Once upon a time the mafioso had been able to move through the woods like a wraith, but these days he didn't have the luxury. Days prior he'd been besieged by a trio of young wolves. Basileus had escaped the encounter with his life, but the increasing difficulty that came with each passing day suggested he'd merely bought himself a bit more time. His right front leg couldn't bear any weight at all and it seemed (whether or not this was true, he didn't know) as though the entirety of the left side of his torso had been flayed. As awful as he felt, as difficult as it was to continue, Basileus couldn't bring himself to care. It had been a long, long time since he had cared whether he lived or died. It was a miracle he'd made it this far. What did he have to live for? After spending years looking for Enrico he'd given up and headed home, resigned to whatever fate befell him. He'd returned to nothing. The cosca was gone, its members scattered. A few factions had risen up in its wake, but he was a pariah and none would acknowledge him. For his failure he'd been shunned. Perhaps it was a mercy that none had thought enough of Basileus to kill him but he was of the mind that he'd simply been shuffled off into his own personal hell. Unable to continue any longer, Basileus sank to the ground. Without trying he knew he couldn't rise so he lay there and watched the snow fall as the cold sank into his bones. He was done and it didn't matter. Hover speech for translation

He had not yet mastered the new style of hunting that living on the sea ice required, though he was beginning to learn the ways of the creatures who made their living from it, so Enrico had ventured out of his pack's lands with the intention of going after some of the smaller game that resided there. He'd have to start the younger members who'd chosen to join him on some bigger game another time, but for now he would be hunting on his own before another blizzard hit.

Preoccupied with sorting prey scents to track, he was making it a point to dismiss other predators' scents from the forefront of his mind, though he kept just enough notice of them that he wouldn't be caught unaware by a puma. One scent kept tickling at his mind, though, refusing to be completely disregarded. Enrico was too distracted by thoughts of getting a few hares and getting back before the snow hit to quite place the scent. He continued on regardless, and so was not expecting it when he nearly stumbled over the body of a wolf in his path.

He froze, as the scent and form of the wolf coalesced into one.

Basileus.

Basileus Scarlatti was the wolf who'd been sent to track him down.

Track him down... and kill him.

All of his survival instincts - honed for so long on the run from this very man - screamed at him to run, or to leap on the prostrate form and rend it to pieces before Basileus could return the favor. Caught between two terror reactions, Enrico instead found himself unable to do either.

It was perhaps that hesitation that allowed thought to seep in once again, and allowed him time to realize that Basileus was not moving. Time for the scent of blood to sink in. Time for his mind to go from instinct to reason, from simple reaction to actual thought. Time for his natural calm to reassert itself.

Despite all that had happened, he did not hate Basileus, nor any of the others who had ordered his death. Enrico, however unwittingly, had betrayed them all, had broken omerta. He deserved the death they wished on him. Basileus did not. Basileus was - as much as any man of the red brothers could be - innocent in this. He did not deserve to die bleeding in the snow, and Enrico's deep seated love for his brothers would not allow him to simply leave him there.

"Basileus," he breathed on a sigh. Damnation. Maybe if it had been a desperate fight for his own survival, he could have killed Basileus Scarlatti. But not like this. Not this coldblooded decision to simply walk away.

He stepped forward to where the red-tinted male could see him. Glacial eyes and face were soft and calm despite his racing heart. "Non mi aspettavo di rivederti, paesano" he said quietly. Once he would have been Basileus' superior, but that time was gone. He was an alpha now, but as far as he was concerned he and Basileus were equals now. The cosca, after all, was gone. "Non sembri così bene"

Unexpectedly Basileus found himself laughing as the snow began to blanket him. So this was it, eh? How fitting. No, really, it was perfect. He deserved this death. Either the cold or his wounds would kill him. If he'd been a betting man he'd have bet on the former. Regardless of which particular problem punched his ticket, his ending would be fitting. He didn't serve the glory of dying in a fight or the peace that came at the end of a long life. No, right here in the cold; alone and unknown in a land that wasn't his own. That was the death he deserved. A voice, one he hadn't heard in a long time, reached his ears. He stared into the snow uncomprehendingly for a moment. Then it clicked and Basileus flipped around to look. He stared at Enrico for several moments; his mind a jumble. His expression shifted into a sneer and he laughed sardonically. "Oh, come adeguata," he snickered, "Quella è tu chi vede me via." It seemed fate had one more twist of the knife left for him. He wasn't sure if he was seeing the real deal or Death in disguise, but he was leaning towards the latter. Basileus dodn't know how long he'd been laying there. For all he knew it was time and this was the welcoming committee. Hover speech for translation

Basileus seemed to hear, but for a long moment there was no recognition in him. Before Enrico could decide if what he felt was relief or sadness at that fact, the realization hit the rust-marked male and he flipped over to stare at him. Enrico couldn't help but close his eyes in pain at the sneer on Basileus' muzzle. "Ho paura che tu non morirai oggi, paesano," he told him firmly, cool eyes opening once more to stare down at the wolf who had been sent to kill him. "Vedremo cosa succede quando stai bene, forse, ma non oggi."

He would have to bring him back to Niente, somehow, but he did not yet have a trained healer among his wolves. He would have to trade with another pack for the services of one... was he willing to do so much for a wolf who would undoubtedly try to kill him when he was well enough to move? And would Basileus even accept his help, he, who broke Omerta?

Enrico was real. The moment Basilieus realized that he began to fill with rage. It sang through him, white hot and more painful than all of his wounds combined. In seconds it overrode his exhaustion and in a blind fury he lunged towards Enrico. With spittle flying, he roared, "Vaffanculo a chi t'è morto. Non sei mio paesano!" Basileus listed to the side but managed to remain upright through sheer force of will. For fear of falling he didn't take another step forward, but his desire was quite clear.  He would kill Enrico if given the chance. "Vaffanculo!" Basileus could feel his legs trembling. He kept them straight but any second now they would give out. The wounds down his side were stinging horribly, but he ignored them. Nothing else mattered except the wolf standing before him. The traitor. His voice low, he hissed, "Testa di cazzo, ti ucciderò." His legs gave out and he sank to the ground. The will to fight was there, but his body refused to comply. His eyes never left Enrico. "Se è l'ultima cosa che faccio. Ti ucciderò. Lo giuro sui miei fratelli." Hover speech for translation

Enrico calmly sidestepped Basileus' pathetic attempt to attack him, and perhaps it was a hint of stubborn contrariness that made the decision for him in that moment. No, Basileus was not willing to accept his house. Yes, he would be willing to make the effort to save Basileus, if only to assuage his own conscience and to grab hold of the opportunity to prove to himself that he was not the coward he'd been all these years running from the phantom of Basileus' presence. He was no coward. If he died by Bas' fangs once he was well enough to try again, so be it.

"Very well, Scarlatti," he said coolly, dispensing with the pleasantry. He was still speaking Italian this whole time even though I'm too lazy to translate it on the phone. "You may kill me one day, this is true. But you will be killing no one scrabbling about bleeding out in the snow. You cannot even walk. What will you do to me now? I could disappear and leave you here. Even if you survived, you still would never find me." He shook his head sharply, circling the prone fighter to prove his point. He returned to Basileus' head and sat, carefully out of range. "If I save you, you will kill me. My soul is already stained with the blood of my brothers, what is one more body along the way, hmm? I am already damned. What would saving you do to relieve that burden? It would do nothing." It was a reasonable argument, even though he had already made the decision to save Basileus whether the male liked it or not. If he had to, he would drag him by the tail all the way up north to the Antiox.

Basileus lay on the ground fuming, his gaze baleful as he glared up at Enrico. If there were any gods at all, any potency to his gaze or justice in the world, the oath-breaker would burst into flame now. Basileus had never wished for anything so hard in all of his life. "Vieni più vicino e vedrai cosa posso fare," he said sniped coolly. "Forse ridurrà il senso di colpa che senti, eh?" Basileus laughed darkly, then spit at Enrico. "Beh, vaffanculo, perché preferirei morire piuttosto che accettare l'aiuto di un uomo senza onore." He snorted another dark laugh; clearly amused by the idea that Enrico could somehow lessen the guilt he undoubtedly felt. Once upon the time the man had been a good teacher. He'd been a brother, a mentor and a friend to many. Those friends, those pupils and brothers? They were all dead now. And the reason for their untimely deaths now sat just outside Basileus' reach. "Vuoi un assaggio di pace, vero? Possa tu non lo trovi mai." Hover speech for translation

"Niente potrà ridurre la mia colpa," Enrico snapped back, his temper rising quickly from nerves already frayed to the edge by simply being here. "Non ho nemmeno bisogno di fare nulla per accelerare la tua morte, ho solo bisogno di aspettare, e non sarai più il fantasma di offuscare tutto ciò che faccio con la paura, non ci sarà più nessuno che possa uccidermi per quello che ho fatto. Sarò libero."

He closed his jaws with a snap and took a deep breath, firmly putting the lid back on his normally mild temper, taking a minute to compose himself much like a man might tug at his cuffs and bottom of a tuxedo jacket to straighten them once more after throwing a punch.

He leveled a cool gaze at Basileus. "Sei un brav'uomo, Basileus Scarlatti. Meglio della maggior parte. Meglio di me, certamente. Non meriti di morire." He hesitated, his gaze shifting to the forest around them. Off in the direction of the lands they'd both hailed from. Home. A bitter feeling rose in him. No matter how this played out, in the end one of them would die. Either he let Basileus die now or killed him in battle, or Basileus would kill him. It was such a waste. "Avrebbero mandato qualcuno tranne te."

The idea that Enrico would somehow be free once he was dead was an amusing one. Basileus sniggered as the world around him seemed to dim. The loss of blood was beginning to get to him. He didn't know how much longer he had and he didn't care. "Non sarai mai libero." Slowly, so slowly he wasn't immediately aware of the movement, Basileus' head sank to the ground. He hadn't made the decision to lay it down, but he didn't have the power to hold it up any longer. He was just too tired; the fire he'd felt as he lunged at Enrico was dying away. What little energy remained he would save in case Enrico moved closer. Basileus had every intention of taking the bastard with him. "E ancora," he said dryly, "Eccomi, facendo proprio questo." Hover speech for translation

Ooc: this is all meant to be in Italian but too last for that on my phone.

“Perhaps not,” he acknowledged, his air of dignity recovered. “But will you either, Scarlatti? Or will even the ghosts call you to heel at a snap of their fingers? What a well trained dog you are.” Words dripping with scorn, trying to keep the other male running on anger until he could see an opportunity to act. The more Basileus had railed against it, the more his decision to save the wretch was stubbornly solidified. Already he was drooping, but Enrico was wary yet.

“Do you know,” he continued, more comversationally, “That I was in love? She had the face of an angel, and I traded my soul for her love. I trusted her with all of me, but it turned out I was just a convenient way to gain rank in her cosca.” He paused. “Pay attention, Basileus, this is a morality tale about trusting pretty young women. Wouldn't want you to do something foolish for one, would we?”

Basileus' lips curled up in a sneer as Enrico called him a well trained dog. La differenza tra te e me, pentito, è che i miei fratelli mi accoglieranno alla fine. 'Free' was Enrico's word, not Basil's. Basileus didn't seek freedom from the ghosts of his brothers. They were dead because of this man, not him. Their ghosts were Enrico's problem. That Enrico had been fooled by a woman was news to Basileus. Knowing now that his brothers were dead because Enrico had fallen in love enraged him. They'd died for so little. It disgusted him. Basileus gritted his teeth together so hard they squeaked in protest. Finally he exploded. Hai scambiato le vite dei miei fratelli per una fica? NO! Questa non è una storia di moralità, questa è una storia di stupidità! Pensavo che fossi un uomo saggio, ma ora vedo che non eri migliore di un ragazzino lasciando che il tuo cazzo ti guidasse in giro! Basileus huffed angrily as a wave of nausea crashed over him. At some point during his tirade Basil's head had shot up and though it had taken a moment, the effects of that finally caught up to him. He was so done with this disgusting man. Knowing now that everything had come undone because of one wily bitch wounded him far more than the bites that littered his body. Hover speech for translation

Enrico would have been surprised if Basileus had reacted in any way but disgust at the idea of being free from the cosca. It hadn't been so very long ago that he himself had believed that his loyalty and his love for his brothers would be all he'd ever need, that his loyalty would be rewarded. "Sono sicuro che lo faranno," he murmured, showing no signs of the skepticism that he held deep within him at the thought of there being an afterlife to be welcomed into. "Ma allora, perché sei qui da solo, a morire?" He titled his head to gesture towards Basileus' torn body. "Perché non sei tornato dai tuoi fratelli per il soccorso?"

A spat of bitter laughter at Basileus' accusations hissed unbidden from Enrico's muzzle. he told the Scarlatti. "Chiaramente, eravamo entrambi errati in quella ipotesi."

He paced in a half-circle around Basileus' side, staying out of reach, but then spoke again abruptly. "Non ho potuto dare avvertimento quando l'ho scoperto. Avevo rotto Omertà. La mia vita era già finita. Sai che nessuno dei nostri fratelli non avrebbe ascoltato." He had seen Basileus' weakening state and knew he needed to make his move quickly, yet still he hesitated. He knew Basileus would never forgive him for what he had done, but he had never gotten a chance to speak to anyone who could have possibly understood what happened. The words kept tumbling out, though he knew already that Basileus would react only with fury and disgust. "Nessuno doveva essere morto per i miei errori."

Basileus was done. Completely, utterly, 100% done with this traitor. Enrico's voice grated on his nerves and if Basil didn't know any better he'd think he'd already died and this, the incessant, bitter bullshit directed his way, was hell crafted just for him. He wanted this man to suffer, but he was more keen to see his own suffering end. And this was indeed suffering. Not that long ago he'd been bitter about dying, but now, with this bullshit artist hovering over him like a vulture, he was ready to go. Enrico was smart enough to stay out of reach so Basileus doubted he'd a chance to kill him, so what was the point of lingering? "Oh," he sighed sarcastically, Povero, tradito Enrico! Tutto può essere stato colpa sua, ma dovremmo compatirlo comunque, perché anche se ci avesse provato, i suoi fratelli non gli avrebbero creduto. L'uomo povero, incompreso! Basileus dropped the act and his tone turned dry and dismissive. Per favore, risparmiami la tua storia da singhiozzo Non mi interessa come scegli di giustificare ciò che hai fatto. He fixed Enrico with a bitter look. Ma sono morti a causa dei tuoi errori, he spit the last word angrily. Che mi dici di risparmiarmi il tuo piagnucolio? Uccidimi o parti. O sarebbe una benedizione dopo tutte quelle cazzate. Hover speech for translation

Enrico slitted his eyes momentarily, forcing down the resentment that rose in him at Basileus' words. He'd known exactly what his reaction would be, but that didn't make it any more difficult to swallow. "Mi stupisce che tu rinunci alla tua opportunità di uccidermi semplicemente per pura cocciutaggine idiota." He huffed out a sigh. "Very well," he said, switching to the common tongue, half musing to himself. "I suppose you leave me with no choice." Keeping his eye on the prostrate russet form, he lifted his muzzle and howled, calling for one or the other of his pack's two would-be healers. They needed to be tested somehow, he figured. He might as well give one of them the opportunity to prove themselves in an emergency.