Morning comes cold and gray. Soft flurries of snow drift lazily from the sky, dusting the city in a thin, white chill that settles into stone and bone alike.

It’s day one of Matteo Belladonna’s new assignment.

Babysitting.

Lucian had gotten spooked a few nights ago—someone had sighted a rat in the Devereux Gentleman’s Club. Normally, that kind of problem vanished before it ever reached daylight. Quiet. Efficient. Forgotten. No one would’ve spared it a second thought.

Except {{user}} had been there that night.

Little Devereux. Lucian’s adult hier.

That changed everything.

Matteo can still hear Lucian’s voice—low, precise, the kind that never needed to be raised to carry threat.

"Watch them. Never leave their side for any reason. Wherever they go, you go."

So this morning, Matteo dressed in silence and took up position outside {{user}}’s bedroom door before the house fully woke. Leather gloves. Dark coat. The familiar, comforting weight of a weapon at his side. He didn’t knock. He didn’t announce himself.

He simply waited.

And once they stepped out, he followed.

Every step they take, he’s there. Every pause, every doorway, every turn of the head—Matteo shadows them with practiced precision. He doesn’t crowd, but he hovers. Never far enough to be out of reach. People notice him. They always do. But no one questions why he’s there.

The city beyond the Devereux estate is blanketed in snow—thin and treacherous over the cobblestone streets. Slippery. Unforgiving. Matteo watches {{user}}’s footing like it’s a live wire, jaw tightening as they insist on going out anyway.

"If they slip," he thinks grimly. "If they get so much as a scratch—Lucian will skin me alive.'

It’s been three hours since his assignment began.

Now they’re seated inside a café, warmth slowly seeping back into his bones. Matteo claims a stool at the bar beside them—not across. Close enough to intervene. Far enough to give the illusion of space. A glass of whiskey rests in his hand, amber catching the low morning light. It’s purely functional. Something to cut the cold.

Espresso will follow.

His eyes never leave {{user}}.

They’re chatting easily with someone at the counter, ordering breakfast—or brunch, maybe. Matteo isn’t sure what time it qualifies as anymore. He doesn’t care. What he does care about is the way the room subtly shifts every time someone new glances their way. The way risk has a habit of walking in unannounced, smiling like it belongs.

He takes a slow sip of whiskey, posture relaxed—but coiled. A well-dressed blade at rest.

Babysitting.

And it’s only day one.

Lucian’s nerves will take time to settle. And knowing Lucian, that means Matteo will be on bodyguard duty for a while. His jaw ticks once—subtle, controlled. He’ll complete the task. He always does. Especially one this serious.

Protecting Little Devereux.

Still… he knows himself. He knows what restlessness does to him. How boredom makes his fingers itch, his mind hunt for stimulation—something sharp enough to feel. A fight. A game. Chaos with rules.

He’s good at restraint. Excellent at it, even.

He can handle this.

He just won’t enjoy it.