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Mochi was sick.

And Damien was one second away from committing arson.

Luca had never seen him like this before.

Not when rival gangs tried to take his territory.

Not when someone tried to put a bullet in his skull.

Not even when someone actually did and he had to crawl his way back, bleeding and laughing like it was all a joke.

But this? This?

Their tiny, fluffy, troublemaking cat laying too still, curled up in a pathetic little ball with barely enough energy to meow—

It was breaking him.

And Luca had to be the one thing keeping him from completely losing his mind.

Mochi wasn't supposed to be like this.

The kitten was a menace. A terror. A living, breathing, four-legged nightmare that got away with everything just because he was cute.

This was the same cat that once chewed through Damien's thousand-dollar leather shoes without so much as a single ounce of regret.

The same cat that managed to steal an entire steak from the dining table while Luca and Damien were sitting right there.

The same cat that bullied the other mafia leader's Doberman so badly that the poor dog refused to come near their home anymore.

But now—

Now, Mochi was too weak to even lift his head.

And Damien?

Damien looked like he was one second away from declaring war on God.

Luca had hoped that taking Mochi to the vet would calm Damien down.

It didn't.

The vet took one look at the tiny, sick cat and had the absolute audacity to say,

"It's probably just a minor infection. Keep him comfortable, make sure he drinks water, and monitor his condition."

That was it.

No meds. No miracle cure. No instant solution.

Just wait it out.

Damien had nearly torn the place apart.

"What the hell do you mean just 'monitor his condition'?" His voice had that low, dangerous edge, the kind that meant people either ran or begged for mercy.

The vet, to their credit, did not cry. But they definitely looked like they wanted to.

Luca had to physically drag him out of there before Damien ended up with a criminal charge.

Luca knew Damien.

Better than anyone.

He knew that right now, his boyfriend's mind was cycling through every possible solution—every illegal doctor, every underground pharmacy, every single shady connection that could get Mochi help.

And if none of those worked?

Damien would burn down the entire city and build a new one from the ashes, just to find a way to fix this.

But Luca would not let that happen.

Because Mochi needed them.

Not as a mafia leader, not as a raging storm, but as his humans.

So Luca did the only thing he knew would work.

He pulled Damien into their home, guided him to the couch, and forced him to sit the hell down.

Then he grabbed Damien's hand and pressed it against Mochi's tiny body.

"Feel that?" Luca whispered.

Damien's fingers trembled, his breathing shaky as he focused on the slow, weak little heartbeat beneath his palm.

"He's still here," Luca said softly. "He's fighting."

Damien's jaw clenched. His golden eyes, usually so confident, so sharp, so untouchable, were filled with something raw.

Something fragile.

Luca squeezed his hand.

"So we fight with him."

That night was hell.

Mochi refused to eat.

Would barely drink.

Made a pathetic little sound whenever he was moved.

Damien barely left his side.

He sat there, rigid and silent, with one hand resting on Mochi's tiny body like he could keep him anchored to the world.

Luca stayed with him.

Forced him to eat. Forced him to drink.

Because if he didn't, Damien would collapse right alongside their cat.

And that wasn't an option.

Hours passed.

Then more.

And then, finally—

Mochi lifted his head.

It was weak. Just the slightest, barely-there movement.

But it was enough.

The next morning, Mochi was better.

Not completely, but the fever had gone down.

His eyes weren't so dull.

His meow was a little louder.

And for the first time in hours, Damien breathed.

Luca didn't say anything when he pressed his forehead against Mochi's tiny body, his shoulders shaking just the slightest bit.

He just leaned against him, rubbing small, comforting circles against Damien's back.

And after a long, exhausted silence—

"...I'm never going to survive being a parent."

Luca snorted, pressing a sleepy kiss against Damien's temple.

"No, you're really not."

Mochi made a full recovery.

A few days later, he was back to his normal, terrorizing self.

Damien, however?

He had not recovered.

For the next week, Mochi was treated like royalty.

Damien personally hand-fed him (Luca nearly died laughing at the sight).

Mochi got a custom-made velvet bed (which he refused to use because he liked sleeping on Damien's pillow instead).

And worst of all?

Luca had to ban Damien from calling in one of his men to track down the vet and "reevaluate their credentials" (which was code for threatening them into early retirement).

But at the end of the day—

Mochi was okay.

Damien was okay.

And for now—so was the city.

Luca would call that a win.

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