep breath and continued on. “I think you should leave the apartment as soon as possible, in case it’s not safe here. The Germans have been known to take the slaves of the people they kill and sell them, regardless of what’s in the will.”

“So you’re here to protect me then?” Seraph asked sarcastically.

“I’m here to make sure that my uncle’s last wish is being carried out. If protecting you from being denied what is rightfully yours is part of that, then yes, that’s what I’m here for.”

Seraph didn't respond, or give any indication that he'd heard him, except for turning slowly and going down the hallway. He came out with a small bag, probably of clothes, and nodded. The two of them left the apartment in silence.



Ubel crossed his arms and glowered at the TV after turning it off. How, with over a thousand stations, was there nothing to watch, he wondered. It didn’t seem possible. And yet here he was, having exhausted any means of distraction in the way of books or magazines or newspapers, having watched every movie that vaguely interested him, and having done just about everything else he usually did to fill his days, which was, to put it generously, very little.

The last thing left that really occurred to him to do was to visit Luca in his office, which he did two or three times a week under normal circumstances. He’d firmly decided against that, however, when he’d stormed out of it a few days ago. The next morning he’d gotten up and found out about the deaths of several people in one part of Italy, which had enflamed him even more. Since then, he hadn’t willingly spoken a word to Luca, initiated a conversation, or even looked at him if he could help it. He knew it was childish and pointless, because after everything he really knew that Luca could stand to go a few days without his acknowledgement, but it made Ubel feel better to be doing it.

He thought briefly of the way things had changed over the years, which he found himself to be doing quite often lately. He half missed- and half didn’t at all miss- the years when they’d been in high school. He snorted to himself. If only he could’ve graduated, or actually learned something useful there to his current life.
He was pulled out of his musings when the front door opened loudly. He’s back early, he thought to himself. Back to glowering at the TV, he ignored Luca when he came in the room, which naturally meant every sense he had was trained on him, waiting to see if he'd say anything. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Luca set down his briefcase and ruffled a hand in his hair, lighting up a cigarette. He looked at Ubel, leaning in the doorway and sucking slowly. After a bit, he shrugged finally, walking into the kitchen.

“Kill anyone else today?” Ubel called sarcastically after him, leaning back a little. He couldn’t help it; the silence between them was driving him mad, and he wanted nothing more than for Luca to get angry so at least he’d be showing some kind of concern for the rest of the world.

"I might kidnap someone after dinner," he called back mildly from the kitchen.
"Well have your lackeys send our best friend my regards.”

Luca rolled his eyes. "Of course." He came back out into the living room, sipping some coffee. Ubel went back to ignoring Luca, and flipped the TV back on. A documentary about the survival habits of spiders came on. He jumped and quickly changed it, pretending to find great interest in a re-run of an old sitcom. Luca looked into his coffee and chuckled slightly, sipping at it again.

“Shut up,” Ubel spat, throwing the remote down next to him and standing up. He went upstairs and retreated into his small room, right down the hallway from their bedroom. Luca had given it to him when they’d first moved in to the mansion years ago, to use as his own private little… study was really the best word he could think of to describe it. It had all of his books- or rather, all of the books in the house, because Luca wasn’t really the reading kind, so any books by default went to him- and magazines, along with the old newspaper clippings he’d saved and any other item of interest to him. There was a small but nice desk, with an equally nice computer on it, which contained everything he’d ever written on its memory. He normally spent about half the day in this room, reading something in a book or on the internet, writing, or going to forums or other such sites. His favorite topic to discuss or read about was politics (with very little else to do, it was almost like a game, trying to decipher who was lying and who was telling the truth and how everything would wind up) no matter who it involved, and he found himself increasingly watching televised debates.

He plopped down in the chair in front of the desk and turned on the computer, but he didn’t do much on it. His thoughts were elsewhere, when many years ago, in the halls of their old high school, Ubel had been refusing to speak to Luca, like he was now. The difference was, back then he’d at least had someone to talk to about it…

“I swear to God, I hate him,” he said angrily, walking down the long hallway quickly, glaring ahead of him. “He’s an arrogant, selfish, cold-hearted, stuck up prick, and I wish he’d take a nosedive off the nearest cliff!”

Fitello looked over at him mildly, hands in his pockets. "Really?" the blonde asked. "What'd he do this time?"

"The fact that he's alive is enough." Ubel stopped at his locker and opened it, pulling a book out and shoving it in his bag mercilessly. He gave the Italian a look. "I have no idea how you can stand to even be in the same room as him, let alone like him!"

"I like a lot of odd things." Fitello cocked his head to one side. "It has to be something,” he said knowingly. "You don't hate him this... fervently... unless he's made you mad,” he pointed out, arching a brow at the German.

He slammed his locker shut and continued walking. "I'm not too terrible, am I? I mean, under the circumstances, I'm not too.... annoying of a person to be around, am I?" He frowned. "Don't answer that. I'm not, and I don't care what anyone says. I have every right to hate him and give him hell about it, because this whole..... situation is wrong!" He threw his hands up indignantly. "And yet still he insists on making my life a miserable hell, so that half the time I wish I could kill him, and half the time I wish I could kill me!"

Fitello nodded. "You're not terrible at all,” he said gently. “I like you.” He frowned. "What did he do?"

“He’s preventing me from having a life, that’s what he’s doing!” he yelled, shocking a group of people as they walked past them. “He can have his group of friends, and be normal, but me? No, I have to deal with him, and only him, and if I don’t like it, too bad Ubel! I can’t have any of my own friends, get to know anyone… it’s like he’s keeping me in a box, bringing me here to show me off, but not letting me do anything other than sit there and be around him all the time!”

Fitello rubbed his shoulders, leading him outside to the courtyard. "Well that's not very fair,” the Italian agreed.

"No," he spat, "it's not!" He huffed, crossing his arms, suddenly finding himself out of things to rant about, and trying to think of something else that annoyed him. "And I hate that stupid bright clock! What is he, six? Normal people sleep in dark rooms, not bright blue ones!"

"He's very inconsiderate," Fitello agreed, making him sit down and sitting behind him, still rubbing his shoulders.

He leaned his head back slightly. “That feels so good, Fitello…” He frowned. “Why can’t you and Luca switch places? I actually like you. You’re nice.”

"I would never buy a slave,” he pointed out. "I think it’s terrible that people do that."

"Maybe you should," Ubel pondered, "to save them from the jerks like Luca that do end up buying them."

Fitello snorted. "That would pan out." He rolled his eyes.

“Well…it’d be fortunate for a few people. Buy me from Luca!” he said suddenly, turning around to face him. “He doesn’t even like me, so I’m sure he’d be receptive to getting his money back for me, and I’d pay you back, I promise!”

Fitello frowned. "He wouldn't give you up,” he pointed out. "Luca wouldn't give you to anyone."

Ubel rolled his eyes, giving him a 'get real' look. "That's silly. What's the point in that, if he could just take the money he got for me and go buy a better one?" He snorted. "And it's not 'giving', it's selling."

He shrugged. "You know how he is. His possessiveness won't let him give you to anyone. Or sell you."

Ubel furrowed his brows, but he knew the Italian was right. "Well, that's dumb. I still think you should ask."

The taller boy shrugged. "Alright then. I'll ask."

"Great." He grinned at him. "And who knows, if he says yes, maybe he'll be able to find someone that can actually stand him."

"He would have a very long search ahead of him," Fitello said, smirking. Ubel smirked back.

Probably for the better, that idea had never quite panned out. Fitello had been right, and Ubel had known it at the time. Luca wasn’t one to give up a battle, even if it was hopelessly lost. Fortunately, things had eventually turned in his- or perhaps both of their- favor, and things between them had gotten considerately less tense over the years.

He sighed and glanced at the clock. It was still mid-afternoon, and he wasn’t much up to the idea of going hours with nothing to do. Perhaps he’d go start a fight with Luca; at least then he’d get it out of his system and he’d stop being so bored.