➳ capo dei capi // l.s.

0.3

    That night Harry fell asleep in an uncomfortable position, all alone. Zayn only came in once to bring him some food, but never untied him, not knowing what to expect from the hostage. Harry tried to persuade him with his silver tongue once again, but Zayn was smart and he didn't let himself fall for his lies. He had experience after all. In the end, he had the mercy to offer Harry a pillow to rest his head on, though he didn't deserve it.

    " Wake up, curly. " The raven haired man's voice echoed in his ears, his glossy voice holding a rough tone to it.

    Harry groaned, clenching his eyes shut, not wanting to wake up and be forced to meet the Capo. But soon, all those dreams were gone to vain as he felt a strong pressure forcing him up, his lanky legs unsure at first but getting used to standing again. He hasn't stood up for a whole day and his whole body was numb, so this wasn't pleasant. He winced at the strong hand that gripped him harshly and pulled him, brandishing him.

    " Get up, you're fine. " Zayn growled as he dragged Harry after him, the boy resisting in the slightest which unphased him.

    In the next second, a buff man entered the room that Harry had spent the night in and his eyes instantly widened in a helpless manner, hoping at least that this one would help him. Although, it was unfortunate. The boy's eyes fell on the cloth in his hands and he mentally rolled his eyes, knowing what will come. Though, he didn't say a thing.

    Two pairs of strong arms grabbed each of his own ones and pushed him rather roughly out the door, Harry stumbling over the threshold, but quickly regaining his balance. A small whimper escaped his mouth as one of the pairs tightened their grip on him, as if he tried to escape. A scoff was heard behind him and that angered him. There was no reason to panic since Zayn told him they weren't going to kill him. But then again, that didn't mean they won't torture him. Who knows what these lowlifes are capable of?

    On the way to the Capo, he heard quiet whispers all around him, not being able to decipher the words because they were either too quiet or in Italian. And he didn't know Italian if it wasn't obvious already.

    He was walking blindly, the grips on his arms guiding him, until they stopped, confusing Harry and tugging him backwards. He wanted to sigh in exasperation, but he was a little scared, not knowing what to expect.

    " E questo il ragazzo? " ( Is this the kid? ) he heard another unfamiliar voice ask rather dumbly. He didn't understand but he could figure it out by his tone.

    Someone scoffed behind him, Harry concluding that it was probably Zayn, the sound being followed by " Chi potra essere? ". ( Who else could it be? )

    He sensed the door open graciously for him, not giving out a single creak, which signed that everything in here was perfect and neat. Harry's heart was stuck in his throat as he gulped, before he was pushed inside, the rough rope scratching his hands. He most likely had marks by now. Now, negative emotions began flooding him, anxiety surging through his whole system as he inhaled the exquisite scent that imprinted in the walls of the room.

    " Now, gentlemen. This isn't the right way to treat our guest here, is it? I'd be pleased if you'd untie our Harold here. " The nickname angered Harry, his emotions coming to surface, visible to the world, as he clenched his jaw and his muscles tensed under his clothes. " Oh, and remove that vexatious cloth from his beautiful eyes. " his tone was dripped in honey, raspy and soft at the same time. It carried an amused timbre to his voice.

Harry huffed, hot breath escaping through his nose as he gritted his teeth and shook his head, numerous wild curls falling in his eyes, after being rid of the cloth. His green gaze stared through the curls, his head bowed down slightly, at the man in front of him. He felt a rush of relief as his hands were freed from the rope, his blood circulation slowly regaining its usual flow. The kid brought his hands together, rubbing his slender fingers onto his wrists, hoping that the belligerent feeling that lingered on them would soon fade out.