Eric leaned back in his seat on the plane, eyes half-closed. The flight attendant's announcement in Italian echoed faintly in the background, but he paid no attention. Thirteen hours without sleep wasn't anything unusual for him.
He opened his eyes slightly when the attendant came over with the drinks.
"Caffè o tè, signore?"
"Just water," he said shortly. But when he caught the attendant's sweet smile, he added quietly, "If possible, two bottles."
The attendant chuckled. "Two? That thirsty?"
"No. One to drink, one to throw if the guy next to me snores again."
The man beside him — a middle-aged passenger who had been snoring loudly since takeoff — immediately stopped. The attendant laughed softly and walked away. Eric just gave a faint smirk and closed his eyes again.
A few hours later, the plane landed at Linate Airport. Milan's air was cold and dry, greeting him with a gray sky. Eric pulled his black bag, his steps calm but alert.
Outside, the city was alive with golden lights, engine sounds, and the smell of coffee from every corner. People rushed by — tourists, workers, vendors — all moving fast, paying no attention to anyone else.
He took out a folded note from his jacket pocket.
> "Via Monte Napoleone... room 402."
He gave a small shake of his head. "Even the street name sounds expensive."
The taxi he hailed took him through an upscale district. Luxury boutiques lined both sides, restaurants filled with people dressed to impress. Eric looked out the window and murmured, "If it weren't for the mission, I'd be sitting under that café umbrella, drinking espresso."
The building he arrived at stood tall and sleek, glass walls reflecting the Milan sky. Eric went up to room 402 — spacious, modern, and too quiet. He placed his bag on the bed, opened his small laptop, and checked the mission file.
It only said:
> PROJECT F9 — MILAN CONTACT
No name, no date, no exact location.
He let out a long sigh. "As usual... they love keeping me guessing."
Eric took off his jacket and hung it on the chair. Just as he was about to sit, two knocks came from the door. Once, then twice.
He froze. Slowly, he reached for his pistol, removed the safety, and moved toward the door with silent, controlled steps — every muscle ready.
He opened it slightly — and almost shot the man standing there holding a tray of food.
"Signore Desmond?" The hotel staff nearly dropped the tray, eyes wide at the sight of the pistol aimed at his face. "L-lunch! Complimentary from the hotel!"
Eric stared for a second, then lowered the gun behind his leg.
"You almost became my lunch," he said flatly.
The man laughed nervously, set the tray on the table, and left quickly without looking back.
Eric sat down, staring at the meal — pasta with red sauce, garlic bread, and a glass of untouched wine. He shook his head slightly. "Milan sure knows how to make an impression..."
He looked out the window. The sun hung low, the sky half-orange, half-gray. But beneath all that beauty, an uneasy feeling stirred in his chest — like something was already waiting for him before he was ready for it.
---
Evening in Milan was never ordinary.
The sky hung between gray and orange, as if undecided. The wind carried the scent of coffee and dust, mixed with the endless honking of traffic.
Eric walked slowly along the sidewalk, scanning his surroundings. He looked calm, but his mind was busy memorizing every alley, every shop, every face that passed. It was routine — he needed to know a place like he knew how to breathe.
At one intersection, he stopped in front of a small café — a wooden sign read Caffè di Luna.
He glanced at the menu posted on the window, then stepped inside. The strong aroma of coffee greeted him.
He had just sat down, not even ordered yet, when a voice spoke from the next table.
> "You're not from around here, are you?"
Eric lifted his gaze. A man — maybe in his late twenties, pale blond hair, with a teasing smile. A bracelet glinted on his wrist, and most noticeably... he was an Omega. The subtle, sweet scent gave it away, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.
Eric smiled faintly. "That obvious?"
> "Hmm," the man leaned back, eyes scanning him deliberately. "The way you watch the room. Alphas are always like that. Always alert."
Eric chuckled softly, keeping his tone casual. "Or maybe I just don't like being stared at."
The Omega grinned. "And if I want to keep staring, what will you do about it?"
Eric tilted his head, a half-smile curving his lips — sharper than kind. "If I told you, you wouldn't have time to run."
The man froze for a second… then burst out laughing, covering his mouth. "Relax, Alpha. I'm just joking. Foreigners are always so serious, huh?"
Eric only raised a brow and went back to his coffee. But deep down, he thought — if all Omegas in Milan were like this, his mission was going to be harder than expected.
A few minutes later, he left the café and returned to the main street. The sky had grown darker, and within moments, rain began to fall — light at first, then heavy.
He jogged toward the roadside, looking for shelter. The alley he turned into grew narrower, dimmer. Rain dripped from his hair down his neck, and he muttered under his breath, "It always rains when I start a mission. Coincidence? Maybe not."
He quickened his pace and finally spotted an old building with a small roof at the end of the alley. He ducked under it, wiping the rain from his face.
The sound of a creaking door made him turn.
From inside, a man stepped out. Tall, broad-shouldered, hair slicked back and wet. His face was calm — too calm. His eyes were sharp, assessing.
Eric stood still.
The man spoke first. His voice was low and deep, calm but weighty.
> "Lost?"
He glanced around, then back at Eric.
"Milan likes to test newcomers."
A faint smile. "Need a ride?"
Eric gave a small smirk, eyes still on the rain.
"No, thanks."
The man nodded slightly, his lips curving in the hint of a smile before he turned back inside. The heavy wooden door closed softly, leaving Eric standing alone under the small roof.
The rain kept falling, harder now. Water streamed from his hair down his neck, but he didn't move. Something about that man — not just his voice, but his presence — lingered. Calm, yet heavy.
Eric pulled out his phone, checked the screen — no new messages, no new orders. He slipped it back into his pocket and looked up at the sky, exhaling slowly.
"Need a ride, huh…" he muttered to himself, chuckling under his breath.
He lowered his gaze to the wet street gleaming under the streetlights. The rain kept pouring, relentless.
In the distance, the sound of an engine passed, followed by the occasional bark of a stray dog.
For some reason, that night felt different.