xxii | with me or against me

━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

It all came back to me, just at the sound of her voice.  A voice I never thought I would ever recognize, nor one I thought I would hear again.  The car accident took more than just my biological family away from me, but it took my memories of them with it.  Yet as quickly as my life changed that day and as swift as a young Federico's finger pulled the trigger, everything I thought I had forgotten returns.

But the images of my childhood that flash before my eyes now are clear, so perfectly vivid that I begin to doubt that I ever forgot them at all. 

What scares me is the idea that I've remembered all along, and that my subconscious pretended to forget what I've seen and what I heard as a child for my own safety.

I see days, happy days where we all sat as a family around the dinner table.  Those late spring, Maryland evenings where the weather was utterly perfect, accompanied by the slightest of breezes.  I can hear my father's deep laughter, and witness the bright smile my mother sends me from across the table.  I hear my sister's delighted scream as the world around me transforms from a beautiful spring evening to frigid winter.  The slight spring breeze turns cold, producing the prettiest snowfall I ever remember witnessing.

I recall the snowball fight that my father, Ellie, and I had so clearly that it felt like I was experiencing it again for the very first time.  Her laughter was contagious, while my father's throws were deadly.  I could hear my mother shouting from the back porch, telling him to ease off on the intensity of his throws.

And yet as just a child, I remember watching her smile vanish as quickly as it appeared. 

Her attention drifted from us for but a moment, taking a second to glance across the street.  My father's gaze followed hers, and I stomped my small foot in annoyance at the pausing of our game. 

The stranger walking towards the house meant nothing to me and I turned away. But the man that approached my parents that day was no stranger.  He walked with a chip on his shoulder, and every stride was taken with purpose.  The stranger was the same then as he was when we officially met.

Michael Luciano.

An intense pain in between my ears forces me to shut the door on that memory, but not before I promise to re-open it. 

I press my palms to my ears as all my senses return to the present.  My mind is racing, my head is beginning to hurt, and it doesn't help that the air inside Liam's office is so thick I can hardly breathe.  It's hot in here, boiling, but when I open my eyes, I realize the heat is originating from the glare my mother is sending Zara Luciano from across the small room.

Recognition washes over my biological mother's face and an intensity I have never seen before forces a scowl across her lips.  Her words are nothing but a whisper; a whisper everyone, including Liam's security detail can hear from their position behind him.  "I know you. You were his first wife.  You were married to that son of a bitch." 

Zara doesn't even blink.  She stands facing her son, who's seated behind his desk as calm and as composed as I've ever seen him.  You wouldn't have believed Liam was just on television, threatening one of the most vicious members of the Russian mob.  Liam works one earring out his ear, his gaze on nothing particular within the room, but there's no doubt he hears it all.

My mother, whom I haven't seen in years – who according to everybody, was sent to a psychological institution after the loss of her husband and child, who was then stripped of custody of me after failing a mental evaluation has hardly even looked at me.  She hasn't even given me a hug.

She's angry, and I can only imagine why.  She's standing in the home of the people who murdered her family.

"He deserved what he got." It doesn't take a rocket science to know this will escalate and the ending won't be pretty.  "I prayed, I cried out to any god that would listen to make sure that man suffered.  I heard his death was quick, but I hope he burns in hell for as long as every single one of his victims screamed for mercy—"

Zara snorts.  "Rumor has it, Satan's throne doesn't burn."

"You fucking bitch—"

Giovanni and the soldier that accompanies him take a step forward, prepared to stop a fight before it starts.  Liam drops a diamond earring to his desk, and it shimmers underneath the warm lights.  He reads the situation carefully and in a simple, silent command he raises his hand.  Stand down. 

Zara isn't afraid and turns to meet Mrs. Mitchell face to face.  Any idea of personal space is thrown out the window as the two seethe in each other's personal bubble.  "I remember meeting you once." Zara begins calmly.  "When our kids were small. Before Michael and I separated.  You were stupid then for allowing your husband to get involved with mine.  And you're stupid now.  You spent over a decade staring at white walls and you still believe my husband is at fault for the death of your family?  Get out my face."

My mother's eyebrow twitches.  "I'm not afraid of you."

"You don't remember the first day we met.  I do."  Zara's eyes drop to the toes of the woman across from her before slowly rising.  Their eyes meet once more.  "I looked in your eyes and I saw fear for the man that sat beside me.  If you were smart you would've redirected your fear.  Michael had thousands executed during our relationship, but I greenlighted them all."

My mother bites the inside of her cheek and turns to Liam.  I'm not sure what she's about to say but if I cared enough I wouldn't have cut her off. 

"Ellie is to blame for everything, not Michael."

My mother turns to me, eyes narrowing.  I can vaguely remember comments from relatives and friends of the family, saying just how similar my mother and I looked.  But I don't see it now.  Other than our natural hair color, we have absolutely nothing alike.

She's breathless when she speaks.  She can't believe what she just heard.  "You sound just like them. What have they done to you—you never even visited me—"

Her last comment strikes exactly where she wanted it to. The heart. 

"Have they been keeping you here?"  The tone my mother shot her snide remarks out with vanishes as genuine concern crosses her face.  She takes a step towards me, arms beginning to extend in what I can only assume will end in an awkward hug or weirdly personal handhold. 

Giovanni's snort turns into a forced cough that tries to hide his low chuckle.

Zara can do nothing but roll her eyes.  "Oh, please," She motions quickly between Liam and I.  "They're practically married."

I don't bow my head fast enough to miss the look of utter devastation wash over my mother's features.  The venom in her voice returns, ten-fold.  "Married?"  I witness every emotion pass her face within seconds.  Her eyes narrow, then enlarge.  Her lips close, then part.  Her brow tightens, then loses tension.  A muscle in her face twitches in disbelief. "You traitor."

She doesn't need to elaborate.  I can only imagine what she was going to say next.  "Do you know what this family has done to ours?"

I'm grateful because I know I won't have to answer that question, at least not tonight.

Liam speaks up, just as I anticipated he would.  "Faith is right—"

"You son of a fucking bitch."  My mother crosses the room before he can finish.  I would like to think she was quick enough to reach Liam's desk and lean over it, grabbing at the collar of his expensive suit jacket.  I would like to think she was strong enough to yank him towards her, pulling him halfway out his seat and sprawling his chest over his desk.

But Liam has the out-of-control situation very much in control, and what proves it is the fact that his security detail has hardly budged.

"What have you done to my daughter?  What have you told her?"  She clenches the fabric of Liam's jacket tight, constricting just enough of his air to force a vein to protrude down his temple. 

Liam taps his palm along the desk gently, then eases his hand over hers.  "I educated your daughter, Mrs. Mitchell.  Exactly what you should've done to your eldest."

She shakes him again.  "Go to hell."

"With all due respect, Mrs. Mitchell." A fire I recognize all too well ignites in the beautiful shades of brown that composes Liam's eyes.  He tightens his grip and my mother's knees begin to fail under the intensity of the pain.  She lets go of him instantly, unaware of the danger she finds herself in.  The calm, collected, and angry Liam Elijah is the most dangerous one.  "This suit is worth seven grand and I would tell you how much I'm worth, but the amount is not fathomable to someone like you, so keep your fucking hands off me."

Liam stands tall and straightens his collar before easing himself back into his seat.

Mrs. Mitchell snorts in anger as she taps her foot nervously against the floor.  She glances at Zara, then over her shoulder at me before turning back to Liam.  She speaks softly this time.  "How rich are you?

Liam and I catch each other's attention and his features soften.  This altercation is nothing but white noise in my head as every question I can think of hits me all at once.

His eyes drift to hers and he answers, "Jeff Bezos cleans my toilets and Gates serves me breakfast."

And if my mother has anything else to say, she refuses to say it now.

But now it's my turn, yet for as silent as I have been through all of this and as loud as the thoughts are in my head, it's almost pathetic that the only thing I can do is lift my hand and motion towards my mother and say—"Liam"—and I don't know if I've ever heard myself sound so defeated, and tired, and utterly—

"We were at the hospital with Carmen when the alarm went off at the house..."  Liam's explanation catches my attention and our eyes lock.  My eyes narrow and I nod in remembrance.  It feels like we're the only ones in the room, like he's only talking to me.  "I get there anticipating a Russian, or some wannabe gangbanger trying to break into the house to prove he's the shit on the streets.  What I didn't expect was to find a woman on her knees, insisting that she was the mother of the queen."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Liam shifts in his chair, hands forming together to form a single fist.  "Because..."  I can see his thoughts churning as his attention sweeps across my mother.  He hesitates a few times, before looking to me and with confidence, he finishes his sentence.  "Because something doesn't feel right."

Something about his response triggers an emotion deep inside of me.  And I know I should think before I speak.  I know I should hold my tongue and let myself process what I'm about to say, but the toll of this entire situation we find ourselves in is heavier than I thought.  I've released most of my frustration with tears, but today I vent with spoken word.

"Something doesn't feel right?"  I take a step forward and I swear a wince passes across Liam's handsome face.  "What the fuck are you talking about?  I haven't seen her—her in...since..." My mind races and the end of my sentence gets away from me.  I shut my eyes tight as the tears of frustration and exhaustion form against my eyelids.

Liam's voice remains calm, despite the emotion building in mine.  "Exactly my point," He says. "You haven't seen her since you were a kid, so why the hell is she showing up now, and who the fuck let her out the institution?"  He eyes her briefly.  "Because I know I didn't."

"One thing."  I breathe out.  "One good thing finally happens to us—to me—"

Liam shakes his head softly, almost like he's dismissing everything I'm saying.  "This is why I didn't say anything when you were upset.  I'm not having this talk right now."  He stands, thinking we're done with this conversation.  He's damn wrong.  "I don't feel like arguing with your emotions—"

"One good thing, Liam!"  He stops in his tracks as I clear the room, marching up to his desk with a shout.  My palm meets the wood of his desk, drawing everyone's attention.  "One good thing finally happens—"

His palms meet the desk beside me and he leans forward, drawing his face as close to mine as possible.  If I wasn't mad, I would think about the cologne he's wearing; a faint sweet scent, yet even when he's gone for hours I can still smell it.  But his response isn't as sweet as his cologne.

"Good things don't happen to people like us."

Although what he says is true, something he said previously stands out. 

Liam's right.  Something isn't right, but it isn't because my mother is standing in the same room as us as we argue. "You asked who let her out."  Liam nods slowly as I continue.  "And then you said, Because I know I didn't.  Are you saying that all these years, you could've influenced her being released?"

Liam's silence and the groan that comes out of Zara sends my stomach to my feet.

My mother turns around, eyes red with unfallen tears.  "Two months after the accident—" She cringes, and when she corrects herself I swear a chill runs down my arms.  "—after the execution, I was transferred to another facility here in the LA area—"

"Get her out of here."  Liam's curt demand cuts off my mom. 

I watch her eyes widen as Giovanni and the soldier that accompanies him round the desk and grab Mrs. Mitchell by either arm.  Her rapid tugging and attempts of escape fall incredibly short.  "Let go of me—let go of me—" is her chant.  They pull her effortlessly towards the door while she lets her feet drag, doing everything to slow her momentum out the door.  "You going to execute me too? Just like you did my family—the truth always comes out—"

My command challenges Liam.  "Giovanni, let her go."  He hesitates.  "I want to hear what she has to say."

Giovanni glances over at Liam, whose expression is ice.  "I want her gone.  I'll deal with her later."

"I want to speak to my mother."

Giovanni hesitates again, the grip he has on my mother's arm grows tighter as he fights between Liam's command and my own. 

"Gio, take her out this room and if you hesitate one more time I'm demoting you."  My own expression changes at the sound of Liam's voice.  He isn't joking, and the tight crease in his brow also tells me he's hiding something.  "Hesitate a second and I'll order your execution—"

"Liam!" I shout in surprise.  He doesn't so much as look my way, so I turn back to Giovanni.  "Please, Commander.  I want to hear what she has to say."

Liam's most decorated soldier drops my mother's arm and turns around without a second thought.  He doesn't look at me, doesn't even give me an indication as to why he obeyed my word and not Liam's.  I want to thank him, even with just a nod, but he doesn't give me the chance.  He marches back towards Liam's desk, head held high, and begins to unholster every weapon he has.  The automatic weapon slung across his back is slammed against the table and the personalized handgun follows.

"I'm sorry."  Giovanni glances down at his discarded weapons, then up at his boss.  "Queen trumps King.  Always."

Liam's rage is evident through his silence, through his stare.  His jaw works as he watches the head of his security detail, and the former commander of his army move past my mother and exit the room.

Liam's fingers work an intense rhythm against his desk as he mutters, "I just don't think this is the place to talk about this right now." 

"I do."  I turn to my mom, addressing her next.  "What were you saying?"

"Two months after the execution I was transferred to another facility in LA," She begins, more hesitant this time than the last. "Nobody explained why, nobody told me anything, and I remained there for years."  She glances over at Zara, who's busy staring at her son, trying to make some form of eye contact.  Liam is oblivious, concentrating on Mrs. Mitchell's story.  "About three weeks ago there was an overhaul of staff, rumor has it the facility was under entirely new management.  A nurse came in, followed by two important looking people, and you know what they did?"

My eyes dart to Liam for the briefest of seconds and the look on his face tells me everything.  Whatever she's about to say is the reason he wanted her escorted out the room.

"What did they do?"

"They told me that I wasn't crazy.  That someone had been paying the previous owners of the facility to make it appear that I was.  To give me medication that made me feel like I was."  Her eyes meet mine and I nearly lose it.  "They had records of psychological evaluations that I failed, but...I never...Faith I never took any of those."

Disbelief hits me like a motherfucking train because I believe her.  I believe her because the timeline fits in such a perfect way that nobody can deny the truth.  Ellie might've been the target on the fateful day that changed our lives forever but taking out my entire family would've been Michael Luciano's ideal scenario.  But a young, imperfect assassin – Federico De Santis – didn't execute to the level of perfection that he would have today, and two members of the Mitchell family survived.

I was too young to understand, but Michael knew my mother would be a problem.  A threat, and rightfully so.  It's only convenient that right after the accident my mother was deemed unsuitable to raise me and thrown into a psychological institution for the unfit. 

She would be no threat to the Luciano family within the confines of an institution, and neither would I be if Michael got me to marry his son.

And in a single breath I say what I know I'll never regret.  "I don't want to fucking marry you."

"Faith."

"Michael died over a year ago, Liam.  If what I'm thinking is the truth, he told you about her—"  \]I jam a finger in my mother's direction, "—he told you what he had been doing.  Are you going to stand there and tell me that you haven't been the one finishing his work, cutting the checks to keep my mother in that facility since he passed?"

Liam looks away momentarily.  "I have been."

"Even after I cried about it?  Begged you to tell me where she was so I visit her.  I listened and believed when you said she was safer away from me.  Especially now with all this shit going on—no.  No." The shaking of my head jars the tears loose.  He lied.  Again, he's lied. "No.  I'm done."

Liam pushes himself away from his desk as my mother and his own move out the way, silent.  He begins to make his argument, starting with my name, "Faith, listen to me—"

He reaches for me, and all I can do is slap his hand away.  "I'm done.  I'm done with you."

His irritation is obvious, and it shows through his tense body language, the frown in his brow, and the ticking of the muscle in his jaw.  But his anger shows the most through not only his tone, but the thickening of his accent.  "This is what I'm talking about! This is what she wants.  She wants to create an issue between us, between our families, this is why I paid to keep her white ass in there—"

"I didn't expect much from Michael, but you?"

"She is a threat to this family," He continues, driving the point home like I'm actually going to believe him.  "And I will never put anything above this family, not even—"

"Me?" I interrupt.

"That's not what I was going to say."

"A threat?" The woman who has retreated to a corner of the room is no threat.  "Liam, I know what a threat looks like. I was there when we killed Peter Corinelli.  I have stared in Diavolo's eyes and I have sat around a table with the most dangerous men in the world and you want me to believe that woman cowering in the corner is a fucking threat?"

For just a moment I swear Liam understands, and when he talks again his voice is softer.  Almost like he's begging.  "Faith listen to me, this is what she wants.  There's a reason she came back.  You cannot tell me that there's no hatred in her heart to this family after we've had her locked up for years.  You say she's no threat, but if I didn't release her, then who did?"

I shake my head and drag a hand down my face, wiping away tear stains.  "You said good things don't happen to people like us.  That's wrong.  Good things don't have to people like you.  I am not you.  I am not a bad person."

I turn my back on him and start to march out the room, done with the conversation, and done with him.  But three simple words stop me in my tracks.  "You're a murderer."  I can feel my chest tightening as my mother looks up and meets my gaze.  She looks like she doesn't believe him, but based on my own reaction, she knows she must.  "You keep trying to separate yourself from us.  You live with us.  You love us.  You're more a Luciano than you are a Mitchell—"

"Jokes on you.  I'm a Crawford."

"I don't care if your mother hears me."  I turn around to stare Liam in the face.  "She is going to pit you against me."

"You're doing a pretty damn good job doing that yourself."

I let Liam talk to my back as I stride out the room, only letting him stop me once more before I'm gone.

"Faith?"

"What?"

I can feel myself fuming.  I can feel another wave of tears threatening to break.  I can feel my knees start to give out and I can feel my heart beginning to shatter.  It's like glass, when it's been hit time and time again and the little insignificant seeming cracks begin to grow, eventually spreading over spaces that were once flawless, perfect, unhurt. 

"If you have to decide between me or her...are you going to be with me or against me?"

I should've answered him in a mature manner, but my anger refuses to allow me to do so.

I end with this.

"Fuck you."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

I drove around for hours just waiting for the tears to stop.  Betrayal sits on my chest, making it impossibly hard to breathe.  Maybe I'm just overreacting, maybe I'm just overly emotional because of everything I've had to deal with these past few days – hell, even the past few months.  But the fact that Liam knew, the fact that he was the sole reason my biological mother remained wrongly institutionalized feels somewhat like betrayal to me.

I'm done.  I'm done with him.  I'm done.  We're done.

I lose count of how many times I punch the steering wheel.  The Ferrari logo has long been blurred as I take my frustration out on an inanimate object.  I cry until my throat hurts and the skin around my eyes burn, sensitive from my constant rubbing.  I hit the steering wheel until my knuckles cry out for me to stop.  I cry until the sun goes down.  I cry until I find myself standing in front of the door belonging to the apartment Crixus and Rico are temporarily borrowing.

Rico answers the door on the first knock.

"Do you mind if I come in?"  My voice needs clearing, but I don't have the energy to do so.  I know he hears it shake, and I know he sees the glistening tears in my eyes, despite my attempt to keep my gaze down, focusing on the white socks that cover his feet.  "Please."

He steps back without a word and I silently thank him with a grim smile.  I'm not in the mood to smile and I regret looking up because of it.  Federico's hair is damp, the longest strands stick to his forehead from his recent shower.  Droplets of water cling to his bare chest as he clutches a white t-shirt in his fist.  His eyes show his concern, while his lips deceive them with a sloppy grin. 

He pulls the tight shirt over his head and yanks it down in one fluid motion.  "Crixus."  He glances across the open-concept apartment, calling for the boy who stands dangerously close to the television with a slice of pizza hanging between his lips. Soda bottles litter the coffee table and floor near the sofa, while blankets are tossed across the furniture.

I mumble an apology for interrupting their movie night.

Federico snaps, calling for Crixus again when the boy doesn't acknowledge his brother.  "Crixus. Crixus, hey, kid."

Kid.  A warm feeling settles in my heart at the thought that Veleno calls Crixus the same thing.

Crixus snaps to attention as he pulls the pizza from his mouth after taking a generous bite.  "Honestly, this Bourne guy is good but I think you could take him in a fight."  His eyes drift past his brother and fall on me for half a second.  I can feel his energy change as he bends down and grabs the remote, pausing the movie.  His attention darts between Federico and I.  "You two need a minute or something? I can go in the bedroom," He offers.

"Yeah." Rico jumps at the offer and moves further into the room, unaware that I trail behind him.  "Actually, I was thinking..."  He reaches into the pocket of his black shorts and pulls out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill.  "There's a small store a couple blocks down, would you mind grabbing some Ben and Jerry's?"

Crixus drops his half-eaten slice of peperoni pizza back into the cardboard box, staring curiously at the money Rico is attempting to hand him.  "Ben and Jerry? Why do you want me to pick up two white men from the store?"

That earns a good laugh from me, while the comment seems to catch Rico off guard.  He pauses and for a couple seconds the two brothers just stare at each other.  Crixus waiting for an explanation while Federico waits for the boy to tell him that he's joking.  Neither say anything, and that makes the situation just a little funnier.

The silence drags for just a second too long and finally it sets in for Rico.  The kid isn't joking.  "Oh, no, kiddo, it's ice-cream."

"Oh."

Federico shakes the crumpled money in his extended hand, still waiting for Crixus to accept it.  "Just grab a couple for us and get something for yourself while you're there."

A knowing smile crosses Crixus's face as he denies the money.  He walks around the sofa and flings the same battered and beaten up backpack over his shoulders.  He wears it wherever he goes and has had it with him nearly every-time we've met. 

"I don't need your money.  I can get it for free."  He shoots Rico a playful wink as he marches past, hands clutching the straps of his bag.  All I get is a determined nod with a lack of eye contact, like he's too nervous to look me in the eye long enough for me to know that he notices I've been crying.  Crixus slips his feet through a pair of slides near the door and reaches for a baseball cap.  He adjusts the hat on his head while he tugs at the front door.

"Wait."

Both Crixus and I look over our shoulders at Federico, who stands there with his arms open. He curls his fingers, a universal motion to come here.  Crixus merely rolls his eyes while Rico smiles.  "Give me some sugar, baby."

Crixus groans like a child would.  "But Rico—"

"Come to mama."

I smile at the interaction between the two as Crixus drags his feet in playful annoyance.  Yet as he shuffles towards his brother I can't help but witness the smile on his face. Rico wraps his arms around the boy and plants a kiss on his cap.  He playfully slaps Crixus's butt as the kid turns to walk away. "Be safe, baby, call if you need anything."

Crixus turns around, walking backwards towards the door as he gives Federico a two fingered salute.

The salute ends with the middle finger and forces a laugh out of Rico.

But Rico doesn't even give me a second to comment about just how well Crixus seems to fit inside our circle, our family.  From the few interactions I've witnessed between the two, you would believe they grew up together, having formed a bond over the years of family drama and much needed comfort.  It's the same way with him and Veleno.  They fight like they grew up fighting together, training together, going to war – together.

It's like he was always meant to be here, and time was just waiting to place him in his spot in this complicated puzzle we call a family.  It was fate.  Destined to happen eventually.

A faint picture of the three fighting together forms in my head, but it doesn't last long.

"What happened?"

I cut straight to the chase.  "We broke up."  I tilt my head to the side and swivel on my heels to stare at him.  My arms fold across my chest as I pull my lower lip between my teeth, thinking back to the moment in question.  I'm done with you.  "Yeah, we broke up."

"Ya'll can't break up."

"I'm not in the mood for any kind of jokes, Rico."

"Faith, I'm not kidding."

In silence, Federico grabs a heavy wool blanket and ushers me over towards the kitchenette's granite island.  I plop down on a stool as he tosses the blanket across my shoulders, finally easing my arms from around myself.  He moves swiftly through the kitchen, only stopping a moment to ask if I was hungry or wanted something to drink.  I settled on water, and he returns to my side with two bottles of refrigerated Fiji water.

I'm explaining before he even sits down.  I talk so quickly I can barely get air in, but he listens carefully between short sips.  I start from the beginning, telling him how my mother was released from the institution.  I tell him how it makes me feel, how confused I feel because although I've known my mother has always been alive, it was like...out of sight, out of mind—but now she's here and with everything going on, I don't have the mental capacity to process it. 

As my story progresses, Federico's thirst seems to be quenched.  He sets the bottle down when I tell him how Michael Luciano paid off the owners of an institution to fake my mother's mental illness.  I tell him how Liam's been cutting the checks since the death of his father.  I tell him Liam's side of the argument: how he perceives my mother as a threat to the family.  And I tell him mine: how not only is it my mother, but she's the only living family I have left after the Russians went fucking ballistic. 

I add in that little detail too.  How they killed my adopted mother, father.  How it felt like they came for everyone I love.  Even him.

Rico's hair is dry by the time I've finished talking.  The droplets of water from his shower that clung to the base of his neck, dancing along his exposed collarbone have dried up.  The low, calming lights of the apartment causes the chain around his neck to shimmer, but it's the C at the end of the piece of jewelry that catches my attention.

He offers me a Kleenex and it's only then when I realize I started crying again.  The base in his voice is calming and so is the hand he places on my shoulder, which travels slowly up to my jaw.  His thumb gently swipes around my jawline, gathering a few tears on the tip of his finger.  "I want you to know I understand what you're saying.  I get your side.  I get your argument.  And I don't want you to think that I'm taking Liam's side when I say this but we're selfish people."

The snort I let out is not attractive.

There's something about the look in his eye that keeps me from commenting further.  "I know you understand, but you're hurt – and rightfully so – but I need you to put your emotions to the side for me for two minutes and hear me out."  The subtle nod of my head says that I agree to do so.  Two minutes.  Only.  "From the moment you're born, you're put on a pedestal.  You haven't even spoken your first words or walked your first step, but people are already calling you King.  You learn to respond to King before you answer to your own name.  And for most of your life you're told that the empire is your birthright, your destiny, and how it's been passed to you from generation after generation." 

My eyes drop because I know exactly where he's going with this.

"It doesn't have to be said.  You protect the empire from everything and anything perceived as even the slightest of threats, because if you lose your purpose, what do you have left?"  Rico pauses, but I know he isn't waiting for me to answer.  "Knowing Liam, he would say he has you, but you know he would be broken if something ever happened to the family."

I take a gulp of water and set the bottle down a little too hard.  "I get it, okay, but he should've said something.  Talked about it, I—I still would've been mad but..."

My pause allows Rico to tell me something that, deep down, I already knew.  "You can't break up.  You can take a break, you can gather your thoughts, talk to him about it, but you can't leave him.  You're in too deep.  You know too much, seen too much.  If you leave, pack your bags and head somewhere—"

"—I'm dead, yes, thank you."

Every time that I've told Liam that I was done with him, or wanted to end things, I regretted it.  Mainly because I let my emotions speak for me, rather than following my heart and listening to the opinions of my mind.  I can't leave Liam.  Minus my mother, whom has just become a free woman, he is all I have.  And packing my bags and leaving him, without a doubt, will be the signature on my death certificate.  I know too much.  I've seen too much. 

Knowing what I know now, the deciding moment of my life came last August – when I decided to move in with Liam and accept his gift of entry into UCLA.

If I wanted out of this life, I should've taken it then.

I didn't, and my fate was sealed.

There's a reason why divorce rates are so low within the world of organized crime.  I remember Liam telling me a story a couple months back about a woman who married the Don of a successful empire overseas.  A friend of a friend of Liam's.  He said that their marriage slowly fell apart, yet the couple ended on good terms.  Once the ink on the divorce papers dried, she packed her bags and left.

Her body was found weeks later, yet her ex-husband denied any involvement.

I didn't believe him, until Liam went into further explanation about how the family she worked for was guilty.  Although she made vows to her once husband at the time, she also made vows to the family underneath him.  To the soldiers who protected them.  To the soldiers who did their bidding, who killed without question and put their life on the line for their King, for their Queen, every single day.  The divorce, to them, was betrayal – and they had her murdered.

I feel gross, guilty, for even thinking that the same thing could one day happen to me.  "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"We can talk about whatever you want to talk about."

"I want to talk about you."

"Ugh, I don't like that topic."  Federico feigns an exaggerated shiver and reaches for another sip of water.  He catches a glimpse of my expression out the corner of his eyes and the faint smile that teases his lips vanish.  He clears his throat.  "What about me?"

"Why didn't you call?"  And he knows I'm not talking about the period of time he was so-called dead.  The pain on my face and the hurt in my eyes isn't just from my argument with Liam this morning.  I cried myself to sleep at night because of this question, begging a god to answer me because I just knew I would never get an answer from Federico himself.  But here he is, sitting across from me.  Stuttering.

He buys time by placing the bottle to his lips and muttering, "When?"

The look I give him is enough.

"The phone works both ways," is the response he settles on.

"Calling you first is always risky and you know this."  I feel half a smile creep across my face at a distant memory.  "I wouldn't want your Wonder-pets themed ringtone to go off while you're in the middle of a high-stakes interrogation with a foreign leader."

"My Wonder-pets—" He chuckles softly to himself, shaking his head all the while.  His eyes look darker than I remember in this lighting, the specks of brown standing out more than the flecks of green.  His smile fades.  "I didn't call because I didn't think anybody would miss me and I know that's stupid, but I wasn't in a good place then."  He hesitates, like he's deciding if he should elaborate.  He does.  "I mean, I'm not in the place I want to be now but I'm not where I was back then.  I'm actually trying to work on self-love...and shit."

"And shit," I mimic with a gentle laugh.

He rests his foot on the horizontal bar that makes up the lower half of the kitchen stool.  His knee shakes, but his gaze holds steady with my own.  "I'm sorry though, about not reaching out like I should have.  I don't really have an excuse, but I started traveling a lot.  Had a lot of jobs in different places.  I went to Europe...twice," His attention grows distant as he rehashes places he's been.  "To Italy, Japan, Papua New Guinea.  I hadn't been there before, that was fun."

"Sounds like you were busy."

"Yeah."  Rico's knee stops bouncing as he looks back up, a faint smile on his face.  "I stopped smoking." His smile causes my own.  It's a childish, innocent smile – not one I thought I would ever see transform the face of an assassin. 

"I'm proud."

"Yeah, that's what...that's what dad said—" What follows comes out rushed, like he's been thinking about it since I mentioned it.  "How is he, by the way?"

"He's fine."

"What even happen—"

"I think it's best if he explains."

I tug the blanket closer and tilt my head, eyeing Federico closely.  I know he wants to push me for more answers about what happened with Vincenzo, with the empire he helped sustain for years on end and it looks like it's eating him alive – like it has been since I mentioned it in passing just last night.  But instead, I hit somewhere even closer to home.

"I'm surprised you haven't asked about your ex-girlfriend." The surprise on his face doesn't last long once I nod to the chain around his neck.  "C for Carmen?"

He reaches for it instinctively.  "Yeah."  His voice sounds far away, and I would love to see where his memories took him.  The look in his eye is distant, but the growing smile on his face indicates a happy memory.  A really happy memory, or maybe the wide smile is just proof of Carmen's affect with just a simple thought.  "She bought it for me.  Said she always wanted to be with me, even if I went away.  Corny, but cute."

I smile along with him.  "So, you asked her out?" 

"Yeah.  She was my girlfriend."

Emphasis on was.

I try to pry deeper with another question, but before I can say anything he's talking again.  "I swear I've hit rock bottom so many times in my life, but I hit it—I fucking snacked it right after I made it official with her."  He locks eyes with me and senses my confusion.  "I didn't see it coming—it came out of nowhere because I swore that I would be happy, happier than I've ever been in my life when I finally made it official with her."

"That happiness never came?"

"And it's not Carmen's fault at all," He says, confirming my question.  "I was happy, in a way, I mean—I would be stupid to not be happy.  She's the sweetest, finest woman in the goddamn world—no offense—but I wasn't my happiest.  And it hit me like a train a couple days later and I just spiraled.  That was rock bottom, and I knew it when I hit it.  I've never felt like that.  Never in my life."

I want to stand up and give him a hug, but I fight the urge because he's still spilling the thoughts that weigh heavily on his chest.

"I wanted to kill myself."  And there's something about the ease of his admission that makes me hug the blanket over my shoulders a little tighter.  "And it was nothing she did, nothing she said—I loved her, I love her, I just...broke up with her because I figured it would hurt less if I died.  Like that made any fucking sense."

I love her.  "The Federico I knew would've never admitted that," I say.

He just smiles.  "I've been working on some things."  There's a pause, and then, "Do you think she'll hate me when I come back?"

I hate speaking the truth sometimes.  "Honestly, I don't know.  What I do know is that she misses you.  But don't worry about how she'll feel.  Let today worry about itself."

"Does Dom miss me?"

"Probably about as much as he misses himself."

I begin to explain Dominic's situation and it breaks my heart as Rico's face twists with agony, like someone's taken a knife to his heart.  I hate how disappointed he looks when I tell him about Dominic laying a hand on me, twice.  I hate how tears gather in his eyes and how his fingers pick at his bottom lip in a nervous, anxious tick, one I either never noticed before, or is new.  I hate how a tear falls at the realization that his brother is addicted to pills.  I hate how he presses his fingers into the corners of his eyes, trying to stop the oncoming tears.

I hate how I have to admit to Federico that his brother feels just like him – if not now, then at least once at some point in his life.

"I struggled with pills."  Rico admits quietly, more in a reflective manner than anything.  "Oxy, just to...just to feel something other than pain, but that shit is no joke.  Crixus said addiction runs in the family. Said dad struggled with pills when he was like nineteen.  Dominic needs help."

"You can't help someone that doesn't want it."

"You can do a lot when you put a gun in someone's face."

"Not when they want you to pull the trigger."

Crixus's timing is perfect.  The door opens and the boy stumbles in.  He leans his back against the door and walks it backwards, shutting it quickly.  He throws his backpack to the floor and rips off the baseball cap, exposing his blood-speckled face.  I swear I spot the thinnest layer of sweat coating his clear complexion.

He drops to his knees with a believable sob and yanks open his black backpack so quickly I wouldn't be surprised if he broke the zipper.  He wraps his hand around a grocery bag as he pulls it out, muttering something that sounds like, "Please don't be crushed, please don't be crushed."

Rico and I share a worried glance and move a bit closer.  "Kid, what happened?"

"No!"  He drops the grocery bag with a large hole inside and in a voice so small he mumbles, "They crushed my chips."

"Who?" Rico continues to inquire.

Crixus is devastated.  "These guys," He says quietly.  With his eyes cast towards the floor, he grabs the rest of his purchase and stands up, handing it to his brother.  Two pints of Ben & Jerry's.  "They weren't even that much older than me.  They were standing outside the store when I went in, smoking some shit.  And they wouldn't let me inside and kept pushing me and stuff, it was stupid.  So, when I come back outside, they're still there but now they're even more annoying then before and just...I sound like a fucking baby—"

Visibly irritated, he turns, heading towards the bedroom.

Rico and I share another look.  He mouth's an apology.  I say it's fine, knowing Rico should comfort the boy.  Besides, it was already getting late and I had one more stop I wanted to make before heading back home.  I lift the ice-cream and he motions for me to keep it, suggesting I take it home as a gift.

I toss the blanket back over the sofa and head towards the door.  Federico moves toward Crixus, still insisting on getting details about his dramatic trip to the corner store.  "You think they're still down there?  We can go talk to them.  Get you another bag of chips."

Crixus stops and turns, muttering, "The store's closed."

"I don't believe that.  Stores like that are usually twenty-four hours—"

"—Rico, please, I don't want to go back."

I reach for the door and step into the hallway, but something causes me to look back.  Federico reaches Crixus and rests a finger on his chin, tilting the boy's head back.  "You don't want to go back and avenge your chips?"

Crixus's frown deepens.  "No."

"Why not?"

"Cause I killed them."

And the smile they share proves what I already know.

They're going to be trouble for a long time.

Rico grabs Crixus and wraps his arm around the boy's neck, gathering him in a pretty efficient chokehold.  But Crixus's lighthearted laugh, muffled cries for help and Rico's smile – one that challenges the grin that formed on his face at the mention of Carmen – proves to me that the boy is in no danger at all.

Federico's voice is clear, even after I shut the door behind me.

"I send you to the store for ice-cream and you catch a body.  What the hell am I going to do with you?"

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Fights between two soldiers as they use their own abilities to heighten the skill level of their opponents has always been entertaining in my eyes. Fights between two highly trained assassins has always been nerve-wracking in my eyes.  Soldiers can stop before death has occurred, while assassins have been taught not to stop until death itself.  I've seen both fight, but there's something about the intensity between assassin v. assassin that's different.  The saying is true: iron sharpens iron.

But nothing could prepare me for what I walk into tonight.

I shouldn't care, but because I do, I find myself standing outside the door of Nathaniel and Gabriel's apartment around midnight.  I care too much.  I care too much about people who don't care enough about me.  The right side of Gabe's face was the entirety of a bruise; a deep purple, dark blue mark from his jawline to his temple.  His cheekbone was bruised more than the skin on his cheek, but you could tell he had been hit with something.  Something more than a fist and because of that, I wanted to check up on him.

I heard yelling the moment I cut the ignition and the noise led me straight to their apartment door. 

I thought twice about knocking and even argued with myself about turning around and walking away, minding my business like I should on more than a few occasions.  Something hits the floor with a thud, glass breaks, and before I can make the conscious thought on what to do – my hand turns the knob.

It's unlocked, like they're just welcoming me in.

"You stupid, fucking—" I come face to face with Nathaniel, standing over his brother's body with a piece of broken glass in his hand. He has a fistful of Gabriel's shirt, yanking him backwards so he can see the weapon glinting underneath the apartment lights.

The place is trashed.  You can tell the fight originated down the hall leading from the bedrooms and escalated when it came out here.  Glass is everywhere, like cups were tossed and mirrors were broken.  Blood drops to the carpet below Gabe as he follows his brother's gaze, his shoulders tense as he anticipates another blow.

"What the hell are you doing?"  I address Nathaniel considering he's the one whose lip isn't busted.

I've seen what rage can do, and it's obvious that she is present tonight.  Nathaniel doesn't even look like the man I met in class months ago.  His eyes are hazy, glossed over with a level hatred that deserves the attention from a therapist. 

"You need help." He backs away and I move closer, attention fleeting between the weapon in his hand and his brother, who's busy wiping at the blood that rolls down his chin.  Nathaniel doesn't stick around much longer after that.  He walks past me, grabs a set of keys that hang on a hook near the door, and leaves with a string of curse words.

Gabe doesn't even let me get close to him.  "Stop. Stop." I can hear the pain in his voice, how it hurts to breathe, to speak, like his stomach has been kicked or his ribs have suffered just as much abuse as his face.  I stand still, trying not to watch as he scurries around the sofa and flings a dark colored hoodie over his frame.  He's standing by the time he adjusts the hood over his head.

"Do you want me to call the police?"

"No."

"But Gabe, how long—"

"No." He adjusts his hood, but not subtly enough to hide his recovering bruise.  The right side of his face looks drastically better than it did at the hospital, but I can't say the same for the gash in his lip.  He backs away as I move closer, refusing to let me get anywhere near him.  His eyes continuously dart from one object to another, avoiding mine completely.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

He hunches slightly and wraps a single arm around his abdomen.  His left hand is wrapped in a wrist bandage, one you can typically find at your nearest Walmart pharmacy or CVS.  My heart breaks when he speaks again, his shaking voice exposing everything he's trying to hide.  Pain with a hint of anger.  Insecurity with a dash of trust issues.  "Most people do."

I raise my hands, palms facing him.  "I'm not most people."

Gabe looks away again, weighing his options.  He doesn't want to be here when his brother returns, but he also doesn't trust me enough to leave with me.  Instead of trying to convince him that I'm the safest option, I offer him something most people can't refuse.  Ice-cream.

"I have Ben and Jerry's in the car."

I have his attention now.  I chalk up his grimace as an attempted smile.  "I trust ice-cream."

I nod towards the door.  "I'm sure you do.  Let's get you out of here."

Gabe doesn't talk much as he shuts off the few lights and leaves the apartment, trailing behind me so quietly I have to glance over my shoulder to make sure he's following me down the steps.  He remains quiet as he settles into the passenger seat of the car and adjusts the seat, pushing it back due to his long legs and leaning the back of the seat as far as it can go for comfort.  He doesn't argue or even ask a question as I pull out the parking lot and onto the main road, driving down a familiar street.  The sole purpose of our short journey was to take him somewhere he doesn't recognize, a place where he can eat his ice-cream in peace and not think about what goes on at home.

I didn't realize just how close they lived to Rico and Crixus's temporary apartment building and for a fleeting second, I thought about taking Gabe there.  The idea came and went about as quickly as my eyes darted to the dashboard clock.  It was nearly twelve-thirty in the morning.  They would kill me, then yell at me if I brought over a guest at this hour.

My phone buzzes from the cup-holder between the seats.  It's a text from Liam.  I read it quickly before sliding the phone into my pocket.  "Please come home."

I pull into a low traffic parking lot and put the car in park.  I make sure to double check that the doors are locked before reaching into the backseat to retrieve the goodies.  Gabe shifts in his seat and mutters something near my ear as my phone buzzes from my pocket.  I return to my seat with a pint of ice-cream and a plastic spoon for the both of us.

I watch him hesitate once he takes the spoon, eyeing it like he doesn't know what to do with it.

When he catches me staring, the corner of his lip lifts and he takes a cautious first scoop.  The taste registers and he begins nodding uncontrollably, "Yeah, this is good."

"Mm-hm?"

"Mm-hm."

We eat for a while, murmuring our content and enjoying each other's company in the silence of the car.  The tension in Gabe's shoulders decreases significantly as the night wears on.  He doesn't seem to mind that his lip is still bleeding and finishes the ice-cream before I've even reached the halfway mark of my own.  I eat and watch as he pulls the mirror down in front the passenger seat, investigating the damage that was inflicted on him earlier.

"He hits me when he's mad at dad."

It comes out of nowhere, catching me off-guard.  I stare down at my ice-cream, then over at his bruised profile.  There's a shallow cut underneath his left eye, but the bruise surrounding it is nothing compared to the other side of his face.  He uses his palm to try and wipe at the dried blood on his lip, but to no avail. 

The sudden clearing of my throat scares him slightly. "How long has he been doing that?"

"Good question."

"Here."  I set my ice-cream down and reach for a napkin hidden inside the glove compartment.  Between insurance papers, a random pocketknife, a code scribbled on a piece of paper that I have yet to figure out what it belongs to, is a couple of clean napkins. 

I feel Gabe tense as soon as I lift a hand to his face.  His eyes shut like he's about to be inflicted with serious pain, but when all I do is press the napkin to his lip, his eyes open.  He relaxes immediately and I try to hide a knowing smile.

His eyes suddenly find their focus, concentrating on my face for the first time tonight.  "You're pretty," He blurts out.  It wouldn't be the first time he's admitted that.

"Thank you."

"You think your boyfriend would hurt me if I made a move on you? Not that I want too—I mean I do, consensual of course—I just figured since my face is already busted he couldn't beat me any worse than I am now—"

"Your face isn't busted." I can't hold back the laugh.  "You're pretty too, in a..."

"—Busted way?"

A joke from Gabe is unexpected, but welcome.  I doubt he can see my ever-growing smile in the dark, but it's there.  "No, I was going to say in a rugged-ish way."  He might not be able to see me, but I can see his lips part in a rare smile that showcases his teeth.  "You might've told me before, but have you ever had a girlfriend?"

He shakes his head.

"Why not?"

His shrug is slight.  "Nate says I'm weird."

"You're not..."  Movement outside of the car catches my eye, delaying the ending of my statement.  "Weird."  I lean forward, hands on the steering wheel as I scan the outside.  The building we're parked out front of has long been closed and only two other cars are parked in the lot, empty.  The way the moonlight strikes the pavement and curves along the front of the building plays tricks with my eyes. "We should get out of here.  I can take you back to the house—my house.  They won't mind a guest and I think you and Rosie would like each other.  She tends to do good around introverts."

I put my hand on the gearshift and he rests his above mine. 

I freeze.  Making eye contact with him shouldn't have been as easy as it was.  I can't tell what I focus more on.  The pounding of my heart against my chest or the way he leans towards me, eyes darting from my own to my lips.

I'm not sure what I'm most afraid of, him kissing me, or the rejection.  If there's one thing I'm certain of, it's that most men cannot handle rejection.  Fearing their retaliation after saying no to a requested phone number or their reaction after an ignored catcall is a real issue.

I don't lean forward, but I'm guilty of not leaning away once his lips brush against mine. 

His eyes close and when they reopen, the brown of his eyes appear as gold as Liam's favorite necklace.  He whispers against my lips and I shiver, not because of what he says, but because of the sound that vibrates my sensitive skin.  It's a whisper. 

A whisper of a thousand demons.

All of them vying for the attention, fighting their way to the surface to speak.

"Fuck you and your mother."

Gabriel yanks his hood down and clamps a hand around my throat in seconds.  My chest is on fire almost immediately and tears threaten to fall.  Not because I'm scared, but because deep down, I think I always knew. 

I scream, but I hear nothing.

I sob, but I hear nothing.

Gabriel, Diavolo, he only played the part of who he needed to be to get me to sympathize with him.  To get me to let my guard down, to let him in.  I welcomed him inside my home, introduced him to my boyfriend.  I defended him when they believed he was guilty, and I turned away when they attempted to beat the information out of him.  But he let them beat him to let us believe he was guilty, and he let Nathaniel do the same to get me to sympathize.  He played me for an absolute fool.

His eyes lock on mine and they don't budge.  There's no uncertainty or hesitation.  There's no insecurity or doubt.  There's no fear or pain.  If I wasn't fighting for my life, I would begin to question if Diavolo can even feel what I just mentioned, or if the version of Gabe he introduced me too was all been an act from the very beginning.

I ball a fist and connect with the side of his bruised face.  I witness pain register in his eyes but he doesn't lash out due to it.  He bares his teeth and a displeased sound rises from the base of his throat and I know for a fact that I woke the demons.  The legion.

My scream erupts as the window beside Gabriel's head shatters.  His grip loosens as someone reaches into the car and restrains him.  They wrap their arms around his neck as he fights.  He reaches for me as I fumble with the door handle, not caring to find out who rescued me.  I fling myself out the car and fall to my knees, but when I scramble to my feet I come face to face – for the second time that night – with Nathaniel.

To be more specific, with a smiling Nathaniel and a small army.

"Bet you didn't see this one coming."

That would be accurate.

My heart pounds against my chest, but that doesn't stop me from doing the first thing I was taught to do in situations like this.  Outnumbered, outgunned, outpowered.  Search for an exit.  A break in the circle of the army that stands around me, guns raised. 

Three soldiers manage to rip Gabriel from out of the car, clearly displeased with his attempt on my life. They clamp their hands on his shoulders, fighting to maintain a hold on him as he struggles.  They're able to handle him, forcing the man to his knees and yanking the hood back over his head.  If I cared I would comment that their force is excessive, but not an ounce of pity forms in my heart as they slam Gabriel's face into the concrete. 

He manages to slightly break free, wrenching his head to the side to get a look at me from under his hood.  I feel our eyes meet, and I'm certain that the only thing standing between death and I are three soldiers.

I hesitate on my next move, scared, but when I hear a Russian accent mutter, "Valentin said kill her," I run. No hesitation.

Escaping the small circle they formed around me was too easy.  They let me go.  I hear laughter behind me and a command in Russian.  Hairs on the back of my neck rise and I know they've released him.  Diavolo loves the chase. 

The streets are empty, but would anybody intervene if they witnessed what was happening?  Buildings and streetlights are a blur as my feet propel me forward.  The only thought in my mind revolves around creating as much distance between myself and Gabriel as possible, but doubt finds its way inside as well.  His legs are longer and more powerful, with strides that carry him further than mine ever could.  He's trained for this, enjoys this, and the idea that I have no chance crosses my mind.

I hit an intersection and my indecisive-self hesitates for a second too long, unsure as to whether I should follow the curve of the sidewalk and turn left, or cross the street and push forward.  Gabriel collides into my back, sending us both toppling into the street.  Pain echoes through every limb but I still scramble to my feet, avoiding Gabriel's attempts to subdue me.

I hear a woman scream.  It isn't me.  I know I'm about to die because I whip my head in the direction of the distressed sound, but all I see is white.  The brightest white light I have ever seen in my life – growing brighter by the passing second.  A car.

The driver lays on his horn and slams on his breaks, causing the tires to squeal in distress, rubber burning.  A firm hand presses into my back and shoves me out of the way, sending me toppling to asphalt once again.

I refuse to stay down long.  I pull myself up quickly and offer a rushed thank you to the male stranger that risked his life to save mine.  Concern fills his brown eyes as he steps toward me, arms extended, asking if I'm okay, if I need help – he sees the distressed look in my eyes, he notices the way they dart around the street in search of the man chasing me.

I hoped Gabriel got hit by the car, but I know that would be too easy.  I remember how clumsy he made himself seem.  I remember how many drinks I saw him purposely fumble, because clumsy is not a word I ever would use in the same paragraph as Diavolo. 

"I—I'm fine—I—watch out."

Gabriel sneaks up behind the man and wraps his arms around his neck.  My savior struggles, fighting and cursing as I back away, eyes wide.  There's nothing I can do for him.  I turn and run, but I'll never forget the sound of the man's neck being broken.

The street I turn onto is more populated than the last.  It's mainly drug addicts leaning against walls and slipping between thin alleyways. I nearly collide with one as they stumble into my running path and I curse before dodging them.

My lungs begin to burn, my chest begins to ache, and my legs scream at me – warning that they can't continue at this pace for much longer.  I glance at my blurred surroundings, trying to find something that looks familiar and my heart leaps in my chest when I see the store Crixus visited tonight. 

By the time I cross the street, heading in the direction of help, I have my phone in my hands.  Attempting to dial Liam's phone number by heart is a risk, but it's one I take. 

He answers on the first ring.

"It's Gabe."  Those two words are the gasoline to the already burning sensation in my lungs.  My chest feels like it ignites in flames.  "Diavolo is Gabe—"

"Don't hang up. Don't."  He was going to track my cell.

I pull the phone from my ear and hurtle down the street, not risking a look over my shoulder.  Gabriel hasn't given up.  Surrendering is not in an assassin's vocabulary, nor is it incorporated in their training.  He's gaining.  I know he is.

And just when I think, when I know I can't take another step I find myself at another junction.  I pause just long enough for my eyes to fall on a street to my right.  It's looks familiar for one reason.  It's the street Rico and Crixus currently live on.  My phone beeps in my hand and the second I take to look down, realizing Liam's call dropped, is a dangerous one.

I take off once again, knowing this was almost over in one way or the other.  I can hear Gabriel's footsteps behind me.  He's closing in.  I shut my eyes and grit my teeth and will my legs to keep moving.  Keep running.  Keep living and it hurts. 

I tap another contact in a rush, one I haven't updated in over a year.  It's the last phone number I have associated with Federico.  The last burner cellphone he gave me before he left and it's a shot in the dark considering they switch phones so often – but it's the only shot I have, just incase Liam wasn't able to pinpoint my location.

I press the phone against my ear and I pray.

I don't even hear the phone dial, that's how quickly Rico answers.  "Faith."

Tears form immediately and the only sound I can make is one of distress.  "Downstairs—Downstairs, right now."

I can see the door leading into the lobby of their apartment complex and my heart skips with joy.  Forty-steps away, thirty, twenty, ten.  My lopsided, exhausted smile slowly fades when I don't see them running out the door to welcome me.

Instead of stopping to yank open the glass door and surely be caught, I run past the building.

My feet catch up under each other and I hit the ground with a cry of surprise.  I roll over just in time to see Crixus leave his feet, his timing so perfect that Gabriel catches a blur out the corner of his eye, causing him to hesitate.  The two meet and Crixus's momentum sends them flying into the side of a parked Honda.

They hit the exterior of the car so hard that the car's security alarm because to blare.  It's hazard lights illuminate the dark street as the passenger side window shatters.  Crixus disappears inside the small opening and takes the upper half of Gabriel with him.  A struggle breaks out between the two inside the vehicle as Gabriel's feet lack traction against the broken glass that surrounds his feet.

He finally manages to pull himself out the window of the car and slips, hitting the ground hard.  His face twists underneath his hood as his hands gather around the glass in the street.  Small shards impale his hands but that doesn't stop him from rising to his feet.

Gabriel is met immediately by a punch so wicked it sends him to his knees.

He looks right up into the face of Federico. 

The glass from the car managed to get in between his hood and skin, causing a multitude of deep cuts.  Blood runs down the side of Gabriel's face and trickles over his neck.  The disapproving sound he makes is deep, low, and when he bares his teeth this time they're coated in blood.

Federico's greeting is clear.  "Dance with me, Cinderella."

That is invitation enough.

Crixus appears at my side, helping me to my feet as best he can.  My eyes trail the two assassins as they mirror each other in looks and skill.  Their fight spills into the street as they share punches and blows.  Federico uses his hips to fling Gabriel to the ground in a devastating blow, but the Russian assassin leaps to his feet and sends an elbow into Rico's throat.

"Are you okay?"  Crixus's voice is small in my ear, but I nod just the same.  He repeats his question and when I respond with a strained yes, he leaves my side to join the fight.

"Hey, Hey!" I step off the curb, shouting a warning at my friends as three SUVs swing around the corner and fly up the street.  Russian soldiers leap out and descend on the three fighting assassins.  Their shouting drowns out my own, but Rico and Crixus hardly pay attention, worried about the true threat. 

Rico spins in surprise as a soldier grabs the neck of his hoodie and yanks him away from Valentin's most prized possession.  A fight ensues as Federico dodges weak punches and rips the weapon the man has on his hip.  He releases the safety and a gunshot echoes down the street.

Gabriel is captured by his own and shoved to the ground, cuffed before his knees even meet the solid surface.  He yells in anger and fights against his restraints as five soldiers slam him against the ground, proceeding to restrain him correctly. Cuffs find their way around his wrists and ankles.

Crixus attracts the attention of two Russian soldiers, but handles them perfectly.  They shove him, laughing to themselves at the idea of hurting a kid.  Their lack of knowledge on his abilities keeps their guard down – and only when he jams a knife in the jugular of one, does the other begin to perceive him as a viable threat.  But by then it's too late – he's too close – and two bodies lie at the feet of the boy, gurgling blood.

A fleet of blacked out SUVs skid to a stop behind me, blocking any other entrance to the street. Doors fly open and where Giovanni would be, another soldier leads the surge as they raise their weapons and rush whatever Russian soldiers have left the safe confines of their transport.  They maneuver past me in synchronized fashion and a couple make sure to stand in front of me for protection. 

Liam and Veleno trail behind the army as they form a wall between the Russians and us. They watch, waiting for the simplest of commands from their leader as Russian soldiers drag a fighting Diavolo back to safety.  Crixus is welcome on our side of the street.  Rico is nowhere to be found.

Liam rests a hand on my elbow.  "Are you okay?"

"It's Gabe," is all I can say. 

Veleno lets out a string of explicatives.  "We had him for fucks sake—he was in the fucking house—"

"And we'll get him again." Liam states plainly. 

Veleno shakes his head and avoids eye contact, frustrated with the idea that he was played about as badly as I was, but his focus changes when Crixus walks up to us, holding the side of his head.  "Veggie, my head hurts."

He seems surprised to see Crixus but drops to a knee quickly to inspect the boy.  "Let me see."

"He went head first into a window," I explain.

"Probably a concussion," Liam says absentmindedly.  His eyes scan the Russian's transport.  "I'll be right back."

Veleno rests a hand on either side of Crixus's head, studying his eyes.  He sighs and stands.  "Go wait in the vehicles.  We can take you back to the house, have one of Liam's doctors look at you there."  He starts to head after Liam, who strides through the path that his army has made for him, leading him to the frontlines.  "I'll be right back."

Crixus begins to follow, as do I.  "I can't go home with you, I've told you that."

"Why not?"

We share a look.  "I told you before," He strains, "Someone's waiting for me."

We join Liam at the front of the army, watching patiently as the commander of this fleet of soldiers exits the vehicle and strides forward.  He tries to hold his head high, to walk with a stride that commands powers and respect, but his eyes catch the bodies that Crixus and Federico put down and he knows they've fucked up.  Something tells me this was not Valentin's plan, but rather something Nathaniel and Gabriel orchestrated themselves. 

Valentin's soldiers follow their commander to the middle of the street, guns at the ready. 

Liam breaks the silence.  "It would be in your absolute best interest to take your soldiers and drive away, before I rename this street the Russian graveyard."

The Russian cracks a smile.  I'm surprised that Nathaniel isn't front and center.  The commander before us may lead this small group of soldiers, but something tells me that Nathaniel plays an even larger role.  If Gabriel is Diavolo, then who is he in all of this?

He orders something in Russian and they back off.  Liam only dismisses his soldiers back to the car once the taillights of the Russian's vehicles vanish.  Liam turns around and orders his soldiers to retreat.  They do so, swiftly, and our small group watches them march to the car in silence – everyone thankful that more blood wasn't shed.

Liam's attention falls on me and I hold back a groan.  I've seen that look too many times.  A look of concern, of worry, mixed with something that resembles an unspoken apology.  The adrenaline has yet to wear off and my incredibly strained, I'm fine, feels believable – at least right now, but I know I'll hurt like a bitch when I try to get out of bed tomorrow.

Liam accepts my answer to his silent question of concern.  His hand finds my elbow again as he turns me away from Veleno and Crixus, who're caught up in a quiet conversation of their own.  I hear the boy telling Veleno his side of what just happened, cautious as to not spill his brother's name.  "Earlier when I said you were one of us, I didn't mean that.  You aren't like us.  You'll never be a bad person, Faith, and I'm sorry."

I nod and the silence that follows almost forces me to address what I said earlier as well.  I'm done with you.  I don't want to fucking marry you.  But I just feign a smile and stare up at him.

Veleno and Crixus's conversation fill our ears as we turn back to them.  They're talking about Diavolo, but Liam quickly voices his displeasure on the topic.  "We can worry about Diavolo in the morning—or later today."  He glances over at me.  "I'm just glad Faith's okay, and I want to thank you, Crixus—"

The boy lifts his hand in another salute.  "It's an honor, Lima Bean."

And I know Liam is truly thankful when he doesn't correct the kid.  "You're always in the right place at the right time."  He smiles at a thought and glances over at me, knowing I'll understand his reference.  "Just like your brother."

The boy smiles back.  "What can I say, I'm an angel in disguise."

Liam's laugh drowns out the sound of Veleno snorting.  "No doubt you're a Santiago.  You sound just like—"

"Me?"

I don't think I've ever heard laughter fade as quickly as it does tonight.  I turn around and watch Federico step into the light of the street, slowly pulling the hood down from around his face.  His eyes dart between the four of us as he wraps his arms around his upper body.  Nervous.

Liam's mouth drops.

Federico clears his throat softly.  His words don't flow like what I'm used to.  They lack the confidence and the assuredness he's always spoken with.  It's like he's dreamt of this moment every night for the last few months, yet still isn't prepared for the conversation he's having with Liam face to face. "Michael says hi.  He kicked Satan off the throne, said hell is his bitch now. He's proud of how you're handling things..."

Liam stutters, finally managing to spit out a single word.  "But?"

"He thought you might need some help.  He kicked me out." Rico shrugs.  "Told me to go get his boy."

I've seen Liam cry more than a handful of times, as sad as that is to admit.  He hides the pressure he's under better than anyone I know.  The pressure of having the largest mass shooting of 2016 forever associated with your name.  The pressure of having an entire empire resting on your shoulders.  The pressure of wanting to protect everyone you love despite knowing that is impossible.  The pressure of trying to build an even stronger relationship with me even through everything that's going on.  The pressure of trying to avenge one of the most infamous kings this generation of organized crime has ever seen.  All of it—all of the pressure—on one man, and to add the weight of his friend's—his brother's—death was too much.  And I witness Liam break.

Federico was never a hugger, but he's the one that steps forward and grabs Liam by the shoulders, yanking him into a hug he desperately needs.  The sound of Liam crying rips at my heart as it always does.  Crixus sniffles quietly from beside Veleno as they hug.

"How are you not crying?" He asks.

Veleno doesn't respond.  He shoves his hands inside his pockets and observes with pursed lips as Liam and Rico separate with a few hushed words.  Liam pats Rico's chest and mutters a curse as he brings his hands up to his eyes, wiping away the proof of his tears – but the red eyes and nose are a dead giveaway of his emotion.

After another passing second of silence, Veleno speaks.  "Damn, I even started learning piano for you."

The joke causes a wave of laughter.

Rico's smile fade.  "Listen, V..."

But whatever he's about to say, Veleno doesn't want to hear it. "How was hell?"

Rico laughs, contemplating a response as Crixus joins his side.  "Next time I go, I'm taking you with me."

Veleno takes a cautious step forward.  "I thought you would've the first time."  And for the first time tonight a flicker of emotion passes over the assassin's face. "You said you'd never leave me." His words hit even harder when you realize he was abandoned by his abusive father the moment the man chose the bottle over taking care of him and his mother.  His words his harder when you realize he was abandoned by his mother although he saved her life. She still kicked him to the curb. Said she wanted nothing to do with him, and now Rico.  A friend, a brother, who left without warning or explanation.  "Brothers, remember?"

Rico can sense where he's going with this and warns his friend to stop.  "Veleno—"

"—At least that was before—" He motions to Crixus.

"Come on, V."

Veleno clears his throat and repeats himself clearer this time.  "—At least that was before you had two of them—"

"Immanuel."

Federico has everyone's attention now, and none of us will forget the promise he issues to Veleno tonight underneath the streetlights.

"You will always be my brother."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

a/n: just sit back and enjoy everything will fall into perfect place soon ladies

also i'm dumb i deleted my social media profile accounts picture so follow me on ig at xotaintedkisses and join the reaction party