This is not a standalone novel. Luciano must be read before Potere.

Book Warning: Character Death(s)

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

I'm feeling everything at once, yet at the same time, nothing at all.  The weight of the world is leaning on my shoulders, while my stomach feels weightless, empty. My chest is tight, built up with anger, sadness, and uncertainty, while my head feels light. I'm cold, but I'm warm.  I'm happy, but I'm sad.  I'm alive, but a part of me dies as I watch them lower Federico De Santis's casket into the dirt grave.

Three hundred people attended the funeral.  One hundred and fifty of them followed us to the burial site.  Dark, grey storm clouds rolled in soon after, hanging low on the horizon. Thunder gently rumbled the ground our seats were planted on and occasionally, you could see lightening dance horizontally across the grey backdrop.  Then it poured.  Only two people remain now.

My boyfriend of just a little over a year, Liam Luciano, sits three chairs to my right.  He's slouched, his five-hundred-dollar loafers sinking into the mud.  The same tie I had helped knot earlier in the day, was now slung around his neck.  His suit and dress shirt were unbuttoned and drenched to the core, along with everything else he was wearing.

An unbelieving, slightly bewildered look resides on his face.  His lips part in disbelief while his eyebrows relax in astonishment.  I can no longer distinguish between his tears and the rain that casually rolls down the side of his face, dripping off the edge of his sharp jawline.  Unfallen tears pool at the corner of his naturally brown eyes while he clearly hesitates to say something, to say anything.

There was nothing I could say that would help.  There was nothing I could say that would cause the storm clouds to roll away.  There was nothing I could say that would make the pain in either of our chests to go away.  There was nothing I could say to stop him from crying.  There was nothing I could do to bring our friend back.

Nothing made me cry more than that simple, yet obvious fact alone.

I was happy because Federico was no longer suffering.  His battle with depression and anxiety is over.  He was no longer drowning, struggling to keep his head above water as depression held him under.  He was no longer struggling to breathe, fighting against his own anxiety as his chest caves in.  The voices in his head, for the first time in years, are silent.

I always wanted Rico to find peace, and maybe death, for him, was it.

I was sad because I would never see him again.  I wouldn't be able to hear his voice, laugh at his perfectly timed facial expressions, or witness his breathtaking – yet boyish – smile.  His refreshing jokes would soon be a distant memory, but as long as we can control it, the legacy he left behind will never be forgotten.

People die, legends don't.

The storm only intensifies the longer I sit here, chilled to the bone in my little black dress.  I slide over two seats, glancing at Liam out the corner of my eye.  His head is bowed, his elbows resting on his knees as his gazes at the patch of saturated grass between his legs.  Rain pelting plastic chairs and lightning striking across the sky is the only sound that forms between us.

"I was supposed to keep him safe," Liam's voice is soft, filled with uncertainty, with blame.  He lifts his head, pulls his lips into his mouth, and glances at me.  The look he gives me is enough to cause chest pain.  "Not for me, but for Rosie, for you."

My bottom lip quivers when I go to respond.  A tear spills out the corner of my eye as I'm forced to look away.  When I turn back to face him, I'm sniffling.  I crack a forced, saddened smile and reach forward, brushing the wet hair out of his face.  My fingertips graze along his scalp as I offer up a weak smile.

My voice cracks halfway through.  "He's safe now."

I didn't think it was possible for me to feel any worse than I did now, but I felt something when Liam leaned away from me and my touch.  I let my hand fall to my side, my eyebrows knitting in confusion.  He runs his own hand through his hair, sits back, and lets his gaze drop to his lap.

"When I was younger," he begins, "I asked Michael..."  I frown at the sight of Liam struggling for words.  His hand forms a fist as he gently taps his thigh, unable to sit still, "I asked him...I said...Dad, why do the greats always die young?"

I look away.  I couldn't stomach watching the hurt mask Liam's face as his voice broke for the second time that day.  For some reason, the second time – here with me – hurt more than the first, when he was standing in front of a congregation, reading a speech he had written in dedication of his fallen friend.

I clear my throat and wipe at the rain that threatens to roll down my forehead.  "What did he say?"

"Kid," Liam quotes his late father, Michael Luciano, "I like to believe that we're all here for a purpose and once your purpose is fulfilled, your time on this earth is done.  The greats, are just people that fulfilled their purpose faster than anyone else and that is why they die young, Elijah."

Silence ensues, a common sound between Liam and I over the last few months.  We never seem to have much to say to each other, even after a busy day with thee family and a thrilling day at school.  It also didn't help matters that we were sitting in a graveyard, soaking wet.  We're both frustrated and angry, confused and annoyed, wanting nothing more than to mourn alone.

I whisper a prayer of thanks as Liam stands and turns away abruptly, marching down the main aisle.  I hear him shout something about our ride waiting over the downpour of rain.  He isn't even gone for three seconds when I reach into my black Coach purse, retrieving a wrinkled, folded up piece of lined paper that's covered in water damage.

I can recognize Liam's handwriting from a mile away.  His neat, legible cursive is impressive.  My thumb runs down the side of the page as I skim over paragraphs that he had read at the funeral as the final remarks.  Some ink is smeared, merging one word with the other.  I skip over the body of his speech and stop near the end of the page.

You fought a good fight.

You bore the scars.  

You served your time.

I don't realize I'm crying until the paper in front of me is no longer visible.  I can feel myself shaking as an intense pain settles in the pit of my stomach.  Inhaling was next to impossible and my lungs feel like they're on fire.

My vision clears just long enough for me the read the end.

In loving memory of Federico De Santis.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Liam is never home, so watching him undress on the other side of our bed is almost odd.  Ever since handing over the CEO position of his company to his mother, Zara, he's spent all of his time and energy with one family, while forgetting his other one – us.

He claims he comes home at night, but I never see him.  By the time he arrives, I've already settled in deep REM sleep and when I wake up, he's gone again.  I never knew it was possible to live in the same room as someone, to sleep in the same bed as them – supposedly – yet, still not see or speak to them for weeks on end.

Despite the lack of his presence, Zara and I have been able to cope without him.  Zara is responsible for breakfast on weekday mornings, while I get Rosie up and ready for school.  At the age of nine, she's starting to believe her fashion sense is better than mine, no matter how many times I try and explain to her that stripes and plaids do not belong together.

In the evenings, Rosalie and Zara are usually already eating dinner by the time I return from classes at UCLA.  My evening job is to make sure Rosie does her homework, prepares her backpack for the next day, and is in bed by eight-thirty.

Our routine was pristine, perfect, and lacked no flaws.  Zara was never late for the office.  I never missed a minute of class, and Rosie had received a bright, yellow star for arriving on time every day of the week – until two weeks ago.

Two weeks ago, Liam received the phone call informing us that the twenty-three-year-old, world renowned assassin – who was also our friend -  Federico De Santis, more popularly known as Fantasma, was confirmed dead.  Five hours later, De Santis owned training facilities located in Italy, Costa Rica, and Mexico were destroyed.  And not even twenty-four hours later, did the De Santis empire in Detroit, Michigan, crumble.

In total, over a thousand men and women were slaughtered, while only two survived.  Vincenzo De Santis and a man whose luck was clearly on his side, Veleno.

I jump, startled out of my thoughts as Liam slams the small drawer belonging to a nightstand.  He lets his wet clothes form a puddle on the carpet as he quickly changes into something far more warm and comfortable.  He slides on a pair of sweatpants, throws a hoodie over his frame, and slips into a pair of black, ankle socks.  He yanks the hood over his head, pulls the strings, and glances at me.

"I'm going to check on Rosie."

He doesn't wait around long enough to hear my feeble, "Okay," nor does he hear me add, "Wait, come back here and pick up your shit, I'm not your mother!"

I grumble in irritation as I slip out my dress and fling it as far across the room as I can.  I'm still muttering to myself as I shove my legs into a pair of leggings, complaining about how much weight I've gained due to Zara's heavenly home cooking.  Liam has yet to say a word, but I was certainly beginning to notice the small bulge of fat that had once been my flat, not-so toned stomach.  And let's not forget my thighs, which had only recently started having trouble fitting in the pair of my favorite jeans.

Why all those extra carbs couldn't go to my flat ass, I'll never know.

It takes approximately five tries for me to get my recently dyed brown hair up into an attractive messy bun, before I fling myself onto the memory foam topper that Liam and I had accessorized our unnecessarily large mattress with.  A sigh escapes my lips as I sink down.

I'm feeling anxious, nervous even.  My thoughts drift between the funeral this morning, to Federico, to the classes I've missed for the last two weeks.  I'd been meaning to sit down and open my laptop to review any material and at least keep up with my teachers' notifications.  Truthfully, I didn't have the motivation to do anything.

I shut my eyes and let the world around me fade.  I forget about my classes, about homework.  I forget about my relationship, which I'm aware is beginning to unravel.  I try to forget about the funeral, but it's hard.  I was at semi-peace for all of four seconds.

Then I hear the voice.  It's soft, broken, emotional.  The accent is distinct.

"When I found out what Rico did, who he was, I was scared."  I squeeze my eyes closed even tighter than before, knowing the tears were going to come.  I can feel them.  "I thought that the boy I had met all those years ago, the same boy I fell in love with, was gone."  They hesitate, choosing their words wisely, "Faith—"

Their voice cracks, causing my eyes to open.  I'm staring at the white ceiling, watching it blur as tears form.

"I would've let him take me anywhere, I would've followed him anywhere." They pause, "I followed him into the dark, but tell me why I came out and he didn't?"

I sit up.

"People say he was the most dangerous person in the world, yet whenever I was around him, I felt safe."

Carmen Vega.  We met a week and a half ago, but it only took me five minutes to understand why she was Federico's best friend.  She's been the ray of light that's kept this house from descending into total darkness, despite having lost her other half.  I know she's hurting, no matter how many forced smiles she sends my way.  She's constantly asking us how we are doing, rather than focusing on herself.  It all made sense now.

I slide off the bed and meet her halfway.  Our embrace is tight and for the longest time, we stand there, crying.  Carmen breaks away first and drifts to a plush seat in the corner of the bedroom.  She tosses a few articles of dirty clothing to the side and plops down, just as I hop back on our bed.

I watch her fiddle with the sleeves of the overly large hoodie she's wearing.  I silently assume that it belonged to Rico and my gut is telling me that I'm right.

She sniffles. "Can we talk about him?"

Blinking away the tears, I nod, "We can talk about him all you want."

Carmen looks uncertain at first, then breaks out in a soft smile, "I don't really know where to start."

"Well..." I pull my legs toward my chest and wrap my arms around my shins, "Let's start with this, how did you two reconnect? Because last I checked, he was upset because you had abandoned him..."

"Right," Carmen shoots me a playful eyeroll, gently tossing her incredibly long, dark brown hair over her other shoulder, "What happened when we were sixteen was a mistake and it was stupid.  To clarify, and to keep things short, Vincenzo saw me as a distraction – to what I know now was – Rico's training.  He threatened me, saying that if I didn't leave his son alone, he'd have me and my family killed.

"Now that I'm twenty-three, I feel stupid looking back on it because I ran away with my tail between my legs.  But at sixteen, trust me, Vincenzo was one scary motherfucker."

"Girl, I was twenty-one and he still had me pissing myself last year!"

Carmen snorts as she leans back, laughter erupting around us.  She uses her sleeve to hide her smile until our chuckles die down.  Our smiles fade, and frowns reposition themselves across our lips.

A somber tone drenches her words as she continues, "I should've told Rico what his dad had said to me, but I was scared, I was petrified." Carmen lets out a disappointed sigh, "But maybe if I had, I wouldn't have missed out on his life for six years."

Her gaze lowers to her lap.

"When did you two start talking again?"

Carmen's brief smile was uplifting as she looks up, a happy memory on the tip of her tongue.  "It was a little bit after he met you, actually.  He met you in August of last year, and I came back into his life around December." Suddenly, she laughs and looks away, "Sorry, I just remembered something..."

Talking about Rico is helping, but it's clear that she has no idea where to start.  Our conversation lulls into silence a couple times, prompting me to toss random questions in her direction.  I listen intently, enjoying everything I hear.

"What was he like when you were younger?"

She uses one word to describe him, "Quiet." I wait as Carmen begins to elaborate, "I was his voice for the longest time.  It came to the point where our teachers would speak to me to get through to him."  I laugh a little, nodding as I can believe it, "Up until high school, I was basically his translator."

Carmen begins to blink rapidly as she recalls another memory.  I use both hands to wipe at my own tears.

"How did you find out about him?" I wonder out loud.

Her smile reappears for only a second, then it's gone.  "In December, a man broke into my apartment with an intent to kill me.  Rico...broke his neck, then looked at me and I kid you not, he said, 'would you believe me if I told you that I learned how to do that via youtube?'

We both laugh through our tears.

"And with a dead body between us, Rico sat down and explained everything that night; his training, his dad, what he does.  Like I said," Carmen wipes her cheek, "I was worried, scared for my own safety even, but then I realized he was the same, five year old boy that I met all those years ago, sitting alone in a room full of kids, coloring by himself." She hesitates, "He's just eighteen years older, cuter, and just a little more damaged."

I hold my tongue as she continues, "I had a hell of a moral dilemma after his confession, but he assured me that he never hurt anyone who didn't deserve it." Carmen glances up at me, "And I was okay with that.  Maybe I shouldn't have been, maybe—"

"No," I cut her off midsentence and shake my head, "no, don't even go there.  I've had that discussion with myself a hundred times.  I always ask myself how I can be with someone like Liam, who's not only ended lives with his bare hands, but with something as simple as a nod." We make eye contact, "It's one question that I still don't have an answer to."

"It's just weird." She lets out a shaky breath, her idling hands fidgeting with the tear stained sleeves of Rico's hoodie, "Everyone saw him as this scary, intimidating assassin, but all I saw, all I see is a young man who was stripped of his childhood and forced to grow up way too fast.  A kid who's still in love with all things Disney, who also has incredible musical talent..."

"Has?"

Her head bows as she corrects herself, "Had."

From here, I can see her shoulders beginning to shake as tears trickle out the corner of her eyes and fall to her lap.  I clench my jaw to keep myself from breaking down for the hundredth time today.  I lean over and reach for the box of tissues on the nightstand.  I'm about to toss them across the room when what she says next stops me.

"We started dating in January."

I drop the box of tissues.

"I was so happy, Faith."  When her pause spans over five seconds, I look to her.  She's staring at the ceiling, looking just as lost as I had been feeling all day. "It was the first time I ever felt like he was finally seeing me as more than just his best friend." Carmen's smile grows, "All those years I spent silently listening to him talk about every prettier, skinner girl in our school had paid off."

I smile, "How did he ask you out?"

She simply laughs, "We were watching Tangled and out of the blue, he's like, you should be my girlfriend.  I thought he was just talking out loud, teasing me, so I just said bet." Her giggle fills the room, "I didn't realize he was actually serious until he showed up at my door the next day saying shit like, hey girlfriend."

My laugh overpowers hers, "That sounds like some stupid shit he would say," and she nods in agreement.

In silence, I watch as she admires the comfortable looking hoodie that she's wearing.  Her smile slowly fades the longer she stares at the name of the brand that etched across the front.

"I started recording our dates and everything in between while we were together.  I'm glad I did," she looks up at me, "I don't know how much of himself he showed you, but if you really want to get to know goofball De Santis, I'll have to show the footage to you."

"Were?" I catch on, then stop myself and cringe, "Sorry, I forget that he's d—I mean, I..."

"We broke up in June, four months ago..."

"Who...?"

"Him," She answers before I can even get my question out, "He broke up with me.  Trust me, I wasn't going to let that go. I wasn't going to let him go."

I frown, "Why did he do that?"

Her lips form an odd shape as she contemplates her next words carefully.  She shoots me a soft, warming smile and speaks from the heart, "Dating him was hard, Faith.  We dated for five months, yet only spent maybe three or four weeks together combined...if that.  He's always gone, leaving you to worry if he's even coming home." Carmen exhales sharply, "I was okay with it though, but he kept saying that I deserved better; that I deserved someone who could be there for me whenever I needed them."

She doesn't stop there, huffing in obvious annoyance to Rico's decision, "It wasn't your typical breakup though.  Our relationship never changed.  He still came over, still laughed with me, talked with me, laid with me.  There were no hurt feelings...it was perfect, just like the last evening we spent together."

"Nothing happened," she ensures me with emphasis and sighs, "It was just another night.  Pizza, ice cream—"

"—with rainbow sprinkles?" I lift my eyebrow in question.

"With rainbow sprinkles," she solemnly adds.  Her gaze descends to her lap, "He forgot his hoodie when he left that night, after I fell asleep," Carmen motions towards the hoodie she's wearing.  She dips her hand inside the collar, pulling a hidden necklace from around her neck.  The chain dangles between her fingertips as our attention lands on it, "He also forgot this."

Sliding off the chair, she pads her way over to me as I stand.  Cupping my hands, I prepare myself as she drops the necklace into my palms.  It's a simple, gold linked chain.  There's no engraving, nothing special about it.  Just the fact that Federico wore it, was enough for me.

"Rico either impacted your life in a positive or negative way.  Considering you're not dead, I'm assuming his impact was positive on you and this family...and because of that, I think you deserve to have something physical of his...to, you know, remember him by—"

Cutting her off was easy enough.  I throw my arms around Carmen's shoulders and pull her close.  The longer we stand there, the harder she begins to shake.  A part of me didn't want to let go, to step back and watch this woman fall apart.  There's nothing that needs to be said; for just a little over a week, she's been the bright spot in the hell we've been living in.  She was always upbeat, appearing happy to cheer up the other household members. Her cheery attitude could only last so long, especially when it was clear that every other part of her was broken.

"He won't be forgotten.  I won't let that happen.  Liam won't let that happen.  Nobody will let that happen."

A sharp knock on my bedroom door threatens to end our moment too soon.

I rub a comforting hand along her back, watching as she turns away from the door to shield her face from our unwanted guest.  I watch her, despite seeing the door open a little further.

"Look," I address our unwanted visitor, "now isn't a good time, okay—"

I lock eyes with Dominic Santiago.

I blink a few times, letting my initial shock wear off.  It was the first time I have been able to lay eyes on him since he left for Florida over a year ago in search of emotional peace after the passing of his wife.  He looks tired, worn down, almost to the point of exhaustion.  The bags underneath his eyes are just as noticeable as the fact that his shirt and jacket appear a size too big.

Before I can even make a conscious decision, I'm already crossing the bedroom floor.  I slam my body against his, causing him to stumble as I throw my arms around his torso and pull him as close to me as physically possible.  I bury my face into his chest and grip the back of his jacket as if my life depends on it.

"You didn't..." I'm shaking my head before I can push him away, denial and anger corrupting my thoughts, "You didn't come to the funeral." My frown deepens as my rate of breathing increases, "How could you not come to your own brother's funeral?"

I wanted to be angry at him, to yell and take all of my pent-up frustration out on him, but the look that resonates in his brown eyes silences me.  He's paler than I remember, his cheekbones are a little more prominent, and now that I think about it, he looked thinner.

His eyes lift from my face, glancing at the person that's now standing over my shoulder.  My face reddens as I step away from him and look between both him and Carmen.

Slightly flustered, I mutter, "Where are my manners?" before motioning between the two of them, "Dominic, this is Carmen Vega.  Carmen, Dominic Santiago—"

"Rico's brother," A smile appears on her face, one that doesn't quite meet the eyes.  Her lip quivers as she extends a hand, "I wish I could say I heard good things about you, but I didn't.  Every time I brought you up, or even asked about you, Rico would continue to insist that he was the better looking brother."

The corner of Dom's lip attempts to lift upwards, but he fails.  From here, I can see him eyeing Carmen's hand that's still suspended awkwardly between them.  His movements are slow, calculated as he reaches for her.  Rather than shaking it, his hand lifts hers higher.  Their attention falls on each other as tears well up in Dominic's eyes.

"You're the only thing of him I have left.  I want a hug, not a handshake."

And a hug is what he got.

Dominic appeared to be holding his emotions in check, but as the length of the hug increased, he broke down.  His hand cradles the back of Carmen's head as he leans his cheek against her temple, our attention's falling on each other.  I saw his tears form and fall as he clenches his jaw and looks down, slowly swaying with the young woman in his arms.  I was okay until I watched him mutter two words in my direction.

"I'm sorry."

The two pull away while Carmen wipes the moisture underneath her eyes.  She looks between the both of us, then at the exit.

"I'll leave you two alone," casting a weak smile in Dom's direction, she scurries out the room and shuts the door.

I drop down on the edge of the mattress as Dominic still eyes the door.  He shoves his hands in his jeans and turns to me looking confused.

"I missed you," I mumble, breaking the silence.  He doesn't reply.  "You didn't visit, you didn't return our calls for months."

The weeks following Dominic's departure at the end of the summer last year, him and Liam practically lived on the phone together.  We heard his voice nearly every day and if Rosalie put up a fight, sometimes we would see him via skype.  But as the weeks turned to months, his phone calls came far and in-between.  His skype sessions with Rosie became a distant memory.  There even came a time when Liam and I stopped trying to reach out to him.

"I'm sorry I missed the funeral," he finally says after a moment of silence, "I..."

I go to reach for him, to pull him in another comforting hug, but he stops me.  Angling his body away and raising a hand, he questions, "How did he die?"

"Self-inflicted gun shot wound to the head."

Dominic and I whip our heads in the direction of the door, where Liam stands, his jaw set, looking determined.  The bedroom door bangs against the wall as he steps inside and extends a hand to his ex-consigliere.  They pull each other close, clap each other on the back, and step away.

Dom's eyebrows connect, "Suicide?"

Liam just blinks, "Murder."

Confused expressions mask both Dom and I's faces, but neither of us question what we just heard.  I kept my mouth shut, knowing eventually, everything would become clear.

"Look," Luciano shifts his weight to his opposite foot, "I don't have the answers to all the questions you two want answered.  All I know, is that Federico was sent somewhere overseas and wherever he went...he didn't make it out.  Hours later, everything Vincenzo has ever worked for is burning to the ground."

"Sounds like revenge," Dom inquires.

"It also sounds like it's time we found out what happened for sure," Liam nods in the direction of the door.  Dominic doesn't follow.

"Where are we going?"

"To ask the only person who knows what went down that night," Liam responds.

Dom's eyebrows lift high, "Vincenzo is here?"

Liam and I share another somber look as I reply, "What's left of him."

Dominic understood what I meant the minute we entered Vincenzo De Santis's guest room.  The Vincenzo of today is not the Vincenzo anyone remembers.  The man that once commanded an army of hundreds, who had people bowing in his presence and fulfilling his every command with a look, was now lying on a bed, his left thigh in a leg immobilizer and his right tibia in a cast.

His long, infamous, yet beautiful, curly hair is gone, replaced with the buzz cut he had received when first admitted into the hospital.  A couple deep lacerations atop his head had required immediate attention, which was the motivation for the cut.  He's paler than I remember.  He's quiet.  The motivation that swirled in his eyes – the same motivation that once burned whenever his gaze fell on you, was gone.

We were all silently staring at a man who had his wealth, his family, his empire, and everything he's spent the last twenty years building stripped from him.  Vincenzo De Santis not only had everything he worked for taken from him, but also his title.  He's no longer known as king, but forever will the story be told of how he fell from grace.

A fallen king.

Zara Luciano leans away from the bed, scooting away from his side.  Her expression is a mixture of emotions; sadness, annoyance, maybe even curiosity.  "Now isn't a good time," she rests her hand against Liam's abdomen, staring up at her son in hopes of convincing him.

"I think now is a better time than any."

Vincent doesn't greet us.  His sight appears to be trained on the open shade, watching as rain rolls down the glass panel.  Everyone notices his lips part and we all collectively hold our breaths, anticipating him to speak; something he's hardly done.  We're all visibly disappointed when all that follows is a pained cough, his neutral expression twisting into a painful one.  He groans and blindly reaches for one of the many medications on the nightstand.

Giving us an apologetic look, Zara rushes to Vince's side before he can cause any damage by knocking over multiple glasses of water.  As Liam and Dominic split to gather chairs for our small gathering, I watch in silence as Zara unscrews the cap, gently knocking two pills into Vincenzo's large hand.  He gives her a look I can't quite describe.

Zara hesitates, her eyes darting towards the door as Liam and Dom return.  She lowers her voice, "The bottle clearly says that you shouldn't take more than two—"

Vincenzo's voice is hoarse when he finally speaks.  His words are soft yet demanding. "I'd rather do this high."

I snicker, then I realize he isn't joking.

With her jaw set, Zara and Vince hold eye contact as she tilts the pill bottle at a sharper angle, causing even more pills to tumble into his palm.  His dark brown eyes flicker to his hand as he counts the small, white tablets.

Vince plucks two from his hand and drops them one by one back into their container.  "I told you to get me high, not kill me."

I miss the look they share next as Dominic unfolds a chair for me to sit on.  Liam takes my right side, Dom drops to a seat on my left and the three of us get comfortable.  An uneasy silence follows as Zara backs away from the bed, now seated in the same chair she's fallen asleep in since Vince was discharged.

Vincenzo's gaze drifts between all of us, never holding eye contact for longer than a second.  He inhales as if he's ready to say something, but all that comes out is air as his diaphragm relaxes.

"I don't know what you want me to say," He runs his hand down the side of his face, his fingers dancing across a few cuts that had required stitches.

"Start from the beginning then," Liam's words come out much harsher then I think he would've liked, but when I send him a concerning glance out the corner of my eye, all I'm met with is the muscle clenching in his jaw.  "I want to know how my friend died, and his brother and Faith, and even Rosalie, deserve to know too."

Vince stutters for the most part before finally being able to put a string of words together.  He exhales deeply, "Okay, fine, um..." His lips purse before he speaks, "...I started training Rico in November—"

"You heard my son, Vincent," Zara's sharp tone cuts off Vincenzo's story before it can even start.  Everyone looks to her as she folds her arms across her chest and crosses her legs.  "He said start from the beginning and if you don't, I will." With her teeth clenched, she adds, "Don't make me spill your tea."

When Vincenzo eases his attention off the woman sitting in the corner, he looks even more defeated than before.  Whatever fight his attackers had left in him, diminished right before us.  His shoulders slump while the corner of his lips curl into a deeper frown.  His exhaustion is obvious at this point and he can hardly open his eyes after blinking.

"When I was twenty-one, I had a son."

Shock resonates around the room, washing over everyone's faces – everyone except Zara.  She knew, somehow.  She nods approvingly, silently pushing him to keep going.  Nobody else notices her grab a box of tissues, letting them rest in her lap.  She's prepared for what's next and something tells me the rest of us aren't.

"I was in Italy at the time," he leans his head in Zara's direction for the weakest nod I had ever seen, "with your mother...when, I got the phone call that my girlfriend was in labor."  A decent pause follows as Vince swallows hard.  He no longer looks between us as he explains the story, but stares over our shoulders, eyeing the wall, "I was supposed to fly back to be with them, but I missed my flight." I tense as Vincenzo looks at me, "If I made that flight, I would've died with them."

Dom just sighs, "Your life was sparred for a reason."

"A purpose." Liam mutters.  His correction causes me to remember our conversation from earlier this morning at the gravesite.

"Rico." I finish.

Zara wipes at her eyes and I can't help do the same.

Clearing his throat, Liam waves his head, "How did they die?"

"At the time," Vincenzo struggles to continue as the emotion in his voice rises, "my father, Antonio, was feuding with the Don of the Rostov family and because they were worried about a possible attack, they wanted Acacia, my girlfriend, and my kid out the hospital as soon as possible.  So, not even twenty-four hours after she gave birth, they had a transport sent to bring them to the safety of our home."

"They never made it?" I figure that out loud, causing Liam to look at me and Vincenzo, to once again, nod.

"Their ride was ambushed.  My mom was shot in the head.  Acacia was raped and killed, then they unloaded a clip into my son."

Dominic makes a sound and air escapes him as if he's just been punched in the stomach.  An uncomfortable look washes over his face as he quickly stands and turns away from the group.  He reaches for his left hand, his ring finger, and I can see his shoulders drop when he remembers that it isn't there.

Dom whirls around, his eyebrows connected, his teeth grinding together.  He closes his eyes in an attempt to calm his racing heart.  His hands were beginning to shake as he uses them to talk, "Please, please tell me Rico—"

"I sent Rico to Russia to kill Valentin Rostov, the man that ordered the hit, because my father didn't have the balls to do it over twenty years ago," Vince sighs, "At the time, he had said that the De Santis family wasn't strong enough to contend with the Russians." There's a pause, and then, "I thought we were strong enough now."

Liam leans forward in his seat, "You sent Rico, alone?"

An offensive tone drenches Vincenzo's words as he sits up, "Don't ever doubt my son."

"He's dead, Vince!" I groan as Liam shoots up from his seat, his voice rising with each passing word, "Why did you send him alone?"

Vincenzo's voice doesn't match the volume Liam's has risen to, but it's stern, deep to a point. I purse my lips and listen.  There was nothing I could say that would be heard amongst a group of emotional, angry men.  I would be wasting my voice if I try to yell over them.

"I sent him alone because I was confident that he could do it."

"And look where we are now," Liam unnecessarily adds.

"We trained for months," Vincenzo doesn't stop, "He was prepared!"

Liam drops back into his seat with a huff, "Yet, here we are, speaking about him in past tense."

Vincent's eyes close as Liam's words strike him like a bullet to the heart.  He tilts his head to the side as a tear finds its way out the corner of his eye.  When his lips part again, he inhales, his shoulders shaking slightly as his tears intensify.  Vince's eyelids lift, exposing the reds of his eyes. He trains his attention on Liam.

"Vince?"

All of the men turn to me.

"How did he die?"

He clearly hesitates, his tone is soft as if he's talking to a young child. "Miss Crawford—"

I blink, letting out an irritated breath, "I'm a grown ass woman, I can handle the truth about my friend's death."

We all wait in anticipation as Vincenzo musters up whatever he needs to keep going.  He lets out a shaky breath and begins.

"He killed himself, Faith.  Russians had closed in on his location and death was certain, the only question that remained would be how he would die.  They would've tortured him and his death would've been a painful one, but I wholeheartedly believe that the reason Rico cut off his mic is because he didn't want my men, his friends, me, to hear the gunshot."

"They gave you his body back?" Dominic suddenly questions, curious.

Vincenzo shakes his head and my heartrate increases at the possibility that maybe, just maybe—

"I don't believe I'll be getting a body, Dominic.  Knowing the Russians, Federico's head is probably mounted above their fireplace and his various limbs are most likely decorations in the homes of the Dons that hated him the most." Vincenzo lets out a breath, his pearly whites showing for all of a second, "Fantasma made a lot of enemies."

"This is Rico we're talking about," Liam's jaw clenches as he gives us all a once over, "how do you know he's really dead?"

"It's been two weeks, he would've reached out to me by now.  If not me," Vince points to myself, to Dominic, then to Liam, "you all.  If not you, you don't think he wouldn't let his best friend know that he's alive?"

Luciano just shakes his head, "That's not enough—"

Liam stands as Vincenzo reaches beneath his duvet, rustling with whatever is under the thick cover.  He pulls out an item that's wrapped in a tattered looking towel.  Setting it down on top the mattress, the two men lock eyes as Liam reaches his side, grabs the towel, and returns to his seat.

Vince nods towards the item in Liam's hand, "Is that enough?"

It doesn't take Liam long to unveil the hidden item and whatever slither of hope that had managed to crawl into my soul, vanished.

Charmaine.

It appears to be just a gun, but I – we all know – it's much more than that.  It's a weapon that's accompanied Federico since the beginning of his journey.  A weapon that Rico would never leave behind, one that would never leave his side.  He cherished the gun like it was his child, like it was somehow his own symbol of hope, of something better.

Unable to look at it any longer, Liam shoves the weapon and its towel into my gut.  I grab hold of it, cradling it in my lap like a puppy.  Specks of blood surround the chamber and even the handle looks a little grungy.  I proceed the hold the gun correctly, slipping my finger in front the trigger.  I can't bring myself to imagine the...the fear that must've been flowing through him when he raised the gun to his—

"—so what's next?" Dom ponders out loud, tearing me from my depressing thoughts.  I glance down briefly at the weapon, before wrapping it neatly and pulling it against my stomach.  I wasn't going to let it go.

Vincenzo shrugs.

Liam imitates the blinking man meme that circulated the internet for months.  "What the fuck is—?" He copies Vince's shrug, his eyebrows furrowed in anger.  "Our friend is dead because of Valentin Rostov—"

"—and if you haven't noticed," Vince motions to his legs, "I cannot walk because of Valentin Rostov!" I cringe as his voice deepens and his volume rises, matching that of Luciano's.  "If you haven't noticed, I am broke because of Valentin Rostov! My family is dead, because of Valentin Rostov! My father is dead because of Valentin Rostov! Everything that I've worked for is gone because of Valentin Rostov! So yes, Elijah, I'm going to fucking shrug because yes, for the first time in—in..." Tears roll down Vince's cheeks as he slaps the mattress, "my life, I have no idea what to do."

Breathless, Vincenzo falls back on the bed.

Dominic and I share a worried glance.

Liam stands and takes a step forward, causing Zara to rise from her chair and step in between her son and Vince's bed. "Liam," she mumbles.

"Liam," even Dom stands, concern lacing his friend's name.

I don't utter a word.  There's no point.  When he's angry, Liam only hears what he wants to hear and his name being spewed out the mouths of those who are trying to calm him down, is not what he wants to hear.

"If you think for one goddamn second that I'm going to let the Russians murder my friend and get away with--!"

"—and what the hell do you think you're going to do?" He doesn't hesitate to cut Liam off, "What? You think you can just send a few of your soldiers to Russia and expect them to kick ass? Newsflash, they aren't warriors!  Those men that you train to pick drugs up and drop drugs off are not trained for a fucking war!"

Luciano just shakes his head.

And in a much calmer tone, in an attempt to deescalate the situation, Vince mutters, "War.  That's what this will be if you try something.  I can't lay here and watch you set fire to everything you and your father started.  I can't and I won't let you make the same mistake I did.  They already dethroned one king—"

"—then I'll be damned if they dethrone two."

Vincenzo's jaw locks, "You cannot contend with them, Liam."

"Watch me."

Annoyed, irritated, and finished with the conversation, Liam turns to walk away, Dominic hot on his trial.

"I'll have an excellent seat to do so," was the fallen king's retort.

I stand as Liam and Dominic look over their shoulder, their confused expressions mirroring each other's.  "What?" They both respond.

"The Russians murdered every single person in my home." he begins, "They stripped me of my finances, they slit the throats of my staff, they killed my son, my father, and they ripped me of my title." Vince pauses for the dramatic effect, "So why the hell didn't they kill me?"

Dom turns to Liam, "He actually makes an excellent—"

Luciano holds up a hand to silence him.

"They want to see him suffer," I respond easily.

"Brace yourself, Liam, they're coming."

"Why would they come for me?" Liam takes a step forward, leaving Dominic behind him.  I scan the worry that's beginning to transform his features.  His jaw goes slack, his eyebrows disconnect and rise on his forehead.  I note the look on Dom's face, then I see Zara's ghostly complexion and it all falls into place.  Vince confirms it all just seconds later.

"You have my queen."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

a/n: *braces for impact*

i honestly want to thank you all for being patient like you guys have no idea how much that has meant to me! between school and MY USB FUCKING DYING AND MAKING ME LOSE ALL OF MY LUCIANO CHAPTERS AND ALL OF MY STORY IDEAS...I'm standing before you today, a tired bichh.

do I have an update schedule? No and I do want to warn you all about slow updates until summer.  I need to pass this class in order to graduate this semester + I'm working on the days that I'm not in school so yes – I'm actually busy.

Don't forget to follow me on Twitter for writing updates, chapter sneak peaks and cause it's lit (tkxo_official) oh and because we're almost at 700 followers. And while ya'll at it, hit up my insta too (xotaintedkisses)

comments, concerns, theories?