"I'm off to work," Sofia hoisted her laptop bag onto her shoulder, biting back the smile to see Marco drooping over the counter, his hair on edge and his eyes closed while he munched on the pastry in hand. "I'll be back by five-thirty and I'll let you know if I'm going out with friends," She kissed the top of his head as he hummed in acknowledgment with half-lidded eyes.

Marco had had no plans of being up at this ungodly hour, he didn't have any plans of being up before midday, but when the blonde had shifted out of his sleeping hold, his body had instantly felt the lack of warmth and jolted awake. His mind still lagging behind from his person's conscious state. As compensation for the wakeup call, Sofia made him breakfast, which is why he was grazing at the speed of a snail.

"Bye," She waved to his figure and stepped out with the doors closing with a click.

The man didn't open his eyes and blindly sipped his coffee, hearing the apartment door open while he held up the car keys from his other hand.

"Thanks," Sofia grimaced and took the dangling keys, placing a quick peck on his cheek before walking out once more.

Given that he didn't need his car for the next two months, he told Sofia that she could take it to get around. She had been a bit hesitant to take his convertible Maserati, but it didn't take much to convince her. She enjoyed the ride, he knew that much when he allowed her to take it for a test drive, Sofia constantly giggling when she got full liberty to use the vehicle as she saw fit. She had even gotten it serviced much to his surprise – which had been nothing compared to her abashment to learn that he had never gotten it done himself and that his guards had always ensured that his car was in top condition and fueled at all times.

"Spoiled brat," is what she called him and Marco simply raised an eyebrow, feeling a rush of déjà vu at the words.

Over the past few weeks, Marco had taken up a more domestic and sober role. Going out for errand runs and nature walks before making lunch for when Sofia would return, the two of them making dinner together on most occasions. Even now, as he finished breakfast, he put the plates into a neat pile by the sink.

Deciding to clean the rooms first, he made his bed and put Sofia's things in their rightful place on the vanity table before opening the curtains to let some sunlight in. Grabbing the hamper, he put in his dirty laundry before making his way to Sofia's room, swinging the door open to find her bed untouched and made up and last night's clothes and a towel thrown at the foot of the bed. Shaking his head at her antics, he picked up the spare clothes, tossing them into the basket and looked around for any more dirty laundry and finding none. Putting the basket into the laundry room, he placed the clothes in, one pile at a time, and turned on the machine before stepping out.

Marco took the time to clean Sofia's room, some things out of place despite her having slept in his room.

The two had resigned themselves to the fact that they enjoyed sleeping beside each other, the warmth having a comforting and soothing effect on their drained and traumatized minds. Over the past couple of weeks, it became a habit that at the end of the day, the two would settle into the closest room – which was most definitely Marco's – and slept. Sometimes they would lay awake and talk about the solar system and the meaning of life in voices hardly above breathy whispers, they'd talk about each other's traumas, Marco's childhood as a slave and then as a Regnante, they'd laugh, they'd cry, sometimes both.

But those precious few hours and the nights brought them impossibly closer.

He had been so lost in thought that his phone's chime forced him to jump.

Picking up the device from the kitchen counter, he unlocked it and found his breath stuttering to read the message displayed.

'Is it alright that I drop by today?' Salvatore's message read to him, and Marco could feel the grin spreading to know that his brother was up and about and out of bed if he was asking to come over.

'Sure, what time?' He forced himself to type back, trying to keep his pounding heart at bay.

'Around midday'

Gasping, Marco looked up at the wall clock and cursed to know that he hardly had two hours to clean the apartment, shower, and dress, and then arrange something for refreshments and coffee.

Cursing, he put the phone away and hurried to tidy things up, brooming, mopping, dusting, ensuring that everything was in its rightful place and decorations weren't crooked nor the photos askew. Watering the plants, he rushed to take a shower, before he found himself standing in front of his closet doors, gnawing at his nails as he inspected his wracks of clothing.

Pulling out a pair of jeans he paired it with a turtle neck before discarding that option, then he took out a two-piece suit and grumbled that it was too much, his eyes catching sight of the discarded shirt and then back to the suit, humming to himself in thought.

Getting dressed in pinstriped black dress pants and a corresponding turtle neck, he dabbed cologne onto his pulse points before running a brush through his hair just in time to receive the refreshments at the door.

Taking the bag from the guard, he started the coffee machine and had set up the platter of cookies and pastries when a knock sounded on the wooden structure.

Moving back, Marco looked down at the platter and then the apartment, before giving himself one last glance, straightening the front of his shirt and inhaled deeply before making his way to the door. With his fingers around the handle, he exhaled and pulled the structure open, a grin splitting across his lips and his blood rushing to see Salvatore standing on his own feet after so long.

The Regnante Mafia Boss stood before him dressed in a three-piece tweed grey suit paired with a white button-up and cherry red tie and a black overcoat, his scarf wound around his neck and his gloved hands bracing the top of a golden wolf-head cane. His hair had been gelled back and his beard trimmed close to his jaw, his cheekbones still prominent, but his complexion was pink. A good sign of recovery.

"Salvatore," Marco grinned in greeting, holding his arm open for his brother to hug him as the latter made his way inside, leaning his weight on the cane before embracing him, patting the younger on the back. "Come on in," He stepped to the side to allow him entrance, the Mafia Boss taking two steps in and then halted to admire the interior while Marco closed the door.

"Why don't you take a seat and I'll join you with some coffee," The younger suggested, gesturing to the couches as Salvatore hobbled his way over to the seats. "You'll have coffee, right?"

"Yes, thank you," He nodded and stood before the couch, stopping to look around him. "It's bigger than your previous place,"

"I thought you'd say that," Marco chuckled, his chest swelling with happiness to be talking to his brother again. "You hated the old place,"

"I did," Salvatore said candidly, Marco rolling his eyes before taking the trey over to him, putting it on the coffee table before him and made the elder's coffee the way he liked it. "So you and Giordano?" He asked like he had been talking about the chill outside, the plates clattering in his hand as he looked up with wide eyes at his brother.

Salvatore returned Marco's wide-eyed gaze with a calm mask of his own, lifting the cane from between his legs and maneuvering it to be pointing at the gallery on the wall, vaguely gesturing to the assortment of picture of Marco and Sofia.

"Oh, I-she-uh-we..."

"It's interesting, I didn't peg her as your type, especially not since I gave the order of looking after her in an official capacity," The Mafia Boss tapped the cane twice in the space between his legs, his gaze on his brother's crouched figure by the low lying coffee table. "I can only assume that was why you had originally bought this apartment, plenty of space to accommodate two. You would not have let go of the other one had it not been an explicit order,"

"Salvatore-" Marco flushed, clenching his teeth, terrified of what he may say next, where his words would hit next.

"-If she makes you happy that's all that matter to me," He sighed instead of any harsh comment, rather than criticism, Salvatore turned to look back at the pictures, gloved hands clasping the golden wolf head. "She has my respect after the vetting procedures she put herself through simply to get updates on your wellbeing. Initially, I had been sure it was some form of ploy, but every vigorous procedure, I realized, it was the exact opposite,"

"She's a good girl," Salvatore resumed, holding out his hand to the stunned Marco. "She knows how to hold her own against people like us,"

Marco sat crouched by the edge of the glass coffee table, the mug of coffee and saucer weighing heavy in his hands with his eyes on his elder brother, his mouth agape.

"Marco, my coffee, please," Salvatore brought him out of his stupor, the younger jolting the cup, almost spilling the contents before handing the saucer to his outstretched hand. The Mafia Boss taking the plate and maneuvering the mug to take a sip of the beverage, relishing in the warmth that coursed through his aching chest. Taking the little edibles Marco offered him.

Taking his own mug, Marco sat on the edge of the sofa to Salvatore's right, taking a sip before lowering the mug to the surface, looking at his brother from below his lashes.

"It's good to see you back on your feet, Salvatore," Marco spoke earnestly, Salvatore looking at him from over the rim of his mug.

"It's more of the cane than my feet, my body still hurts," He chuckled breathlessly, placing the mug and saucer on the tabletop. "I'm actually coming from my doctor's appointment, he's saying that things are looking good and I shouldn't feel any more pain, but every single move I make sends these jolting tremors through my chest,"

"You're coming from the doctor's?" Marco confirmed as his brother nodded. "I thought Nicole would be with you,"

"Ah," Salvatore looked away, staring at the potted plant in the corner as the sudden sobriety in his brother rubbed him off the wrong way. "Nicole and I...aren't really on talking terms at the moment,"

"What?" Marco choked on his coffee, putting the mug on the table before leaning towards his brother who wouldn't meet his gaze. "Salvatore, what happened? What's going on?"

"Well," The Mafia Boss exhaled, tapping the cane against the wooden flooring. "It was more my decision, but she and I are in separate rooms. She comes in about three-four times to check in on me, and she respects my decision for space, and I'm grateful for that,"

"But why? After everything? Why are you asking for space?"

"My ailing marriage is not the reason I'm here," Salvatore lifted his gaze to Marco who leaned back at the words, the distance between them all the more tangible. "I suppose you already know that I've been going around to our family and apologizing."

"Serafina mentioned something about you coming over," Marco crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. "Didn't sound too happy,"

"Marina and Michele still think I'm daddy," He hummed. "But that wasn't what upset her,"

"No, she hates the fact that I had come to apologize for what I put you all through. She hasn't forgiven me for what I did and said that it was plain selfish. She had quite the colorful vocabulary to go along with her sentiments, too,"

"What did you do?"

"Nothing," Salvatore shrugged. "I did nothing. My wife has sudden fits where she lashes out in rage at me, then she has hysterical sobbing fits after which she clings onto me and begs for forgiveness for something she didn't do, but that one constant that I see in Serafina, in Arsenio, in Nicole, in mom, and in dad, is that...that look."

"What?"

"Dad didn't say a word, and that's worse than him lashing out, and mom slapped me,"

"What?!"

"She was hysterical and crying about how I could have done this to them and in her anger she had slapped me. Thirty years where she had never raised a hand on me, and she slapped me that day. Then she cried that she had slapped me, but I didn't retaliate, I didn't a right to after what I put you guys through," Salvatore let out a tired sigh, sagging in seat and rubbing a gloved hand over his sternum, Marco noticing for the first time that his brother hadn't even taken off his scarf or coat. "Arsenio had listened patiently and said 'thank you for the apology, but I cannot accept it'. And I understood his reasons for it," He chuckled humorlessly, his gaze vacant on a distant spot.

"And now I've saved the best for last," Salvatore returned his vacant gaze to Marco smiling softly with an arm braced to his chest. "Do you want to say something first or should I?"

"Please, you first," Marco gestured for him to continue.

"Okay, well, I think I'll start with why I had disavowed you as my heir,"

"I'm not angry with that decision," The younger informed him honestly before he could speak. "Because for the first time in that warehouse I understood that my becoming boss meant your death, and I am not ready for that. So I want you to know that I am not angry about that, but I would like to know your reasoning first,"

"Well..." Salvatore trailed, his gaze becoming distant once more. "Its no secret that you're my favorite," He chuckled softly.

"Even after my kidnapping, and your persistence for me to name you my heir so you could prove yourself, your human screw-ups, your sleeping around, and everything. You're my favorite which is why I had caved to you becoming my heir. I thought it would be a good idea, groom you, but as the year progressed and I got more and more into the Mafia role, there was one thing I was certain of, being a Mafia Boss is a fucked-up job. You have to be ruthless and conniving and think thirteen moves ahead, and you are constantly looking over your shoulder, and you can't trust a single soul no matter how much you ache for that connection of someone having your back without a fear about their loyalty. It requires you to do things that your loved ones would be disgusted by it requires you to sacrifice so much, and that just screws you over,"

"I have done things as a Mafia Boss that still send shivers down my spine, Marco. I have been forced to put down entire families for the illusion of security of my own family, and no matter how much I may love my family, taking a child's life forces you to lose a piece of your humanity. You become so desensitized after a certain number of kills that you can't differentiate between kills that are necessary and kills that are just for the sport of it. Sometimes I don't even recognize the person staring back at me Marco, and I do not want that for you for even a single second. Take over the night clubs, take over Armamentarium, but under no circumstances are you becoming Mafia Boss, not if you end up like me,"

"I am called heartless, cold, ruthless, monster," Salvatore chuckled humorlessly. "And people talk like I had a choice. Dad failed to tell me that I would never have a choice, but I will not make the same mistake with you...or my kids if I have any,"

"Dad never forced me," Salvatore shook his head before Marco could speak up. "He never forced me, but that expectation for you to do better than your predecessor, the looks on people's faces when you do something exceptional in terms of the Mafia, and that godforsaken phrase: you'll make an amazing mafia boss. That gets to your head, Marco. And once you take over, once you get a taste of that ambrosia called power, that fear, and the respect you're treated with, you get addicted. It's worse than heroin, and after that, you're fucked. You can't do anything else other than build on it. But you do it at the cost of what makes you human."

"And I don't want you to get a taste of it. I don't care how you may lash out, but as the years progressed, I know for certain that I do not want you near that position. It's not that you're incapable, I am just not able to subject you to that corruption. I want to protect you. I promised to protect you, and I disavowed you because you deserve something so much better than this, Marco,"

"It may not be a good enough reason for you, and I know I cannot say anything to make it better, but I did what I did to protect you," Salvatore sighed, tapping his cane on the wooden flooring, resuming before Marco has a chance to respond. "Now as to pulling the plug,"

"I'll say it in the simplest way I can possibly manage," Salvatore straightened, his gaze on Marco who held his breath to hear the next words. "I want to die,"

"That is the honest and simple truth. I'm done, I'm tired, and so fucking terrified all the time that I failed to protect you guys that I can't...I just can't stand to look at myself. I let Serafina get hit by that car, she was in a coma for twenty fucking months. Mom and dad were attacked due to my inefficiency. Nicole was kidnapped and nearly died because I wasn't smart enough to anticipate it," Salvatore's voice tightened with every word, the Mafia Boss sitting with his eyes closed and jaw clenched.

"I know I have failed you all, and I don't deserve to live if I can't even manage that. Family above all else, and I failed. My decision to pull the plug may be cruel. It may even be selfish because I gave up. It may not look like the best decision, but I made the decision that minimized my losses, I made that decision knowing that it was right after taking everything into consideration," Salvatore rubbed a hand against his chest, ignorant to the way Marco's shoulders tensed or the way his jaw tightened. "And I cannot expect for that to be understood,"

"I know that it is believed that I did wrong, and I know that you most likely hate my gall right now, but it would still make me feel better if you let me do this," Salvatore turned to look at his silent brother whose chest tightened to hear his words. "Forgive me for what I have put you through,"

A silence settled heavy between them, the specks of dust flying through that beam of light with the coffee having gone cold. Waiting a few silent heartbeats, Salvatore smiled softly to see Marco turn away from him. Taking that as his notice to leave, the Mafia Boss shuffled to the edge of his seat and mentally prepared himself for the fire to ignite his insides when he would stand.

He hadn't even braced his weight on the cane head when Marco abruptly stood from his seat and knelt before Salvatore, grabbing his face into his trembling hands as the Mafia Boss blinked back at the sudden attack, his muscles coiling, ready to fight.

"You..." Marco gritted out, eyes bloodshot and palms trembling, Salvatore swallowing down his instincts to pull free, warning bells raging inside his head. "You are my brother, and nothing, I tell you nothing, can change that. Not the Mafia, not your self-destructive tendencies, not your self-loathing, and your instinct to push people away, because you and I both know you always fail to push me away. I am that annoying leech that won't let you breathe, remember? Not then, not now. So don't you dare think for one second that I won't forgive you, you hear me? I forgive you, Salvatore."

Salvatore sat still, face in his brother's hands with his covered fingers coiling around the cane in a vice like grip that forced the leather to strain. His eyes wracking over Marco's features, from the way his eyebrows were clenched together forming creases on his forehead, to his bloodshot eyes and trembling lips and ashen complexion. He couldn't...understand.

"Why?"

"Because I love you, you fool!" Marco laughed breathlessly at the question. "And..." He choked out through the lump that formed in his throat, unable to keep the smile from his face at the confusion in the ever stoic Mafia Boss.

"And because I missed you," Marco's voice was hardly above a whisper before the tears blinded him and he buried his face into Salvatore's chest, the Mafia Boss baring the sudden pain with nothing more than a squint of his eyes and sat frozen in his brother's sobbing hold.

It didn't take long for Salvatore to drop his cane on the wooden flooring and instead wrap his arms around that crying boy in front of him, knowing exactly that Marco was sincere and needed him to hold him for this minute.

Salvatore content in having only him by his side during these troubled times. Knowing that he had one person who believed in him.

And that was enough.