Page 84 of Storm and Sea

Atreus averted his gaze, unable to hold its intensity. He nodded.

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you know I’m on your side.” The look on Nyel’s face told Atreus he was dead serious.

“Why?”

“Because sometimes you have to hear things out loud with your own voice to believe them.”

Atreus took a deep breath. “I know you’re on my side.”

“And that you know I’ll be there for you.”

Something twinged in Atreus’s chest, and he had to resist the urge to rub it.

“I know you’ll be there for me.”

“And that I’m the best Bocce player that ever was.”

The tension in the air popped like a balloon, and Atreus barked with laughter. “Don’t push your luck. And I demand a rematch.”

“Wanna get your tail kicked again that badly? I guess I can do that,” Nyel said with a mischievous smirk.

“You’re so⁠—”

The sound of gunfire cracked in the sky, drowning out his words. Nyel yelled, and Atreus grabbed him, ready to drag them into the waves and away from the firing shells. They’d been spotted. They⁠—

Lights exploded across the sky in flashes of blue and purple, followed by a dull ‘boom.’ The display disappeared in a whisp of smoke and the sound of crackling popcorn.

“Nyel, look!” he said, pointing to the sky with one webbed hand while the other remained wrapped around the sireno’s shoulders.

Fireworks flew, blasting the air before fizzling into a dazzling display of color and light. Bursts of amethyst and iris exploded, followed by smaller pops of magenta and orchid.

Nyel’s mouth fell open. It opened and closed a few more times before the words finally made it out on an exhale.

“It’s you. Those colors. It’s you, Atreus. It’s… beautiful,” he whispered, the brilliant lights reflecting in those honey-brown eyes.

And in that moment, Atreus didn’t hate the color of his scales.

Her name was Pesce Pagliaccio. The Clown Fish. Leo grit his teeth as a well-dressed man handed over the keys, leaving him staring at the shiny new vessel bobbing in the harbor. It was as though Alvise wanted to remind him what a fool he was. How stupidly dependent Leo had become. The keys burned in his palm. The boat was perfect—better than perfect, the newest model on the market with every luxurious upgrade imaginable.

The hull was crafted from sturdy wood, painted in a crisp white with orange accents that gleamed under the sun. Its powerful inboard motor promised a smoother, faster ride even in choppy waters. The deck was wide and open, perfect for hauling in large nets or working with lines. It was practical and efficient, yet with thoughtful details like polished brass fittings and leather-wrapped controls. It was more than a boat; it was a statement.

He wanted to sink it.

But then his family would go hungry. He had to do this. Leo fished on the Pesce Pagliaccio for nearly two weeks, cutting through the water faster than any other boat on the bay. Despite his meager catches, Leo still caught significantly more than the other fishermen in the village because of his vessel’s strength.

Each night, he docked the boat, bracing himself for the inevitable—a man in a dark suit arriving to escort him to the Vincenzo estate in the valley. Yet day after day, catch after catch, nobody came. No summons, no demands for payment. Nothing happened.

Maybe Dad is taking care of it?

Leo didn’t dare hope, and the lack of correspondence unnerved him. The only thing that helped was losing himself in the harsh work of casting nets, setting traps, and towing lines. He loved the work and relished the familiar burn in his back after a hard day. This is what he knew, what he was good at.

I won’t let them starve.

Yet as the sun set and the night of the festival approached, a nagging worry settled in the back of his mind. When would the axe finally fall? And would he be able to survive its cut?