Chapter 5

  ? Partner in Crime ?

  Alex woke before dawn. The sea was quiet, except for the soft creak of timbers and the slap of waves against the hull.

  Through the fogged glass of his cabin port, he saw it—the faint outline of a city rising on the horizon, a jagged crown of chimneys and towers. Smoke curled upward, black against the gray sky, twisting like restless fingers. Gas lamps glimmered faintly along the waterfront, and the docks stretched out in skeletal lines of timber and iron. The air seemed heavy with the hum of machinery even at this distance—the promise of engines, steam, and motion waiting beyond the mist.

  The city grew larger with every minute. Stacks and rooftops became distinct, brick by brick; the thin lines of chimneys smoked steadily, and narrow streets wound between blocks like veins. From here, Alex could almost see the shadows of early workers moving along the wharves, hear the faint clanging of a distant bell, the hiss of escaping steam. The city was waking—and the ship carried him into it.

  The ship groaned as ropes tightened and the engine quieted. Dockhands shouted through the morning haze; gulls wheeled above the masts. Somewhere, a whistle blew—long and metallic.

  Alex stepped onto the dock. The planks were slick with brine, the air sharp with coal smoke and salt. The smell bit the back of his throat. Ahead, the city unfurled fully—iron and brick and motion. Steam hissed from pipes, tram bells clanged, and the glow of electric lamps still clung to the street corners, pale in the dawn. Horses’ hooves clattered on cobblestones; a cart creaked along the waterfront; a chimney belched black smoke into the low clouds.

  He stood at the edge of it all, small and still. He’d never seen anything like it.

  Behind him, the sea lay dark and endless. And somewhere beneath it, the echoes of yesterday’s screams still stirred.

  Footsteps approached—heavy, deliberate. Dominick’s boots.

  Alex turned.

  Dominick nodded once. No words. Just a silent order.

  Go.

  Alex tightened his grip on the folded map and stepped forward into the waking city. He did not look back. He did not have to.

  People parted for Dominick as though for a funeral procession. Around Alex, no one noticed.

  Alex followed the road inland, past the last stretch of cranes and warehouses where dockhands shouted over the hiss of steam. Soon the air changed—less salt, more smoke. The cobblestones grew uneven. Brick replaced iron, then wood replaced brick. The buildings leaned too close, their windows patched with paper or rags. The farther he walked, the fewer uniforms he saw, until even the lamplight thinned to a weak yellow haze. Somewhere in the distance, a factory whistle moaned, long and tired, then fell silent.

  Alex walked, boots clicking against the wet cobblestone as the city swallowed him street by street.

  The slums were nothing like his village.

  There, he used to know names. Faces. He’d be greeted on his way to the well, or offered bread from a neighbor without asking. Here, no one looked at him with warmth. If they looked at all, it was sideways. Suspicious. Calculating.

  Trying to stay steady, he stopped a man with hurried steps, lifting the folded map Dominick had given him. “Excuse me, sir—could you help me find this street?”

  The man barely slowed. His eyes cut to the paper, then to Alex. “Give me the name of the street, boy. Otherwise piss off.” He brushed past, leaving Alex with his hand still outstretched, the map trembling faintly.

  Two boys, not much younger than him, crashed into each other in a wild game of fists and laughter. It wasn’t playful. There was no referee, no adults. Just bruises and cheers from others who watched with too much interest. One of the boys bled from the nose and still grinned.

  He tried again with an old woman resting against a doorway, thinking her face softer, kinder. “Ma’am, please… could you—”

  Her eyes dragged up and down his worn clothes, his awkward stance, the hopeful way he held out the map. And then she turned her face away, muttering something under her breath, as if he wasn’t there at all.

  He swallowed, folded the map tighter against his chest, and kept moving.

  Further down, the smell changed. Something sour, mixed with perfume. The alley to his left was lit with a faint red hue—half-hidden by rusted shutters. A few women leaned against the wall, smoking. They looked not only tired, but also hollow. One of them blew smoke at him. Alex looked away.

  Ahead, voices erupted in a tavern. A bottle came shattering through the window, spraying glass and wine across the street. Alex flinched back, heart racing. Through the broken frame he saw men grappling, chairs toppling. Someone caught sight of him lingering.

  “What are you looking at?!”

  The boy ducked his head, quickened his pace, cheeks hot, the echo of home gnawing at his chest.

  The alleys were like veins of stone, twisting into darker things. There were no fields. No birdsong. Just walls and corners and people trying to disappear into both.

  And it hit him, with a cold sort of clarity.

  He was no one here.

  No one to greet him. No one to care if he made it to this spot Dominick marked or not. The buildings didn’t notice him. The people didn’t want to. He was one more body walking. One more story nobody asked for.

  He pulled out the map again, hands stiff from cold and nerves. He admitted to himself that he’d barely looked at it earlier. The size of the city had swallowed him whole the moment he stepped off the boat.

  A voice drifted over his shoulder.

  “Hey, brother. Looking for something?”

  Alex turned. A young man in his twenties stood there—rough clothes, dirt on his cheek, but smiling.

  Alex’s chest eased. Finally, someone willing to help.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you. Could you…” He unfolded the map. “Show me this place? How do I get to it?”

  The man took the map, still smiling, studying it with a soft hum. Then he handed it back gently and pointed down the road.

  “Straight to the end. Keeeeeep walking. Don’t turn until you see a bakery on your right. Then go left. You’ll be in the western slums. Nicer part than this.”

  Relief flooded him.

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  He stepped to go—but the man stepped with him, blocking the path.

  His palm extended. Not for a handshake.

  Alex froze.

  The smile remained, but the man’s eyes hardened.

  “What? You think I’m some constable giving directions for free? Even they expect a tip.”

  Alex backed off slowly.

  “I… I don’t have any money.”

  He dug his hands into his pockets to show him—empty. Nothing.

  The man searched for anything else... and his eyes fell on Alex's bag.

  “Then I’ll take that.”

  Alex stumbled back. Not that. His clothes. His towel. The last things that still smelled like home.

  Suddenly—

  A shout erupted from behind them.

  “HEY! YOU!”

  The young man spun. A furious shopkeeper barreled toward them.

  “You didn’t pay me for those trousers! Get back here!”

  The man bolted instantly.

  Alex nearly sagged with relief… but only for a moment. His hands clamped around his bag, knuckles white. Breath uneven. Every second in this place peeled another illusion from him.

  This city wasn’t just different.

  It was dangerous.

  Ugly.

  Unforgiving.

  Even resting wasn’t an option. He had to find the building—fast.

  So he followed the man’s directions, sprinting, eyes down, avoiding faces, avoiding judgement. Every person looked like they could rob him, trick him, or curse him for breathing wrong.

  Was this really the brave choice he thought it was?

  Then—

  “You’re not alone.”

  Elena’s voice.

  Soft. Warm.

  As if she walked beside him.

  Alex swallowed, stopped trembling long enough to take a breath.

  Breathe in.

  Breathe out.

  Then... he kept moving.

  The streets eventually changed—just slightly.

  More space between buildings.

  A crooked little park.

  Still dirty, still rough… but not hostile in the same way.

  And then he found it.

  A building that didn’t belong here.

  Well-painted. Maintained.

  Alex hesitated at the entrance, then stepped inside and climbed, heart pounding. Every creak of the stairs made him flinch. Who would snap at him? Who would try to cheat him? Who would look him up and down like some stray animal?

  He reached the top—and there he was.

  Dominick stood waiting by the door, leaning casually, as if he’d been expecting Alex to crawl out of hell itself.

  He held up two keys.

  One he tossed toward Alex.

  The other he used to unlock the door.

  “Took you long enough. Hope you liked the slums.”

  Alex didn’t even catch the key—both arms were wrapped around his bag and the map, guarding them like they’d vanish if he blinked. He knelt to grab it, unable to even meet Dominick in the eyes.

  He left him alone in that kind of place.

  Dominick turned the key, a clink, as the door got unlocked.

  “I needed you to see things for yourself."

  "It’s part of your new life.”

  The door creaked open, and a dim lantern cast a flickering light over the hall.

  Dominick stepped inside, Alex just behind him, still wide-eyed from the city’s chaos.

  “Dante,” Dominick called.

  A boy about Alex’s age shuffled out of his room, yawning so wide it made his eyes water. His skin carried the warm tone of someone often kissed by the sun, a shade darker than Alex’s, and across his nose and cheeks freckles were scattered like faint specks of dirt he hadn’t bothered to wash off. His messy dark hair stuck out in every direction from sleep, adding to the crafty, mischievous look that seemed to follow him even half-awake.

  “Huh? Wha—” Dante blinked awake. His eyes landed on Alex.

  “Oh snap, we got a new roommate or something?” Dante sprang up with sudden energy, crossing the room and grabbing Alex’s hand, shaking it with infectious excitement.

  “I’m Dante! Your new roommate and partner in crime! What’s your name?”

  Alex blinked, confused but amused. “I’m… Alex. Uh, hi.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Dante stepped back, giving Alex a quick up-and-down look.

  “Damn, you're too pretty for this place.”

  He pointed at Alex’s tangled hair.

  “That hair? City girls are gonna love that mess.”

  Dominick said simply,

  “He’ll be helping you with the next jobs.”

  Dante grinned and rubbed his hands together.

  “So… we splitting the pay or—”

  “You get the job done,” Dominick cut in coldly. “And you keep him alive and grounded.”

  Dante chuckled nervously.

  “Alright, alright, just playing, boss.”

  Dominick’s gaze settled on his nephew.

  “Alex, mind the city. It isn’t like your home. Learn how it breathes, how men behave, or you’ll be of no use. You will be living here. I’ll be gone a few days. Dante will see to you. Think of these first days as a preparation for what lies ahead.”

  Alex blinked, caught off guard.

  “Wait—you’re leaving already? Aren’t you going to take me to the Dons?”

  Dominick slid on his coat, voice even.

  “I’ll see them later and tell them. They’ll want to meet you, yes—but not now. I want them to see you when you're more seasoned.” His hand found the door knob. "Remember, not a word to anyone that you live here or you work for me."

  “What about those jobs you mentioned?” Alex asked, frowning.

  Dominick’s tone didn’t change.

  “You think I’ll hand you lame chores like back in your village? I told you—I won’t ask you to milk cows. I’ll drop by now and then with a mission for you, Dante, or both of you together. But I’m a busy man, with other enforcers to check on and negotiations to lead.”

  He paused briefly as he opened the door before adding,

  “In your free time, do whatever you want—besides getting yourself killed. I'll see you in a few days.”

  And then Dominick was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

  A moment of silence settled in the small room.

  Alex’s fingers curled tighter around the strap of his bag, the weight of it suddenly heavier without his father’s voice or his mother’s warmth to meet him.

  Dante sighed. “Don’t worry about him. He’s not around much—just shows up when you least expect it. Like a thundercloud in your soup.”

  “C’mon, Unpack and let's go! I’ll show you around... After I get dressed of course. You’re in the belly of the beast now, partner.”

  Few minutes later, the two boys were out of the building.

  Dante walked beside Alex, hands stuffed in his pockets, still yawning a bit but growing energized by the bustle. Alex kept glancing around, eyes wide, quietly absorbing it all. His posture was tight, alert.

  “So, where you from, anyway?” Dante asked, glancing over.

  Alex hesitated.

  “I… don’t want to talk about it… just some village. I have never been to the city.”

  "Never?" Dante frowned.

  "No. Just nearby small towns."

  Dante answered.

  "Welcome to civilization, then. Buildings taller than trees, and people shorter on manners." then, he pointed with his finger. “See that lamppost? No, it’s not a tree. Please don’t check if it’s climbable.”

  Alex stayed quiet, feeling even offended at the joke, yet unsure if confronting the boy was a good idea, not knowing his nature and personality yet.

  Dante grinned.

  “Come on now! I understand you’re new, but I’m trying to make you feel at home! Me? I’m from here—the small wild card of the Undertaker.”

  “That’s… what they call him?” Alex asked, curious.

  “That’s the boss’s nickname in the city. People gave it to him after some incident they say… He is very fluent in the underworld and quite feared.”

  "Underworld? What's that?" Alex looked at the ground, under his feet, "Is there a city underground?"

  Dante snorted, amused.

  "Ah, my mistake. It’s what we call the gangs, the mob, and anyone powerful enough to ignore the law"

  “Anyway." Dante turned, opening his arms. "Welcome to Portenzo City! You’ll hear people call it all sorts of names, but no one ever calls it small. You’ve got nobles, slums, gangs, saints, devils, lost kids, and kings—all packed together and pretending they don’t see each other.”

  Alex blinked, taking in the rush of carriages, open market stalls, and rows of drying clothes strung between tight buildings.

  “First rule?" Dante pointed his index finger. "Watch your pockets. Especially in crowds. Some kids here could steal your belt without touchin’ your pants.”

  Alex instinctively patted his side where his pouch might be, though he carried nothing.

  “Second rule— don’t wander at night. I mean it. Place changes when the sun drops. And that’s when people like them come out.”

  He nodded toward a narrow alley across the street.

  “See that street? Don’t go down there. That’s Red Corner. Gangs, knives. You name it.”

  Alex’s voice was quiet, amazed.

  “I’ve been here two hours and I’ve already heard more danger than in my whole life.”

  Dante grinned.

  “You get used to it. Kinda like a drunk uncle—mean, loud, smells weird, but you grow to love it.”

  They turned a corner. The buildings grew leaner, rougher.

  “This street? Avoid it." Dante warned, "That’s where the Wolves run. Mean little gang, full of kids who think they own the alleys.”

  Alex looked puzzled.

  “A gang of... kids?”

  “Yeah. Kids like us, but different. They’ve been getting quite the reputation for years, picking fights and winning them easily… though word is their leader is missing.”

  Alex hesitated, glancing toward the alley.

  “Wolves don’t act like that,” he said quietly.

  Dante blinked. “What?”

  “In the mountains,” Alex went on, “wolves don’t start fights unless they have to. They stick together. Move like one. If the leader’s gone, the pack doesn’t fall apart—they just… keep watching each other’s backs. Strongest one steps up. Or the smartest.” He shrugged. “But they don’t go looking for trouble.”

  Dante stared at him for a beat, then barked a laugh.

  “Saints above, Alex—are you really explaining actual wolves to me right now?”

  “You said they’re called—”

  “I know what I said!” Dante wheezed. “You’re unbelievable. I give you one gang name and suddenly you’re the mountain expert.”

  Alex’s ears reddened.

  “I’m just saying. Packs don’t behave the way you described.”

  “Uh-huh. And next you’ll tell me you can speak wolf too?” Dante smirked, nudging him forward. “Don't bark or howl in the middle of the night, a'right?”

  Still, as they walked, Dante shot one last glance at the alley—thoughtful, a little uneasy.

  “…Leader missing or not,” he muttered, “they haven’t scattered.”

  Alex didn’t catch the tone, but for a moment Dante’s teasing faded. Almost like Alex’s mountain talk had hit closer to the truth than he’d meant it to.

  Finally out of the slums, the streets began to change around them. The stink of smoke and rotting gutters thinned out, replaced by the faint smell of coal fires burning behind shuttered windows. The houses grew neater—three-storey brick buildings with tidy railings, lace curtains, and gas lamps that hummed faintly in the dusk.

  Dante swept a hand toward it all.

  “Middle-class sector,” he said. “Sits right between the working pits and the real heart of the city. Boring stretch, if you ask me. Everything’s proper here. Everyone’s proper. Men who go to bed at nine and balance their books for fun.”

  They kept walking, the road smoothing under their boots, the world around them growing brighter and busier with every step—yet still only a hint of whatever lay ahead beyond this orderly, respectable district.

  Finally, the two boys reached the bustling city center.

  The change was almost violent.

  Where the slums were a maze of crooked alleys and sagging roofs, this district opened like a breath of relief. Tall fa?ades rose in clean, even rows, their balconies trimmed with iron latticework polished by decades of shoes and gossip. Gas lamps hummed softly under wrought-iron arms, already lit though daylight was still holding on, casting a warm amber glow across the cobbles.

  The streets themselves were wider—truly streets, not broken paths.

  Carriages clattered briskly along the stones, their wheels shining, their drivers shouting commands with an ease born from routine, not desperation. Well-dressed clerks hurried between offices with newspapers tucked under their arms; mothers strolled with prams; a man in a bowler hat barked at a golden retriever tugging at its leash.

  Even the air smelled different—coal smoke, perfume, fresh bread, and the faint metallic tang of the tram rails, nothing of rot or sewage.

  Alex slowed to a halt without meaning to.

  It felt like stepping out of a dream and into a painting.

  “Aaaaand here we are!” Dante announced, flinging his arms wide. “City Center! Plaza! Town hall! Girls! All right here!”

  Alex jumped at Dante’s sudden shout—jerked out of his daze—but the grin on Dante's face only grew wider, amused by the new boy's stare at everything around him.

  “Buddy, if your eyes get any wider people are gonna think we just dragged you out of a cave.”

  The square stretched open before them, broad and lively, framed by shops with striped awnings and tall buildings whose windows gleamed like rows of watchful eyes. Off to the left stood the town hall, its stone columns immaculate, flags fluttering proudly overhead—a far cry from the patchwork tarps and broken shutters Alex had been walking past an hour ago.

  At its heart, a grand fountain bubbled steadily, the marble worn smooth where generations had perched to talk, flirt, argue, and rest tired feet. Pigeons strutted along the rim, puffing their chests like they owned the place. Vendors clustered nearby with trays of roasted chestnuts, candied fruit strung on sticks, steaming bread rolls wrapped in paper, all filling the air with a warm, inviting smell.

  A small crowd had formed by the fountain.

  At its center stood a blonde girl, violin beneath her chin, bow dancing with haunting precision.

  The melody slid into the square like silk through smoke—thin, graceful, cutting through the noise until conversations softened and footsteps slowed.

  Alex blinked, transfixed.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Oh, her?” Dante barely glanced. “Just some street performer. Real good with the strings, though. She’s been around forever. Always in that spot. Quite the beauty. Our age too.”

  Alex stayed still for a few more seconds, quietly struck by the sight—the way she played like she was alone in the world, the way the city seemed to pause for her.

  Then he tore himself away and hurried after Dante, who had already sauntered off with his usual casual mischief.

  The road no longer closed in on itself. Houses stood taller, straighter, their windows glassed instead of shuttered, their doors painted rather than patched. Men in tailored coats and polished shoes strolled past, umbrellas hooked neatly at their sides, while women in layered skirts and feathered hats leaned away from the two boys without a word. The workers here still smelled of coal dust and sweat, but even they wore clean collars and decent boots—small details that drew a line between this place and the rags of the slums. A constable clicked past with measured steps, copper buttons gleaming under the lamps, his presence casual but unmistakably watchful. Above it all, spires and pale towers loomed from further on, a reminder of where this road led, though the gates to such heights were never meant to open for them.

  “Nobles sector. I'll take you there some other day. Buildings and streets are much cleaner... though we have to watch out. Strays don't go there or they will get the rich noble glare. Quite filled with coppers too.”

  “Coppers?” Alex asked. The word was unfamiliar to him.

  “Ah, my fault, shepherd… I meant poliiiicemen~.” Dante answered dramatically, stretching the word as if he was talking to a deaf person.

  “Aren’t policemen supposed to protect people?”

  Dante let out a dry laugh.

  “Sure. In fairy tales. Here? They take coin from the mob. If you’re lucky, they just ignore you. If you’re not, they make you disappear.”

  Alex looked overwhelmed again, silent, taking it all in.

  “Hey. Don’t worry. You’ll get used to this city. You’re strong, right? I can tell. Solid arms. Pretty boy hair too—you’ll fit right in. And I’m with ya, partner!”

  That earned the first small smile from Alex.

  Dante threw an arm casually around Alex’s shoulder, like they had been friends for weeks, and led him onward into the maze of the city.

  “Come on. I’ll show you where to get a decent bun that doesn’t taste like leather.”

  Minutes later, the boys slipped back into the city’s bustle. Vendors shouted, wagons rattled past, the crowd thickening with every step.

  Alex drifted in thought—what would he be doing in the village right now? The loss of the farm stung, but a small part of him was glad. Back home, the other boys never got along with him. Here, at least, he had Dante, who so far, showed he is a good kid Alex can rely on in this new place.

  Suddenly, Dante stopped short.

  Alex, walking just behind him, caught the change at once and narrowed his eyes.

  “What is it?”

  Dante’s voice was light, almost amused.

  “Keep your eyes on me. Closely now.”

  With a curious grace, he slipped into a small knot of men circled around a game of dice. Alex lingered at the edge, furrowed of brow, unwilling yet to intrude.

  Moments passed. Then Dante staggered slightly, colliding against a man dressed in a fine wool coat.

  “Ah—pardon, sir,” he murmured, near to a bow. The man brushed past with the absent air of someone rarely contradicted.

  When Dante rejoined Alex, there was a glint in his eyes and a curl to his lip. With a flick of the wrist, he revealed a leather wallet, held aloft like a magician presenting a trick.

  “There we have it,” he declared with quiet triumph. “Lunch—and dinner, if we’re lucky.”

  Alex's gaze dropped to the wallet. His expression did not change.

  “You stole that,” he said, his voice low but firm.

  Dante shrugged, unfazed. “And? You think he’ll miss it? The man’s boots were stitched with silver thread.”

  “It doesn’t make it right.”

  Dante gave a scoffing breath and raised his brows in theatrical disbelief. “Right? Are you hoping to beg in tune or mime for crumbs? Face it, brother—if you want to eat in this city, you must take. No one feeds saints. We have a roof, lucky we don’t pay rent, but we still nee-”

  “I’ll find work,” Alex said plainly, interrupting.

  “Where?” Dante gestured wide to the soot-streaked walls and desperate faces around them. “You see placards crying out for hands? You think anyone here gives a damn about your soft manners? You don’t earn coin, you don’t eat.”

  “Then I’ll go hungry.”

  Dante rubbed his temples, as though wearied by a child’s stubbornness.

  “Dominick gives us a money between jobs. But the rest—we earn it how we must. This—” he tapped the wallet “—is earning.”

  Alex folded his arms. His jaw set.

  “Until I hear what kind of ‘jobs’ these are,” he said grimly, “I’ll assume it’s blood money. I don’t want it. I won’t take it. And I won’t hurt people for it.”

  Dante’s smile faded, but his tone remained level.

  “Nobody’s talking about hurting anyone. That man’s got his dinner waiting, and won’t miss a thing. I’m telling you—this world won’t bend for your conscience. There are no fairytales. No bread baskets falling from the sky.”

  “Then I’ll make my own way,” said Alex.

  Dante studied him. For a moment, some fleeting flicker of reflection passed through his eyes—then vanished. He turned.

  “You’ll come around,” he said over his shoulder. “They all do.”

  Alex stood still. The crowd moved past him, but he did not follow. His gaze lingered down the alleyway—torn between disdain and determination.

  Dante’s voice drifted back, half-hearted, half-honest.

  “Do what you want, buddy. Just don’t starve next to me and expect me to cry about it.”

  There was a pause. Then Alex called out—not angry, but quiet.

  “Could you at least show me more of the streets? So I can look for real work?”

  Dante gave a nod, indifferent.

  “Suit yourself.”

  "Poor naive shepherd... you're in for a rough awakening."

  'You're in for a rough awakening' ?

  follow the story to stay updated on every chapter. Your support means a lot!

  Thank you for reading :)

  ?? Join the Community!

  chat about the story, share theories, or help build a friendly, no-pressure community, you’re welcome to join my Discord:

  

  
• 
  
    Free to join, no profit or ads — just a place for fans and curious minds.
  
    


  
• 
  
    don’t have a RoyalRoad account, you can join and participate.
  
    


  
•