The Fiction Awards are returning! For those that remember, Ghost, won in 2017 a for 'Best Story Plot'. Luciano came close, but ultimately, we fell short.

Nominations will begin Tomorrow, May 4th and end May 20th. You may only nominate ONE book per category. Please remember, if you nominate Luciano, do so under ROMANCE.

Potere, on the other hand, is under ACTION.

I'm stupid and have no idea how to link it, so I'll be tagging the fiction's award account. Find The Fiction Awards 2018 and you'll be in the right place.

VOTING WILL BEGIN SOON AFTER May 20– so make sure to keep the book in your library for rules and such!

Being the generous and loving and beautiful soul that I am – I hope you sensed my sarcasm – I didn't think it would be nice to drop such an author's note without a little treat.

thefictionawards

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

In the POV of,

F E D E R I C O   D E   S A N T I S

[ October 2016 ; Legends Die ]

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

I was born a fighter.

I don't recognize the reflection staring back at me in the mirror. My eyes appear dim, lifeless. I wish I could blame the low, bathroom lighting but I know that isn't the reason. I can no longer use one hand to count my scars, and I'm only referring to those on my chest, not my back. My hands are covered in blood that is not my own, but what I find oddly terrifying is that I've lost all feeling. I don't feel remorse. I don't feel guilt. I can't feel.

I lost the only part of me that made me still feel human.

I am the gatekeeper of an endless war.

Blood of my most recent victim is smeared all over the marble counter of my luxurious, Russian suite. I press my hips against the counter, mesmerized as I let the lukewarm water wash away the crimson. I don't let the blood swirling around the base of the sink distract me from my own cut. My gash is situated right beside my left eye. It's deep, painful, and it's already beginning to swell.

Vincenzo sent me on assignment to Russia for one reason and one reason only: to kill Valentin Rostov. I've been here a week and have already made this suite my second home. I have surveyed Valentin's home in person. I've studied the guard's outside. I know when their shifts change. I know which guard is more lenient when it comes to security. I know exactly where to place their body when I drop them. Via an anonymous hacker, I was able to retrieve the blueprints of Valentin's mansion.

I've memorized every nook, every cranny, every crack in that house.

I'm just waiting for the right night, which I can feel is quickly approaching. To keep my skills sharp as I wait, Vincenzo has been sending me the names of men and women located near my Russian hotel that deserve to be executed. I have ended the lives of every name he's sent my way.

I always do.

Where justice and revenge are dishes best served warm.

"Federico?"

My ears perk up at the sound of my name leaving the lips of the beautiful, Russian woman that I left lying in bed with nothing but my t-shirt on. Angelina is a beautiful, five-foot-two Russian native that works as a dancer for the only club that I've frequented since I've been here. She might not stand out amongst her taller coworkers, but her movements are fluid, more natural. The swaying of her hips is what caught my eye in the club, and I can confirm that she moves even better in bed.

I dry my hands off and toss the dirty towel to the side as the bathroom door opens. The fair-skinned, black-haired beauty steps inside with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. I involuntarily tense as she wraps her arms around my abdomen, pressing my bare chest to hers. I can't mistake the wanting look in her eyes as she tilts her head back, her black hair cascading down her back as she stares at me from underneath her false eyelashes.

"Oh, my God!" Her worried tone carries her accent along with it. She gingerly reaches for my face, her eyes dancing over my cut. "What happened?" I let out a shaky breath as she uses a hand to prop up my jaw, inspecting the flesh wound.

I stare back at her, refusing to answer.

Her stare is just as deadly. "When it comes to men, I have a type." She speaks softly as her attention drifts away from my cut. She's pressed against me again, her fingernails gently stroking my neatly trimmed beard. After my most recent buzzcut, this is the first time in my lifetime where I've had more hair on my jaw than my head. "I'm a dancer," Angelina continues, "In one of the most popular clubs in this area, so it's safe to say I've met my fair share of gangbangers and mafia wannabe's."

My smile is more of a grimace. "I'm no wannabe, sweetheart."

"Oh, I know," She surprises me with her knowledge. Using her tiptoes, she closes the space between us by just an inch or two. "You don't have to tell me what you were out doing tonight, but I want you to know that I know." The look on my face forces her to explain. "I saw your blueprints, your weapons. I'm not stupid, I see your scars," She casts a glance over my entire upper body. "And I'm pretty sure you don't get scars like this at a desk job."

That earns a stiff laugh. Angelina stands before me, completely unaware of the danger she's put herself in. She's too busy eyeing me to see my hand casually drifting closer to a drawer underneath the sink, one stashing a knife. I have the options of gutting her, suffocating her, or snapping her neck. She can either walk out this bathroom, or she can be dragged out, and the only thing that will determine her fate is how she answers my next question.

"And what do you think?"

Angelina ignores my question, delaying the determination of her fate. "Assassin?"

My response comes up from the depth of my throat. "World renowned."

"You want to know what I think?" Her hand finds my bicep, which she squeezes in reassurance. "I think you need to relax." She surprises me by stepping back, letting her arms fall to her side. "You're not the first murderer I've slept with and I can assure you, you won't be the last." A shadow passes over her face. "Putin refuses to admit it, but the Russian mob runs these streets. I know people. I know how to keep secrets, but if you're afraid that I'll go to the authorities, then I'll leave."

I don't answer, and she takes the hint. Angelina turns to walk out the bathroom when I grab her wrist, stopping her. Our eyes meet.

"Don't go."

She frowns, momentarily confused.

I offer a forced smile. "I can't let you leave, you never told me your type."

Her laugh is music to my ears. "Murderers," Angelina closes the gap quickly. I bend at the knees as she wraps her arms around my neck, her legs doing the same around my waist. I stand, keeping her pressed against me as I walk out the bathroom. Her lips brush against my own, causing chills to roll up my spine. "I have a thing for murderers," she whispers against me.

Her kisses come in pecks as we cross my suite. The floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall window gives us a breathtaking view of Russia from above. The lights of the neighboring hotels, office buildings, and clubs below give off a gentle glow.

I lower ourselves to the bed and smile against her lips. "Sounds like you have some serious daddy issues."

"Not as serious as whatever's going on in that head of yours," She retorts.

"This," I motion between us, "Is casual sex, not therapy."

Angelina gives me a look of disapproval.

There's a pause as I struggle to find the right words to explain what's going on in my mind. I hesitate before answering. "Help me feel again."

"Federico—" She's trying to get more out of me, but that's all she is going to get. I'm not going to spill my innermost feelings to someone I hardly know. I'm not going to open up to someone entirely new. It's not going to happen. It's never going to happen.

I repeat myself. "Help me feel."

Her lips are on mine again and the temperature in the room skyrockets. I let Angelina's hands explore my body without restraint. Her lips move from my own to my neck, down my chest, and back again. Letting a new woman explore my body is easy, but opening my mind, and whatever pieces of my soul I have left, is another challenge. It's a challenge I doubt I'll ever be able to overcome.

Her hand slipping between my skin and the waistband of my shorts is distracting, but not as much as whatever catches my attention out the corner of my eye. I grab her hand, stopping her from moving against me as I lean up, my hand pressing into the mattress. My breathing turns shallow as goosebumps rise along my arms. Every single muscle in my body tenses as I shift into fight-or-flight mode. My trained instincts kick in and I'm still, hardly moving as I hover above the woman below me.

Five long, silent seconds pass before she groans in annoyance. "Federico!"

Our room is still, peaceful even, forcing me to look out the incredibly large window. Without a glance in Angelina's direction, I move away from her and off the bed. Cautiously – and nearly without a sound – I pad my way towards the window, overlooking downtown of Moscow, Russia. I can hear her follow suit as she slides off the bed, repositioning my dress shirt on her frame. She approaches with caution as I scan the city.

"What's going on?" She sounds worried as she reaches my side. She rests her head on my arm as she takes in the view.

"I saw something."

"Of course you saw something, silly!" This time, her laugh causes me to tense up. She runs her hand down my arm in comfort. "We're overlooking an entire city!"

I don't turn to face her, my eyes still scanning the outside. The horizon is dark, the sun long set. I set my eyes on neighboring buildings – some close, some far. Below, all you can see are blurs of what appear to be people. I lift my eyes, my paranoia taking over as I strain my eyes, searching for something, for anything to ease my tension.

"It's beautiful," She sighs in a dreamy manner and steps forward, resting her palms on the clean glass. "Isn't it?"

I nod, my eyes never leaving her.

"Not as beautiful as the sniper perched on the building to my left with a high-powered rifle aimed at my heart is."

Angelina freezes at my newly found discovery.

"They're waiting for you, aren't they?" I step towards her, careful. When she faces me, her complexion has drained of blood. She's even paler than usual. "They're waiting for you to give them a command, whether that's a hand motion, a nod, or something as simple as the twitch of a fucking finger!"

"Stop! Stop!" She stumbles away from the window, away from me. Tears have already rushed to the corner of her eyes, they've already begun to fall. "I—I was working one night and they came in and said they were looking for you! A-and I had no other choice! They said they would kill me! Please, Federico, please—"

I move towards her, my jaw clenching as she retreats.

"The deal was that they wouldn't pull that trigger until I gave them the command!" Angelina continues to justify her actions, but it all goes into one ear and out the other. All I see is betrayal. "Please. He works for the Rostov family and anyone and everyone in Russia knows you do not mess with them!"

She continues to retreat, keeping her distance as I gain on her. Angelina is too busy searching for a means of exit to see me snatch an item from off a near-by table. Her back hits the wall and she stops, breathing heavily. I, too, stop. "The Rostov's, they know I've arrived?"

"A-a-apparently someone spotted you...said they recognized you..." She nods repeatedly.

"Angelina?" Her name comes out in nothing but a whisper as I approach her. I let my rising hatred, my anger, and my desire to kill her fade from my face. I twirl the dagger behind my back, giving her a gentle, easing smile. "I'm not mad at you."

"Yo—you...you're not?"

I ignore her question, watching as she visibly relaxes. Her shoulders slump and the worry on her face dissipates. She wraps her arms around me in a hug that I do not return. She gives me a quick kiss on the lips, her smile wide.

"Do you want to know what I find hotter than eye contact during sex?" I lean down, our lips brushing together as she backs herself against the wall. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth once more as she nods. Her expression drastically changes as I plunge the dagger into her side and twist. Her eyes widen and her mouth parts, forcing me to use a hand to muffle her oncoming scream. "Eye contact during death." I conclude. "There's just something about watching the life fade from one's eyes that gets me all hot and bothered."

Bleeding and on the verge of death, I position Angelina's weak form in front of me. With her head locked between my arms and her back pressed against my chest, I march us over to the window. I scan the surrounding buildings once more, smiling to myself as I spot the sniper once again. They haven't moved. They haven't flinched. Pulling the trigger is not something they had planned, or they would've done it by now. They just wanted to keep eyes on me, to keep Valentin up to date on my whereabouts.

Angelina and I make eye contact in the glass's reflection, but it's only when I lift my eyes to Rostov's sniper do I snap her neck. In one smooth motion, her pain fades. I stare down at her body as she falls to my feet. I don't feel it. The remorse of taking a life, the pain of ending a life too soon, the guilt that's supposed to accompany one who takes another's life is not there.

I lift my eyes to the sniper.

And I give him the middle finger.

Where the lines between right and wrong don't exist anymore.

What Vincenzo and the family will never know, is that breaking into Valentin's mansion came with a price, one I figured out early on in my planning. Breaking inside was simple, taking out his personal security was even easier, but leaving is not something you can do – no matter how talented you are. I had told him how I would break in and I told him exactly how I would approach Valentin's bedroom, but I never told him my exit strategy.

I never told him because I didn't have one.

For years, I've witnessed the death of his mother, his girlfriend, and his son eat him alive. I've heard him cry, yell, even punch things. He told me of the time he tried to take his life because of how alone he once felt. I've seen him take his anger out on innocent men and women via torture. Their deaths broke the man who raised me and now I have the opportunity to end the life of the bitch who caused all of this, even if it meant sacrificing my own.

I stand in Valentin's bedroom, surrounded in every direction. His army has their guns trained on me, while I have mine aimed at the son-of-a-bitch I came to eliminate. This was the only part of tonight that didn't go as planned. Rostov was supposed to be dead by now. I was supposed to have killed him. He wasn't supposed to be standing here, commanding the army that I already anticipated was coming.

I messed up.

I had lifted the gun to his head and for the first time in years, I hesitated.

I am judge, jury, and executioner.

Everyone is shouting, ordering commands that I will never obey. One voice rises above all the others. "De Santis! Put the gun down!"

"Shut up!" I yell into the crowd of weapons, speaking to whoever thought they could give me orders. "I take orders from one man and he is not here!"

"Vincenzo De Santis?" Valentin questions, his eyebrow quirked upwards. He steps forward, clearly not threatened by the gun I have trained on his heart. I lift my weapon and take aim between his eyes. Rostov stops in his tracks. "Did your father really believe he could send you here to kill me, and expect you to come back?"

My jaw clenches and the arm that's extended, holding the gun, begins to shake. I can feel a bead of sweat begin to roll down my temple. My palms begin to sweat, and my heart begins to beat faster. I'm aware that I'm losing composure and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

"Yes," I respond with a curt nod, "he did."

"Then you're stupider than I thought if you believed the same as he did," Valentin continues to deliver slight blows.

"Who said I ever believed I would return home?" Speaking it out, gave me goosebumps.

Valentin takes another step in my direction. "You're saying you knew this was a suicide mission from the start?"

I forget my training and squeeze my eyes closed. Hearing it spoken out loud sends goosebumps rippling across my arms, my legs, and down my spine.

I nod and do everything I can to keep my tone even. "There's not much I don't know."

I am the weapon that hands out the sentence.

I never asked for this. I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to be adopted by an Italian mafioso. I never wanted to be trained, transformed into something inhuman. I lost – I'm losing – the best parts of myself. My smile, my eyes. My laugh, my humor, but most importantly, my empathy. I told Vince I would fight them. I told him I wouldn't let my inner demon's takeover, but now I understand what he meant when he said the only way I'll prosper is if I let them.

Unlike him, I refuse to let them.

I am the last thing you'll ever see.

I have been sent on over three hundred operations, and never have I failed to execute my objective. My flawless record is in jeopardy as I turn my gun away from Valentin Rostov. He was my objective. He was the reason I was here, but if I put a bullet in his head, if I put a bullet through his heart, I will be torn apart. The thirty-plus men that stand around me, armed, will unleash their wrath. Bullets will tear at my flesh. It'll feel like I've been lit on fire. It'll be utter hell.

Just like my innocence once did, I will die screaming for mercy.

I want to kill Valentin Rostov, but I don't want to die by the hands of anyone else. Turning the gun away from Rostov will seal my fate. People surrender because they are afraid, but let it be known that I am not surrendering because I fear the Rostov family. I'm surrendering because I fear myself. By putting the gun to my head instead, I'll be letting Vincenzo down. I'll be letting everyone down. I'll be a disappointment, just like I have been most of my life.

In acceptance of that, I turn Charmaine on myself.

"De Santis!" The room tenses as they ease forward, encircling me even more. "Put the gun down!"

"Close in! He's going to pull the trigger."

"Boss!" Someone else mutters, "He's gonna do it!"

But I didn't want to be a fighter.

I have never in my life been more at peace than now. Even Carmen's hugs weren't as calming as the feeling of my own gun pressed against my temple. My eyes close and I wish I could say my life flashed before my eyes, but all I saw were the lives that I took. I saw men, women, husbands, and wives. I saw uncles and aunts, nephews, and nieces. I saw the families I tore apart and I witnessed the funerals I caused.

When I open my eyes again, Diavolo stands before me. Some believe our skillsets are even. Others believe he's better than me, while some think the opposite. We've never gone head-to-head to put any rumors to rest. He's weaved through the crowd of guns and Valentin's army has fallen back. He stands before them, appearing to be in charge. He shifts ever so slightly, exposing his eyes to me from underneath the black material.

My eyes drift to one of Valentin's men, who moves to get closer, his gun leveled at me. I reposition the gun I have jammed into my temple and my finger twitches against the trigger. "I'll kill De Santis before I let him kill himself!"

"Just surrender, De Santis!"

I lock eyes with Diavolo and I swear I see him send me just the simplest nod.

I speak to myself. I address the battle I've been fighting, the same battle that I've been losing, for years. I speak to the old me, the one I remember, and to the man that I've become today. I close my eyes and speak to the demons that I know are listening.

I wave the white flag.

They won.

I was finally able to admit that I've been the villain of my own story this entire time.

"I surrender."

"—No!"

They say, if you hear the gunshot, then it wasn't meant for you.

This was the only gunshot I never heard.

All I ever wanted, was to be free.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

a/n: if you feel as though my books are worthy (and bc your girl just wants a STICKER ON HER BOOK!!!!) then please, LMAO, nominate Luciano (genre: Romance) and/OR Potere (genre: Action) beginning May 4th !

thank you all so much and anticipate a real Potere chapter around the end of May, when schools out.

do you want me to keep this bonus chapter up, or delete it? You all can decide.

don't forget to follow my wattpad / insta / twitter for sneak peaks, teasers, and all around fun stuff!

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

"I was born a fighter

Gatekeeper of an endless war

Where justice and revenge are dishes best served warm

Where the lines between right and wrong don't exist anymore

I am judge, jury, and executioner.

I am the weapon that hands out the sentence

I am the last thing you'll ever see

But I didn't want to be a fighter.

I just wanted to be free."