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And thank you for everyone who followed me on Twitter! I didn't expect to reach 100 followers that quickly! Also, aishfiuehau we are almost to 9K followers on Wattpad and I'm screeching. That's incredible! So thank you, thank you, and yep, you guessed it, THANK YOU!

*THROWS HOLY WATER ON EVERYONE AFTER THE BEGINNING OF LAST CHAPTER*

WHAT? YA'LL THINK VINCE WAS GONNA BE AN OLD, UGLY ASS MAN WITH BARELY ANY HAIR, ZERO TATS, AND A BEER BELLY?

LMAO YA'LL KNOW ME BY NOW.

- - - -

"They say heavy is the head that wears the crown." – Jussie Smollett, Heavy (SONG UP TOP)

- - - -

| Liam Luciano |

Rosalie's hand was warm, as warm as the dying sun was on my back; but neither were scolding hot, nothing like the stare I knew Faith was giving me when I had turned my back on her without a goodbye, without a second glance – but not without a thought. She was all I thought about and it had been going on like this now for a while. From the moment I picked up head up to start a new day, to the second I rest my head on the pillow to end another – Faith Crawford was my one constant, steady, happy thought. Even despite all the shit that's going up and coming down around me.

We were halfway to the idling SUV when it clicked in Rosalie's head and she all but spun around and ripped my arm off. "Ms. Faith!" Her eyes went wide and I had to grip her hand tighter to keep her from running back. "Ms. Faith! Hurry! The bad guys will catch you!" My hand was now on Rosie's arm, attempting to keep her still, but making sure I didn't hurt her. She was pulling, tugging, trying to break free and rescue Faith on her own.

By the time I had all but thrown her over my shoulder and carried her towards the car, she was crying. Her tears weren't silent, peaceful ones either; they were loud, cries of agony and fright. Rosie fought me; she hit my back and kicked my legs, still screaming the same name over and over and over again. The same name, that at the moment, I didn't want to hear.

"Ms. Faith! Ms. Faith!"

It took both William and I to sit Rosie in her seat and strap her in. Her screaming for Faith had subsided, but her face was wet, her cheeks drenched in tears. Her expression was torn in confusion and sadness as she relaxed into the seat and cried silently. Her shoulders shook and she hiccupped, but before I could close the door, temporarily hiding me from her reaction to this entire mess, she looked up at me. I was putty in her hands when she gave me the look; the Rosalie look. Her mouth upturned and her bottom lip stuck out, her large, wide eyes glistened with unfallen tears.

"Go back and get her Liam, we have to go back and get her."

Her bottom lip trembled and I never felt as guilty about anything in my entire life as I did now. Rosalie wasn't the only one staring at me; so was Dominic, who was using the window of the car as support. Will was leaning forward, now seated in the back with Dom, his eyes hopeful, awaiting my answer. Michael was glancing at me out the left side mirror, his window rolled down and Rico had craned his neck to the left, eyeing me with no type of visible emotion at all. They all waited, in silence, for me; because in the end, my word overtook any other.

"I can't."

When I woke up the next morning, I was sweating, my heart was racing, my throat was dry, my head was pounding, and I had vague knowledge on what had happened the night before. The world spun for a good few seconds before my vision focused and I could make out the walls of my bedroom; but while I recognized my room, I also managed to notice the clothes I had quickly stepped out of puddled on the floor, along with a bottle of champagne that had been knocked carelessly off my nightstand.

A splitting feeling rushed to my forehead and I cursed loudly before pressing the tips of my fingers to it and squeezing my eyes shut. It felt as though someone was taking a knife to my head, but the feeling subsided – it didn't go away completely – but after a moment or two, the intensity died off and I was able to open my eyes again. I considered it a not-so friendly reminder never to drink that much ever again.

The second my head hit the pillow, the first thing that came to my mind was Faith. Thinking of her isn't what irritated me, it didn't make my blood boil, nor was it the main cause as to why my pounding headache seemed to increase. It was her decision, one that I had voiced was stupid, but one I knew needed to be done. I had promised I would protect her, I had also promised I would go back for her if anything happened to her; but her decision, her sacrifice conflicted with both of my promises. I could not protect her if she was with Peter and I could never take back the words I spat in her face just hours before.

It hurt my head to think about it, so I didn't. Pushing the thoughts to the back of my mind was almost as impossible as Federico going a day without killing someone. But it wasn't until I shifted to my left side and shoved my hand underneath my pillow did I finally notice the head of dark hair lying beside me.

My eyes went wide and I shot up again, this time I ignored the pounding in my head. I leaned over just a bit in an attempt to catch a glimpse of their profile, but the jet black hair swarmed their face. With my face contorted in an expression of confusion and curiosity, I ripped the duvet right out their grasp and exposing their pajama covered legs to the cool, crisp air.

They jumped, screamed, and started swinging.

There was only one person in the entire world I knew that could hit a note as high as that one. Rosalie kicked and squirmed as her arms flailed out and her hands balled in fists, swinging in every-which direction. Her legs nearly caught me once across the jaw, but she hit the jackpot when it came to my abdomen. It was like a sucker-punch to the stomach; for just a moment, I lost air.

"Rosie!" I groan, but she had nothing of it. With her eyes still squeezed shut, her went on the pursuit. I had two options; either to run away or pin her down and wake her up from whatever nightmare she was having. I chose door number two because my headache wouldn't allow for door number one.

Rosalie was smaller than the average seven year old. I remember Melanie going to the doctor and me accompanying her as she explained to the doctor that Rosie was shorter than all the other kids her age. She had been concerned that her daughter wasn't growing right, that something was wrong, but the Doctor re-assured us both that Rosie was growing, aging, and developing just fine. Despite her height, she packed a loaded punch and her kicks were almost lethal. I, personally, had never been concerned. She was shorter than her friends by just a few inches, but to Melanie, inches meant feet.

Somewhere between the struggle of getting Rosalie to wake up from her nightmare and protect my entire body from her blows, we fell off the bed. The carpet that I had prided myself on for being soft, wasn't as soft as I hoped. I could practically feel my organs jar themselves from their natural position and my head snapped back, hitting the ground also. For just a split second my world flashed white and I cursed. My hands slapped themselves over my eyes and I squeezed them so tight I began to see other galaxies.

A body straddled my waist and a soft, tiny voice whispered out, "Daddy?"

I groaned loudly.

I was in no mood to correct her again. Slowly, I pulled a hand down from my eye and I peeked out at her. Rosalie's figure floated around my vision for a while before steadying. Her eyes were red and she had a few marks that lined her cheeks caused by her heavy sleeping. Her hair was a mess, but in a way, she looked refreshed.

"Yes, Rosie?"

"That was a bad word."

I blink, trying to recap and understand what the hell she was talking about.

"The word you just said," She whispers again, trying to urge me to remember, "That was a bad word. Uncle Rico taught me that word."

"Uncle Rico taught you the 'F' word?" My world still spun, but I focused on the little girl's face. She was an angel really, the only thing she was missing was her halo.

Her nod answers my question.

"And what else, pray tell, did Uncle Rico teach you?"

"He told me that anybody that is rude to me is a motherf—"

I slap a hand over her mouth, forcing the rest of her newly learned word to come out in a jumbled, muffled mess. When I pulled away, she was smiling. Sitting up slowly, she rolled off of me, allowing me to press my palms to the floor. The little girl stood to her feet and stuck her hands out in an attempt to help me stand; she would never know, but she was no help at all. Her body weight didn't match mine, so it took more of an effort on my part to stand up than hers.

"It looks like we need to pay Mr. De Santis a visit now doesn't it?" Her hand laces through mine as I ruffle her bed hair. She practically leads the way through the bedroom and out the door. My steps are un-even and horribly calculated, forcing me to trip about once or twice on our journey next door. Rosalie led the way with small steps and by the time we reached Rico's closed door, she was knocking.

Her knocks, to say the least, were cute. I had to strain to hear them myself and I was standing behind her. She knocks again and we stand there silently; one minute passes, then two. I step forward and this time, I knock. With my fists balled and I ram on the door, but like Rosalie, I got no answer.

"It's okay, Liam, I got this." I took a step back as she stretched for some unknown reason and slowly, gently, twisted the doorknob open.

The room was quiet and the only motion that I noticed was coming from the ceiling fan above. It casted a gentle breeze through the room. Federico's head lay where feet normally should on the bed, his own feet facing the headboard. He was lying on his stomach, using his forearm as a pillow as his face was smothered in the mattress. The only thing that hid his newly acquired scars from view was the black tank-top that he had put on. The expression he had on his face wasn't welcoming; his eyebrows were connecting and his lips were turned downwards. I was ready to call Rosie back and tell her we could talk to Uncle Rico another time, but it was too late.

Rosalie had already taken off and before I could even extend my hand to stop her, she had jumped on the bed. But not only did she jump on the bed, she jumped on Federico. To be even more specific, she jumped on Federico's back.

Fuck.

He didn't react the way I thought he would; a scream and a few curses. His eyes remained closed but you could see the pained look cross his face and stay. His lips formed into a grimace and he curled up just a bit, a slight, nearly inaudible whimper slipping out his mouth.

Silent seconds ticked by but when Rico opened his eyes, time stopped. I had, unfortunately, seen the same look hundreds of times. With his mouth still pressed into the mattress, he looked up at me with bloodshot eyes. The pain in his eyes out shown the pain he was showing on the outside, the pain he was trying to hide. And maybe it was the way Rosie shifted milliseconds later that caused the reaction, but she leaned to one side and Rico lost it.

"Fuck." He scrambled up from his position, his arms already working on getting the shirt off his back. Rosalie had been knocked off of him, now seated harmlessly on the mattress beside him. He stumbled off the bed and yanked the t-shirt off his back, throwing it to the ground in the process. His breathing was labored and pained and the look on his face expressed everything he was feeling at the moment. Rico gave me one last look before reaching the bathroom door and entering, slamming it behind him in the process.

Rosie sat on his bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She stared at the bathroom door as if her "uncle" was about to burst my through it and run over to her, embracing her in a tight, loving hug; but she knew Rico just as I did. That wasn't going to happen. When her bottom lip trembled, I sighed and marched over to her, a hand extended.

Her hand never met mine. Instead, she threw her arms across her chest and frowned deeply, her gaze still lingering on the door Rico vanished behind. "What did I do?"

"Uncle Rico got hurt, that's all. Come on," I shook my hand for emphasis but she still didn't grab it. Her eyes watered, but not for the reason I expected.

"Who would hurt uncle Rico?"

And when she angled her body so that she was facing me and her legs were dangling off the bed, it clicked. Her eyes glistened with unfallen tears and her breathing was growing uneven. Her hands fiddled with each other in her lap. I had to put a hand on her knee to force her to look up at me, but when I did, I regretted it. The initial tear slid down her cheek slowly, but after that reached her chin and dropped, the dam was released and the waterworks began to stream out the corner of her eyes faster than I could catch them.

"Sweetheart, it's okay, please stop crying."

She didn't stop. She tried though and I'll give her that. With closed fists, she wipes at either side of her eyes and drops them to her lap, her shoulder still gently shaking. Once the majority of the tears had come to a stop, I spoke up.

"Did Peter ever say anything to you about Uncle Rico?"

She sniffs, "Is Peter the ugly one that's mean to me?"

"Yes," I let out a laugh, "The ugly one."

"Well..." Her voice shook with uncertainty and that caused me to worry. "He seemed to like Uncle Rico. He talked about him a lot." My heart sunk, "He asked me what he looked like too."

"And you told him..."

"I had too! Uncle Rico is cute! I had to tell them—"

"You what?"

My heart sunk even deeper. It explained the chills I got next as I stood up straighter and turned around. I made sure to keep a hand on Rosalie at all times, allowing me to know where she sat without having to take my eyes off Rico.

Anger and Federico was a potentially disastrous, deadly, and flat-out horrible combination. I had, unfortunately, been in a few situations where his anger was directed at me; I was able to leave with a few cuts and minimal bruises. His jaw was locked tight, his fists clenched. His eyebrows were creased and the veins that ran along his arms were being to show. His learned accent was thicker than my true one, especially when he repeated, "You what?"

This time, however, he took a step forward and I tensed.

Rosie slid off the edge of the bed with my hand still reaching for her. A hand of hers pressed against the back of my thigh as she peered around my leg, her hair brushing against my hand in the process.

"Rico, she didn't know." My attempt to stand up for Rosalie went through one of Federico's ears and out the other. As he approached slowly with calculated steps, I eased Rosalie and I towards the door, all while I made sure she stood behind me.

Federico closed the gap in seconds. I was leaning back, steadying my eyes to focus on the finger he had shoved in my face. "I don't give a shit. She caused this!" He points an accusing finger at Rosie, his gaze still on me. His eyes close for just a split second and a rare whisper envelops his next few words, "She spoke up when she shouldn't have and I don't care whether she knew or not. I have cuts on my back that will never go away because this—"

When my hand grasped for Rosie's, I realized she wasn't there. Instead, she had wrapped around to my front and had grabbed onto Rico's legs, pulling him as close to her as she could. Tears upon tears rolled down her face as Rico, who looked just as shocked as I did, glanced down. His eyebrows didn't relax and the muscle in his jaw continued to tick, but something far beyond the anger in his hazel eyes went off and he looked back to me, unsure of what the hell to do.

"I'm sorry Uncle Rico—" She chokes on a sob before continuing, "I-I didn't think—He..." The rest of her sentence is a jumbled mess of tears and agony. Both Rico and I shared a lot and all the fight that was in him, it vanished. It disappeared as quickly as the breath of air he let out just before he knelt down before Rosie.

He still had a few inches on Rosalie, despite having kneeled, but at least now they were more even in height. She took a subtle step back and folded her hands into a ball, using them to wipe at her tears. You could tell Federico was not used to children, let alone crying children, but it made me smile knowing he was doing his best. I folded my arms across my chest, took an un-noticeable step back, and watched.

"It's okay," Rico's first few words were a hesitated mess. He smiled slyly, but when the tears didn't stop, he let out a sigh. "Rosie..." She didn't stop. Her shoulder shook and her head bowed, "Little person?"

I smirked, stifling a laugh at his feeble attempt.

"Okay, look," He reaches out and pulls her hands down from her face, using his fingers to tilt her head back upwards toward him. Her lips were angled downwards and her eyes red. Federico takes the opportunity to pull my little sister forward, her legs now bumping against his knees.

"D-did they really hurt you, Uncle Rico?" She leans forward unexpectedly, using his knees to steady her as she reached up and slapped her tiny hands on either of his cheeks. His arms wrapped around her tiny frame as she pulled him close and looked him dead in the eye. It was amazing really, because I had seen men three times Rosalie's height and four times her weight refuse to look Federico De Santis in the eyes due to the fear factor. But standing there now - her fingers running over the thin layer of hair that decorates his chin with his hands around her waist - she couldn't have looked any more comfortable then she did now.

You could tell the question choked him up for just a second. He swallows and offers up a weary smile, "Yeah, but... it's okay."

It wasn't and we both knew that.

"It's not okay!" Rosie's hands find their way to the back of his neck, forcing Federico to stiffen. Leaning her upper body closer to him, she pulls Rico into a hug. I brought a fist to my lips when I saw him look up at me, a pleading look in his eyes. "It's not!" Even from here, I could see her shoulders begin to shake again, just as Rico's large hand rested against the palm of her back, steadying her.

He pulls Rosie closer to him and glances up at me. And with a hand on the back of her head, gently nestling her cheek into his shoulder, and his gaze locked on mine. He speaks to Rosalie although his eyes are on me. "If it meant keeping you safe, I would willingly tie myself back up and let Peter do whatever he wanted with me."

I could tell Rosalie was smiling before she even lifted her head up to face her 'uncle' again. Her hands clasped around his face once again, "I love you, uncle Rico!"

He offered up a smile, but nothing else.

You could tell she was about to object to his silence regarding her most recent declaration of love before I cut in. You could tell, just with a look, that Federico was done with this altercation. His smile hadn't been genuine, but masked a level of sadness he often refused to show.

"Rosie!" Her attention snapped towards me at the sound of her name. I extended a hand – one she gladly took – and nodded towards the door. "Let's go get changed and go eat, how's that sound?"

After sending our goodbyes to Federico, Rosie and I – her more than me – skipped back to the bedroom to get changed. I could've sworn the room looked messier then when we left it just a few moments ago. Rosalie let go of my hand and hopped on the bed.

She situated herself so that her legs were dangling off the edge, a smile on her face. Her smile said one thing, but what was possibly running through her head was another. Rosie had always encouraged happiness; and maybe that explained why whenever she was around, she changed to mood of those around her for the better. Her smile lit up eyes and her laugh filled hearts. Nothing should've been different; her smile should've been wide and her eyes should've glistened with it, but it didn't. And maybe she was too young to understand in depth of how I knew something was wrong with her, but maybe one day, I'd be able to teach her.

I closed the distance between us in seconds, her smile wavering as I fell to my knees and caged her in around me, my forearms resting on either side of her small thighs. There were cuts and scars beginning to form on her legs, and a few scratches and scraps on her cheeks and forehead. And I was certain that in that moment, her scars, cuts, scratches, and scrapes hurt me ten times more than they hurt her.

"Was it scary?" My arms wrap themselves around the back of her, pulling Rosie even closer to the edge with ease. Her knees pressed against my chest as I looked up at her, my eyes pleading for an answer. Her smile, for the first time this morning, disappeared.

She nods.

My voice lowers to a whisper because even I am afraid of the question I'm about to ask. "Did he hit you?" Immediately, she shakes her head no. "Did he touch you...?"

"It was scary because I didn't think I'd see you again."

I let out a breath at her answer. Rolling my head to the side, I let my cheek rest in her lap as my eyes flutter closed. Silence was the most beautiful thing I heard in those next few seconds; it was just us. With my head in her lap and my eyes closed, I felt her small hands delicately pull at the longer strands of my hair. Her fingers stop meticulously working through my bed hair, forcing me to open my eyes and glance upwards.

A tear was streaking down her cheek by the time my vision focused on her. "I didn't think I would get to tell you I love you again—"

"I know, I know," I spoke in a hushed whisper and lifted my head up once more. My body follows, allowing me a better angle to pull the fragile little thing back into my arms. Her legs found themselves around my upper torso and her arms around my neck.

There was a pause in the sobbing, a sniffle, then, "Liam, I'm hungry."

I agreed to help her make pancakes as long as she stopped crying and got dressed. It took us an easy twenty minutes to even make the bed. With a smile now drying the tears that had previously ran down her face, we pulled the sheets and duvet up before resting the pillows where they belonged. Both satisfied with our work, we moved on to dressing. The dressing part only took a few minutes. With Rosie's clothes now in the wash, it only took a moment to know that she had nothing else to wear. So, improvising greatly, I threw her a pair of the smallest shorts I had, a t-shirt, and told her we had to work with what we had.

What took the longest amount of time was her hair. With Rosie seated on the closed toilet, I brushed through her hair. It had grown out, along with her side-bangs, making it ten times harder than it should've been. After the six-hundredth try, I finally got the ponytail down and she hopped off the toilet and spun in the mirror. With a satisfied clap of the hands, she bids me a momentarily farewell before skipping out the room, yelling something about making pancakes.

With her presence gone, I stand from my squatted position and sigh. As Rosie ran off, so did her cheery disposition. My bathroom was large, ridiculously large to be only occupied by one person. The large shower was pointless, along with the two person granite sinks. The overly large mirror made no sense anymore; not when the only reflection it had to give off was mine. A lot of things at the moment didn't make sense and I didn't know what to blame it on; the fact that my headache was only getting worse or the fact that the one person I had learned to depend on was gone.

I dressed quickly, all by myself. There was no one to help button up my dress shirt, something I had taken the liberty in not having to do for a while. I actually had to pick out what I wanted to wear, instead of having that done for me. The room was silent; there were no laughs, no chuckles, no sarcastic jabs. I couldn't look across the room and admire the view, all I could do was stare in the mirror and hate what I saw.

I was on my way out the room when my eyes landed on my dresser, my gaze attracted by the row of necklaces I had the potential of wearing. Chains upon chains hung delicately on their stand, shining and glimmering whenever the sunlight hit them at a certain angle. My favorites hung on a separate stand; my favorites being the ones I had received from a friend during the Christmas holiday.

The gift consisted of four necklaces, all having been made by the same designer. They were a tainted shade of gold. The chain itself was short and fit my neck perfectly. The necklace didn't dangle around my neck or cause me any type of irritation during the day; maybe that explained why they were my favorite. But what made these items of jewelry more special than all the rest, were the words that were beautifully engraved in italic writing that hung at the end of them.

There was Lealtà, for Loyalty. The only thing different about this necklace was the fact that it could no longer hang with the others; Faith had broken the chain so for the moment, it was useless to me. There was Onore for Honor, there was Potere for Power, and there was my personal favorite, Fiducia for Faith.

I think you can guess which one I grabbed and laced around my neck.

The hallway was still quiet as I stepped out and closed my bedroom door behind me. It echoed in my head, proving to me just how quiet this house truly was. Federico's door remained shut, unlike Dominic's. I had a habit of checking in with the both of them the moment I woke up and having gotten Rico out the way, I turned towards Dom's cracked door.

With a glance at my watch, I pushed his door open slowly and stepped inside. Many would be upset that I hadn't knocked, some probably would've yelled too, but not Dom – not even-tempered, hardly ever pissed-off – Dominic Santiago.

The temperature in the room was cool, almost, just almost on the cold and bitter side. His entire room was the epitome of clean; his drawers were pushed in, the bathroom door was closed, and the full length mirror that I had decorated every bedroom with was as clear as crystal. The only sight that seemed out of place was the bed; the sheets were tosseled in every direction and the duvet was more on the floor than it was on the bed.

Dominic was off to the left, seated behind a large desk that was covered in papers, unopened letters, and pens. His dark eyebrows were knitted together as he was leaning over a piece of paper, a pencil in his hand. His handwriting was a beautiful mixture of cursive and print, using loops and swirls whenever he deemed necessary. His left elbow was planted on the desk, crushing a few papers. All while his hand pulled at the tips of his curly hair in concentration.

"What the hell are you writing that has you so focused?" I had sidled up to his chair and leaned over for a tenth-of-a-second. It was enough to catch a few phrases; phrases that worried me.

I can't do this anymore, one said.

I'm sorry, but this may just be for the best, read another.

And right when my eyes lifted to catch who he was addressing the letter to, his pen dropped and he snatched the paper out of eyesight. My eyebrows furrowed immediately, especially when he looked up at me and smiled. I studied his face for all but two seconds; a few droplets of water were beginning to run down his neck and his forehead, indicating to me of his morning shower. I quickly pushed the thoughts and sentences I saw to the back of my head as I stepped back, giving him space.

"I was just coming in the see how you were doing..." my words fade, along with my thoughts for just a moment. My gaze falls to the messy desk, my attention focusing in on only few of many letters that are scattered amongst it. I take note of the letter from a woman in Florida, where he grew up; possibly the woman that adopted him? But my heart didn't kick up in speed till I glanced at a letter from LabCorp.

"Just a few scrapes and bruises," His reply comes out as slow as my statement did. Like mine, Dom's eyes drift to the letter and just like before, he reaches out and flips it over, hiding the sender's name and information from me. It was clear that I had already seen LabCorp's infamous name on the front, but it kept me from staring longer, which in the end, would lead to a question.

Dominic stands up from his seat, forcing it to drag along the carpet. He stood toe-to-toe with me, allowing my eyes to fall on every cut and possibly potential scar that lined his face. A portion of his upper lip was swollen and a black and blue bruise was beneath his eye. This was the first time I took in all his injuries.

"No." My eyes follow him as he pushes his chair in and saunters towards his bed. He drops down, forcing the bed to groan underneath his weight. "I meant up here—" I pat my head for emphasis.

"I'm fine." He paused, then, "How's Rico? I haven't been able to talk to him since—"

I dragged the wooden chair he had previously been sitting on behind me, using the backrest as a seat. Leaning back, I folded my arms across my chest and got comfortable. "If you're fine, then please, tell me what happened that night."

"He hasn't told you?"

I gave him the best representation of a female's resting bitch face I could. It said, If Rico had told me, I wouldn't be asking you right now, Sherlock.

Dominic got the hint. He folded his hands together and gave me his own look. "Then I'm going to respect that and let Rico tell you what happened." There was silence between the two of us and I finally gave in with a nod; he did have a point. I turned to leave, but Dom clearly wasn't done, "But if you are eager for a conversation, I do have topic I think you'll be interested in."

"And that is?"

I truthfully regretted coming into his room with my sleeves rolled up and a few buttons of my dress shirt undone. I was beginning to grow cold at how cool the room was growing. Dominic's gaze, for just a second, fell to my neck, where the gold Fiducia necklace lay. His eyes lingered, before lifting to meet my eyes.

His eyes then fall to his hands, which sit harmlessly in his lap. You could see him shift uncomfortably and noticing his hesitation drew me back towards him. He even grew so uncomfortable that he slapped a hand to the base of his neck and rubbed it awkwardly. By the time he looked back at me, I had an eyebrow quirked and my right eye was twitching.

"Faith gave herself up for us," He said it breathlessly, like he had just ran a mile in snow-gear. "Faith is the reason I'm sitting here, right now. She's the reason Rosalie was able to crawl in bed with you." His voice rose and he was continuously scooting closer to the edge of the bed.

"Yeah," I tear my gaze away from him, "she did."

Then I saw something from Dominic Santiago that you normally never saw; an emotion that was hidden beneath every "gentlemen" aspect of him. He shot up from his seat and with gritted teeth, he used a tone of voice I had never heard from him, "Then why the fuck did you treat her like a piece of shit?"

Two curse words in one sentence? I could practically feel the whiplash.

I blinked a few times.

I considered telling Dominic he needed casually drift back into his own lane, but I advised against it.

"I saw the video," He starts off again, "I saw you grab her, I saw you punch the mirror above her, I heard you tell her you would not come back for her." He pauses, "For what? For doing something for you?"

"I don't want to talk about Faith."

I turned, in my own way, ending the conversation right where it was. I wasn't, however, expecting Dominic to follow; but when I felt a large hand weigh down my shoulder, I knew he had. I spun around and the look he was shooting me was enough to keep me from wandering off.

"She wasn't afraid of confrontation, unlike you." Dom's voice had lowered drastically, earning more of a serious, no-nonsense type of tone from him. His last two words hurt to most, earning a wince from me. "And I thought about it all night, all night. Because I couldn't figure out why the hell you would get so defensive, so angry about something that was benefiting you." My shoulders slump even more-so as he continues and my eyes fall downcast to the floor. "And it still makes no—"

His epiphany hit him dead center in the middle of the forward, cutting his words off like a broken-record. He knew. His bottom lip quivered, but not because of tears, more so because of shock. He tilted his head towards me and then turned around, running a hand over his hair. "Well...shit."

He didn't see the shy, sly smile that my lips tried to portray. He turned around a few times, glancing at me out the corner of his eyes while he did so. Often he brought his hands to his mouth, covering everything but his eyes as he thought deeply about his realization. After a good few minutes of silence, he dropped his hands and let out a very loud shy.

"We can talk about this later, okay?"

I nodded. "Of course." And with mutual waves, we departed from each other.

The day certainly felt like it was dragging, and all I had done was talk to Rico, dress and primp Rosalie, and speak with Dominic. By the time I hopped off the final step and reached the first floor, I was surrounded again, but this time by someone different. It was Will.

The air between us was certainly thick and there were a few things that we hadn't discussed since it had happened. I.e. him trying to slaughter Faith or teaming up with Michael when he was still gung-ho on slitting her throat.

We took a few steps in silence, neither addressing each other's presence. William finally grew the pair and turned on a dime, forcing me to stop also. His hair had grown out since the last time I focused on him and the young, boyish face that I had grown to know was gone; over the weeks he had grown more than enough facial hair to justify his true age.

William cut straight to the point; there were no how are you's or anything of the short – no small talk. With an iPad clutched to his stomach, he says, "Tim and I were rolling over the security camera feed over the past 48 hours."

"And?"

"A section is missing," He states.

Before Will knew it, he was jogging to keep up with me as I turned sharply down a hallway, headed straight for where the two had the security cameras set up.

"Two other cameras were affected," Will continues to explain, "But we're speaking of seconds. The one camera, the time lapse is great—" We both stop at the door and with my hand on the handle, he sighs, "We're talking twenty, almost thirty minutes."

The two welcomed me into their humble abode for just a few minutes. Timothy was already ready by the time I walked in and seated myself before a ton of small, miniature television screens. It only took about ten minutes for me to see exactly what Will had been trying to explain. Camera five, the one that focused on the opposite side of the house, had been tampered with. In the early morning hours, the camera that displayed one of the many "study" rooms went black. The room was a good size and held a beautiful piano that I had always admired. About thirty-five minutes later, like Will had initially estimated, the camera flicked back on and the feed continued to be recorded. But what peeked my curiosity was the fact that thirty-five minutes had gone un-recorded and it was clear that it had been deliberate.

After about the sixth time watching the cameras screen go black, I lean back in the chair, studying the monitor. "To have any camera feed deleted, you have to have a password," I glance upwards and to my left, over my shoulder at Tim. He had his arms folded and his brows creased, him too trying to figure out what had happened. "So check. What code was entered in?"

That alone took about ten minutes. William and Timothy ran back and forth through the small, clutter filled room. They printed off a few things, scrolled through some data on a screen, and finally, they reported back to me with what they had.

"Well," Tim cleared his throat and glanced at the paper, but instead of reading it, he simply hands it to me. I gladly take it, rotate it to my liking, and stare at the highlighted three numbers on the page.

The paper was shoved back into Timothy's hands before he could even compute it. I was up, my chair swiveling behind me, and I was out the door in record speed. In my mind, I had momentarily assumed Dominic had been the one to mess with the camera, but the code that I read on the paper wasn't his. In fact, it was Michael's.

I had yet to come around to taking him out the system, something I had definitely been meaning to do for years – yet, he was never around, so having procrastinated that chore for ten years didn't seem like a big deal, till now. I rounded corners with precision and walked through open rooms to get to my destination faster. All I wanted to do was find Michael, have him ease my curiosity, and eat some light, fluffy pancakes with butter and sweet, sweet syrup.

I found myself slipping through the kitchen to cut my ETA by a few seconds, but that was a major mistake. Rosalie and I must've had the same ideas about breakfast, because a stack of pancakes taller than she rested before her on a plate. She had her fork ready, prepared to stab the fried batter as if it were a person. I was all ready to ask her who made these for her, but when my eyes caught slight movement in the corner, my question was answered.

Federico was slouched in a wooden seat in the corner behind a small table. Rosalie's jump on his back made the pain in his back flare up, explaining as to why he was now shirtless. With one hand on his phone and the other with a dry, syrup-less pancake in his hand, he ate and scrolled through his phone like it was a newspaper.

"Liam!" That was Rosie's squeal, "You want a pancake?!" She held out her fork, which had stabbed a perfect square portion of a pancake. It was drenched in syrup. I had to push her hand away, allowing the fork to hover over her plate just as a drop of syrup decided it didn't want to stick to the pancake anymore.

"Maybe later, Sweetheart. I'll be right back."

She didn't argue with me. She turned back to her plate, content with her breakfast and left me alone. I was out the other entrance, down the hall, and standing before the door that led to my personal office. I didn't have to knock or peek through the door to know Michael was in there. The door swung over gently and I stepped in.

"Come on, come on," Michael was seated behind my desk, a pen in his hand and his cellphone in the other. He was tapping it in impatience against the desk, his expression torn with worry, concern, and a slight hint of annoyance. His lips were upturned in a frown as he pulled the phone away from his ear and rested it on the table. The speaker was loud enough that I could hear the automatic voicemail picking up, telling him to leave a message, then beeping.

"Hey—" His eyes uplift and meet mine. In an adjustment, he lowers his head and mumbles the rest of his message quietly, "Um... This is the third time I've called you and you haven't answered, which is weird. Just...call me back when you can. Thanks."

I cleared the room quickly, dodging coffee tables and slipping past chairs. It was odd being seated in front of the desk, rather than sitting behind it. It was an intimidation factor because the person behind the desk, seated in the chair, seemed to have more authority than those that were sitting before it. Michael placed his phone down gently, still looking upset.

The chair I sat in made an odd noise as I slouched and folded my arms across my chest, staring him down. For his age, he was still in shape. With a flat stomach, defined shoulders, and a good stance, he was certainly beating the many stereotypes that came with the older age. But as I stared at him harder, at him longer, the more wrinkles seemed to form on his forehead as he frowned. The light in his eyes were dim, that mischievous glint in his eyes that I had grown familiar with, was gone. A few grey hairs pointed themselves out to me on his chin and that was when I realized it. I had been so busy growing up, I had forgotten that he, in turn, was getting old.

Michael Luciano was a father, but he was never a dad.

And every year, after every birthday, I secretly wished that Michael would suddenly transform into that dad that threw me the football after school and talked through problems I was having in general. I wanted him to be the dad that he never was and by my twentieth birthday, I realized he would never live up to my expectations.

Michael angles his body towards me and with his elbows on the desk, he hides his face in his hands. He didn't look overly upset or emotional, just frustrated. So instead of making the situation worse by yelling, I kept the conversation light.

Using my hands for emphasis, I smile slightly, "Let me guess. You and your side bitch met up one night, shit went down, you lasted two minutes in bed, and now she wants nothing to do with you?"

Michael let out a breath, one that sounded much like a laugh. His hands slid down his face and he pulled his head up, his sharp gaze meeting my expression with ease. By the time his hands slapped to the table in defeat, a wide smile was plastered across his lips.

"Not quite, Liam."

"Was I close?"

"No."

We both stared at each other for a good moment and just went the staring contest was slowly growing awkward, we both shifted in our seats and waited for the other to talk. The mood took a sharp turn towards serious as I sat up and folded my hands in my lap.

"I'm sorry about Melanie."

And for the first time in a long time, Michael looked at me. The hostile glare he normally held was replaced with something that looked much like confusion. "Yeah, I'm sorry too."

This was as close to a heart-to-heart that we had ever gotten. I was always too worried that he would throw me under the bus if I spoke my heart to him, so I didn't. Conversations at dinner when I was younger were always light; we spoke of the weather, the local sports team, and politics. Scratch that, we hardly spoke of politics. In reality, Michael would ask "Who's running for President?" In which I would shrug and our topic would be switched.

"What do you want, kid?"

His voice snapped me out of my reminiscing. An eyebrow of his was raised as my answer was anticipated.

I decided to stop beating around the bush and get straight to the point. "The other night a camera in one of the other rooms stopped working. The time lapse was about forty minutes, thirty-five," I explain, "Your number was entered to finalize the decision of deleting footage."

He blinks.

"So," I continue, "Considering I already know it was you, you might as well save me some time and just tell me what was on the tape that you didn't want me to see."

After my spiel, I took a breath, and leaned back, getting comfortable. Michael's expression never changed. I was bracing myself for the boldest, most bull-shitted lie I had ever heard in my entire twenty-eight years of existence. My hands gripped the arm-rests until my knuckles began to turn white, but when Michael spoke up, I nearly snapped the thick wood in half.

"Federico and Faith; De Santis and Crawford." He paused for emphasis, "Raith? Fico? Federaith?"

I blinked, "Not following."

Michael's gaze drifted down from the ceiling, a serious expression on his face. The pen he had once held was now slowly being dragged back and forth along the desk, entertaining him more than my attention did. The pen rolled to a stop near the edge of the desk and our gazes met once again.

He shook his head, silently discussing something to himself. I watched Michael step out my chair, walk around my desk, and join me at my side. I stiffened as he leaned most of his body weight on the armrest, forcing me to move my arm to keep us from touching. And with a low, deep voice, he spoke his words with intimidation and with purpose.

"If you do not hurry the fuck up and tell Faith how you really feel, you won't just lose her to Peter Corinelli."

I laugh out of nervousness. "How do you know how I really feel?"

Michael stands, allowing both of us some breathing room. He adjusts his buttoned suit jacket with ease. "I see the way you look at her." I open my mouth to object, but he cuts me off with a simple look. "And I know, because I used to look at your mother the same way. When you look at her, you don't just see the right now, you see forever."

And as he strode out the room with those parting words, I slouched so far down in my seat I nearly slipped out of it and landed on the floor. One hand flew to my temple, the other to the necklace that hung around my neck. Michael knew and I knew; he was right.

When I looked at Faith, I saw the mistakes of my past that led to where I was right now, I saw the decisions I had made on her behalf in this present, and I saw the future with her. But most importantly, like Michael had said, I saw my forever.

And she was it.

- - - -

When I walked back into the kitchen fifteen minutes later, Rosalie was silently crying.

Her head was bowed over her half-eaten plate of pancakes and her shoulders were shaking. Federico was still sitting where I had left him, his attention now simply on his phone. Dominic was the only one who had arrived and was slowly beginning to try and understand why Rosie was crying as hard as she was. Tears dripped off the tip of her nose as I rounded the island and stood by Dominic, worry growing in my heart.

"What happened?"

"I don't know," He looked like a concerned father as he eyed Rosie with curiosity. He shrugged and turned to me, "She just started crying. No explanation, nothing."

Rosie decided now would be a great time to pick her head up and explain what was wrong and why she was crying her eyes out. She didn't wipe her tears as her bottom lip shook and more tears spilled out her eyes. "Where's my mom?" She sobbed once more and looked at me, because typically, I had all the answers – just not now. "I want my mom."

The bowl of cereal that Dominic had gone back to eating was suddenly not appetizing to him anymore. Whatever had been occupying Federico's attention on his phone was no longer interesting as both of them looked up, at Rosie, then at me. The air grew thick and hard to breathe in and my headache only intensified.

I knew exactly where her mother was, but the answer wasn't appropriate. If I was going to break the news, I would do It gently, but I wouldn't do it here.

Rico, however, had other plans.

He turned away from us and buried his head back in his phone, not really affected as deeply as Dom and I were at the little girl's question. He spoke just loud enough for all of us to hear. "She's dead."

My heart dropped and my fingertips went numb. Rosalie's complexion faded to a ghostly shade of white as her lips parted and her eyes fell on her Uncle Rico. Her bottom lip began to shake even more and then her tear filled eyes fell on me, on Dom, and back on me again. I wanted to reach out for her, to hug her, to explain that one day I did believe she would see her mother again. I wanted to make it okay, I wanted to make it all okay because she didn't deserve any of this. She didn't deserve to have been thrown in this life with no choice.

Rosie regained her ability to move before I did. She fell off her stool and took off for the exit of the room, her direction unknown to me. I meant to chase her, knowing if she got out of sight, it could take hours to find her considering the size of the home we were in. I didn't give in though, mostly due to the pressure that was pressing against my cranium. I dropped to the nearest stool, slammed my elbows against the granite island, threw my head in my hands, and cursed loudly.

When I lifted my head up, Dominic was standing near Rico, shaking his head in shame. "You out of all people should know what it's like to lose someone you care about," He shakes his head again, "You're so heartless sometimes..." He then jogged out the room in the same direction as Rosalie without waiting to hear Federico's reply.

The silence that followed was lovely. With Rico watching the exit Dom just ran out of, I watched him. There were times when he acted his age; the jokes, the immaturity. Then there were times when he acted older, wiser. In this moment, I saw Rico for who he was; a twenty-two year old that didn't know how to keep his fucking mouth shut.

"Why?" It was all that needed to be asked; I didn't need to re-address what he just said. My question drew his attention over to me. "I mean," I shrug my shoulders, trying to understand what went on in his head to say what he said. "Why?"

He looked at me and as plainly and simply as he could, he said, "Nobody sugarcoated the truth for me, so why do it for her?"

I stood at that, my jaw locking, "She's seven."

"I was six!" Taking my standing as a challenge, Federico did the same. His voice rose in volume as his hands began to clench and unclench themselves, his heart-rate certainly increasing. "I was six when someone finally told me why I was in that damn orphanage. They said it was because my parents didn't want me." The edge in his tone died off as he dropped back to his seat with a huff, "And for a six year old, that was like crushing their entire world." I step back and sit back down as he adds with a whisper, "It certainly crushed mine."

I stared at him a moment after he tore his eyes from mine and looked down to his lap. I realized his quick answer to her questions wasn't out of pure evilness, but more-so because he was hurt. Most specifically, because he was hurting.

"Answer this one question for me and I'll forgive you," I state.

Rico glances at his phone again before looking at me, a smirk playing on his lips, "Yes?"

"You and Faith."

"Are you naming people that hate you at the moment, because if so, you're off to a good s—"

"What happened the other night?"

He takes a while to answer, but as slowly as he can, he says, "A hug."

"That's it?"

"Yeah?" Rico leans back, "What do you want me to say? We had crazy sex on the piano?"

I squint my eyes as my analyzing continued, "You like her, don't you?"

You could tell he was preparing to spew out something humorous, it would've explained the joyous look on his face, but as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. His eyes slowly drooped so that he was now looking in his lap and the answer to my question was delayed; it took just long enough for me to know the real answer. He did.

"Why do you care?" He laughed, but nothing was funny, "I just love how you care now when you figure out that yes, I do like Faith." I turn away from him, but he isn't done, "She's pretty, she's smart, and she spits facts."

I laugh at that, "What facts?"

"That you're a fucking coward."

If Rico didn't have my full attention three seconds ago, he did now. There was no sarcastic tone underlining his words, there was no slight smile on his face, his eyes didn't light up but in fact, they darkened. My heart quickened in speed and my palms were slowly growing sweaty. I found it hard to swallow and the flashback of Faith stepping up in my face and saying the same thing entered my mind for a nanosecond.

I stood at that, my anger beginning to boil. It was an uncomfortable feeling; the rooms temperature skyrocketed and your pulse seemed to hammer against your wrist and neck as it increased. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?"

Federico joined me, once again, in standing, "A liar, a coward—"

A breath escaped me and my hand began to hurt, my nails having begun to dig into my palm. "Grayson, I know you are not calling me names."

"She sacrificed herself for everyone you cared about and you treated her like the piece of shit that comes out your asshole!" He stepped forward, a finger pointed my way in accusation. The veins that ran up and down his arms began to stand out and the muscle in his jaw ticked.

My eye twitched as I spoke in a low, but deep manner. "Until you can understand just what it's like to be held on the highest pedestal, to have everyone looking to you for guidance, to have every situation fall on your shoulders, to have all the pressure resting on you, then you come talk to me Federico; our situations are completely different and they will never be the same because you will always be a child."

My words hit Federico like a train. He stepped backwards and bumped into the table that he had once sat beside. His palms rested on the wood, near a fork, a spoon, and a butter-knife.

"You take orders," I stepped towards him. The room was growing warmer by the second and I could feel a bead of sweat stick to my temple, "I give them. If you mess up, you alone are at fault; when people mess up, it's on me. All the pressure is on me so don't talk to me like you understand, Rico, you don't."

I was done with this conversation, done with Rico trying to guilt trip me over something he couldn't even do.

"You're just weak."

Initially, I had turned to walk away, but Rico drew me back.

He continued, "You're a weak, pathetic little bitch that is afraid of confrontation. I'd tell you to go cry to mommy, but you don't even have one."

"—At least I've seen mine," I interject over my shoulder.

Rico ignores my jab, "I know men with hardly the same amount of power you have that would do anything for the woman they care about and you...you just—"

"Why are you talking to me like you have a say in what I do?" I couldn't keep my back to him any longer. Walking out now was not an option; we had hit the point of no return. "Need I remind you Rico that you work for me." I take a step closer, watching as his shoulders tense, "You don't work beside me, you work for me." My face flushed with heat as I reached out and if he was wearing a shirt, I would've grasped his collar but he wasn't; my hand went straight to his neck. I yanked him close, watching as his throat constricted and he held his breath. "And since you work for me, I suggest you stay right where you belong—" With all that I could, I shoved Rico to my left, his right. "below me."

He stumbled having lost balance and fell to the tile floor below. His knees dragged against the tiles, easily leaving a rug-burn of the sort. In a way, he fell on his ass, his head held down. I scoffed, adrenaline now pumping through my veins. But it wasn't until my eyes landed back on the table, where the spoon and fork still lay, that I realized what had just happened. Jerking my head towards Federico, I met his gaze just as he lifted his head. The butter knife was now clutched in his closed fist and the look he was giving me was certainly familiar.

My heart didn't even flutter knowing what was about to happen next. My reflexes took over as Federico didn't crawl, he didn't scramble, or clamber to his feet; he jumped in one fluid motion. With his knees still bent, he spun the knife so that the sharp side was now facing me and he lunged towards me. Everything that happened next was hardly a conscious effort; his jabs, lunges, kicks, and punches were far too quick to even comprehend, but thanks to years and years of learning self-defense techniques and having seven more years of experience under my belt than him, I dodged every one.

I will admit, Rico was slower than usual. With a swift kick to his hand, the knife scattered away from him and he stood to his feet to regain any lost advantage; but it had been too late. Having already anticipated that, I closed my fist, pulled back, and hit him. He cursed as he fell backwards and hit the floor. You could see the pain flare across his face as his bare back hit the tile and he arched it, cursing over and over.

I didn't want to walk out, not like this, but approaching him would have only made it worse. Neither of our decisions were being processed through at all; our common sense being clouded by an angry haze. Federico slapped the floor with both palms before flying to his feet and even faster, flying towards me. He had a hand grasping the back of my neck and another on my arm as he slammed me against the wall.

With gritted teeth, he spat in my ear, "Don't. Fucking. Touch. Me."

The next minute was filled with me breaking out of Rico's grasp, only to be thrown against the island by him. Using the momentum, I pushed myself away and for the second time in ten minutes, I punched him. The punch hurt my hand as it connected directly with his upper cheek; we both fell. Him backwards, me forwards.

It wasn't me, none of this was me. I had no problem with getting in a verbal argument with those I cared about, but physically fighting them and potentially hurting them wasn't me. If I could've had an 'out of body' experience and saw the person that was climbing on top of a bloody Rico, a fist raised, I wouldn't have recognized them. The pressure had started when I began to feel as though I was the only one that was able to hold the roof up on my home and it only got worse when everything was thrown on my shoulders, on my back. When Peter started hurting those I loved, it got worse, and it eventually led to me not believing I was fit for running a home I had run since I was eighteen.

I was angry at myself, not at Faith. I was angry because right before my fist collided with the mirror that night, I didn't see me. My name was a lie because a strong-willed warrior was something I was not and the mirror only enhanced my greatest flaws. I was a coward and a liar, but I already knew that before she told me.

"Liam!" I heard my name, but I didn't respond. I thought I was hearing things, all until I felt two hands on my shoulders and I was ripped off of Federico with force. My breathing was heavy and labored as I fell to the cold floor, my vision blurry.

Time slowed as I looked up, only to see Michael staring at me with disapproval; he was the one that had torn me off Rico. Dominic looked more surprised than anything; he stared at me like we had never met, like he had never seen me before and I was so sure that if I could've lifted another mirror to my face, I wouldn't have recognized me either. My eyes drifted over a few tiles that had red stains on them, then they rested on Federico. He was laying on his back, his hands covering his face.

"I leave ya'll for five minutes, I swear," Dominic groaned as he turned, but nobody in the room chuckled or laughed. My eyes followed him till he dropped to a stool and buried his face into his arm.

Michael kept his gaze locked on me and it was one that made you wiggle in your seat and grown uncomfortable quickly. I dropped my attention to my still balled up fists, only noticing then the blood that they were speckled with. At the sight of that alone, along with Rico lying on the floor just a few feet from me, the room began to spin and the headache that had continued to annoy me the entire day flared.

My hands flew up to my temples as I scrambled to my feet and jogged out the room. The headache often came and went, typically dull, but the pain kept intensifying. The rooms were spinning and I really felt like the floor would give way and I would fall hundreds of thousands of feet to my death. The air grew thick, nearly impossible to breathe in, and my stomach twisted and turned, a feeling of nausea churned inside. Just when I didn't think I would make it, I threw the front doors open and stumbled outside, closing them behind me.

I didn't step off my porch. My hands flew up to my hair as I gripped large chunks of it in my hands, squeezing as if it would hurt me. The muscles in my arms strained and I felt myself crumbling to the concrete below. It felt more-so that I was being pushed down by something invisible, something I couldn't see and I couldn't help it. My legs were strong enough to fight with the opposing pressure and right before my back hit the front door of my home, I yelled. It was a yell of pure anger, frustration, feelings of loss, and helplessness; it was everything in one – and it felt good.

- - - -

That night was beautiful and that was why I found myself standing outside on the balcony connected to my bedroom, enjoying the breeze that came with cool summer nights like these. Crickets chirping had been the only sound I heard for hours and I had no problem with it; there was no talking, no arguing, and it drowned out the constant thoughts I was having in my head. Most of them circling around one person and on person only; Faith.

I used to railing before me to lean on, depending more than half of my body weight on it. When I looked down, all I saw were the tan bandages that tightly wrapped my cut up knuckles. It was just a painful reminder of the punches I had thrown Rico's way – punches, that at the time, he seemed to deserve. But earlier was just a useless argument that in the end, ended up hurting instead of helping. Yet, if Federico had been in tip-top shape, I did believe things could've ended much differently. The thought, to say the least, scared me.

"How you doing?"

My fingers clenched around the railing as I kept myself from jumping in surprise. Dominic joined my side, keeping a comfortable distance between us. He rested his forearms against the railing and craned his neck to the left. The wind picked up for just a second, blowing through his thick curls. My jaw locked and I refused to meet his gaze, so instead, I stared at where I knew the L.A. horizon typically resided.

I answered truthfully, "How do you think I'm doing?" Speaking with Dominic had never been hard; I trusted him and he could usually relate with ease. "I tried to kill my someone that I consider a brother, Faith is gone, and I couldn't even help Rosie or her mother." I let out a deep sigh, "I honestly didn't think Peter would stoop so low as to Rosie, I didn't."

"You aren't perfect," I can see Dom shrug from the corner of my eye. He turns away from me and breathes the fresh air in deeply, "We all make mistakes."

I scoff at that. "I didn't think it through and it got Rosalie kidnapped, Melanie killed," my jaw locks, "I didn't think it through and I got Federico beaten and you kidnapped—" For a brief second, my eyes scan over his profile, taking note of the healing cuts, "—and eventually beat." I turn away from him, "I didn't think it through and Alex died." I blink and what I had previously been thinking about, comes to my mind. "I didn't think it through and it got Faith taken—"

"No, no, no," Dominic shakes his head, pushing himself off the railing. "You didn't do anything with Faith. Sure, you guys fought, but you didn't mess up. She was brave and she left by choice, not by your mistake."

"You don't understand at all," My eyes roll as I turn and lean once again against the support before me. My voice lowers as if I'm scared it's going to travel and the entire world is going to hear what I only wanted to share with Dominic. He looks to me, I look to him, and the words that come out my mouth next don't even feel real. "I fell in love with her."

Dominic blinks.

I repeat myself, this time, turning away from him. "I fell in love with Faith Crawford."

My hands comb through my hair as I drop it and turn from the balcony, heading back into my room. I leave Dominic standing there, still blinking as he tries to process words even I hardly believed. "I didn't want her to go because I cared too much and because I cared, I tried to keep her from getting taken and I tried so hard that I hardly thought of another solution. The only thing I knew was that I wanted her safe. And me being so obsessed with keeping her safe, ended up being our downfall."

My words float around with the breeze that enters from the outside; the coolness lingers for only but a moment before it vanishes. Dominic steps back into the room as I continue to stand there, unsure of what to do.

"Love is scary," I was still whispering, aware of people that may listen through my door, "How did you do it?"

His opposite hand flies to his ring finger, a smile on his face. "Love is scary, but she caught me when I fell." He chuckles, "So I didn't hit my head on the floor or anything."

"How sweet," I cooed.

"So," A clap echoes through the room and we both turn towards the door. Federico stands underneath the doorway, a smirk on his face. A couple new cuts caused by yours truly etch his cheeks and lips and a splotch of dried blood is just below his nose. "Liam fell in love with Faith," he recaps as he walks in, "Dominic's late-wife Rose caught him when he fell—" He makes a heart with his two hands, "—and now we go back and get Faith, save the day, everyone survives, Liam and Faith run off and live happily ever after, they have a few mini Rico's and Rica's and we all life a lovely life." He smiles wide, "I like it."

It was clear that our fight earlier in the day had been pushed to the side for now. I did mean to pull him aside and apologize sooner or later.

Dominic lets out a laugh as the two turn to me, waiting for the word. I smile softly, "You're getting a little ahead of yourself, Rica. Why don't we just worry about saving Faith for now, how's that sound?"

He makes a face at me, all before bringing his hands to the front of his face and clapping wildly. He squeals as he turns to Dominic, "Can I say it now?!"

"No, Rico."

"But Dom..."

"Ask Liam."

Rico turns to me, "Can I say it?"

"Say what?"

Although a smile is on his face, Dominic groans as Federico hops up on the bed and sings, "Okay Ladies now let's get in formation—"

We both burst out in laughter as he hops from the bed and repeats the same line over, over, and over again. And just as he dances out the room, I look up, "Why?" Because often times with Federico, that's all you can say.

He responds accordingly.

"—Cause I slay."

- - - -

HAI! School starts for me next Monday (the 22nd) so my updates will probably be slow so I'm so sorry but we only have about...3 or so chapters left.

Comments on the chapter?

What do you think about Michael deleting the footage of Rico and Faith?

What do you think Dominic was writing in that letter?

Can you predict what's going to happen when they go back to save Faith?

Don't forget to vote for Luciano and follow me on twitter!!!! - @xotaintedkisses

Till next time, - TKXO