Bordello Maschile - hugs.are.my.drugs (summer beach reads .TXT) 📗

“Look, Raimondo, over there.”

Silver eyes scanned the area from behind a run-down bakery on the outskirts of Roma, Italy, trying to find what his companion was pointing out.
He spotted a lone man, seemingly sleeping, with his head against the brick wall of the alleyway.
Raimondo immediately recognized him to be an infamous thief and murderer, Orfeo.

He slowly turned his head to face his friend; his eyes questioning.
“So, amico, you are telling me that we are going to steal

from a renowned thief

?”

A young man with deep green eyes sent a goofy smile at his angered friend.

“He’s sleeping, I’m sure we can steal from him!”

“Belvedere, you are an idiot!” Raimondo smacked the brown haired boy’s arm slightly, as to not make any noise.
“, He’s infamous. We couldn’t steal one florin if we wanted to!”

Belvedere rubbed his arm slightly, and huffed; irritated by Raimondo’s lack of enthusiasm.

He quickly rose from his crouching position and started to make his way over to the snoozing Orfeo.

“Well I do

want to, so just stay here and stand guard incase his men appear!” He whispered before walking silently toward the resting thief.

He stood in front of the middle-aged man, and eyed the money pouch that rested next to his lap. He scanned the area once, twice, and then gulped.

‘I can do this! He’s sleeping, so I’m sure I can grab it!’

Belvedere thought confidently.

He turned and gave a thumbs up to his older friend, who was still crouched behind the old bakery.
Raimondo smirked doubtfully at his friend as he watched him turn back towards his target.

After reassuring himself, the fifteen year old boy crouched down silently and reached his hand towards the small bag.

His hand rested lightly on the pouch, hesitating to grab it yet, as he moved his head up to stare at the closed eyes of his supposed enemy.

He held his breath, somehow sure that it could wake the man, looked back at the pouch, and finally grasped his objective.


Belvedere jolted backwards as a hand immediately gripped his wrist, and pulled him onto the hard dirt ground.

“You think you can steal from me, ‘The Great Orfeo’, you little sciatto

?” the newly roused man screamed at the startled teenager.

Orfeo pinned the boy to the ground with his knee, grinding it hard into his thigh.

Belvedere gasped and choked back a sob; yelling for Raimondo to help him.

The other boy responds immediately by dashing up to the thief and kicking him off of his younger friend.

“Get off of him, stronzo

!” He yells as he grabs his friend’s forearm, hoisting him up to stand.

A slight murmur in the background catches the attention of the three men, and Raimondo, startled, unwisely glances behind himself.

Caught off guard, Raimondo is pulled down harshly, and pressed into ground by the thief.

The older man strangles the boy tightly with his left hand, and holds a knife dangerously close to his jugular with his right.

The ‘Thief’ contemplates his angle.

Should he kill the little pig, and save himself some time, or should he mess with him a little?

Belvedere screams desperately for help as he punches the man injuring his dearest friend.
It does little damage.

Annoyed with the pain in his side, Orfeo immediately thinks of an idea, and laughs darkly.

He releases his strong hold on the silver eyed boy and is pushed off harshly. He stumbles, but stands up quickly.

Seizing his pouch from the foolish boys, he smirks chillingly; slowly backing out of the alleyway.

“I may have spared you your life, but only because ‘that

’ pain will be worse for you to live with later.”

Suddenly, the renowned thief disappears into the darkness of the evening.

The boys, not caring to question his last words, quickly run from the scene.

Their hearts pound hazardously in their chests as they somehow escape death.

They run as fast as they can to get closer to the middle of Roma; where they would be safe at last.

As they reach the end of the road, where they usually part ways to their homes, they double over onto the ground, startling the crowd of people on the streets.

“I am never

stealing again!” Raimondo says, after finally catching his breath.

He turns towards his friend to pat him lightly on the back and chuckles at his own stupidity.

Belvedere’s blood rushed back to his face as he snickered out a single word “,Never.

Four Years Later

Belvedere Valocco lived in a rather expensive palazzo in Roma.
His father was an architect, like his father, and was rather famous in the wealthy cities of Italy.

The green eyed boy spent most of his time goofing around on the streets with his older friend, Raimondo Safioti. Their parents had long been friends, and their family had shared a sort of alliance.

If you think about it, the choice to steal from a renowned thief was a rather horrible one. It’s not like the young men didn’t have money. They would always have loads of money, since their parents were rich, but they didn’t use it, because they wanted to earn their pay themselves.

Now, it isn’t a very smart idea to get your money from stealing, but at the time the boys were young and reckless. They thought they could take on a middle aged man as teenagers!
They were nineteen and twenty-two now! Practically adults! They could get their money from something other than stealing by now.

Belvedere walked briskly home.
He didn’t want his mother to yell at him for being home so late, so he always came home in the late afternoon.

He passed by many shops on his way home, which always made him eager to buy something. He thought he should buy a new coat for the party he had to attend in the next week. It was a rather high class party that his father was bringing him to. He had to look presentable, for this party had very important people who could influence his future; not that Belvedere really cared about that.
He just wanted to live a life of fun and freedom with Raimondo by his side.

As he walked through the streets of Roma, he wondered what his friend was up to. He hadn’t seen him all day, since he had left in the morning to go across the city for a business errand.

As soon as Belvedere arrived at ‘Palazzo de Valocco’, his family's home, he noticed his friend’s black braid swaying back and forth as he paced in front of the door.

Raimondo immediately stopped moving as he spotted his companion: his expression showing true fear.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he ran towards Belvedere.

The brown haired boy was shocked. His friend was normally a very stoic person. Hell, he was twenty two years old! What could have possibly made him cry

?

“Belvedere, listen to me, please,” the weeping man grabbed his friend and brought him into an embrace; holding it for a while.
The other boy questioningly hugged him back as he panicked; wondering what could possibly be wrong.

“My parents—they—Orfeo-- he killed—,“ Raimondo squeaked out; trying to form a clear sentence, but failing.

His friend pushed him away a little, and held his shoulders, giving him a terrified expression.

“Your parents are dead?”

The silver eyed man nodded, wiped his eyes, and tried to continue his explanation, “I ran home and found my parents dead. I also found a note from Orfeo the Thief.”

Belvedere hugged his friend once more to comfort him, and then moved towards the entrance to his Palazzo.

“Let’s go inform my father, if he hasn’t heard already.” He said.

His father would be devastated to know that a couple that was practically their family was dead. If it really was Orfeo, he was sure that he would be found and executed quickly.
After all, his father now would have a very good reason for him to be captured, other than measly thievery.

The two young men rushed into the Palazzo de Valocco, searching for Belvedere’s father.

“Padre! Where are you? I have urgent news!” the young Italian bolted through the house, throwing open doors and knocking over chairs, but didn’t find a single person anywhere.

His mother, who was usually in the main room, was nowhere to be found.

Panicking, he quickly ran upstairs to his parent’s bedroom; Raimondo following hastily behind.

He slammed open the bedroom door, not caring about his parent’s usual rule of it being restricted.

Both men stood; terrified.

The stench of decaying bodies drifted through the air, and made Belvedere’s knees weak as he held his hand over his mouth, feeling sick.

His arm reached out to clutch his friend’s wrist in desperation.

His father’s body was splayed on the floor; a deep gash covered his neck.
Huge amounts of spilled blood seeped into the floorboards.

His mother: a small knife protruded from her back as she lay in her husband’s arms.

Staggering forward, Belvedere searched the room for anyone trying to flee the crime, but it was futile.

He looked at his parents once more, holding his breath, as to not smell that horrible stench, and noticed that in his father’s hand laid a small slip of paper.

Even though he felt extremely weak, he bent over his father’s body and pried open the corpse’s hand get it.

He felt the cold fingers, and shivered, as he quickly stood up and turned away from the scene.
The slip of paper was soaked with his father’s blood, and on it was very small, horribly written, cursive writing.

“You tried to steal from me what I yearn for the most; now I have stolen from you what you love the most.” – Orfeo the Thief.