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Why did he feel guilty?

Alessandro hadn't known what that irritating, dull gnawing in his chest was until he stepped out of the villa and his eyes landed on Giacinto jumping out of a carriage. Giacinto had been trying to contain the damage of Piero's death – if the Lady had him chauffeured here, things had to look good.

Giacinto dragged a gloved hand through his dark hair. He was tired. It was the little things, the slow exhale, how he no longer fiddled his fingers – even the wild curls looked slumped.

Alessandro felt the annoying need to tell him to get some sleep.

Their eyes met and something in Giacinto struggled – then he raised his hand for a small wave and jogged across the street. "Evening, giant."

"Good evening," Alessandro nodded at him.

"Are you planning on turning into a tailor's doll?" Giacinto's eyes flitted up his chest.

Alessandro wore a dark red silk jacket, double rows of golden buttons lending it the appearance of military dress, but it hung open over his wide shirt. "Is that your way of saying I'm well dressed?"

Giacinto snorted. "That's my way of saying you look ridiculous, doll."

"Not everyone can have your affinity for funeral dressings."

"Always prepared." Giacinto's evil grimace was ruined by him yawning halfway through.

"Very intimidating."

"At least my boots aren't polished enough to use as a mirror."

"That's because then you'd have to do something about that atrocious hair of yours."

"Doll."

"Barbarian."

Giacinto laughed. "Barbaros literally means 'not Greek'. Technically, you're the barbarian here," he said, giving Alessandro a side-way grin as he pushed past him into the villa. "You coming?"

The gnawing intensified, an uncomfortable feeling unfurling in Alessandro's chest. "I'm heading out."

"Something turned up?" Giacinto made his way back. He was exhausted, shadows lingering under his eyes, his cheeks hollower than usual. They hadn't had breakfast before Amand had rallied them, Laelia knocked him out the evening before – Giacinto hadn't eaten anything for the last 24 hours at least, Alessandro realized – yet he was ready to follow Alessandro to the next crime scene.

Alessandro shook his head. "No, no case. Lorenzo had asked –"

Just like that, Giacinto's entire posture changed. Surprise and irritation flitted over his face. "Do have fun." He must have tried for a wicked grin, but it turned vicious at the too sharp twist of his lips.

"For the last time, I am no sodomite."

"And I'm the Pope," Giacinto said. "I'll brief you in the morning then. Now excuse me, I have work to do. Unlike some of us." He turnt back abruptly, disappearing into the villa.

"Marinos." Alessandro only knew Giacinto was listening when the sharp steps halted. He sighed. "Find a bed. You look like you need it."

He strode down the street before he got an answer. Giacinto Marinos was not his responsibility. Nor should or did he care what that Greek thought of him – Alessandro had been working, pouring over files and notes.

So why did he feel guilty?

---

When Lorenzo turned and spotted Alessandro making his way across the empty piazza, a huge smile lit up his face, bright and unrestrained.

Relieved. Lorenzo hadn't been sure Alessandro would show. The guilt doubled. "Apologies for the delay."

Lorenzo just waved it off. "You look nice." Lorenzo rested his hands on Alessandro's chest, first hesitant, ready to pull away any second and laugh it off, then surer, drawing idle patterns across the dark silk.

Alessandro struggled to either step away or closer and not knowing what of those he really wanted drove him mad. Still, his eyes fluttered close on their own when Lorenzo leaned up, noses brushing.

Lorenzo just waited, not stepping away, but not moving further either, simply resting their foreheads together. He must have felt the tension ebbing away slowly and pressed his lips to the corner of Alessandro's mouth.

"I told you we're getting there," Lorenzo teased.

Alessandro wasn't sure whether he was disappointed or relieved. And then he was angry, at himself, because that's all he had been lately. Never sure. Not with the investigations, not with a single thing about this bloody mess, not with Lorenzo. Not even with himself.

"You alright?"

No one asked about Alessandro, he investigated murders, he couldn't expect sympathy at the end of the day – yet Lorenzo had been nothing but curiously caring, asking, but never prying. Alessandro nodded. "Just starving."

Lorenzo laughed and lead the way. Soon they reached the tiny tavern and he was seated opposite Lorenzo on a table tucked away into a corner near a fire place, the flames roaring despite the days turning longer, the air smelling of wood smoke, the dozen dishes stewing in iron pots and thick, warm bread. He hadn't been starved for the food, not so much as for the conversation. Lorenzo was easy, open, ever curious and apparently hard to offend, even if you had Alessandro's clumsiness with meaningless chatter.

When Alessandro hid in his quiet observation, Lorenzo talked enough for both and when he noticed Alessandro finally wanted to say something but didn't seem sure how or what, Lorenzo asked. About his day, about his shirt (which looked great on Alessandro, but it would look better on the floor of his bedchambers), about a book Alessandro had read.

Later, Lorenzo's eyes were sparkling -- he had finally gotten Alessandro to tell him about his days as a duelist. "I should blame you for all my bad ideas." Lorenzo leaned back in his chair, balancing it on the back legs.

Alessandro raised an eyebrow.

"Eyebrows are not a substitute for words, Alessandro," Lorenzo laughed. "I wanted to be like you. ... if you laugh I'll gut you."

"Marinos is bad influence for you"

"I saw you when I was ... twelve, I think? It was Carnivale. It was dark, but there were so many lights, it was like the canals had been filled with golden stars!" Lorenzo's smile was far away. "We were with a few friends at a small side canal and one pointed ahead, to a bridge, some teens fencing. With real sabers!" He mimicked an exited boy and Alessandro had to smile.

"I remember sitting on the posts meant to tie gondolas to, feet dangling above the water. But there was this one, brilliant boy who just kept winning, blade shining like a comet, until all his friends were groaning. And then they laughed and hugged and Tonio said it was boring. But then this boy tugged up his half mask into his hair, and he grinned and slapped his friend's back, and God, I thought he looked like a lion, all fierce and confident and taller than the rest --" Lorenzo cleared his throat. "One of my friends had shouted something, and he looked over and –"

"And?"

"And I fell into a canal. Was sick for the rest of Carnival."

Alessandro had to laugh. But there was a fond warmth pooling in his stomach.

Much later, walking through the streets, Lorenzo turned to him and said: "You know, the boy was you."

"I know. I just didn't know it was you."

"I never saw you again until you started dueling. I checked at every ball."

Alessandro chuckled. "Remember I was banned by my mother after asking about the doge's wife and the guard."

"But that's not what I meant. That boy, that's still ... that's you. You shone brighter than all the others. You laughed and lived – that's still there. You're no stone, and there's no one who can demand that from you."

Alessandro's throat felt so tight he didn't trust himself to speak.

"Was that weird? Oh god that was weird. Kill me now," Lorenzo groaned.

Alessandro pursed his lips. "When I was fifteen, during Carnivale, we'd gotten bored and fenced on a bridge. And I think I've had too much wine, because I had balanced on the railing and saw this boy sitting on a post and he'd looked so fascinated – I'd meant to ask whether he might want to join."

"What happened?" Lorenzo furrowed his eyebrows.

"The boy fell into the canal."

Lorenzo groaned. "End me now."

"His friends had laughed, but when he climbed out he just laughed with them. I was always so proud, I never got how he could do that."

"It was pretty funny."

They entered a piazza small enough to be a backyard, an old, gnarly tree in the middle of the cobble stone, a low bench running around the trunk, a few abandoned paper lanterns still burning out in the branches.

There must have been a party, rough wooden tables and benches stacked at the side of one of the small houses, but it had long faded out. It still lingered in the air, the laughter and booze and dancing to off key tunes. Alessandro sat down on the bench, leaning back against the trunk to watch the stars winking between the swaying branches.

Lorenzo settled next to him, thigh warm against his, shoulders pressed together.

"I meant, that boy, who laughed the loudest even if it was about him, who didn't throw a fit, who looked so curious. Who remembered that other boy, all the years, even when the boy turned into something hard and shallow, as the boy with the lion heart. That's still you." Alessandro turned his head to watch Lorenzo. "No matter what people say about you. About what you like to wear, about who you like. You don't stoop low, you still laugh. I hunt murderers every day, but you're still braver. Your father—"

Lorenzo went tense against him.

"Your father doesn't know that boy. And he's a poorer man for it."

Lorenzo wrung his hands. "I – thank you," he whispered.

An unsure, heavy silence stretched between them, until Lorenzo clapped his hands and grinned at Alessandro. "Alright. What time do you need to be back in heaven?"

Alessandro blinked. Lorenzo looked way too proud of that one. "Do you ever stop?"

He had expected a laughed 'never'. Instead, Lorenzo stilled, suddenly serious. "You just need to tell me to stop." His voice wavered. "I wouldn't – I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. Sorry. I thought I had a bit of a chance." He scratched the back of his neck, looking away.

"I'm sorry," Alessandro said.

Lorenzo's face fell.

"I've gotten the message."

Lorenzo released a shaky breath, but smiled. "I'll just have to patiently wait for an answer then, no?" His gaze locked with Alessandro's.

Alessandro wrestled with himself. "Why wait?" His eyes flickered down, tracing the tense curve of Lorenzo's smile, then quickly snapped back up.

"Well," Lorenzo shifted, "I'm not that good at waiting, actually."

The air changed around them, crackling and twisting.

The warm light of the last lampions washed over Lorenzo, lining the edges of his shadowed face with molten gold. He was beautiful. So Alessandro leaned forward, suddenly hyper-aware of the rough wood beneath his hands, of Lorenzo's long lashes fanning over his cheeks, the leaves rustling above them. He leaned forward until their breaths mingled, warm in the cool air. And then he leaned forward a bit more, tilting his head, until their lips brushed.

That was everything it took to set his heart ablaze, the slow touch lighter than a butterfly's wing, knocking through him like an earthquake. Alessandro paused, half-lidded eyes finally closing, and pressed his lips against Lorenzo's, firmer this time. "Is this alright?" he whispered against his lips.

Lorenzo stared at him, chest heaving like he had run a mile, mouth slightly open. "You are the dumbest man alive."

"Probably not –"

Lorenzo kissed him. He grabbed Alessandro's face with both his hands, yanked him down and sealed his lips over Alessandro's. Alessandro froze, mind running to catch up with the calloused palms against his cheeks, the fingers twisting in his hair to pull him closer, the press of Lorenzo's mouth.

The second Alessandro leans into the kiss, nudging closer, his courage is rewarded by Lorenzo's mouth sliding against his, opening and god. Alessandro has to settle a hand on Lorenzo's thigh to steady himself. Muscles flex under Alessandro's palm, Lorenzo's fingers in his hair tightening in response.

Alessandro's head swims and he isn't sure it's because of the lack of air or Lorenzo's sigh against his lips. Then Lorenzo moves, thumb tilting Alessandro's head back so he can press kisses to his eyebrow, his temple, his cheeks, the corner of his lips – laughing a shaky 'told you we're getting there' – the angle of his jaw, down his pulse. Alessandro's eyes fall shut and his mouth falls open and all he can think of is how soft Lorenzo's lips are, how strong his hands.

Lorenzo grins at Alessandro with the most self satisfied expression, but it's too damn hard to hold a grudge against someone who's just so bloody good at kissing Alessandro's heart out of rhythm.

A clatter yanks them apart.

Alessandro stomach dropped to the ground, eyes racing through the dark corners of the piazza.

Lorenzo closed his hand over Alessandro's, fisted at his sides. "Just a cat," he murmured, nodding his head at the black stray scurrying past them, mouse in its jaw.

But it was too late, Alessandro already ripped out of their bubble, jaw set in its harsh, defensive line again, as if that could stop the stutter of his heart.

"You want to go home?" Lorenzo's voice was soft, understanding. He nudged at Alessandro's hand until his fists uncurl, then a bit more, patient, but unrelenting, until it turned up and he could slide his palm into Alessandro's, fingers lacing together. "You have big hands," he laughed.

"We need to talk."

Lorenzo's laugh caught in his throat.

Alessandro didn't want to talk. He wanted to kiss Lorenzo again, or go home, sleep and pretend nothing ever happened – no, that's a lie. He wants it, again and again. Not just because Lorenzo is a man and he knows and he's there. But because it's Lorenzo, the boy who fell into a canal.

And he deserved to know.

"You know Daniele." He hated how his breath still caught at the name. The urge to run away returned, clawing up his back.

"Were you and him – are you?" Lorenzo asked hesitantly. "I thought you'd had something before you joined the police, but then, at the tavern ... he looked at you like –"

"No," Alessandro said. "Yes."

Lorenzo tugged his hand free, but Alessandro tightened his hold before he could slip away. "Please," he said, bringing their hands up to kiss Lorenzo's fingers. "Listen."

Lorenzo looked away, but gave a short squeeze.

"I – yes, we were," he said. "But not anymore. We had a fight."

"What was it about?"

Alessandro could only tell him about the first fight, weeks before the second, weeks before the horrible crunch of bones under his hands, weeks of anger slowly bubbling hotter and hotter in him until the dam broke and Alessandro ripped a life apart.

"I slept with someone else."

He could feel the shock jolting through Lorenzo through their joined hands. "You – what?You?"

Alessandro dared to look. Lorenzo had shock written all over his face, but he didn't let go of their Alessandro's hand. He didn't even look at him any different. Still, saying it was hard. "I was scared."

"People never minded how close we were, I made sure they saw me with enough women." If they were busy gossiping about which noble's daughter had fallen for Alessandro and which girl he swept into a kiss when he won a duel, they would just see two boys with a strong friendship. They wouldn't see how his eyes would linger on another duelist, or a young man from Spain.

"It changed when ... I loved him, he loved me." His throat hurt. "And I was terrified. Because I only wanted to look at Daniele, no one else. I wanted to kiss him when I won. I wanted – everything. But I was scared if I suddenly stopped being with women, people would see, who I was. What I was." He buried his head in his hands.

"So you kept sleeping with them."

Alessandro could only nod, shame so heavy in his stomach he thought he might crumple to the ground.

"Daniele didn't know."

Alessandro nodded again. "And he did stop, never even looked at another woman. His father must have suspected, but Daniele didn't – "

Daniele had turned to Alessandro, made his choice.

He could never forget Daniele's wide eyes, flowers in one hand, his old tattered book of poems and a bottle of wine in the other. The bottle had shattered on the ground. Alessandro had muttered a cheap excuse to the woman, ripped on a shirt and ran after him. But when he finally caught up, he hadn't apologized. He had been proud, jutted his chin out and never admitted how scared he was.

Alessandro had returned home, woman gone, flowers trampled, wine spilled like blood. He had picked up the small book, worn by endless evenings of Daniele reading to him, cradled it to his chest and wanted to rip his heart out.

Daniele hadn't returned, not the next day, not the day after it, not the entire week. Alessandro had gotten angry, at everything and everyone, drinking, having rows of women. Never men. He only wanted Daniele.

Two weeks later, he had just wanted the blonde on his arm to shut up – and there Daniele had been, pacing outside the gate to the Steno villa. His shoulders had slumped with relief when he had seen Alessandro. Then he had seen the woman. He had stormed off.

Alessandro swallowed the rest. Lorenzo mustn't know. But weeks later, after Alessandro's anger had exploded at an innocent man, Daniele had returned again. His eyes had been ice and sliced right through Alessandro. Daniele had never wanted to follow his father's footsteps, the head of the force. He had forced Alessandro to join instead.

Alessandro had had to take the deal. His parents couldn't know their son was a murderer. No one could. He was a noble, he had been drunk, he could have gotten away with it. But he still -- too proud, again.

Lorenzo was silent next to him, just staring at their joined hands with a small, sad frown. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry you were so scared."

This man was unbelievable. Even if he didn't know about the blood on Alessandro's hands, he knew what Alessandro had done to Daniele.

"I'm ... not proud of it. And I wouldn't do it again." Even if that's what he had spat at Daniele, hiding his fear behind a wall of arrogance and uncaring. "I wanted you to know."

"Do you – you loved him so much. Do you still want to –" Lorenzo bit his lip, looking down at their joined hands.

"I do. If you'll let me." Alessandro slowly said. He wasn't Daniele. And somehow, that was good and bad at the same time.

Lorenzo nodded. Then he thought better of it, leaning up for a small kiss. "Thank you. For being honest."

He should have been a long time ago.

I promise, next chapter we finally get back to people dying. And the clue they might need to still win this fight! Who do you think it's gonna be?

Oh, Sandro. Did you expect this?

Do you ship Loressandro? What about their first actual kiss?

Thank you so much for your support! I love you guys. Each of you makes my day, every single time.

Avis