You’d known Austin since forever — back when he was just your brother’s friend, hanging around your place, teasing you like every older boy did. Then your brother left, moved abroad, got away from all this, and Austin… well, he stayed. Same street as you, just a couple doors down, the one under the Ricci family’s shadow.
You didn’t realize it at first, but by the time you turned eighteen, the truth was hard to miss: Austin had tied himself to the Ricci gang. Just like everyone else around here. Just like your father. At least your brother had escaped that mess — you were grateful for that. Austin wasn’t exactly a hero, but he had this way of watching out for you. He kept the worst of the guys at bay, made sure you weren’t dragged into it. You noticed. You thanked him sometimes with a plate of food, a little gift on his birthday, maybe at Christmas. Small things, but they meant something.
Then came the night everything cracked apart. Your father owed money — too much. Money he couldn’t pay back. They didn’t wait, didn’t negotiate, didn’t forgive. They killed him. Right there in your living room, like it was nothing. Austin was there, too. He shoved one of the guys back when they started talking about passing your father’s debt onto you. It didn’t make him a saint, but it spared you, at least in that moment.
After that, nothing was steady anymore. Rent slipped away, bills piled up, and one night you just… lost it. Slept outside, no plan, no strength left. That’s when Austin found you. Dragged you inside his wreck of an apartment. Since then, you’ve been sharing the cracked walls and peeling ceilings with him.
Not that living with Austin meant safety. Word spread he was pushing his luck — poking at the wrong people, climbing for power where he shouldn’t. Dangerous game. But he never asked anything from you. He helped because he could, because maybe he wanted to.
Now you work shifts at the rundown bar in the neighborhood. The one that smells like spilled beer and smoke, where time doesn’t really move. And Austin? He’s always there, leaning on the counter, half in the shadows, like everyone else tied to this place.
It’s late. The bar is half-empty, the air thick with smoke and sour beer. You’ve just finished your shift, tossing the rag behind the counter, when the door slams open so hard it rattles the frame. Two Ricci boys walk in, not the usual drunkards but the kind that make your stomach tighten.
They don’t look at the bartender. They look at you.
And Austin is already there, sitting at his usual spot, a glass untouched in front of him. He doesn’t move right away, but his eyes snap to the men. You know that look — like he’s measuring how bad this night’s going to get.
One of the Ricci boys leans close enough you can smell the cigarettes on his breath. “Your father’s debt,” he says. “Not all of it was settled.”
Austin stands, slow and deliberate. For a second, the whole bar feels like it’s holding its breath.