Chapter Text
Leo scanned the sea of seats below, his heart sinking. Only Annie was there, her familiar face a lone beacon in the crowd. The chair he’d reserved for him sat empty, mocking his quiet hope. Maybe something held him up, Leo thought, tugging at his collar to ease the tightness in his chest. There were still dozens of names before his turn to cross the stage. Surely a miracle could still happen.
That man had always shied away from the spotlight, avoiding public events like the plague. But today was different—today had to be different. Leo was graduating from Columbia University, a double degree in Political Science and International Relations earned in just two years. At nineteen, he’d etched a gem of academic prestige onto his family’s tarnished crown. The Makers, once sneered at as gutter rats—illiterate, crude, violent—had built their empire on smuggling, drugs, brothels, and underground casinos. Some whispered Leo’s admission was bought with family moNeymar, but those who knew him saw the truth: a brilliant, tireless young man who’d earned every accolade.
“Lionel Messi,” the dean’s voice boomed.
His turn. Leo glanced back at the audience. The seat was still empty. Annie caught his gaze, clapping with fervor but shaking her head in quiet apology.
He wasn’t coming.
Leo straightened his gray-blue gown, the deep red sash of Columbia’s prestigious political science program draped proudly over his shoulders.The cap sat low on his head. The tassel kept brushing his cheek—it tickled, almost annoyingly—but he didn’t fix it. His eyes stayed fixed forward, stubborn and too bright. Even now, with disappointment simmering in his chest, those eyes held a clarity and hope that turned heads—a handsome, vibrant young man, undeterred.
After the tassel was turned and his diploma conferred, Leo took the podium as the student speaker. His voice rang clear, unwavering, each word deliberate. He wove a tapestry of the world’s tangled political and international currents, his sharp mind laying out a vision for the future with precision and optimism. His cadence was crisp, his logic unassailable, every pause charged with conviction.
At the speech’s close, he turned to the audience, his hand raised toward the stands.
“I want to thank my family who made it here today—especially my aunt, Annie. Thank you for being here, for sitting there for me.”
Annie beamed from the crowd, her heart swelling. Her nephew stood tall, his chestnut curls peeking rebelliously from under his cap, a reminder that this poised orator was still just nineteen. She nodded, pride and approval shining in her eyes.
Leo’s voice softened, a faint tremor breaking through. “And to those who couldn’t be here today… I understand. I know, even if you’re not in this room, you’re out there somewhere, cheering for me in your own way. You don’t say much, maybe you never do, but you’ve always been there, watching. Thank you. You’re not here, but you’ve never been absent.”
He paused, steadying himself. “Lastly, I want to honor someone who’s no longer with us. My father. He was a quiet man, steadfast, who taught me to hold my ground in a world that never stops shouting. I don’t know if I’ve lived up to his hopes, but I pray I haven’t let him down.”
In the audience, Annie’s tears spilled over.Leo stood tall on the stage, his chestnut curls peeking rebelliously from beneath his cap, a poised orator shaped not by bloodline but by sheer will.
Annie’s heart swelled. He wasn’t a reflection of anyone—he was wholly his own, forged through trials and choices, determination and pain.
You’d be proud, she thought, blinking back tears. He’s become everything you hoped he’d surpass.
The ceremony over, Leo and Annie sat in the back of a sleek black Cadillac, heading home. Annie’s excitement bubbled over, her crow’s feet fanning out like rays of tired sunlight as she gushed like a giddy twenty-year-old.
“Leo, your speech—it was electric! I didn’t catch every fancy term, but it was… so sophisticated!” She fumbled for a grander word but settled, laughing at herself.
Leo’s cheeks flushed, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “Alright, alright, Aunt Annie, I get it. I’m the smartest, sharpest, most brilliant guy in the family,” he teased, trying to deflect her praise. But his mind was elsewhere, on a question that gnawed at him.
He hesitated, then pressed on. “Why didn’t he come?”
Annie stilled, her smile fading. She’d known this was coming but dreaded it all the same. “Leo… you know how he is. He doesn’t do public appearances, not with… everything, with your father.”
Leo’s jaw tightened. He knew. For seven years, since his father’s death, he had been a pillar in Leo’s life—managing the family business, guiding his path. But never once in public. Not once.
“This was different,” Leo said, his voice sharp with frustration. “This was my graduation.”
“I know, sweetheart,” Annie murmured, pulling him into a gentle embrace. “I know. But you can’t change how he is.”
Not even once? Leo thought, staring out the window as the city blurred past. Not even for this?
The black Cadillac glided into the estate, its tires humming over the timeworn cobblestone path. The manor loomed ahead, a relic of the 1850s, its colonial elegance etched in narrow, nine-paned New England windows and red brick walls draped in ivy. The manicured lawn stretched pristine, a perfect complement to the greenery, though the stone path—elegant but treacherous with moss—had once sent Aunt Annie sprawling when her heel caught in a crack. Despite the hazard, the family had never paved it over, preserving the manor’s timeless charm. In a city like New York, where every inch of land was gold, owning such an estate spoke volumes about the Messi family’s wealth. Leo’s father had bought this place to cement their status, to silence the whispers that branded them as gutter-born.
Leo’s memories of the manor were sparse. He’d spent most of his life in Manhattan’s pulsing heart, far from this quiet stronghold. The estate was Uncle Silvano and Aunt Annie’s domain—and that man. The family’s nerve center. But for Leo, who had little interest in their shadowy business, it felt more like a museum than a home. The city’s clamor suited him better, its chaos a match for his restless energy. Yet, as he sighed, staring out the window, he knew things were about to change. Graduation meant he’d likely be tethered here now.
The car rounded a corner, revealing a fountain half-hidden by trimmed hedges, its centerpiece a Greek goddess blowing a horn. And there, in the midst of the classical serenity, sat an anomaly: a sleek, silver Jaguar E-Type Series II, its curves gleaming under the afternoon sun. Leo’s breath caught. He didn’t need to ask. No one else would dare bring that into the driveway, too flashy for his aunt and uncle’s taste, vetoed for its brazen swagger. The Makers favored understated black Cadillacs or Fords, never anything so ostentatious. This wasn’t Annie’s. Definitely not Silvano’s.
“Who’s car is that?” Leo blurted, leaping from the Cadillac to get a closer look.
Annie stepped out cautiously, clutching the driver’s arm to avoid another tumble. A secretive smile played on her lips. “Maybe you should go inside and find out.”
Leo slid into the driver’s seat, the faint scent of leather wrapping around him, elevating the Jaguar’s allure. Then he saw it—a card propped against the windshield. His heart skipped. He already knew.
The card carried a faint sandalwood scent, its elegant script reading:
“Leo, happy graduation. Forgive me for not being there. Love, Neymar.”
Just those few words. Leo flipped the card over, rubbed it between his fingers, searching for more. Nothing. Not a single extra syllable. That was them: simple on the surface, wordless most of the time—yet always too heavy to ignore. His thumb traced Neymar’s signature, a pang of bittersweet longing tightening his chest.
Annie was still chattering, her voice bright with excitement. “Do you love it? You wouldn’t believe the strings he pulled to get this Jaguar—brand new, rushed straight from the factory! He was so worried you’d find out early.”
But Leo’s mind was elsewhere. He held the card to his nose, inhaling softly, picturing Neymar at his desk, draped in that worn robe-coat, dipping a fountain pen to trace those smooth, inked curves. The image was so vivid it ached.
God, I miss him.
Midnight came and went, and Neymar still hadn’t returned. Leo sat stubbornly in the manor’s living room, arms crossed, ignoring Annie’s pleas to go to bed and waving off the butler’s offer of a pillow and blanket. He was still fuming about Neymar’s absence at his graduation. That silver Jaguar, gleaming like a peace offering, wasn’t enough to erase the sting. Sure, no twenty-year-old could resist a car like that—Leo loved it, no question. But it didn’t change a thing.
No excuse was good enough.
Hunched on the sofa, Leo vowed to confront Neymar the moment he walked through the door. But the day had been a marathon—graduation robes, the speech, farewells, endless logistics. Exhaustion crept in, heavy and unrelenting. He fought to keep his eyes open, but sleep won, pulling him under.
A soft rustle of fabric stirred him awake. Leo blinked, groggy, as a figure draped a blanket over him—a lean, shadowy silhouette. *Him.*
“Neymar,” Leo rasped, grabbing the man’s arm. “You’re back.”
Neymar turned, his light brown skin catching the dim lamplight. He was in his early thirties, all sharp angles and soft contrasts: high cheekbones, a defined jaw softened by a gentle curve, curly hair framing his face. His hazel eyes flickered with surprise and guilt. “Leo, I woke you. Go back to sleep—I’m leaving,” he said, his voice low, husky, almost evasive.
“No, I was waiting for you.” Leo’s gaze locked onto Neymar’s, fierce and unyielding, his grip on Neymar’s arm unrelenting.
Neymar sighed, a small smile breaking through, his eyes crinkling with warmth and something like indulgence. “Alright, alright. You’ve got something to say?”
“No,” Leo shot back, his stare unwavering. “I think *you* owe me an explanation.” He steeled himself, determined not to be swayed by Neymar’s gentle charm.
Neymar’s smile faded, a quiet resignation settling in. He’d hoped the Jaguar—$20,000 and countless favors to secure it—might soften Leo’s anger. But this wasn’t a kid he could placate anymore. Leo wanted the truth. Neymar sat beside him, his hand resting lightly on Leo’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Leo. No excuses, no lies. I didn’t want to show up in public, to let people speculate about us. It’s… not good for you.”
The words hit like a lead weight, plunging Leo’s heart into ice. He’d wanted honesty, but not this raw, unfiltered truth that cut so deep. Neymar always did this—hiding behind “it’s for your own good” to skip every milestone that mattered. Fury surged, hot and reckless.
“What’s so bad about it?” Leo snapped, his voice rising. “You’re my stepmother! Have been for ten years!”
Neymar flinched, startled by the outburst, but his expression hardened, his voice turning cold. “No, Leo. Take that back. I’m not.” He faltered, memories of Leo’s father flooding in, choking his words. He clenched his jaw and forced out, “I was your father’s business partner. Nothing more. And I’m *nothing* to you.”
The words sliced through Leo, sharp and final. *Nothing to you.* After years of shared struggles, late-night talks, and quiet support—what did all that mean? Tears welled up, spilling over before he could stop them.
Neymar’s resolve crumbled at the sight. “Leo, I’m sorry,” he murmured, brushing a thumb across Leo’s cheek to wipe away the tears. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m so sorry.” He pulled Leo into his arms, rubbing his back, guilt wrapping around him like a shroud. “God, I’m an idiot. How could I hurt you like this? Tell me what I can do to make it right.”
Leo’s sobs stilled, his breath hitching. He lifted his head, sniffling hard, his gaze drifting from Neymar’s full, glistening lips to the faint veins tracing his neck, the sharp line of his collarbone, the soft rise of his chest. A thousand possibilities flickered through his mind, unspoken but heavy.
Neymar caught the shift in Leo’s eyes—raw, unguarded, almost predatory. His heart skipped. “Hey,” he said quickly, cutting off whatever Leo might say. “Let’s take that Jaguar for a spin. Push it to 150, yeah?” He tugged Leo to his feet, steering them toward the door.
Leo’s lips quirked, a mix of frustration and contentment. Neymar had slipped away again, dodging the moment. But as Leo gripped Neymar’s hand—warm, soft, grounding—he let himself savor it, just for now.
Leo turned the key, and the Jaguar’s engine roared to life, shattering the midnight stillness of the manor. With Neymar beside him, he peeled out, speeding north along Henry Hudson Parkway toward the George Washington Bridge. The bridge’s lights streaked across Neymar’s face, casting fleeting orange glows that softened his features. For once, he looked unguarded—alive with a rare spark of thrill. Leo’s heart swelled, a quiet triumph blooming. Since his father’s death five years ago, Neymar had dimmed, his once-mischievous vibrancy buried alongside the man they’d both lost. Seeing this flicker of the old Neymar felt like a gift.
Emboldened, Leo pressed the accelerator. The Jaguar hummed, the speedometer climbing to 70 mph. Wind whipped through Neymar’s curls, and he shot Leo a wide-eyed glance. “You’re speeding, Leo. You don’t want your license yanked the day you get this car, do you?”
“Uncle Silvano will handle it,” Leo grinned, flooring the pedal. Neymar yelped, clutching the seatback as the car surged forward.
The cool night air, the engine’s growl, and Neymar’s flustered protests filled Leo with a rush of dopamine. He let out a whoop, the confined space of the car shrinking the world to just the two of them. He wanted to freeze this moment, make it last forever.
But red flashing lights and a shrill siren cut through the haze. Even at 1 a.m., Palisades Interstate Parkway had cops on patrol.
“Buzzkill,” Leo muttered, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Let’s lose them.”
“Are you *insane*?” Neymar’s voice cracked with alarm, but before he could argue, Leo gunned it. The Jaguar surged, practically lifting off the asphalt. The police car, seeing no sign of surrender, gave chase.
Weaving past a few straggling cars, Leo spotted a side street. He eased off the gas, tapped the brake, and yanked the wheel right. With a deft flick, he executed a smooth drift, slotting the Jaguar into a corner parking space. He killed the engine and doused the lights.
In silent sync, they reclined their seats, the street falling quiet. Seconds later, the police car screamed past, its red glow painting their faces. Leo’s gaze fixed on Neymar, tracing every detail—the fine lines of his skin, the sweep of his thick lashes, the deep hazel of his eyes. It had been ages since he’d looked this closely, and now he couldn’t look away. His throat tightened, words itching to spill, but they caught, dry and stuck. The car held only their shallow breaths and the faint scent of new leather.
The charged silence grew heavy, and Neymar shifted, breaking it. “Leo, they’re gone,” he said, sitting up. But as he glanced out, he paused, words faltering. They’d arrived at State Line Lookout, high above the Hudson River. The water shimmered below, its ripples catching the moonlight, cooling the car’s lingering heat and unspoken tension.
“We’re here,” Neymar murmured, staring at the glittering surface, a distant look in his eyes.
“Planned to bring you here anyway,” Leo said, stepping out with two beers in hand.
“When did you sneak those in?” Neymar asked, raising an eyebrow.
Leo just smirked, popping the tab with a *hiss* as foam bubbled up. He handed one to Neymar, who chuckled. “Drinking and driving? Speeding? Ready to land in lockup fresh out of Columbia, genius?”
Leo laughed. “Good luck enforcing that one-beer rule.” He took a swig, the crisp bite grounding him.
Neymar shook his head, clinking his can against Leo’s. “Fine. Tonight, you get a free pass.”
A beat passed, and Leo’s eyes glinted with mischief. “A free pass, huh?”
Neymar narrowed his gaze, wary. “What now? I got you the car—still not enough?”
Leo’s grin softened. “You haven’t said ‘happy graduation’ to my face yet.”
Neymar rolled his eyes, but his voice warmed. “Alright, Leo. Happy graduation. You’re going to light up the world, our little prodigy.” He tapped his can to Leo’s again.
“Damn right,” Leo said, his enthusiasm spilling over. “With you and Uncle Silvano teaching me, I’ll master the family business in no time. I wasn’t into it before, but being with family? I’m all in.” He rambled on about the ceremony—the tacky decorations, the too-big gown, the professor with the ridiculous bowtie.
But Neymar grew quiet, his gaze drifting to the river. Leo noticed, concern creeping in. “Neymar? You listening?”
Neymar met his eyes, his expression unreadable, layered with something heavy.
He spoke slowly, each word deliberate. “Leo… I’m not staying in New York. I’m going back to Brazil.”