His left eye twitched ever so slightly. “It’s Luca.”

Jaesung ran his fingers through his hair in confusion. “Sure, Luca. Whatever. So, why are you sitting next to me?”

He gave a slight shrug. “Drinking.”

Exasperated, Jaesung spread his arms out. “I mean, why are you here drinking?”

“It’s a free country.”

It took all of Jaesung’s inner will to not lash out at the cocky bastard. Even if he was good looking—damn Feng for putting that thought in his head—there was no way in hell he’d voluntarily stay in Luca’s company.

Behind the counter, the antique grandfather clock ticked away. It was nearing midnight. The tick of the hand soothed his angered thoughts. It was high time he headed home, before his grandparents stayed up all night waiting for him. Recently, he was growing more anxious about them. Age wasn’t doing them any favors.

He gulped what remained of his warm soju and stood up, yawning as he slipped his jacket on, body unsteady from the amount of alcohol he consumed. A hand stopped him from tipping over, its warmth burning through his shoulder.

“Careful there,” said Luca. Hazel orbs met Jaesung’s own, stare firm as it seared through him. “Get back safely. Stammi bene, muso giallo.”

Jaesung paused, eyebrows drawn together. He was one hundred percent sure that asshole was talking shit to him in Italian, but had no clue what he said. He’d have to interrogate Vince later, the only person who was fluent in the minor family.

“Yeah, fuck you too.” He saluted Luca with his middle finger and left, the man’s laugh following him out the door.

By the time Jaesung reached home, he was so drained he fell asleep soon after undressing and tumbling into bed. The comfort of his blankets lulled him into the world of dreams. He stayed in that comatose-like state until his grandma roused him up that afternoon, her high-pitched barking directly in his ear. Whatever Korean she was babbling, it sounded furious.

After hearing an earful about how ungrateful of a child he was, a call from Jett came in, telling him to get his ass over to Vince’s place. That’s how he ended up sitting at the kitchen table with their boss an hour later.

“They want to see me?” asked Jaesung. “Me? Really? You aren’t pulling my leg here, are you?” It was hard to determine if the sensation that flooded him was enthusiasm or terror.

“Jaesung, who the fuck else has that name in the Maniaco?” Vince’s agitation had already taken off. “Are you seriously that stupid? I could hit you—”

Jett clapped his hands together, focusing their attention before a brawl started right in the boss’s kitchen. “Maybe they’re finally going to kick you out.”

“That’s not even funny, dude.” Oh, god. Jaesung panicked.

“Jett, zip it.” Vince pounded his fist on the table. “No more questions. Jaesung, get the hell out of here. Shit. I feel a headache coming on.”

The Chief hurried out of the room, mumbling under his breath, stroking his patchy grey and black beard as he passed by. For being the one to summon Jaesung there, one would think he’d spend a little more time with him. What sort of hospitality was that?

“Who did you piss off this time, I wonder?” Jett mused aloud.

Jaesung couldn’t even disagree with that comment. Why else would he get called to the head family’s house?

“I can only pray it wasn’t the wrong person.”

Stammi bene, muso gallo. = informal way of saying “take care, gook” in Italian.