Chapter 21: Gigolo with taste

Third POV

An hour later, the black sports car was speeding through the afternoon traffic.

"Did you insist on giving me a ride just so you could find out where I live?" Marco asked from the passenger seat, leaning back comfortably. He glanced sideways at Fabio, who was gripping thhe steering wheel with an intensity that looked like he was trying to snap it in half.

"As if," Fabio retorted without a second’s hesitation, his eyes glued firmly to the road ahead. "I told you ten times already, I’m going in this direction anyway."

Marco raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile spreading across his face. "Well, then. You can drop me off right here on the corner. I can walk the rest of the way, it’s really not that far."

Fabio flicked his gaze toward the side mirror, the deep lines of frustration on his forehead refusing to smooth out. He pulled the steering wheel hard to the right, taking a sudden turn onto the side street that led the exact route Marco had mentioned earlier.

"Do you have to be a complete jackass every single second of the day?" Fabio muttered, his voice tight. "You are fucking ridiculous and utterly annoying."

Marco chuckled softly, utterly unfazed by the insult. He leaned closer toward the center console, resting his elbow on the armrest so he could look at Fabio’s profile. "Do I annoy you, or do I make you horny? Because you really need to pick one."

Fabio rolled his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time today, his grip on the wheel tightening until his knuckles turned pale. "Just shut your mouth, Marco, or I swear I’ll end up slamming this car straight into a pole just to make you stop talking."

Marco laughed even harder at the threat. "You get angry way too fast. I haven’t even done anything yet... Okay, fine. I’ll shut up."

Fabio’s answer was to slam his foot down on the gas pedal. The engine roared loudly as the car surged forward, weaving through the traffic at a speed that would definitely earn them a ticket if a cop was around. Marco wisely fell silent, though the smug smile never left his face as he continued to steal glances at Fabio’s tightly set jaw.

Not long after, the car pulled up right outside the open doors of the garage.

Marco unbuckled his seatbelt, but he didn’t make any move to step out immediately. He sat there for a second, watching Fabio’s stony expression.

"Am I allowed to speak now?" Marco asked playfully.

Fabio didn’t answer, so Marco didn’t bother waiting for permission.

"Thanks for the ride."

Fabio remained completely silent, though he gave a single, rigid nod of his head toward the windshield.

Marco let out a quiet sigh, and stepped out. But before he swung the door shut, he paused, leaning down to look back inside.

"Hey," Marco called out.

Fabio turned his head slowly, his dark eyes locking onto Marco with a warning glare that clearly said you have three seconds to live.

"I don’t know why, but I kind of feel like a gigolo right now," Marco said with a sly grin. "Your personal gigolo, specifically."

Fabio’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. Before Marco could say another word, Fabio’s hand shot across the seat, grabbed the handle of the passenger door, and slammed it shut with a loud thud.

Righht before he sped off, Fabio rolled down the window, thrust his hand up and flashed Marco a very enthusiastic middle finger while mouthing the words fuck you.

Marco stood near the entrance of the garage watching the sports car disappear down the block, his chest shaking with laughter.

Still chuckling to himself, he turned around and walked into the garage shop but his laughter instantly died down when his eyes caught a figure leaning against the wall.

It was Elia. He was slumped against the wall with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, staring at Marco with an unreadable expression.

"You look like a starved ghost," Marco commented, stopping a few feet away to scan him. Elia genuinely looked terrible- his skin was pale, his dark circles were pronounced, and his lips looked completely dry.

"For your information, ghosts don’t eat," Elia retorted, a sour sneer pulling at his mouth.

"Whatever," Marco said, stepping closer and reaching out his hand. "What the hell is wrong with you? Are you actually dying?"

He moved his hand toward Elia’s forehead to check if he had a fever, but before his fingers could even touch him, Elia flinched violently and jumped two steps backward, pointing an accusatory finger straight at Marco.

"Don’t you dare touch me with those hands!" Elia barked out, his expression a mix of horror and utter disgust. "Who knows where they’ve been all night and all morning!"

Marco gritted his back teeth together, taking a deep breath to keep his rising temper in check, though a dangerous smile stayed fixed on his face. "Don’t ruin my mood, Elia. I’m warning you."

Elia, completely ignoring the warning, slowly looked Marco up and down, sizing him up from his not so neat hair down to his wrinkled shirt before letting out a dramatic sigh.

"I could swear you’ve become some rich guy’s personal gigolo," Elia remarked casually, a smirk breaking through his pale face. "But hey, at least you’re a gigolo with good taste. The car that was out there... damn, it’s fucking-"

Elia didn’t get to finish his sentence.

Marco had already reached down, grabbed a metallic pipe resting on the nearby workbench, and turned around with a look of pure murder in his eyes.

"I am going to break both of your legs today, I swear to God!" Marco yelled. ℯℯ𝑙.

"Why so riled up? So, it’s true, right? How much does he pay you?"

Marco began approaching, the pipe pointed at Elia.

Elia’s eyes went wide. He spun and sprinted into the house, Marco following behind.

And just like that, the usual chaotic run and chase resumed.