As the car, now inside the gated area not just of a garden but a park, crunched gravel on the well-maintained path, approaching the warmly lit Victorian-style mansion, Moe had already basked in someone else's warmth, allowing himself a bit, and fully returned to his usual state.

"Do you live alone in this massive place with your brother?" Moe gazed at the emerging three-story mansion. "Fucking hell, can you two even find each other? Why on earth do you need such a colossal house? No wonder the kid has mental problems; the entire place must be haunted! Don't you get nightmares?"

"Judging by the number of questions, it seems you're prepared to encounter both the house and my brother," Einar grinned, glancing at the open door as he stepped out, collecting his briefcase and laptop. "Let's get going. You can find him on your own."

"Well, I didn't have a cultural program planned for today, but it looks like I'll be getting one. I am calling dibs on the history tour at your place!" Moe tumbled out from his side, awkwardly extracting his backpack and playfully slapping his back with it. "Yo! Uncle Moe is in the house! Where's the little one?"

Einar strolled casually toward the door, which quickly swung open, prompting the delighted Moe to exclaim with joy, "Yes! A genuine butler! Hail my fortunate stars, I get to see one! Hello, dear butler! I'd tip my hat, but I never had one..."

"Good evening," responded a thin, gray-haired beta in a classic black suit, appearing somewhat bewildered. "Sir-"

"Good evening. Pay no mind to my companion's enthusiasm, Patrick. I'd like you to meet Moe, a potential companion for Manny. Moe, this is Patrick Fitzgerald, the manager of my residence. Please be respectful."

"Manager?" Disappointed, Moe extended his hand, giving a firm shake to Patrick's slender palm. Despite his cultivated demeanor, Patrick seemed both incredulous and stunned by Moe's presence. "Too bad the butler scenario will have to wait for later in my life. Nevertheless, it's a pleasure to meet you, Patrick. Where's the boy? Uncle Moe is ready for a game of hide-and-seek!"

Einer suppressed a smile by biting his lip and accompanied the enthusiastic Moe into an antechamber that resembled more the foyer of a chamber theater- featuring an inlaid marble floor, walls adorned with silk upholstery displaying paintings in elegant frames, vases holding fragrant and tastefully arranged floral bouquets, a sumptuous crystal chandelier suspended from sturdy chains, and guiding them up a broad staircase covered in a dark blue patterned carpet. Moe, enchanted, stumbled while turning his head in every direction, whistled with delight, and clapped his thighs upon entering the incredibly charming living room adorned in soft pastel hues.

"I must have died and gone to heaven! Einer, where's the little angel?"

"There he is," Einer remarked, his expression turning stern as he nonchalantly gestured in the direction. Moe put on a charming expression and prepared to greet the child.

However, standing there was a predatory, alluring older figure with dark brown hair, studying Moe with narrowed, dark eyes. Once again, Moe's jaw dropped, unable to reconcile the mental image of a child with the striking, hot Mediterranean presence before him. If Einar looked like an angel, Manny seemed more like a fallen one who was well-acquainted with the sins of the earth. Moe managed to stammer out a shocked expression, "Eh? What the...?"

"Are you hiring junkies now, too?" The fallen angel advanced, revealing a youthfulness not immediately apparent upon first glance- evidence of it lingered in the reMinyng slenderness of the figure, still taking on its mature form, in the unshaven cheeks, and in the fragility of the voice. Moe, instantly incensed, regained the ability to speak.

"What is your problem, you little shit?" Moe let his backpack fall onto the expensive antique rug, clearly worth a pretty penny, and advanced, encroaching into the insolent boy's personal space—a tactic that consistently wiped arrogance off faces. He sneered coldly into the astonished dark eyes. "Did you, baby, hit your head during birth and ruin your cognitive abilities for life? Where on earth did you see a junkie, you little idiot?"

."Huh?" Manny hesitated, and Moe grinned maliciously. It was his turn to assert himself; clearly, he wasn't accustomed to such treatment. Moe advanced, chest puffed out, his use of street talk adding to the impact.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

"What, has your courage shrunk down to the size of your tiny balls? You're only brave with polite people who can't stand up for themselves, and when they fight back, you scamper into hiding? Why the staring? No need to bat your eyes at me—it won't work. And no need for whimpering—that won't earn you any sympathy. You need to answer for your rudeness, you arrogant fucking snob. Let's go! Repeat after me, little shithead, “I am sorry, Uncle Moe!"

"Einar!" Manny retreated, peering at Einar from behind an incensed Moe. "Get him off me! Otherwise..."

"Otherwise, what?" Moe whispered gently. "You will hit me? Well, give it a shot, looks like you are growing some balls, little man."

"Damn it!" Manny lunged with a clenched fist, albeit awkwardly due to the close distance. However, Moe, responding with lightning speed, seized his wrist with both hands, ducked under his armpit, slid behind his back, and swiftly raised Manny's daringly stiffened arm, purring softly, "Now what, baby?"

"Ah! It hurts! Let me go, you lowlife!" Manny howled frantically, desperately attempting to break free from his grip. Moe lifted his hand further, bending his pinky almost perpendicular to his hand, transforming Manny's howl into a pitiful whimper.

"Apologize, you sick puppy! Go on!" Moe emphasized the demand with a kick to the ankle, and Manny whimpered, "I'm sorry!"

"I can't hear you!" Moe delivered a kick to the other ankle, and Manny screamed, "PLEASE!"

Einer, visibly amused and stifling laughter, subtly clarified by raising his eyebrows understandingly,

"You might have trouble managing him, Moe. Are you sure about that contract?"

"Says who?" Moe growled with enthusiasm, ensuring that Manny's attempted kicks missed him. "I'll sign it!"

"You're giving me your word?" Einer snorted incredulously, and caught up in his sporting excitement, Moe blurted out, "Yes! He'll be on his best behavior in no time!"

"Fine, I trust you'll keep your word. Let him go; you are hurting Manny, and he seems to have learned his lesson, haven't you, Manny?"

"Yes," Manny panted angrily, massaging his reddened hand. "You could have dislocated my arm, you..."

"Need more?" Moe advanced with a fist – a smaller one, but commanding respect after what transpired. Manny fell silent, his eyes glaring with anger. "That's right. You are getting smarter already," he added with a belated chuckle. "Uh, Einar, regarding the agreement..."

"You gave your word," Einar declared with a triumphant smile, gesturing towards the table being set. "Come over to the table; you can check out your room later."

"Damn!" Moe grumbled, begrudgingly falling in line with his new companion and growling, "To the table! You heard him; you're not deaf."

Moe barely ate at dinner, the sting of feeling deceived gnawing at him, exacerbated by Einar's gleeful eyes. He cast an annoyed glance at Manny—what a foolish move, now stuck with him for months, and where?! In a fancy castle fit for an English king, when even the simplest comforts grated on the nerves. The outlook for the next few months seemed grim. The only solace was that Manny, too, was displeased with the prospect, squinting furiously with his southern eyes and barely eating, his appetite evidently ruined by the humiliation. Once coffee was served, Manny abruptly rose from his chair with an inarticulate snort and, without saying a word, headed to his room.

"You said he was a kid," Moe grumbled with resentment, pushing his coffee cup away.

"I mentioned my brother is much younger than me," Einar corrected. "Ten years, that's a significant difference. We've never been close, and I've never really gotten along with his dad, so I need someone who can take control of him. I'm glad you agreed."

"Well, I said that in the heat of the moment…" Moe started hopefully, but Einar stood up, dabbing his lips with a napkin.

"Let's go; I'll show you your room, Moe. I still have work to attend to. There's not much time left before the call with my partner, and I don't want to leave it to Patrick. I want to make sure the terms are suitable for you."

The room was predictably opulent. Moe made a face as he observed the extravagant decor without stepping inside, standing at the entrance. He uttered glumly, "I don't like it."

"Why?" Einar cocked his head, eyeing him with curiosity. It appeared as though he expected Moe, enchanted with mansion’s luxury, to demand a gold canopy.

"I need something simpler, something I can relax in," Moe stated openly, aware that he was revealing vulnerability. Einar nodded thoughtfully, maintaining his focus on him.

"I'll have to leave this to Patrick. Moe," Einar approached slowly. "Please, don't make his job more difficult than necessary. Just choose a room that suits you. Anything that needs to be bought will be taken care of tomorrow. Okay?"

"Alright," Moe sighed wistfully. "Can't you just roll back the whole thing? I'm not in the mood for babysitting!"

"You gave your word," Einar stated with a catlike glint in his eyes.

"Where the hell is your butler?" Moe kicked the door in frustration, turned around, and Einar gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder before walking away. Einar became businesslike and focused, apparently ticking a box in his mind and switching to business mode.

"He will come soon. Oh, and my lawyer is here too; you'll sign the contract right after you check out the room. Don't get bored, Moe, I hope you find it to your liking."

"I won't," Moe whispered desperately as he vanished into the succession of rooms, shedding the facade of indifference and staring in horror at the magnificent interior that once delighted him as a visitor but now terrified him as a tenant. “I won’t.”