章 12: Georgio the Hyena (Part 4)
Droplets streaked his pale cheeks, blending with the rain, and for a moment, he looked so vulnerable that Rocco's heart clenched.
His eyes must hurt from all the rain getting in them, Rocco thought, his panic briefly subsiding.
Without thinking, he knelt down beside Georgio, extending a hand toward him in a gesture of pure instinct.
That was when the second oh no struck Rocco.
He suddenly remembered that Sylas, the highborn mafia heir, never knelt before anyone of a lower station.
Ever.
By kneeling now, he risked being seen as weak and giving Georgio the opportunity to mock or escape.
"Grrr…"
But it was too late for regrets.
The damage was already done—Rocco was kneeling.
There was no undoing it now.
Frustration gave way to resignation, and he thought, Forget it! Whatever happens, happens. Resolving himself, he reached out and touched Georgio.
Using a handkerchief, Rocco gently wiped the droplets from Georgio's eyes and nodded his head with satisfaction at his handiwork.
Yet it seemed as though the rain had a vendetta against Georgio's dark eyes, as new drops kept blurring them moments after Rocco wiped them clean.
This won't do, Rocco thought, sighing as he considered the futility of his efforts.
He needed a new plan.
Without hesitation, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Georgio's head, pulling him close to shield his eyes from the rain.
There! Problem solved. No more rain in his eyes. God, I'm so clever. What a genius. And stylish, too. Heh.
"A nobleman's child… kneeling, wiping my tears… and now holding me close," came a faint voice from Georgio.
"Huh?" Rocco muttered, tilting his head.
"My… my very own angel…"
Georgio's words were barely audible beneath the relentless downpour, and Rocco wasn't entirely sure what he'd said.
Great, Rocco thought. He's probably thinking something like, 'What a spoiled brat. Look at this kid kneeling for a lowlife like me. He'll be an easy mark, ha!'
His shoulders slumped.
He'd come here intending to look as cool as possible and commanding an aura of a mafia prince.
Instead, this.
This is a disaster.
Rocco heaved a sigh.
It was no use.
He'd failed to embody Sylas's charisma, and this pivotal encounter with Georgio had descended into chaos.
I've ruined everything. If I can't win over Georgio and impress my brother, I'm doomed. Just like in the story, I'll be killed by this very man and written out of existence alongside my mother.
The crushing weight of failure settled heavily on Rocco's heart.
At this point, Rocco gave up.
There was no way Georgio would accept his plea, but he decided to give it one last shot and resign himself to failure.
If nothing else, he'd take the rejection as closure.
Resigned to his fate, Rocco spoke, his voice dripping with defeat—soft, hesitant, and far from the commanding tone of a mafia heir.
"U-um… could you… be my family? Please? Is that… okay…?"
His voice trembled as he looked up at Georgio with teary, despondent eyes.
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