Quicksand of Fate

Lorenzo stood in his bedroom, staring blankly at his closet. The rows of neatly ironed suits, shirts, and trousers hung in front of him, untouched for weeks. He ran a hand through his disheveled black hair, sighing softly.

He didn't care about appearances—he didn't care about anything—but he wasn't naive enough to think that Sandro would let him leave the apartment in his house clothes without a snarky remark.

He wanted to call Emilio for help, but it seemed like Sandro was going to give him another scolding.

This, and everything else, was just… annoying.

Without much thought, he grabbed the first thing he saw. The ridicule was inevitable, but there was no need to make it worse than it already was. He tried to style his outfit just enough to avoid another lecture from Sandro.

After a brief pause, he settled on a dark gray shirt and black pants. Simple, but it suited him well with his raven hair, dark eyes, and pale skin, giving him a polished look despite the sunken expression in his eyes. He glanced at himself in the mirror before grabbing his phone from the bedside table.

Satisfied—or as close to satisfied as he could manage—he walked out of the room and back into the living room.

Sandro was waiting for him, arms crossed, standing near the couch. He exuded a natural air of authority, and his piercing gaze landed on Lorenzo, examining him from head to toe.

"At least you didn't come out in your pajamas," Sandro remarked lightly with a slight smile, attempting to ease the tension that had been building between them. The atmosphere had calmed a bit since Lorenzo had left the room.

Lorenzo rolled his eyes but didn't respond, slipping his phone into his pocket.

"Let's go," Sandro said, gesturing to the door.

As they made their way out, Emilio emerged from the kitchen. The butler bowed slightly, folding his hands in front of him.

"I'll take care of the cleaning, young master. The apartment hasn't been properly maintained in two days," Emilio said in a calm tone, though the disapproval in his eyes was hard to miss.

Lorenzo glanced at the mess in the living room but didn't respond.

"Thank you, Emilio," Sandro said with a brief wave to the butler before placing a hand on Lorenzo's shoulder and guiding him toward the door.

The cool morning air greeted them as they left the building. Sandro's sleek black vehicle was parked by the sidewalk, and the driver was already standing to open the door.

Sandro slid into the back seat first and motioned for Lorenzo to follow.

Lorenzo hesitated for a moment, his gaze drifting toward the tall buildings surrounding them. The outside world seemed loud and vast, a stark contrast to the isolation he had surrounded himself with in his apartment for the past seven months.

"Come in," Sandro called, pulling Lorenzo back into reality.

Without saying a word, Lorenzo entered the car. The driver closed the door behind them, then took his place in the front seat. By Sandro's orders, they headed toward the nearest luxurious restaurant, a quiet place suited to the tastes of the Accardi brothers.

Though Sandro didn't show it, he, too, preferred calm and solitude over noise and crowds. The chaos of public places was no longer a problem for him, thanks to his military work, but he still leaned toward tranquility.

The car stopped in front of a one-story restaurant specializing in simple meals—perfect for breakfast or a light snack during tea time. Sandro stepped out without waiting for the driver and ordered Lorenzo to follow.

"Follow me."

Lorenzo didn't like this, but once again, he found himself obediently getting out of the car and following his older brother.

He didn't like this feeling.

Annoying.

Disgusting.

The noise around him only made it worse. It grew louder, suffocating him, ringing in his ears. His vision blurred, and his body froze as his breathing became irregular and his heartbeat quickened.

Amid the chaos in his mind, one thought became overwhelming—a final solution to put an end to it all.

Kill him.

"Lorenzo?"

Suddenly, the world snapped back into focus. He opened his eyes and saw his brother looking at him, concern etched on his face.

"Are you okay? If you're not feeling well, we can go..."

"I'm fine," Lorenzo replied, his voice calm, as smooth and still as a frozen lake.

Sandro hesitated, studying Lorenzo for a moment, but before he could say anything, Lorenzo walked past him and entered the restaurant. It was as though he were fleeing—perhaps from something, or even from Sandro himself.

Sandro watched him, guilt and frustration stirring within him. He had wanted to escape the apartment, but he'd failed to consider that Lorenzo was no longer the person he had been seven months ago. Lorenzo was much worse now.

Still, he didn't comment on it and followed Lorenzo into the restaurant. He found his brother seated at a table in a corner of the balcony, and took a seat across from him, his presence silent but ever watchful.