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The plan was simple, at least on paper. Lorenzo Stefano had decided to loosen the leash just a bit, granting his favorite Connector a little time off. Enzo knew Adrian was a free spirit—a social animal who suffered miserably when trapped doing nothing but boring paperwork in a silent office. He knew how much the guy loved parties, music, and being around people, so he’d thrown him a bone, a mini "vacation" of sorts.
Of course, Adrian couldn't just be himself. To the guys and girls his age he was hanging out with tonight, he was "Rian Taylor." To the civilian world, his cover was that of an actor under contract for a new film by Shine Media, the colossal entertainment conglomerate Lorenzo ran as CEO. During his infiltration missions, Adrian had actually made friends with a group of peers—aspiring actors, theater geeks, indie directors, and a few singers dreaming of their big break. All of them good kids, fun, and completely oblivious to the fact that this cheeky blonde was actually a spy capable of killing a man with his bare hands.
Tonight, they had gathered in a crowded underground pub, one of those noisy spots where the beer flowed like water and the music drowned out the voices. Adrian, sitting dead center at the table with a half-empty pint in his hands, was in his absolute element. But, as usual, whenever he had a few drinks, only one name kept slipping out of his mouth.
"I swear to God, I can't stand him anymore!" Adrian barked, slamming his mug onto the wooden table with a fake expression of sheer exhaustion. "The guy is a total piece of shit, acting like some kind of mob boss. Always controlling everything, demanding things be done exactly his way."
One of the girls at the table giggled, sipping her cocktail. "Come on, Rian, drop the work talk for one night. Enjoy the party! You talk about this boss of yours every five minutes."
"It's not just work talk! He just drives me insane!" Adrian snapped, his cheeks already flushed from the alcohol. He stood up halfway from his chair, straightening his back rigidly and pulling a grotesquely serious face in a pathetic attempt to mimic Enzo. "He’s always so... stiff. And cold. The man wouldn't know how to have fun if you paid him! He needs to loosen up, have a laugh for once." He plopped back down with a thud, mocking him with a scoff.
The rest of the table exchanged amused glances. By now, they had all realized that this "supreme boss" was a total fixation for Rian.
"Look, Rian..." one of the guys interjected, winking with a playful, teasing smirk. "Are you sure there isn't something going on between you two? I mean, you bring him up constantly."
"Are you out of your mind?!" Adrian practically shrieked, his voice jumping an octave in pure indignation. His pride was burning him alive. The mere thought of having been deflowered by that monster—him, Adrian Rosebarton, the guy who always bragged about being the one who stays strictly on top—was driving him crazy. "Him? Please! He’s a total animal in bed! I bet he’s actually a total virgin under that suit, considering how he never lets his guard down! He’s just a certified control freak!"
His friends burst out laughing, taking his wild rants as the typical exaggerations of a frustrated actor. The night rolled on like that, between rounds of shots and endless laughs. The alcohol really started to kick in, and the vibe got loose and rowdy. Eventually, someone proposed the classic, inevitable game of Truth or Dare.
When the bottle spun and landed dead on Adrian, the blonde flexed his muscles, proud. "Dare, obviously. I’m not scared of anything," he bragged, playing the usual tough guy in front of everyone.
The guy who had asked the question flashed a devilish grin. "Alright, Taylor. Since you’re so brave... I dare you to call this stiff, cold boss of yours. Right now. In front of all of us."
The rest of the table exploded into cheers. "Yes! Call the mobster!"
For a microsecond, Adrian hesitated. A cold shiver of pure, healthy fear ran down his spine at the thought of bothering Lorenzo Stefano at this hour. But the eyes of his friends and the alcohol in his system won. "What? You think I'm scared? Watch and learn, boys. Nothing stops me," he boasted, pulling out his phone and hitting dial on the contact saved as Cheeky Boss.
~
The boardroom at Shine Media was wrapped in a tense silence, broken only by the monotonous voice of an executive presenting financial charts. It was a crucial meeting, and it was running incredibly late into the evening. Sitting at the head of the monumental glass table was Lorenzo Stefano, looking impeccable in his tailored suit, his gaze cold and his posture commanding—the perfect CEO.
Beside him, Turo sat through the presentation, barely suppressing a yawn.
Suddenly, the screen of Enzo’s phone, resting on the table and strictly on silent, lit up. Out of the corner of his eye, the Don read the caller ID: Connector.
Enzo didn't even blink. He cleared his throat, interrupting the executive with an elegant wave of his hand. "Gentlemen, please excuse me. I am receiving a call of the utmost importance that I absolutely must take."
He stood up, adjusting his jacket, and shot a look at his right-hand man. "Turo, take over the chair."
Once out of the room, Enzo brought the phone to his ear. His tone was a mix of calculated coldness and subtle irritation. "Impeccable timing as always... Rian. I’m in a meeting."
On the other end of the line, the response was slurred, messy, and clearly devoid of any inhibitions. "Uuuh... pretty face..." Rian mumbled, letting out a sloppy laugh. "Just calling-just calling to see how you're doing, you know?"
Enzo narrowed his eyes, hearing the heavy background noise of the pub. "You're drunk," he stated flatly, while Rian continued to ramble without a filter.
"I was just thinking-thinking that if you actually had some balls, you might come down here and hang out with us peasants... or have some fun! Life's too short, Mr. Stiff-and-Cold! Ahaha!" The blonde kept throwing out provocative jabs in his classic Rian fashion, utterly careless of the danger.
Enzo exhaled sharply through his nose, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “This idiot...” he thought, letting out a disgruntled sigh. "Where are you?" he demanded, his voice dropping an octave, becoming dangerously calm.
Rian kept slurring butchered directions to the location, cutting himself off to laugh with someone at his table, before turning back to the mic with a mock-defiant edge. "But in the end... what am I to you anyway, huh? Am I your little dog...? Or your whore...? You fuck me once and then you claim total control over my life?!"
At the pub table, the kids held their breath, completely shocked by his audacity. On the other end of the line, Enzo’s jaw tightened. He had no intention of putting on a show for a crowd.
"Right. Ciao," Enzo said, his voice dropping to sub-zero temperatures, and he hung up before the blonde could utter another syllable.
When Enzo stepped back into the boardroom, the session had just wrapped up. The attendees were gathering their briefcases and heading for the exit, bowing respectfully to the CEO. Turo was following right behind them, his face practically screaming: “Finally, this endless, miserable day is over. I can go home and sleep.”
Unfortunately for him, that wasn't the case at all.
After elegantly bidding farewell to the last executive, Enzo turned toward his right-hand man, locking him in place with a single glare. "Turo. Have the private limo prepped immediately."
As he spoke, Enzo pulled out his tablet, opening the real-time tracking app for Rian’s phone. Because yes, the Connector didn't take a single step without the Don knowing his exact coordinates.
When the massive black limousine pulled up in front of the pub's neon sign twenty minutes later, the area was buzzing with people drifting in and out of the venue. From the spacious backseat, Enzo looked at the entrance with sheer disdain.
"Turo, go inside," he ordered, without moving a muscle.
Turo, caught off guard, turned to look at him. "You want me to go, Boss? Wouldn't you prefer—"
"He already dragged me into a disgusting saloon once, and a basic pub another time," Enzo cut him off, smoothly adjusting his shirt cuffs with a look of pure aversion. "I am waiting right here. I’m giving you ten minutes, Turo. Not a single second more."
"Right away, Boss," Turo replied, stepping out of the car and heading toward the pub, completely unaware that he was walking straight into a trap of free drinks and mockery.
~
Inside the pub, the air was thick with smoke, laughter, and the heavy scent of spilled beer. At this point in the night, it was glaringly obvious that none of the kids at the table possessed the motor skills or the mental capacity to drive a car. They weren't just tipsy; they were on the verge of a very cheerful blackout.
Adrian, his head weighing a ton, caught sight of a figure that was vastly too formal for a place like this. Someone familiar was scanning the crowd, looking for a specific target... and of course, he found him.
It couldn't be said that Adrian suddenly sobered up, but a tiny shred of his Vulture spy survival instinct made him twitch slightly as Turo approached the table. The Co-CEO of Shine Media completely ignored the rest of the group and locked his eyes dead on the blonde.
"The Boss wants you. It's time to go home, we're parked outside," Turo said, his voice carrying the flat, steady tone of someone who just wants to get a chore over with.
Instead of being startled, Adrian put on a full-blown pout like an offended toddler, crossing his arms over his chest. He slurred his words with his classic drunken bravado. "I'm... hic... I'm staying right here. He can't... he can't deny it to me. I'm on vacation!"
Turo sighed, utterly exasperated by having to play maid. "He’s worried that in this state you'll put yourself in danger. Or do something you’ll regret."
Adrian slammed a fist onto the table, drawing stares from his friends. "Who does he think he is, huh? My mother?! And who are you... my babysitter?!"
Right at that moment, the waiter arrived at the table, setting down another monumental round of beers and shots that the friends had ordered just minutes before. Even though Turo kept insisting, practically grabbing Adrian's arm to pull him up, the blonde remained as stubborn as a mule.
"You tell YOUR boss..." Adrian snarled, poking a trembling finger directly at Turo’s chest, "...that I have absolutely no intention of playing by his rules! Tell him... tell him to go find himself another toy to play with!"
Turo fell silent for a beat, glaring daggers at him. But his hesitation didn't slip past the group. One of the guys at the table, seeing this man in a suit looking so stiff and visibly exhausted, decided to be hospitable. He slid a fresh, frosty mug of beer toward him with a wide grin.
"Hey, man... you look dead on your feet. Why don't you join the party? It's on us!"
And Turo? Well, Turo was only human, and he had just survived an endless corporate board meeting. He looked at the beer, looked at Rian—who was currently face-planting back onto the wooden table—and figured that, after all, an extra ten minutes wouldn't kill him. He didn't think twice.
"Thanks," Turo said. He grabbed the mug and took a massive gulp.
And to be fair, he actually had a damn good time. Within five minutes, the Don’s impeccable right-hand man had shed his jacket, loosened his tie, and officially joined the party, laughing his ass off at the theater kids' jokes.
~
Lorenzo Stefano was still sitting in the backseat of the limousine. He lifted his left wrist, checking the face of his black shiny Rolex. The ten minutes had long since passed. It had been closer to twenty.
Enzo began to huff, his patience evaporating at lightning speed. His brow furrowed into a dark, irritated scowl. "What the hell is taking them so long? If you want something done right..." he growled to himself.
With a swift, annoyed motion, he threw open the car door, stepped out onto the pavement, and marched toward the pub's entrance, radiating an aura so menacing that the crowd by the door parted like the Red Sea just to let him through.
~
The situation at the table had completely devolved into pure comedy. The group was dying of laughter over some ridiculous jokes. Turo, sitting right next to Rian, had officially reached the sad, sloppy stage of being drunk. With watery eyes, clutching his glass, he began to whine on an aspiring singer's shoulder.
"I... I really do care about Young Master Lorenzo, I do..." Turo whimpered, sniffing loudly. "But sometimes... sometimes I'm just so tired! So overworked! I need some rest…"
"Oh man, he sounds like a horrible person from what Rian says too," one of the guys replied, giving him some consoling pats on the back.
Meanwhile, Adrian was completely down for the count. The alcohol had utterly demolished him, and he was practically passed out, sleeping with his face squished against the wooden table, his blonde hair a messy bird's nest.
Suddenly, the entire pub went dead silent. The ambient chatter and the music seemed to fade into nothingness as the patrons noticed a towering, imposing figure standing right by the kids' table.
It was a breathtakingly handsome man, every single strand of his black hair styled in perfect order, wearing a charcoal tailored suit that probably cost more than a luxury sports car. He looked down at the group, flashing his usual polite, formal smile—the kind that never quite reached his eyes.
A freezing chill swept over the table. One of the girls, utterly spellbound by the vision before her, let out a breathless whisper:
"Hot damn…"
Most of the table sat completely petrified, unable to choke out a single word in the presence of such overwhelming charm and danger.
Enzo didn't bat an eye at the stares. He took a step forward, ignoring the empty glasses and the alcohol fumes, and leaned over the blonde’s limp body. He scooped him up, and just as he went to hoist him over his shoulder, one of the guys, gathering a tiny bit of courage, tried to warn him: "Uh, careful... watch out, he's hea-"
He didn’t even had the time so finish the sentence, that Enzo, without showing the slightest bit of effort, threw Rian over his shoulder as if the blonde weighed no more than a feather.
“-vy…”.
The Don shot a freezing but incredibly calm look at Turo, who the moment he saw his master's shadow had literally resurrected from his drunken stupor, snapping back to complete sobriety in a microsecond out of sheer terror.
"Turo. In the car. Now," Enzo commanded, his voice soft yet razor-sharp.
Then, he turned back to the rest of the group, gifting them one last, flawless executive smile. "Apologies for the intrusion. Please, enjoy the rest of your evening. Goodnight."
With absolute composure, Enzo walked out of the pub, his head held high, with a sleeping Rian dangling over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and a pale, shattered Turo trailing behind him like a beaten puppy.
Once they reached the pavement in front of the limousine, Enzo opened the rear door and slid Rian's inert body inside. Before climbing in himself, he turned back to his right-hand man.
"Turo. Let Antonio drive tonight."
Turo, still feeling the combined effects of the beer and the adrenaline of pure panic, replied in a tiny voice, staring at the ground. "Y-Yes, Boss... right away."
The black limousine glided back into the Californa night, leaving the venue far behind.
~
Back at the pub table, an unreal silence hung over the group. They stared at one another, their faces the absolute picture of bewilderment, before someone finally managed to break the ice.
"So... was that the boss he was bitching about?" one asked, eyes wide.
"Holy shit... what kind of job did Rian even interview for to get hired by a guy like that?" another added, still in disbelief.
And the actress of the group, staring at the empty space where the blonde had just been sitting, delivered the ultimate question that left them all questioning reality: "But seriously... WHO exactly is Rian sleeping with to end up thrown over the shoulder of a literal god?!"