#and if young adult vin is already larger than life and his enemies are dumb and incompetent

[helianthus21]

accompanying fic to this fanart in the Early Adoption AU by the amazing @nalivaa who wondered what would happen if rival mafiosi exploited the weakness Vin's cute little brother posed and kidnapped him,,,,

The mafia business is a lawless one but there are some rules, unspoken or not, that you just have to adhere to. 

Such as, Never rat out your friends.

Or, Don’t start a fight you cannot win.

And perhaps the most important one in Milanese circles: You are not to touch a hair on the head of Vincenzo Cassano's little brother.

Like with most rules, they get established after the transgression has already been committed, even if just once. And the poor sons of bitches who tried are example enough to deter any madmen from even trying to copy them, even though, or rather because all but one of them did not live to tell the tale.

Having such a reputation is a relief to Vincenzo, though he has regrets about the way it was built up. Not because of what he had to do to get there – he doesn’t give two fucks about the poor suckers who became victims of his wrath – but because of what Han-seo had been forced to endure. 

Han-seo should’ve never gotten dragged into this. He should not even be a blip on the radar of any mafia members. Unfortunately, no matter how careful Vincenzo thought he was in keeping Han-seo's existence a secret from the mafia circles, trying to keep hidden someone who is such an essential part of your life is something of a herculean effort. 

He still remembers, all too vividly, the numbing fear he'd felt back then, when Luca had approached him and told him that his brother was gone. Taken. Fear that had quickly transformed into white-hot rage: he would kill everyone who had dared lay a finger on Han-seo, and everyone who got in his way would burn to cinder.

Without waiting for Luca or any of the other guys Luca had been trying to rally as reinforcement, he'd taken his Father's precious Cadillac and sped to the location he'd been told.

Apparently they'd demanded ransom – an insane amount at that – as well as some land Don Fabio had appropriated but Vincenzo couldn’t care less about any demands, let alone about fulfilling them. All he would fulfill that night was the blood-thirsty need for revenge that raged inside him.

They had taken Han-seo. 

They were going to pay.

When Vincenzo arrived at the scene, there were four armed men guarding the entrance to the warehouse that held Han-seo captive. As a rule, it is foolish to take on four armed men single-handedly. The four armed men seemed to think so too, which must have been why they did not even lift a brow (or move a trigger finger) when they saw Vincenzo approaching. 

Underestimation, Vincenzo had long since understood, was man’s greatest downfall, right next to pride.

That was why, when Vincenzo raised his gun, aimed, and shot the nearest guy right between his eyes, it took them a second to even process what was happening.

A second too long.

A second enough for Vincenzo. Taking advantage of their delay in action, he shot off two more bullets. One hit Goon Number Two in the heart, the other one missed by a hair's breadth and got Goon Number Three at the shoulder instead. By then, Vincenzo was close enough that some of his blood splattered on his hands.

Number Three and Four had caught themselves enough to coordinate each other: taking off in different directions, they tried their luck by coming at Vincenzo from different angles at once. But Vincenzo didn't hesitate for a moment. He let out another shot to his left, didn’t even stop to check if he'd hit home before whipping around again, anticipating Number Four pouncing on him. 

That was his second mistake.

"Guns are a long-distance weapon, stupido!" Vincenzo commented as he dodged Goon Number Four's attack, grabbed him by the wrist to kick the gun from his grip and spun him around to use as a shield just in time for when Goon Number Three recovered and fired off his own shot in their direction.

Vincenzo pushed a limp Goon Number Four on him and shot Goon Number Three in the aorta.

There was no time to lose. 

"Where is he?"

With the weight of Goon Number Four squarely over his chest and bleeding out, Goon Number Three glared at him. "Testa di cazzo!"

Unimpressed, Vincenzo pushed his foot down on the hole in his leg and repeated his question, voice raised over the man's scream of pain. "Where. Is. He."

"Third door down the corridor to the left."

Expression impassive, Vincenzo nodded. "Keys. And I'll make it quick for you."

From his pocket, the man pulled out the keys to the warehouse and handed them to him

As promised, Vincenzo blew his brains right out.

Vincenzo took a moment to reload his gun. This time, he had every intention of going in with a plan. A more solid one, maybe find a way to see how everyone was positioned around the room before entering or such.

Until he heard Han-seo’s voice.

“Hyu–”

It went muffled at the end, like someone pressed a hand to his mouth to silence him. 

Someone put a hand on him. 

And silenced him.

And Vincenzo saw red.

What happened next is a blur to Vincenzo to this day. He knows that he bullied his way inside, somehow, that at one point he lost his gun – someone must’ve kicked it from his grip – so that he’d have nothing but his fists and whatever he could leverage from his surroundings. He doesn’t know exactly how he fought against all of Han-seo’s captors and came up on top, all he can say is that there were four more dead men, and three gravely injured, once he was done with them. 

What he remembers, though, all too clearly, is standing in that room, gun still firm in his hand like an extension of himself, and looking for his brother in the midst of all that grime and death. 

Han-seo was standing, staring, wide-eyed. 

Some blood had splattered on his face and clothes when Vincenzo had shot the man who’d been holding Han-seo in the cruel attempt to use him as a shield. It had been, perhaps, the scariest moment for Vincenzo in this whole mess. In his entire life thus far, perhaps: the risk he had to take when he aimed with Han-seo so close to his target. But he’d hit home, hit the man in the shoulder, not enough to kill, but enough to make him stumble away from Han-seo. Then, he followed up with another bullet, to his thigh this time, just to keep him from running.

Han-seo had tumbled to the ground, hands and knees breaking his fall. Wincing, Vincenzo took a look at the stone floor. That must have hurt, he thought, and rage flared up once more at that. “Han-seo,” he rasped, taking a step towards him. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

There was a mirror, just behind Han-seo, a little to the left, and it caught Vincenzo’s eye the moment he moved. It was leaning against the wall, an old thing, with cracks at the upper left corner and dust sticking to the rest of it, distorting Vincenzo’s reflection into a grotesque form, like a specter. Blood was splattered all across his suit. Blood sullied the white of his collar. His own blood dripped sluggishly down a cut on his cheek, and blood stuck to his hands: the blood of the people he killed to get here.

He looked like–

He looked like a monster.

He couldn’t look Han-seo in the eyes, wouldn’t bear to see fear reflected in them: fear of his own brother.

“Hy- hyung?”

Han-seo’s voice sounded so thin, so shaky, and this made Vincenzo seek his gaze after all. His feet brought him the rest of the way to him, closing the distance. He dropped to his knees before his brother. Han-seo was still wearing the same jacket he’d been wearing when Vincenzo had dropped him off at school that morning. An ugly atrocity of brightly colored patterns reminiscent of eighties fashion that Han-seo had zoned in on at the mall and absolutely insisted on. He was the same boy from that morning, yet ages had passed behind his eyes. 

Taking care not to touch Han-seo directly, he examined the handcuffs that chafed the skin around his wrists. Bastardos, he thought. To do that to a child! Don Fabio had clear rules about never involving women and children in their work, never harming the innocent and he demanded from his men to abide by this law religiously. 

These men were worse than trash for putting Han-seo through this hell. 

With practiced ease, Vincenzo unlocked the cuffs with a safety pin, careful not to let the metal scrape against Han-seo’s skin any more. They fell to the floor with a clang.

Throughout it all, he felt Han-seo's eyes on him, and the urge to hide his face, to shield Han-seo’s eyes from all this grew by the second. He dreaded to know what Han-seo was thinking now, how the picture of his big brother had, undoubtedly, changed irrevocably. He never wanted Han-seo to see this side of him.

Instead of meeting Han-seo's eyes, Vincenzo focused on his hands: the scratches on his wrist were an angry red, and Vincenzo reached out, then, by instinct, but he caught himself before his hands (the hands of a killer) could meet bare skin, and gripped Han-seo by the arm instead, as though the fabric of his jacket was barrier enough from his tainting touch. Instead, his bloody hands sullied that damn jacket, pink mixing with red, but despite the disgust at himself, Vincenzo needed to make sure he was real, solid. That he was fine.

“Hanseo-yah,” he whispered. 

Han-seo stared at him. 

His knees were bleeding, and Vincenzo was partly to blame for that. There was a cut on his right cheek, smaller than the one Vincenzo sported, yet enough to make his heart constrict at the sight. 

Almost more incriminating, tears were welling in his eyes. When one spilled over, Vincenzo reached out a hand to his left cheek, by instinct, to wipe it away with his thumb. “Han-seo,” he whispered again. “I’m sorry.” 

Horrified by the way his touch left a stain of red on Han-seo’s face, he wanted to draw back, but Han-seo was faster. Like a dam breaking, more tears spilled from his eyes and he launched himself at Vincenzo, scraped knees hitting the cold hard floor once more and it was all Vincenzo could do to catch him in his arms as Han-seo began to cry for real.

For a moment, Vincenzo was too stunned to do more. 

Wasn’t he scared of him? Wasn’t he horrified?

“Hyung!” Han-seo got out between sobs. “They– they…”

They hurt him. 

Any other thought flew out the window, as Vincenzo’s heart flared with the feeling that had risen in him since the first time he’d laid eyes on Han-seo, when Vincenzo had sworn to protect him, that small boy that got left behind just like Vincenzo himself had been left behind.

Vincenzo pulled Han-seo closer, tightened his hold on him, so tight it might almost hurt. “It’s okay.”

“I was so scared!”

“It’s okay, I’m here now.”

“They hurt me.”

“I know.” Vincenzo swallowed. He pushed down another wave of nauseating rage. “I’m sorry.”

“Hyung.”

“You’re alright,” Vincenzo promised  “I’m here now. You’re okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.” One of his hands rubbed back and forth soothingly across his back. “By my first father’s grave, I swear this. Anyone who tries, I’ll…”

He’ll pay them back tenfold, and his currency is pain. He’ll make them feel every second of blinding fear he’d felt for Han-seo since the moment he realized he was missing. Every second that Han-seo was scared, that he had to live in a world where he wasn’t safe, where Vincenzo had failed him. 

Eyes drifting, he caught another glance at the mirror. 

He looked awful.

Like a killer.

Like a monster. 

Suddenly, he couldn’t bear to be near Han-seo. His innocent, carefree dongsaeng had been pulled into this world, his world, and he was the one to blame. He couldn’t stand to touch him with his filthy hands, hands full of blood. 

But as he loosened his grip to draw back, Han-seo only clung to him more tightly.

“Hyung, please!” Han-seo wailed. “Please stay.”

Stunned, Vincenzo didn’t move. “I’m not going anywhere,” he assured. “I’ll keep you safe, from now on. I promise.”

While Vincenzo was wearing the blood of his enemies, the blood on Han-seo  was mostly his own. His knees. His cheek. His wrists were full of scratches from where he had likely pulled against his too tight restraints. He must’ve been so scared. 

Vincenzo would kill them all again, would shoot another load of bullets in their bodies. Make it hurt this time, draw it out, for what they put Han-seo through. For every drop of blood they drew from him, he’d draw a hundred, for every tear that fell from his eyes, he’d tear off a limb. 

He doesn’t know how long they stayed like this, how long until Luca arrived with the cavalry. But when their medic tried to rip them apart to treat their injuries, Han-seo wailed even louder than before. 

"Han-seo," Vincenzo chided carefully, not letting go either. "You need to let them have a look at you."

"No, I'm fine, I just–" he sniffed, and Vincenzo's heart melted. 

He didn’t spend more than a furtive second wondering what Father’s men will think of him now, seeing him fold so easily for this kid. That was less important. More important was to keep Han-seo close, to reassure himself that he was here, that he was fine. He hadn’t been able to breathe since he found out Han-seo had been captured, and now he finally could. He closed his eyes, took in the vague smell of candy and Han-seo’s strawberry shampoo and, most damningly, the iron smell of blood that now clung to his little brother. Instinctively, Vincenzo hugged him a little tighter.

“You’re alright.” He couldn’t in all sincerity tell anymore if the reassurance was for Han-seo’s or his own sake.

Now that he knew that Han-seo was largely unharmed, the thing he most abhorred about this day was the fear these men put Han-seo through. The fear that shook his world view, burst the bubble that his world was a safe one. The fear that stripped him of the belief that as long as his brother was around, things would go alright, that he’d never let any harm come his way. 

Because he had been there, and harm had still found Han-seo.

In the worst way, Vincenzo had failed. If something worse had happened to Han-seo, he’d never have forgiven himself…

In the end it was Luca who managed to dislodge Han-seo’s iron hold on Vincenzo.

“Han-seo,” he’d addressed the boy directly. “We really need to have a look at the both of you. Your hyung doesn’t look so good himself…”

Immediately, Han-seo drew back to look Vincenzo over. There was a determined look in his watery eyes fighting to overthrow the state of distress he was obviously still in, his cheeks marked with tear tracks. Vincenzo reached out to wipe them away but the sight of blood on his hands made him waver.

He wanted to drop his hand to his side, but Han-seo was faster.

"Hyung, your hands!" His brother caught them between his smaller ones, the same delicate fingers that had pieced together a toy car at the breakfast table this morning brushing over Vincenzo’s bruised knuckles, where skin had ripped open when he’d punched his way through Han-seo’s captors. More blood transferred from Vincenzo onto Han-seo’s skin, and his stomach lurched at the sight, urge to pull back growing exponentially but Han-seo was insistent. “You need a band-aid!”

And in front of the eyes of his Father’s most trusted men, their medic and the corpses of their enemies, Han-seo reached into his pants’ pocket, pulled out a strip of dinosaur-themed bandaid and, very gently, stuck it right across Vincenzo’s knuckles.

Wide-eyed, Vincenzo stared at him. A small smile brightened Han-seo’s miserable face as he examined his handiwork and Vincenzo remembered what he had said to Han-seo, on that fateful day when Han-seo was hand-delivered to his doorstep by an uncaring former brother.

Let's just take care of one another from now on.

Han-seo never failed to save Vincenzo right back, it seemed.

*

He let the man go, the one who had used Han-seo as a shield. Someone needs to live to tell the tale. The tale of what happened when you dared to mess with Vincenzo Cassano's little brother. 

The saying doesn’t specify for how long that person should be allowed to live, however. But Vincenzo was a patient man when he wanted to be. He liked to play with his food.That man was how Vincenzo earned the title of the gatto sazio, but that's another story yet to tell.