AKILA'S POV

Removing the last paper off Alessandro's poor bed I constantly messed with my paperwork and files, my thoughts dragged me back, one night before when my name was introduced to many new faces, ordered to follow and respect me as Akila Lorzeno and not the invisible Venom no one knew what she looked like.

It was strange, desperate from my last twenty-four years of living. At that point, they knew my name, my real name and where I came from, whose blood ran in my veins and pumped my cruel heart if it still exists.

A sigh managed to ease that thought, my instants glad and secure that my face remained hidden, a mystery and a riddle to those who are curious, those whose eyes wandered around and found nothing.

I could have walked into that room, spoken for myself, threatened their lives in their homeland and no one would've uttered a word but I knew better than that.

Power could be gained much easier than some warnings and bluffing and if I was planning to kill one, I wasn't about to stand there and give some speech, I'd aim, hit my shot and walk off.

On the other hand, I was now a huge image of Alessandro.

He admitted working with me, standing and choosing my side, a side of the woman who blew up their warehouse a year ago and turned their holy court into dust a year later. I will never forget the ball night.

My lips edged to one side and I swung the door open. The ball must've been the favourite of my long history with explorations and bombing shit. That night, I'd show Alessandro my castle. I'd allow one and only human into my home, the place I've built brick by brick.

We also fucked that night, I took him into my bedroom, and we stayed up for hours until the sun rose, yet we continued, unable to stop, to take our hands off each other.

A soft giggle vibrated my chest at the memory when we both burst out laughing at the sun creeping through the heavy clouds.

It was crazy how everything between us changed that day, how everything between us tore apart and rebuilt, led us to one another, led us to this new life, few feelings and dreams, dreams of eternity, of a lifetime in another world enough for us, for our story and legends far deeper and stronger than earth.

One year. A voice whispered in the back of my mind. One year ago I was in my house, waiting for Alessandro and his two friends to find Lydia and start searching for more, for me. A year and three days ago, I saw him up close and he saw me for the first time. Tied in his basement after my plan worked, a year and three days since I finally confessed how handsome he was, how something about him pulled me in like open gates, welcoming me in with a gold invitation.

But I kept that part away, locked and far away and distant that I've forgotten, I've gone on with our new shared life and fell in love with him.

He was so flustered when I first told him, when I first spoke the three words out loud, ones he felt long before I did, long before I knew.

I loved him and I said it. I truly felt and truly spoke, laying my emotions bare and raw, unfolding my heart and desires I thought were filled, were dead but he came in, crashed in and shook his head in disapproval. I guess he had other plans for my doomed soul.

It was funny how I was the one to plan, and set a beginning and ending while he lived day by day, dealing and thriving in Ity whatever was thrown at him and here we were, two people who didn't believe in love, seeing and went through so much that the idea seemed plain and fictional, not suitable for the things we did, the sins we committed with each step, yet, somehow, we found it. We found one another and began from there, beginning from a never-ending.

Everyone paused for a moment, acknowledging my presence and went back to their conversation while only a pair of emerald green eyes focused on mine, staring into my core and smiling at me.

I walked to the kitchen counter, looking through whatever they cooked for dinner. Being back in this house after a few weeks, maybe months, brought back too many memories, and flashbacks of many hectic moments from the past. These first few months I was here, sitting on the roof for Alessandro to sneak up next to me and spend a good silent hour or two together.

"Hey." His husky voice pulled and tucked away my thoughts in one place and faded. "Finished work already?" He touched my neck gently, his fingers brushing my curls out of my cheek as he pressed a small kiss on my cold skin.

My head leaned on his shoulder and he kissed down my throat and collarbone.

Before things got out of control, his grip firm around my waist, I shifted in his arms and faced him. "How are your men doing ?" I tried to show interest and support in any form of the people he looked after but he knew I didn't really care about his soldier and I would rather take this war alone or with him.

"You don't have to ask about them or care or support any of that. You standing here, doing all of this says enough, keeps me in dignity and sanity knowing I would go back into that room and find you." The way he spoke, about anything, using the right words and tone.

"And since when can you read my mind?" I teased, biting on my lower lip to hide my smile. "Just a quick guess." He rubbed his lips on mine and I immediately melted.

He laughed quietly, "Asshole." My hands unhooked around his neck and he brought them back, "I'm sorry." It didn't sound sincere to me. He laughed again, revealing a set of beautiful straight white teeth, brightening his face and dark features.

I would crawl next to you. It hunted me down. That crazy man, promising and telling me over and over about his life, his blood, his last breath wasted on me, his death in my hands where he leaves me in a universe to live instead of him, where he gave up his future for mine. It made me feel sick to my stomach, the worry, the unwanted sacrifice he was taking and giving me freely.

"What's wrong?" My face was back on, neutral and drained of emotions. "I'm not hungry." He let go of my waist, realizing something was up but I was not going to talk about it.

One of the things I never enjoyed, not telling him about that kind of stuff hurts just as much as it drowned his sad eyes. "I want to know and I want to ask, keep that in mind." His hands gripped and tugged on my hips to keep me rooted in my place, "Always, always remember I would love to hear you, listen to you all night long, talk about everything going through your mind and head, I will wait for you, and if you don't, I would still be waiting for you because I'm willing to wait with you, by your side than anything else." what have I ever done to deserve him.

I managed a quick nod before he took a step back and I stormed out of the kitchen for my head to continue arguing. Fun.

My legs drove me ahead of my old bedroom in a house where Alessandro kept us all in, under the same roof, next door to a—every morning—singing Armando in the shower and the three girls gossiping at night. I've seen a lot living with other human beings and I would like to say, never again.

Lately, I spent my time in Alessandro's room where I found most comfort. And since it was bigger and filled with his cologne, that mysterious scent I was dying for as if he used it to trap me.

He was my boyfriend after all. Boyfriend. Such an unusual word. The letters repeated once, twice in my mind, pounding and sending shivers down my spine. Boyfriend. I almost laughed out loud.

The sound of my groan reached the door cracking open, welcoming me back after a month of no visit. My eyes landed on the desk where a pen and a paper sat empty handed and the vision came back, what I was trying to write, to leave behind but Alessandro walked in, asking about packing his stuff before we flew out to Romania.

My arm stretched out, touching the wooden piece, slowly picking up the paper, the melt line and the dried ink.

So I finished what should've been written and ended a while ago. I dragged the chair and sat down, grabbing the abandoned pen and I wrote.

[V]

The grass sunk in between my neck, my exposed arms and my skin as my hair lay beside me. The moon appeared lonely in the sky, lonely and vulnerable without its glowing stars, its close ones and dear friends to assist in lighting our dull world.

My body felt numb, my bones and blood went still and motionless with the wind, long gone, leaving the weather to cool and warm.

Except for my hands, my grip on the paper now covered in ink, front and back, in promises I made and broke, in a request, one I needed to be made when I couldn't anymore.

Just thinking about that whole thing, war clinging to us, death waiting and the paper wrapped around my fingers, it made that night special to me.

So special I made myself proud, happy and settled with the choices I've made because, for the first and last time, I wouldn't be selfish like I was, I wouldn't be working on my own, for my own benefits.

Everything will change after battle, revolve so much that no one will recognize the past, their homes and faces, torn features in a broken mirror and I wondered, I wonder what he will recognize of me.

My palms hovered over my eyes, making the world seem darker than it already was. Too much cut was too much to take in, to accept and move on until the last given minute. I would crawl next to you.

Another person would listen in awe, admire his harmony while butterflies flushed rose—red on each cheek but not me. Me, I couldn't rest, couldn't walk a day without thinking about him and what was he possibly planning, what was he possibly planning to give up, how far.

Those who did the most, cared and protected closely with a warm heart, at some point, they don't just do the most, they do and give everything, including their lives, and their own self.

Alessandro. He walked in every room, every door knowing it could be his last, his death demanding a duel or Hell calling for a bargain yet he still roamed the world with no doubt, with courage and spirit, defying bravery and might be a step after another.

And those qualities, those remarkable and unforgettable aspects of him were golden. He was golden flames, kicking and burning while I was red, once I spilt on him, his pure golden heart stained with deep burgundy I brought upon him.

Unlike the past eleven years, I've lived by myself, by freedom, I've survived off the power, of that fulfilling chokehold I had on people, their fears and death but I didn't want this one.

Regardless of his good intentions, his unbreakable desire to risk and take the hit for me, no matter how romantic and genuine he was to die for me, I hated it.

I tried, I made sure my expressions and reactions unveiled my true colours about that one topic because I couldn't stand it. I couldn't figure out another path, another way so he got to live, to stop, to see, and pursue the incredible life waiting for him, his better side, his better fate, the fate and ending he truly deserves.

Not owning any control, any chance to discuss that with him was killing me, making it worse the closer we got. I couldn't go and ask him not to, it was his choice, his oath that no one can adjust, no one can break or even quiver for just a moment, a heartbeat where I could explore and twist his mind, his commitment and reform him into an egoistic creature who cares for nothing.

Because then, he would rather take the final blow, over and over, in every alternative and reality. He would seize and stand in front of the aim pointed and marked on me.

He would lose balance and fall, run out of blood, of heartbeats and slowly drift away in my arms while my lungs screen for him to wake up, to come back, look at me, tell me about the colour of my eyes, the soft curls of my hair and my bangs hung on top of my forehead the way he loved.

Tell me about the horrible things I made him go through, the vital things I caused him, the unforgettable life and feelings I gave him, the ones he promised we would live again, we would meet again, he would find me in another world, in a million ontology where every time, he will fall in love once again and dedicate his ghost to mine, centre and grow on me, my pulse and rhythm.

Even if I was going to choose, I didn't think I'd do that to him, pick against his wish because he decided, those were his decisions and I respected them, I value them no matter the pain, the shame and grief knocking on my door, banging with bloody knuckles on the other side for me to answer and absorb.

He wanted a peaceful death, and somehow, along our different sets of blurry lines, for him, that peace lay with me.

And I wouldn't be there either. He didn't know about Benvetti back then, he didn't know a lot of things which gave me a little hope, that maybe, just maybe by the slightest chance after he finds out, perhaps he will wait, have as much of a purpose to leave, but to stay.

Or maybe we'll all die in war, our ashes flying like dust, leaving nothing and no one behind.

I got on my feet, wrapping the shawl around my shoulders and hung onto that thought. Climbing up my window and standing in the middle of my old room, the paper was hidden in one drawer before I stepped back into the hallways.

It was past midnight, and everyone was sound asleep under their blankets, crossing out both of us.

My first assumption for the Italian Capo being up that late was me. I tried to convince him so many nights to sleep, get some rest and not wait for me but he refused every single time with a smiley no, and he told me the longer I stayed out of bed, the longer he didn't sleep so it was all in my hands.

He teased me about it and I usually glared back and sent him to sleep with muscular arms dominating my stomach and beneath.

Apparently, his best sleep was when he wrapped those large steel things around me and his head buried in my neck while his legs tangled with mine.

Sometimes he asked to poke them.

I heard the lights getting switched off downstairs, feeling myself smiling as I was going to be the first in bed. That didn't happen in a very long time unless I was locked in there running work and the constant mess I found myself in.

During these hours I spent alone with work and files, my head did something weird, unusual to the way I coped and the voices rambled in my brain.

What if. Those two words possessed every part of my mind, every step and second I drew in. It followed me around since we caught Armando in Bucharest.

It was loud and echoed, what if Armando never showed up, what if we never knew what happened to Emilion and Kira? What if Alessandro had no choice and watched his friends die, taken down while he stayed behind, stayed by my side, something I once again made him do when I never wanted it to happen?

I never wanted Alessandro to do half the things he'd done, not to himself and not to the ones he loved and cared for the most. I didn't want him to enter his home and meet no one, see nor hear their loud laughter, their stupid jokes that he never admitted how much they lightened his mood.

Alessandro lived many lives, he saw numerous good and bad and he was forced to keep going, adapt and shut his thoughts out. His father killed the little child in him, loading a tone of pressure, training and lessons about weapons and how to use one instead of teaching him about sports, instruments or even languages like a normal kid should get.

The days before his coronation, his only training partner was sent away along with his whole family because his bastard father couldn't protect them, and didn't care.

He woke up every day to work, achieve, succeed and be free from his father's power against him. Enzo was a control freak, I would be lying if Alessandro wasn't one himself but Alessandro liked everything under his groo, any dangerous situation or unplanned trouble so he could fix it on his own without hurting his men or them ruining things and even more whirl Enzo enjoyer using people's lives, deciding and picking out their deaths in a way that pleased him and only him.

He broke families apart just for the sake of it. He humiliated husbands and wives. He stole their children to put them on a heavy schedule, on a battlefield to waste. Whether they said accepted or refused, their kid was taken away and never came back. If they were lucky enough and returned, their parents would be dead.

In the first few years of knowing and learning about the Santoros, those years I was travelling to one country after another while Enzo was eager to kill me. I always wondered how Alessandro never picked up after his father's acts, his disgusting traits he found amusing.

Alessandro wasn't the type to feel sympathy for people but I saw him, I watched from up close, his fathers slaughtering women for going out, for having a single fun night. His face always remained plain, lifeless and unfazed by whatever cruelty his father was trying to plant inside him.

Alvaro sure did horrible, awful and unforgivable things to humans, skinned and murdered yet I've never caught him onto an innocent, playing with a harmless soul just for entertainment the way Enzo used to but he still didn't as an absolute pain in the ass who tortured bus workers with his unbearable anger issues which we discovered to have in common.

However, unlike him when he gets mad, shutting himself away or the whole place down into a bloodbath, I preferred to strike, spill blood and vanish it, removing any trait behind.

All of a sudden, the air felt strange, choking and uneasy as I counted the minutes and realized Alessandro had taken too long.

The windows of his office were wide open and that was when it hit me.

Benvetti was HERE.

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