2. Chapter Two Zane
Chapter Two: Zane
" S how you?" I echoed.
Hassan nodded.
My eyes widened in surprise, the sudden directness of his request caught me off guard. I looked into his eyes, my hand on his face, my thumb on his lower lip. "You're such a beautiful man," I said. "I would love to show you. But that very much defeats the point of this exercise, doesn't it?"
He blinked, his eyes reflecting understanding and a hint of disappointment. He nodded, retracting from my touch. “You’re right,” he murmured, taking a deep breath, “It does. I’ll...I’ll figure it out on my own.”
He glanced up at me, a hesitant nod as he swallowed hard. He looked terribly vulnerable at that moment, a stark contrast to his usual confident demeanor.
"Good. And honestly, this is what the internet is for. I can give you a quick anatomy lesson if you want, but this was totally a doctor-patient talk. Not a..."
"A what?" he said, holding back a smile.
I shook my head. "I have no idea. But it doesn't matter," I continued, shrugging my shoulders. "My point stands. This is your journey. It's about exploration, self-discovery, and healing."
He nodded slowly, taking a deep breath as he continued to look into my eyes. He seemed to be studying me, evaluating what I'd said. I watched as he mulled over the idea, and I hoped he would take my suggestion to heart.
"Okay," he said again, sounding more confident this time. "I'll give it a shot."
Then he did something he had never, ever done before, in all of the time we had known each other. He rested his head on my shoulder.
Hassan's vulnerability took me by surprise. His muscular frame, once rigid, was now melting into mine. I froze momentarily, unsure of how to react. Then, slowly, instinctively, I lifted my arm, draping it gently around his broad shoulders. We sat like that for a while, basking in the silence.
I had never seen Hassan this vulnerable before; he was always putting up this front of being cool and collected, but now he allowed himself to be weak, to be comforted. It was a side of him that I cherished.
He took a deep breath. "I can't tell Bash because he'll feel guilty, Justice because she'll worry and Skylar because...well, I could tell Skylar, but I'm sure he'd just like, crack a joke about it."
"He's British. That's how he deals with things."
Hassan chuckled softly, his laughter vibrating through his chest against my side. "Yeah, I know," he said. "It's just... I'm really lost here, Zane."
"I know you are," I replied gently. "But you're also strong. You've been through so much and yet you're still here, still fighting. That takes a lot of courage."
"Courage doesn't feel like this," he mumbled against my shirt.
"No," I agreed, "Courage doesn't always feel like strength and invincibility. Sometimes it feels like admitting when you need help or when things aren't okay. And that's what you're doing now."
Hassan chuckled softly, his laughter vibrating through his chest against my side. "Yeah, I know," he said. "It's just... I'm really lost here, Zane."
"I know you are," I replied gently. "But you're also strong. You've been through so much and yet you're still here, still fighting. That takes a lot of courage."
"Courage doesn't feel like this," he mumbled against my shirt.
"No," I agreed, "Courage doesn't always feel like strength and invincibility. Sometimes it feels like admitting when you need help or when things aren't okay. And that's what you're doing now."
He didn't say anything for a long time, and I wondered if he had fallen asleep. The weight of his head on my shoulder was oddly comforting, a reminder of the complex and interwoven lives we led. Bash, Justice, Skylar—they all had their parts to play in our tangled web of friendships and more-than-friendships. But this moment with Hassan felt like something separate, something uniquely ours.
Hassan lifted his head, his eyes searching mine as if he were looking for some hidden truth. "Why are you always so good to me?" he asked, his tone more subdued than I'd ever heard it.
"Because you're my friend," I said simply. "And because I care about you.”
He lingered a moment longer, then slowly pulled away, sitting upright. The warmth of his body left a cold void beside me.
“You’re the best person I know, and you’re a hardened criminal.”
I laughed. "We were never that hard," I said. "More like soft-boiled delinquents."
“I think I’ve seen you kill more people than Skylar.”
“I have to keep him interested somehow.”
“I have a feeling Skylar would be interested in you no matter what,” he said softly. “Wait. Did you hear that?”
I shook my head. “No, he hasn’t stirred once,” he said. “He’s been asking about Bash and Justice and Uncle Skylar, though.”
Hassan rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Right. Well, aside from the fingering myself advice, maybe we can talk about how best to get Justice, Bash and Skylar out?”
I leaned back, running a hand through my hair. "It's not going to be easy," I admitted. "Getting them out requires a level of coordination and planning that we haven't had to deal with since...well, since the old days. And we’re short two men and our girlfriend.”
“Right. Okay,” he said. “Since you don’t want me to go in there guns blazing, what do you suggest I do?”
I paused, considering the complexity of our situation. Hassan was right; we were in a tight spot, and rash actions would only make things worse. We needed a plan that took every variable into account, one that minimized risk while maximizing our chances of success.
"First, we need information," I said slowly, as if speaking my thoughts directly into existence. "We need to know exactly where they're being held, who’s guarding them, and what kind of timetable we're looking at."
Hassan's brow furrowed. "And how do we get that without tipping them off?"
He had a point. The people holding our friends were no amateurs; they were as cunning as we once were, maybe even more so. Any misstep could alert them to our intentions and put Bash, Justice, and Skylar in even greater danger.
And even leaving…even leaving, for a second, meant putting Sebastian in danger. That little boy didn’t deserve any of this—and he was exactly what Vito wanted. He was the reason they had all been kidnapped in the first place, the reason I had been shot. The drugs were good, but I knew the pain was going to come back something fierce once they were off, and I wasn’t ready for that.
Yet I knew that physical pain was the least of our worries. The emotional toll, the fear for our loved ones, the gnawing uncertainty—that was what threatened to break us.
"Hassan," I said, choosing my words carefully, "we can't rush this. Every move we make has to be calculated. We need allies, resources...time."
"We don't have time," he snapped, then immediately looked contrite. "I'm sorry. It's just...Sebastian is scared and alone. They're my family, but I can’t bear the idea of anything happening to him.”
“Yeah, they’re my family too,” I said.
Though I didn't mean for it to, my words came out sharper than I'd intended. Hassan flinched as if struck, and an uncomfortable silence settled between us. I took a deep breath, trying to let go of the anger that had flared up. We were both exhausted, both stretched thin by the sheer weight of what we were carrying.
"I know," he said quietly, breaking the silence. "I'm just—"
"Terrified," I finished for him. "I get it, Hassan. Believe me, I do."
“I know I’m the only physically fit to go in there and get them back, but I worry they’ll try to come at you to get Sebastian,” Hassan said. “If I leave the baby for even a second…”
"Don’t leave," I interrupted, my mind racing ahead to the scenarios we might face. "Not yet, at least. We have to assume that Vito’s men are watching us, waiting for a move. If you go charging in and something happens—"
"I get it," he said, cutting me off but not with anger. More with resignation, like a man accepting an unbearable truth. "So we’re just supposed to sit here and do nothing?"
"We're supposed to be smart about this," I countered. "Bash and Justice are tough. Skylar...well, he’s insane. He’ll be alright.”
Hassan sighed deeply, running a hand through his perpetually tousled hair. "So what’s the plan, then?"
I paused, thinking through the labyrinth of possibilities. "We need someone on the inside, or at least close enough to Vito's crew that they can get us the information we need without raising suspicion."
"Who?" Hassan asked skeptically. "Everyone who ran with us is either out of the game or...well, out. And we can’t afford to play the long game and try to smoke a De Vito rat out. He’s not going to throw any more parties where I can get information out of anyone.”
I nodded, knowing he was right. Our network had dissolved over the years, and those who remained loyal were either retired or dead. The thought of trying to rekindle old alliances was as daunting as it was unwise.
“We’ll have to think outside the box,” I said. “Maybe there’s someone in Vito’s extended circle who has a grudge, someone we can turn. Or we could find a way to bug one of their hangouts, listen in on their plans.”
Hassan rubbed his temples, looking utterly defeated. “That all sounds like it’ll take forever. We need something quicker.”
"We do have one person," I said slowly, reluctant to even voice the thought. "Someone who knows the landscape and still has a foot in that world."
Hassan's eyes narrowed, then widened as he caught up to my thinking. "No. Absolutely not. We can't trust him."
“Dante Moretti is an asshole, not a traitor,” I said, already bracing for Hassan’s objections. “He still owes me a favor, and we don’t have many options.”
Hassan stood, pacing the small room with the restless energy of a caged animal. "Dante would sell us out in a heartbeat if Vito offered him more. He's not reliable."
"He's predictable," I countered. "Which makes him less dangerous than going in blind. We just need to use him carefully. Look, Dante wanted to turn the Moretti business in New York legitimate. He held up his end of the bargain; we sold him product, he distributed it through his clinics. Okay, things soured a little, but really no one doubled crossed him or anything. He just didn’t like me in particular.”
"So this is personal for him," Hassan said, stopping his pacing. "He doesn't like you, but he'll still help us out of the goodness of his heart? Also, who wouldn’t like you?”
“I’m a doctor, and he was using clinics to hide a fentanyl operation. I think I gave him a reason not to like me.”
“You’re a gangster,” Hassan replied. “I mean, no offense.”
"None taken," I said, though deep down, his words stung because they were the truth. I had always tried to justify my actions, to see myself as something more than just another thug with a stethoscope. But in moments like these, it was clear: I was a gangster playing at being something nobler.
Hassan sank back into his chair, the fight momentarily leaving him. "So you really think Dante is our best shot?"
"I think he's our quickest shot. We go to him, explain the situation, and see what he knows. If he can give us the intel we need, then we decide how to move from there."
"And if he doesn’t want to play ball?”
"Then we're no worse off than we are now. Right? Dante is a Moretti, not a De Vito.”
Hassan pondered this, his eyes unfocused, lost in some internal calculation. I could almost see the gears turning in his head, weighing the risks and benefits, the potential costs of every move. He was always the more cautious one, even when we were younger and recklessly ambitious. That caution had saved us more times than I could count, but now it seemed to be paralyzing him.
"I'll go alone," he said finally.
"No," I objected immediately. "If something goes wrong—"
"If something goes wrong, you'll still be here to take care of Sebastian," he finished for me. "You’re in no shape to confront anyone right now. Hell, you can barely stand without wincing."
He wasn’t wrong. The bullet wound throbbed with every heartbeat, a dull, insistent reminder of my own mortality. The morphine had taken the edge off, but I could feel its effects waning, the pain creeping back like an unwelcome guest.
“You’re right. But that also means I won’t be able to defend him properly. No, if you’re going to New York, that means we’re all going to New York.”
"We can't just drag the baby into this," Hassan protested, his voice rising with anxiety. "It's too dangerous."
I locked eyes with him, trying to convey the gravity of our situation. "It's dangerous here, too. Vito's men know where we are, Hassan. We're sitting ducks. At least in New York, we can move around, keep a lower profile. Dante can help us pull Zane, Bash and Justice out without getting them hurt or…or worse. If Justice doesn’t live—if Skylar doesn’t live…fuck, if Bash dies…how…I mean, we can’t risk it. I know we want to. I know the plan was originally for you to go there. But now that I’m thinking it through, we might just have to wait.”
“This sucks, Zane.”
“I know,” I said. “But we have to have faith that they’ll stay alive.”
“Right. Okay. Yeah. So all they have to do is live.”