Quicksand of Fate

No one in the city was foolish enough to interfere with the Accardi children; even if Lorenzo wasn't widely known, Sandro Accardi was a figure known far and wide, one of the most recognized young faces in the city.

The brothers sat on the balcony of the café, having ordered a light breakfast. They ate in silence, Sandro watching Lorenzo intently, forcing the latter to finish his plate.

Afterward, Sandro, preferring to leave the restaurant and stretch his legs, decided a walk around the bustling city would help more than sitting quietly. He led Lorenzo through the streets, which were already alive with noise and the activity of a new day.

They moved through crowded squares and along sidewalks lined with towering glass buildings. For hours, Sandro simply guided Lorenzo through the commotion, trying to coax him into engaging with the world, hoping it would ease his brother's withdrawal before they talked about the deeper issues.

Lorenzo followed without much resistance, his dark eyes half-closed as if the world around him was little more than a faint blur. His hands remained tucked in his pockets, and though his body moved with Sandro, the faint traces of panic that had appeared when they first left the car were now gone. He showed no interest in the places they passed—a park, a street lined with shops, or even a gallery displaying local art. He only responded when directly addressed, with slight nods or barely audible words.

By ten o'clock, Sandro led Lorenzo into a quieter corner of the city, away from the noise. A small, cozy café stood on the corner, with dark wood furniture and the comforting scent of roasted coffee beans lingering in the air.

Sandro picked a table by the window and gestured for Lorenzo to sit. The younger man slouched into the chair, resting his chin in his hand as though exhausted by an unseen battle, though his face remained as impassive as ever.

"We'll have two black coffees," Sandro told the waiter.

Lorenzo didn't object.

The coffee arrived quickly, its steam curling up from the cups. Sandro took a slow sip, his sharp eyes never leaving his younger brother, who was absently stirring his coffee but hadn't yet taken a sip.

"Are you still mad at me?" Sandro asked, his voice calm but warm, like a question that had been lingering in the back of his mind.

Lorenzo raised an eyebrow, his eyes still focused on the cup. "Why?"

"Why!... Seven months ago, when I left without keeping my promise, I'm asking if you're still upset about that."

The mention of the promise made Lorenzo's lips twitch in the faintest of smiles, but his eyes darkened for a moment before he returned to his usual detached look. He quickly shifted the subject.

"Did Father send you to lecture me?"

"Not exactly. I'm here because I care, and because I didn't apologize properly for my mistake last time."

Lorenzo finally raised his eyes to meet Sandro's. The moment stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension, until Lorenzo broke the silence, his voice quiet.

"I'm fine."

"It doesn't seem like you are," 

"And why should I care what you think?"

Sandro smiled, a faint, knowing smile. "You're right, but I'm interested in something else. It doesn't seem like you're planning on going to the academy."

"Do I have a choice?"

Sandro's smile lingered, though it didn't reach his eyes. He glanced at his coffee, his fingers curling around the cup as his frustration simmered beneath his calm demeanor.

Sandro hadn't forgotten about Lorenzo's escape. It hadn't been long since he ran away from home, forcing the entire Accardi family to mobilize in a search for him. He had returned only after receiving a promise from their father—an isolated place away from the family, far from the pressures that came with their name.

But the truth is, Lorenzo could escape again if he wanted to. Sandro knew that, and so he spoke, his tone shifting slightly—calm but laced with warning.

"I'll make this simple, and I know you understand. Emilio, your so-called servant, isn't as harmless as he appears, thanks to your spying on our father you know that. So don't try to run again, and don't force Father to tighten the noose on you. If we notice any suspicious behavior from you, a full security team will be assigned to you. Call it what you want—protection or surveillance. But it'll happen."

Lorenzo stared at him for a moment, his gaze flickering but ultimately returning to that emptiness. He nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement, and Sandro gave a brief nod of satisfaction.

Sandro glanced at his watch. "I have to leave soon. Let's go back."

Lorenzo didn't reply. They sat there in silence, the warmth of the café doing little to melt the cold tension between them. The quiet clink of porcelain and the murmur of other patrons only highlighted the distance that had widened between the brothers—Sandro's well-meaning but threatening words leaving an aftertaste of unease.