? Only You ?
The walk from the noble sector to the slums was long, made longer by silence. The city changed as they moved—the polished stone gave way to uneven brick, the perfume of palace gardens exchanged for the harsher bite of soot and sweat. Alex said little. His face held only the taut stillness of a boy marching toward something inevitable.
Dante had managed to convince Lucien that they wished to walk, to let Alex—new to the city—see the noble sector for himself. It was an excuse to avoid an escort, one that might expose where they truly lived. Careful as ever, Dante checked for tails before they left and found none. Still, just in case, he led them in wide loops and circles through the streets, weaving through alleys and courtyards until he was certain no shadow clung to them.
The boys reached the narrow stairwell just past the clockmaker’s, climbed without speaking. At the landing, they paused before the familiar door.
As soon as Dante entered, Alex’s gaze drifted sideways. Dominick’s coat in the hanger of the hall. The kind of garment that seemed to carry its own shadow. His hat rested above it, brim low like the brow of some waiting predator.
Alex’s voice, when it came, was almost too quiet to hear. “I guess I really am getting punished.”
Dante glanced at him. “Hey, buddy. I got your back, alright? Don’t worry. Normally he should go easy on you. Everything went smooth. The henchmen went down clean. No one should know who did it… Vince took them out from a distance. No witnesses. The Veraccis wouldn't know it was us, and the Algraves folks won't talk about it either.”
Alex nodded once. Dante lifted a hand and knocked—softly, as if knocking harder might summon something worse.
A voice answered at once. Clear. Firm. Cold.
“Only you, Alex.”
The words fell like a blade. Sharp. Inevitable.
For a moment, Dante didn’t move. Guilt swept across his face—not loud, not dramatic, but clear in the eyes. He rested a hand on Alex’s shoulder. A quiet apology. Then he stepped back.
Alex entered alone. The door closed behind him with a hush, but the silence that followed was louder than any slam.
The late afternoon sun slanted through the narrow windows, throwing the office into long, angled shadows. Dominick sat behind his desk, the glint of light on his glasses hiding his eyes, making him seem almost inhuman to Alex.
“Sit.” His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of command.
Alex hesitated, then lowered himself into the chair.
“How many missions have you done so far?” Dominick asked.
“I think… this is the third,” Alex replied cautiously.
“You did well in the first two,” Dominick said, his voice flat but precise. “I believed you are reliable enough to trust.”
Alex stayed silent.
“You remember why you’re here, right?” Dominick continued, leaning slightly forward. “Not to play hero. You hold your end of a deal. You help me protecting your parents by proving to the Dons that you're of use. That is your task.”
Alex nodded, keeping his eyes fixed to the floor.
“Then let’s keep it this way.”
“That’s… it?” Alex asked, surprised at the brevity.
Dominick’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I tolerate mistakes. Not disobedience. I will mark this as a mistake."
"Following the Veraccis after seeing what they were hiding? I liked that. Smart. Attacking them by yourself like that? Stupid."
“Your actions today could have ignited war,” he continued, voice low, deliberate. “The Veraccis and we are at peace. If Dante and Vince hadn’t covered for you… you would have been captured, maybe tortured for information. And then all my work—keeping anyone from knowing you’re tied to me, and keeping my use of children buried—would have gone up in smoke”
"Then, I would be sitting at the table with them, explaining not only why a scout under my watch was watching business that is not mine, but why he also attacked them.”
Alex clenched his fists under the desk, frustrated. "I don't care about your wars..." he thought to himself, "All I did was... saving two innocent kids..."
"I didn't do anything wrong..."
Dominick tapped a single finger against the desk. Alex’s gaze flicked up—and froze. The man’s face was stone, unyielding, carved from shadow and authority. His eyes were wide open, too wide, unblinking, sharp enough to feel like blades cutting through the boy. Alex could feel every heartbeat, every hesitation exposed under that unrelenting stare. The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating, and Alex’s fists unclenched on their own as if compelled. His eyes dropped, and a shiver ran down his spine.
“I’m… sorry,” he whispered.
Dominick exhaled slowly. “Next time.”
“I’ll break Dante’s arm. Then you can choose which fingernail I take.”
Alex froze, the words striking him like ice. The room seemed to shrink, shadows stretching across the floor, the late afternoon sun cutting sharp lines over the desk but offering no warmth. Only the weight of consequences hung in the air—measured, absolute, inescapable.
“Send him in on your way out."
"If I sense he is hiding something, I might as well do that now.”
“Dismissed.”
Alex’s throat tightened. He wanted to scream, to argue, to protest—but the cold authority in Dominick’s voice anchored him in place. Defiance was unthinkable. Swallowing hard, Alex rose and left, eyes fixed on the floor, mind racing through all the ways Dante could have been the one who took the punishment had Dominick been in a harsher mood.
The door creaked open.
Dante, lounging on the couch, jumped to his feet. “Oh! You’re alive after all! Told ya!”
Alex, breathing hard, closed the door and managed a shaky laugh. “More or less.” He forced a grin, then added, voice dropping with worry, “He wants to see you now.”
Dante thought for a moment, then whispered. “Come to think of it… buddy, what do you say? Should we tell him about the twins and everything? Lucian told us not to—”
Alex cut him off, voice tight with urgency. “Let’s tell him, Dante. Now is not the time to play games with him.”
Dante blinked, catching the fear and weight behind Alex’s words. “But...”
Alex shook his head, gripping Dante’s shoulders firmly, without talking.
After a long silence, Alex begged. “Please. Tell him everything. He… he sees everything. Any hesitation, any hidden truth, he’ll know.”
Dante hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Alright. Honestly… I thought about it, and we shouldn’t worry too much. I don’t think Dominick has a bone to pick with the nobles.”
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Noticing Alex still tense, Dante added, “If I don’t come out of the office… take care of the kids.”
Alex blinked, then let out a small chuckle.
“There you go!” Dante grinned, stepping into the office, leaving Alex outside, heart still pounding, waiting.
Dante entered the office, immediately sensing Dominick’s presence as heavier than usual. He straightened himself, recalling his old composure—if only to ease the tension and shed whatever frustration he had toward Alex.
He slouched into the chair opposite Dominick with practiced nonchalance, though neither man was fooled.
“Hey, boss,” Dante said, casual, but watchful.
Dominick remained by the window, arms folded, his reflection cast darkly in the glass.
“So,” Dominick began, his voice low, deliberate, “who are the children?”
Dante shrugged. “Twins, actually. You should’ve seen the place… palace, practically. These weren’t ordinary little lords. The parents—they had presence. Not just rich, regal. Like royalty without the crowns.”
Dominick’s brows lifted slightly, his tone deceptively mild. “A palace?”
“Yeah. You could smell the money on the doorknobs,” Dante replied, leaning back, arms thrown over the chair. “Names were Emily and Casper. The parents… Lucian and Camilia. The last name was—”
“Algraves,” Dominick interrupted, his voice flat.
Dante straightened, catching the shift in the air. “Algraves. Right. Who are they, boss?”
Dominick turned slowly, the faint light glinting off his glasses. His face betrayed nothing.
“They are a powerful noble house. The head of the family is the Lord Chamberlain of the Crown. Significant diplomatic and financial reach. And discretion.”
“I see,” Dante said. “Anyway, we got along with the twins. Even the parents offered a reward, but we refused.” He made a disappointed face. “Though… I hoped Lucian might push a little more. Maybe I’d have taken the gold. Hard to ignore.”
Dominick said nothing, absorbing the words in silence.
Dante leaned slightly forward. “Hey, boss… you don’t have anything with this family, right?”
“None at all. They are politically neutral. Have been for decades. They take no side, only themselves.”
Dante exhaled in relief. “So… the Veraccis?”
Dominick’s voice hardened, calm but sharp. “If I had to guess… they kidnapped the twins, demanded an alliance—control over certain shipping routes, legal favors, perhaps access to key officials, senators, judges—but the Algraves refused.”
He continued, “The Veraccis probably still demanded money for each day the twins stayed alive, explaining their sudden wealth. Money is no concern for the Algraves. But with police surveillance and moving the twins between warehouses, the Veraccis must have become stressed and imposed a deadline. If no deal, the twins die. Being caught with such heirs… disastrous for them.”
Dante froze. "The deadline... That’s what Alex heard from the henchmen… the execution threat… Dominick figured out all of that already? By sitting here? Damn..."
“I see,” Dante said slowly. “Then… we’re clear?”
Unexpectedly, Dominick smiled at him. Gentle. Almost warm. The suddenness unnerved Dante; he wasn’t used to seeing the man like this.
“Good job, Dante.”
Dante blinked, stiffly nodding as he started to rise—only to pause when Dominick’s voice stopped him.
“Do you still have your costume and tie?”
Dante frowned. “Um… yes? But I grew a little, so they might not fit anymore.”
“Then I’ll get you and Alex new ones.” Dominick leaned back, cigarette case already in hand. “You kids will be coming to a party the Dons will host soon”
Still dazed by the smile, Dante gave a half-nod and left the office, the words not fully sinking in until he was already in the corridor.
Dominick lit a cigarette, exhaling slow ribbons of smoke. “I should have thanked Alex as well,” he muttered to himself.
Just as Dante left Dominick’s office, the apartment door opened. Sunlight slanted through the windows, golden but harsh against the walls, casting long shadows across the floor. Vince stepped in, ever-smiling.
“Hey, savior!” Dante called.
“Hey there, Dante.” Vince’s gaze moved past him, resting on Alex. His grin softened slightly in the late afternoon light. “Hi, Alex. I’m glad you’re safe.”
Alex looked up, expression unreadable.
“Thank you, Vince,” he said. No smile. No warmth. Just words.
Vince’s grin remained intact. After a brief pause, he stepped toward Dominick’s office and closed the door behind him.
Dante turned, troubled. “Alex... It's hard to stay guarded around Vince, you know. How do you do it?”
Alex’s voice was quiet, almost flat. “I can’t tell if he’s pretending or not. He laughs, he smiles… but it feels wrong. I feel it every time he looks at me... He just rubs me the wrong way.”
Back at Dominick’s desk, the late afternoon sun stretched across the papers scattered on the surface, gilding their edges in orange light. Dominick did not look up.
“Hey, Domidick,” Vince said casually, though his tone carried a hint of curiosity.
Dominick’s reply was flat. “Alex and Dante rescued the Algraves’ twins.”
Vince blinked, almost disbelieving, then straightened. “Say again?”
“You heard me,” Dominick said evenly.
Vince leaned forward, curiosity sharpening his tone. “But… how did that happen? How did they get snatched by the Veraccis?”
“Overconfidence,” Dominick said. “In guards, in anyone dressed as a police officer, in status—you name it. Things like this happen. No one is untouchable. The Veraccis, though… they are not to be underestimated. That’s why they’re still around, unlike the Marcettis who are still barking.”
Vince lowered himself into a chair, the sunlight catching the edge of his profile. “You’re not planning to kidnap those twins again with Alex and Dante, right? I believe you're too classy for those plays.”
Dominick finally lifted his gaze, almost bored. “Kidnap and demand? What is this, the Dark Ages?"
"And I have nothing to gain from the Algraves. Spineless cowards. Not worth my time. If they didn’t break for their twins — their own blood — they won’t now.”
Vince’s brow furrowed. “But?” He knew his friend well enough to see the pause.
Dominick smiled faintly, the sunlight sharpening the hard lines of his face. “I have seeds now—Alex and Dante— planted in one of the most powerful families in the kingdom. Let’s see if anyone out there is tempted to take a bite.”
He paused, then went on more quietly. “But I can’t move now. If I do, I risk exposing Alex and Dante. They’ll know the boys talked."
Vince’s eyes lowered, a flicker of sadness betraying him. Children—pawns, tools, keys. There was no escaping the truth of it.
Dominick’s faint smile vanished, his tone hard as steel. “Oh, and Vince… this matter with the twins stays here. Between us. Not a word to the three Dons.”
The apartment sat on the quieter side of the noble quarter: a three-room flat with high ceilings, worn but well-kept oak floorboards, and a pair of tall windows that let light fall soft and sure across a modest parlor. A faded rug lay under a small table; books and ledgers crowded a narrow sideboard. It was the kind of place that spoke of old money made practical—good carpentry, tasteful but restrained upholstery, a portrait in a gilt frame that had seen better polish. Not gaudy; simply comfortable, the kind of interior a man of business might bring his sons to when he wanted them to learn about accounts and reputations.
Don Juan Veracci sat in an armchair by the window, brooding over a cup of cooling coffee. Faustino came in like a man carrying news on his shoulders.
“Old man. The twins disappeared… and the two men moving them were found with clean shots to the head.”
Juan’s head jerked up.
"Lucian Algraves, the head of the family didn't show up at the negotiations today. We can assume that they are back to the palace safely."
“How? For God’s sake—how?”, Don Juan screamed. His fingers drummed the arm of the chair as if to force away confusion.
“No witnesses,” Faustino replied, voice tight. “Happened late. The shots were heard, then nothing but the bodies... I think we should’ve moved them outside the city from the start.”
Juan rose slowly, the news settling into a familiar grief. After a long silence he said, quietly, “Make sure their families get support. A proper funeral. We’ll not leave them in disgrace.”
Faustino inclined his head. “Will do.”
“Who could it be?” Juan asked. The question was more a bare hope than a query.
Faustino’s mouth hardened. “Maybe the Algraves house hired someone.”
Juan’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps. Two clean bullets, no witnesses… it sounds like the work of the Undertaker.”
“Dominick?” Faustino’s voice dropped. “You think it’s him?”
“I don’t have proof,” Juan said. “But who else could find the crate where we hid the twins among hundreds of merchandise we moved around for days? Who else takes out one of our best men like they never had time to draw breath—and leaves no trace?”
Faustino paced, jaw tight. “But it doesn’t make sense. The Algraves loathe the mob—men like him and us… Why would they ever side with Dominick? What if it was their own guards?”
Juan let out a sharp snort. “Their guards? Those milk-sops never leave the palace unless it's to escort someone. The searches the Algraves ordered were handled by the coppers. And yet—when I asked them for judges, for control over some newspapers, they turned their noses up. But the moment their precious children are in danger, they apparently run straight to the worst scumbag in Portenzo City.”
Faustino took a seat on the couch, eyes fixed on his father. “So what do we do?”
Juan’s reply was low and flat. “We will lose if we act like rabble. We must be careful. We have no proof… so no retaliation.”
"And that's exactly how they keep screwing us." Faustino’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with resolve. “Don Juan—my father—I don’t fear the Algraves half as much as I fear Dominick, and the constant humiliations we swallow. How long must this go on? They cut our hotel share from ten to nine percent for fun—the very hotel bought off Rami. Days ago, Vince humiliated us at the gun deal like we were beggars. And now this?”
Juan’s lips pressed together; he had no answer. Faustino continued, leaning in, lowering his voice. "I have an idea."
“I understand we will lose if we rush in,” Faustino continued, voice steadying to a plan. “But we can do this differently.”
“How?” Juan asked, taking his seat back.
“The Marcettis,” Faustino said. “They’re desperate, recruiting anyone who’ll lift a gun since Giovanni and Robert deaths and their men deserting after that. They take anyone who doesn't mind the risk.” He leaned in. “They are obsessed with revenge and with taking Dominick down. We can use them.”
“To do what?” Juan’s question carried wary hope.
“Put Dominick—or at least one of the Dons—down,” Faustino said bluntly.
Juan shook his head. “They haven’t managed such a thing in thirty years. They can’t do it now, Faustino.”
“Not without our help.” Faustino’s words were quick, practical. “You have men and informants at the hotel. You heard from them that the Dons are planning a family gathering, yes?”
Juan nodded.
Faustino rose and sat closer to his father, lowering his voice. “We have money—the sum the Algraves paid to keep the twins alive for a few extra days. We buy guns for the Marcettis. We sell them the information through middlemen so our hands stay clean if it goes wrong. If it succeeds, the Dons—and maybe Dominick—fall. If it fails, at least one of them goes down; if we’re extremely unlucky, the Marcettis are wiped and we survive as the merchants of the wreck: selling arms, information, protection behind the curtains—and we will be peacekeepers we have always been.”
Juan watched his son, the years visible in the slow set of his face. He saw, with a mixture of surprise and something like pride, how much the boy had grown.
“Are you sure, Faustino?” he asked.
Faustino’s jaw tightened. “I will take care of this. There is no peace with those scum. I’ll let you manage the Algraves’ reaction.”
He took his father’s hands and pressed them, kissing the knuckles in a gesture at once respectful and binding.
Juan looked on, unsure whether to feel pride at his son’s resolve or fear at the talk of profiteering and war. At last he said, “Be careful, Faustino. You know how it goes… when someone opposes the Undertaker.”
"But I have faith. Only you can do it."
Faustino straightened, a thin steel in his voice. He met Juan’s gaze and answered, quiet and certain:
“Let him come. We’ll see who digs whose grave.”
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“Clothes maketh man, as do memories a lived man. Memories are the companions of man's soul; as such, together they begin, grow and flourish. And later, together, they fall.”
What to expect from GoSW, a fantasy based on reality:
- Reluctant hero
- Slow-burn with in-depth character building
- Simple power system with infinite possibilities
- Multiple POVs
- Action, with a side of strategy
- Slice-of-life, school life and romance elements
- Dialogue-driven narrative