The warehouse, once echoing with quiet sarcasm, teacup clinks, and reluctant pancake experiments, was now drowning in chaos.
Florian flinched at the sound of shouting outside. Not the usual muffled bickering of cartel members about takeout orders, but urgent, panicked commands. Someone dropped something metallic. A gun clattered. Footsteps pounded across concrete like a drumline of dread.
Rico burst into the room, the first time Florian had seen him sweat, his composure cracked like porcelain.
"What's happening?" Florian asked, sitting up, panic sharpening his voice. He clutched his blanket like it had life-saving properties.
"Your fathers found us," Rico said, eyes flicking toward the door. "Of course they did. Freaking nuclear power couple in crocs and lawsuit threats."
"Wait, like now-now?"
"Yes. With backup."
Florian's heart went from curious flutter to hummingbird panic in seconds. His hands twitched as the noise outside grew louder. Gunfire crackled in the distance. Someone screamed.
"You have to hide," Rico said, suddenly serious, grabbing Florian by the wrist.
"Aren't you taking me?" Florian asked, fear rising like water.
Rico hesitated.
He *should* take Florian. His uncle had given explicit orders: "Bring the hostage. He's insurance." And yet...
Florian was shaking, breath shallow, dark circles like bruises beneath his eyes. The tear tracks on his cheeks were barely dry. He looked exhausted. Fragile.
Like someone who had finally made a home in the midst of chaos, only for the floor to give out beneath him.
Rico couldn't do it.
"No," he said softly.
"No?!"
"Shh," Rico whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Listen to me. There's a small storage alcove through that door. Crawl inside. Stay quiet. Don't come out until you hear *both* your fathers. Got it?"
"Rico, what are you—"
"You were never here. You never saw me help you. If anyone asks, I vanished before they got in. Do not mention this. Ever."
Florian looked at him, lip trembling. "Why are you doing this?"
Rico opened his mouth, then closed it.
He knelt instead, pushing a small flashlight and a bottle of water into Florian's blanket bundle.
"Because you looked at me like I was a person," Rico said. "And I don't get that a lot."
Florian didn't say anything. He just stared, confusion and fear and something almost like grief twisting in his chest.
Rico stood and gently pushed him toward the storage alcove.
"Go. And remember—not a word."
The door clicked shut behind Florian just as the room flooded with light from a helicopter spotlight.
---
Outside, the world had descended into a full-scale cinematic siege. Rico's men were scattering, firing aimlessly into the dark. Some didn't make it ten feet. Yerik's backup was efficient, methodical.
Alex was in the second squad, already breaching the warehouse perimeter with one goal: Get Florian.
Rico ran through smoke and confusion toward the extraction point.
A voice crackled through his earpiece. "Where's the kid?"
Rico didn't flinch. "Didn't reach him in time. It was too hot. Had to bail."
Silence. Then:
"Disappointing."
Rico boarded the helicopter.
Florian was safe.
That was enough.
---
Alex was the one who found him.
A faint whimper, the shuffle of a weighted blanket, the cautious blink of too-bright eyes peeking from under a tarp.
"Papa?" Florian whispered, voice hoarse.
Alex dropped to his knees. "No, sweetheart. It's Father."
Florian launched into his arms.
Alex held him like a prayer.
Minutes later, Yerik found them. He dropped his weapon at the sight and pulled both of them into his arms.
Florian said nothing for a while.
Then:
"Rico didn't take me. He could have. But he didn't."
Alex and Yerik exchanged a look.
"We'll talk later," Yerik said softly.
Florian nodded.
For now, he just wanted to go home.
---
Back on the helicopter, Rico sat with his head against the wall, eyes closed.
He didn't know what this made him
.
But he hoped, maybe, somewhere in Florian's weird little heart, it made him something better than a villain.