Chapter 32: Perfect day

Marco’s POV

A whole month had passed since we packed up our chaotic lives and fled Milan.

At this exact moment, I was pacing back and forth outside the entrance of our new apartment building in Palermo, Sicily, looking at my phone every five seconds as if a magic spell would suddenly alter time. Now, I consider myself a pretty calm guy. I don’t panic easily. But when I woke up this morning to a text from Tony written in glorious, violent all-caps- JAMES AND I ARE HOURS AWAY FROM PALERMO, SICILY. I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, FUCKER- I didn’t feel touched. I was bloody terrified.

Normally, if your best friends drive fifteen straight hours across the entire Italian peninsula just to see your charming face, you would feel a warm, fuzzy sensation in your chest. You would think, Wow, true friendship. But with Tony? No. That text wasn’t a sweet surprise; it was a homicide notice. The man was still hyperventilating with rage because I had moved to Sicily without giving him a proper heads-up, opting instead for a casually vague text after I was already across the cities. He had literally screamed into the phone so loud when he found out that my left ear was still faintly ringing. I could only imagine the bloody massacre waiting for me once we actually came face-to-face.

After another ten excruciatingly anxious minutes of burning rubber off my sneakers on the curb, a black Range Rover finally pulled up to the building entrance. The driver’s window rolled down with a slow, dramatic hum, revealing Tony who was putting on a pair of jet-black sunglasses. Mind you, it was a perfectly overcast afternoon.

I cringed so hard I felt my spine shorten. "Did you lose your last remaining brain cell somewhere on the highway? Sunglasses? Really? Is this your new tragic brooding look, or are you auditioning for a low-budget mafia flick?"

Tony turned his head toward me with the speed of a dying snail and slowly, painfully pulled the sunglasses down his nose.

I almost screamed right there on the pavement. Massive, horrifying, swollen purple circles hung under his eyes, making him look less like a frustrated friend and more like an extra from a zombie apocalypse movie. He was pale, hollowed-out, and genuinely terrifying.

"Hi to you too," Tony muttered. The man dragged himself out of the car like his limbs were made of lead.

"Damn! Are you actually dead and I’m talking to your vengeful ghost right now?" I asked, taking a quick step back just in case he bit me. "Because you honestly look like a fresh corpse that escaped from a local morgue."

His hair was an absolute disaster zone, sticking up in every bizarre direction imaginable, defying both gravity and basic human dignity.

"I hate long drives," Tony croaked out. His voice was raspy, incredibly low, and sounded like he had been chewing on broken glass for the past eight hundred kilometers. "I haven’t slept a single second for fifteen fucking hours. All because of you, asshole."

I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow at his complete lack of logic. "You know, call me crazy, but you could have taken a nice, air-conditioned, two-hour flight like a civilized human being, you absolute idiot."

Before Tony could summon the energy to strangle me, the passenger door swung open, and James stepped out onto the curb. His dark circles were visible, sure, but nowhere near the terrifying level of Tony’s biological hazard look. James took one look at me, sighed deeply, and pulled me into a brief, exhausted hug. At least someone in this pathetic traveling circus had retained basic manners.

I rolled my eyes dramatically over James’s shoulder at Tony, who merely sneered weakly in my direction, utterly lacking the stamina to construct a proper insult.

"He’s terrified of flying, so we had to drive the whole damn way," James explained, stepping back and rubbing the back of his neck. "And he wouldn’t let us stop to rest even once. Kept mumbling about getting here to murder you before lunch."

I stared at James with genuine, deep sympathy. The poor man looked like he was ready to collapse right onto the sidewalk and hibernate for a week. Then I glared right back at Tony with my signature smirk. "You know, Tony, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re obsessively in love with me. Driving fifteen hours without sleep just to stare into my eyes? I’m flattered, really."

Tony sized me up from head to toe, let out a tired, pathetically weak huff, and walked straight past me into the building without wasting another breath on an insult. His brain had officially shut down.

"Help me with the luggage before I drop dead," James sighed, barely managing a faint, agonizing smile.

"Of course," I said, grabbing two massive suitcases out of the trunk while James grabbed his own.

We dragged the luggage into the lobby and followed Tony’s slumping shadow toward the elevator. When the doors slid shut, the small box descended into dead, heavy silence. Not because Tony had suddenly remembered his manners, but because he had literally leaned his forehead flat against the cold metal wall, slowly falling asleep on his feet.

I stared at his pathetic form and decided not to poke the baby bear. Or the dead ghost, in this case. A slight, unexpected pang of guilt settled quietly in my chest as I took in their unfiltered exhaustion. I really was both blessed and cursed to have absolute, unhinged idiots like them as my best friends.

The elevator dinged, and we made it up to the apartment. The living room was massive, exponentially larger than our burnt-down disaster of a house back in Milan. It came complete with three full bedrooms, modern furnishings, and a spacious kitchen.

"You guys will be sharing that room over there if you don’t—" I started, pointing down the hallway.

Before the word "mind" even left my mouth, Tony brushed right past me like a battering ram in slow motion, dragging his feet straight into the designated bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

"It’s fine," James said smoothly, watching Tony disappear into room before turning back to face me. "I know he’s going to throw a massive tantrum once he wakes up and gets his senses back, but don’t worry. I’ll handle him."

"Thanks, man," I said, reaching out to pat James firmly on the shoulder. "Seriously. Go get some rest too. We’ll catch up and talk details later."

James gave a slow, tired nod and ambled into the room after Tony, closing the door softly behind him to protect whatever tiny sliver of peace was left in this house.

Now that the traveling zombies were safely tucked into bed, it was time to handle my own personal headache. A localized disaster named Elia. I whipped out my phone, unlocked the screen, and casually typed a quick text to my dear, lovely little brother:

[Guess what? You’ll be sharing a room with me from now on. I know you’re currently crying tears of joy, but try not to overreact too much. Kisses, mwah!]

I hit send with a victorious, self-satisfied smirk on my face.

Less than thirty seconds passed before my phone practically vibrated out of my hand with an incoming notification.

Elia: [What do you mean]

Me: [I’ve got guests and they’ll be staying in my room. That’s what I mean. Hope you like sharing a blanket.]

Elia: [HELL NO!]

Me: [HELL YES!]

Elia: [I’m moving to Orso’s room. I’d rather share with him than get stuck tolerating your ass all night, asshole!]

Me: [Whatever. I’m moving my clothes into your room right now.]

Elia sent another text immediately, but I didn’t even bother opening it this time. Then three more buzzing notifications popped up in rapid succession. Elia was completely blowing up my phone, probably typing in rage.

Smiling triumphantly to myself, I held down the power button, watched the screen go completely black, and tossed the device onto the kitchen counter, finally enjoying a sweet, glorious moment of absolute peace.

Tony was asleep, Elia was enraged. Perfect day for me.