Love is Instinct; Deceive is Business #6: DUSK & MIST
Ilya Rozanov/Shane Hollander（Heated Rivalry烈愛對決TV版; 1965黑幫AU）
Love is Instinct; Deceive is Business #6: DUSK & MIST
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Fortunately, neither of them had sustained any fatal injuries. Shane was mostly covered in bruises, while Ilya's hands were badly hurt. Shane used the remaining spirits from the liquor cabinet to wash the wounds on Ilya's hands, carefully picking out the glass shards from his right palm before wrapping his hands and the back of his left hand in gauze and stemming the bleeding from the contusion on the back of his head. Ilya, in turn, used bandages to stabilize Shane's sprained ankle, and they took turns applying medicine to each other's battered faces. In the dimly lit aftermath of the firefight, they gazed into each other's deep, searching eyes.
Once the visible wounds were tended to, Ilya packed the four corpses into black waterproof bags and hauled them out of the office one by one. They used every drop of bleach in the Blackwood Rink to scrub the hallway and the office, as there was a trail of blood left by Crowell during his escape. Ilya laughed heartily at the thought of the man taking a bullet. Shane recovered all the spent casings and bullets, taking the firearms, the katana, and the tanto he always carried with him. They cleared away most of the debris and pushed the furniture back into place, though it only made the chaos look like a space under renovation, it was enough.
Shane engaged the second lock on the office door and climbed out through a window hidden behind a Japanese screen to leave. Ilya was quite surprised as he waited outside.
Shane could deliver the guns and blades to the Suzuran Clan's foundry the next day, so all they had left were the bodies. Ilya stuffed the body bags into the back seat and trunk of the Lincoln Continental. Shane was both surprised and annoyed that a Sixth Family car had been sitting in his parking lot. Since Ilya insisted on driving, Shane sat in the passenger seat giving him directions. Using the Sixth Family's own ride to transport their corpses. Ironic.
They drove to a construction site near the Rideau River. Ilya didn't yet know that Polaris Grounds was the designated site for a new hockey arena, but that didn't matter for now. Shane would make sure he knew in the future.
The car stopped before the corrugated metal fence of the site. Shane got out of the car, unlocked the metal gate, and pulled it open so Ilya could drive inside. The car stopped by the foundation, and Shane started the grout pump. Ilya dragged all body bags from the car and tossed them into the depths of the foundation; the heavy thud of weight hitting mud echoed four times. They watched the slurry pour down, sealing the Sixth Family lackeys beneath tons of concrete until they were completely submerged.
Finally, they scrapped the Lincoln Continental at a junkyard, reclaimed their Mercedes, and drove back to the cottage. At that moment, the streetlights in the rearview mirror flickered to life one by one.
Ottawa had power again.
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SHANE'S COTTAGE, OTTAWA, ONT. 00:42, 10-NOV-1965
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They absolutely had to talk about today, Crowell's scheme, the details of Ilya's deal, and them. Perhaps not now, Shane was too exhausted, covered in bruises and sprains, and Ilya was the same. However, Ilya wasn't as patient as Shane had hoped, because he asked.
"Will you tell her?"
Shane stood before the front door and looked back at Ilya. "Tell who?"
"Will you tell Yuna?" Ilya clarified.
Shane couldn't pretend he didn't understand. Ilya was asking whether his betrayal would be reported to the head of the Suzuran Clan.
This was perhaps the first time today Shane had seen Ilya's face clearly under the streetlights, rather than through a dim flashlight or a car dome light. Shane watched Ilya's hand slip inside his jacket, toward the holster tucked beneath his arm.
Shane closed his eyes. He wasn't afraid, or worried, or even anxious. Even though he had heard with his own ears that Ilya had conspired with the Sixth Family to betray the Suzuran Clan, even if Ilya were to blow a hole through his chest and leave nothing but a thumping heart. Shane would only do what he did while sitting in that office chair, recall Ilya's scent and the feel of those golden-brown curls against his fingertips until the very end.
Shane opened his eyes. "No," he said. No one had ever made him feel this way, no one but Ilya. Not before, and certainly not again.
He turned, opened the door, and walked straight into the first-floor bathroom. Ilya followed him in, pinning him against the vanity, pressing lips to lips, a hand sliding to the back of his neck. He tugged at Ilya's curls, gripping tight, hearing Ilya's pained groan. They bit each other's lips, tasting the iron, and then tumbled into the bathtub. Shane's back hit the faucet, and cold water sprayed down from above. The dried blood of their enemies washed from his bangs and his suit jacket, swirling away in the water and staining the white walls of the tub. Shane slid to the bottom, connected only by their kiss, and then he saw Ilya shed his jacket—
The holster was empty. No gun.
Ilya stripped off the empty holster and threw it out of the tub, shedding his shirt and trousers, the necklace on his chest swayed with his movements. Shane never stopped chasing his lips. Once Ilya was naked, Shane pulled him down, and they collapsed together to the bottom of the tub. Cold water continued to pour over them, but Shane swallowed Ilya's lips, tongue, and throat whole.
Even if he were to drown in this tub the next second, or be executed by Sixth Family gunmen bursting through the door, or even if his body were left in the wilderness, Shane would never regret loving Ilya Rozanov; his heart would beat for him until his final breath.
So, they had sex in the bathtub.
Bloody clothes were piled on the bathroom floor. They were too desperate, too hungry. Ilya's fingers, slick with body wash, slid into Shane, and Shane simply swallowed Ilya's moans, forcing him to submit. He wrapped his legs around Ilya's waist, and Ilya braced himself against the tub wall as he entered him, far too urgently. The soap wasn't enough of a lubricant, but Shane wouldn't let Ilya pull away because he needed this right now—he needed Ilya. He let Ilya go deeper, go further, filling everything. He whimpered and moaned, and Ilya reached out to brush the corner of his eye, but he wasn't crying; it was just the cold water from the showerhead spraying over him, over both of them, yet it couldn't wash away a shred of the heat. Ilya's warmth only melted into his own until they became one, and then he came hard around Ilya's length. They leaned against the edge of the tub, the cross on the necklace dipping into the soiled water, their fingers interlaced, drowning in each other's obsession.
When Shane walked out of the bathroom stark naked, it suddenly hit him: they had sex in the house.
The prohibition no longer mattered, because it had only been a futile attempt to keep Shane from falling further. It was laughable. Shane had actually thought that limiting the locations where they had sex could stop him from loving Ilya.
Then he heard wet footsteps approaching and felt lips press against his back, a thousand kisses falling upon the lilies.
Suzuran, also known as the Lily of the Valley, was a flower from Yuna's Japanese hometown, which was why she had named her clan after it. The lily became the pattern on tobacco pipes, the design on kimonos. It was planted in the front yard of Shane's old home and bloomed in the spring and summer.
So Shane had the Lily of the Valley tattooed on his back.
But Wabori featuring the lily of the valley was rare. Even though it represented the Suzuran Clan, a tattoo of delicate white flowers seemed too fragile, lacking intimidation, not fierce enough, and not Yakuza enough, or so his tattoo artist had said. Shane hadn't cared, but after the tattoo was finished, he felt ashamed to reveal it.
Shane worried he wasn't fit to inherit the Suzuran Clan, much as he was cowed by others' opinions of the Lily on his back, as if it might shake his future as the head of the clan.
But now, there was a man standing firmly behind him, a man with a mess of golden-brown curls, an unforgettable moles, and a charming accent. Pale blue eyes, like the mist of the Gatineau Hills, watched over the lilies in the Ottawa Valley. Those battle-scarred hands would strike down any who came for Shane Hollander.
So Shane let Ilya Rozanov do whatever he wanted, violating every rule; making love at home was just one of those things.
Shane led Ilya into his bedroom, onto his bed, allowing Ilya to kick every pillow to the floor, allowing Ilya to hold him, letting him ride Ilya with swaying hips. Shane saw that those burning eyes held only him, maddened for him, low growls vibrating for him, and Shane finally understood that in these thirteen days, every time Ilya had taken him, it had always been that same look. The same hunger, the same obsession.
Ilya had always wanted Shane, just as Shane had always wanted Ilya.
Shane braced himself against Ilya's shoulders, riding harder, letting Ilya's solid thighs collide with his hips, forcing Ilya to growl in Russian while he laughed wildly. Shane's thumb pressed against the eight-pointed star tattoo. He didn't know the meaning but traced the outline of the pattern, and Ilya suddenly grabbed his wrist, staring at him, making his thumb press harder. So Shane did, his nails sinking into the star, turning it red, scraping the skin until it bled. Ilya was a maddened stallion, racing through the pain Shane gave him, his heat anchored inside Shane like a saddle. Shane drove him to a roar, letting him come inside him, raw.
He was flipped onto the mattress, and they tirelessly tangled tongues, exchanging saliva. He let Ilya kiss him as if worshiping a king's fingers, nipples, and navel. Only to drag the king from the throne, desecrating him, sliding humbly between his thighs to lick him, taking him into throat.
Just like their first time, Shane was pushed by the hips, forced to fuck Ilya's mouth. But this time Shane had learned to pull Ilya's hair like a dog's leash, controlling Ilya's greedy mouth, only letting him drink when the master allowed. And the naughty dog had learned new tricks, licking Shane's hole, rubbing his thumb against his tip, so Shane praised Ilya's name with satisfaction until the seed inside was drained and licked clean; until Shane clamped his legs around Ilya's head and came hard, letting the mess splatter onto the freshly wrapped gauze of Ilya's injured hand.
***
SHANE'S COTTAGE, OTTAWA, ONT. 05:42, 10-NOV-1965
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By the time Shane crawled out from under the covers, it wasn't even light yet. Though Ilya's embrace was warm and Shane had only slept a short while, he couldn't stand the dried fluid clinging to his skin, so he got out of bed. Ilya's hand slid off him, and he murmured in his sleep before drifting off again.
Since Shane was wide awake after his shower, he sat in the living room plotting their future. Shane could give Ilya a position, a spot that would keep Ilya tethered. He would personally ensure that neither the Five Families nor the Sixth Family had a chance to target Ilya. He could convince Yuna to let Ilya stay by his side; no, he had to.
Then, in a sudden flash of thought, Shane curled into the sofa, burying his head in his knees and hugging himself, feeling the oxygen leave his lungs as he heard his heart thudding in his throat.
The blue light of dawn began to slide across the floor from the window, and the sound of barefoot steps echoed through the house.
"Shane." A low accent called his name, fingers stroking the back of his neck, yet his heartbeat remained deafening.
Shane curled smaller, letting out a low hum, watching the sunrise peek through the gap in his legs, illuminating the darkness he held. "Shane, look at me." Shane struggled to lift his head, as if it were incredibly heavy.
"What's wrong?" Ilya asked, his rough thumb tracing circles on Shane's neck. Shane's attention drifted entirely to that spot.
"Ilya, how do I..."
The winter dawn was a somber blue, neutralizing the gold in Ilya's features. He looked like a moon-shadow stepping out of the dark. Shane pursed his lips, trying to swallow the ache in his jaw to no avail.
"How do I keep you?" Shane's voice broke.
"Okh... Solnyshko moyo." Ilya's shoulders slumped, and he gently pulled Shane's face toward his, kissing him. Shane pouted, letting Ilya offer more comfort. "What happened?"
Shane swallowed hard. "How do I explain to my mom... the trouble with Crowell, without exposing your—" He looked down, his breath tasting of bitterness. "Your betrayal."
Ilya lifted Shane's chin, his irises, turned a lake-green by the sunrise, trembling as if searching for an answer on Shane's face. Then Ilya knelt by the sofa, leaning against Shane's knee.
"You can tell her the truth".
"No—Ilya, I-I don't want to do that, I..." Shane let out a long breath, tilting his head back as if to stop the tears. His heart was no longer racing; it was calm, and he could have this.
Shane looked down, cupping Ilya's cheeks. "Maybe I can lie."
Ilya pulled Shane's hand to his lips, kissing the palm. "Shane, ty moy dom. Whatever you decide, I'm staying for you. You are my home."
Shane simply looked at Ilya, peering into the hills mist, and he suddenly wanted this so badly. He wanted Ilya in their future. He wanted to stand by the lake next summer with Ilya, watching the same scenery, for the rest of their lives, every dawn and every dusk.
"I can say..." Shane took a deep breath, and under Ilya's gaze, his thoughts cleared, weaving a lie that could lead to ruin into a plausible shape. "I can say it was a test. Letting you contact the Sixth Family was a way to see if you could be trusted".
"Like throwing a brown bear into a wolf pack to see who survives. Brilliant, Hollander," Ilya teased, his smile revealing a flash of teeth.
Shane had never had a pet, yet he had brought home a brown bear that could snap his neck, just to make him his dog.
"Shut up, Ilya. I'm being serious." And then Shane laughed.
"You always find a way, solnyshko moyo." Ilya's expression softened as he smirked. "Just not as brilliant as me."
"Oh, shut up." Shane laughed, pulling Ilya into a hug, but as he laughed, his expression grew somber. "But the results of the test were a bit of a mess."
"But I still passed, yes?" Ilya stroked Shane's spine back and forth, occasionally kissing his temple. "The result of the test is that I become your lieutenant," Ilya suddenly paused, his voice dropping, seemingly guilty, "or your underling."
Shane suddenly pushed Ilya back. "What?"
Ilya's eyes were steady. "Because I wanted to join Suzuran Clan, so you tested me, and I passed. So, I'll be your underling."
Shane was speechless, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped Ilya's shoulders. "Do you know what you're saying? You're going to leave the Russian mob?" Leave his family?
"Of course. Though I'd still like to be your lieutenant." Ilya tilted his head, and a moment later his gaze returned to Shane's face. "No, I don't want to be just a lieutenant."
Ilya's gaze made Shane hear the thudding in his chest again. Ilya reached out to touch the bruise on his cheekbone, his thumb brushing the freckles under his eye. Always the freckles.
"I also want to be your paramour." Ilya gazed into his eyes, waiting for an answer with an anxious expression.
"Holy shit," Shane blurted out.
Ilya gasped, his eyes wide with fear. "I..."
"Don't be just a paramour," Shane's voice trembled as he explained urgently.
"More than that, Ilya. Be even greedier with me. Be closer to me than a lover, closer than a lieutenant. Be the only one who can hold the blade for my kaishaku.(かいしゃく)"
Mobsters could never say "I love you," because a beloved would become their only weakness. They had to guard against anyone behind the walls hearing that short promise, wary of anyone knowing that person existed. Just as Yuna always kept David hidden in the Hollander Trading Company, yet entrusted him with the evidence that could topple the entire Suzuran Clan; handing the blade that could cut off one's own head to the person they trusted most—that was the only love a Yakuza could give.
Ilya's eyes softened. He seemed to understand Japanese, or perhaps he didn't need to.
"So I will be..." Ilya dropped a kiss on the tip of his nose. "The only one who can enter your bedroom".
"Yes." Shane closed his eyes.
"I will be only one who can kiss you." Ilya kissed the freckles he loved so much.
"Yes." Shane gasped, his trembling response nothing more than a breath.
"I will be the only one who can disobey your orders, yet still follow you to live and die together." Rising above a lieutenant, the one standing by his side. Ilya pressed a kiss against Shane's forehead, as final as a bullet taking both their lives at once.
Shane opened his eyes, which were filled with tears. "Yes."
"Shane, if you give me a blade, it will be the one I use to take my own life after you died." Ilya's gaze was dark yet full of affection, the hills mist in his eyes descending to the ground as rain. "I will never point the tip of blade at you."
The first kiss after their vows tasted of salty blood.
Shane slid to the floor, landing on Ilya, his arms wrapping around Ilya's shoulders as they leaned into each other's necks, swaying gently. Their lips met repeatedly amidst their sobbing, just to ensure everything was real and that they could have this. Ilya's hand slipped under the fabric, sliding against Shane's skin, the warmth of his palm pulling Shane from the nightmare back into reality, letting him glimpse the future; making the oakmoss and vetiver no longer just scents, but the morning light pouring through the glass, the twilight staining the lake red, every moon-shadow falling before his bed.
Ilya was every version of home.
"Shane." Ilya lowered Shane back onto the sofa, and Shane opened his arms so all of Ilya's tears could fall upon him, becoming Ilya's lake. "Ilya." They sank into each other's embrace, drowning in an ocean of tears, drawing oxygen from each other's lips, so that both could survive beneath the surface.
Then he pulled down his pajama bottoms, and Ilya's fingertips were on him instantly. They had just finished twice a few hours ago. Shane's depths were still swollen and soft, still remembering Ilya's shape. Shane's face must have been flushed red, as Ilya began licking his lips, leaving a trail of wet kisses, his fingers curling inside him, pressing into the sweet spots. He moaned deliberately against Ilya's ear, and Ilya pulled his fingers out impatiently.
"Ilya," Shane hadn't even started to plead, only nodding, and Ilya gazed at him as he crowded into his body.
Shane gasped and arched his back, pulling at the bruises on his ribs; desire spread from the starting point of pain, welcoming Ilya with all his heart.
They had never had sex like this—Ilya slid in slowly, and Shane could clearly feel Ilya's shape, feeling himself stretched open inch by inch. Shane momentarily forgot how to breathe, for all his senses followed Ilya's movements, followed Ilya's retreat. His body no longer belonged to him. Ilya had taken all of him; pleasure was like a tide, drowning him.
So when Shane was submerged, he could no longer hold it back. His lower abdomen tightened, his toes curled, and he could only grab Ilya's arm to brace himself, letting out a breath as if he had finally broken the surface, he had no time to worry about how he had lost his voice.
"Shane, were you just—" Ilya’s voice sounded worried at first, but then it turned almost into a growl.
"It's... too much," Shane sobbed, the next wave was already coming. "Ilya, please—"
"Please what?" Ilya looked down at him, shadows loomed over him, and there was that familiar smugness.
Shane hated seeing Ilya like that, and hated even more how easily he was ignited by Ilya's provocation. They might have to compete like this for the rest of their lives.
Shane reached out to hook Ilya's neck, his fingertips pinching. Ilya suddenly paused, his threat vanishing.
"Rozanov, put your cock to good use," he whispered into Ilya's ear. "Fuck me." Then he bit Ilya's earlobe.
Ilya gasped, and the laughter from deep in his throat trembled, as if he had received a long-awaited reward—permitted by the king to desecrate the altar. "Yes, wakagashira."
Ilya never held back again.
Shane was obsessed with Ilya's nearly nine-inch weapon, which always reached places Shane never knew existed, making him full, making him open himself, making him wet every piece of furniture. Ilya knew this well, too.
His hands balled into fists, pressing against either side of Shane. His bandaged palms bled slightly, but his arms remained locked straight. He drove his solid hips in a relentless rhythm, each stroke hitting Shane with heavy weight, thoroughly, relentlessly fucking Shane's prostate. The dangling cross scratched against Shane's chest, sparking an unbearable itch.
Spasms and pleasure didn't stop for Shane. His entrance burned, but inside was aching and numb. Every solid impact made Shane tighten around Ilya hungrily, his walls perfectly hugging the shaft, feeling his organs shift with the force of the thrusts. His moans boldly manipulated Ilya's power, his fingertips wildly carving medals into Ilya's back, all while shamelessly letting the tide spray from between his legs, rewarding the brown bear's hard work.
He blissfully lost himself, felt heavenly yet ruinous.
Ilya thoroughly fucked Shane into the sofa, leaving all their wounds far behind.
They had never made love like this—Ilya's low growls were full of unbridled laughter, and Shane's moans were full of excitement and joy. They weren't chasing pleasure as if they could never catch the horizon at sunset, weren't sacrificing themselves as if draining the last drop of emotion from their souls; they were simply immersed in each other's gaze, breaths, and caresses, basking in the lust that comes with love, exposing themselves without reservation. The union of bodies was also the intertwining of souls, making the desire for love endless, the afterglow no longer the pain of unrequited love, making every future time an eternity.
The winter sun before the window turned a golden orange, the backlight through the glass carving out Ilya's golden silhouette; those lakes were no longer a blurry water or a dark ditch, Shane saw himself in them. He saw the light he had ignited; Shane had ignited the light in Ilya's eyes.
"Ilya, I—" Shane reached a hand forward. "I need—" Ilya lowered his head, pressing his cheek into Shane's palm.
"Tell me, Shane," Ilya murmured against his palm. "Tell me, what do you need?"
"You." The corner of Shane's mouth turned up unconsciously, and Ilya leaned in close. "I need you."
Each other's names emerged between their lips and teeth, joy kneading into each other's bodies, soaking in the river and sea, steeped in love, pressing their lips together without a gap.
Ilya collapsed onto Shane, exhausted, but their small kisses continued, a love that would never tire.
"You are going to drain me dry, Hollander, you kill me." Ilya kissed from the tip of his nose to the corner of his eye.
Shane patted his back. "You'll be fine, Rozanov."
And then they looked at each other and laughed, their laughter hidden behind each other's ears and necks. Before their bodies cooled, Shane pushed Ilya off the sofa, took his hand, and walked shakily into the bathroom for another shower, only this time it was a slow dance with Ilya under the showerhead.
Shane dried them both off and they lay back in bed. After Ilya closed the curtains, he lifted the covers and crawled in, wriggling across the mattress toward Shane, pulling him into his arms and hooking his feet around him.
"Ugh, your feet are cold." Shane muttered, the scent and warmth of Ilya making his eyelids heavy.
But Ilya pouted. "Give me goodnight kiss." Shane looked back for a quick kiss, and Ilya tightened his embrace.
And then they sank into a dreamland where they were no longer afraid.
***
MAIN RESIDENCE OF SUZURAN CLAN, OTTAWA, ONT. 15:42, 10-NOV-1965
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"If I act like a dog, would I be more convincing as your lieutenant?" Ilya tugged at his shirt collar as if there should be a collar there.
They stood before the main residence of Suzuran Clan, and Shane looked at Ilya with distaste. "Then go wait in the car."
Ilya let out a whimper, lowered his head, and walked back to the parked Mercedes.
"My god, Ilya, that wasn't an invitation." Shane seemed shocked by Ilya's ridiculous obedience. "Hey! Rozanov, get back here!"
Shane knew they had to explain to Yuna quickly, for word of the firefight would soon reach her ears, and the Sixth Family might attack immediately. In the afternoon after their nap, they quickly discussed their story, but worry made Shane hesitant. When he paced anxiously between the front door and the garage for the third time, Ilya simply drove the Mercedes out of the garage.
Then they drove to the Suzuran Clan's main residence.
"Will Yuna be there?" Ilya walked beside Shane, his hand occasionally brushing against him.
"My father said they're both home. She'll be waiting for us in the parlor." Maybe it would be better if they missed her, but Shane had called ahead anyway.
They crossed the front courtyard. The main house was built by Shane's father after Shane became an adult, and his childhood home remained behind the main house, now used as a guest annex. The main house was a blend of Japanese and Western architecture, rare in Canada and very striking. The front featured characteristic Japanese gables and slanted rooflines with black tiles on the eaves. But the front porch combined Western-style wooden eaves and glass flower windows with sliding front doors. Ilya didn't even know how to open the door until Shane pulled it open. They took off their shoes and stepped onto the foyer platform.
Although Shane was half-Japanese, he had grown up in Canada and had always felt the new main house was too Japanese and too solemn. So his private cottage was designed according to his own tastes. He liked the safety of sunlight pouring through large floor-to-ceiling windows, rather than the complex corridors and tedious Japanese rooms of the main house, where the raised wooden floors always echoed with heavy footsteps.
Shane stared at the seams of every floorboard, his feet moving unconsciously. Everything felt strange, as if he were just reporting routine business.
"Shane."
"What!" Shane jumped, but it was only Ilya's hand on his shoulder. He had been so immersed in anxiety he had forgotten Ilya was right there. "Ilya, if you think—"
"Not me, you," Ilya said, squeezing Shane's shoulder. "Your parents love you, yes?"
"I guess." Shane looked down again, counting the grain of the floorboards. "I think so."
Ilya suddenly lifted Shane's chin and glared at him with wide eyes. "Solnyshko moyo, u strakha glaza veliki. Don't let fear control you."
"What?"
"U strakha glaza veliki. It means fear makes your eyes big, making small things look huge." Then Ilya relaxed his expression and looked straight at Shane. "Everything will be fine, solnyshko moyo. If you don't believe in yourself, at least believe in me."
"Believe in you?" Shane's brow furrowed.
"Because I believe you can do it," Ilya said.
Shane felt his eyes ache, and Ilya just pinched his chin. "Shane, do not make that face. It makes me want to kiss you, but since I am dog now, I can not kiss you, yes?"
The sudden release of tension made Shane's laughter come quickly. "You're not a dog."
"No? Then what am I?" Ilya's fingers traced Shane's lips.
Shane was immersed in Ilya's gaze, his nervousness completely gone. "You're—"
But Shane saw Ilya's expression change, his gaze landing behind Shane, so he turned around.
David was standing at the corner of the hallway, a surprised expression on his face. But before Shane could react, David ran off.
"Oh my god," Shane said. "Oh my god." He leaned against a pillar and slid to the wooden floor, curling into a ball.
"Hey, hey! Solnyshko moyo." Though he could hear Ilya, the voice was distant, as if he were listening to a shout from the surface while underwater. "Shane." Then Ilya's warmth was against him.
"How do I—" Shane said incoherently. "Dad saw—"
"Wakagashira! Look at me!" Shane looked up at Ilya as if he had been hit by a bullet. "You are going to walk into that parlor, you are going to see Yuna, and you are going to tell her that you come up with plan—a damn plan to drown that damn Crowell in that damn river! Moyo solnyshko can do it. Shane Hollander, Can you do it?"
Shane was like a deer caught in the headlights, his body frozen, eyes staring forward. Then he began to adjust to the light and nodded. "We won't drown him in the river. Floating bodies are too easy to find."
Ilya was stunned, and then he laughed. "Oh, then we just throw him into construction site and bury him alive in concrete."
Shane laughed too. "That sounds great."
Though Ilya's joke wasn't enough to make Shane laugh heartily, he still laughed until his cheekbones ached, even needing to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes. Until he felt Ilya's warmth imprinted on his back, driving away his fear, Shane finally stopped laughing.
Shane looked into the weary affection in Ilya's eyes, and then he bit his lower lip and said, "I kind of hate that I can't kiss you right now." In case we're seen.
"Me too." Ilya helped him up. "So let's get this over with."
"Okay." Shane stood up and continued toward the parlor, no longer counting the floorboards.
－
The parlor was the only tatami room in the main house, the floor covered in mats that gave off the scent of rush grass. Shane knew it was Yuna's deliberate arrangement, just as she liked to annoy guests with her tobacco pipe. She also enjoyed seeing her negotiation partners squirming on the kneeling cushions. After all, as hosts, Yuna and Shane were long accustomed to the posture.
When Shane arrived, Yuna was arranging flowers. She wore a kimono that faded from white to a soft mauve, with golden-green lily-of-the-valley patterns creating a gentle atmosphere. David, sitting to the side, was clearly uneasy at Shane's appearance but said nothing. It seemed like a peaceful opening, however, when Yuna looked up and her gaze swept over Ilya behind Shane, she immediately tucked away her motherly smile.
Shane's throat tightened, and for a moment he found it hard to move, until Ilya's hand was on his shoulder, rubbing, and he found his steady rhythm of breath before spilling the entire lie they had prepared.
Unexpectedly, Yuna's conclusion after hearing it was entirely different from their worries. The mess at the rink didn't seem to anger Yuna, but instead became the breakthrough to shatter the false peace in her eyes.
This was something Shane hadn't anticipated.
According to Yuna, Roger Crowell's attempt to kidnap Shane was a blatant breach of contract. Although it all started with a "test of Ilya's loyalty," Crowell had still entered the Suzuran Clan's territory by force, attacked the Blackwood Rink, and even tried to kidnap the clan's lieutenant without declaring war. Such a high-risk, absurd raid ending in Crowell's pathetic escape meant that Shane and Ilya's execution of those four lackeys could be seen as legitimate self-defense. The Sixth Family didn't even have a leg to stand on to demand retribution. This result was chillingly perfect, the Suzuran Clan could even demand compensation from Crowell, and the Sixth Family behind him would simply have to swallow the loss.
But in the crinkled smile lines on his mother's face, Shane suddenly realized he had almost forgotten: he only bore the Lily on his back, but the bulb of this poison flower had been planted by the woman before him after all.
Yuna didn't want monetary compensation at all. She wanted a full-scale war between the two mobs, she wanted to set the border between Ottawa and Montreal on fire, and before she retired, reclaim the other side of the bridge.
She wanted to make a king. She would use the ashes of Montreal as a furnace to forge the throne for Shane's coronation.
And the chaos of last night had allowed her entire board to fall perfectly into place.
Yuna excused herself to smoke, she walked outside and pulled out her short pipe. The lawn in the courtyard was covered in a thin layer of snow, everything seemed more smooth than Shane had imagined, but Shane still harbored unease. He walked toward Yuna, whose back was to him, and draped a padded haori over her shoulders.
If war broke out, then what about Ilya?
"あの若造，Rozanov，本気か？" Yuna indeed didn't trust Ilya. She turned her head to exhale smoke, her back trailing mist, looking back at Shane.
Shane rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, avoiding her gaze. "お母さん、実は彼は──"
Her following sigh made Shane freeze, but he felt a warm palm press against his cheek.
"Shane, you are my son. You can love anyone." She knew. How could she know? Shane looked at Yuna in terror, unable to utter a single word. "But you must let him know what he will carry. I've taught you that, haven't I?"
A mobster's partner is a path of no return; it's dangerous when you're in love, and even more so when you're not. Shane's parents had both warned him: David always mentioned the story of how he, as an ordinary citizen, had won Yuna's approval after multiple attempts, and Yuna repeatedly explained that the promise of love carried immense risk.
"Yes, mother, you taught me." Shane still remembered those stories, but he also knew that there was no one he would choose other than Ilya.
"Do you think Rozanov can do it? Be a yakuza's partner." Yuna's fingertips traced Shane's face, at this moment looking like nothing more than a worried mother.
"Ilya. His name is Ilya." Shane looked steadily at Yuna, his vision gradually blurring. "Ilya can do it".
Yuna's tension instantly vanished, as if she had finally set down the weight she carried. "よくやった、Shane、私の息子。" Well done, my son.
Shane's tears broke, not from sadness, but from relief. He finally understood Yuna's earlier rejection—it had nothing to do with suspicion of Ilya, but because she had already seen through her own son. To ensure Shane was unwavering in his choice, she had endured not interfering, standing at a distance, scrutinizing Ilya Rozanov through her son's eyes.
In that moment, standing before Shane wasn't the scheming head of the Suzuran Clan, but a mother who loved her son dearly.
"How did you know?" Shane clumsily wiped away his tears. Yuna lifted the sleeve of her kimono to wipe his face, just like when he was a child.
"How did I know? Oh, Shane," Yuna's smile was pained but relieved, her eyes turning red. "You've always been like this. Once you set your heart on something, you're steadfast, but I've never seen you this obsessed with anyone before".
"Oh." Shane didn't know his behavior was that obvious. He lowered his head in shame.
"Though I had hoped it wouldn't be Rozanov—Ilya, but..." Yuna shrugged. "You came to beg me to be more lenient with him almost every day."
"It wasn't every day." Shane rubbed his aching eyes, not daring to look at Yuna.
"At least once every two days, then." Yuna rolled her eyes, then laughed. "So, when did it start?"
"Uh," This might be the hardest part. Shane was vague. "The first week, I think." Not only.
"Wow," Yuna looked surprised. "He's indeed only been in Ottawa for two weeks. It's not hard to imagine." Yuna seemed to be trying to convince herself, as she immediately fell into thought.
－
When Shane and Yuna returned to the parlor, Ilya was already drinking with David.
Shane and Ilya's eyes met, but Ilya's tone was relaxed. "Shane, your father has good taste." Ilya raised his glass and then looked at David. "This is very good vodka, David."
"I'm trying to negotiate an import partnership with Russia." David sipped proudly.
"Ilya." Shane groaned in disbelief. If Ilya was getting along so well with his parents, then what had all his earlier worries been for?
"What?" Ilya's gaze moved between Shane and Yuna, and then fear suddenly showed on his face. "Did not go well?"
When Shane realized he had caused unnecessary panic, he immediately cut in. "No, it didn't go poorly! I..." Then Ilya frowned. "I told mom."
Yuna glanced at Shane and then nodded to everyone. She knelt back on the tatami, hands folded in her lap, and said confidently, "I know you two have been at it since the first week."
"No," Ilya interrupted, ignoring Shane's wild, pleading looks. "Since the first day."
"The first day?" Yuna raised her voice, in unison with David. "The first day?"
Shane buried his face in his palms, wanting to sink beneath the tatami. "Oh god, Ilya, it's not helpful."
Ilya shrugged as if the fact he stated was harmless, and then continued drinking his vodka.
***
OTTAWA, ONT. 18:42, 10-NOV-1965
***
Shane and Ilya had an early dinner with his parents, who were getting along famously. By seven, they sat back in the Mercedes, finally alone.
"So," Ilya broke the silence first. Ilya was in the drivers seat, as it had seemingly become his new habit. "Basically, your parents knew you had a crush on me from the very beginning, Hollander."
"My god, don't say it out loud, Ilya." Shane slumped against Ilya's chest, shaking with laughter.
"I get it. Even after a ten-hour train ride from Boston to Canada, I'm still damn handsome." Ilya pulled Shane into his arms.
"Damn handsome?" Shane swatted Ilya's chest. "Don't be so full of yourself."
"No?" Ilya raised an eyebrow.
That day at the train station, Ilya was indeed damn charming and a total bastard. "A little handsome." Shane pouted and murmured.
Ilya seemed to seize the moment, pulling Shane's face toward him and kissing those pouting lips. "You too, pretty freckles."
And then, just like their first meeting, the skin beneath Shane's freckles turned pink. The difference was that this time, he didn't stutter.
"Ilya, you're not my dog."
"Oh?" Ilya gave a curious exclamation, his hand sliding into Shane's black hair.
"How do you say 'You are my home' in Russian?" Shane asked. He felt Ilya had said it to him before.
Ilya's eyes widened in shock, his eyes reddening. He took a deep breath and said, "Ty moy dom."
"Ty moy dom." Shane repeated.
"Da. Shane, ty moy dom." Ilya lowered his head and touched Shane's lips lightly.
"Ty moy dom, Ilya." Shane propped himself up and gave Ilya a deep kiss.
As night fell, snowflakes began to drift in the sky. It snowed every year in Canada, but this winter was different for Shane.
Ilya started the engine and drove the car toward the cottage where he and Shane lived together.
(end)
－
♪Listening: Celeste "Love Is Back"
I'm startin' to realize that all the boys that I find
Are all trouble, I told my mother
She said, "Girl, get your glass full"
So I did and I saw
You
♪Listening: Afelia "Ty Moy Dom (You—My Home)"
Dazhe yesli vse ogni vyklyuchat (Even if they turn off all lights)
Nam na nashem puti (For us on our way)
Mne khorosho s toboy doma zasypat' (I feel good falling asleep at home with you)
Glossary and Historical Notes:
- Wabori (和彫り): Refers specifically to traditional Japanese tattooing.
- "Moyo solnyshko "(Моё солнышко): Russian for "My (little) sun."
- "Solnyshko moyo"(Солнышко моё): The variation "Solnyshko moyo" is typically used as a vocative call, essentially meaning "Sun of mine."
- Kaishaku (介錯): A ritual act performed to end the agony of someone committing seppuku (ritual suicide) by decapitating them with a sword. Because the role of the kaishakunin is usually entrusted to the person’s most trusted confidant, being asked to perform it is considered a profound honor.
However, as a Russian, Ilya cannot comprehend this sense of honor. To him, performing kaishaku for Shane would be nothing but an agonizing tragedy. - "U strakha glaza veliki" (У страха глаза велики): A Slavic proverb meaning "Fear has big eyes." This is a nod to Connor's tattoo, У страха нет лица (Fear has no face), which was found while I researching other Russian proverbs.
- "あの若造，Rozanov，本気か？" (Ano wakazou, Rozanov, honki ka?): Japanese for "That punk, Rozanov... is he serious?"
- "お母さん、実は彼は──" (Okaasan, jitsu wa kare wa—): Japanese for "Mother, the truth is, he—"
- "Ty moy dom." (Ты—мой дом): Russian for "You are my home."
- Narrative Details: The lyrics paired with each chapter are selected to match the mindset of that chapter's POV character.
Hidden text is buried behind the black bars in chapter and section titles, and specific timestamps throughout the story are deliberate references to Heated Rivalry lore.
The time noted in the final section of Chapter 6 is intended to be read in reverse.
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