The Mafia's Prodigal Son

A FEW DAYS LATER Shiloh was on the couch when he felt it.

The air was sizzling around him, things were vibrating at a strong frequency and it was something Shiloh just couldn't understand. It was like he could feel the anger and frustration rolling off his boyfriend, like in waves. A cool draft entered the room and he shuddered, pondering what could have possibly pissed Lucian off so bad that he had to move around their apartment like a rabid dog—a ferocious being—stalking and plundering through the halls, seeking and searching for something. It was like watching a natural disaster he had no control over it.

Like a ticking time bomb.

All day he watched his fiancé exasperated, storming around their apartment, cursing and throwing papers in the trash can. He came in and out of his office periodically to get something to eat and to rummage around in the drawers of their bedroom searching for papers. After last night, Shiloh wasn't sure what he thought about his fiancé; all he knew was that there was something wrong. Lucian had never been that forceful with him before and it was almost like he felt a sense of entitlement—like Shiloh owned him or something ridiculous like that. Sitting on the couch he continued watching Project Runway, ignoring the grunts and curses he heard in the other room. An hour later Lucian came back, grabbing his coat and keys off the counter.

"I'm going out," he said simply.

"Oh," Shiloh answered, a little unsure of what to say since they'd barely spoken all morning. "Where are you going?"

"I need to see Kyle about a few things."

"Okay...?"

There was an awkward pause before Lucian huffed and left the apartment, slamming the door on his way out. Rolling his eyes, he settled back into the couch and continued watching his program. Once it was finished, he went into the kitchen and decided to clean up some of the mess left over from the morning's breakfast. Putting the dishes in the dishwasher, wiping down the counter, and putting some chicken into the oven, he began to mull over his fiancé's irregular behavior.

Glancing towards the end of the hall, he saw the light shine through the door. With a puzzled expression, he walked closer, only to see that the light was coming from Lucian's office. The room he specifically told Shiloh never to enter, the room he constantly had on lock and key. Fidgeting with his sleeve, he wonders if he should close the door, maybe Lucian had left it open accidentally? Maybe he'd be back and didn't think Shiloh would look inside. Shaking his head, he decided to leave it alone and when Lucian got back, he could deal with it.

However, he couldn't help but wonder why he wasn't allowed in that room.

Why was his fiancé so secretive about his work life?

With great effort, he distracted his thoughts with cooking. No, Shiloh would not betray Lucian's trust by snooping through his things; that was so Desperate Housewives. Humming softly, he worked diligently on dinner, satisfied when the chicken came out golden brown perfectly seasoned and soon he got started on the rice. Still, there was that nagging feeling in his gut, a haunting intuition that maybe Lucian wasn't entirely honest with him.

Looking at the door one last time he felt torn.

An omission is still lying.

How deep was he willing to go to find out the truth?

iIi

LATER THAT NIGHT Lucian was sitting at his desk, annoyed and tired.

It had taken a shit ton of money to get that guy not to press charges against him. Having men on the NYPD police force did help the situation immensely but still, there were a lot of eyewitnesses. Groaning softly, he checked the time and realized he had just missed dinner with his baby. Shiloh would no doubt be pissed, and when he got home he'd be facing hellfire.

"Alright," he said to Kyle and Chris. "Let's call it a night."

"Sure boss," Chris said. "Are you still coming to Adam and Jaiden's engagement party?"

"When is it?"

"Next week Thursday."

"Sure," Lucian shrugged. "I'll try and make it. I can't believe that son of a bitch is getting married." He said smiling fondly. "Seems only like yesterday I was telling him to go flirt with the new Secretary."

"Yes, well, without your influence I'm sure we'd all be wandering in the dark," Kyle responded sarcastically.

"Awe, come on, you aren't still mad, are you?"

"You beat a man almost to death in public! If I'm not mad at you no one will be," Kyle answered tiredly.

"You're still my favorite minion," Lucian joked. "Nobody died; that's a good thing."

"No," Kyle said ominously. "But you risked exposure."

"Please," Lucian scoffed. "Everyone around probably thought it was gang-related."

"Shiloh didn't."

Lucian's smile faded.

"He knows something now, with dispersed knowledge comes suspicion," Kyle continued. "How long do you think it will take to ask somebody about the famous Lucian Botticelli, huh?"

He glared at Kyle. "He won't—"

"He will," Kyle snapped. "The Malfitano's are moving in on our territory, you've managed to royally fuck up by beating someone in public and now we've got NYPD breathing down our fucking necks."

"I'll handle it," Lucian barked. "I've been doing this a long time, hell, longer than you so just shut up and let me deal with it."

"Whatever," Kyle said stalking out of the room.

"You know Kyle, he's all doom and gloom," Chris said. "NYPD is a piece of cake to get rid of, and the Malfitanos have taken over a little territory that isn't even worth defending, just lay low boss." He patted Lucian on the back before grabbing his coat.

"Love is trust," he called as he walked out of the room.

Rolling his eyes, he pondered Chris's statement for a second. Love is trust and if he didn't trust Shiloh then who did he trust?

No-one.

In his line of business, he trusted no one. Pulling a cigarette out of the package, he lit it up and drew the smoke into his lungs before exhaling. Leaning back in his leather chair he thought about how different the world would be if he had just told Shiloh from the beginning. Would he run away screaming? Or would he have simply nodded and changed the subject? No, Shiloh was naturally inquisitive; he'd want to know more. That was something he couldn't do; Shiloh was the representation of everything pure and young in the world. In the pit of his stomach, he hated to say it, but maybe Mark Warner was right, maybe they weren't meant to be together...

No, he couldn't think like that. They belonged together and he was going to marry Shiloh, regardless of what anyone said.

Shiloh was his.

Arching, he moved his shoulders up and down trying to release some of the tension there. The war with the Malfitanos wasn't particularly high on his list because they weren't much of a threat. Lucky Malfitano had been large in the sixties, but his empire had long since died by then, although there was his son Marcus Malfitano who was crawling his way up to the top, taking out smaller business, gambling at the casino, and of course, pushing small drug shipments. Not enough to make him any sort of competition but enough to catch Lucian's attention. He'd keep an eye on the boy, and if he interfered with his business one more time, he'd have to send Mr. Santangelo Malfitano a very personal message.

Nobody fucked with Lucian Botticelli.

Yawning loudly, he stretched his limbs, hearing them crack and pop back into place. Sliding out of his chair he stubbed out his cigarette, grabbed his coat, and shut off all the lights. On his way home he stopped by the flower shop to get some roses for Shiloh, mostly to save his ass. When he got into the apartment, he saw that the majority of the lights were off and the front door was left open.

Pulling his gun out of his back pocket, he gripped it tightly between his hands before discretely gliding through the door. With his back up against the wall, he held the gun straight out in front of him. It was pitching black inside; the only light was illuminated by the moon. He tried to keep his vision sharp, listening carefully for any movements. Loud shuffling of papers soon caught his attention and as he eased his way through the kitchen, he saw that the light in his office was on and the door was wide open, shining into the dark hallway. Breathing in slowly he moved attentively, fingers gazing at the trigger but his entire arm locked and ready to fire.

Peeking into the door he saw all of his things rearranged, disorderly, and thrown about, onto the floor and scattered on his dresser. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and with the gun out he walked slowly into the room, pointing the pistol at the intruder's head.

"Drop it, Shiloh."