[BL] The Omega Boss Mafia is Secretly a Pervert?!

Lucien wandered through the garden, where every bloom was painted in shades of violet.

Lilacs swayed gently in the breeze, irises stood proud among their leaves, and clematis vines climbed the archways like ribbons of silk, their petals glowing faintly under the sun.

He reached out to touch one, tracing the soft texture of the flower as a faint smile crossed his lips.

He never cared much for plucking flowers to place them in vases. To him, they were most beautiful when left to live and die on their own. Alive in rain-soaked petals, bending under the wind, fading only when nature willed it.

But not everyone saw it that way.

Across the path, Randolph appeared, seated in a wheelchair pushed by his right-hand man. A basket of fresh purple hyacinths rested on his lap, their scent carried by the wind.

"Uncle... ah, I mean, Mr. Randolph." Lucien caught himself, trying to strike a balance between respect and professionalism now that they stood as equals.

Randolph laughed warmly. His black hair had begun to silver, and his beard, once thick and dark, carried streaks of gray. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

Yet his eyes—those unmistakable emerald eyes, so much like Edmund’s—still held a spark of youth that refused to die out.

"Come here, Lucien. Don’t be so stiff with me!" he said, reaching out.

Lucien approached and accepted the hug. The old man’s embrace felt lighter than he remembered, like holding on to something that could slip away if he squeezed too hard.

The leader of the Lunox family looked fragile. Even without the reports from his intel, Lucien could tell Randolph’s health had declined recently.

The rumors of a heart defect weren’t exaggerated. His face was drawn, his under-eyes dark, and the lines around his mouth deepened by fatigue.

He looked not fifty, but far older, aged by pain more than time.

"I heard your condition’s been worsening," Lucien said softly. "My family doctor could look after you. He’s one of the best in the country."

Randolph waved a hand dismissively. "You worry too much. I’ll manage."

He gestured for his right-hand man to leave them, and once they were alone, he turned back to Lucien with a faint smile.

"Why don’t you help me with this troublesome chair? I’d like to see the garden a bit more. It’s blooming beautifully this year."

His gaze dropped, softening. "It’s a shame Cesare isn’t here to see it anymore."

Lucien slowly pushed the wheelchair along the cobblestone path while Randolph spoke about the flowers and their meanings.

The old man’s voice was calm, affectionate even, as he pointed out which blooms Cesare had once chosen, which corners they used to sit in, and how the garden changed through the seasons.

But as Lucien listened, he realized something strange. The Cesare in Randolph’s stories wasn’t quite the man he remembered.

Randolph’s version was softer, more open, someone who laughed easily and shared quiet mornings among flowers. It left a faint, bitter taste in Lucien’s mouth.

Was his father open to Randolph because he saw him as an equal, while he never saw his own son that way?

"Your father was waiting for the hyacinths to bloom this year," Randolph said as they stopped by the gazebo. "But in the end, I could only send them to his funeral. What a tragedy, really."

Lucien helped him settle on the bench and poured the tea the servants had prepared earlier. He was grateful that Randolph hadn’t brought up anything about business or the famiglia, just the kind of peace he needed today.

"I didn’t even know my father liked flowers," Lucien said quietly.

Randolph chuckled, shaking his head. "He didn’t. It was me. He only humored me because we were friends. Your father was many things, but a romantic man? Never."

Lucien smiled faintly. "Yeah... he was too serious for that."

Randolph’s gaze softened, turning toward the glowing fields of purple beyond the gazebo.

"There were things we shared," he murmured, "more beautiful and varied than any flower in this garden. I’m glad it’s you sitting here with me now, not the ghost of him."

Lucien froze, unsure how to respond. The words sounded too intimate for what should’ve been a simple friendship.

Then Randolph laughed, easing the tension. "Ah, I suppose it will be a good poem, doesn’t it?"

Lucien joined his laughter, and the two of them stayed there until the sky burned orange with the coming dusk. The moment felt almost peaceful, like the world had decided to pause for them.

"Lucien," Randolph said after a while, his tone gentle. "You’ll be a great Don, just like your father. Don’t let doubt swallow you. You’re stronger than you think and your worth isn’t tied to your position in society."

The sincerity in his eyes struck deeper than Lucien expected. He nodded, his voice softer than usual. "Thank you, Uncle. Please... take care of yourself too."

Randolph smiled and brushed his cheek with a trembling hand, his gaze distant like he wasn’t seeing Lucien, but someone else entirely.

"You are your father’s son," he whispered.

Their conversation ended there. Randolph said he wanted to be alone for a while, and Lucien left him among the flowers.

It was strange. Not a single person had shown such sadness at his father’s funeral: not the family, not the capos. Everyone hid their grief behind stiff faces or didn’t feel anything at all.

But Randolph... he had looked broken and vulnerable. The way his eyes lingered on his father’s name felt almost unbearable to watch.

"Their relationship must’ve run deeper than anyone knew," Lucien murmured as he continued walking along the path.

Then, from behind the tall hedges, he heard someone call a name. Curious, he parted the leaves and found Edmund standing there in riding attire, an enormous eagle perched on his arm.

The sight almost stole his breath.

The dusk light burned gold across Edmund’s skin, sweat glistening down his neck. His white shirt clung to his chest, turning nearly translucent, enough for Lucien to glimpse the defined muscles beneath.

"Goddamn..." Lucien whispered under his breath, then stepped forward with a smirk.

"Edmund. And this must be Vigil." He nodded toward the eagle.

He never liked that bird. As children, Edmund used to boast about it endlessly while Lucien, forbidden from keeping any pet, could only watch.

Edmund turned, smiling easily. "Lucien. I thought you’d gone back inside." He raised his arm, and the bird took flight, soaring high into the darkening sky.

"Your old man seemed to enjoy my company too much."

Edmund sighed. "He shouldn’t come out here so often. His health’s getting worse."

Lucien studied him quietly. Even when he was still a child, he knew Randolph always dismissed Edmund, to be exact he didn’t like his son. So was this concern genuine, or just another performance?

But looking at Edmund now, Lucien couldn’t find a single trace of pretense.

He stepped closer, close enough that their shoulders brushed. His voice lowered, teasing and soft.

"When we’re alone like this, shouldn’t your attention be on me instead?"

Edmund chuckled, his breath brushing Lucien’s cheek. His hand slid up, fingertips tracing from Lucien’s jaw to his ear, making him shiver at the touch.

Then Edmund kissed him.

It wasn’t the first time—but it always felt new. The faint taste of sweat, the warmth of dusk still clinging to his lips—it sent a thrill through him.

This time, Lucien wanted more. He parted his lips, licking at Edmund’s bottom lip, inviting him closer.

Edmund responded instantly, deepening the kiss, one hand finding Lucien’s waist as the tension between them finally broke.

Their tongues met, slow at first, testing the taste of each other before hunger took over. Lucien’s hand slid to the back of Edmund’s neck, pulling him closer, feeling the heat through his shirt.

Their breaths mixed, heavy and uneven, as the kiss deepened: wet, desperate, and too intoxicating to stop.

He could taste the faint trace of whisky from Edmund’s mouth, sweet and burning at once. The alpha’s hand gripped his waist tighter, forcing a soft sound from Lucien’s throat that was swallowed between them.

"Hngghh..."

When they finally parted, their lips were swollen, breaths trembling, eyes still locked like they were both afraid to look away.

"You’re a good kisser. Your partner’s lucky," Lucien teased, and the faint red blooming on Edmund’s cheeks made him grin wider.

For a moment, they were nothing but two young men in love. Awkward, unsure, and greedy for warmth they’d never had.

Even when their words faded, their bodies refused to part, clinging as though the night might steal them away.

"I hope my time with you never ends," Edmund murmured, resting his head on Lucien’s shoulder.

Lucien’s arms tightened around him, his voice quiet but heavy. "Edmund... if you could choose between me and your famiglia, who would you choose?"

He knew how absurd the question was, yet the world they lived in was cruel and unpredictable. Their love was too pure for something that filthy.

"I’d choose you," Edmund said without hesitation. "I’ll always choose you."