xxxv | glory and power

a/n: please read ending a/n for important info !!

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A week went by.

We left Russia. But I would come to learn that Russia would never leave us. There was exhaustion. There was jetlag. There was pain medication for my broken right arm and sleep, for my diagnosed concussion. I don't remember much of the week, but there were a few moments that I couldn't forget.

Vincenzo knew the minute we walked through the doorway.

Federico hadn't spoken the entire eleven-hour flight back. He didn't speak when he turned the corner and saw Vincenzo. He didn't have to. He thought he had cried all the tears he had left, but when he leaned into Vincenzo, he cried more. Vince offered a hug. Federico accepted it.

They had danced a dance designed specifically for them, just as Rosalie and Michael, had. But just like Michael, who anticipated the ending, prepared to swing Rosalie into the arms of someone who could love her and deserved her love—Federico did the same. He steps away, swipes at the tears on his face, and he smiles. Gabriel steps forward. The timing, perfect. Like the changing of the guard.

Gabriel shifted, nervous. He glanced over at Federico, who had joined him at his side. He felt me nudge him, and glanced down at me, on his other. Vincenzo was the only gaze he couldn't hold. "I don't know what to say.

"Anything." I told him, offering the same advice that I had given Crixus. "Everything. Anything you want him to know." The only difference being that one was about to lose his friend, while Gabriel was about to gain his father.

"I know I look like mom." Gabriel told Vincenzo after a moments pause. He looked down, shuffled his feet. His hand began to shake. He grabbed it with the other to calm it down. "But I got your hair."

He looked up again. "And your rage," Diavolo finished.

Vincenzo coughs out a laugh, taking a hesitant step forward. He nods quickly, briefly taking in the face of the son he never got to meet. "Those were always my better qualities."

Gabriel cracked a smile, noticed Vincenzo's hesitancy, and softly added, "You can hug me."

Vincenzo did. He pulled Gabriel into the gentlest of hugs, only to be surprised when Gabriel hugged him back. Vincenzo lifted his head, just long enough to catch Federico's eye, to mouth his sincerest, "Thank you."

Federico was beginning to back away. He paused just long enough to let his shoulders fall. "For you, Dad?" He had said. "Anything."

Federico walked away, and into the arms of his waiting parents.

There was the funeral.

They all looked so handsome, dressed in their finest black attire. Their suits were sharp. The black drew your attention to all their finest features, highlighting everything from their height to the jacket clinging to their shoulders, from their eyes to their jaw, from the hair on their head to their beard. Each of them accessorizing with a gold accessory; a ring, a chain. Federico had cut his hair. A short taper fade that suited him nicely. Liam and Vincenzo had their beards professionally trimmed, but it wasn't until Vincenzo pushed his curls away from his forehead that I noticed the sharpness of his hairline, as well.

The funeral was dedicated to the ones we lost. To our four soldiers. To the four assassins' who gave their lives from the OA. To Immanuel Joel Santamaría. Federico and Vincenzo, Liam and Crixus, were the ones designated to carry his casket down the aisle. Crixus only got halfway. He pulled the others to a stop, dropped the handle, and stepped away.

The congregation watched him cry. I will never know how long he stood there, but I will never forget how patient the three were, in waiting, and in hopes, that Crixus would be able to finish their last journey, together. But he couldn't. Gabriel finished it for him. And all Crixus could do was lower himself to the floor, his vision blurred, watching his friend being taken from him, one more time.

There was the reception. I don't remember much of it, my arm linked through Carmen's as we strolled through the massive group together. Liam had been dragged away, shifting from one conversation to another. We talked to so many people, so many faces that I would never be able to remember them all. I do remember one. Savaughna.

Veleno was buried five days ago, on December 19th. But Christmas Eve would become the day. The one that would be the start of a yearly ritual for Crixus. His life will pull him far from California. It might take him across countries, over a multitude of continents. His birthday will pass each year and he will get older, wiser. His memory of Veleno will fade, the assassin's voice will soon follow that of what Crixus remembers. He will forget Veleno's birthday, continuously asking Federico to remind him so he can buy a small, personal cake—cutting two pieces, but only eating one. Crixus will stop bringing up his name, stop mentioning him in conversation. We will think he forgot Veleno. But Christmas Eve would become the day Crixus would return, every year, to where he left his friend.

And that's where we find him today, on Christmas Eve. Just a few steps away from Michael Luciano, where Veleno was laid to rest. I stand silently on the hill, between the parking lot and the graveyard. Liam's jacket drapes my shoulders, my sling not allowing for me to wear it properly. I glance back at Liam, just long enough to hear him ask, "How long has he been here?"

The soldier who had escorted Crixus between the home and the graveyard answers softly, "He's visited every day since we buried him." The soldier said, "But, truthfully, I don't think the kid has ever really left."

Liam slips his arm between my left when he joins me, his other hand occupied with a small bouquet of various flowers. We spent an embarrassingly long amount of time choosing between the colorful arrangement, but mainly because Liam started asking about what color scheme I would like for our wedding. He had smiled. I smiled harder. But the moment feels far, much farther away as the headstone engravings become visible.

His headstone was as beautiful and as elegant as a headstone can be. His full name, Immanuel Joel Santamaría, at the top. Followed by the day he was born and the day he left. But it was the quote, I guarantee you, that Crixus had read over a thousand times. Willing to die for the mission.

"It's your first Christmas Eve as a free assassin," Liam greets the boy. He offers me a hand, helping me to a seat on the ground before he takes his, doing his best not to crush the fresh flowers. Crixus's attention darts away from the gravestone just long enough to glimpse them, before returning. "Carmen and Rosie are baking cookies for tonight. They could use your help."

Crixus sits on the cold ground, his legs crisscrossed. His grey hoodie is a few sizes too big, threatening to swallow him whole as he hides behind it. He quietly picks at a loose string on the cuff. "What kind?" His voice is raspy when he speaks, his throat irritated from crying.

Liam watches him carefully, his response delayed. "Sugar."

Crixus angles his body away from us, but still manages to keep Veleno in sight. "I like chocolate chip."

Liam nods softly, watching the boy and searching for the words that should follow. We both draw our gazes to the headstone, to the fresh dirt that covers the expensive, but beautifully detailed casket. It had been black. Gold details. "I wasn't there," Liam starts again, worried about the response he's going to get, but knowing Crixus needs to hear it—again, and from him, "People are saying you're blaming yourself. It wasn't your fault."

Crixus is shaking his head before Liam can finish. "If that's all you came to say, then maybe you should get the fuck up and leave." His eyes dart in our direction, dancing rapidly between the two of us. There's nothing in them. "He was stabbed with my weapon, my katana—the one thing, the only thing that has never failed me, so somewhere along the way, I fucked up."

I let out a breath, "Crixus—"

"Look, what do you want?" He snaps, yanking the hood away from his face. His eyes are puffy. His cheeks, stained with tears. He hasn't been sleeping. Because instead of obeying his parents' request to sleep with them, he's been isolating himself in his room, clutching the item of clothing he currently wears. That's why it's so big. Why it looks so familiar. It isn't his. "Why are you even here? Because everyone is worried about me or something? Well get over it. I'm sure that's what everyone is thinking about me anyways. Nothing you're going to say will help, Liam, so just fucking leave."

Liam doesn't budge. "I never thought I would say this, but I think I prefer Lackadaisical."

It wins Crixus over, even if only for five more minutes. His huff, being the closest we get to a laugh.

"I talked to your parents," Liam starts off. He pauses long enough to pull Crixus's gaze away from the grave, and to him. "They're leaving for Massachusetts the day after Christmas. I'm lending them some money to help them buy a house and get back on their feet. They begged me to let them pay me back. I told them sure, but only if they can pay me in a way that doesn't consist of money. I have enough of that." He smiles. Crixus tries to. "Your parents are good people, and they've made some even better ones. But it's my plane that's going to be leaving from LAX, taking them across the country, and my pilot needs to know how many people are going. So are you staying, or are you going with them?"

His answer is quick because he's already thought about it. "I'm leaving with them."

Liam searches for anything that would suggest Crixus is unsure of his decision. He isn't. "Leaving would mean you—"

"I'm leaving."

Liam sighs. "I think you're making a mistake."

"And I think that wasn't your question," Crixus shoots back.

Liam releases another breath. He stands, missing the quick look Crixus shoots our way. It's something between an apology for his attitude, for the harsh tone that followed his words and concern, that he might have pushed away someone who was only trying to help him. But he doesn't say anything as Liam offers me his hand and helps me to my feet. I start to walk away, but Liam's feet keep us planted.

"This isn't usually something I would say to someone who just lost their friend," He says, "But there was a Crixus before Veleno. And I know you're mourning. I know you're sad. I know you miss him. This will eat you alive if you let it. If you keep blaming yourself, it could change you. You probably won't believe me when I say it, but I love you, Crixus. I love your brothers. I consider them my own. I consider you one, too. So I mean it when I say I don't want to see this ruin you. There will be a Crixus after him, but you're the only one who can decide who you want to be."

We walk away, but not before his voice reaches us, on the verge of a plea.

"Wait," Crixus picks up the bouquet Liam left at his side, and reaches up to us, "You forgot your flowers."

I smile at his innocence.

"They're not mine," Liam replies softly. Crixus lowers them to his lap, admiring the same colors that stood out to us in the shop. "They're his, and I think you should be the one to give them to him."

We walk away, for good, this time. Liam never turns back. I do. Just in time to see Crixus push himself to his feet, swaying slightly, before approaching the fresh grave. He rotates the flowers in his hand once, twice, before letting them go.

"Here's your flowers, Veggie."

And as they drift towards the ground, carried by the gentle wind, I slowly come to understand what Liam had done. He had started something that Crixus would continue, forever. For the rest of his lifetime. Crixus would return to California, to the same place he stands now, year after year.

And each time, he would make sure to bring Veleno his flowers.

The drive home was short, spent with Liam's arm over my shoulder, the warmth of his body and the rhythm of the car on concrete threatening to put me to sleep. He trailed two fingers across my sling, following the same pattern the entire ride home. We didn't speak much. We didn't have to. He was quiet, and although his chin rested on the top of my head, I could feel his eyes burning a hole into my fractured arm. He spent the time, the moment right before we fell asleep after Russia, telling me how scared he was. How terrified he was that I had left him. How one second, I was there. Then I wasn't.

It was the first time he begged me not to leave him. The dark room filled with his plea, that there was no way in this world he could do this without me. And as badly as I wanted to grab his hand, to tell him that there was no way in this world I would ever leave him, I couldn't. I had witnessed just how quickly one could be here. And gone. It wasn't a promise I could make, and he knew that. So instead, I held his hand and quoted a great, "We could run this shit from the grave."

We laughed ourselves to sleep. But as Liam presses multiple kisses to the top of my head, leaning down just enough to brush his lips against my temple, I know he's thinking about it. Thinking about losing me. I held his hand the rest of the way home.

The smell of freshly baked cookies greets us when we walk through the door. A warm breeze rushes past us, barely making it out the door before Liam shuts and secures it. He presses another kiss to my cheek as he pulls his jacket off my shoulders and hangs it in the hall closet.

The Christmas tree that Carmen and Rosalie had spent their time decorating while we were gone, offers a warm glow, tucked inside a corner of the living room. The glow reaching out into the foyer was just enough to greet you when you walked through the door. The pair had even managed to wrap lights around the handrails that support the stairs. Other lights were put up around the house, here and there, scattered, yet simple enough to feel more cozy than cheesy and over the top. The duo had done a beautiful job.

We follow the noise into the kitchen. Rosalie is covered, head to toe, in flour. Her apron, reading the cutest chef, has taken the worst of the damage. Carmen stands in front of the oven, hand shoved into a mitt, glancing inside. Rosie bends, hovering near Carmen's elbow, visibly excited. We take in the dozen of cookies already sitting on cooling trays on the marble island. Eggs, milk, flour, and a litany of other ingredients line the countertops.

Rosalie screeches in excitement when she sees us. With oven mitts on her own hands, she takes the tray of ready cookies from Carmen and bounces over to us. "We're making cookies for Uncle Rico's surprise birthday party! Liam, you should try mine. You too, Ms. Faith." We both take a warm cookie and find a stool to sit on while we eat.

Carmen closes the oven and leans her back against the countertop. She wipes at her forehead but misses a small dot of flour. I smile. "How's Crixus?" She asks us.

I let the question fall to Liam while I quietly pleaded with Rosalie for another cookie. She offers a different one, this time snickerdoodle, without hesitation. I catch Liam shaking his head, her question already answered—Not good. "He's blaming himself, so...Rosie, what's wrong?"

The little girl's smile has faded. She shrugs. "Uncle V won't be able to go to Rico's surprise birthday party, or eat our cookies, or blow our party blower things that we bought for him—I think he's the reason why dad is still sleeping. He hasn't been sleeping good. He's been waking up and leaving me alone all night. I always get cold when he leaves."

Liam reaches for Rosalie from his stool, wrapping an arm around her small frame and pulling her close. He picks her up with ease, and despite the flour that she's basically bathed in, pulls her to his lap. "You know, your Uncle V, he was like a brother to Uncle Rico and a son to your dad. Vince is going to be sad for a while. Imagine what he would be like if he lost you. All we can do is try to make them happy when we can."

Rosalie's smile has returned. "And happiness is cookies. We can do that, right Aunt Carmen?" The little girl spins off Liam's laugh. She pauses with a thought, then turns to me, "Ms. Faith, do you think Crixus will want to come to Rico's surprise birthday party?"

I smile. "I recommend chocolate chip cookies and he just might."

"We can do that!" Rosie exclaims.

"Speaking of the birthday boy," I lean against the counter, a smile on my face as I watch Carmen and Rosalie gather the necessary ingredients for their next task. "Where is he?"

"I actually don't know," Carmen rises to her tiptoes, trying to reach the bag of chocolate chips in the cabinet.

"She's telling the truth Ms. Faith," Rosalie rests two hands on her hips and turns to me, "Aunt Carmen doesn't know where Uncle Rico is. She was calling his name all night—"

I nearly choke on the last bite of my cookie.

Carmen nearly drops the bag of chocolate chips on the little girl's head. "Rosie!"

"What?" Rosie spins to her, a genuine innocence radiating off her face. "And why is Liam laughing?" She glances over at Liam, who is struggling to swallow his cookie and laugh at the same time.

"Because you're hilarious," Carmen answers dryly. "Rosie, we talked about staying out of grown folk business and not spreading rumors."

"But—"

Liam clears his throat, a smile on his face after nearly greeting death. Tears of laughter dot the outer corner of his left eye. "Rosie, come here, leave Carmen alone. Help me put an apron on."

Rosalie's smile widens. "You're going to help?" She scurries over, my eyes drifting from them just long enough to watch Carmen. Who, for two minutes, does absolutely nothing at the countertop but reorganize items they're going to have to use. "Wait." I catch Rosalie pull her apron over her head and begin to put it over Liam, who kneels before her. "Now you're the cutest chef."

"I don't know about all that," Liam reaches for her, and she squirms, a laugh on her lips as he pulls her close. Rosalie's screams and playful cries for help go unanswered as Liam presses a multitude of wet kisses on her cheek. She manages to escape with just an inch of her life and with a glow to her that I hadn't seen in a while. She takes a step back and wipes at her face. "Wipe my last kiss off, and that's ten more."

Rosalie saves the last one. They both laugh.

I managed to slip out of my stool while Liam had the little girl in his grasp, joining Carmen at her side until their conversation turned to low mumbles and hugs of reassurance. I lean against the counter and lower my voice, "You know what's crazy? Rosalie and her tea have never failed me. So, deny it all you want, but I can't believe I missed it. Your smile. The glow—"

Carmen does smile but rolls her eyes anyway. "Faith—"

"I need details. Me and you." I make a point to obnoxiously motion towards me, her, and back again. "We're talking later."

"Why're you smiling?"

I do a little happy dance and quote her, "Because I'm going to be an auntie."

She didn't find it as funny as she had when she said it. Her mitt barely misses my face and I throw my head back in a laugh when I dodge it. A pair of arms wrap around me, catching me before I smack into the edge of the island. Liam steps away to show me his apron. "Look, I'm the cutest chef."

I must agree. "You are the cutest chef."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He leans down, pressing a kiss to my lips. He pulls away, just long enough for me to wrap my arms around his neck, and shares another with me.

"You guys' are cute, or whatever," Carmen says from her side of the kitchen.

"Carmen," Liam steps away from me, the widest grin on his face as he shows off his new—but used—apron. "When you find Rico, let me kn—"

He dodges the object tossed in his direction and rises back to his full height, laughing.

I back away, a laugh dancing across my own lips. "I'm going to go find him while you all make cookies. Since, you know, Carmen can't seem too—"

The last thing I hear before I slip out into the hallway is Carmen, "Are you guys' done?"

There's another brief stint of laughter from the kitchen, even Carmen joining in this time, before Rosalie starts belting out orders. Liam is on cookie-cutter duty and is instructed to have no more than three of the same shaped cookies—or else. The nine-year-old also provides strict orders that if any cookies are discovered missing, Liam would be in serious trouble. Liam nodded, his eyes wide, as if the military warden had said it himself.

I walk aimlessly with my phone pressed to my ear, the clanking and chatter from the kitchen fading the further I go. I call Federico twice. He answers none of them. I turn down the long hallway at the back of the home and try his phone again. I glance up, out at the backyard, just long enough to see him and Dominic standing at the basketball court.

I walk quietly towards the sliding glass door, pulling it open just enough to remain in the warmth of the home. A cool breeze hits my face. I start to call out to them, to somehow get both of their attention, but I don't. Maybe it's the way Rico playfully runs over to his brother and throws his arms around him, gathering Dominic in a hug he clearly didn't expect that stops me. Or maybe it was Dominic's laugh, one I could swear I hadn't heard in so long, that does.

Dominic brushes a hand over Federico's hair as they step away from each other. "Your haircut looks good. I was starting to get used to you with long hair."

Rico smiles. He shoves his hands inside the pocket of his sweatpants, his arms flexing as he does so. "I like it short."

Dominic has his back to me. I can't see the worry on his face, but I can hear it. "Are you doing okay?"

Federico tries to brush it off. "Yeah, Dom, I'm—"

Dominic's shoulders fall, ever so slightly. "Please don't, Rico." Federico looks up, catching something in his brother's expression that I can't. "I know I'm—I know you don't want to worry me," Dominic shrugs. A sigh follows, "But just please don't lie to me."

Rico watches Dominic for a second longer. The truth finally comes out, "I could tell Veleno wasn't going to make it. And Dominic, I...I don't think I've ever been that scared. I had so much I wanted to tell him, but you could tell he was leaving us, so I made sure Crixus got to talk to him."

"You sacrificed your goodbye for his?" Dominic summarizes quietly.

Federico nods slowly, before tilting his head back and glancing up at the sky. "I did get to say goodbye. We sat outside. Me and him. Watched Valentin's place go up in flames. I got to tell him everything I wanted to, from our first mission together to our last. I got to tell him goodbye. He just never heard me."

Dominic zips up his jacket, watching Rico closely. "I heard he was...Crixus's...I mean, do you know what even happened?"

"I know enough."

Dominic's next question catches us both off guard, "Do you blame him?" Rico returns his gaze to his brother, "Do you blame Crixus for Veleno dying?"

"No," Rico answers quickly, "no, no." He twirls in his stance, eyes drifting to the sky once more. He's either lying, or he's thinking about the question more than he should—second guessing himself. Federico blinks a few times and lets out a frustrated sigh, on the verge of showing more emotion than he would like.

Dominic notices it and reaches for him, "We don't have to talk about it if—"

"What would blaming him do anyway?" Federico asks, eyes on his brother. "V is dead, and blaming Crixus won't bring him back. It'll just make me push my little brother away from me."

"Rico—"

"Yes, Dominic, I think I do," Federico snaps. But Dominic doesn't take a step back, despite the level of anger his brother jumps to. "Veleno and I went on countless assignments together, and we were fine, and then he goes with Crixus and ends up fucking dead, so maybe it is his fucking fault." Rico's shoulders fall first. A tear follows. "I think I do blame Crixus. I think I'm angry. Not at him. Maybe at him. I don't—"

Dominic gives Federico a hug. "You sound conflicted."

Federico laughs through the final tear, holding his brother just as tightly as Dominic holds him. "I'm sorry I'm a terrible brother. You called me when I needed you, even if I was too stubborn to answer. I listened to every voicemail you ever left, even though I knew I was never going to call you back. You were there for me, when I needed you the most, but I was so focused and caught up with myself and how I felt, that I didn't even consider how you were feeling. Even at your lowest, you did everything you could to help someone who didn't want it, and I just want you to know I really do love you, Dom."

"I love you too, Rico and you're not a terrible brother."

"I'm not you. I want to do better."

"I know you will."

Federico smiles, "This might be the longest hug we've ever had."

"And let's make sure no other hug breaks its record, because I'm starting to get a little—"

Rico readjusts his grip. It makes Dominic laugh, and hard. "When Crixus said his goodbye," Federico lowers his voice, the memory coming back to him, "He told Veleno, you can't leave me. He said, I just got you. And somehow, that's exactly what I've been trying to tell you, but couldn't. I want you to get better for you. But I can't lose you, Dominic. I just got you."

"You won't." Dominic pulls away first. "Just promise me, if it ever gets bad again, you'll come to me. I don't care what you think I'm going through or how you think I feel, please come to me."

Rico nods, "I will, but I want you to promise me the same."

Dominic extends his pinkie, and the boyish grin that spreads across Federico's face could light up a small town. They seal their promise with the most sacred promise of all. A pinkie promise.

Dominic begins once they separate pinkie's. "I wish I could stay, enjoy your birthday and Christmas Eve with everybody."

Federico offers a tight smile, "There will be many more Christmas Eve's."

"What about your birthday?" Dominic questions, noticing Rico's mentioning of the holiday, but not the day he was born. Rico glances away, and Dominic continues, "How about me and you do something for your birthday when I get back. We can go out to eat or something."

"I would like that." Federico shifts, "I just want you to come back."

Dominic doesn't notice it. The way his brother's eyes drift to a portion of the basketball court, where just a little over a week ago, he and Veleno stood—talking, laughing, reminiscing. It's just a second, easily missed in the blink of an eye. Federico's eyes return back to Dominic, just the slightest hint of pain behind them.

And yet somehow, Dominic tells him exactly what he needs to hear. "I'll be back," The eldest Santiago promises.

Federico just raises his pinkie, arching one eyebrow higher than the other.

Dominic raises his in a promise. The two let out a laugh and together, they start their way towards the house. I smile when Federico tosses an arm over Dominic's head, tugging him close. They share a brief conversation. Dominic tells him he's annoying. Federico responding with something that confirms it. They wave when they see me.

I step to the side and let them in. "You're leaving for Florida soon?"

Dominic nods, sharing a glance between me and Federico. "I am. Grace was helping me pack." He picks at his hair nervously, a couple curls refusing to separate from his hand when he draws it back. "I should, um, I should go finish. I'll be down soon."

I watch Federico watch his brother make his way down the hallway and disappear. I watch Federico take in Dominic's narrow shoulders, his baggy clothes, the thinning spot near the back, lower right of his head where more hair has fallen out. I watch him study how Dominic walks, how if the wind had a chance, it would blow him over with ease. I watch him watch his brother leave, silently hoping that when, that if, he gets the chance to see him again, he'll be who Federico remembers. The suits. The thick, healthy curls. The smile that reaches his eyes. The ability to lead a group of people that I have only been able to find in one other person. Liam. The confidence that only the one who sits just below the king, possesses.

Federico turns to me slowly, the brace on his knee slowing him more than he wanted to admit. The specifics of the injury Federico suffered to his knee was unknown to me, but from my understanding, whatever entered his knee—whether that be a knife or a bullet—didn't damage any ligaments. He had a crutch upstairs, but refused to use it, preferring to limp most of the day. It bothers him more in the evening than in the morning, and we were reaching late afternoon.

I offer him a smile, "Happy Birthday, Rico." He can do nothing but lean down, meeting me halfway in an embrace. My arms curl around his neck, his hands finding a safe place on the small of my back. He tugs me close. "He's going to get better. I promise." I might not be able to give him a pinkie promise, but surely he will appreciate the kiss I plant on his cheek.

His grin confirms that when I pull away. "You must like this frog," He teases me, mentioning a previous conversation, "Because you keep kissing him."

"Say anything like that again, and I'll poison his water."

"Cruel."

"Follow me." I slip my arm inside of his and lead us down the hallway, around the corner, and through the foyer. I drag him to the entryway of the kitchen and step aside, a smile making its way back to his lips again as he watches the chaos from outside.

Somehow, someway, someone had found a box of Santa Hats. Liam's hat sits tilted on his head. Rosalie's hat covers nearly the entirety of her forehead, threatening to block her vision. The pair stands at the marble island, Rosalie using a stepping stool to scoop out a clump of dough, balling it in her head. She drops it onto the parchment paper covering Liam's pan. He's focused, probably too much, on making sure his cookie-cutter is straight, even, and perfect. Carmen stands at the oven, one hand on the oven door and the other making sure her hat doesn't fall off, as she glances inside, timing the perfection of the cookies to a science.

We enjoy the moment, the three being so focused on their task that they don't notice us.

Federico walks in. "Look at you," He starts to target Liam first.

Liam cuts him off, immediately, "Rico, say one stupid thing, and I'll take this cookie cutter to your tongue."

Federico's eyes dramatically fall to Liam's cutest chef apron. The assassin fights a smile and draws a hand to his mouth, fighting the urge. He slowly reaches over the counter they work on and grabs the nearest utensil. He holds it up, just in case Liam makes any sudden moves. "The cutest chef? Whoever gave you that apron is a fucking—"

Rosalie spins around. "I gave him that apron!"

"—A fucking king!" Federico exclaims. He slips the potential weapon behind the little girl's back as she hops off her stool and offers him the grandest high-five.

She throws an arm around Federico's neck, "Happy Birthday, Uncle Rico!" He picks Rosalie up with ease, cradles her against his chest and spins. He thanks her with a kiss on her cheek. She stumbles when he sets her back on her feet, dizzy, but laughing. Rosie does her best to find the oven, briefly disoriented. "You have to try the cookies me and Aunt Carmen made."

"I would love to try your Aunt Carmen's cookie."

"Federico," Carmen leans against the counter closest to the oven, a wooden spoon in her hand. Her tone is a correcting one. The assassin grins, but every time he tries to approach, she lifts the spoon, threatening to swing. He takes it as a game, trying to see just how close he can get to her before the wooden spoon makes contact with him. She misses each swing, their smiles growing as Federico dodges her latest swing.

"Carmen," He breathes out, "Baja el arma. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." Rico holds his hand out, anticipating her to swing again.

Her last swing is her biggest mistake. Federico blocks the spoon with his forearm, and it scatters to the floor, along with the dough that covered it. He grabs Carmen's wrist and somehow maneuvers his body around hers, pulling her back flush against him. He wraps his arms around her collar, trapping her against him. She struggles. She fights. She smiles. But Federico has no intent on letting her go.

"Ms. Rosalie Marie De Santis," Federico huffs, out of breath, "Give me a chocolate chip cookie and I will release your Aunt Carmen."

"But they're not ready yet," Rosalie counters.

"Damn," Federico easily rests his chin on the top of Carmen's and makes eye contact with Liam. "We really need to work on her negotiation skills."

Liam laughs in agreement, but he doesn't keep his attention away from his task for long. His eyebrows form together as he carefully positions the cutter and presses down on the raw dough, perfecting another Christmas Tree shaped cookie. Rosalie continues to work diligently, providing Liam with enough dough until she runs out. He smiles, but it doesn't widen until I bump my hip against his.

"It doesn't have to be perfect," I reassure him.

He wraps his arm around my shoulder as he continues to cut another cookie. Liam startles me. He continues to work with both hands, the move unexpectedly drawing me against his chest with a laugh, pinning me awkwardly between him as he continues his most sacred job of all. I laugh, hard, despite trying to push myself away. He laughs, too, pausing only long enough to kiss me, slowly, deeply.

I pull away to catch my breath, then kiss him again, a smile on my face.

"Gross," Carmen mutters sarcastically.

"Absolutely, utterly, nauseating," Federico narrates.

Liam keeps me pressed against his side, our attention drifting to the other pair in the room. Federico still has his arms around Carmen. She still stands with her back to him, clinging tight to both of his forearms. They sway gently together, watching us with mock disgust on their face.

"That's funny, Liam," I rest my head against him, the smile refusing to leave as my eyes dance between the two. "I could've sworn I heard a hater."

Liam agrees. "Funny you say that. I think I hear two."

Federico's laugh and Rosalie's screech are perfectly timed. The little girl scrambles off her stool and rushes to the oven, declaring something about the cookies being ready. Federico releases Carmen and steps to the side as the newly formed pair gear up with their oven mitts to reach into the scorching heat. I watch Federico watch her. But not for long.

"So, Rico," Liam leans against the counter, a grin on his face as he watches the assassin turn to him. "Rosalie started a rumor about what you and Ms. Carmen were doing last night. Care to explain?"

Federico looks lost for about two seconds. The grin that replaces his perplexed expression is a wicked one. He spins a bit, facing Carmen more than us as Rosalie assists her with taking the pan of fresh chocolate chip cookies out the oven. "We were, um, what were we doing last night, Carmen?"

"Reading." They set the tray down, allowing Carmen to rest her full attention on Federico. She glances at Liam, at me, then back at him, smiling. "We were reading."

Liam nods, "Reading what?"

"It's this, uh," Federico leans over the tray of warm cookies, trying to take his pick of the biggest one. His hand finds Carmen's waist as he scoots in behind her, leaning over her shoulder to do so. He takes a bite out of the cookie he chooses, his eyes falling to Rosalie. She's squirming, awkwardly, and quickly excuses herself to use the restroom. Rico doesn't finish until she's gone. "It's this book. A New York Times Best Seller. I can't believe you two haven't heard of it—"

I cut him off. "Rico, what's it called?"

He pushes the cookie to the side of his mouth, glances at Carmen, and smiles. "Each other."

I'm not the only one who laughs. Federico starts choking on his cookie. The room does nothing to help as laughter burns at our lungs and tears meet at the corners of our eyes. It's funny how it works. I lean into the one person who makes me feel safer than any other, and he does the same, making the moment even more memorable. Carmen does the same, and Federico welcomes her. And as the laughter dies down, Liam still chuckling lightly, we watch as Carmen lifts a hand to Rico's cheek, mumbling just how annoying he is, before kissing him, slowly, deeply.

"Gross," I mutter out.

"Absolutely, utterly, nauseating." Liam joins in.

Their kiss breaks when they both laugh. "Funny thing, Carmen, I think I heard a hater," Rico announces.

She rests a hand on her hip. "You know, Rico, I think I heard two."

That sets it off again, until the door slams. Rosalie begins to turn into the kitchen, drying her hands on her pants. She stops to greet whoever walked through the door. She was smiling, her excitement about her cookies bubbling over to the point where she wanted anyone and everyone to try one. But it's the way her expression falls, the way the little girl hesitates and second guesses herself that hurts the most. "Crixus?" She questions, as if unsure if its him or not. "Are you okay?"

We don't hear his response.

"Hey, Crixus," Federico calls out and the group waits. You can hear the boy shuffle across the foyer. Crixus turns toward the kitchen. Rosalie steps out of his way, watching him the entire time as she returns to her designated workstation. He looks cold. His lips pink, but chapped. He looks tired, even more so than when we left him. Somehow, he looks worse. "Dominic is leaving soon. You want to stay and say goodbye?"

His words never rise above a mumble. "I guess so."

Rosalie grabs a couple of cookies to offer him. "Crixus, do you want to try my cookies?"

"No. I like chocolate chip."

The little girl's face begins to light up again. She starts to scramble over towards the one's that just made it out the oven, "We have those! I can give you—"

"I'm not hungry."

"Rosie," Federico lowers himself to her level, tilts his lips towards her ear, and tells her something on she can hear. Her nod is slow but understanding. The gentle pat Federico provides her is enough to dull the pain of Crixus's rejection.

"Promise me you will call whenever you have a chance." Grace's voice echoes down the hallway as footsteps tumble down the stairs. Liam wipes off his hands and removes his apron as the others move out of the room to greet them. Anthony trails behind Dominic and Grace, carrying Dom's luggage.

"I will," Dominic assures her. "I don't know how many calls I'll get."

"I would hope as many as you need," Federico comments as they join the rest of us on the first floor. "It's rehab. Not prison."

Dominic tries to argue that, but Grace doesn't let him. She rests a hand on either side of his thinning face and smiles up at him, "I'm going to give you a chance to say goodbye to everybody. But you told me and your father that you wished we didn't have to meet this version of you, so come back as the one you would've wanted us to. Please." He nods, and she seals her request with a kiss on his cheek.

"Bye, Uncle Dom," Rosalie pushes through the group to reach him. He lowers himself to meet her in the eye. "Liam said you're sick and that you need to go away for a while to get better, so please do." She leans forward and he opens his arms for her, wrapping them around the little girl's waist as she draws hers to his face. "I miss you, a lot."

His smile is a sad one.

Rosalie kisses his forehead. Dominic kisses her cheek. They're both smiling when they back away.

We don't see him until we hear him, having snuck in through the front door as quietly as humanly possible. Sweat runs down Vincenzo's face. His arms glisten and his curls coil tight to his head from the sweat. He steps forward as Rosie finds him and wraps an arm around his upper thigh. She doesn't let go of him, her dad, even as he approaches Dom with a faint smile. "I never wanted your job. It's always been yours. I'm just glad I could keep the seat warm for you. Come back and be the person and the underboss this family needs. And don't worry, I won't hug you."

Dominic laughs out a "Thank you," as he takes Vincenzo's hand to shake.

Crixus is next. He tries to smile when Dominic turns to him, but he can't. His hands find the deepest parts of his pockets as he struggles to figure out what to say. It comes to him, eventually. "I know we haven't really...um, I do want to get to know you better, Dom, so, please get better. Rico isn't cut out for being the oldest brother—"

Federico's shout makes everyone chuckle, "Excuse me?"

Even without trying, Crixus made the room feel better—even if he didn't.

"Don't worry," Dominic tells him, "I won't let that happen. I'll be back. But you, get better, too."

Crixus backs away, not allowing Dominic to hug him. He shakes his head, tears already brewing. "There's no rehab for this."

Carmen releases Federico's hand just long enough to throw her arms around Dominic's shoulders, tugging him close. "I know it's scary. I don't know if you've heard this yet, but I am so proud of you. We all are. And I know I don't know you as well as I should, but like your mom said, I'm excited to get the know the Dominic you're proud of."

He hugs her back, "You're sweet, Carmen. Thank you."

Federico is there to replace Carmen as she steps to the side. "Three months?" He asks quietly.

"Three months," Dom confirms. "I really am so sorry that I couldn't spend your birthday with you—"

"Dom," Federico cuts him off, "You did. You could've spent one minute with me today and it would've meant the world. It did. Just do what you need to do to get better. Liam's empire will crumble without you—" It's Dominic's turn to cut his brother off. He does so, but with a hug.

"He's not wrong." Liam saunters forward as the brother's part. "It's been me and you since the beginning. The hardest thing I ever had to do was take your job away from you. But the best thing I will ever get to do, is to give it back. You were by my side from the start, and I want you to be there at the end. I won't repeat what everyone has already said, but I am proud of you Dom, and I love you."

"I love you too, Liam."

Something about this hug felt different than all the rest. Dominic and Liam sharing a bond that is separate from all the others. Their hug feels long, long enough for Liam to make them sway and for Dominic to laugh. They're torn apart too soon as Anthony sets the luggage down with a thud.

Anthony forces himself to stare back at his worst reflection, at the version of himself that he swore he had left in the basement of the OA. Many, many years ago. But this is the one reflection that he can't seem to hate, as much as it haunts him. "What your mother said?" It's a question, yet it's not, somehow, all at the same time.

Dominic nods in understanding. A promise based on what Grace already stated. "What mom said," Dom confirms. Anthony steps forward and draws his son into a hug.

Dominic searches for me, eyes floating over the group until he finds me, standing in the back. He comes to me, slowly moving past the others as they watch. He's talking before he reaches me. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Dominic comes to a stop, his shoulders begin to fall. "For everything I don't remember, for everything I do, and for everything I never got the chance to apologize for. I'm so, so sorry. I don't deserve the help you've given me, and I know I've hurt you, and everyone else, but I know—I know I don't deserve a friend like you."

All eyes fall on me. "I forgive you, Dominic. But this family is going to need you one day. Come back being the man it needs."

He's gentle when he wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. My head finds the crook of his neck. His grasp tightens, knowing that when he lets me go, he will be forced to leave. Maybe that's why our hug lasts the longest, or maybe because this is one goodbye that I have no problem savoring. I wanted our Dominic back, not this one. I hug this one even harder, hoping I'll never have to hug him again.

We part, and the time Dominic fears has come. The whole group follows him outside and into the driveway, where the waiting vehicle sits. I fall back, just long enough to notice I'm not alone. Crixus is with me, and then he's not, taking the stairs slowly. I step outside and shut the door behind me just in time to hear Federico ask Dominic if he could drive him to the airport. Dominic said Federico didn't have to, but Rico countered it by saying it would be the best birthday gift he could give him. Dominic agreed.

There were more hugs. Repeated goodbyes. His luggage is stored, and their seats are taken. You could still see their taillights when Carmen spun around, her clap gaining the attention of the group—an entirely different task now at hand.

"We have a surprise party to plan."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Everything was perfect.

Balloons were blown—Liam and Vincenzo spending the time together getting lightheaded—and hung around the house, some corners more cluttered than others. Pizza was ordered and delivered. Cookies were delicately placed on serving trays, organized beautifully by the one and only, Rosalie. Drinks were poured, both alcoholic and non. The cake was lit. Santa hats were temporarily replaced with party hats, and the faint, mood-setting Christmas music swapped out for that noise of party blowers.

The only thing we were missing was the birthday boy.

And the star on the Christmas tree.

Rosalie balances on Vincenzo's shoulders while we wait, star in hand as they approach the tree to position its final touch. They sway as Rosie reaches forward, trying her best not to be the cause of the absolute worst case scenario—involving her falling off Vincenzo's shoulders, knocking down the tree, and crushing the few presents underneath it. "Dad!" They sway again, and she misses her chance to secure the star. "You're too short!"

"I'm not short," He counters, "You're short."

"Only someone who is short would say that," Rosalie huffs and tries again, the pair oblivious to my soft laughter. She tries again, but even with her arms extended and Vincenzo as physically close to the tree as he can get, she's a few inches short. The little girl lets out a sigh, "We need someone taller."

Vincenzo sets Rosalie down carefully. She spins in my direction. My job, as assigned by Rosalie herself, was to determine if the star was aligned with the rest of the tree. She brushes a strand of hair away from her face, glances past me, and I watch her smile grow. "Mr. Diavolo and Carmen have to kiss!"

Gabriel and Carmen stand underneath the archway together. It's the first time I've seen him all day. A baseball cap sits low on Gabriel's forehead, the lighting being the determining factor on how much of his face you see. If he isn't wearing a hat, he's wearing a hood—but never will you find him without one or the other. He can hide behind it. He feels as though he's safe under it. I was starting to understand that it was his comfort, in somehow, someway.

Carmen glances upwards, and our eyes meet at the perfectly situated mistletoe that hangs above them.

Gabriel doesn't acknowledge it. We follow his finger point to the top of the tree. A single word being enough to get his thought across, "Star."

Rosalie glances down at the final ornament in her hand. She smiles again and holds it out, "Mr. Diavolo, can you help me put the star on the tree? I think you're tall enough. My dad is too short."

Vincenzo scoffs, but I'm not sure at which part. "Rosie, we've talked about this, you don't have to call him Mr. Diavolo. His name is Gabriel."

Gabriel approaches slowly, each step leading him closer to Rosalie. She tenses. He's quiet, hardly sharing a word with not only her, but any of the others all week. I couldn't figure out where he was spending his time, but it wasn't here. She shoots a quick glance in Vincenzo's direction, then in mine. She thinks he might hurt her, but the look on both Vincenzo and I's faces suggests that he won't, that he would never. He stops in front of her and stares the little girl down, underneath the brim of his hat.

"I'm Rosalie," She says quietly, forced to look up, "In case you forgot. I killed Mr. Rostov's son and you're scary, so if you hurt me or my dad or any of my uncles, aunts, and Ms. Faith, I'll kill you too." Rosalie holds the star up, "But I do need help with my star."

"Star." Gabriel repeats.

"Yeah, it's a star."

Gabriel shakes his head slowly, "No, you."

He walks past her, never seeing the smile that lights up her face when it clicks. She's the star. And we watch as Gabriel positions himself in front of the tree and lowers himself to a knee. Rosalie approaches slowly as he waits and warns him before she scrambles onto his back. He assists her into position, one leg drooping over his shoulder before the other follows. Gabriel rises to his full height. Rosalie reaches forward and easily sets the star on the tree. She quickly connects one cord with the other, as Vincenzo instructed earlier, and Gabriel steps back for her to enjoy her hard work.

Rosie claps, elated. "Dad, look!"

"It looks beautiful, Rosie."

Gabriel sets Rosalie down, and the second her feet hit the plush rug, she begins to dart out the room, "I have to show Liam!" Vincenzo follows her, but not before offering Gabriel a gentle smile, a silent thank you. Carmen smiles, only following when Liam's voice shouts out from the foyer, suggesting Federico might have pulled in. She rushes out to see if the warning is a real one, and if so, to grab to cake in preparation for Rico's surprise.

The time we have together is short, him being the most talkative when we're alone. "How are you doing?" I ask Gabriel. He remains on one knee, watching the exit everyone took. He doesn't glance my way until he's risen to his feet, a hand on his chest, a wince twisting his lips once he finally stood.

"Fine," He tells me.

"I haven't seen you all day today, and I barely saw you yesterday." I watch his face, at least the parts of it I can see, in hopes that it will tell me something Gabriel won't. "Everyone wants you here, Gabriel, and I don't want to make any assumptions, but please do not tell me that you've been staying out of the house because you feel like you're in the way."

I'm starting to understand him. His silence, in any other moment, wouldn't have worried me. But this one confirms my assumption. All I can do is let out a disappointed sigh, "Gabriel—"

He keeps his eyes trained on the archway, on the mistletoe. "I would've died for him," Gabriel says softly. "For Veleno."

I don't stop watching him, but I know I'm going to regret asking. "You didn't know him. Why would you die for someone you didn't even know?"

It's the first time he looks at me, "Because then you would've only lost one assassin." Gabriel doesn't need to say the name of the other he references, but I know. We all know. "Now you've lost two."

The shouting erupts from the foyer before I can form my lips in response. "He's here, he's here!" Gabriel slips out the room first, and by the time I turn the corner, Federico is coming through the front door. The group has gathered in a half-moon, balloons in some hands, party-blowers in others. There's a series of shouts, from happy birthday! to surprise! Rico drops his keys and visibly jumps, startled, surprised.

Rosalie leads the off-key rendition of the happy birthday song with pride, only backing away from her uncle as Carmen steps forward with his personalized cake, the glow of the candles being the only light on in the home. He does his best to spot the faces in the small crowd, eyes drifting over his parents in the back corner, an arm around each other, a smile on both of their faces. He spots Rosalie's grin, and Liam, who stands behind her, hands on her shoulders. He sees me, and Gabriel who lurks even further behind me. His eyes lift to the stairs. Someone standing on the second-floor landing, watching it all from above. Crixus.

"Happy Birthday, Rico," Carmen extends her arms, positioning the cake close to him. "Make a wish."

He lets out a nervous laugh. "I've—I've never had a party before, you know, to celebrate...me."

Carmen's response is nearly inaudible. "I know."

Federico eyes the cake carefully, trying to decide what his wish will be. "Wait, whose idea was this? Was it yours?" Carmen smiles, knowing it wasn't her. Or Liam. Or me. Or his parents—but probably, in all truthfulness, the last person he would have ever expected. And maybe that's why the smile that tugs at his lips when Vincenzo navigates the small group, approaching him with a cone-shaped party hat in his hands, is so special.

"If it was the last thing I could do," Vincenzo nudges him, "I would've done it for you." He secures the party-hat to Federico's head with a laugh. "Happy Birthday, Rico." It looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn't, stepping back just enough for Federico to blow out his candles.

Rosalie exhales her deepest breath into the party-blower, the shrill ringing in the ear of everyone, but doing the most damage to the person she's closest to. Federico. He asks her to hand him one. She does. And with the party hat beginning to tilt on his head, a party-blower resting between his lips, and the smile that threatens to pull them apart suggests he's the happiest birthday boy ever.

The laughter, the murmur of conversation, never fades. Even as the party moves into the kitchen, everyone serving themselves with slices of pizza, cake, and drinks. The laughter only intensifies when we move into the living room, each of us finding a seat comfortable enough to watch the 1966 animated version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

The Santiago's took the couch, Federico sitting in between his mother and he father. He scoots over when Carmen enters the room, a plate of food in her hands. She wants to protest, but when Anthony moves to the side, opening up a space for her beside Federico, she smiles and joins. Vincenzo and Rosalie are on the floor, pulling their attention away from the television just long enough to silently fight over whose legs will be on top of whose. Vincenzo wins with a smile, and Rosalie giggles, content, despite his weight crushing her. I curl against Liam's shoulder, my legs draped over the arm of the large, round sofa chair in the corner. He slouches beneath me, one hand on his plate, the other across my hip, keeping me in his lap.

We were only missing two people. Gabriel and Crixus.

"I'm going to be the one to say it," Federico takes another bite of food, "But the Grinch was never the bad guy."

Grace slaps his shoulder, bewildered, "Rico! He stole Christmas!"

"Mom," His eyes roll over to her as the movie continues to play, "He moved to a mountain and could still hear them singing. They were doing way too much." Federico glances over at Carmen, "Please don't tell me you agree with her."

Carmen's smile is a shy one, "Sorry, Rico. I mean, I might have been on your side if he didn't strip down all their lights, take their Christmas trees, roll up their rugs, and leave them with nothing—not even ice-cubes."

Federico presses his palm into the side of Carmen's head and shoves her playfully. She can do nothing but laugh.

"He could have killed them," Vincenzo pitches in before taking a sip of his drink. "I know I would have—"

"Dad!" Rosalie hits him in the bicep. She pulls away, shaking her hand. Clearly, she doesn't agree.

"Anthony, you're smiling, please don't tell me you agree with our son." Grace leans forward, doing her best to make eye contact with her husband.

Anthony draws a cup to his lips. The sip is slow, but the eye contact he makes with Vincenzo is hard to miss. The two lift their cups in a toast from across the room. His silent agreement with Vincenzo is enough to make the fallen king laugh. Anthony hides his smile behind the rim of his cup, but the chuckle he lets out when Grace reaches across Federico's lap to slap his arm, is loud.

"I know your parents raised you to be a kind, thoughtful, and sensible human being," Grace's eyes reach past me, falling on Liam. "Who do you think the villain is? The Grinch or Whoville?"

"Sorry Mrs. Santiago," Liam shifts in the chair, his hand tightening the grip he has on my waist, "But I would've wiped Whoville out."

She blinks. Her expression of disappointment is so blatant that Liam laughs out loud. Grace looks at me. "You're my last chance, Faith. Who do you think is the bad guy?"

"They both are." I tell her calmly, "I would have killed them both. That way, nobody has a problem."

"Oh," Grace falls against the sofa with a sigh, "This generation is fucked."

The room breaks out in a fit of faint laughter as the movie continues to play. Even as short as it is in duration, I feel my eyes growing heavy. With Liam's arm draped across my lap and my head, resting in the crook of his neck, sleep is threatening. Somewhere between reality and unconsciousness I hear Rosalie ask if they can save the rest of the movie for later, the room stirring as she scrambles up and asks Federico if he wants to play Mario Kart with her. The two spend a few minutes setting the game up while the others engage in low conversation about how different this Christmas feels in comparison to the ones spent in the OA.

But nobody notices Gabriel slip into the kitchen, as silent as silent can be. He tugs his hat lower over his forehead and glances inside the room, momentarily watching Federico and Rosalie tease each other as they hook up the gaming console. He rests a chocolate chip cookie between his lips before grabbing two more, wrapping and securing them inside a napkin. And as quietly as he came, he's gone.

I pat Liam underneath me, lowering my voice so only he can hear. "I need to use the restroom. I'll be right back." He releases me after a squeeze, but whatever he has to say is drowned out by Rosalie, telling Vincenzo, Anthony, and Federico that they have no choice but to play with her.

I slip out the room. Gabriel is already gone. I had lied. I didn't need to use to bathroom. I cross the foyer and ascend the stairs quickly, but quietly. The second floor is dark, lonely, the only light piercing out from under Crixus's bedroom door. I hold my breath, silence my steps, and push his door open half an inch.

Crixus lies in bed, his arm positioned as his pillow. Eyes closed. The warm light from his nightstand reflects off his youthful face, and the tears that stain his cheeks. His breathing is slow and shallow, the television—low in volume, playing one of the three Home Alone movies. But the cookies that sit on the mattress, wrapped in the same napkin Gabriel had folded earlier, confirms my theory. He had gotten them for Crixus. I smile, and pull the door shut.

The room is in shambles by the time I return. There's screaming. There's laughter. Even Carmen, Grace, and Liam are standing, each cheering for someone different to win the race. Whoever is in first place gets rocked with a blue shell. Anthony stands up, "What the fuck was th—"

Rosalie smiles, eyes still glued to her character. "Sorry, Mr. Anthony. Princess Peach is the best. You'll learn."

"Period," Liam declares with a smile. Anthony shoots him a brief dagger. All Liam can do is clap him on the back in support.

Carmen nudges me, silently nodding towards the kitchen. We exit out the back together and rejoin in the kitchen. I lean against the counter and close an empty box of pizza as she fumbles inside some bags in the corner. She sets them down on the counter. Five or six Gingerbread house kits waiting to be assembled.

Carmen tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and smiles. She talks low, "Rico and I went to the store earlier this week and picked these up. I thought it would be fun to do tonight."

The shouting from the living room grows louder than before. Carmen and I look inside, just in time to see Rosalie come in first. Vincenzo in second. The two perform a quick, short synchronized danced that they had to have practiced. Federico interrupts their moment, refusing to let them dance in front of him, a loser.

He nudges Vincenzo. "Dad, look," Rico points to the character selection screen. To the monkey, in particular. "You're in the game."

Everyone laughs. Everyone except Anthony. Federico misses the look sent his way.

I turn back to Carmen, but she still watches them, watches him. Federico is laughing, despite Vincenzo having positioned him in a revenge chokehold. The assassin fights i,t somewhat weakly, and begs Vincenzo to release him. That he was sorry for comparing him to Donkey Kong. I wonder if Federico realizes how many times he calls Vincenzo dad in his plea to escape.

"It's weird," Carmen's voice is soft, but enough to draw my attention back to her. "I love doing the little things, the basic things, with him. He makes going to the store fun. He makes me laugh even when he's just pumping gas. He's so sweet. And gentle, he's really gentle." She pauses again as the noise levels rise in the other room. "Faith, I think I'm scared."

"Love can do that."

"But I've always loved him," Carmen groans and rests her head on the cool countertop. She pretends to bang her head on the marble before lifting it, her eyes meeting mine, "I've always loved him. And I know, I know Federico is the last person to ever hurt me, so I don't understand why suddenly, I'm scared."

"You've always loved him," I slide closer to her, positioning myself so I can watch the group rematch another race. I tilt my head towards her, "The problem is, you feel vulnerable now because you had sex with him. But Carmen, that man loves you and you love him so whatever voice you're hearing that's trying to convince you otherwise or suggest that he's going to hurt you, tell her to shut up. You deserve it. You're worthy of love. And you're beautiful. The only people that can mess this up are you two."

"No pressure."

I fight a laugh, "Carmen, honestly, if you had to choose anybody, you chose really well."

She grins, proud of herself, "He is handsome, isn't he?"

Federico comes into view.

"He is pretty fine," I agree.

"I mean," Her shoulder bumps mine again as Liam steps into the picture. "Let me give you your credit, you didn't do too bad yourself.

Liam breaks out in a wide grin at the perfect time.

"He is..." I think of an appropriate term to describe him, "...extremely handsome."

"Girl, he's fine as hell." Carmen sighs, eyeing my man. "You know, respectfully."

Our snickering manages to grab Federico and Liam's attention. He waves at her. Liam waves at me. We wave back. They both smile and refocus on their game.

Carmen rests a hand on mine, and I look back at her. "I don't want to be annoying," She starts, "But did you ever take a pregnancy test? Or did the doctor tell you anything while you were there for... you know," She motions towards my head and my arm.

"I took a pregnancy test at the doctor." I look her in the eye, "I'm not pregnant."

She frowns, "But you were—"

"Carmen, I'm sorry."

She nods slowly, accepting my apology, but her previous excitement that bubbled underneath the surface is gone. I disappointed her. "Faith, you don't have to apologize. It's fine. I just got excited because I think you would be an incredible mom. And Liam would be an amazing dad. I've seen how he is with Rosie, and I would have loved to see how he would be to a son. But it's ok." She gives my hand a reassuring squeeze, "Come on, if you think Mario Kart is intense, let's see how they do with real competition."

Once their final race is over, the men join in to help us setting up for the next activity. Rosalie pushes the sofa with everything she has but doesn't see Liam and Vincenzo assisting her on both sides. When she stands, she believes she's moved it all on her lonesome—and Federico doesn't help by hyping her up, pretending as though she did. They pull a table in from the other room. Carmen spreads the kits apart evenly, each one getting utensils needed for construction. She pulls out her phone as the group gathers around.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are going to be making Gingerbread Houses," Carmen paces slowly, all eyes on her. "The teams are, as listed," She unlocks her phone and scrolls down, "Liam and Faith, Me and Rico, Vince and Rosie, and Grace and Anthony. The timer will start counting down from ten minutes. The best gingerbread house wins." Carmen frowns, "What, Rico?"

Federico slowly lowers his hand. "What do we win?"

"My love and affection," Carmen answers sarcastically. Federico smiles, "Whatever you're about to say, don't. We're playing for bragging rights, that should be enough."

Everyone pairs up as low, hushed conversation begins to rise as each team prepares a gameplan. Grace smiles at Anthony, "Follow my lead?" His nod, paired with the faintest smile, is his confirmation. Rosalie tells Vince she will work on the decorations, while he builds the house. They high-five. Carmen and Federico quietly join, him listening intently as she whispers her plan. They glance at Liam and I when they're done.

"What? No gameplan?" Carmen questions.

Liam settles in behind me, arms forming around my waist as he rests his head on my shoulder. We answer her at the same time, "Sorry, we don't talk to second place."

The two are about to spit out a witty, quickly timed comeback when they catch movement from over our shoulders. The room turns, noticing Crixus as he stands underneath the doorway. He looks tired, like his short nap did nothing for him. The boy steps into the room, eyeing the table we all circle. "What are you guys doing?"

"Gingerbread houses," Carmen answers.

"You can help," Grace offers. Crixus walks in, getting a closer look at the supplies on the tables. He pauses, running a hand down his arm. "Help me and your father. I think you'll have fun."

Crixus steps back, already shaking his head. "You're in teams of two. I'll be making it unfair. It's okay—"

Carmen claps, startling Crixus. She motions towards the doorway as Gabriel decides to quietly join us. "You and Gabriel," She tells him, "I think you two will make a good team."

Crixus grumbles beneath his breath.

Federico excuses himself past us and joins Gabriels side. He leads Gabriel into the room while leaning into his ear, briefly explaining what's going on. Crixus quietly stands beside the remaining, extra kit and waits. Gabriel comes to stand beside Crixus. Federico returns to Carmen's side as the room watches the two.

Crixus looks at Gabriel. Gabriel looks at Crixus. They both look at the gingerbread house they've been forced to work on together, in a desperate, last second attempt to get them involved in an activity. They both look away. Gabriel's hands find the deepest parts of his pockets. Crixus, clinging to himself in a personal hug.

Carmen dramatically rests her phone down and lifts a finger, "We start in three, two—"

"Wait." The room looks at Crixus. He backs away, "Never mind. I don't want to. Not with him." Crixus sends Gabriel a quick glance before tearing his eyes away, darting from one part of the room to another. "He doesn't belong here. Nobody wants to say it, but it's true He doesn't belong here. Veggie does. Gabriel is the one nobody wants, and nobody ever will—"

Gabriel steps to the side as Crixus storms away.

"Crixus Josiah—" He tenses at the sound of his name, at the disappointment that laces his mother's words. He stops halfway between Gabriel and the exit, turning just enough to catch his mother's expression. "Apologize, right now."

"Why?" He throws up two hands, exasperated. "You said I never had to apologize if I told the truth."

Nobody has an answer for him, and the room falls into an uncomfortable silence. And we watch as Crixus lets out a shaky breath and drags his hands over his face. He mumbles something incoherent. He accidentally makes eye contact with me, and what Gabriel said earlier slowly clicks. He had wished it was him, so that we would have only lost one assassin. Not two.

Crixus makes a quick exit. Gabriel remains behind, shifting nervously as the attention of the room falls on him. He tugs at his baseball cap, eyes trained on the exit Crixus took. Federico clears his throat. Vincenzo steps forward, "Gabriel, wait—"

The assassin follows the same path Crixus took, but turns left instead of right, without a word.

Somehow, Carmen's clap feels more awkward this time than motivating. She offers a weary smile, "We can check on them later. But for now," She does a dramatic motion with her hand, preparing to start the timer, "Best Gingerbread house wins, in three, two, one."

And as easily as we were distracted, we find ourselves refocused as our ten-minute timer begins. Liam and I work silently, but efficiently, both of us choosing a separate task and focusing on it. It worked for us, even with me having one arm in a sling. Our smiles grow at the sound of chaos somewhere down the line. Rosalie accidentally knocked over the wall Vincenzo had just put up. He was whisper yelling at her. Grace was in charge of her team, her orders short and distinct. Anthony obeyed every single one without fail. Carmen and Federico were the biggest distraction. His quiet commentary laced with sarcasm had Carmen doubled over in tears. She could barely work.

"Done!" I shout as the timer rings. I clap Liam's hand in a high-five.

Carmen shoves Federico and wipes the tears from her eyes. "You distracted me!"

"We didn't do terrible," Rico responds, chewing on a piece of candy. He motions towards their unfinished gingerbread house. It's missing a roof. "Maybe the people renting like sleeping under the stars?"

Rosalie and Vincenzo didn't do much better. In fact, they did worse. Their house was hardly that at all, the four walls still lying separately on the table. They had at least tried to stick them together. The two smile and pick at another pile of candy, laughing together as they eat more. Grace and Anthony's home was complete, paired with candy decorations and even a walkway lined with candy canes.

The group backs away from the table, while Carmen scrambles out of the room for something. With Carmen and Federico eliminated, along with Vincenzo and Rosalie, the vote for the best gingerbread house—Ours or the Santiago's—is put to paper. Everyone submits the winning house and their folded paper to Carmen, who tallies them one at a time. She returns from the corner of the room, smiling wide.

"The Luciano's win." She winks at me, a slick reminder of what she believes my last name should be.

There's a series of congratulations and laughs as everyone helps clear and clean the room. Grace helps Carmen take the houses and leftover candy into the kitchen. Vincenzo and Federico team up to carry the table back to where it belongs. Liam and Rosalie pull the sofa back into place—Liam doing more of the work as she scrambles away, screaming something about a Mario rematch. I catch Anthony leave, heading in the same direction Crixus did earlier. I follow him until I reach the archway, where the foyer and living room meet, and watch as he slowly climbs the steps to find and talk to his youngest. I glance behind me, and while the others are occupied, head in the same direction Gabriel had.

I find Gabriel in the same room everyone goes to when searching for peace, for quiet. It's tucked away in the corner of the home, known only to those who desperately search for it. The piano sits in the middle of the room, a comfortable rug tucked safely underneath it. Floor to ceiling windows stretch across two conjoining walls, shades drawn. Moonlight drapes itself across the piano, the instrument shimmering in the light. Gabriel sits on the bench. His baseball cap sits beside him.

"Congratulations," I shut the door slowly behind me, waiting until I hear the click, until Gabriel acknowledges my voice. He shifts. "You found the best room in the house."

The assassin keeps his back to me, but somehow times my approach perfectly. He plucks the hat off the bench, a wordless invitation to join him. I do.

"I'm sorry about Crixus," The room is so peaceful, so quiet that it almost forces you to speak softly, to never let a word rise above a whisper. Our shoulders brush together and I scoot closer to the edge. He does, too. "What he said isn't true. People are happy you're here. Happy you're safe."

Gabriel releases a breath, the only indication that he heard me. He fumbles with his baseball cap, twisting and rotating it in a variety of ways as the silence draws on. I reach for it, for the hat, and he stops, allowing for me to pull it from him. I put the hat on and spin to him, nearly smacking him with the cap. "How do I look?"

"Ugly."

I ball up my good hand and hit his shoulder. "You didn't even look at me."

Gabriel looks at me, a smile threatening. "Still ugly."

I suck air in through my teeth and remove the hat. He does his best to turn to me and lowers his head just enough for me to secure the cap back on his head. "I saw you give Crixus some chocolate chip cookies."

Gabriel leans away, briefly pulling the brim of the hat further over his face. It hides his forehead, his eyes. He turns to face the piano. "It's his favorite."

"How did you know?"

His response is delayed. "You learn a lot, just listening."

Gabriel watches the moonlight from behind the piano as it disappears and reappears, sending the room into darkness and drawing it—somewhat—back into the light. We sit together. We watch it together. We enjoy the room together. The moonlight vanishes once more, this time taking the light away for longer than ever before. My eyes adjust and I start to play the beginning of a song Federico had taught me on the piano—happy birthday, using all black keys. I mess up shortly into it, but Gabriel motions towards the piano, silently asking I try again.

He watches each attempt, eyes darting from one finger to the other as I try to recall the exact sequence. I pull my hand away when I mess up the third time. Gabriel claps for me. It's a soft clap, his eyes still trying to trace the path my fingers took over the keys.

"Why did you save Liam's life?"

His focus snaps away from the keys to the moonlight that returns, then to me.

"Liam said it in Russia," I continue softly. His eyes fall to my lips as they move, carefully reading each word. "You knew Valentin was already dead. You blew the house up right when Liam made an irrational decision, even though I still believe it was the right one, and put us all in harm's way. I'm just curious why. Why did you save him?"

His answer is simple. "You love him."

"Do you even understand that?" I ask it despite knowing the answer. "Understand love?"

Gabriel shakes his head and looks away. "No, I just know you do."

I poke his shoulder, forcing his eyes to snap back to mine. "Do you know why I saved yours? Why I saved you?"

Gabriel smiles, his voice as low as mine. "Because you love me?"

"No," My laugh drowns out the sound of his quiet one. His shoulders shake softly. I slide out from under the bench and stand up, raking a hand through my hair. By the time I turn around, he's done the same, palms pressing into the wooden bench, eyeing me. "We're definitely going to work on your definition of love. Gabriel, I saved your life because you saved mine. That's what you do. That's what we do. It's called loyalty."

He watches me, the veins in his arms being to define themselves as his grip on the bench tightens. When another beat of silence passes, I offer him a smile, and head towards the door to rejoin the party. He watches me the entire way, fighting within himself to either speak up or stay silent. I don't know which demon wins.

The bench creaks as Gabriel stands. "Loyalty." The voice does not sound like his own. Timid and meek. The assassin is not as confusing as I once thought, because the voice that states it, is that of Diavolo. Dripped in confidence. Lacking all hesitation. My back remains to him. He doesn't see my smile. Because one day the one will embrace the other, protect the other, love the other—one no longer seen as the damaged, the other as the consequence. They'll accept each other. He will accept himself, and the two will become one. "Loyalty." I hear him take a step. And I can just see him, half draped in light, half in darkness. "What do you call it?"

I turn around.

And look Diavolo in the eye.

"Leatlá."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

a/n: management has decided to push the final chapter of potere back 1 week. the final chapter will post Thursday, March 28th between 6-6:30EST.

you will thank me for the break later.