xii | thy will be done

a/n: veleno centered chapter with a little bit of gabe and liam.  you've been fed well tonight ladies. sorry for the delay, i was busy failing my classes

recap: Valentin ordered Diavolo to kill Faith's mother.  In retaliation, Liam killed Valentin's wife & Diavolo's mother.

War's been declared.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

My cellphone is in my hand and my mom's number is displayed across the screen, but I can't call her.  I can't ask her for advice about a relationship I'm trying so hard to save, yet one I think I'd be willing to let go of forever.  I can't listen to her offer guidance or hear her light-hearted laugh.  I can no longer confide in her and listen to her tell me comforting stories of her once blossoming relationship with the man who raised me. I lost more than just my mother.  I lost my best friend.

It almost feels as though the others are mourning as well, despite none of them having a relationship with her.  No words were spoken on the ride back home.  Home.  The word that once tasted as sweet as honey whenever it came out my mouth tastes as bitter as vinegar.  I shudder.

Deep down, I know they aren't mourning the death of a woman they hardly knew.  They're mourning the piece of me that was laid to rest alongside my mother a little less than twenty-four hours ago.

Liam turned the bedroom lights off nearly five hours ago in hopes of getting some rest, but I've cried more than I've slept.  In fact, I haven't slept at all.  My pillow is drenched in tears.  My eyes are puffy, swollen, and sensitive from the excessive use of my pajama's sleeve.  My chest hurts and my head aches.

I'm lying beside the man I've declared my love for, yet I've never felt so alone.

Liam hasn't made a sound since he crawled in bed beside me.  I know he's asleep, which is why I'm doing my best to muffle the sound of my cries.  I clutch my phone to my chest with one hand and grab a fistful of the mattress sheets with the other as more tears trickle out the corner of my eyes.  My breathing is ragged, heavy, and loud, adding even more guilt to the idea of accidently waking Liam up.

Then I feel his fingertips brush along the back of my hand, and I know that he hasn't been asleep, and I haven't been alone.

A part of me wants to yank my hand away, but I know I need him right now more than ever.  So, I hold his hand like I've never held it before.  I hold his hand tight and interlock our fingers.  I press the back of his palm against my face, and feel it dampen as my tears dot his skin.  I clutch his forearm and squeeze his hand as I cry, terrified to think that if I let go, I'll drown.

Liam overpowers me and drapes the same hand I once held onto over my chest.  He blindly brushes strands of damp hair away from my face before placing a warm palm against my cheek.  I lean into his hand as his presence nears.  He rests his head right next to mine, places his lips beside my ear, and pulls me close.  I cry even more.

He mumbles three words that I didn't know I needed to hear, and they aren't I love you, but, "I've got you."

They are equally as powerful in the moment.

He holds me until I pry myself away, in need of a drink of water.  But before I slip out of bed, I make sure to press a kiss to the back of his hand in thanks, appreciation, and proof that I'll always love him.  No matter what happens to our relationship, I'll love him more than I'll ever love anyone else.

My thoughts remain on Liam as I make my way out the room and into the hallway.  My emotions are completely and totally out of whack.  I want to be mad at him, but I also need him.  I want to let him go, but I want to hold him close.  None of my emotions toward Liam make sense, but as confusing as they may seem, one thing remains certain.  I don't want anything to happen to him.

I'd be okay with losing him as long as this world doesn't.

I move swiftly throughout the silent house as everyone sleeps.  I make my way down the stairs, around the corner, and into the dimly lit kitchen.  I shouldn't be surprised to catch Veleno sitting at the marble island in the middle of the room at four in the morning, intently watching a video on his tablet.

He doesn't look up, and I don't look back as I reach for a glass.

I don't want him to see how much I've been crying.

"If I knew better, I would think that you're stalking me."

Veleno's greeting words bring a rare smile to my face.  I press my cup against the ice lever, watching as small chunks fall inside.  I then allow water to fill my glass to the brim.  With the rim against my lips, I spin around and take a quiet sip.

The light built-in above the stove is just enough to keep anyone from bumping into furniture and walls, but it isn't bright.  It illuminates everything close to it, but the corners of the kitchen are drowned in the darkness of night.  I can see the teasing look on Veleno's face because of his tablet, which reflects its light across his facial features.

"Why aren't you asleep?" I mumble against the edge of my cup.

Veleno looks up and casually points to his blind eye.  "I'm in darkness half the time."

I snort, nearly spitting out the small bit of water I have in my mouth.  A soft smile tugs at his lips before he glances back down at his tablet.  He doesn't say anything as I round the island and sit down on the stool beside him.  I glance at the screen of his tablet, but I don't focus on the video that's playing.  I set my glass down and turn my attention towards it, and the ice floating at the top.

"You should let someone else tell the jokes," I tease.

I barely hear his response.  "I used to."

Ouch.

Veleno pauses the muted video with a tap and looks up.  "Why aren't you sleep?"

My glass blurs as unexplained tears rise.  "Can't," I croak out.

The silence that follows is extensive and I welcome it.  I expect to find Veleno watching his tablet or staring off into the space to buy time as the awkward moment passes.  I didn't expect to find him staring right back at me.  And I certainly didn't expect him to hold eye contact as long as he does.

I look away first, tearing my eyes away from his to his neck and the jewelry that glistens around it.  I take in his outfit; more specifically, the way the short sleeve of his shirt – that's easily one size too small – clings to his bicep and the definition it brings to his shoulders.

I'm a sucker for well-defined shoulders.

His thigh brushes against mine, drawing my wavering attention to his leg.  He wears a pair of lounging shorts, keeping his legs exposed.  My eyes drift over his thin layer of leg hair before landing on his calves.

If I had calves like that, I would never wear pan—

"I've never lost a parent before."

I frown, recalling something he said to me in a previous conversation.  "You said your father died."

Veleno partially smiles.  "I mean, I've never lost a parent before that I didn't kill."

I let out a soft laugh before bringing my glass of water back to my lips.  I gulp it and glance at Veleno out the corner of my eye.  "Assassin humor?"

He smiles wider than ever.

I can't decipher between the condensation of water on my fingertip and sweat as I prepare myself to speak again.  He's trying to talk about me, to comfort me in ways that he knows how – but I don't want to talk about myself tonight.  I'd rather hear about him, and the interesting stories that he's hinted upon in every conversation we've ever held.

"What was it like?"  I flip the conversation with ease and glance up at him.  "Killing your own father," I clarify.

His smile vanishes and the walls of isolation that Veleno has built up over the years slowly rise.  The change in his body language is simple, but obvious.  He pulls his leg away from mine and leans to his left, creating just an inch of distance between us.  His posture stiffens and suddenly his eyes have a hard time finding mine.  He's literally and figuratively detaching himself from me.

And then I watch those walls fall all within the same fifteen seconds.  It's a habit, an initial response for him whenever someone gets too personal because of what's happened in his past and I can't fault or blame him for reacting like that.  Something in his mind must've clicked, he must've remembered that he's talking to me, and the habits of his past froze in place before he could lock himself away for good.

"You can trust me," I reassure him in a whisper.

He answers my previous question in a tone far from humane.  "Satisfying."

I lean forward, watching and listening closely as his story takes me far from the hell that's currently burning inside of me.

"He was a drunk, abusive," I notice a few light, older scars that run in different directions down the right side of his neck.  I quietly wonder if his father is the reason behind those, or any of the other scars that I'm certain decorate parts of his body I can't see.  "He'd beat my mom.  He'd beat me.  Yet she still loved him.  She still thought she could save him.  She thought God could save him."

"She was religious," I softly recall.

Veleno nods before admitting.  "I killed him when I was seventeen.  I put the knife to his throat, and he begged me to spare his life the same way I would beg him to spare mine and my mother's on nights I swore he would end it."  He looks at me, and I see tears in his eyes.  "I killed him.  I told him God can't save you now, and I killed him."

I'm intrigued at this point.

"We told the police it was out of self-defense, but they needed a little more convincing considering I stabbed him excessively five times after slitting his throat but," Veleno shrugs.  "They hated my dad.  His record was as long as a girl's receipt from Victoria Secret during a weekend sale.  Their investigation was a joke.  They didn't try.  They didn't care."

"Did your mom care?"

"Our relationship hit rock bottom after I killed him.  Even after all the shit he put us through, she thought she could save him." Veleno looks back at me.  "I tried to tell her.  I tried so hard, but she wouldn't believe me.  Some people can't be saved, Faith."

I shiver, knowing damn well Veleno isn't just talking about his father, but himself.

His tone switches from story-mode to sympathizing mode.  It's a territory he clearly isn't comfortable in, but I appreciate him trying.  He turns to face me.  "I can't imagine what you're going through right now."

Veleno's story-time had momentarily made me forget about everything.  I curse as my eyes water.  "I don't...um..." I wipe at the corner of my eye.  "How do you hide your emotions?  How do you just—" I wave a hand in front my face, pretending to wipe a slate clean.

He releases a breath and reiterates advice that was given to him years ago.  "Never let your enemies see you sweat."

I tilt my head, eyeing him carefully and curiously.  "Have you ever been depressed?"

"Yes.  I have." His initial pause and moment of contemplation suggests that he wasn't ready to tell the truth but decided against it at the last second.  "Why?"  Something clicks in his mind and he sits up straighter.  "You feel like you are?"

I'm too scared to answer his question truthfully.

I haven't exactly been feeling like myself for the last few months, and the weight on my shoulders and my chest continue to get heavier as the days pass.  There's been nights where I would lie awake, entertaining thoughts that I'm too scared to recall again.  But the way I feel isn't something I thought was important enough to bring up, especially once shit hit the fan – and I've been suppressing it ever since.

Veleno registers my silence as a yes to his question.

"You're not alone."  Three words that are possible even more powerful than those Liam whispered in my ear like a chant earlier.  And I'm just as thankful for them as I was for those that I heard while I lied in bed.  Veleno reaches out and grabs my hand, a friendly gesture that I didn't expect from him.  But it's the tone he uses that causes me to look up, to search for anything that may hint at a past experience.

His touch is gentle, and his hands are rough yet soft all at once.  The palm of his hand is smooth, but his fingertips are worse for wear.  I hold his hand even tighter than he holds mine, quietly examining the damage this career has done.  I study the faint scars that line the length of his fingers and try to imagine just how much they've been through.  My eyes skim over deep cuts and patches of calloused skin.  My own fingertips brush along his bruised knuckles.  A feeling of genuine power washes over me at the idea that I'm holding the same hand that has ended an uncountable amount of lives.

"When I lost my eye-sight, I hit rock bottom," Veleno admits softly.  I tighten my grasp on his hand at the sound of his nearly unnoticeable stutter.  I don't think this is a story he wants to revisit, but he's doing it for me, probably in hopes that it'll take my mind off everything going on and providing a momentary distraction.

I scoot forward, softly apologizing as my knees bump against his.

"I was at a bar, a club, whatever," Veleno releases my hand abruptly before running his fingers over his dark hair.  He releases a frustrated sigh.  "I saw this woman.  She was beautiful," And I believe him just by the way his eye lights up at the thought of her.  Then the bright shade of blue returns to a color that resembles the deepest, darkest depths of the ocean and I know this isn't a love story.  "I made a lot of mistakes that night, the first one being, I never should've let her take me back to her place."

"I was drunk.  I wasn't thinking correctly."  Veleno leans away from me, but his eyes find mine in the process.  I can see the regret and the betrayal that I know is coming.  He clenches his jaw and grinds out the words, "I let my guard down," as if it physically hurt him to say.  "I let this woman in.  I let her hold me, touch me, kiss me.  I trusted her."

Something in Veleno's voice changes, and I know I'm witnessing a side of him most people don't see.

"She was an assassin." His words hardly make it pasts his lips as he looks down, forcing me to strain to hear him.  "Hired by a rival gang to take me out."  Veleno lifts his hand to the right side of his face and traces the scar that's long been memorized.  His eye meets mine.  "She didn't kill me.  She ruined me."

I want nothing more than to reach out and throw my arms around him but I'm frozen, stuck to the chair by the cold, unforgiving, and icy tone in his voice.  I want to know if the woman is dead. I want to know how he fought back, how he sparred his own life even while intoxicated but I don't want to cut him off.

"I was an assassin, who specialized their training in sharpshooting," Veleno breathes out, dropping another fact I didn't know about him.  "I was a sniper that could no longer determine depth perception and every single time I took aim, I was off.  Inches, yes, but inches is the difference between a headshot and leaving a snitch alive."

I can hear the anger in his voice.  He's trying to remain calm, and despite his eye being trained on mine, I know he's far from the kitchen in our California home.  Veleno is back in Italy, re-living this nightmare.  His fingers clutch the fabric of his lounge shorts and his hand balls in a fist as they ride up his thigh.

Veleno shifts on the stool.  "The gang considered me a liability, so they set me free rather than killing me.  I was worthless anyways.  I wasn't a threat.  I couldn't even drive, let alone walk around without bumping into anything.  I had no education, no means for a real job.  I lost my only source of income. I lost my apartment, and my mother refused to let me come home."

He grips my hand with purpose this time and leans closer before saying, "I know what the barrel of a gun feels like against my forehead.  I know what a bottle of pills feels like in the palm of my hand.  I know what the blade of a knife feels like against my throat.  I know what it feels like to lose all sense of hope and purpose." He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'm going to tell you something I wish someone had told me.  Keep holding on, hope always appears when you least expect it."

I pull my hand out of his.  "Did it ever appear for you?"

He runs a hand over his hair, pausing to think.  A smile crosses his face at the memory.  "Yeah, it did.  It appeared to me in the form of a man."

"Vincenzo De Santis?" I take a wild, but educated guess.

"He approached me on the street one day, flanked by about three of the largest men I've ever seen."  Veleno chuckles wholeheartedly, probably remembering just how uncharacteristically terrified he was.  His expression grows serious as his lips purse, hiding his bright smile.  "He brought me to America.  He gave me a home.  He put food in my mouth.  He taught me how to drive again, how to navigate around corners and large crowds despite my field of vision being smaller than what I once knew."  He looks straight at me.  "He re-taught me everything.  He taught me how to live again.  He became the father figure I always wanted and gave me the little brother I once begged my parents for."

I slap my hand to my chest as my heart swells.

A haunted look passes over his face as he looks down.  "I feel like I failed him, all of them by not being there the night they came."  Veleno looks up, and he doesn't need to elaborate any further.  The night Vincenzo claims he felt the walls shook.  The night the Russians came for Vincenzo's infamous crown, which was crafted from all the blood, teeth, and bone of every man he had to murder to reach the top and stay there.

"You were out of town?" I question softly, "Right?"

Veleno solemnly nods.  A look of regret settles on his face and my heart breaks for him.  "Yeah, my, uh..." He clears his throat, "My mom and I have never been close, as you know, but she called me a while before and said that she had gotten remarried.  It was the first time ever that she invited me anywhere, so I went back home to meet him."

"That's the reason you weren't at the estate that night?"

Veleno doesn't verbally respond, and that frightens me.  He's fidgeting, his leg is bouncing, and his eye is darting from one corner of the room to the other.  He chews his plump, bottom lip like its candy and his jaw continues to work, tightening and clenching every-other second.  His eye lands on me for a split second, but it's long enough to distinguish genuine emotion.  Something I've never seen Veleno display on such a raw level.  I see the tears, the hatred he has for himself, the regret and his wish to rewind time and redo everything from that night onward.

He reaches for both of my hands and holds them gently within his own.  The stark contrast between them is noticeable.  The back of my hands are pale and smooth, yet free of lingering cuts and scars.  The pads of his thumbs are damaged beyond repair, and I can feel it as he traces a lazy trail along the back of my hand.  I witness all the lives he's taken, all the guns he's assembled, all the knives he's caressed as he's waited for his target.  I can feel the pain of all the lives he's ended with the same hands that are holding mine, but one thing is for certain.

I'm not scared.

"I don't believe in coincidence.  There's a reason I wasn't there that night.  There's a reason my life was sparred."  He looks down at our hands, then back at me.  "And your mom, I think—"

I frown.  "You think my mom was killed for a greater purpose?"

Veleno sighs, obviously struggling with the thoughts that circulate in his mind.  "I'm just...I don't know what I'm trying to say.  I'm trying to help, I just—I just know...that whenever I was confused about something, about why something bad happened, my mom would take my hand like this—" He draws the back of my hand just inches away from his lips.  His breath tickles my skin as he mutters, "—she would whisper a prayer," He kisses the back of my hand.  His lips linger against my skin as he looks up, "—kiss my hand, and say these four words that would make me feel...at peace."

"What would she say?"

"Thy will be done," He mumbles against my skin.

I thank him.  I thank him about a hundred times as I pull my hand out of his to wipe at my watering eyes.  I thank him for telling me his personal stories to comfort me, to show that he understands.  Opening up to people isn't something Veleno seems fond of doing and I know it was hard for him, even if he made it look incredibly easy – like he does for most things (i.e. sniping, flipping me over his shoulder, driving with one eye).

I turn back towards my room temperature drink and finish it in a few gulps.  Veleno wakes his tablet from sleep mode.  I risk a glance towards the screen, where a grainy video remains paused.  His finger hovers over the play button before quickly sending me a look.

"You going back to sleep?"

I shrug, more curious about the video.  "Soon.  What were you watching?"

He returns his focus to the screen.  "Nothing, just...Steven performed some of his geek-ass shit and got me a couple videos of Diavolo in training.  I just want to see how he works, fights, and trains.  We don't know much about him, so something is better than nothing."

"Well, let's watch."

The video resumes.  Veleno's already watched about three minutes of it, so I'm left to try and figure out what's going on without being a nuisance and asking unnecessary questions.  I set the scene in a matter of seconds.  Diavolo hangs from two metal chain-linked cuffs that drop from the ceiling.  The video may not have the best quality, but I can see the tips of his boots barely dragging against the dirty, concrete floor.  The room is full of men, but locating Valentin Rostov is easy.  He's the most powerful one in the room, standing with his chest puffed out, his arms folded, his eyes narrowed in slits as soldiers that obey his every command laugh.  I nearly jump out my stool at the sound of the whip slapping against Diavolo's back.

The assassin doesn't make a sound, but he jerks in retaliation to the painful stimulus.  The chains he is bound to groan as he leans his weight against them, trying to free himself like anyone who is being tortured would.  Valentin makes a motion with his hand and the soldier steps forward and proceeds to torture Diavolo again, again, and again.

My mouth feels dry.  "This is training?" I question in disbelief.

Veleno merely holds up a hand, silencing me.

Valentin just watches and occasionally nods.  The age of the video is revealed as Valentin turns toward the cameraman and mutters something in Russian.  His hair isn't as grey as it was when I saw him and overall, he looks younger.  The video must be a few years old.

Veleno's eyebrows press together as he focuses intently, hardly blinking as he studies the footage.  Diavolo shudders in pain, but it's clear the fight hasn't left his body.  The soldier pulls back for another beating, when it happens.  When the unthinkable happens.  Diavolo breaks through the chains and falls to the floor, sending the room spiraling in eerie silence.

He crawls to his knees, exhales, and lunges from the ground to the first person he can reach.  Valentin is the only one in the room who remains calm as Diavolo takes down one man after another.  He shoves a soldier to the ground, picks up a baseball bat, – that I'm sure was used on him once or twice in this training session – pulls back, and swings.  I'm thankful for the bad video quality, because at least I didn't have to witness that soldier's head cave in, in 4k resolution.

Veleno exits out the video before it ends.

"Beating the humanity out of someone is something the Russians consider as training," He finally says after a moment of silence.  His eyes never leave the screen, despite the video being done.  He's still analyzing details that I probably skimmed over.  Small, miniscule actions that may hint a little more at Diavolo's mysterious and unknown character.

I slide out the stool and reach for my cup.  "I'll leave you to your psycho-analyzing."

Veleno just smiles.  "Leave the cup.  I'll wash it."

"You angel," I tease.

"Night, F."

Veleno pulls up another video as I make my way out the kitchen.  My mind is already back in bed, cuddled up against my softest pillow.  I've lost track of time, but my eyelids feel heavier than before.  I stop and turn back as a random thought crosses my mind.

"Hey, V?"

He looks my way.

"What do you think he's like?"

Veleno's eyebrows touch.  "Utterly ruthless," He answers easily.

"No, I mean...what do you think he's like underneath that..." I try and use my hands to form the words that I can't find, but I end up looking like a fool.  "...material?"

Veleno's shoulders rise and fall.

"Like a wise man once said, the devil is and always will be a gentleman."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Rays of sunlight stream through the window that morning, cascading themselves gracefully across Liam's bare back.  His skin glistens underneath the natural light and the chain-linked necklace he fell asleep wearing shimmers occasionally.  Strands of long hair fall across his forehead, indicating his need for a trim.  His lips slightly part while a muscle in his forehead twitches in response to a dream.  He looks innocent.  Harmless.  Peaceful.  Absolutely uncappable of the ruthless move he pulled against the Rostov's just hours ago.

I don't remember falling asleep, but I know I didn't sleep for long.  My body feels weighed down, sore, and heavy, despite my lengthy nap.  It takes all my energy to keep my eyes open, and even more to reach across the mattress and run my fingers through Liam's hair.

These miniscule moments right before he wakes up are the only times I feel happy to be with him.

And acknowledging that scares me.

His eyes open seconds later and for just a moment, we lie quietly.  He groans softly when I pull my hand away and let it drop awkwardly to the mattress between us.  He's always liked when I did that.

A sly smile curls the corner of Liam's lip upwards as he buries the left side of his face into a pillow.  He keeps one eye trained on me as he grumbles out a low greeting, followed by, "Where did you go yesterday?"

I roll over on my back so that I don't have to look at him.

Liam inches closer.

"Nate's," I mutter.

The pause that follows my response is all I need to know that Liam doesn't remember him at all.  They only met once, at Vincenzo's quote-on-quote birthday party, and they only shared a handful of words – and yes, Liam has a lot going on – but it's the little things that he would forget that started the downfall of our relationship.  Little things.  Simple things, miniscule things like this; from forgetting small details I would mention about my life throughout the day, to the name of the only friend I've made outside this family since I moved in.

It makes me feel like I don't matter, like the small moments in my life don't match up to everything else that happens in his busy day.

I let out a breath, and it shakes.  "The guy I met at school this semester that I've been telling you all about?" I look over at Liam.  "My friend?  My only friend?"  Liam's blank look angers me even more and I do my best to bite my lip to shut myself up.  I fail, miserably.  "Or did you forget?  The same way you forgot about my mother—"

Liam's tired, brown eyes suddenly ignite at the mention of Susan Crawford.

He leans up on his forearm, his voice somehow having grown deeper.  "Shut the fuck up."

The same fire that burns in his eyes ignites a flame in my chest and I know nothing that follows is going to help anything.  I jab a finger in his chest, "The same way you forgot to put a goddamn security detail on m—"

Liam grabs my wrists and slams it to the mattress.  "You know damn well—you know damn fucking well that the death of your mother isn't just on me!" I wince as Liam's grip tightens on my petite wrist.  I grit my teeth and even my breathing, doing my best to remain calm.  "I said I would take the blame, but you and I both know it isn't my fault!"

I struggle beneath his grip, but there's no way I'm going to get out from under him.

"I made you queen," Liam hisses in anger.  "I set you up on a pedestal.  I gave you the same goddamn authority that I have to make decisions, so tell me why you didn't put a security detail on your mother.  On your father."  I blink back tears as Liam draws his face just inches from mine.  I can feel his every exhale.  I can feel the beat of his heart.  I can feel the thin layer of sweat that's settled on his brow as his heart beats rapidly.

I turn my head away from his and mumble, "Get away from me."

"You love the idea of being a queen," He whispers, "But you're too scared of the responsibility—"

"—Get off of me, Liam."

"—I'm tired of taking the fucking blame for everything.  I'm tired—"

I hit him.

My hand contacts his face in something resembling the mix of a slap and a shove.  I feel my nail drag across his skin as I push him away.  He leans back and lifts an unsteady hand to his cheek, only to pull a finger away, revealing a drop of blood.  The scratch I caused was deep enough to draw blood in a thin, straight line.

Liam stares at the blood on his fingertip in disbelief.

The floorboards near the door creak, where Rosalie stands in a stunned hush.  The look on her face confirms that she saw everything, and more.  She blinks once, then twice before clearing her throat and glancing down at the glasses of orange juice in each hand.

"I...made you both breakfast," She announces solemnly.

Liam slips out of bed and makes a beeline for the bathroom.  He mutters something in Rosalie's direction, and whatever it is makes her shoulders fall even more.  The room shakes as the bathroom door is slammed.

Carmen enters the room next, carrying a tray full of breakfast food.  An uncomfortable feeling swirls around in my stomach and I inwardly groan.  I don't have the heart to tell her the same thing Liam must have; I'm not hungry.

"Why would you hit him?"  The disappointment on Rosie's face is clear as she stares at me, squinting to form a glare.  "You're not supposed to hit somebody you love—you—" She lets out a huff and turns around, nearly bumping into Carmen.

"He's not hungry.  He's mad.  Now I can't make him smile." She bypasses a confused looking Carmen and storms out the room.

I bite my lip and stare at the bathroom door.

Carmen clears her throat.  "I should probably go check on her, she was really excited to do something for you two and—" I glance up at her and she stops midsentence.  She sees the tears in my eyes and her expression softens.  "—if you need to talk, Faith..."

I force a smile on my face and dismiss her offer.  "I'm fine."

The smile that pulls her lips apart is genuine.  "A trained assassin couldn't successfully lie to me, and neither can you."

I lower my gaze and listen as she begins to shuffle out the room.  "By the way, you have a visitor downstairs."

I get out of bed as soon as Carmen closes the doors.  I fling my side of bedsheets up the mattress in a quick, slightly messy way before disappearing into my closest.  I come out two minutes later, dressed in sweatpants, sliders, and a short-sleeved shirt.  I quickly slip inside an unoccupied bathroom down the hall to freshen up before jogging down the stairs, not wanting my visitor to wait on me any longer.   

I find Gabe standing by the front door looking more uncomfortable than I've ever seen him.

His expression is hidden underneath the rim of his Nike hat, but as I greet him, he glances up and fights back a little smile.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," I move towards him and smile, hoping to ease the visible tension in his shoulders.  "I just woke up."

He shifts in his stance and pulls something out from behind his back.  He bows his head, hiding his face from mine as he hands me a single, black rose.

My heart does a thing.

He still isn't comfortable enough with me to stare me directly in the eye, and I'm okay with that.  "Nate told me about your mom," His lips hardly move as he talks, causing his words to come out low and nearly incoherent.  He clears his throat excessively and shifts his weight to another foot.  "I'm really sorry."

I clasp a hand over my chest, watching the rose gleam in the natural lighting.  "This is the prettiest rose I've ever seen.  Thank you."  I grab Gabe's forearm and squeeze to replace the hug that I thought about giving him.

He smiles and relaxes.  "Nate thought I was stupid to give you a black rose, but...it means more than just death and mourning."  I watch Gabe carefully underneath his hat, noticing that the more he talks, the more confident he seems.  "It symbolizes re-birth." He glances over my shoulder.  Footsteps appear behind me and Gabe immediately casts his gaze downwards. "...and stuff," I hear him mumble uncertainly in conclusion.

I spin around just in time to see Veleno approach with a duffle bag in hand.  His black combat boots, black pants, top, and baseball cap hint at where he's going and what he's about to do.  I spot the clear, coiled communication device that runs up his collar and tucks neatly into his ear.  His shoulder brushes mine and a smile appears on his face.  He shoots me a look before dropping the bag to the floor and extending his hand.  "Who's this?"

I make sure the rose is close to my chest before I motion towards both the men.  "Veleno, this is Gabe.  Gabe, this is Veleno."

"Gabe?"  At the sound of his name, he looks up.  Veleno offers a smile.  "Short for Gabriel?  I'm...I'm not a religious person, but Gabriel, like, as in the arch-angel that supposedly stands on the right hand of God?"

Gabe looks up from the beneath the brim of his curved cap.  "The one and only."

The two shake hands, a smile growing on either one of their faces as they greet one-another.  Veleno chuckles and steps back.  He rests a hand on my shoulder and leans into my ear, mumbling, "I like him."  He doesn't give me time to respond as he bends down, grabs his duffle bag, and stands, already retreating towards the door.

I subtly nod to the luggage in his hand.  "Work?"

Veleno smirks.  "Twenty-four-seven."

He flings the front door open and leaves.

"Where were you yesterday?"  I look away from the door and back at Gabe, who's gently swaying from foot to foot, seemingly content with the moment of silence that had passed.  His eyes dart around the foyer, taking in all the parts of the house he can see from here.

He shrugs, lazily.  "Wanted to get out the house."

"Has Nate been bothering you?"

Gabe pulls the brim of his had down further over his forehead and makes a sound out of his mouth, "No."

I don't believe him.

"Would you like to...?" I decide not to push the topic and step back, waving my hand towards the kitchen.  "I want to put the flower in water, and you can meet everybody."  He tenses at the idea of meeting people.  I recover quickly, "It's just Rosie, and Carmen, maybe Dom..." Gabe seems to entertain the idea as I begin to walk away.  "They won't hurt you, I promise."

"No."  He reaches out and grabs my hand before I get too far, yanking me closer.  I have to focus on his lips closely to understand what he mumbles.  "Just want to talk to you."

"Okay."

I lead Gabe towards one of the quietest rooms in the house.  It's tucked away at the end of the long hallway, hidden around a corner that faces the front of the house.  It's significantly smaller in size than other rooms, but I think that's why I like it so much – along with the fact that it's home to the prettiest, shiniest piano I've ever seen.

I remember Liam telling me just how much the brand-new Steinway grand piano cost, and I nearly lost it considering it was in the high, high thousands.  But it was worth it, every single penny.  The black coat shimmers underneath the sunlight that peaks through the ceiling-to-floor length curtains.  The shiny, gold accents on the inside and outside of the piano sparkle whenever light hits them.

The instrument sits in the middle of the room, resting atop a plush carpet, whose only job is to protect the expensive wood flooring beneath it.  Shelves and bookcases line almost every wall.  A few comfortable chairs are scattered about the room, but other than that the room is fairly empty.

With the lid propped up, Gabe is able to glance at the complicated insides of the piano.  He presses a random, white key, witnessing just how the piano makes its sound.  Satisfied, he moves around the piano, trailing a finger along its body.  He looks up, catches me staring, and his cheeks flush slightly.

"Pretty," He mumbles.

I nod and move closer, admiring an instrument that I wish I could play.  I glance up at Gabe from across the piano.  "Can you play?"

He shakes his head.

"Me either."

I grip the edge of the piano lid and push the prop down, lowering it to keep dust out the inside.  I ease it to a close.  Gabe leans forward, resting most of his weight on the lid.  He folds his hands together.

"What was she like?"

I look down at the flower in my hand and sigh.  "Perfect.  She would've liked you."

My comment is simple, but it causes Gabe's lips to pull apart in a smile.  He has a gorgeous set of teeth, and an even prettier smile – one I know he doesn't showcase very often.

"Can I ask you ask you a question now?"

He tilts his head back.

"Who caused that gash on the side of your head that you're trying so hard to hide?"

I wasn't sure how Gabe was going to respond.  A part of me believed that he would quickly – and quietly – excuse himself before dashing out the door in total avoidance of my question.  Instead, he reaches for his hat and pulls it off, exposing the bloody laceration across his temple.

I lower myself to the piano stool, watching anticipatingly as Gabe's lips part.  I sit on the edge of the stool, waiting nervously for him to admit that yes, his brother, Nate, was the reason for the gash – but his response never comes, and my question doesn't get answered.

Carmen pushes through the doors, startling Gabe and I.  He yanks his hat back over his scalp, but I don't miss the wince of pain it causes as it brushes along the wound that appears to need stitches.

She glances up from her phone screen and stops.  "Oh—I'm sorry, I didn't know you were in here—I just..." She gives Gabe a once over before looking towards me.  Her smile is tense.  "I like coming in here to think."

And I know exactly why.

She clears her throat and adjusts her smile.  Moving towards Gabe, Carmen extends her hand.  "Hi.  I don't think we've met.  My name's Carmen."

"Gabe."

"You a friend of Faith's?"

If you blink you would've missed Gabe's shrug.  "I...don't really have fri—"

"Yes," I interrupt.  They look over at me.  "He's a friend."

Gabe does his best to hide his smile.

"He gave me this flower." I hold it high enough for Carmen to see, and her expression warms my heart.  She sends an adoring glance at a completely unaware Gabe.  He's too busy trying to adjust the position of his hat to notice Carmen.  She heads in my direction, hand outstretched to receive the beautiful rose.

"I've never seen a rose this color before, wow."  Carmen whirls around.  "Where did you get this?"

Gabriel blinks.  "I...grow them in my backyard?"

Carmen spins back to me and lowers her voice, "I can't tell if he's joking—"

"I'm joking."  I'm not quite sure how, but Gabe hears her.

"Can you go put that in water for me? We're almost done here, and you can have the room."

Obliging to my command, Carmen mutters a cheerful, "Sure," and begins to back out the room.  She heads toward Gabe and extends her hand, offering up a, "Nice to meet you, I hope to see you again," handshake before leaving.

As soon as she's gone, I turn to Gabe.  "So, about your—"

Liam storms in seconds later, certainly passing Carmen in the hallway.  He's in the middle of getting dressed; his hair is disheveled, and his grey suit pants aren't buttoned.  His belt is looped loosely around his waist and his hands are busy working his white dress shirt, neatly tucking it in.  He already has a matching grey jacket on, but it doesn't sit on his shoulders.  Instead, he's slung his arms through the sleeves and called it a day, letting the fabric of his jacket bunch around his waist.

He's completely out of breath as he speaks to me. "We need to—" His eyes drift over to Gabe, who leans most of his weight against the body of the piano, watching him dress with intense curiosity.  Liam blinks.  "I didn't know we had a visitor."  His fingers work to button his pants before securing the belt around his waist.  Liam shimmies his jacket up over his shoulders, straightens the collar, and politely shakes Gabe's hand.  "It's nice to meet you...?"

"We met already," Gabe deadpans.

It takes a few seconds for Gabe's dry-toned words to register.  Liam blinks and nods, recovering quickly.  "Right. Yeah. The party. Vince's...party, I'm sorry, I have a lot on my mind—What's your name again? George?"

Gabe blinks.  "Its...Gabe?"

I think I'm more hurt that Liam has once again forgotten someone that I think of as a friend, than Gabe is about him forgetting – and utterly butchering – his name.

"Right, Gabe, do you mind if I talk to Faith?"

Our visitor steps back, glancing between the two of us.  "Do I really have a say in the matter?"

Liam smiles approvingly as Gabe slinks backwards, distancing himself from us.  He stands awkwardly off to the side, hands shoved deep into his pockets.  Liam glances over at him as he finishes buttoning up his suit jacket.  Once he's done, he rests an arm on the piano and leans down to my ear.

"We need to talk about I—"

"Oh my God! Who's the baddest bitch in the game? I am—It's me, folks.  It's me."  Steven appears in the doorway, with an annoyed Austin by his side.  Steven marches in with a lot more pep in his step than Austin, who trails behind, glaring at the back of the young man's head.  I laugh, knowing Steven must've said something obnoxious on their ride over here to piss Austin off.

Liam leans up, frowning.  "Steven, what?"

"So, you know how Diavolo is coming to take names and kill us all?" He begins to explain.

Liam's jaw clenches.  "Steven."

"—You told me to find out as much as I could and I found a few sickening videos of him and shared them with Veleno.  If you want to watch them, which I recommend you do, just ask him—but anyways, I found Diavolo's former tra—Ow! What the fuck was that—oh."

Steven's gaze lands on the only person in the room that should be treated as an outcast.

Liam nods his head towards Gabe, who slowly approaches our growing group.  "Gabe." He introduces in a one-sided fashion.  "Faith's friend," Liam glances over at him, "The same one who was just leaving."

"Hi Gabe, Faith's friend who was just leaving and is really tall and hot, my name is Steven."  The two greet each other.

I turn to Liam, eyebrows pressed together in irritation.  "He's staying."

"He's leaving," He responds with just as much haste.

"He's—"

"Leaving." Gabe mumbles in acceptance.  "I'm...um..."  His eyes dart around the group, before landing on me.  His shoulders slouch and his body tenses at being the center of attention.  "...hope you feel better, I guess.  I should...go—"

"Do you know your way out?"  I begin to stand.

Carmen stands at the entrance of the room, having been there long enough to sense the importance of the ongoing conversation.  She waves me back down and offers a warm smile in Gabe's direction.  "I'll show him out."  The two disappear a few seconds later.

I glare at Liam for shooing my friend out before we even finished our conversation, but he doesn't see it.  He's too busy looking in Steven's direction.

"Start from the beginning," Liam orders now that Gabe is gone.

Steven does just that.

"We have a ton of information on Valentin, but we have nothing on the man that's probably currently on a plane, headed for Amercia, to end our lives, so..."  Steven traps his iPad underneath one arm and reaches for the manila folder that he has secured under the other.  He flips it open, turns to the second page, and angles the folder toward Liam.  "I found someone that may know something.  He's Diavolo's former trainer. His name is Angel Ferrari."

I snort. "Like the car?"

Liam snatches the folder from Steven's grasp, analyzing it even further.  "He is the car, Faith."

"Enzo Ferrari is his what...?"  Steven throws his arms across his chest and stands back, glancing between Liam and Austin for confirmation, "Great-great-great grandfather? How many great's do you think it would take before they become the greatest-grandfather, huh?"

Steven nudges Austin in the side before chuckling at his own joke.

Austin doesn't so much as crack a smile.

"What's up with you today? You've been moody since you woke u—"

"—How do we know we can trust this guy?" Liam flips to another page, which contains a photo of Angel clipped to the top right corner.  He scans the brief biography of the man.  "He's Italian, but he trained a Russian assassin?"

"Angel hasn't pledged any type of allegiance to the Italian mafia," Austin informs.

"Training is what Angel does," Steven says.  "He's trained some of the best assassins in the world; from Diavolo to one of our very own.  He's offered his services to criminal organizations like the Yakuza, the Triad—hell, even MS-13."

"He's good at what he does," Austin jumps in again, backing the information Steven had gathered.  "And he's quite possibly the only person, other than Valentin, who knows Diavolo. The only other person who has gotten in his head, seen how he's worked, tweaked his techniques..."

Steven nods. "This is a lead you can't give up, Liam.  I say we take advantage of it."

Liam gives me a look as he flips the folder closed, handing it back to Steven.  "Set up a meeting."

Steven's smile grows so wide it's almost creepy.  "I did already, for tonight."

The frown forming across Liam's brow is evident.  "Steven—"

"We had to move fast, Liam," Austin says, cutting him off.  "We were surprised to find out that Angel was local.  He owns a club in the area, and ironically, it's called Poison.  Word on the street was that he'll be at his club tonight, but that doesn't mean he'll be there tomorrow.  He could be out the country come Monday."

Liam lets out a breath and runs a hand through his hair in frustration.  All the information that's just been dropped on him is trying to process itself all at once, and I cannot imagine the backlog that's happening in his brain right now.  My own head is starting to hurt.

"With the Russians as a current threat, your security team has already pre-mapped the route." Steven informs. "God forbid something happen, but Austin suggested that we station vans of soldiers along the route for backup, just in case."

"Can I see the route?"

"I'm...pretty sure I left it in the kitchen."  He pats the pockets of his jeans uncertainly, then looks back as his boss.  "Yeah, I got excited and started telling Dominic about it and I left it with him—"

"That's fine, Steven."

"So," The young man smiles, "We good here?"

Liam mirrors the look with a weary smile of his own.  "We're good here.  Thank you.  You did great."

"Remember!"  Austin presses a hand to Steven's chest, pushing him out the room as they take their exit.   Yet, Steven continues to talk excitedly.  "Meeting.  Tonight.  Poison.  Angel Ferrari.  Wear your best suit."

Steven leaves with a wink, but not without shouting, "And give him my numbe--!"

Austin silences him.

My laugh is the only reason the room doesn't fall into a span of awkward silence once Austin and Steven make their departure.  Liam looks overwhelmed, like he's still processing everything he's just heard as he stares at the door, sparsely blinking.

I turn towards the piano and press a random note.

The sound snaps Liam out of his thoughts.

I press another note.  "You should probably go look for your best suit."

Liam chuckles and spins, easing himself down beside me.  "I will," He turns and looks at me, "As long as you go look for your best dress."

"Is that an invitation?"

My smile fades just by the look that's crossed his face and my stomach drops at the rapid disappearance of his playful tone.  "This isn't what I wanted to talk to you about."

He takes my hand in his, snatching it up from the keys of the piano.  His hand is warm, his palms borderline sweaty.  He's nervous, anxious even.  His thumb runs along the back of my hand in no sort of pattern.  Then he stops and looks over at me, and I know what he's going to say before he says it.

"Ian Crawford is dead."

A brutal blow to the stomach.

All the air in my lungs escape.

But it's what I expected.

I blink and pull my hand out of his.  "That move you pulled against Valentin's wife...I'm okay with it.  I'm fine with it."

"That's not something you would've said two months ago."

I swallow, hard.  "Two months ago, my friend was alive and two weeks—two days ago, so were my parents."  I look over at him, studying the brown of his eyes.  "So, do it if you have to.  Do it.  Kill every Russian – innocent or not - that stands between you and Valentin and give me what I want."

Liam shifts toward me.  "And what do you want?"

I take a breath an answer honestly.  "I want their heads.  I want Valentin and Diavolo's heads, and I want them mounted over our fireplace like goddamn trophies.  That's what I want."

Liam's shoulder brushes along mine as he grabs my hand, intertwining our fingers together.  It feels nice, but not as good as the kiss he plants on my cheek.  I can feel his facial hair dance along my cheek as well as his breath against my skin as he pulls only inches away.

His voice is soft, hardly above a whisper.

Yet, his words weigh heavily on the structure of Valentin's empire.

"As you wish, my king."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

a/n: me? hyped about meeting diavolo's trainer? Biiiiiiiiiii----

you think the trainer will be able to give us any good information?

anyways so sorry if this chapter sucks i'm editing it and I feel like it's everywhere but i'm not changing it.  Faith and liam will discuss what went down between them earlier this chapter in the next one (:

always remember, never forget ; life isn't granted.

luv u

p.s. don't expect any type of update till school ends (may 17) i'm.........(and I cannot emphasize this enough) dying.