Fic: gangsters don't love 12 [Pep/Bojan]
Title: gangsters don’t love 12
Author: foot_faults
Characters/Pairing this chapter: Pep Guardiola/Bojan Krkić, Danny Agger/Martin Skrtle, Cesc Fabregas/Gennaro Gattuso, Glen Johnson, Sergio Canales, Mesut Ozil (mentioned)
Rating: R for violence
Word count: 5,100
Disclaimer: this is an entirely fictional story with fictional characters. Any resemblance to real life is a coincidence.
Summery: Pep Guardiola is the head of one of the largest mafia groups in Spain. But what’s a gangster to do when he gets his own personal hostage in the form of the grandson of his biggest enemy?
Disclaimer part 2: I don’t know anything about the mafia, Spanish or otherwise. This is all made up like a made up thing. Also I realize that Bojan is not really Pérez’s grandson, but see the disclaimer about this being made up. These are not real people; they are fictional characters with fictional families and fictional lives.
Note: Wow, I haven’t updated this since July. Sorry everyone, I swear I haven’t forgotten it! This chapter took a twist I hadn’t planned on, but that’s how writing goes some times. As always, thanks to my amazing team of prereaders, liroa15, baronessbadger, ellamoonie and zoemargaret.
Previous chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4a | 4b | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10a | 10b | 11
There's something different about Spanish air, Bojan thinks. He can practically taste it on his tongue, that feeling of home. Passengers are streaming out of the airport around him, suit cases clutched in their arms or being pulled along on wheels, people with arms around their loved ones, or looking for their rides, or checking something on their iPhone or BlackBerry. Bojan lets them stream past him, stands on the sidewalk outside the exit to the airport, his face turned towards the sun, letting his skin soak up the rays of Spain. There's no one here to meet him; when Pep had made some oblique suggestion about helping him to get settled, Bojan had roundly told the older man off. He's an adult; he'll catch one of the city buses to a hostel, where he'll crash for a couple days while he finds an apartment. Just right now, for this moment, he needs to stand and absorb the enormity of being home.
He hasn't told his mother yet that he's back in Spain. He knows she's living in Madrid now, and he knows if she knows he's moving back to Barcelona, she'll uproot herself and move back as well, and insist on helping him with everything. He'll wait until he's all settled already, and then go see her. That thought on his mind, he pulls out his iPhone, intending to look up the schedule of the local bus on the airport’s wifi. Bojan adds getting a new phone to his mental tally of things he needs to buy, along with a place to live, and preferably, something to sleep on. That’s gonna add up, so need to waste money on a cab when a bus will do just as well. He's got a relatively big suitcase, along with his small backpack. The backpack has all his clothes and personal items, the suitcase houses his art supplies. Bojan hopes it's survived the flight okay.
He hoists his backpack more firmly on his shoulder, keeping the suitcase at his side. No need for him to get robbed. It’s the first time he’s been away from Sergio in years, and the feeling is strange. But that was part of the deal Pep had negotiated with his grandfather. None of Perez’s influences in Barcelona, and that includes bodyguards Perez has hired, and Pep will leave Bojan alone. Bojan knows his grandfather well enough to know that Perez has only agreed to this deal to get Bojan back into Spain, back closer to his seat of power, and that the old man will most certainly have someone watching Bojan from afar. Bojan’s not gonna worry about that right now though. Right now he just needs a bus to a hostel. He's scrolling through his iPhone when someone calls his name.
"Hey Bojan!"
And then, before he can look up, frowning, to find the source, he's tackled from the side, practically knocking him over.
"What?" It takes a moment of him practically dropping his iPhone and frantically trying to keep his balance to work out who his attacker is. "Cesc!" he exclaims, delighted, when the spiky haired young man has finally disentangled himself.
Bojan's smiling, glad to see the other boy, but he notices Cesc's face doesn't look especially friendly. "Cesc, what ...?" he asks carefully.
Cesc suddenly moves, punching him in the arm, hard. "That's for sending Pep to jail!"
Bojan blinks. "Cesc, I-"
Cesc's face has melted from hard to looking abashed. "I promised myself if I ever saw you again, I would beat you up, for Pep's sake. So ... consider yourself beat up."
"... Duly noted," Bojan says solemnly, trying not to crack a smile.
Cesc tries to keep his face reserved for a few beats more, before he gives in and breaks into a huge grin, throwing his arms around Bojan once more. "Why did it take you so long to come back you big jerk!" he exclaims, pounding Bojan on the back.
"Uff," Bojan says. "There was all this stuff, you know, with my grandfather, and-"
"Fuck your grandfather!" Cesc exclaims.
"That's what I said," Bojan agrees ruefully, "but it's kind of hard to ignore him when he's the most powerful mobster in Spain."
"Second most powerful!" Cesc corrects. He winks at Bojan. "You've had the pleasure of kissing the most powerful man in Spain."
Bojan sighs. "About that," he says. "Did Pep send you? Because I explicitly told him-"
Cesc waves him off. "No, he didn't. He didn't have to! The second I heard you were coming back, I was there." He beams up at Bojan, as if his presence is the greatest thing he could have blessed Bojan with.
Bojan takes a moment to just smile. “Thanks, Cesc,” he says softly.
Cesc grins happily. “You didn’t think you would get away with being in Barcelona without seeing me, did you?”
“I ... didn’t think about it,” Bojan says. Deliberately hadn’t thought about it. Deliberately hadn’t thought about how being in the same city again would entangle his life with the lives of those in Pep’s gang, under Pep’s control, those who ultimately owed their loyalty to Pep, and how complicated would that make things. Bojan hadn’t made any assumptions, hadn’t wanted to.
Cesc’s sunny smile seems immune to Bojan’s inner turmoil. “That’s why I’m the smart one!” he tells Bojan brightly. Bojan snorts, and Cesc whacks him in the back of the head. “Come on, Martin’s waiting in the car, let’s go.”
“Martin’s here?” Bojan asks as he gathers up his suitcase and follows after Cesc. His question is answered as they move forward, and Martin waving at them from the driver’s seat of an old Mercedes comes into view. “Hey Martin!”
“Bojan!” Martin gets out of the car so he can come over to greet the smaller man. After hesitating for a moment, he shrugs and enfolds Bojan in a hug. Bojan smiles against the taller man’s shoulder, hugging him back. It’s weird to think about how scary he once found Martin, and how almost comforting the taller bodyguard’s presence now is. Martin pulls back, keeping his arms on Bojan’s shoulders so that he can look the smaller man over. “You look good. But skinny.” A worried look crosses Martin’s face, and Bojan remembers vividly how mother hen-like the man had been with him after the Japan trip fiasco.
He laughs. “I’m fine, Martin, I promise.” Martin is still eyeing him a touch dubiously, but he nods. It’s Bojan’s turn to eye Cesc and Martin, though. “Are you sure Pep didn’t send you?”
“I said so, didn’t I!” Cesc pouts at the fact that Bojan is disbelieving him. “It’s Martin’s day off, so he wanted to come too.” Next to Cesc, Martin nods.
Bojan sighs. “Alright,” he says. Martin makes a gesture as if to take Bojan’s suitcase, but Bojan waves him off. “I got it.” So Martin pops the trunk open so Bojan can stow his things away. Then the three of them pile into the car. Bojan glances between them. “Either one of you know of a good, cheap hostel?”
“Hostel nothing!” Cesc exclaims. “You’re staying with me.”
Marin coughs and raises an eyebrow as he turns to look at Cesc, who’s sitting in the back seat. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“What?” Bojan wants to know.
Cesc glances away, blushing, as Martin explains, “he lives with Gattuso now.”
“Gattuso?” Bojan twists around in his seat so he can stare at Cesc in shock. “Wait, like you and Gattuso like-“
Cesc bites his lip and then nods defiantly. “We’re …” He takes a deep breath then blurts out, “together.”
“Seriously?” Bojan’s having a hard time wrapping his head around it. “Gattuso, as in … Rino? As in big, burly, got a temper Gattuso?”
Cesc sighs dreamily and bats his eyelashes. “I always did go for the manly ones.”
Bojan rolls his eyes before returning to the matter at hand. “Wow. Wow, wow, wow. I never would have guessed in a million years. I mean … Gattuso’s gay?”
“You can’t always just tell if a person is or not,” Martin says, and there’s almost a hint of defensiveness in his voice.
“Right, sure, I know.” Bojan quickly says. “So, about the hostel?”
“You can stay with me instead,” Martin says as he turns the steering wheel, guiding the car through traffic.
“Thanks, Martin, but don’t you live in Pep’s building? No offense to either of you,” Bojan says with a smile to take the sting out of his words, “but I really rather have as little to do with Pep’s organization as possible.”
“We’re not doing this as members of Pep’s organization,” Cesc buts in. “We’re doing this as your friends. … We are your friends, right, Bojan?”
He’s looking at Bojan with those big puppy eyes he’s never out grown, even though Cesc is in his late twenties now. The question is incredibly fraught, but sitting here with Cesc and Martin, the answer seems simple, and Bojan has to smile a little. “… Yeah,” he says, “yeah you are.”
Martin and Cesc seem to think that settles the question of whether Bojan is going to stay with them, and Bojan decides it can’t hurt to stay in Pep’s building, if it’s only for a couple days. He probably should be more concerned, he knows, but he’s letting himself be carried away on a tide of happiness at being home. Besides, it’s not like he would actually see Pep anyway, even if he’s in the same building, he rationalizes to himself.
+++
Pep is the most powerful man in Barcelona; one of the most powerful men in Spain. It would be a work of a moment to tell one of his people to tell other people to pull some strings with the airline and find out exactly when Bojan was flying back to Spain, what seat he was sitting in, everything down to what meal they served him on the flight. But Pep promised Bojan space, and he means that promise, so he does not do any of those things.
So of course (of course) Cesc goes and uses Pep’s contacts to look the information up himself, and then blithely informs Pep of Bojan’s arrival date. The day comes and Pep ignores it, acts like it’s any other day. He’s not going to interfere, he’s not.
So when Cesc sticks his head in the door of Pep’s office and informs him, “Bojan’s going to be staying with Martin for a couple days,” Pep stares very intently at his laptop like something quite interesting is there, and says “I’m working, Cesc.”
“Just thought you might want to knoooow,” Cesc trills, “seeing as he’ll be in the same building and all.” And then he disappears again.
Pep stares very determinedly at the unmoving curser on his laptop screen until the door is firmly shut behind Cesc. Then he sags, leaning back in his chair as he runs his hands over his face. Sometimes, having Cesc around seems like a very bad idea.
+++
Back in the security camera room, Cesc finds Martin and Gattuso on duty. He flops against the counter with a dramatic sigh, batting his eyelashes. “Those two are so perfect for each other,” he opines. “They just need a little nudge.”
Gattuso eyes his lover. “You better not be match-making,” he warns.
“Oh come on!” Cesc pouts. “That’s the whole point!”
“The point,” Gattuso says, “is to stay out of the boss’ personal life.” But Cesc is moving towards him, a certain pout on his face.
“But Riiiiiiino …”
“I’m leaving,” Martin says, abruptly standing and heading for the door.
Out in the hall, he runs into Danny. “I wouldn’t go in there,” Martin says, gesturing to the shut door behind him. “I think Cesc was about to go down on Gattuso.”
Danny winks. “Ooh, a free show.”
Martin rolls his eyes. “What,” he asks, “isn’t your girlfriend giving you enough?” He’s already moving past Danny now, further down the hall, so he misses the look the other bodyguard shoots at his retreating form. Danny sighs, bringing his hand up to run through the short hair of his mohawk, before turning and continuing in the direction he was going.
+++
Bojan’s jetlagged so he spends most of the day drowsing on Martin’s couch. He’s awoken by a key in the door, and looks up to find Martin and Danny entering carrying what looks and smells like bags of takeout.
“Hey Danny.” Bojan yawns as he rubs sleep out of his eyes.
“Hey kid,” Danny says over his shoulder as he goes to set the bags down in Martin’s kitchenette.
Bojan gets up and wanders towards the two other men. “Where’s Cesc?”
“He um, sends his regrets,” Martin says, “he’s otherwise engaged tonight.”
Danny snorts. “You mean Rino is fucking him through the floor as punishment for Cesc distracting him while he was on duty today.”
Martin chokes. “Uh,” he says once he’s gotten his throat clear with some helpful slaps on the back from Danny. “Like I said, otherwise engaged.”
“His ass is, you mean,” Danny says, just to see if Martin will blush even more. Martin does.
“Huh,” Bojan says. “So Cesc and Gattuso really are a thing.”
“Yeeeep.” There’s something almost brittle about the way Danny says it, but then he smiles his cheerful devil-may-care smile. “Who’d’a thunk, huh?”
“I’d have lost that bet,” Bojan says with a chuckle as he shakes his head. “What’s that you’ve got then?”
Marin’s started pulling containers out of the bags, in an effort to try to distract himself from his blush.
“The freshest seafood from one of the best restaurants in Barcelona,” Danny says expansively.
“I know this isn’t much of a welcome home dinner,” Martin says quickly. “You can have a real one later. But for your first night back, we wanted you to have something that tasted like home.”
Bojan looks for a moment like he wants to protest, but then he smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling. “Thanks guys, this is the best first night back dinner I could have imagined.”
Soon all the food is set out, and they’re ready to eat. Martin apologizes profusely for the paper plates; “I don’t have time to ever wash dishes, working night shifts like I usually do.”
“You should get a girlfriend who will clean for you,” Danny suggests carelessly.
Martin stares down at his plate of food. “Not many people would want to put up with my work schedule,” he mumbles.
“Nonsense!” Danny claps him on the back. “A handsome fit guy like you would get all the ladies.” Marin is still staring at his food, so he doesn’t see, but Bojan is watching and so he notices that Danny’s smile is a little too wide, a little too bright.
“So,” Bojan says casually, gathering up another bite on his fork. “Any other changes while I was away? Cesc and Rino hooked up, anyone else? You, Danny?”
Danny laughs. “Me? Naaah. I just … nah.” Danny picks up a beer. “’M not really interested, you know?” He presses the mouth of the beer bottle to his lips, quickly taking a sip.
Martin is watching Danny out of the corner of his eyes. “So that’s why you go out with the guys to clubs? You’re only looking for hookups?”
“Martin, babe,” Danny says, grinning. “If you’re jealous, you can come with, and we’ll find a hot broad for you.”
Martin turns stiffly away. “I’m not interested,” he says, taking a drink of his own beer.
“So we’ll find you a nice girl instead,” Danny says. “A girl who will be happy to clean your kitchen.”
Martin stabs viciously at his food. “I said I’m not interested.”
Bojan intervenes. “Any other changes? How’s everyone else? I saw Glen in New York, he looked fine …”
“Everyone’s great,” Martin says, and starts to give Bojan a run-down on the other bodyguards.
As Bojan smiles and nods and listens, he reflects on how surreal his life is, that he’s back in the building he was held hostage in, asking about the welfare of men who held him, if not at literal gunpoint, then with the definite threat of violence. He’s better now, he really is, he hadn’t lied when he told Pep he’d been through a lot of therapy. But still, he can’t deny the fact that catching a glimpse of Danny’s gun holster tucked in the waistband of his pants had made Bojan slightly queasy. Even now there’s a small part of him that feels the need to bolt, like if he doesn’t get out of this building now, he never will.
If they take me hostage again, my grandfather will know, he tells himself, but that’s not exactly a comforting thought. And perhaps even more discomforting is the fact that in spite of it all, he actually does like Danny and Martin. They’re good guys, and they were just doing a job. Their job just happens to be muscle for one of the biggest crime bosses in Spain. What are the warning signs of Stockholm Syndrom Bojan asks himself, and starts to go over the list in his head.
“Bo?” he hears Danny say, and evidently Danny has had to repeat himself.
“What, sorry?” Bojan smiles disarmingly at the other two men. “My mind must have wandered.”
“You must be pretty jet-lagged,” Martin says, and Bojan agrees easily.
Inwardly, he thinks, be more careful, Bo. Don’t let yourself get sucked back in. The gangster life is something Bojan wants to be far away from- which is paradoxically why he’s put himself back in Josep Guardiola’s orbit.
+++
Pep knows Cesc well enough to know the younger man won’t leave unused the opportunity of having Bojan in the same building. He’s on the lookout for any machinations Cesc might put in place, and the first thing he does when he gets up in the morning is head to the security control room, which monitors the entire building. “Where’s Cesc? Is he up?”
“Do you want us to get him up, sir? He’s currently in his and Gattuso’s apartment, sleeping.”
“No, no.” Pep waves the man aside. “That’s all I wanted to know.” The fact that Cesc is still asleep gives Pep time to make good his escape from the building, so that he doesn’t have to worry about Cesc trying to engineer ‘chance’ meetings between himself and Bojan.
He showers quickly, slipping into one of his exquisitely tailored suits. “Breakfast on the go,” he tells Glen, who’s on duty this morning. Pep snags up a briefcase, and Glen follows him out the door, where they’re joined by more bodyguards. The guards seem to have decided to take extra precautions protecting Pep ever since he got back from jail, as if more bodies can somehow save him from the police if they come with warrants again. Still, Pep would have to admit to himself that he does find the gesture touching. His corps of bodyguards seems to feel partially responsible for Zlatan’s betrayal, as if they should have figured out his duplicitousness themselves, and as such, it seems they’re trying their hardest to make amends.
Pep quickly switches from thinking about the loyalty of his staff to thinking about business he needs to take care of as the elevator heads down to the underground garage.
As his car pulls out on to the street though, Pep realizes it’s not just Cesc he needs to worry about. There, walking down the sidewalk in broad daylight, like he belongs there, is Bojan.
“What the fuck?” Pep says, unthinkingly speaking out loud. “Cesc is just letting him walk places? What the hell is he thinking?”
“… Do you want me to stop, boss?” The driver asks hesitantly.
Pep considers it, seriously considers it, fist clenched as he braces it against the seat in front of him so he can lean over and peer out the window. “No.” Pep gives a short bitter bark of laughter. “He wouldn’t accept a ride from me anyway. Let’s go.” Pep settles back in his seat, directing his eyes forward once more.
Of course, having made that decision, traffic conspires to get in his way. The car gets stopped at a stoplight, and almost as if he can’t control himself, Pep finds his head turning so he can watch Bojan once more through the dark tinted windows.
Bojan’s got on baggy jeans that even form a distance, look worn, and a big over-sized hoodie that only emphasizes Bojan’s slightness. Pep stares at Bojan’s forearms, bared where the sleeves are pushed back up, and notes how skinny they are.
Bojan’s got a worn messenger bag over his shoulder and he’s staring down intently at something on his iPhone, not really paying attention to where he’s walking. Pep has to resist a sudden urge to get out of the car and cross traffic to get up on the sidewalk so he can catch Bojan’s arm and tell him to look where he’s going, for fuck’s sake! Bojan wouldn’t take well to that either, Pep knows, and so he remains where he sits, watching the small figure go by as the light changes and the car starts to move again.
Once Bojan is out of sight, Pep lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and tries to force his mind back to business.
+++
Bojan surveys the apartment with satisfaction. “Yep, it’s perfect.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Bojan turns to look at the tousle-haired blond next to him. “This place is a shithole!”
“It’s also incredibly cheep,” Bojan reminds Sergio Canales, who had once been his best friend and teammate on the uni football team.
Sergio rolls his eyes. “So cheep it probably has fleas. Cockroaches. Rats?” He shudders at the thought.
“Come on,” Bojan says, “it’s clean … enough.”
Sergio eyes him, arms folded across his chest. “I can’t believe after five years you called me up to say you need a favor … and the favor is serving as a reference so that you can pay for the privilege of renting the world’s shittiest apartment.”
Bojan smiles. “Thanks, Sergio, it means a lot.”
Sergio is quiet while Bojan goes through signing the paperwork with the landlord, and forking over a good chunk of his savings as the deposit and first and last month’s rent. Once they head back out to Sergio’s car though, he picks back up the thread. “You could’ve at least picked up the phone once in the past five years, couldn’t you?”
It’s Bojan’s turn to sigh. “Sorry, Sergi, I really am, but … when I left I was in a bad place, and while I was in New York … let’s just say I couldn’t exactly afford international phone calls.”
Sergio takes his eyes off traffic to give Bojan a look that is not impressed. “You ever heard of email? Facebook? Hell-ooo!”
“… I didn’t have a computer.” It sounds lame, even to him, and Bojan winces. “Look, I’m sorry, but I just … needed to get Spain out of my head for a while, okay?”
Sergio reaches over, punching him in the arm. “That’s all you had to say, man. If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t press. Just, I’m here whenever, yeah?” Bojan nods, and Sergio looks over again to flash him a brilliant white smile. “Seriously though Bo, man, it is good to have you back.”
Bojan smiles slowly as he watches Barcelona roll by. “It’s good to be back.”
“So we totally need lunch,” Sergio says. “To celebrate your new shithole.”
“Oh fuck off,” Bojan says with a laugh. “But lunch sounds good.”
Sergio knows which restaurants have come and gone in the parts of Barcelona Bojan used to frequent, so Bojan lets him pick the place. It makes him sad to see how his city has changed in the five years he’s been gone, but then, what did he expect? That time would freeze and the whole city would wait for him to return? No, life moves on, and Bojan has to move on with it.
“So what’s next?” Sergio asks him once they have their food.
“Hmm?”
“I mean,” Sergio says, waving his fork around, “what’s the next step in your master plan which evidently beings with renting a shitty apartment and ends God knows where.”
Bojan smirks. “Well if I can get a shitty job to match my shitty apartment …”
Sergio rolls his eyes. “Whatever. If you love shitty things that much, I can’t stop you.” Then a thought occurs to him. “Hey, I think Mes mentioned that the restaurant he waiters at is short-staffed. Maybe he can hook you up with a job!”
“Yeah?” Bojan looks interested. Mesut was another member of their uni football team, and while he and Bojan hadn’t been as close as Bojan and Sergio, Mesut was still a friend. “How’s he doing anyway?”
Sergio starts in on relating all the gossip Bojan has missed in the past five years, and Bojan nods and listens. When they’re done, Sergio glances at his watch, frowning apologetically. “Sorry Bo, I’d love to spend the day hanging out, but my boss only gave me the morning off. I gotta get back to work.”
“No worries,” Bojan tells him. “You have my number-“ courtesy of a pay as you go phone Bojan had picked up first thing that morning- “so ring me up whenever.”
“No dropping off the face of the earth again for five years, you hear?” Sergio mock-chides him.
“If I drop off the face of the earth, I’ll warn you first.” Bojan promises.
“Can I drop you off anywhere?” Sergio wants to know.
The last thing Bojan wants is for Sergio to drive him up to Pep’s building. That would be a disaster in so many ways. “Nah, I’ll manage on my own.”
“You sure?” Sergio smirks. “I wouldn’t want poor widdle Bo-Bo wandering the streets himself …”
Bojan punches him. “Get going you big jerk. I wouldn't want your boss to realize what a lazy slacker you are and fire you.”
“Fuck you too,” Sergio tells him fondly. “Alright, I’m gonna call you later, so no disappearing!”
Bojan has Mesut’s number, which Sergio had given him, but really, he would feel more comfortable if he got his things out of Pep’s penthouse before he did anything else. So he starts to make the trek back. Bus lines don’t run in the part of Barcelona where Pep’s building is; the area is much too posh. And Bojan certainly doesn’t have money for something like a cab fare. So it’s a long walk back, just as it had been a long walk out this morning. Bojan’s used to walking a lot in New York, but even so, by the time he gets back, his calves are aching and he’s ready for a break.
He walks up to Pep’s building, up to the guard at the main door. Martin had told Bojan that morning that while he couldn’t give Bojan his own key, the guard at the main door would be told to let him in. Bojan doesn’t recognize the guard, but then, Pep’s organization is large, and he’s sure he didn’t meet everyone in his stint in captivity.
“Hey,” he tries, smiling hesitantly at the dour-faced guard. “I’m Bojan, you’re supposed to let me in?”
Something sharp enters the guard’s eyes, something Bojan doesn’t like. “Oh yes,” he says, “I’m supposed to escort you up.”
“That’s okay,” Bojan says quickly, “I don’t need an escort.”
“Order,” the guard tells him, and Bojan can’t argue with that.
Once inside though, the guard steers Bojan away from the main elevator he had used that morning, and towards a small side door. “I don’t think-“ Bojan tries.
“This way,” the guard tells him impatiently, and wraps a strong hand around Bojan’s arm. Alarm bells are going off in Bojan’s head, but before he can do anything, the guard has shoved Bojan through the door and slapped a hand over his mouth. “Not one word,” the guard hisses, voice low and threatening.
Bojan tries to scream anyway, even though he doubts it will do any good. He’s inside Pep’s building now, after all, it’s not like any help will come. How could he have been so stupid, assuming that if Cesc and Martin said it was okay, that he could trust these people? That’s the last thought Bojan has before the guard slams his head into the wall and everything goes dark.
+++
The first thing Bojan feels when he wakes up is pain. Lots of pain. The second thing he feels is that he can’t move. His arms are tied behind him somehow, bound tightly enough at the wrists that it’s cutting off circulation to his hands.
“Finally with us?” a sneering voice asks, and Bojan blinks as he looks up. The guard from the door now has friends, and Bojan has a sinking feeling that things have gone from bad to worse.
“You think you could get our boss sent to jail and then waltz back in here like nothing happened?” the first guard demands.
“I didn’t-“ Bojan tries to say.
“Shut up!” He sees the blow coming, but that doesn’t make it hurt less.
“Five years in jail,” the next guard says. “Five years in jail and we’re gonna make you pay for every single one.”
Bojan lets his eyes slide shut to block out the angry jeering faces. “It wasn’t my fault,” he whispers, but no one is listening.
There’s pain, and then there’s more pain, and just when Bojan thinks it’s never going to stop, it does. There’s the sound of the door being opened, and then, “What the fucking hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Gattuso, it’s-“ one of the guards tries to say, but an angry slug from Gattuso’s fist doesn’t let him finish.
“Get out!” the burly man roars. “If the rest of you don’t want the same, get out!”
Bojan’s not 100% sure what’s going on anymore, but he definitely feels it when Gattuso picks him up, even the gentle movements seeming to make everything hurt. “Ow,” he lisps, as blood runs down his chin from a split lip, and then, “hey Rino … Bet you didn’t … miss me.”
“Stop talking,” Gattuso orders brusquely, and because Bojan lets his eyes slide shut again as Gattuso carries him somewhere, he misses the look of concern on the bodyguard’s face.
Author: foot_faults
Characters/Pairing this chapter: Pep Guardiola/Bojan Krkić, Danny Agger/Martin Skrtle, Cesc Fabregas/Gennaro Gattuso, Glen Johnson, Sergio Canales, Mesut Ozil (mentioned)
Rating: R for violence
Word count: 5,100
Disclaimer: this is an entirely fictional story with fictional characters. Any resemblance to real life is a coincidence.
Summery: Pep Guardiola is the head of one of the largest mafia groups in Spain. But what’s a gangster to do when he gets his own personal hostage in the form of the grandson of his biggest enemy?
Disclaimer part 2: I don’t know anything about the mafia, Spanish or otherwise. This is all made up like a made up thing. Also I realize that Bojan is not really Pérez’s grandson, but see the disclaimer about this being made up. These are not real people; they are fictional characters with fictional families and fictional lives.
Note: Wow, I haven’t updated this since July. Sorry everyone, I swear I haven’t forgotten it! This chapter took a twist I hadn’t planned on, but that’s how writing goes some times. As always, thanks to my amazing team of prereaders, liroa15, baronessbadger, ellamoonie and zoemargaret.
Previous chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4a | 4b | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10a | 10b | 11
There's something different about Spanish air, Bojan thinks. He can practically taste it on his tongue, that feeling of home. Passengers are streaming out of the airport around him, suit cases clutched in their arms or being pulled along on wheels, people with arms around their loved ones, or looking for their rides, or checking something on their iPhone or BlackBerry. Bojan lets them stream past him, stands on the sidewalk outside the exit to the airport, his face turned towards the sun, letting his skin soak up the rays of Spain. There's no one here to meet him; when Pep had made some oblique suggestion about helping him to get settled, Bojan had roundly told the older man off. He's an adult; he'll catch one of the city buses to a hostel, where he'll crash for a couple days while he finds an apartment. Just right now, for this moment, he needs to stand and absorb the enormity of being home.
He hasn't told his mother yet that he's back in Spain. He knows she's living in Madrid now, and he knows if she knows he's moving back to Barcelona, she'll uproot herself and move back as well, and insist on helping him with everything. He'll wait until he's all settled already, and then go see her. That thought on his mind, he pulls out his iPhone, intending to look up the schedule of the local bus on the airport’s wifi. Bojan adds getting a new phone to his mental tally of things he needs to buy, along with a place to live, and preferably, something to sleep on. That’s gonna add up, so need to waste money on a cab when a bus will do just as well. He's got a relatively big suitcase, along with his small backpack. The backpack has all his clothes and personal items, the suitcase houses his art supplies. Bojan hopes it's survived the flight okay.
He hoists his backpack more firmly on his shoulder, keeping the suitcase at his side. No need for him to get robbed. It’s the first time he’s been away from Sergio in years, and the feeling is strange. But that was part of the deal Pep had negotiated with his grandfather. None of Perez’s influences in Barcelona, and that includes bodyguards Perez has hired, and Pep will leave Bojan alone. Bojan knows his grandfather well enough to know that Perez has only agreed to this deal to get Bojan back into Spain, back closer to his seat of power, and that the old man will most certainly have someone watching Bojan from afar. Bojan’s not gonna worry about that right now though. Right now he just needs a bus to a hostel. He's scrolling through his iPhone when someone calls his name.
"Hey Bojan!"
And then, before he can look up, frowning, to find the source, he's tackled from the side, practically knocking him over.
"What?" It takes a moment of him practically dropping his iPhone and frantically trying to keep his balance to work out who his attacker is. "Cesc!" he exclaims, delighted, when the spiky haired young man has finally disentangled himself.
Bojan's smiling, glad to see the other boy, but he notices Cesc's face doesn't look especially friendly. "Cesc, what ...?" he asks carefully.
Cesc suddenly moves, punching him in the arm, hard. "That's for sending Pep to jail!"
Bojan blinks. "Cesc, I-"
Cesc's face has melted from hard to looking abashed. "I promised myself if I ever saw you again, I would beat you up, for Pep's sake. So ... consider yourself beat up."
"... Duly noted," Bojan says solemnly, trying not to crack a smile.
Cesc tries to keep his face reserved for a few beats more, before he gives in and breaks into a huge grin, throwing his arms around Bojan once more. "Why did it take you so long to come back you big jerk!" he exclaims, pounding Bojan on the back.
"Uff," Bojan says. "There was all this stuff, you know, with my grandfather, and-"
"Fuck your grandfather!" Cesc exclaims.
"That's what I said," Bojan agrees ruefully, "but it's kind of hard to ignore him when he's the most powerful mobster in Spain."
"Second most powerful!" Cesc corrects. He winks at Bojan. "You've had the pleasure of kissing the most powerful man in Spain."
Bojan sighs. "About that," he says. "Did Pep send you? Because I explicitly told him-"
Cesc waves him off. "No, he didn't. He didn't have to! The second I heard you were coming back, I was there." He beams up at Bojan, as if his presence is the greatest thing he could have blessed Bojan with.
Bojan takes a moment to just smile. “Thanks, Cesc,” he says softly.
Cesc grins happily. “You didn’t think you would get away with being in Barcelona without seeing me, did you?”
“I ... didn’t think about it,” Bojan says. Deliberately hadn’t thought about it. Deliberately hadn’t thought about how being in the same city again would entangle his life with the lives of those in Pep’s gang, under Pep’s control, those who ultimately owed their loyalty to Pep, and how complicated would that make things. Bojan hadn’t made any assumptions, hadn’t wanted to.
Cesc’s sunny smile seems immune to Bojan’s inner turmoil. “That’s why I’m the smart one!” he tells Bojan brightly. Bojan snorts, and Cesc whacks him in the back of the head. “Come on, Martin’s waiting in the car, let’s go.”
“Martin’s here?” Bojan asks as he gathers up his suitcase and follows after Cesc. His question is answered as they move forward, and Martin waving at them from the driver’s seat of an old Mercedes comes into view. “Hey Martin!”
“Bojan!” Martin gets out of the car so he can come over to greet the smaller man. After hesitating for a moment, he shrugs and enfolds Bojan in a hug. Bojan smiles against the taller man’s shoulder, hugging him back. It’s weird to think about how scary he once found Martin, and how almost comforting the taller bodyguard’s presence now is. Martin pulls back, keeping his arms on Bojan’s shoulders so that he can look the smaller man over. “You look good. But skinny.” A worried look crosses Martin’s face, and Bojan remembers vividly how mother hen-like the man had been with him after the Japan trip fiasco.
He laughs. “I’m fine, Martin, I promise.” Martin is still eyeing him a touch dubiously, but he nods. It’s Bojan’s turn to eye Cesc and Martin, though. “Are you sure Pep didn’t send you?”
“I said so, didn’t I!” Cesc pouts at the fact that Bojan is disbelieving him. “It’s Martin’s day off, so he wanted to come too.” Next to Cesc, Martin nods.
Bojan sighs. “Alright,” he says. Martin makes a gesture as if to take Bojan’s suitcase, but Bojan waves him off. “I got it.” So Martin pops the trunk open so Bojan can stow his things away. Then the three of them pile into the car. Bojan glances between them. “Either one of you know of a good, cheap hostel?”
“Hostel nothing!” Cesc exclaims. “You’re staying with me.”
Marin coughs and raises an eyebrow as he turns to look at Cesc, who’s sitting in the back seat. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“What?” Bojan wants to know.
Cesc glances away, blushing, as Martin explains, “he lives with Gattuso now.”
“Gattuso?” Bojan twists around in his seat so he can stare at Cesc in shock. “Wait, like you and Gattuso like-“
Cesc bites his lip and then nods defiantly. “We’re …” He takes a deep breath then blurts out, “together.”
“Seriously?” Bojan’s having a hard time wrapping his head around it. “Gattuso, as in … Rino? As in big, burly, got a temper Gattuso?”
Cesc sighs dreamily and bats his eyelashes. “I always did go for the manly ones.”
Bojan rolls his eyes before returning to the matter at hand. “Wow. Wow, wow, wow. I never would have guessed in a million years. I mean … Gattuso’s gay?”
“You can’t always just tell if a person is or not,” Martin says, and there’s almost a hint of defensiveness in his voice.
“Right, sure, I know.” Bojan quickly says. “So, about the hostel?”
“You can stay with me instead,” Martin says as he turns the steering wheel, guiding the car through traffic.
“Thanks, Martin, but don’t you live in Pep’s building? No offense to either of you,” Bojan says with a smile to take the sting out of his words, “but I really rather have as little to do with Pep’s organization as possible.”
“We’re not doing this as members of Pep’s organization,” Cesc buts in. “We’re doing this as your friends. … We are your friends, right, Bojan?”
He’s looking at Bojan with those big puppy eyes he’s never out grown, even though Cesc is in his late twenties now. The question is incredibly fraught, but sitting here with Cesc and Martin, the answer seems simple, and Bojan has to smile a little. “… Yeah,” he says, “yeah you are.”
Martin and Cesc seem to think that settles the question of whether Bojan is going to stay with them, and Bojan decides it can’t hurt to stay in Pep’s building, if it’s only for a couple days. He probably should be more concerned, he knows, but he’s letting himself be carried away on a tide of happiness at being home. Besides, it’s not like he would actually see Pep anyway, even if he’s in the same building, he rationalizes to himself.
+++
Pep is the most powerful man in Barcelona; one of the most powerful men in Spain. It would be a work of a moment to tell one of his people to tell other people to pull some strings with the airline and find out exactly when Bojan was flying back to Spain, what seat he was sitting in, everything down to what meal they served him on the flight. But Pep promised Bojan space, and he means that promise, so he does not do any of those things.
So of course (of course) Cesc goes and uses Pep’s contacts to look the information up himself, and then blithely informs Pep of Bojan’s arrival date. The day comes and Pep ignores it, acts like it’s any other day. He’s not going to interfere, he’s not.
So when Cesc sticks his head in the door of Pep’s office and informs him, “Bojan’s going to be staying with Martin for a couple days,” Pep stares very intently at his laptop like something quite interesting is there, and says “I’m working, Cesc.”
“Just thought you might want to knoooow,” Cesc trills, “seeing as he’ll be in the same building and all.” And then he disappears again.
Pep stares very determinedly at the unmoving curser on his laptop screen until the door is firmly shut behind Cesc. Then he sags, leaning back in his chair as he runs his hands over his face. Sometimes, having Cesc around seems like a very bad idea.
+++
Back in the security camera room, Cesc finds Martin and Gattuso on duty. He flops against the counter with a dramatic sigh, batting his eyelashes. “Those two are so perfect for each other,” he opines. “They just need a little nudge.”
Gattuso eyes his lover. “You better not be match-making,” he warns.
“Oh come on!” Cesc pouts. “That’s the whole point!”
“The point,” Gattuso says, “is to stay out of the boss’ personal life.” But Cesc is moving towards him, a certain pout on his face.
“But Riiiiiiino …”
“I’m leaving,” Martin says, abruptly standing and heading for the door.
Out in the hall, he runs into Danny. “I wouldn’t go in there,” Martin says, gesturing to the shut door behind him. “I think Cesc was about to go down on Gattuso.”
Danny winks. “Ooh, a free show.”
Martin rolls his eyes. “What,” he asks, “isn’t your girlfriend giving you enough?” He’s already moving past Danny now, further down the hall, so he misses the look the other bodyguard shoots at his retreating form. Danny sighs, bringing his hand up to run through the short hair of his mohawk, before turning and continuing in the direction he was going.
+++
Bojan’s jetlagged so he spends most of the day drowsing on Martin’s couch. He’s awoken by a key in the door, and looks up to find Martin and Danny entering carrying what looks and smells like bags of takeout.
“Hey Danny.” Bojan yawns as he rubs sleep out of his eyes.
“Hey kid,” Danny says over his shoulder as he goes to set the bags down in Martin’s kitchenette.
Bojan gets up and wanders towards the two other men. “Where’s Cesc?”
“He um, sends his regrets,” Martin says, “he’s otherwise engaged tonight.”
Danny snorts. “You mean Rino is fucking him through the floor as punishment for Cesc distracting him while he was on duty today.”
Martin chokes. “Uh,” he says once he’s gotten his throat clear with some helpful slaps on the back from Danny. “Like I said, otherwise engaged.”
“His ass is, you mean,” Danny says, just to see if Martin will blush even more. Martin does.
“Huh,” Bojan says. “So Cesc and Gattuso really are a thing.”
“Yeeeep.” There’s something almost brittle about the way Danny says it, but then he smiles his cheerful devil-may-care smile. “Who’d’a thunk, huh?”
“I’d have lost that bet,” Bojan says with a chuckle as he shakes his head. “What’s that you’ve got then?”
Marin’s started pulling containers out of the bags, in an effort to try to distract himself from his blush.
“The freshest seafood from one of the best restaurants in Barcelona,” Danny says expansively.
“I know this isn’t much of a welcome home dinner,” Martin says quickly. “You can have a real one later. But for your first night back, we wanted you to have something that tasted like home.”
Bojan looks for a moment like he wants to protest, but then he smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling. “Thanks guys, this is the best first night back dinner I could have imagined.”
Soon all the food is set out, and they’re ready to eat. Martin apologizes profusely for the paper plates; “I don’t have time to ever wash dishes, working night shifts like I usually do.”
“You should get a girlfriend who will clean for you,” Danny suggests carelessly.
Martin stares down at his plate of food. “Not many people would want to put up with my work schedule,” he mumbles.
“Nonsense!” Danny claps him on the back. “A handsome fit guy like you would get all the ladies.” Marin is still staring at his food, so he doesn’t see, but Bojan is watching and so he notices that Danny’s smile is a little too wide, a little too bright.
“So,” Bojan says casually, gathering up another bite on his fork. “Any other changes while I was away? Cesc and Rino hooked up, anyone else? You, Danny?”
Danny laughs. “Me? Naaah. I just … nah.” Danny picks up a beer. “’M not really interested, you know?” He presses the mouth of the beer bottle to his lips, quickly taking a sip.
Martin is watching Danny out of the corner of his eyes. “So that’s why you go out with the guys to clubs? You’re only looking for hookups?”
“Martin, babe,” Danny says, grinning. “If you’re jealous, you can come with, and we’ll find a hot broad for you.”
Martin turns stiffly away. “I’m not interested,” he says, taking a drink of his own beer.
“So we’ll find you a nice girl instead,” Danny says. “A girl who will be happy to clean your kitchen.”
Martin stabs viciously at his food. “I said I’m not interested.”
Bojan intervenes. “Any other changes? How’s everyone else? I saw Glen in New York, he looked fine …”
“Everyone’s great,” Martin says, and starts to give Bojan a run-down on the other bodyguards.
As Bojan smiles and nods and listens, he reflects on how surreal his life is, that he’s back in the building he was held hostage in, asking about the welfare of men who held him, if not at literal gunpoint, then with the definite threat of violence. He’s better now, he really is, he hadn’t lied when he told Pep he’d been through a lot of therapy. But still, he can’t deny the fact that catching a glimpse of Danny’s gun holster tucked in the waistband of his pants had made Bojan slightly queasy. Even now there’s a small part of him that feels the need to bolt, like if he doesn’t get out of this building now, he never will.
If they take me hostage again, my grandfather will know, he tells himself, but that’s not exactly a comforting thought. And perhaps even more discomforting is the fact that in spite of it all, he actually does like Danny and Martin. They’re good guys, and they were just doing a job. Their job just happens to be muscle for one of the biggest crime bosses in Spain. What are the warning signs of Stockholm Syndrom Bojan asks himself, and starts to go over the list in his head.
“Bo?” he hears Danny say, and evidently Danny has had to repeat himself.
“What, sorry?” Bojan smiles disarmingly at the other two men. “My mind must have wandered.”
“You must be pretty jet-lagged,” Martin says, and Bojan agrees easily.
Inwardly, he thinks, be more careful, Bo. Don’t let yourself get sucked back in. The gangster life is something Bojan wants to be far away from- which is paradoxically why he’s put himself back in Josep Guardiola’s orbit.
+++
Pep knows Cesc well enough to know the younger man won’t leave unused the opportunity of having Bojan in the same building. He’s on the lookout for any machinations Cesc might put in place, and the first thing he does when he gets up in the morning is head to the security control room, which monitors the entire building. “Where’s Cesc? Is he up?”
“Do you want us to get him up, sir? He’s currently in his and Gattuso’s apartment, sleeping.”
“No, no.” Pep waves the man aside. “That’s all I wanted to know.” The fact that Cesc is still asleep gives Pep time to make good his escape from the building, so that he doesn’t have to worry about Cesc trying to engineer ‘chance’ meetings between himself and Bojan.
He showers quickly, slipping into one of his exquisitely tailored suits. “Breakfast on the go,” he tells Glen, who’s on duty this morning. Pep snags up a briefcase, and Glen follows him out the door, where they’re joined by more bodyguards. The guards seem to have decided to take extra precautions protecting Pep ever since he got back from jail, as if more bodies can somehow save him from the police if they come with warrants again. Still, Pep would have to admit to himself that he does find the gesture touching. His corps of bodyguards seems to feel partially responsible for Zlatan’s betrayal, as if they should have figured out his duplicitousness themselves, and as such, it seems they’re trying their hardest to make amends.
Pep quickly switches from thinking about the loyalty of his staff to thinking about business he needs to take care of as the elevator heads down to the underground garage.
As his car pulls out on to the street though, Pep realizes it’s not just Cesc he needs to worry about. There, walking down the sidewalk in broad daylight, like he belongs there, is Bojan.
“What the fuck?” Pep says, unthinkingly speaking out loud. “Cesc is just letting him walk places? What the hell is he thinking?”
“… Do you want me to stop, boss?” The driver asks hesitantly.
Pep considers it, seriously considers it, fist clenched as he braces it against the seat in front of him so he can lean over and peer out the window. “No.” Pep gives a short bitter bark of laughter. “He wouldn’t accept a ride from me anyway. Let’s go.” Pep settles back in his seat, directing his eyes forward once more.
Of course, having made that decision, traffic conspires to get in his way. The car gets stopped at a stoplight, and almost as if he can’t control himself, Pep finds his head turning so he can watch Bojan once more through the dark tinted windows.
Bojan’s got on baggy jeans that even form a distance, look worn, and a big over-sized hoodie that only emphasizes Bojan’s slightness. Pep stares at Bojan’s forearms, bared where the sleeves are pushed back up, and notes how skinny they are.
Bojan’s got a worn messenger bag over his shoulder and he’s staring down intently at something on his iPhone, not really paying attention to where he’s walking. Pep has to resist a sudden urge to get out of the car and cross traffic to get up on the sidewalk so he can catch Bojan’s arm and tell him to look where he’s going, for fuck’s sake! Bojan wouldn’t take well to that either, Pep knows, and so he remains where he sits, watching the small figure go by as the light changes and the car starts to move again.
Once Bojan is out of sight, Pep lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and tries to force his mind back to business.
+++
Bojan surveys the apartment with satisfaction. “Yep, it’s perfect.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Bojan turns to look at the tousle-haired blond next to him. “This place is a shithole!”
“It’s also incredibly cheep,” Bojan reminds Sergio Canales, who had once been his best friend and teammate on the uni football team.
Sergio rolls his eyes. “So cheep it probably has fleas. Cockroaches. Rats?” He shudders at the thought.
“Come on,” Bojan says, “it’s clean … enough.”
Sergio eyes him, arms folded across his chest. “I can’t believe after five years you called me up to say you need a favor … and the favor is serving as a reference so that you can pay for the privilege of renting the world’s shittiest apartment.”
Bojan smiles. “Thanks, Sergio, it means a lot.”
Sergio is quiet while Bojan goes through signing the paperwork with the landlord, and forking over a good chunk of his savings as the deposit and first and last month’s rent. Once they head back out to Sergio’s car though, he picks back up the thread. “You could’ve at least picked up the phone once in the past five years, couldn’t you?”
It’s Bojan’s turn to sigh. “Sorry, Sergi, I really am, but … when I left I was in a bad place, and while I was in New York … let’s just say I couldn’t exactly afford international phone calls.”
Sergio takes his eyes off traffic to give Bojan a look that is not impressed. “You ever heard of email? Facebook? Hell-ooo!”
“… I didn’t have a computer.” It sounds lame, even to him, and Bojan winces. “Look, I’m sorry, but I just … needed to get Spain out of my head for a while, okay?”
Sergio reaches over, punching him in the arm. “That’s all you had to say, man. If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t press. Just, I’m here whenever, yeah?” Bojan nods, and Sergio looks over again to flash him a brilliant white smile. “Seriously though Bo, man, it is good to have you back.”
Bojan smiles slowly as he watches Barcelona roll by. “It’s good to be back.”
“So we totally need lunch,” Sergio says. “To celebrate your new shithole.”
“Oh fuck off,” Bojan says with a laugh. “But lunch sounds good.”
Sergio knows which restaurants have come and gone in the parts of Barcelona Bojan used to frequent, so Bojan lets him pick the place. It makes him sad to see how his city has changed in the five years he’s been gone, but then, what did he expect? That time would freeze and the whole city would wait for him to return? No, life moves on, and Bojan has to move on with it.
“So what’s next?” Sergio asks him once they have their food.
“Hmm?”
“I mean,” Sergio says, waving his fork around, “what’s the next step in your master plan which evidently beings with renting a shitty apartment and ends God knows where.”
Bojan smirks. “Well if I can get a shitty job to match my shitty apartment …”
Sergio rolls his eyes. “Whatever. If you love shitty things that much, I can’t stop you.” Then a thought occurs to him. “Hey, I think Mes mentioned that the restaurant he waiters at is short-staffed. Maybe he can hook you up with a job!”
“Yeah?” Bojan looks interested. Mesut was another member of their uni football team, and while he and Bojan hadn’t been as close as Bojan and Sergio, Mesut was still a friend. “How’s he doing anyway?”
Sergio starts in on relating all the gossip Bojan has missed in the past five years, and Bojan nods and listens. When they’re done, Sergio glances at his watch, frowning apologetically. “Sorry Bo, I’d love to spend the day hanging out, but my boss only gave me the morning off. I gotta get back to work.”
“No worries,” Bojan tells him. “You have my number-“ courtesy of a pay as you go phone Bojan had picked up first thing that morning- “so ring me up whenever.”
“No dropping off the face of the earth again for five years, you hear?” Sergio mock-chides him.
“If I drop off the face of the earth, I’ll warn you first.” Bojan promises.
“Can I drop you off anywhere?” Sergio wants to know.
The last thing Bojan wants is for Sergio to drive him up to Pep’s building. That would be a disaster in so many ways. “Nah, I’ll manage on my own.”
“You sure?” Sergio smirks. “I wouldn’t want poor widdle Bo-Bo wandering the streets himself …”
Bojan punches him. “Get going you big jerk. I wouldn't want your boss to realize what a lazy slacker you are and fire you.”
“Fuck you too,” Sergio tells him fondly. “Alright, I’m gonna call you later, so no disappearing!”
Bojan has Mesut’s number, which Sergio had given him, but really, he would feel more comfortable if he got his things out of Pep’s penthouse before he did anything else. So he starts to make the trek back. Bus lines don’t run in the part of Barcelona where Pep’s building is; the area is much too posh. And Bojan certainly doesn’t have money for something like a cab fare. So it’s a long walk back, just as it had been a long walk out this morning. Bojan’s used to walking a lot in New York, but even so, by the time he gets back, his calves are aching and he’s ready for a break.
He walks up to Pep’s building, up to the guard at the main door. Martin had told Bojan that morning that while he couldn’t give Bojan his own key, the guard at the main door would be told to let him in. Bojan doesn’t recognize the guard, but then, Pep’s organization is large, and he’s sure he didn’t meet everyone in his stint in captivity.
“Hey,” he tries, smiling hesitantly at the dour-faced guard. “I’m Bojan, you’re supposed to let me in?”
Something sharp enters the guard’s eyes, something Bojan doesn’t like. “Oh yes,” he says, “I’m supposed to escort you up.”
“That’s okay,” Bojan says quickly, “I don’t need an escort.”
“Order,” the guard tells him, and Bojan can’t argue with that.
Once inside though, the guard steers Bojan away from the main elevator he had used that morning, and towards a small side door. “I don’t think-“ Bojan tries.
“This way,” the guard tells him impatiently, and wraps a strong hand around Bojan’s arm. Alarm bells are going off in Bojan’s head, but before he can do anything, the guard has shoved Bojan through the door and slapped a hand over his mouth. “Not one word,” the guard hisses, voice low and threatening.
Bojan tries to scream anyway, even though he doubts it will do any good. He’s inside Pep’s building now, after all, it’s not like any help will come. How could he have been so stupid, assuming that if Cesc and Martin said it was okay, that he could trust these people? That’s the last thought Bojan has before the guard slams his head into the wall and everything goes dark.
+++
The first thing Bojan feels when he wakes up is pain. Lots of pain. The second thing he feels is that he can’t move. His arms are tied behind him somehow, bound tightly enough at the wrists that it’s cutting off circulation to his hands.
“Finally with us?” a sneering voice asks, and Bojan blinks as he looks up. The guard from the door now has friends, and Bojan has a sinking feeling that things have gone from bad to worse.
“You think you could get our boss sent to jail and then waltz back in here like nothing happened?” the first guard demands.
“I didn’t-“ Bojan tries to say.
“Shut up!” He sees the blow coming, but that doesn’t make it hurt less.
“Five years in jail,” the next guard says. “Five years in jail and we’re gonna make you pay for every single one.”
Bojan lets his eyes slide shut to block out the angry jeering faces. “It wasn’t my fault,” he whispers, but no one is listening.
There’s pain, and then there’s more pain, and just when Bojan thinks it’s never going to stop, it does. There’s the sound of the door being opened, and then, “What the fucking hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Gattuso, it’s-“ one of the guards tries to say, but an angry slug from Gattuso’s fist doesn’t let him finish.
“Get out!” the burly man roars. “If the rest of you don’t want the same, get out!”
Bojan’s not 100% sure what’s going on anymore, but he definitely feels it when Gattuso picks him up, even the gentle movements seeming to make everything hurt. “Ow,” he lisps, as blood runs down his chin from a split lip, and then, “hey Rino … Bet you didn’t … miss me.”
“Stop talking,” Gattuso orders brusquely, and because Bojan lets his eyes slide shut again as Gattuso carries him somewhere, he misses the look of concern on the bodyguard’s face.