xvii | don't call me angel

a/n: i know i said sunday on ig well .... I lied.

[ mention of rape ]

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Veleno, whose birthname is Immanuel Joel Santamaría, is a father.

I had all of twenty seconds to inform Carmen of everything that went down after we returned home with the mysterious woman – along with security for extra protection – in tow. Her hands were cuffed and wrenched behind her back when she was led inside our personal home. It was a bold and unsecure move, and I made sure Liam knew that before we transported her here, but he seemed confident – based on Veleno's odd silence and lack of eye contact – that she wasn't much of a threat, at least not to us.

Carmen had flown down the stairs to greet us, her smile wavering when her attention caught the rough appearance of the mysterious woman, and that's when I grabbed her by the arm and explained everything that happened from the moment the alarms were activated.

Now we sit side by side on the loveseat in Liam's crammed office, overlooking the ongoing interrogation. Two soldiers stand guard by the door, staring off into space, keen on what they hear and don't. Selective hearing is a must for men like them, that I've come to understand.

Veleno and the woman, who appears to have had better days, sit across from Liam like a married couple in therapy. Liam, on the other hand, leans forward in his seat, studying Veleno more than anybody else. He's discarded his suit jacket and has rolled the sleeves of his black dress shirt up his forearms. That's how I know he means business.

"Immanuel Joel Santamaría." Liam repeats the name the assassin has just revealed mere seconds ago. A name that rolls off the tongue of my favorite Italian in a manner so smooth I think Carmen and I forget to breathe for half a second. We glance at each other, and I can feel the silent appreciation pass between us.

I catch her smile out the corner of my eye.

I like her.

Liam turns his body toward the woman in the chair beside Immanuel, and I know she all about catches fire at the intensity of the gaze she's under. It also doesn't help that Liam's voice has dropped a full octave. "And your name?"

Her hand tightens around the same tissue she's been using since our soldiers threw her inside the SUV. "Savaughna."

"And how do you two know each other?"

"I met her at a club." I think everyone is surprised when Veleno speaks again. I wasn't expecting to hear his voice until this question and answer session with Savaughna was over. He's quiet though, an uncharacteristic version of him. He jams the stubs of his fingertips into the wood of the chair's armrest and casts his gaze to the floor. "She was there for some...party, I think, right? Model people, or whatever?"

Savaughna almost smiles when Veleno looks up in confirmation. "Yeah—" She turns back to Liam, "I used to runway model. I was in Italy for a show, and we went to a club afterwards. I met Immanuel, and..." She doesn't have to finish, for the rest is history.

Savaughna's model past doesn't surprise me. I didn't realize how tall she was until they escorted her into the SUV. She stood by Liam for only a second, but it was long enough to note that there wasn't much of a height discrepancy between the two. Liam's approximately 6'2, and Savaughna stood only a few inches shorter than that. She had to be about 5'11, 6'0 in heels, easily.

Her arms are long, but her legs are even longer. This woman could do anything and still make it look elegant. She has a thin, petite frame, and I wouldn't be surprised if half of her Instagram account is filled with body-shaming comments. Yet, despite the dirt and smudges of dried blood on her narrow face, she still manages to look halfway decent – so I can only imagine what she'd look like with clean clothes and minimal makeup.

There's no reason to question Veleno's attraction to Savaughna that night.

"I want to ask you something, Veleno." He presses the tips of his fingers on one hand to the other and pretends to be deep in thought, all while slowly twisting his chair from left to right. "Do you know what a condom is?"

The assassin looks away.

"No?" Liam sits up a little in his seat. "Let me say it in a way you may understand, then." His eyes narrow as he concentrates, searching deeply for the word he's trying to find. He snaps as it comes to mind. "Preservativo. Do you know what is? Do you know how to roll it on? Would you like me to show you?"

Veleno snorts out a breath of air. He doesn't find the slight humor in Liam's voice funny at all.

Ignoring all cues of annoyance, Liam reaches into the side drawer of his desk and slaps a packaged condom to the table. He twists his chair in a way that he faces the wall we sit nearest too, and glances over his shoulder at Veleno, who's watching with limited patience. His hand drops to his crotch as he yanks his zipper down.

"She said she was on birth control." Veleno snaps. He motions in a dismissive manner to his left, indicating Savaughna. And it's clear the leash of Liam's joke was pulled just a tad too tight, and the assassin's patience wore too thin.

Savaughna's eyebrows meet in the middle of her astonished expression. "And you said you had a condom."

"Well then I guess we both fucking lied then, huh?"

"Great." Liam yanks his zipper up so fast I'm surprised he doesn't get caught in it. He spins his chair around, tosses the condom back in his drawer, and slams that shut. He's irritated, emotionally drained, and looks like he's ready to climb in bed as soon as the clock strikes 6 this evening. "That leads me to my next question. You knew about the baby?"

"Three weeks post-hookup she flew back to Italy and told me she was pregnant," Veleno confirms.

"And while I was there, I also told him that I didn't want him to be in the baby's life." The woman interjects. She looks to her lap, which is covered in shredded tissue. Her nerves are getting the best of her. Tears form, causing her faint blue eyes to glisten underneath the harsh lighting of the office. "He told me what he was before I slept with him. I knew exactly what I was getting in bed with when I made the decision to sleep with him. But I was drunk, young, and stupid. I didn't think of the consequences. I never would've thought that the same man I had no plans of seeing again would be the father of my child."

Liam sighs. "How old's the baby?"

"She's five," Savaughna sniffles.

"And may I ask how old you are?"

"Twenty-five."

Liam looks up and over at Veleno, who's eyeing the crying woman as best he can. "And you, Immanuel?" He tenses every time he hears his name, but it manages to get his attention without fail, every single time.

"Same. Twenty-five."

And I hate how it all makes sense. I hate how in the span of three years, Veleno's life went to hell. He's only revealed so much to me, and it's never all at once. I know he killed his abusive and alcoholic father when he was only seventeen. He was nineteen when his girlfriend of three years threatened to go to the police about his work habits. He was nineteen when he put a bullet in her head. He couldn't have been much older than that when his eyesight was taken from him.

I can only imagine how he felt, and that's why a reckless hookup by someone like Veleno doesn't surprise me. He was just one of many using sex to temporarily stimulate the feeling of love that wasn't given to him at a young age.

"Can I ask why you didn't want him in your daughter's life?"

"This is exactly why." Savaughna angles her body around in the chair, managing to sneak a peak at the soldiers near the door, clutching AK's to their chest. Her eyes skim past Carmen and I, then land back on the man who questioned the decision she made five years ago. "I am sitting here because what I feared came true. I didn't want someone to come for my child because she was the daughter of some infamous Italian gang member, wannabe assassin—"

"Speak wisely, Savaughna, or I swear to Go—" Veleno's words come out in a threateningly low tone as he cranes his neck slightly, forcing his good eye to focus on the woman beside him.

He cuts himself short, something inside of him holding the last part of his sentence in. Veleno's teeth grind with one another as she shifts in his seat, turning his body away from Savaughna. He resumes tapping his fingertips against the armrest to ease his mind.

The woman turns back to Liam and her gaze softens. "You have to understand." And I can't say that Liam does, but as someone who once stood on the outside looking in, I know I do.

Liam neither confirms nor denies his feelings on her decision. It's not his place to speak on it, and that he does understand. "When did you realize your daughter was missing, Savaughna?"

"Three nights ago."

"Three—"

The woman rolls her eyes and sighs heavily. "I wasted the first two nights trying to deal with the police, but they're so goddamn busy shooting innocent people through the windows of their fucking home that they told me to wait it out." She scoots to the edge of her chair and leans forward, a simple move, yet the soldiers at the door take a half step forward to protect their boss. "But who says she has three nights? Who says she has four or five, what if they kill her—I—"

"Hey, listen," Liam leans forward to meet her, his voice significantly lowered. "I want to help you, but you have to tell me everything. When did you realize she was missing?"

"We were home. I put her to bed an hour before, maybe two. I went to sleep and—" She drags her hand down the outside corner of her eye, wiping away a tear that has yet to fall. "I heard something about three in the morning, and I got up to check on her. There was three of them. Men. Tall. Broad shoulders. An accent. I saw them rush out her room, one of them was carrying her. I screamed. I was stupid, thought I could fight them." Savaughna points to the bruise beneath her eye. "He grabbed me, took me back to the bedroom..."

My stomach twists because the story doesn't sound complete. I'm not the only one that realizes that, and the breath that escapes Carmen settles that.

Liam senses it as well, giving me a quick look out the corner of my eye. But he doesn't take the bait, he doesn't travel down a path that would make Savaughna even more uncomfortable than she already is. If a Russian forced himself on her, I doubt she would want to admit it in front of Veleno, Liam, or two soldiers she's never met in her life.

Veleno's irritation is clear as he shifts in his seat and mutters, "Fucking Russians." He runs the palm of his hand over his head so violently I'm surprised he doesn't take a few strands of hair with him.

Savaughna frowns. "Russians?"

Liam clears his throat, drawing Savaughna's attention back to him. "We're having a...Russian...problem, Savaughna." I can see her eyebrows touch from all the way over here. "I won't go into details because you don't care, but there's no doubt in my mind that this is Valentin Rostov attempting another power move. He's come for Faith—" Liam's subtle nod in my direction causes the woman to glance at me quickly. "He's come for my—sister. And there's no doubt in my mind that he's going to come for all of those in this house before all of this is over. Looks like Veleno was next."

"But how the fuck did he know?" Veleno speaks up in question. He waves his hand in disbelief before dropping it to his lap. "How did Valentin find out I have a daug—" He doesn't finish his sentence. I don't think even he believes it, despite the child being five years old.

"I don't know," She sounds defensive, as if Veleno is voicing his frustrations directly at her.

Liam and I are probably the only ones in the room who isn't surprised. Valentin somehow found out the same way he managed to uncover Vincenzo's nine-year-old secret.

"It doesn't matter how he found out." The sharpness in Liam's voice draws the attention of the two that sit before him. "He knows. All that matters is that we find the little girl, return her to her mother, and—"

Savaughna announces, "We leave," with absolutely no hesitation just as Veleno says, "They leave."

The two share a look that can melt ice.

Liam bites back a snide comment and gives Savaughna an upwards nod. "Do you have a photo of her?"

"Oh, yeah." The mother dips her hand into the collar of her shirt, digging around her bra. Liam lifts an eyebrow. Veleno glances over at her, confusion written all over his face. The soldiers near the door lean to get a better vantage point, curious as well. Carmen and I are the only ones who understand. There's no place safer than the bra.

"Should I even ask?" It's hard to miss Veleno's sarcasm.

"I never asked you how you lost your eye."

And that silences Immanuel for the time being.

Savaughna rests the photo down on Liam's table and scoots back, studying his expression. Liam stares at her until she situates herself back into her seat, then lowers his gaze to the photo. Carmen and I don't have the best angle, so all we can do is study the look surpassing Liam's face. His eyes dart up to Veleno, then back to the photo.

I hold back a laugh when Liam uses his fingernail to drag the picture closer, disturbed by where the photo has been residing.

The way Veleno sits up in his chair and arches his back, doing his best to remain inconspicuous as he tries to get a look at the picture tells me everything I need to know – and I know I'm not the only one who notices it as Liam speaks up.

"You've never seen her before." Liam's words come out more like a statement than a question. Veleno's nod is subtle, but it's there. He moves the picture closer to Veleno. "She has your—" Liam waves a hand in front his own face. "—eye."

The faint teasing is enough to crack the corner of Veleno's lips, offering up the faintest smirk I've ever seen.

While Veleno examines the photograph, Liam turns back to the woman sitting beside him. "What's her name?"

"Analía. It's—"

"Spanish." Carmen sits up beside me, a slow smile passing over her beautiful face. I would do anything for her natural beauty. The way her skin shimmers without makeup. She smiles wide as she scoots forward, gathering the attention of the room. "It—it means grace. I want to name my daughter that. Future daughter. Wait, I'm not pregnant—I'll shut up—"

She throws herself back against the sofa, cheeks red.

The comment that follows is faint. It comes from one of the two soldiers near the door. It's unnecessary, yet most of what we say is. It's a malicious, unnecessary comment about the weight of the woman beside me. "Looks like it." They don't say it soft enough, and the comment shaming Carmen's body is heard around the room.

Veleno practically turns entirely around in his chair, locking eyes with the soldier.

Liam's faint laugh is familiar. It's a laugh I've heard one too many times. A laugh that tells me what he heard is not, nor will it ever be, funny. It's a laugh inspired by anger, not hilarity.

"Make another comment like that," He stresses, "And I'll take your AK, shove it up your asshole, and pull the trigger. You understand me?" The soldier doesn't respond. "Do you understand me?"

The soldier he addresses is carrying a high-powered weapon, yet Liam is the one who holds all the power.

The man nods and mumbles a pathetic sorry in Carmen's direction.

"I'm going to get your daughter back." Liam refocuses his attention on Savaughna, who's beginning to get antsy in her seat. She shifts more, glances around the room, clearly uncomfortable.

"You can't promise that." The emotion is clear in the mother's voice as she squirms even more. "She could be—they could have her—you said they're Russian? What if she's in Russia—"

Both Liam and Veleno respond together. "She's not."

Liam is the one who elaborates, however. "One thing kidnappers have in common is this: they don't take children far. I can assure you that your daughter, Analía, is still in the States. I can do you one better and promise you that she's still in this general area."

"And how the hell do you plan on finding her?"

Savaughna's doubt is evident.

She doesn't know Liam Luciano.

She doesn't know this family.

"Valentin Rostov, the head of the family behind all of this, has homes in various locations around the city. We have surveillance on them as we speak. There's no doubt in my mind that your daughter is in one of those homes. Give me a few hours, I'll have raids orchestrated before night fall. You'll have your daughter back before you know it."

Savaughna's "Okay," is weak. "You sound confident."

Liam dismisses the observation that she vocalizes. He learns forward, simultaneously nodding towards the soldiers at the door. They stride forward, pausing just a few feet behind Savaughna's chair.

"I have two more questions for you. Then I'm going to have my friends take you upstairs—"

"—if it's alright with you. If." She interjects. "I'd rather not going anywhere with men...alone."

Liam recovers quickly. "That's fine. I'll have them escort you out the room, and once I'm done having a word with the others, Carmen can take you upstairs. She'll show you where you'll stay. Find you a new pair of clothes. Get cleaned up." He glances to his right, quickly meeting Carmen's gaze. She nods, agreeing to do what he asked. "But I have two more questions for you."

"Go on."

"Where do you live?"

"I—you've probably never heard of it—"

"Try me."

"Mendota. Mendota, California. I was born in San Diego. I moved to LA when I decided to pursue a modelling career. I was signed by an up-and-coming agency. They're the reason why I was in Italy, I was doing a show for them." Savaughna's gaze falls to her lap. "Even though I had put in so many years of work for them, they still released me when I told them I was pregnant. I've heard horror stories of models and their careers once they get pregnant and have birth, but I never, I never thought it would be me—"

I frown. "You couldn't model anymore because you were pregnant?"

She looks over at me and shakes her head. "Their thought process is fucked. They don't think we're of any value once we give birth. They say we gain too much weight, and that we never return to what we used to be. So, they utter some bullshit to avoid a lawsuit and release us. Then they go and hire girls younger, slimmer, and prettier than us and we're forgotten."

"I know you're all silently judging me, but I had trouble finding another job after Analía came. I have a high school education. My parents refuse to talk to me. I have nobody to babysit. From the little that I had been able to save up, I moved about four hours away to Mendota. It's cheap living there."

"I've heard of Mendota." Liam breaks the silence. "Cost of living is below the average. Nobody in this room is judging you."

"Yeah, right." The woman rises to her feet, ready to depart from her interrogation. The soldiers step closer. "I've heard of you." The way Savaughna says it, the way the words drip off her tongue tell me that she hasn't heard anything good about Liam.

Liam's eyes narrow. "And what have you heard of me, Savaughna?"

"You're a sinner." Her response is broad but summarizes almost everyone in the room to perfection.

"And let me guess, you're a saint?" His eyebrow quirks upwards. Liam presses his palms to the wooden table and pushes himself to his feet. "Nobody on those streets know me. They hear things, from people who hear things, from people whose friends hear things. Classic game of telephone. Nobody you spoke to knows me, so whatever you heard? Bullshit."

"But what I want to know," Liam scoots forward even more, "Is how you found me."

"Word on the street," she responds with no hesitation. "It's not hard finding the man, whom according to others, runs this shit."

I find myself fighting back a proud smile.

Liam orders a wave of commands in broken English and fluent Italian. The words mix and suddenly I have no idea what he's saying, but I did understand a little. He ordered his men to take her out the room and said that Carmen would be out shortly. Then he waves a hand and Savaughna, along with the two soldiers, exit.

As soon as they leave, Veleno shoots up from his chair without a word. He moves the chair out the way with his foot and starts for the exit.

Liam rises as well. "Sit your ass down."

"I have nothing else to say."

"I am doing my best." Liam's voice causes Veleno to pause. He keeps his back to us, hiding whatever expression materializes across his face. Carmen glances at me awkwardly, unsure as to whether she should quietly dip out the room to take care of our newest visitor. I shake my head. "I am doing my best to protect everyone in this household. You know what Valentin can do. You know this, so why the hell didn't you tell me you have a whole ass chi—"

Veleno spins around and takes a challenging step forward. His index finger shoots out to point at the ground, while the veins in his neck protrude. His shout is loud, deep, and worthy of everyone's attention. But the emotion behind it is what I notice, and the way Carmen stiffens, indicates that she's aware of it too. "—There's no reason to mention it because I'm not that child's dad—"

Liam slams his good hand down on the photograph Savaughna had handed out. He spins it around, despite Veleno being too far away from the table to see it clearly. "Are we looking at the same picture? You cannot, you cannot deny this!"

"I did not say that I didn't father that child." Veleno looks away, and the exhaustion becomes clear. His shoulders slump. His voice wavers in confidence. His face falls. He refuses to use the kids name—his kids name, almost like he's still managing to distance himself. Even now. "Sav did not want me to be a dad and I embraced that. I wasn't ready to be a dad then, I'm not ready now, and I don't think I'll ever be. Yes, I'm her father, but I am not her dad."

When Liam exhales, I think we all do. The tension has diminished, somewhat.

"I truly—I didn't think Valentin, or anybody would find out about..." He waves in the photo's direction. "This doesn't change anything." The intensity in Veleno's eye is unmatched once he lifts his attention from the floor. "I save this girls life, I send them somewhere safe, and we rip Valentin's fucking ass off the throne. That is still, and always will be, the mission."

He turns and walks away.

"Why don't you go by Immanuel?"

Liam's next question causes the assassin to stop once more. He has a hand on the door, and I wholeheartedly believed we wouldn't get an answer. But he stops and turns around to face us all.

"Immanuel means God with us, but God is not with me."

"Why Veleno?" Carmen beats me to the question. "Where did Veleno come into this?"

His shoulders sag even more. "When I joined that gang, they told me to choose a name. Any name. My mom blamed me for my father's previous drunk actions after I killed him. Said I was the reason he beat on us. Said I was the reason he came home drunk almost every night. She looked me in the eye and said that I am a poison to everything and everyone that I'm around."

My words of reassurance catch in my throat as Veleno's eye darts up. Detached. Chilling. The only words I can think of that can describe the look in his eye.

The Italian accent that he occasionally suppresses comes out, full force, as he says: "Veleno."

He's out the door seconds later, and it slams behind him.

Everything he said is still processing, despite his departure. Liam slowly lowers himself back to his seat, eyes glazed over. Not from tears, but from emotional and physical exhaustion. His head finds a home against his cast. It doesn't look comfortable, but it offers the support he momentarily needs.

"I should um," Carmen points toward the door. Liam doesn't so much as twitch in her direction. "I should go get Savaughna settled in—"

"Wait."

Liam's voice, although quiet, startles Carmen. She's halfway out the room, sensing the need for our privacy.

I move toward Liam's desk as he drops his cast covered hand to his lap. He offers up a smile in Carmen's direction, enticing her closer.

"Is this about me staying here?" She leaps off the cliff of assumption and I can't help but smile. "I talked about it with Faith, but I haven't really spoken to you, at all, and... I know I've overstayed my welcome, I just...I can't go home. Everyone, everyone knows who I am. Bad people know who I am, and I don't feel safe. Not anymore. There's a lot of people there who wanted something bad to happen to Rico, and they'd...they'd hurt me if they had the chance—"

"Carmen—hey. Take a deep breath, Steven."

She smiles wide and breaks out in a fit of embarrassed laughter. Her short, stubby fingers manage to cover half of her face as it reddens beneath her hand. She doesn't see Liam stand and round the corner of his desk, brushing past me. I let my touch linger on the sleeve of his shirt as he walks past to narrow the gap between himself and Carmen.

"I'm offended." She laughs a little bit longer at the Steven comparison joke, and when she opens her eyes, she's taken back by the proximity between the two.

Her eyes widen, dart to me, then back to the man who stands tall before her.

He still looks damn good and the way Carmen's eyes drift from the facial hair on his jaw to the tip of his shoes tell me she notices.

"I was thanking you." Liam slides a hand into his pocket. Carmen's eyes drift to the constricted area of his pants and looks away. When her eyes meet mine, she whips her head in the opposite direction, trying to avoid eye contact with everybody.

I stifle an incredibly loud laugh.

"You're right. We've hardly spoken since you've been here, and I feel bad about it. You've done a lot for Rosie and Dominic, and I've been meaning to thank you, personally."

Carmen's full lips curl upwards as she returns Liam's stare. "You don't have to thank me. I love caring for people. I love helping people. I studied social work for kids just like Rosie. I took as many psychology classes as I could as well for my degree, so it kind of comes in handy with Dominic. I'm with him whenever he's here. I lay with him. But it's hard, you know, because I lost somebody too."

My heart yearns to step forward and give Carmen the largest hug possible. I only know her so well, but one thing I do look forward too is getting to know her even better. Her caring, lovable, and kind personality shown through the second she entered the house.

"I want you to understand that you are welcome to stay for as long as you'd like." Liam says. "And if you do want to go home, don't feel bad about it. This isn't your fight."

"I do want to go home, but I'm scared." Her vulnerability shines through in the moment and my heart can't help but hurt. "I miss my mom. I miss my dad. But Detroit, like any city, seems big until you've been there long enough. It gets smaller every day. You begin to recognize faces and faces recognize you. People that shouldn't know who I am, do, all because of who I was involved with and with his—if this—I'm not safe there. I'm scared."

"You're under my protection. Do not hesitate to go home if you really want to, and if anyone – anyone – even looks like they want to harm you, you call on me. You're family now, Ms. Vega."

Carmen's face twists. She's thankful, but confused, and she voices that. "Why? You hardly know me."

Liam smiles. "Like a wise nine-year-old once said, I'm just a bad guy doing everything I can to protect good people."

Carmen tosses her arms around Liam and pulls him into a hug before he can protest. Truthfully, I don't think he would've anyways. He recovers quickly and bends down to wrap his arms around her, and they hold each other.

I don't realize Carmen is crying until Liam rests his head on her chin and turns to me. His eyes convey the sympathy and the hurt he feels for the woman he cradles in his arms. The pain in my chest only amplifies as Liam draws his hand up to her head, cupping the back of her scalp as she shakes.

Liam isn't expecting the hug to end as quickly as it does. Carmen backs away as she tries to regain control of her rapid breathing. She wipes underneath her eyes, ridding her lower eyelid of the wet and smeared mascara.

"Thank you." Her shoulders shake as she exhales. "You're a good hugger."

"Thank you."

"You look nice, too."

"Carmen," I interject her continuous compliments. "I'm right here."

She smiles at me through her tears. "Facts are facts."

Both of us laugh as Carmen dismisses herself, hurrying out the doors to catch up with Savaughna. Liam moves to stand where Carmen once did just seconds ago and turns around to look at me.

"She's cute."

"I'm jealous." I deadpan. "My heart? Broken." I clutch at my chest for emphasis. "My life? Ended." I throw my head back and rest the back of my hand against my forehead. Again, for emphasis. "Me? Quaking." I rest a finger near the corner of my eye, pretending to wipe a tear. Emphasis.

"Relax, you horrible poet, you're the only one for me."

My laugh lightens the mood as Liam's hands find my waist. He pulls me towards him and leans down, pecking my lips with a kiss too short for my liking. They always say that if you want something done right to do it yourself, so I do. I lean up on my toes, rest my hands on his shoulders, and kiss him the way I wanted to be kissed.

He groans, and I know I've done something right when I feel him bend slightly. By the time he draws himself back to his full height, my legs are wrapped tightly around his waist. Liam doesn't falter, even though he's now trying to manage my weight, as well as his, on an ankle that's been bothering him since the car accident.

He carries me forward, somehow managing to focus even when my lips leave his and land on the most sensitive part of his neck. I press my hips against his and the sound that comes out of Liam's mouth is a satisfying one.

It's a mix of a pant and a strangled Italian curse.

A sound he makes any – and every – time I touch him.

I've heard it a million times before, yet it'll never get old. No sound Liam makes in bed ever will; from his low groans to his faint, easily missed moans. From his quickening breaths to his panting whenever he's close. No song that has ever passed my ears can compare to the beauty of the sounds he makes.

He sets me down on his desk and I part my legs, allowing him to step closer. I move to kiss him once more on the lips, but his hesitation is clear. He leans his head back, just a half an inch. It's enough for me to take the hint, and I frown at the slight rejection.

"What's wrong?" I run the side of my index finger down the side of his face, my concern evident. His expression morphs into one that causes my worry to rise, but instead of chuckling nervously, I diffuse the uncomfortable feeling with a joke. "So, I'm assuming we won't be putting the condoms in your desk to good use—"

That causes him to crack a smile, and I feel better.

I sigh. I can tell when he's thinking. When the gears in his mind are working more than they should. His hands grasp the edge of the desk as he takes a step back and leans his upper body forward. I can reach for him. I can touch him, but I've seen the look in his eye one too many times before. Physically, he's here, he's with me, but the distant look on his face suggests that we aren't even in the same room mentally.

"You need a break." I study his expression, ready to pounce if he actually has the audacity to deny what I said. The bruise along the side of his face has faded half a shade. The hair along his eyebrow is slowly beginning to grow back, and soon it'll over the miniature cur inflicted during the Russian attack. His broken wrist will eventually heal, and his ankle will stop bothering him. The physical signs of injury will be gone, but the emotional, well, they'll never go away.

Which is why he needs a break.

"What I need is you." He regards me briefly, his eyes darting over every feature of my face. He used to intimidate me, almost all of these men did, until I got to know them. "You remind me why I'm doing this. Why I fight. I can't believe I ever thought about giving you up, about making you leave. I was scared. I still am, but whenever I need a reminder as to why I'm doing this, I look to you. And whenever I think I need a break, I just look to you."

Liam leans down and kisses me. He just barely pulls away, lifting his gaze from my lips to my eyes. "The crown doesn't get a break. We rest when we die. Know that."

I kiss him again, an easy way of showing him that I heard him, that I understand. His part of the kiss is pathetic, and by the time I'm pulling away, I already have a statement on my tongue. "Something's on your mind—"

"I heard you talking to Veleno—Immanuel—earlier."

"I talked to him earlier, yeah." I let my confirmation linger as I try and determine where Liam is going to take this before he speaks again.

"I heard you talking about what happened at Rosie's school yesterday, or two days ago, or three—" He bows his head and mumbles a curse. Every day and every night since the accident has blurred together to the point where neither Liam nor I can keep track. I get what he's saying though. "—I guess I'm just wondering why you didn't come to me with that."

"I was going to." I can hear the truthfulness in my voice as I respond, because I was. I really was going to discuss the action of pulling the trigger and ending a Russian life, but no time seemed appropriate. "I couldn't find the right time to do so. Everything was shit when we got back, and then you learned about Rosie, and then we had a meeting, and now this."

This being Veleno's baby-mama.

"I wanted you to know that I understand how you're feeling."

That warms my heart, and a genuine smile plays across my lips. "Thank you."

Liam retreats a few steps and locks eyes with me. "I also want to tell you that I knew there was a Russian outside the door you and Rosie ran out of."

The warm feeling intensifies and grows into a ball of anger in my chest.

"And you didn't warn us?"

"It was a test."

I know I'm angry when my eyes narrow and my rhetorical question is spat out in a hoarse whisper. "A what?"

"A test." Liam stands tall as I slide off the table and near him, my face resembling one of utter disbelief.

"You were willing to risk both my and Rosalie's life for a test?"

"I had eyes on the entire building. You wouldn't have gotten hurt." He frowns after carefully studying my expression. "Please don't be mad."

"Elijah—"

I stiffen as Liam steps close and reaches for my forearms. I contemplate stepping away from him, but I'd be a fool to move away from his touch.

When Liam speaks again, his voice is soothing and warm and I quietly curse at him – because he knows exactly what he's doing. Anytime he wants my attention or is about to apologize the Italian in him comes to the forefront, overpowering his words and capturing my attention with ease.

"I could've called out to you, told you to go through another door, but then you wouldn't have exited that building knowing what you could do. Knowing that you can kill. Knowing that you don't need me, or any other man inside our home, to protect you. You can protect yourself, and those you love." His hand finds the curve of my cheek and I can't help but sigh in contempt.

"When I was sixteen, Michael hired a local gang to take me out. Said that if I couldn't take out amateurs, how could I stand amongst a table with the best this world has to offer?" I hang on his every word, and although I don't entirely understand, it begins to make more and more sense as Liam explains. "I overcame that test the same way you did. I proved to my father that I could kill, and you proved that to me as well."

I don't find anything funny, yet I laugh to dismiss the anger in my chest. "That was a hard-fucking test."

The corner of Liam's lip lifts higher than the other. "The path to the throne isn't an easy one, my queen, but if you ever have the opportunity to sit on it, you'll realize it was all worth it."

"You understand?" He questions after a moment of my silence. "Right?"

I clench my jaw, tilt my head back, and force a smile. "I do."

"You're an angel."

"Don't call me that. Don't call me angel."

"Wh—

I send my knee straight into Liam's groin. Pain, unlike any other, flashes across his face as he doubles over, grabbing him clothed crotch with a vice-like grip. I enjoy the scene as I step back, watching as Liam fights through the painful throbbing of his manhood, plus its accessories.

"When you're done training me, they'll know I never came from heaven."

I move past him, a proud feeling replacing the anger I recently felt. I understand why he did it, and although the war that's erupted between the good and bad in my mind is tiring, I know I did the right thing.

I asked Liam to train me, to help me be the queen I know I can be, to help me be the king he believes I can be. And he's doing it the only way he knows how and I have to accept that.

Liam clears his throat loud enough to cause me to stop near the door and turn around. He's on the ground and manages to pull himself up on one knee. I can't help but notice that he's still grabbing his dick. But he doesn't look angry at all, in fact, he's smiling.

"You kicked me so hard my sperm is in my throat."

He laughs and then swallows.

"Well, there goes our kids."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Carmen and Savaughna are upstairs in a spare bedroom, sitting in silence. The visitor sits on the edge of the bed, overlooking the tray of food that rests beside her. It's amazing what some clean clothes and a shower can do. Her hair, now void of blood and dirt, is tucked behind her ear. She wears a pair of black leggings and a hoodie far too large for her thin frame.

I manage to put two and two together quickly. The hoodie, resting on the body of a woman that isn't her, explains Carmen's uncharacteristic silence.

"How do you feel?"

Savaughna looks up and sends me a closed-lip smile. "Good. Thank you." Carmen is looking away, deep in thought, when Savaughna's eyes dance over to her. She picks up her sandwich and looks back to me. "She's good at taking care of people."

I smile and move into the room, letting her statement hang in the air.

Savaughna busies herself by wolfing down half of her freshly made sandwich, occasionally plucking some barbecue chips into her mouth. There's a glass full of some type of punch on the nightstand, and while I find a comfortable seat on the opposite side of her bed, we let her eat.

She's about to take another bite when she lets the sandwich fall to her plate. She looks up. "I don't mean to sound like a bitch when I say this, but," Her eyes dart from Carmen over to me, never staying on one of us for too long. "do you really think that guy downstairs can get my daughter back?" I go to answer, but she pushes past her question and on to another, "Also, again, I don't mean to be rude, but you two don't exactly look like hardened criminals or murderers, so what are you doing here?"

Both Carmen and I look at each other, and the moment we share causes my smile to widen.

"That guy downstairs—" Carmen begins.

I finish for her. "—Is my boyfriend."

I try to ignore the look of judgment that surpasses Savaughna's picture-perfect, model-status face. She casts her eyes to the tray of food before her, but this time she doesn't reach for anything to satisfy her hunger. Her hand entangles itself in her blonde hair and I watch her, we watch her struggle to find her words.

"He raped me." Her confession doesn't exactly come as a surprise. But what does is the fact that she's admitting it to us, women who haven't even properly introduced themselves to her. "That guy, the Russian, and if he's part of this...this...well, this. The mafia—" She says the term, mafia, like it's a myth, ignoring the fact that she's sitting in the home of one of the most infamous Don's in this decade. "—and if they're capable of rape, and kidnapping, and murder, then isn't your boyfriend as well?

I hate myself for stuttering.

Carmen speaks up for me. Her eyes narrow. "That's not how it works."

"Really, then how does it work?" Savaughna's laugh is cold and lacks its humor. "You can make the argument that one bad seed doesn't mean they're all bad, but you would be delusional if you thought the same about this—this...lifestyle. Someone in the mafia ripped apart the life I made for my daughter and I. Someone in the mafia took my innocent child. Someone in the mafia threw me down on my own goddamn bed and did whatever he wanted to me—and if you, or you, don't think that the man – or men – downstairs aren't capable of that then..." She simple shakes her head.

Her eyes land on me. "How do you sleep at night knowing the man beside you has ended lives?"

I stop nervously picking at the bedspread and scrunch up my nose.

"With the fan on medium."

Savaughna sends me the most irritated look, but before I can speak truthfully, Carmen does.

"Faith's joking. She's joking."

"You don't understand what I'm trying to say." Sounding defeated and wasted of breath, she moves her tray further down the bed and yanks down the sheets, ready to climb in and get whatever rest she can for now. "You won't understand because you aren't like me. You're aren't looking from the outside-in. You're probably just as bad as they are."

"We used to be like you." The intensity in Carmen's voice fades as Savaughna looks her way. I sit up straighter and focus. "We weren't born into this. We fell in love with men who were born into this, destined for this. And I can't speak for Faith, I can only speak for myself, but I had the same doubts you're voicing. How could I lay by a man who has taken the lives of innocent people? How could I trust a man who has tortured? How could I love a man like this?"

My eyes water, because although Carmen is only speaking of her experience having fallen in love with Federico, I can say our internal doubts were exactly the same. If only she knew how many times I have asked myself every single one of those questions. If only she knew how many nights I laid awake trying to find an answer that didn't feel like an excuse.

"The answers to every one of my questions hit me one night, when he laid beside me, just as innocent as the lives he'd taken." Carmen inhales a shaky breath and I mutter a curse as tears gather in the corners of my eyes. "These men are just as much victims as everybody else. The man interrogating you? Liam Luciano? He wasn't just born for this, he was bred for this. He had no choice. Most of them, if not all, never had a choice. Yet you judge them like they did."

"They didn't have a choice then, I get that, but they have a choice now—"

I snort. "Savaughna, this is the mafia, not a Planet Fitness membership."

"Are they capable of rape? Yes." Carmen continues, ignoring my comment. "Are they capable of kidnapping? Yes. Murder? Yes, but they are just as much victims of this life as you, your daughter, and every innocent person they've come in contact with." She slowly shakes her head. "I can't stand here and listen to you try and talk shit about them.

You've never seen how happy Liam makes Faith, and you'll never know how happy I was to be in the arms of an assassin. You will never understand how we feel, Savaughna, so don't feel like you have a place to comment about it."

"Retweet."

"Faith."

"Sorry."

Savaughna is the first to let out a tension-defusing chuckle. The tension in her shoulders dissipate as she mulls over the argument. "I'm sorry, I'm just—"

"Don't apologize." It's my turn to speak. I catch Carmen gentle nod out the corner of my eye, and it's reassuring knowing we're on the same page. "We don't expect you to understand."

"But I want to understand." She emphasizes, and I appreciate the truth in her voice.

"But we get why you don't." I speak for both Carmen and I when I say it. "You convinced yourself about what kind of man Veleno was after you slept with him, and when you did that, you assumed the worst of everyone else. Then you had a piece of your life taken by a Russian mafioso. I'm not surprised about your distrust, uncertainty, or anything, but I need you to trust us, Savaughna."

She tucks her legs underneath the thick blankets and wraps her arms across her chest. She doesn't say a word, but nods.

"Liam will find your daughter. We will find your daughter." I promise.

"I want you to find him too."

"Who?" Carmen questions.

"I want you to find the man that dragged me back to my bed, and hit me, and held me down, and fucked me without consent." She says. "Tell your boyfriend that."

I smile.

"I don't have to tell Liam anything, Savaughna."

Carmen looks at me with a soft, knowing smile.

"He isn't the only one in this house who holds power."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Savaughna, Carmen, and I talk for what feels like forever. Time passes freely, and there's no doubt in my mind that I would've learned a lot more about the two if Savaughna hadn't fallen asleep. Carmen retires to her room shortly after, while I take the tray of Savaughna's dinner remains downstairs.

I'm so focused on my mission to get the dirty dishes to the sink that I don't pay attention to my surroundings. It isn't until I've dumped the tray in the sink do I recognize a voice that, on most days, doesn't belong here. Steven.

I busy myself by flipping the faucet on, grabbing a hand towel, and pouring soap into it. The sound of rushing water drowns out Steven's faint voice, but I manage to catch a glimpse of him out the corner of my eye. He sits on one side of the small, eat-in kitchen table that we've moved against the wall. Dominic sits across from him, his attention more on whatever is in his lap than the man talking to him.

It's only been a few hours since the revelation of Steven's impact on the car accident. He's the reason we lost soldiers that night. He's the reason I almost lost Liam. The reason I came face to face with one of – if not thee – most ruthless assassin we've ever faced. And I know I shouldn't blame everything on him, I know that, yet my anger does it anyways.

"...lost his trust?" Steven's shoulders are rigid, and his poster tells me everything that I need to know. Even in only a few hours, he's beginning to feel the effects of what a little mistake can make. I can't see his profile, thanks to the curved brim of his baseball cap. I don't think I need to. "—I did something really stupid and..."

"I heard what you did." Dominic's voice is clear. "Word gets around. Why are you coming to me, though?"

I wish I could look away from the dish I'm cleaning to try and spot Steven's facial expression as he says, "Because everyone in the house looks up to you."

There's a long, long pause. Long enough that I can finish the dishes, drape the towel over the middle of the sink to dry, wipe my wet hands on another towel, and turn off the water. I lean my hip against the counter, turn to face the two men, cross my arms over my chest, and I listen. There's no point in pretending anymore like I'm not. I caught both Steven and Dominic glancing quickly in my direction when I had looked away.

Dominic's voice is the epitome of weak as he mumbles, "Even now?"

"Your...pill habit has gone through the house, yeah," Steven admits, "but that doesn't change how the guys feel about you. They respect you." Dominic lowers his gaze, unbelieving. Steven notices just like I do. "Why do you think I feel bad for Austin sometimes? He's trying to replace somebody that the family doesn't want replaced. You can't replace something that's irreplaceable."

The breath Dominic lets out is enough of a response. "I'm irreplaceable."

"If you really think that, then you're fucking stupid."

"You're fucking stupid." Dominic slams the thin, folder that's in his lap to the table, causing both Steven and I to jump. Unprovoked anger, similar – if not identical – to what I had witnessed in our bedroom with Liam the other night. The same anger that appeared to form out of nowhere and escalate past the point of defusing. The same anger that drove him to lay a hand on me. Not once, but twice. "You're stupid if you think you've lost Liam's trust. You made one mistake. I made millions, yet he still trusted me with his life." It's an anger that isn't even understandable. It doesn't make sense, not in the moment, and Dominic realizes that. He leans back in his seat and finishes with a calm, "You'll be fine."

Steven slowly pushes himself away from the table. As he retreats, he whispers, "You need help."

Dom runs a hand down the side of his face and says exactly what I expect him to say. "I don't need help."

"You're getting angry at me—"

"I'm not angry!"

But Dominic is angry, and the more I stand here and watch, listen to him talk the more I agree. His anger is explosive, volatile, and unpredictable. It isn't justified. It doesn't even make sense, yet he denies it with such passion, and rejects the idea of it that he doesn't even realize that it's eating him alive. Anger is tearing away at the best parts of Dominic James Santiago and all I can do is watch it kill him.

"Can I speak with you, Steven?"

Liam startles Steven so much the young man slams his back against the wall. His nerves cause him to tug repeatedly at the brim of his hat, as if it already isn't covering more than half of his face. "I just saw my life flash before my eyes with him—" He motions toward Dominic, who's busy reading the folder on the table. "—then it flashed before my eyes when I heard your voice, and—" Steven's consistent rambling threatens to roll forward until Liam lifts a hand.

Silence.

"I'm not here to talk about what was discussed during the meeting earlier. Something else came up." Liam nods over his shoulder at Veleno, whose attention isn't on the conversation at hand, but on Dominic. I've seen that kind of look before, where he zones out, quietly analyzing facial cues and body language. "We need you to help us locate a few more of the homes Valentin has his men situated in. We want to move on a few tonight, early tomorrow morning, even."

"Okay, yeah, I can do that. So, does this mean I'm forgiven?"

Steven's face falls as quickly as Liam's "No," is heard.

Liam's eyes catch mine as they begin to leave the room. His attention darts to Dominic, then over at me. He voices his concern without a word. My tight smile indicates that yes, I will be fine, and he leaves without a word.

From what I know, the two haven't spoken since Liam put a gun to his head in my defense. I haven't had time to think about their dynamic really, but it hurts knowing that their relationship is falling apart – as is everything else. Dominic has ruled by Liam's side for almost as long as Liam has sat on the throne. And somehow, for just a moment, my mind makes me believe that it's my fault their relationship has gone to shit. If I hadn't been there, Dominic wouldn't have hit me. If Dominic hadn't hit me, they'd be okay – not perfect, but okay.

Dominic lifts his head, counts to a number in his head, then looks directly at me once he's sure the others are gone. And what he says next stops my heart. "Crixus Josiah Santiago?"

My eyes concentrate on the folder that sits before him, and I curse.

"How did you get that?"

He counters my question with one of his own. "How long did you know?"

"How did you get that?"

"Liam." He says harshly.

I curse again, this time out loud. We're supposed to work in tandem, together, as one-unit. One isn't supposed to pull a move without the other knowing, and right now Liam is failing that part of the challenge. He must've seen something in Dominic as of recent, something that would suggest that he needs something, anything to push forward, to fight for. I understand why Liam gave him the folder and confirmed the name of the brother he'd been searching for. I just wish Liam had told me his plans.

Dominic doesn't appreciate my silence. "When were you going to tell me?"

"When you apologized for smacking me."

He has no response to that.

"You knew I was looking for him." He finally says.

"I know." I ease closer, gauging the situation. I continue to approach, yet I watch for any signs of the anger that I know is endlessly brewing in his chest. "We knew. We wanted to tell you, but we didn't think you were in the right state of mind, so we just..."

Dom turns his attention back on the manila folder that's been through so much. The scratches caused by the shattered windows of our SUV mark the folder as the one Angel Ferrari gifted us during our meeting. He flips open the page, revealing the only thing inside. A photo.

"Where did you get this?"

I sigh. "Angel Ferrari. He briefly trained Diavolo. We wanted to speak with him, see if he would give us anything. He didn't give us much on Diavolo, but he did on your brother."

"This is nothing." Dominic frowns and flips the photograph of his younger brother over. There's nothing labeling where or when the photo was taken. "This tells me nothing." He runs a hand down his face in annoyance. "He has to know more. He's got to know more. I'm going to go meet with him."

Record scratch.

"Dominic—are you—wait stop—" His lips are moving as he marches past me, but our conversation is pretty much over, he's too busy arguing with the voice in his head to hear me. With the folder in hand, he clears the foyer, grabs one of Liam's thin jackets, and tosses it over his shoulders. He yanks the hood of his hoodie up over his head and zips up Liam's jacket.

He's out the door in seconds.

I don't even begin to question how he's going to get a car key or where he got one in the first place. I just run to the bottom of the steps, scream Carmen's name, and wait. I hear her bedroom door open, her feet pad across the hardwood floor, and I see her come into view.

She looks utterly breathtaking in a pair of grey sweatpants and a black shirt. Her hair is thrown up in one of the messiest buns I've ever seen, leaving me to question just how it manages to stay atop her head in such a perfect manner. I'm kidding. She looks atrocious, but that's okay. It looks like I've awakened her mid-sleep.

"What?"

I smile. "We're going clubbing."

We sit outside Angel Ferrari's club, Poison, about forty minutes later, but unlike the night of Liam and I's scheduled meeting, the front of the club is busier for another reason. The flashing lights of emergency vehicles could be seen from the highway, and the yellow caution tape finishes painting the grim picture. My heart drops to my stomach at the idea of what could've happened tonight. I don't wait for Dominic to kill the engine. I'm already halfway out the car, and Carmen is right behind me.

Somewhere along the way, Dominic had shed his hoodie and tossed it in the backseat for our freezing, half-sleep passenger to use. She pulls the hood over her bun and clutches the collar together, trying to conserve body heat.

I recognize the first face I see. Aadya Lopez. One of the five members on the LAPD board of commissioners. She isn't in uniform tonight, but instead wears black suit that sits comfortably on her muscular frame. Her heels are as short as they come, but she makes it up with the confident aurora that follows her wherever she goes.

Her gaze drifts from the officer at her side to us, and just as quickly, she dismisses the conversation and watches us approach.

"What the hell happened here?"

I don't need Aadya to answer my question. It answers itself as my legs brush along the police tape and my eyes land on the grisly scene. It's a massacre. The alleyway leading towards the entrance of the club, the same one Liam and I strutted down just days before, has turned into a goddamn cemetery. Bodies of the poor, homeless individuals lie sprawled along the ground, lining the wall from here to the door of the club.

Aadya sends us all a miserable smile from the other side of the caution tape. "Ms. Crawford, it's good to see you again." I don't pay much attention to her as I shake her hand, rather to the bodies on the floor. There isn't as much blood as there should be for the amount of deaths in this area alone. "Mr. Santiago." She moves from me, extending her hand to the man that steps up to my side. "It's been a while. It was sad to hear that you and Liam aren't working together anymore."

"...shit happens."

Aadya takes in his callous response and moves to my left. Carmen has her arm looped underneath mine. "I don't believe we've met."

Carmen and Aadya politely shake. "I'm nobody."

"I highly doubt that." Aadya releases Carmen's hand, all while challenging her statement. "Only somebody that is somebody would greet themselves as a nobody."

Her playful wink causes Carmen to laugh.

"If I thought you all were here to party, I would send you on your way," Aadya steps back and overlooks the outfits of our group of three. Most of what we wear consists of sweatpants or comfortably large shirts. "But you three don't exactly appear to have that clubbing vibe, so may I ask, why are you here?"

"We came to talk to the owner of the club." I speak up, "Is he here?"

"Ah, yes, Mr. Ferrari. We haven't been able to track him down yet, but I have a team searching the building for him as we speak."

"What happened here, Aadya?" Dominic gazes over the woman's shoulders, taking in the scene for himself for the first time. His eyebrows crease together as he tries to hide a wince.

"Aadya!"

A uniformed officer stands underneath the doorway of the club, waving his boss towards him. She offers up an apologetic look and nods in the man's direction. "Follow me and I'll explain as best as I can."

We duck underneath the police tape and follow. Aadya leads the way, sending me on the longest walk of my life. She talks but I'm not paying attention. I lock eyes with nearly every single body that I pass. They're all different. Every victim is different. Some are tall. Some short. Some wear coats while others sport their torn, short-sleeved shirts. Some wear beanies, some don't. The only similarity between the nineteen bodies that I count, is the look of distance in their eyes.

A chill passes through my upper body, and Carmen feels it. She holds me tighter, her eyes, too, drifting amongst the burial ground.

"...nothing like I've ever seen in all my years of law enforcement." Aadya exclaims. "There's no sign of gunshots. No sign of struggling. No excessive blood. All of these victims died the exact same way; trauma." She stops walking and looks at the three of us from over her shoulder. "Dare I say, the person guilty of this massacre, knew exactly where on the skull to inflict blunt-trauma to cause immediate death. One hit, one kill. None of these people suffered, and that terrifies me."

"They must be strong," Carmen comments quietly.

"Intelligent." Aadya corrects as she strides up the short staircase and enters the dimly lit club. "Intelligent beyond belief, Ms. Vega."

The woman at my side releases my arm. "You know my name?"

"I do, Carmen. You are somebody."

Carmen doesn't question Aadya's knowledge.

The club is only a mirror image of the alleyway outside. Glasses that were once held by the patrons of the club are scattered about the room, littering the floor. We step over shards of glass, as well as bodies as we move towards the officer that was calling Aadya's name.

Dominic breaks his silence. "You said the person, earlier. How do you know this wasn't done by a group of people?" He frowns and spins slowly in a lopsided circle, doing his best to avoid spots of blood, broken glass, and limp limbs of the deceased.

"I thought the same too, Mr. Santiago. We received a 911 call about fifteen minutes ago. Said that there was one person, not a group."

Fifteen minutes ago.

It's my turn to frown. "You all got here quick."

"We have eyes on this place at all times. You don't think I'm going to let an underground club known for it's attraction of members within the underworld to run without extra security measures, do you?" She almost sounds offended at my statement. "They got here almost immediately. Whoever did this was gone, but they left enough bodies to keep us busy tonight."

"Why didn't they just rush them?" Carmen voices my next question. "They had whoever did this outnumbered."

"Do you notice anything?" The officer gives us all a nod but addresses his boss with respect as he signals to the bodies on the floor. He draws an imaginary line from the door, over the path we just traveled, and past us, leading down the hall towards Angel's office. He answers his own question before anyone else can. "A path. These people weren't targets, 'Dya. They just got in the way."

And for the first time since I met Aadya Lopez, her confidence shakes as she utters, "Has a team checked the office?"

The officer's face visibly falls. "I know Angel Ferrari was a friend of yours, 'Dya, I'm sorry."

The race down the hallway leading to his office is more like a game of hopscotch than a track meet. Bodies of the same, incredibly large and heavily armed bodyguards that I was so intimidated to walk past lie dead on the floor leading to their boss's office. More force had to be used, unlike on the people outside. It's messy. It's bloody. And I have to hold my breath as I make my way over their discarded bodies.

It hits me as soon as I see Angel Ferrari's body. This is our fault. I knew who did this the moment I saw the yellow police tape, the second I saw the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles, but I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to accept it. Angel Ferrari signed his death certificate when he agreed to meet with Liam and I. He dug his grave when Diavolo's name slipped past his lips. He practically ended his own life when he sided with us over the people that once employed him. Yet, I'm the one who feels the guilt settle in my stomach like a rock. I'm the one who feels the tears of guilt gather in my eyes and blur my vision.

I wish my vision had blurred a few seconds earlier, before I had time to process what's sitting before me. Angel is seated, and his forehead is resting on the wood of his desk. There's no sign of a struggle. The fight was uneven, despite the height difference I know Angel had over them, over him.

Carmen's hand flies to her mouth, while Dominic mumbles a string of curses beside me.

Aadya is the only one who moves forward, rounds the desk of her friend, grabs the back of his neck, and pries his forehead from the desk.

His face is almost unrecognizable. His nose is broken. His lips are busted. Blood runs out his ear, down his temple, out his eyes. Bones is his face are broken. Blood is smeared across his desk in jagged lines. The light hits it at such an angle that causes the crimson fluid to glisten and shine. Some of it is dried, but most of it isn't.

"Diavolo."

Aadya looks up.

"Diavolo." The devil's nickname comes out in a breathless manner as I turn to Dominic. I grab the sleeve of the jacket he wears and shakes him, drawing his eyes from the gory picture displayed before us to me. "Dominic, we killed him. We killed him." The feeling in my chest isn't anger, but it hurts. It burns. Guilt. "It was Diavolo—Valentin—but how did—how could—how did they find ou..." A thought hits me.

I snap my head over at Aadya. "When did the first unit of cops arrive?"

She releases Angel's head, and his body slumps forward. His forehead rests in the indention on his desk, where Diavolo had repeatedly slammed his head.

The commissioners shrug is a lazy one. "About three minutes after the 911 call, why?"

Dominic tenses, but he sees exactly where I'm going with this. "You didn't—you didn't give him time to leave."

Aadya takes the warning in a different manner. "You mean to tell me that the son of a bitch who killed my friend is probably still here?"

The LAPD, Aadya Lopez specifically, has absolutely no idea what she's up against. Dominic and I do, but he beats me to the order. "Clear the building." Before she can go to argue, he repeats himself, "You have to clear the building right no—"

Shouts.

I fling myself around and back away from the office door as demanding shouts erupt from the opposite end of the hallway. Someone yells Aadya's name. "Get on the ground." "Put your hands up and place them behind your head." "Do it!"

The commissioner unholsters her weapon just as her team of officers manage to corral Diavolo into the hallway. It's hard to spot the assassin from here. The flashlights attached to their weapons blind me, yet they cast a glow on Diavolo's frame. The excess material that drapes his body waves even at the subtlest of movements. Uniformed men and women continue to rush to the sound of their fellow officers as they attempt to trap him.

Aadya nears the doorway of Angel's office, all while Dominic grabs Carmen and backs up. He tries to do the same for me, but I shake him off and move to commissioner Lopez's side. She aims her gun steady at Diavolo.

"Hold your fire." She shouts to the others. I get why she says it. If any of the officer's miss, the bullets could possibly land in her chest, or even mine.

Over twenty officers have crowded around the entrance of the hallway. He's trapped. Diavolo knows he's trapped. Guns are aimed at him from every angle but giving up isn't in this assassin's DNA. He never gave up when he came for me, and I don't think anything has changed since then. Slowly, Diavolo turns around entirely, and locks eyes with the woman beside me.

The part of my brain that processes my ability to sense shuts down. Sight. Touch. Taste. Hear. Smell. My fingertips go numb. My mouth dries. The constant shouts of the LAPD fade and I swear my vision flashes white, and I'm thrown back to the car accident. I hear the growl that rumbles Diavolo's throat. I try to search for any sign of him that would indicate any sort of humanity. I feel the tips of his fingertips barely miss my cheek as he tries to knock me unconscious.

"Shoot him." I hear myself say.

And in that moment, Diavolo makes up his mind.

He starts to walk towards us.

His slow walk increases to quick steps. His walk turns into a jog. His jog turns into a sprint. He's heading for the weakest part of the hallway. He's heading for us.

"Shoot him." I take a half step back as he nears.

Aadya steadies her hand but doesn't pull the trigger.

Diavolo has hit full sprint by the time he comes within feet of us. The shouting officers fade as Diavolo moves swiftly down the hallway, and in no way does he look like he's about to stop. He's going to run right through us. His boot hits the ground and despite the distance we still share, he prepares himself to lunge.

The concealing material that wraps around his face fails him for only a second. A ray of light exposes his eye. It's not enough to identify him, but enough to confirm my worst fear. Time stops, just like I wish it had right before our car accident. It's almost worse than time slowing, because it gives me time to witness things that I wouldn't be able to if the clock kept pushing forward. His eye is as black as Aadya's suit jacket, just like I anticipated. There's no glimmer or gleam, no hint of obvious emotion. Nothing, because that's exactly what Diavolo is.

He slams his foot down against the floor and rises again, launching himself at the commissioner.

I hear myself scream, "Shoot him!"

Their bodies collide.

But there's a millisecond in time, right before Diavolo hits the tall woman at full force that I hear it.

Aadya had pulled the trigger.

Diavolo's shoulder hits me square in the chest, knocking the wind out of me as the ground rushes up to meet me. My head hits the edge of Angel's desk as Diavolo lands his entire body weight on Aadya's frame.

Neither of them move.

Diavolo is dead.

At least that's what I told myself.

But when he leaps to his feet, landing in a squatting fashion as he straddles the commissioner's body, I know that what I hoped for isn't true. The assassin pulls himself to his full height and stares down at his latest victim. Her eyes are open, and blood begins to pool around her head.

Aadya Lopez, commissioner of the LAPD, is dead.

And the assassin with a bullet in his abdomen is not.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

a/n: DIAVOLO'S ENERGY IS UNMATCHED I STAN FOREVER AND ALWAYS

hopefully i'll see you all again before the end of november xoxoooOOooOO

p.s. baby santiago. it's all on you baby boy.