1 – Cypress Mosaic

Manhattan.

The ​city ​where ​all the world’s ​desires ​converge.

A ​sprawling ​metropolis ​boiling with competition so ​fierce ​that people say, ​’If you can ​make ​it ​in ​New ​York, ​you can make ​it ​anywhere,’ ​it relentlessly produces ​winners and losers.

A battleground ​for those ​who flock ​here, each ​harboring different ​dreams ​and ​purposes.

Elian Ward was ​one of ​those people.

Or rather, Elian ​Bellotti was as well.

It ​was an ordinary [unauthorized copy]morning, ​no different ​from ​any other stolen content[unauthorized copy]as he prepared for ​work.

Having finished brushing his ​hair, ​Elian ​picked ​up ​the wristwatch he ​always left ​on ​his desk. The ​old ​leather-strap watch was a cherished ​memento of ​his ​father. Since receiving ​it ​from ​his ​mother ​on his ​seventeenth ​birthday, the ​watch had always been with Elian. Though ​he had already ​replaced the strap ​twice, the hands still ​pointed to ​the exact time. ​It ​would likely hold ​up for a ​few more ​years.

Finally, ​he took ​his ​stabilizer. It ​was ​to keep ​his ​Pheromone ​levels constant.

A breeze ​drifted ​in through ​the ​open ​window. ​Had his sense of smell been intact, he would have caught the savory scent of focaccia baking in the restaurant downstairs. However, no matter how deeply he inhaled, he couldn’t perceive any fragrance. Since moving to New York, his sense of smell had been rapidly losing its function.

Elian, reaching across the desk to close the window, paused for a moment. His gaze was momentarily stolen by the scenery before him.

The tall, narrow window faced the glamorous skyline of southern Manhattan across the East River. Though it was a small room of barely five hundred square feet, this view was no less impressive than any luxury high-rise condo in New York.

Despite having spent several months commuting to and from that island for work, Elian still didn’t feel as though he were a part of it.

Whenever he looked at that dazzling landscape from this modest room in Brooklyn, it still felt like a photograph in a frame or a poster. A poster so vivid and detailed that it felt real.

He could faintly feel the hint of visit our siteautumn in the wind. The mornings were no longer humid. New [visit our site]York’s exceptionally long and tedious summer was finally fading.

Before leaving the room, he gathered his bicycle keys, helmet, and backpack. He was ready for work.

Heading downstairs, Elian entered the restaurant on the first floor of the building. He stopped here to have breakfast before heading to the office.

A warm, lively, and familiar atmosphere welcomed him, along with a light bicker between the couple, Matteo and Lina.

“I told you to put more olive oil on the focaccia.”

“It looks delicious as it is, what’s the problem?”

“Look. The bread looks dry and crumbly.”

“Dry? This is the authentic Tuscan style.”

“Teo, you were born in Astoria, Queens. [stolen content]You’ve been to Tuscany maybe [Read on Read BL Novels]stolen contentonce in your life.”

The two were the owners of the restaurant and the landlords of the building where Elian lived.

This morning, they were starting their day just as they always did.

“Ah, Elian’s down! Come on over and sit. You need to eat breakfast.”

Matteo, who was in the kitchen, spotted Elian first and welcomed him. Elian greeted them with a smile and took his usual seat at the bar counter.

“Did you sleep well?”

Lina approached Elian from behind the counter, asking with a worried expression.

“Vince mentioned you came home late yesterday. You must be tired.”

“I’m okay. It doesn’t happen often.”

“Did they ask you to work overtime at the bar?”

“Um… something like that.”

“Breakfast? The usual?”

“Yes.”

“What coffee would you like today?”

“I’ll have an Americano.”

“Iced?”

“Yes.”

Lina turned back toward the kitchen and called out the order. A panini made with mozzarella cheese and Italian ham. It was the breakfast Elian had ordered almost every single morning since arriving here.

Inside the kitchen, visible through a large window, Matteo held up a piece of freshly baked bread.

“Already on it.”

The northwest side of Brooklyn Heights.

A red brick building constructed in the late 19th century.

‘Abbraccio’ (Embrace), operating on the first floor, was an Italian restaurant once run by Lina’s parents and served as a sanctuary for local residents who had become loyal regulars.

Despite the generous portions, delicious food, and reasonable prices—which were becoming rare not only in Manhattan but throughout New York City—and the added bonus of a Manhattan view, the restaurant’s primary clientele remained its regulars. This was because it wasn’t a place that chased trends to be popular on social media.

Lina and Matteo had no intention of changing the atmosphere of the restaurant to fit the trends. They believed that Read on Read BL Novelstrying to cater [visit our site]to the tastes of transients who only visited to take photos could lead to losing their precious regulars.

“Here you go… coffee and panini.”

Lina placed a white plate and a transparent cup in front of Elian.

Even with the coffee made from high-quality beans and the warm, toasted panini, Elian could barely smell anything. However, naturally, one feels hunger even without a sense of smell.

Just as Elian began his meal with a sip of coffee, a young man pushed open the back door of ‘Abbraccio.’

With a tall stature, a well-trained, sturdy build, and curly black hair tied back, the man had a presence that drew attention despite his plain attire.

He shook his head as he pulled off his work gloves.

“I think we’re going to have to call a professional for the plumbing.”

Matteo, walking out of the kitchen, spoke in a dismissive tone.

“A professional? You mean those guys who take days to fix things haphazardly and then charge an exorbitant fee?”

“Yeah, those guys. At least they get it solved eventually.”

“The same guys who took three days just to fix a toilet last time.”

“Then why don’t you take a look at it yourself, Dad?”

The man replied indifferently, patting Elian on the shoulder as he passed him at the bar.

“Oh, you’re down.”

“Yeah.”

At the blunt response, the man chuckled and lightly ruffled Elian’s hair.

He was Vincent, the son of Lina and Matteo, and Elian’s childhood friend.

Beneath the left sleeve of his T-shirt, which revealed his muscular upper body, a tattoo of the Virgin Mary on his upper arm was half-visible. On Vincent’s right forearm, the names of his parents, LINA and MATTEO, were inscribed in an ornate italic script.

Vincent was a third-generation immigrant and, unlike his parents, knew almost no Italian. However, seeing his values—putting family above all else—and his utter disdain for American-style pizza, it was clear that Italian blood flowed through him as well.

Vincent tossed his gloves aside and washed his hands. Matteo clicked his tongue at his son’s back and perched himself on a chair inside the counter.

“When I was your age, I fixed everything in the house with my own two hands. Instead of trying it yourself, you immediately want to call someone?”

After scolding Vincent, Matteo looked up at the TV above his head out of habit. His tanned face momentarily twisted in disapproval.

“By the way, is that guy’s funeral still news?”

On the TV news, people visit our sitedressed in black [stolen content]suits were gathered unauthorized copyin front of St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

The camera alternated close-ups of several faces that looked solemn.

It was the funeral of Damon Lockhart, an event that had caused a stir not only in New York but across the entire United States.

The announcer’s somewhat excited tone flowed from the TV.

《Last spring, the head of the Lockhart Group, Damon Lockhart, suddenly collapsed. He had since been receiving treatment at St. Aurelius Hospital, sponsored by the Lockhart Medical Foundation, but passed away last week. Accordingly, the Lockhart family is expected to designate an official successor for the next leadership through the Family Council, as per tradition. Attention is focused on who will be chosen as the crown prince of the Lockhart Group, which possesses global influence beyond New York and the entire United States.》

Glancing up at the TV, Vincent replied to Matteo while fiddling with the espresso machine.

“It’s not because of the funeral; it’s about the successor this time.”

“Why the successor? I thought the eldest son would naturally take over.”

“That’s likely the case. Unless the second son declares himself a candidate.”

“The second? You mean that brat? What does a guy who did nothing but sports know about management?”

Matteo snorted, pointing at the man currently on the screen.

Dark chocolate-brown curly hair, thick eyebrows, and sensual red lips. Even through the screen, he had a robust build. Despite wearing a black suit and a serious expression, he was a vibrant young man whose green eyes and the corners of his mouth seemed to flicker with mischievous playfulness. He was the second son of the Lockhart family.

Having pulled a shot of espresso, Vincent spoke as he brought the cup to his lips.

“Not necessarily. It’s already been four or five years since he quit sports. Since then, he’s been in charge of finance and media at Lockhart. The evaluations aren’t bad.”

“Even so, he’s no material for the next chairman. That would be different if the eldest were a useless fellow. His older brother has dedicated his entire life to the company.”

Matteo pointed at the TV once more.

In the meantime, the screen had shifted to show a man immersed in grief and melancholy.

Sand-blonde hair perfectly groomed without a single strand out of place, pale skin, and dark red lips pressed firmly together in a look of stubbornness. Bright green eyes that carried a cold, irritable atmosphere and a furrowed brow. Like his younger brother, he possessed a considerable build, but he appeared elegant thanks to his restrained movements. He was the eldest son of the Lockhart family.