56. Closure

The sun is setting over the Modena skyline, casting a warm, golden hue through the large windows of Jet's apartment. The room is a blend of modern and classic Italian decor, with sleek espresso and mahogany furniture and framed photographs of cars lining the walls. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and oregano lingers in the air.
Jet stands by the kitchen counter. His movements are efficient, but there’s a subtle tension in his shoulders. He glances occasionally at the open laptop on the dining table, displaying a paused video feed from his latest Interpol briefing. Luca comes into the kitchen, a soft smile playing on his lips as he watches Jet.
“You're cooking again.” Luca props one hip against the counter. “Is that why you got up early this morning? Needed special ingredients for a special occasion?”
“I always get up before you do.” Jet chuckles, shaking his head. “Just felt like it. Needed to keep my hands busy.”
“While you think things out, you mean.” Luca nods in the direction of the laptop. “You going to take the assignment Interpol offered?”
“No idea. They want me back in Bangkok.” Jet shrugs. “Get your fingers out of the ragu.”
“I only want to sample.” Luca licks the sauce off his finger, savoring the flavor. “How’s the Maserati you’re working on? Any more weird requests from the client? Turning it into another neon green spaceship, maybe?”
“Nope.” Jet chuckles, barely suppressing a shudder. “Just classic customization this time. Nice to do something normal for once.”
“Normal’s good.” Luca smiles at him. “You need normal.”
“At least for now.” Jet nods. “Can you hand me the garlic?”
Luca slides the bowl of minced garlic across the kitchen counter. His expression softens, his gaze lingering on Jet. “You’re smiling again, too. The genuine smile, not your social one. Haven’t seen that in a while.”
Jet stirs the sauce. “Mali called. She and Rome are making real progress with the remnants of OmniVentures. She wants us to come back for the wedding.”
“As if we’d miss something like that.” Luca reaches out, brushing a stray hair from Jet’s forehead. Light catches on the blue ink around his forearm—an ouroboros, slightly more intricate than Jet’s. “So, what’s for dinner?”
Jet grins. “Tagliatelle alla Bolognese.”
“You know what happens to me when you speak Italian.” Luca’s eyes light up. “And when you make my favorite dishes. You spoil me.”
“Every single day,” Jet kisses him.
“Is that the appetizer?” Luca doesn’t wait for Jet to respond before kissing him in return. “How about dessert?”
“Dessert is gelato and that comes after dinner.” Jet points out. But he doesn’t pull away.
“We can still do dessert before, during, and after.” Luca punctuates his words with a kiss on Jet’s forehead, the tip of his nose, and finally his mouth.
“Keep distracting me and I’ll burn the sauce.” Jet murmurs.
“I know something else we can do with that sauce.” Luca waggles his eyebrows. “We can do it with the gelato, too.”
“Sauce goes on the pasta and nowhere else.” Jet swats Luca’s arm and pushes him back.
Luca’s eyes are dancing. “What about the gelato?”
Jet tossed minced garlic in his boyfriend’s direction. “Either help or go away.”
“Fine. You win.” Luca gives Jet one more quick kiss before moving to the wine rack. “You want Sangiovese or Chianti?”
“Surprise me.”
Jet finishes cooking while Luca lays the table. They eat on the balcony, which provides a perfect view of the city. Oleander and laurustinus mingle with the buttery aroma of the pasta and ragu and the herbal notes of the Chianti Luca uncorked.
Jet twirls a forkful of tagliatelle in its creamy sauce, glancing between the city and Luca. His boyfriend’s gaze is fixed on the mosaic of historical buildings, cobblestone streets, and greenery below them. A slight breeze stirs Luca’s hair, sending the scent of sandalwood into Jet’s nostrils. The sky above them is a gradient of soft pinks and purples, the colors deepening as the sun sets.
It had been that color the day of Nail’s funeral. Jet only remembers that because it was also the day Luca told him the truth about Chalam’s demise. He had been angry to begin with—angry that the world had been gray and sodden and dark the day Kai had been buried, but had changed its mind when it was time for Nail to go into the ground. It hadn’t helped that Luca had chosen that time to confess.
“Luca.” Jet sighs, breaking the silence. “I’ve been thinking a lot about...everything. About Kai, Nail, Chalam, and what we went through. That…that it could have been different if…”
“If what?” Luca’s prompt is gentle. He puts his fork down, giving Jet his full attention. This is the conversation they’ve been needing to have.
“If I’d told Kai the truth sooner.” Jet keeps his eyes on his plate. “If I’d known what Nail was going through. If I’d tried to understand and reach out instead of pushing everyone away.”
“You had Kit’s help from the beginning.” Luca reminds him.
“That doesn’t count.” Jet shakes his head. “Kit would have helped me anyway. Maybe if I’d communicated more, it would have ended faster. Cleaner. Not—not like it did.”
“You did what you could with what you knew.” Luca's eyes soften with understanding. “That’s all anyone can ask. Kai knew that. He wouldn’t want you to tie yourself up in knots over it.”
The city below them starts to come alive—a different kind of life than during the day. Streetlights create a patchwork of light and shadow against the deepening twilight. Modena is different from the chaos of Bangkok. The world here feels smaller, more manageable, where problems just seem to melt away, and mistakes can be forgiven, if not forgotten.
“Jet,” Luca clears his throat, hesitating. “You know Nail’s actions—he was complicated.”
“Yeah, but that doesn't change what he did to Kai, to me.” Jet's voice is tight, but not angry—just tired. “I know why it took you so long to tell me what the two of you were up to.”
“I understand why you left without a word.” Luca looks down at his plate. “I hated lying to you again. But I didn’t know what else to do.”
Jet nods, understanding. “You worked with him. For whatever reason, you saw something in him, and wanted to help him. But…he’s always going to be the guy who stabbed me and hurt my brother.”
“I get that.” Luca nods. “But I needed you to know that Nail was a victim, too. You know what he told me? He was going out the same way Kai did.”
Jet’s body tenses. “Kai destroyed Chalam.”
“So did Nail.” Luca snaps. Pain flashes across his face, and he takes a sip of Chianti rather than continuing.
Jet pushes his plate away, no longer hungry. He moves to lean against the wrought iron balcony, taking his own wine glass with him. This is the beginning of the last fight they’d had so many months ago. Their argument had gone in circles until Luca had left for Nail’s funeral. Jet bought a ticket to Modena.
The memory of that was still raw—how he had stood at the terminal entrance, willing Luca to come after him. How his insides had twisted when he still had to get on the plane alone, unsure if he was running away or running toward something. How he’d been tempted to retreat into his office when Luca showed up unannounced in the ManiratInfiniteDrift workshop three weeks ago. But this time, Jet isn’t running away. He’s just giving Luca space, giving himself time to process the last of his feelings.
A scraping of iron, then the crunch of shoes against terra cotta. Luca is standing beside him, close enough to touch, but not pushing for contact.
“There weren’t very many people at Nail’s funeral.” Luca’s voice is soft. “Pepper. Me. One or two strangers neither of us knew. Not like when we buried Kai.”
Jet’s expression darkens. “Don’t make me feel guilty about not going.”
“I’m not.” Luca runs a hand through his hair, looking at the city, rather than Jet. “It just felt...wrong being there without you. Not just at the funeral, but…afterward.”
“I couldn’t do it.” Jet closes his eyes. “I couldn’t stand there and pretend to give a shit. Kai died and it ripped me apart. Nail died, and—I felt nothing. What the hell kind of person does that make me?”
“Human.” Luca slides closer, his arm brushing against Jet’s. “I’m not asking you to forgive him. Maybe just—understand him. I think Kai did both, eventually. They were pretty alike.”
“Stubborn, snarky, hard-headed little shits, you mean?” Jet looks down, his expression conflicted. “Part of me wants to hate Nail for everything, but another part of me...feels sorry for him. He never had a chance to be anything else. Not like Kai did.”
Luca places a hand on Jet's arm, a comforting gesture. “You’re allowed to feel conflicted, you know.”
“Conflicted.” Jet takes a swig of Chianti, rolling the tart liquid across his tongue to chase away the taste of that heavy word. “I don’t even know if that’s the right way to describe it. I’m just—tired.”
“You’re allowed to be that too.” Luca reassures him.
Faint laughter and the hum of Vespas fill the silence between them. One or two stars begin to twinkle above the golden band of the horizon, like promises of something new, unsullied. Luca’s had slides from Jet’s arm back down to the balcony, so the sides of their hands touch.
Jet glances down, his eyes catching on Luca’s tattoo. He’d finished it a couple of days ago. While Jet’s design is simple, Luca’s ouroboros is more intricate, the dark blue scales so finely detailed they shimmer in the fading light. Across the snake’s back are three gold letters: J-E-T.
The ink seems to pulse as Jet looks at it. It’s a reminder—of destruction, re-creation, unity. A sense of clarity settles over him. His fingers move, intertwining with Luca’s.
“I don’t like what happened.” Jet squeezes Luca’s hand, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. “But I’m learning to accept it. Mi dispiace che ci abbia messo così tanto a capirlo.”
“Why are you apologizing? You needed time. I was more than happy to give you that.” Luca looks out over the city, then back at Jet. “Can I ask you something? Why Italy? Besides the fact you have a company branch here, I mean?”
“It feels right.” Jet shrugs. “Kit’s family brought me to Modena the first summer of high school. It felt like I was somewhere I could actually breathe. Where I don’t have to think about or do anything unless I want to. Living here…feels like a good choice.”
“And Kit wanting to give Ferrari a run for its money has nothing to do with your decision?” Luca teases.
“Shut up.” Jet takes another sip from his wine glass, letting Chianti and Luca’s presence spread warmth through his body.
“I think that’s not the only good choice you made.” Luca turns to face him. “Put the glass down.”
Jet chuckles. “Why?”
“Because I want your other hand, too. And you're spoiling the game—this time you speak Italian and I speak Thai.”
That surprises a laugh out of Jet. He puts his glass down, allowing Luca to hold both of his hands. Luca moves half a step forward, so that his lips can brush against Jet’s. He can taste sandalwood, basil and lime. Not a bad combination. For the first time since he boarded that plane, Jet feels like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.
“Sono felice che tu mi abbia seguito fin qui.” Jet pauses, then meets Luca’s gaze. “Vuoi restare?”
“Yeah.” Luca’s expression is like a patient puppy who has been endlessly good. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. “I really, really do want to stay. And I’m glad I followed you out here, too.”
Jet rolls his eyes. “Sei fastidioso.”
“I know I’m annoying.” Luca brushes Jet’s hair back from his face. “But you’re stunning.”
Jet’s gaze softens. “Ti amo.”
“I love you, too.” Luca leans closer. There’s a wide grin on his face. “Why the hell else would I have followed you out here?”
The sky turns a deep, velvety indigo. Jet stays on the balcony with Luca, watching more stars bloom in the sky above him. A sense of peace spreads through the rest of his body, and for once, Jet lets himself believe that maybe, just maybe, everything really is going to be ok.
◼️◼️◼️◼️
Moonlight filters through the tall windows of Rome’s study, casting long shadows across the sleek, polished floor. He leans back in his chair, eyes on the dark screen of his phone. The house is quiet—Mali thinks he’s working late again. His fingers drum lightly on the armrest as he waits. Finally, the phone buzzes, and he picks it up without hesitation.
“It’s done,” the voice on the other end is curt and to the point.
“Good.” Rome’s lips curl into a small, satisfied smile. “Were there any complications?”
“None. But you should know—he mentioned your name. Matteo thought Jet and Mali would find out.”
“Did he?” Rome’s eyes narrow, though his voice remains calm, even pleasant. “He was mistaken, of course.”
There’s a brief pause on the line. “Are you sure? Jet’s no idiot, and Mali—”
“They trust me.” Rome cuts the voice off sharply, standing up from his chair and walking toward the window. His free hand slips into his pocket as he gazes out over the quiet neighborhood. “They’ve always trusted me. That’s what matters.”
The voice on the line doesn’t argue, but there’s a hint of uncertainty. “And if that trust breaks?”
“Believe me,” Rome smirks. “It won’t. I’ve given them everything they need—a hero, a protector. I protected and mentored Kai until he died. I’m marrying Mali. Jet is practically family now. As far as they’re concerned, I’m their shield.”
“What about the other Interpol Agent?”
“Kit Manirat sees me as a sympathetic ally who helped topple a corrupt businessman at great personal risk—even if the actual risk was minimal.” Rome turns away from the window, walking back to his desk. He sits down, crossing one leg over the other. “The important thing is that you followed instructions. No mess. No trail.”
There’s a slight hesitation on the line, then: “It was clean.”
“Excellent. Your payment will be delivered tomorrow.” Rome relaxes into his chair, his smile widening. “I trust this won’t be an issue going forward?”
“Of course not. Just… keep your people close.” The call ends with a click.
Rome sets the phone down on his desk, his expression growing thoughtful. He’s more like Chalam than his uncle realized: always several steps ahead—always anticipating what might come next. He pulls open the drawer and retrieves a small leather-bound notebook. The names inside are crossed out, one after another, as Chalam’s network crumbles under his control.
One name remains untouched: Manirat.
Rome stares at the name for a moment, his fingers tracing over the ink, then closes the book with a snap. He slips the notebook back into the drawer just as the door opens.
“Hey, are you almost done?” Mali smiles at him. “I thought we could have a late dinner together.”
“Just wrapping up.” Rome’s smile softens when he stands, crossing the room to her, and brushes a kiss against her temple. “I’ve missed you.”
Mali laughs softly, leaning into him. “You work too much.”
“I know.” Rome’s hand finds hers, intertwining their fingers as they walk out of the study together, heading down the hallway to the kitchen. “But it’s worth it. For us.”
His mask slips back into place so easily, so effortlessly, that no one would suspect anything.
Not Jet. Not Mali.
To them, he’s still the same devoted Rome. Loving, protective, and above suspicion.
But Rome knows better. And soon, when everything is in place, they’ll understand that he’s always been in control.
◼️◼️◼️◼️
On a racetrack in Bangkok, Zone gets out of his specially customized Regada, his entire body pulsing with adrenaline. He’d just beaten his own personal record—and that was on a test run. Iris waves at him from the stand, indicating that he’s got some great shots of him on her phone. Kam and Bel are both working, and Kit is in Italy, so today, Zone has a fan club of one. But since that “one” is Iris, Zone doesn’t feel too bad about it.
His phone buzzes, and he answers without checking the caller ID. “Hello?”
“Zone.” The voice on the other end of the line is one Zone has only heard a couple of times, but it sends waves of a different kind of adrenaline shooting though Zone’s bloodstream. “Kam gave me your number. I need you.”

จบบริบูรณ์.
(jòp bori bùn)
[Completed]