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The first time Lincoln Clay saw Giorgi Marcano, he was sure someone was playing a prank on him. The other man hadn't been at all what he had expected, looking nothing like he had imagined the son of the feared Sal Marcano to look.
In truth, he hadn't been sure of what he had actually been expecting, but it had not been the Giorgi Marcano he had been introduced to. Perhaps he had expected someone his own size, who would be able to take a man down with one punch, because whatever preconception he had had about Giorgi, it hadn't been the Giorgi that had stepped into the bar that night.
At first, the shorter man in the horrible tie had escaped his notice, entering the room in a group that had kept him hidden from view, and it was not until Giorgi was stood right before him, cocky grin on his lips and glass in hand, that Lincoln realised that he was the one he had been looking for all along.
Since that moment, he hadn't wanted to ever take his eyes off Giorgi ever again.
There had been a brief conversation, consisting of nothing more than introductions and pleasantries, but for some reason it had felt like the most important conversation in the world. He had been unable to take his eyes off Giorgi, taking in everything he could during their brief time in the same corner, and he hadn't even realised how mesmerised he had been until Sammy had grabbed him by the shoulder to catch his attention. In that moment, as he was forced to tear his eyes away from Giorgi, he first realised that it hadn't been only him that had been staring. As he was steered away by Sammy, trying his best to focus on what was being said to him, he could feel Giorgi's eyes on him. A sharp, piercing gaze that followed his every movement and that caused his skin to burn. At the time, he hadn't understood what he had been feeling, and the soft feeling of longing that had crept through his body after he had left the other man behind, had been unfamiliar.
But their second meeting, weeks later, in the same bar, had made it clear that whatever it was he was feeling wasn't just curiosity over who the other man was. It was something deeper, something he hadn't felt before, and it almost scared him. But Giorgi, with his constant positive outlook and dark, sparkling eyes, washed all fears away. No matter how Lincoln had felt when he had spotted the other man in the bar the second time, it had all been erased the minute his eyes met Giorgi's, and after that, all he had felt was happiness. A type of happiness that was different from everything else.
After that second time, Lincoln knew that whatever it was that was going on between Giorgi and him, it was mutual. He had felt it the minute Giorgi had laid his hand on top of his, just for a second, and it had become all too clear when they had ended up behind the bar after closing. It had been innocent at first, the two sharing Lincoln's last cigarette as they watched the moon make its way across the night sky, but it had turned into something else the minute Giorgi kissed him.
It was only brief, and Lincoln hadn't even been given the chance to react before Giorgi had pulled back again, a smug smile on his lips as he had taken a drag from their shared cigarette. To Giorgi, it hadn't seem to be a big deal with how smug he had looked, but to Lincoln it had almost made his heart jump out of his chest.
That kiss would become the start of something else, and during the next few months many more were exchanged. Always in secret, when no one else was around. It was their own secret, among the network of secrets that was the underground world they lived in. Giorgi helped Lincoln forget everything bad, everything that haunted him, and instead made anything feel possible. When he was with Giorgi, he would forget the obstacles, and the fact that if Sal Marcano ever found out, he would be dead and buried within the next hour.
It had been a nice refuge in the chaotic world around them, and perhaps that was why the Marcanos' betrayal had stung as much as it had. The scar trailing along the side of his head was a visual reminder of it to anyone that saw him and knew his name, but the scar on his heart would always be an even more painful reminder. Every time he closed his eyes, Lincoln saw Giorgi's raised gun, and he was once more reminded that whoever Giorgi had been to him previously, was no longer who he had been at that moment. In his memory, Giorgi's eyes had been full of hatred – a hatred for his very being, for the colour of his skin, for his entire existence – and it was something he had been unable to forgive.
He would never know that that hatred had been for Sal, and that the pain in Giorgi's heart as he had pulled the trigger had almost killed him.
That look of hatred had driven him in his mission to take down the Marcanos and the rest of the mafia of New Bordeaux. All that he did to be able to rise to the top was been built on that hatred, and Lincoln almost wanted to thank Giorgi for it when he saw him again. He had planned on it, to put on the same act Giorgi had used with him, and slide in a “Thank you for this” before he finished the job, but that hadn't been what happened. Seeing Giorgi again, alone and wounded from the bullets fired, had changed everything.
There had been something in Giorgi's eyes at that moment that had erased everything he had wanted to say, and how he had wanted to perform the kill, and in the end it had been so very different. For a moment, he had almost wanted to spare Giorgi, to patch him up and carry him out of there, but he had soon come to his senses. Despite the good things that could have come out of it, he also knew that their time had long since passed, and if he had let Giorgi live, he would have ended up stabbed in the back again, and that was something he couldn't handle.
And so, Giorgi Marcano had died by his hands, and with him Lincoln had hoped also the memories would die. He had hoped they would wash away together with the blood he washed off his hands, but he hadn't been that lucky. They were still there, together with the image of Giorgi's lifeless body in a pile of his own blood, and they were not there for Lincoln to ever get rid off. They would haunt him, every day as he built his new crime emporium, and it was not until the day he died that they finally left him...