The night clung to them like an oppressive weight, the smell of gunpowder and blood thick in the air. Emilio knelt on the cold concrete, his hands trembling as he pressed harder against Angelo's wound. He could feel the sticky warmth of blood seeping through his fingers.
"Stay awake," Emilio begged, his voice tight with panic. "You hear me? Don't you dare close your eyes, Angelo."
Angelo blinked slowly, his face pale but his lips quirking into a faint smirk. "You… care too much," he whispered, his words barely audible.
Emilio's chest tightened as he fought to hold back tears. "Of course I care. You think I'd let you die here? After everything we've been through?"
In the distance, faint shouts echoed—more of Salazar's men, or perhaps even Montemayor reinforcements. Whoever they were, Emilio knew time was running out. They couldn't stay here.
He hoisted Angelo up, slinging his arm over his shoulder. "We're leaving," Emilio said, more to himself than to Angelo.
Angelo groaned, his head lolling against Emilio's shoulder. "Bad idea," he muttered.
"Yeah, well, I've got a lot of bad ideas tonight," Emilio replied, gritting his teeth as he dragged Angelo toward the shadows of the docks.
Navigating the labyrinth of crates and abandoned machinery was no easy task. Emilio's every step was deliberate, his ears straining for the sound of approaching footsteps. Angelo's weight pressed heavily against him, but Emilio refused to let go.
They reached a small, rusted motorboat tied to the dock. Emilio hesitated for only a moment before helping Angelo into the boat, his movements quick but careful.
"Hold on," Emilio said as he untied the rope and started the engine. The old boat sputtered and groaned, but to Emilio's relief, it roared to life.
As the boat drifted away from the docks, Emilio glanced back. He could see flashlights cutting through the darkness, Salazar's men swarming the area.
"Too close," he muttered, gripping the steering handle tightly.
Angelo let out a weak chuckle, his voice slurred. "You… stole a boat?"
Emilio shot him a look. "Would you rather I left you there?"
Angelo didn't respond, his eyes fluttering shut again. Emilio's heart sank.
"Stay with me," Emilio said, his voice firm. "I'm getting you out of this. You hear me?"
The boat eventually drifted into a quieter part of the Pasig River, far from the chaos of the docks. Emilio spotted an old, decrepit warehouse near the riverbank—a place he remembered from childhood, when his father used to hide shipments before the Montemayors expanded their operations.
He guided the boat to shore and carried Angelo inside, laying him down on a stack of empty sacks.
The warehouse was dark and musty, its walls lined with cobwebs. Emilio searched the space, finding a tattered first aid kit buried beneath some crates.
"This will have to do," Emilio muttered, returning to Angelo's side.
He worked quickly, cleaning the wound as best he could before wrapping it with strips of cloth. Angelo flinched but didn't wake, his breathing shallow but steady.
When Emilio was done, he slumped against the wall, exhaustion washing over him. He stared at Angelo, his mind racing with questions. How had it come to this? How had they gone from stolen glances to risking their lives for each other?
And what would happen next?
•••
Sunlight streamed through the broken windows of the warehouse, casting long shadows on the floor. Emilio woke with a start, his hand instinctively reaching for the revolver tucked into his waistband.
Angelo stirred beside him, his face scrunching in pain as he tried to sit up.
"Easy," Emilio said, rushing to his side. "You're still hurt."
Angelo gave him a weak smile. "You're still here."
"Of course I'm still here," Emilio said, frowning. "Where else would I be?"
Angelo chuckled softly, though it quickly turned into a wince. "I don't know. With your family? Running the empire?"
Emilio shook his head. "That life doesn't mean anything to me anymore."
Angelo's smile faded, replaced by a look of concern. "You can't just walk away, Emilio. Your father—he won't let you."
"I don't care," Emilio said, his voice firm. "I'm done living by his rules. By anyone's rules."
Angelo stared at him, searching his face. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Dead serious," Emilio said.
A heavy silence hung between them, broken only by the distant sound of the river.
"Then we have to leave," Angelo said finally.
Emilio frowned. "Leave?"
"Manila," Angelo said. "The Montemayors, the Salazars—they'll never stop hunting us. The only way we survive is if we disappear."
Emilio hesitated. The thought of leaving everything behind—his family, his city—was daunting. But when he looked at Angelo, he knew there was no other choice.
"Okay," Emilio said. "Let's do it."
The next few days were a blur of preparations. Emilio and Angelo stayed hidden in the warehouse, venturing out only at night to gather supplies.
Angelo's wound was healing, though he still moved with a noticeable limp. Emilio worried about him constantly, but Angelo brushed off his concerns with a grin and a sarcastic comment.
"We're going to need new identities," Angelo said one evening as they sat by a makeshift fire.
Emilio raised an eyebrow. "You have a guy for that?"
Angelo smirked. "I know people."
"Of course you do," Emilio said, shaking his head.
Despite the danger, there were moments of levity between them—stolen smiles, soft laughter, the warmth of shared memories.
For the first time in weeks, Emilio felt a glimmer of hope.
Their plan was almost complete. They had secured forged documents, a small stash of cash, and a vague destination: Cebu, far from the reach of the Montemayors and the Salazars.
But on the night of their departure, disaster struck.
As they prepared to leave the warehouse, the sound of approaching footsteps froze them in their tracks. Emilio peeked out through a crack in the door and felt his blood run cold.
"They found us," Emilio whispered, his heart pounding.
Angelo grabbed his arm. "We can still get out of here. Follow me."
They moved quickly but quietly, slipping out through a back entrance. The alleyway was dark and narrow, lined with rusted barrels and broken glass.
"Where are we going?" Emilio asked, his voice low.
"There's a safe house nearby," Angelo said. "If we can—"
Before he could finish, a voice shouted behind them.
"There they are!"
Gunfire erupted, the sharp cracks echoing through the night. Emilio and Angelo took off, their feet pounding against the pavement.
"Keep going!" Angelo shouted, his hand gripping Emilio's tightly.
They rounded a corner, only to find themselves face-to-face with a group of Montemayor men.
Emilio froze, his heart sinking.
"Emilio," one of the men said, his voice a mix of shock and anger. "What are you doing with him?"
Angelo stepped in front of Emilio, his body tense. "If you want him, you'll have to go through me."
The Montemayor men hesitated, their loyalty to Emilio clashing with their orders.
"Please," Emilio said, his voice steady. "Let us go."
For a moment, no one moved. Then, slowly, the men lowered their weapons.
"Go," the leader said, his expression grim. "But don't come back."
As dawn broke, Emilio and Angelo boarded a ferry bound for Cebu. They stood on the deck, the wind tugging at their clothes.
Emilio looked out at the horizon, his chest tight with a mix of fear and anticipation.
"What now?" he asked.
Angelo smiled, his hand brushing against Emilio's. "Now we start over."
For the first time in what felt like forever, Emilio allowed himself to hope.