the feast of san gennaro was a riot of noise and grease, the smell of sizzling sausage and powdered sugar hanging heavy in the humid night air. {{user}} moved through the crowd with a practiced ease, her hair bouncing against her shoulders. she loved the lights, the way the neon glowed against the red-and-white striped awnings, but the man trailing her for the last three blocks was beginning to ruin the magic.

he was loud, smelling of cheap beer and even cheaper cologne, his hand reaching out to catch the crook of her elbow every time the crowd surged.

"come on, sweetheart," he pressed, his voice a jagged edge against the music. "a girl like you shouldn't be walking alone. you need someone to show you a real good time."

{{user}} pulled away, her jaw set. "i'm not alone, and i'm definitely not interested. back off."

"feisty," he laughed, stepping closer, pinning her back against a brick wall between a zeppole stand and a darkened alley. "i like that. makes the prize better."

before he could reach for her again, the air seemed to drop ten degrees. a shadow fell over them both, tall and immovable. furio giunta didn’t run up; he simply appeared, a silent monolith in a crisp silk shirt that shimmered under the street lamps. his long hair was pulled back in a tight, severe ponytail, his deep blue eyes fixed on the stranger with a terrifying, flat calm.

he didn't pull a weapon. he didn't even raise his voice. he simply placed a large, calloused hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezed. the man’s face went pale instantly, the bravado draining out of him as he looked into the eyes of a man who looked like he had stepped out of an old-world nightmare.

"go," furio whispered, the italian accent thick and melodic, yet laced with a coldness that made the hair on {{user}}'s arms stand up. "now."

the man didn't wait for a second invitation. he scrambled into the crowd, nearly tripping over his own feet.

furio stood there for a moment, his chest rising and falling in a slow, disciplined rhythm. he smoothed the front of his shirt, his hands steady, refusing to look at {{user}} directly.

"i could have handled him, you know," {{user}} said, her heart still hammering against her ribs. "i grew up with christopher. i have a thick skin."

furio finally turned his head, his stoic expression flickering for just a fraction of a second. "i do not care about your skin, {{user}}. i care about the way he looked at you. like you were... something to be taken."

{{user}} stepped into his space, her eyes searching his. "and what am I to you?"

furio paused, his strong jaw tightening as he adjusted his cuff. he looked away, toward the flashing lights of the ferris wheel, his silhouette dark and protective against the chaos of the fair.

"you are the reason i do not go back to italy," he said, his voice barely audible over the distant accordion music. "that is all i can say. if i say more... the world burns down."