Author's Note: Standard Disclaimer—oh who am I kidding. No one has forgotten who owns KHR so there. I can never thank the readers enough for their overwhelming—and frankly shocking—response to this craziness that hatched inside my brain. It confirms my belief that writing is part insanity, part magic. This is the next installation and I dedicate it to the Sun Guardian who, I rightly feel, deserves his own moment in the sun. My eternal gratitude for all those who have read this work and will continue to do so in the coming days ahead.

RESTRAINT

"The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time."

-Mark Twain

Special Inspector Dominico De Luca worked in the Organized Crime Division for more than a decade and a half. Anyone would attest to the fact that it takes a certain kind of man to work one of the most stressful and dangerous sections of the police force but De Luca flourished in it. He liked outsmarting the wise guys. Like a medieval battle field, he plotted the demise of wayward Dons and toppled mini-fiefdoms before they became fodder for front page news. He liked the mental chess game that pitted his intellectual and psychological skills with those of men who act like hedonistic kings and would-be tyrants. While most cops lasted a minimum of two years before they either quit the force, request for permanent transfer, or end up in a body bag floating somewhere in the Hudson. And that's just the fate of the good ones. The others fall on the wayside and later become the kind of problems that the media enjoy and give the Attorney General acid indigestion.

When he heard the name of the young man that a rookie—of all things—brought in, he felt a twinge of unease. There was something about that name, his gut told him. And if he has learned anything useful in his many years as a cop it was this—no intelligence, no information, no inside tip could match the sheer accuracy of a man's instinct for survival screaming at him to run for cover or to take a golden opportunity. And this time, his gut told him to hang on to the young man.

There was also the fact that the young man was found very near the site of the fumbled bust that he spent months trying to organize. The memory of that morning's raid still rankled. He couldn't figure it out. How can a few hours make such a difference? What kind of powerhouse famiglia could wipe out a rival in less time than it takes to get every cop in New York to one location, all without leaving a single literal body of evidence?

His only clue was this young man and he almost despaired losing him. Thank God for Officer Rossi. The rookie managed to get him downtown before he vanished into the wind. But now, here he was, one favor down with the Chief and still uncertain why he took a gamble on a man young enough to be his son. A man who, all the world could see, seem to be exactly the kind of kid that would earn him a day in hell if he was innocent. The name of the young man nagged at him and as soon as he could get a break, he would call up some contacts. But for now, he must deal with the incoming call from two embassies and these young men who keep on popping one after the other as they tried to ascertain the state and situation of their youthful "Boss".

The moniker certainly made him pause. The term was a loose reference to the head of a famiglia. Of course, the movies already made that term so clichéd and hackneyed almost anyone could call someone "Boss" both as a term of endearment or as a subtle insult. It no longer bears the stigma it once did when speaking about men in suits with fierce eyes.

He has a feeling though, that these young men take their jobs to their "Boss" rather seriously, if their devotion is anything to go by. Certainly the young man they all are busy trying to spring from the joint happened to be the most polite felon he has ever seen. He just needs the young prince to explain to him just what he was doing at such a critical location and maybe—maybe—he and his rambunctious, ridiculously attired "Lost Boys" could high-tail it out of his already stifling precinct and go back to their cushy, ridiculously expensive lifestyles.

"A few hundred thousand you mean? Surely you must be kidding my dear young man. You mean his father runs a company of a few hundred thousand men."

"No Sir. I'm pretty sure he runs it. Has been since he got it from Nono."

The term sounds familiar. A few seconds spent trolling through his extensive langue repertoire revealed its source language and meaning.

Nono…Italian…grandfather…

Ahh…Some clarity, finally! So the young prince already succeeded his throne. No wonder he has assorted kinds of assistants and bodyguards.

He has known of family owned corporations who start off their young on the Times and subscriptions to Wall Street Journals. No doubt, this young man is one such heir. That certainly explained away the expensive attires they all sported with such relaxed indifference. And their casual disregard for following the rules.

"I see."

"May I know where I can find the arresting officer? I need to get my friend out of this place as soon as possible. We still have an appointment that we simply can't miss. A family gathering, you see."

Again there's that oddly placed and used word.

Family. Famiglia….

No, no! Inspector De Luca shook his head firmly. No, he can't afford to go to the deep end right now. Speculations could easily bleed into paranoid and when that happens that would spell the end of it for him. With a small smile, he instructed the young man towards the direction of the bullpen where he noted the presence of two highly interested homicide detectives. The young man bowed to him in thanks and went where he pointed. Grinning, he reached for the Rolodex on his desk and picked up the phone. If they liked gawking so much, they might as well make themselves useful. He has a phone call to make.

15 minutes later, three figures strode in, this time it was a white haired, muscular man with a strip of bandage on his nose and more bandages wrapped around his hands and knuckles. He was accompanied by a well-dressed young woman in an exquisitely stylish navy business suit and a curly haired teenager wearing a cow printed shirt carrying what looked like a school bag. The two males were loud, boisterous and seemed to argue with each other at the top of their voices, uncaring that they were entering a secure facility that the officers around them could arrest them for disturbing the peace. The woman standing next to them was clutching a leather portfolio in her right hand and massaging her temple with her left.

"I told you already you stubborn cow, you extremely didn't have to come!"

"And I told you, Turf Head that I promised to tell Maman what happened. The girls and Fuuta-nii are all worried because Big Brother missed their lunch date and he never breaks promises like that to family."

"I told you Octopus Head will tell us if there was anything extremely wrong. I got the call from Takeshi and he said that he was extremely heading here too."

"And I told you that I need to be here. So just shut up and let's find out what the heck happened to my big brother!"

"Fine, fine, but it would be extremely better if you stop shouting at me right about now."

"I'm not shouting! You're just being stupid! You got lost just getting here! We would've been here an hour ago! If the mean lady hadn't spotted us we would still be heading towards Central Park!"

"And I told you that it was an extremely good shortcut, you stupid cow!"

The woman next to them has reached the end of her tether. With a quick flick of her hand, she whacked the slim leather portfolio over their heads and growled menacingly.

"Will you two just shut the hell up?! I swear being this close to you two is giving me a bloody migraine. Why the heck did you bother to drag me in here when all you do is argue? You two are bloody idiots! And if you two don't shut up I will have you locked up in here before you can even say grave coercion!"

"Hey, I extremely resent that!"

"You are so mean!"

"I don't give a freaking care! BE QUIET!"

The two continued to glare at each other until they reached the visitors lounge and the booking desk where they saw two familiar figures. The woman trailed behind them, stopping in front of the information desk and conferring with a pale faced, oddly twitchy young officer.

"See? They are extremely here already! Oi! Octopus Head!"

"I can see Big Brother!"

Before anyone could stop them, the two rushed towards the glass-walled room and the young boy tapped on one of the panels. The young brunette looked up and flashed them a small smile and a wave.

The answering relieved smile on the two's faces made the detectives who were still watching the little drama unfold wonder at their devotion. Their amusement at the young people's antics however was quickly swept away when they felt the older male tense in anger and the boy clench small fists in dismayed shock when they noticed the flash of silver on the brunette's wrist. Before they could pass comment however, one of the young men approached them, stating that he was sent there by an Inspector De Luca and wonders if they could help him. The young man was polite, to be sure, smiling and scratching the back of his head like an embarrassed teen as he explained his situation. The detectives quickly explained what he needed and they watched as he joined his quickly growing number of companions.

The white haired young man, older perhaps than the lot of them by a year or two stalked towards the chain smoking youth who was sitting in front of the door where the brunette was kept. His voice grew exponentially louder the closer he got, his fist thumping against the glass panel with each question.

"Oi, Octopus Head-!"

BANG!

"Why is he extremely in cuffs?"

THUD!

"What did he extremely do?"

THWACK!

"And why haven't you extremely gotten him out of here!"

The frown on the silver heads face grew more thunderous as the white haired male came near but before he could give a scathing response the ominous sound of a crack reverberated inside the precinct. Like men possessed they all turned towards the pane of glass that fell victim to the pounding fist of one distraught white haired young man and watched as a small hairline crack first appeared followed immediately by another, and then another until a delicate, absurdly beautiful spider web-like fissure bloomed on what used to be a pristine unmarred surface. The silver head blew one last puff of his smoke and like magic, the smoke curled against the glass and it promptly shattered, showering them both in a hail of glittering lethal shards that fell like mocking snow between them. Lifting their gaze, they both blushed when they met shocked twin orbs of russet and heard behind them the amused snickering of a wickedly grinning Mist.

"Merde."

"Extremely."