CROFF

Later that day, Croff takes Josi out to a botanical garden. He has been tasked with keeping his eye on her while Idris manages the conflict at bay. He's wary around her, but is also undoubtedly worried. So he stalks somewhere far behind Josi and watches her tour the garden.

To say Croff was distressed is an understatement. Witnessing the blood drain free from that grotesque wound. Watching the life quickly fade from her eyes. The knife lodged so deep in her flesh. The icy feel of her skin. He'd practically teleported Josi to the hospital with the way he ran with her in his arms.

Croff hasn't been this frightened in years — not since he was locked up in that hellhole. The possibility of losing Josi has never truly occurred to him, but now it's as much of a reality as his feelings are. There was no time for rest, not while Josi laid unconscious for hours, which eventually turned to days. He'd even charged himself with watching over Idris — an excuse he fabricated so he could check in on Josi without much suspicion.

There was anger. Anger at the supposed perpetrator. But Idris beat him to it. He'd shot Emilio somewhere nonlethal, then dragged him down to the underground chamber for what Croff knows was payback. It's sill unclear if Emilio's body is there. The last Croff saw of him, he'd been mutilated down to his bones, eyes wide open in shock from the torture Idris put him through.

Josi has a message she wants to relay to Croff, but he's too far away to do so. Instead, she motions towards the area where the restrooms are, then leaves before Croff can confirm with her. He breathes a sigh and takes a seat on the steps leading down to the pond enclosure.

How tiring love is. So confounding and peculiar. A woman he knows he can't and will never have — the same woman who has caused him nights with no rest. What is it about Josi that makes him feel this way, this lost and hopeless. There are plenty women out there, ones he knows will give him more attention than Josi ever has. Still, he's stuck on her. He wants the attention solely from Josi. But that will never come to pass for obvious reasons.

Croff is pulled back to his senses by a tap on his shoulder. Josi is there with a hand over her stomach. "I need the painkillers."

Croff hands it to her with no more than a nod for acknowledgement. He doesn't even look at her — just keeps his eyes on the wide pond ahead.

Josi notices this and goes quiet, then says, with no conviction, "Is this how you treat a woman in pain? You're so heartless."

Croff shuts his eyes and sighs. He knows there's no weight behind her words. She said it to provoke a response out of him. And it works. He pats the empty spot next to him with eyes still ahead.

Josi smiles and steps closer, but doesn't take a seat just yet. Croff is puzzled at first, until she points to the space between his legs with nothing short of entitlement.

"I want to sit there."

Croff is so staggered, he can't even think - and he isn't given the chance to do so either. Josi makes herself comfortable between his legs, her back to his chest, as though it were a common gesture between the two. And Croff just lets it happen.

The two are doused in silence, rollicking in the ebb and flow of the wind, captured by the calming view before them. The lily pads come in green and yellow shades, with flowers in pink flourishing in the center. The rest of the garden can be seen behind the pond, but only it alone draws their attention.

"How's the injury?" Croff asks.

Josi looks down at the wounded area. "Doctor said I shouldn't exert too much energy or the stitches will weaken. Other than that, it's doing great."

Relief washes over Croff, much more than he would like. Until Josi shatters it. "That means you're gonna have to carry me back to the car."

"Why do I have to?"

"Because of my stitches, Croff."

But Croff disregards that fact. "You were fine walking just a moment ago."

"Well, now I'm not. What if I tripped and the wound tore open? I'd bleed all over."

This silences Croff, though he clearly still has some qualms with Josi's suggestion. He exhales once again and under his breath, mutters, "So dramatic."

Josi finds some humor in this and chuckles. The wind sweeps past her body in wisps that conjure goosebumps down her skin. She leans closer into Croff for some warmth and buries her head against his chest, trying to escape the frigid weather. Then she releases a labored breath and sinks back into her mind where Croff wants to follow her. He wants to know what truly goes on in there. He wishes he could understand Josi on levels deeper than what she allows him believe.

"I'm so tired, Croff." She says to him in a tone too fatigued.

Croff could spare some words of consolation, to ease some of the turmoil within. But he knows she won't appreciate the gesture as much as she would if he were someone else. If he were the man she truly wished was by her side.

Croff's face grows dim. This is the truth he's avoided tirelessly. The one he knows will decimate his self-worth if he comes to terms with it. But now he opens up that festered wound because the time to do so is past due. And as he sits there with Josi buried against his body, he realizes the nature of their relationship was never anything but what it currently is. An unrequited love.

Croff hangs his head low. There's no space for him in Josi's heart. He never stood a chance.

As if to rub more salt into Croff's blistering wound, Josi grabs his hand and intertwines it with hers, absorbing some of the chill left by the wind. And now they resemble the perfect couple.

Josi squeezes his hand tight. "You make me feel so much better."

Seven words that make his heart flip upside-down. Croff knows these words may be as authentic as her feelings for him, yet he clings to them, as if their worth will somehow grow in value if he does so. How pathetic. How truly pitiful.

Croff doesn't let go of Josi's hand. He doesn't leave that spot behind her body either. He sits there and acts as her shield against the cold. Because it's all he'll ever be.

ALVIZE

The nerve of Idris Verdonni. The excruciating gall of that mad man. Is this how things have taken form? Is this the result of the partnership with which, for the longest time, was thought to be purely transactional?

A future built with the man he'd once considered a true business expert. It has been trampled and shredded into disparaging pieces — not even given the dignity of a funeral. Now that man has turned into a mutt. A lowly dog who bit the hand that tried to feed it.

Alvize gave Idris the benefit of the doubt. That benefit was much for himself though, because his profit from that partnership was sure to boost his income. Drug trafficking is one of the leading forms of business underground. If he had his hands on that gold mind, he would have lived it bigger. Larger. Greater than he ever has. So he allowed the serpent into his home. After all, not all snakes are poisonous. How incredibly foolish Alvize was.

It started as soon as that image of Emilio was sent to him. Emilio, his long-time guard. One of his own. He'd been mutilated so terribly Alvize could barely even make him out. At first, he'd thought it couldn't possibly be what the image was insinuating. That Idris Night Verdonni couldn't possibly have turned into his enemy after such a short-lived partnership. But the message that came with it was as clear as any cloudless sky.

You're next.

Confusion like never before. Rage like the rest of the times he's been pushed to the edge. Idris Verdonni has inflicted a wound that may be small enough to lick, but certainly will not fly by Alvize Tesoro.

And so he took on the challenge head first. If Idris wants war then he will hand it over to him on a silver platter. But violence has never been what Alvize was all about. Sure, he insights such mayhem on those he considers his enemies. But before anything vicious, he wraps his fingers around them loosely at first, then increases the pressure as the seconds tick by, like a rodent caught in a serpent's trap.

And the trap Alvize has set will break Idris more brutally than a mere rodent. His plan is to hit him where it will hurt most. Where it will leave a scar too unsightly.

"We're not tearing it down from the inside out, but from the whole damn perimeter." Alvize says, his hands in fixed fists ready for brawling.

The man he has in the room with him has been his confidant for years. He's as outraged as Alvize is, because a lost comrade is something they don't take lightly. Especially with a reason that still remains unknown. To Alvize and his confidant, Carlos, Emilio's death was with no just cause. But their retaliation certainly won't be for naught.

"I need his network demolished, Carlos. I need it all severed — from the venues he sells in down to the warehouses he uses for manufacturing. I need it all gone."

Carlos sends a hand over his graying hair that carries more age than the rest of his face, though it remains wrinkled. "We're working on that. In the meantime, why don't we start setting up a direct attack? It will hit twice as hard when he's hit on both sides."

Alvize thinks it's a good idea. A marvelous one. If there's one thing the partnership with Idris taught him, it's that the Verdonni family is in dire need of security. They're weakened. They've become a target ripe for ambushing. And so he will take that chance. Exploit their weakness. Hit him where it will hurt most. He knows it will take time, but what is revenge if not a diligent plot?

Alvize will not calm down until the Verdonni family has met their end. Until Idris Night Verdonni is nothing but a name lost in history. He will carve out his blackened heart and feed it to him.

"That fool has no idea what's coming for him."

Carlos agrees. He will scour every inch of New York and dig up every last one of Idris's storefront. He will lay waste to every joint until there is no more proof of the supply chain.

And then they will watch Idris grovel like the subhuman he is. He will lose the very war he started.

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