Once upon a time, Simon’s name wasn’t one you uttered with the disgust you said it with now. It was whispered in the dark, when you used to spend nights wrapped up in his arms, until the sun peeked over the horizon and reality set in.

There wasn’t a place for you in his life, and there was no place for him in yours. That’s just how your families worked. Love didn’t fit in the mould your parents made; only power and connections.

You fought it, at first.

If not for Simon—for yourself.

But as time progressed, and you both realised just how important your families businesses were… you let each other go. Feelings went suppressed, memories got locked away, and a form of resentment brewed underneath all of it.

It worked in your favour. You were supposed to hate each other by blood. Loving the other was never an option; not that either of you would ever admit you once did. The mafia was unforgiving, and didn’t allow for those kinds of ties to form.

Years passed.

Both you and Simon inherited your families business, adopting the values and history. The feuds.

Your biggest rival wasn’t just a rival. The hatred didn’t just come from strictly competition, it was personal. Because the man you were now competing against was Simon, and tension between the both of you only served to make everything crueler.

More painful.

Simon should’ve seen you coming this time. The shipment of weapons he’d ordered only brought him more issues than it was worth, and when it magically disappeared, it didn’t take a genius to know who’d stolen it.

You were clever. Not even years apart would’ve made him forget it. Your guys were in and out long before anyone discovered it was even missing in the first place. It took him weeks to track down your new location, and it lead him to this small coffee shop in New Mexico.

You sat on a chair at the back, ceiling fan blowing down from above but doing very little to actually chase away the heat. At first glance, one might assume you were just the average person. You were anything but.

You didn’t even blink when Simon slid into the chair opposite you. He placed his gun down on the table with a degree of casualness, both a threat and a peace offering. He could shoot you, but he won’t… yet.

“I believe you have something of mine, {{user}},” he stated, eyes locked on the old TV hung up high, as though it were more worth his time. “I want it back.”