xxv | fire on fire

a/n: sorry for the wait i was sad

pls accept my apology w/ the longest chapter i've ever written.

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There's a lot more to Giovanni Marcello Esposito than I ever would've expected. He's an excellent conversationalist, able to drift from one topic to another without much thought. He's well versed in nearly every subject. He knows when to listen, when to offer advice, and when to carry the conversation on his shoulders.

He wasn't lying when he stated earlier that he preferred books over movies. He stayed on the topic of books the longest, quoting many of his favorites with surprising ease. And by the time we pulled up to the location in which Dominic had been trailed to a few nights before, I had conclude that Giovanni was one of the most versatile people I know.

But our conversation comes to an abrupt end when my heart sinks at the sight of the rundown building, located in one of the not-so finer Los Angeles neighborhoods. The difference between the large, luxurious mansion we just left that resides on the prettiest of acreage and this, dare I say, apartment building is staggering—but it's also a great visual of just how far Dominic James Santiago has fallen.

We make our way up the crooked steps quickly and enter, only to discover that the inside of the building is equally—if not worse—than the outside. The air inside is thick, laced with the smell of mold and a hint of smoke.

We meet the eyes of many as we wander down the narrow hall. I see frail women with a hint of sadness in their eyes as they lean against the doorways leading to their rooms. I see skinny men, huddled in small groups, staring Giovanni and I down as we pass. Others sit on the stained carpet below, legs blocking the walkway, watching us carefully.

They're all different. They all come from different background, different backstories, different races and ethnicities. But they're all the same, for one reason and one reason alone.

Addiction holds them all hostage.

I feel Gio rest a hand on the small of my back as I rest a foot on the stairwell that leads to the second floor. I hardly feel it, my attention on the litany of people that line the stairwell we plan to ascend. Gio offers a gentle, but much needed nudge forward and with that we climb the stairwell. Men and women lean on either side, their conversations falling to a whisper as we near. A man lies sprawled on a step, unconscious, forcing the two of us to step over him. Nobody else appears worried.

"You're quiet," Giovanni notices.

We hit the landing of the second floor, and I turn around. A sympathetic look crosses his face as our eyes meet. I drop my gaze from his, only to glance around the second floor. Doors hang off their hinges, while the wallpaper on the ceiling threatens to fall at any moment due to water damage. Holes punched through the drywall act like decorations as they line either side of the hallway. My stomach sinks even further.

"Dominic overdosed the other day," I admit to him what Dominic had told us during our brief run-in at the hospital. "And it hurts, to think about who I remember him as. The Dom I know would've never..." My voice fades when I find that I don't have the energy to explain all the things that the Dom of old would never, in a million years, do.

Gio watches me for a short while. "I don't have any personal experiences with addiction, but I've heard stories. And if I have any advice for you, it would be to stop comparing. Stop comparing the Dominic you knew to the Dominic you know. He will never be the person you first met him as. The damage is done. But that doesn't mean he can't be saved."

I brush my thumb across the corner of my eye, wiping away a tear before it falls. "Then let's save him."

Giovanni smiles softly and offers his arm to me. I take hold of it, allowing him to lead me to the nearest door. I don't have time to question his intentions before his fist meets the thin piece of wood. He nearly knocks the pathetic door off its hinges.

The door opens, and the first words out the stranger's mouth is, "You the feds?"

"Not quite," my bodyguard answers for me. He pulls out his phone and angles it towards the stranger, offering the man a glimpse of one of the only photos I could find of Dominic in my phone. "Looking for a friend."

"His name's Dominic," I offer.

The stranger takes a quick glimpse before nodding. "You aren't the first people to ask about him. He's four doors down."

He goes to shut his door when a question pops in my mind, "Wait."

Gio reacts quickly, jamming his foot between the door and wall before the stranger can slam it in our face. The man plucks the cigarette from his mouth hastily, eyebrows forming together in annoyance.

"Who else has asked about him?"

The stranger blinks, "I don't fucking know. I was high as shit." He sends Gio a warning glance to move his foot out the doorway ASAP, then slams the door for good.

Dominic Santiago always kept his room at the old Luciano house pristine. There wasn't a dresser drawer out of place, a single article of clothing on the floor, or a wrinkle in his duvet. You couldn't find a piece of lint on the floor even if you tried, which is why my chest tightens when Giovanni turns the knob to the unlocked door leading to Dominic's room, revealing just how filthy the room is.

The room smells just as badly as it looks. Men and women's clothes are scattered in puddles over the stained, worn out carpet that lines Dom's place of residence. Old containers of takeout food lie atop every available surface, while crushed up pizza boxes and random plastic containers are shoved in corners. Not only do they add to the dirty aesthetic of the room, but the moldy slices of pizza that remain don't help the smell.

Tattered curtains hang by mere shreds, doing their best to block out any natural light. The room's wallpaper is equally as atrocious, peeling more than it is sticking to the wall. I risk a glance upwards, analyzing the evident water damage to the ceiling. I truly didn't think it could get worse than this, until I see Dominic, and the random woman cuddling him.

Dominic doesn't seem aware of much as he lies on his stomach, an arm resting on the pillow above his head. He doesn't return the brunette's touches, nor does he seem to reciprocate the kisses she plants on his lips. Her hand slips underneath the comforter to gently stroke his back.

I clear my throat, drawing her attention to the two strangers that stand in the room.

Her face twists in a sickening expression and her lips part, surely prepared to berate me—but then she catches Giovanni out the corner of her eye, and the gun that sits on his hip, and she shuts her mouth before anything stupid can escape.

She presses one last kiss to Dominic's bare shoulder and mutters, "You have company."

The woman gathers her things quickly, hastily yanking on the outfit she discarded to the floor before her and Dominic's late-night activities. She grabs her phone from the nightstand and works her long hair into a ponytail before rounding the bed. She stops before me, gives me a long glance, before turning her attention back to Dominic—who hasn't moved a muscle. "You keep putting out, I'll keep bringing pills. I'll be back tonight."

Still in a drugged haze, Dominic's soft mumble is incoherent. I answer for him. "He won't be here tonight." She turns to look at me as I add, "Get out."

Her departure doesn't take long, sending the pitiful room into somewhat of a silence. The hum of a generator—a heater or an air conditioner can be heard in the distance. It's just loud enough to be a nuisance for those who aren't used to it, but quiet enough that once acclimated, it could be forgotten.

Dominic's shoulders gently rise and fall with every breath. His eyes are closed and his lips slightly parted. His hair droops across his forehead like a mop, a few strands of hair long enough to potentially obscure his vision. Dominic was never ridiculously built, but the definition that his arms and shoulders once had suggested he knew the weight equipment at the home well. And to see him now, nearly swallowed up by a sea of grimy blankets in a bed far smaller than he's used to, makes his weight loss ever the more obvious.

The look on Giovanni's face suggests that he didn't realize just how bad Dominic had gotten. A part of me wants to read Gio's mind, while the other would prefer that whatever thoughts are scrolling through his head remain private. His expression doesn't hide the worry he shares for his ex-superior. He glances to his feet quickly, processing what he's seen, then turns around and rips the curtains apart.

Sunlight streams into the room, a single ray catching Dominic right in the eye. His curse is muffled, his movements slow as he draws a hand over his face, doing his best to block the bright light. "What the fuck do you want?"

I shift my weight to another foot. "Who's your fuck buddy?"

Dominic buries his face into the nearest pillow to delay his response. He's delaying because he's thinking, doing his best to pinpoint my voice from memory. He still hasn't cracked open his eyes. He still doesn't know who's speaking to him, or who stands in his room uninvited. But even in his drugged haze, I have confidence he knows exactly who's speaking to him.

He finally responds. "I don't know her name."

"So, you're just moaning random female names when you two—"

"I'm not moaning anything." Dominic pushes himself to his knees and rotates, dropping his backside to the mattress in frustration. He struggles to open his eyes, still trying to acclimate himself to the light. "I'm not enjoying it."

My shoulders fall. "Then, why—?"

"What the fuck do you want, Faith?" Dominic's tone is unwelcome and uncharacteristic. At least, it was uncharacteristic. I'm not so sure anymore. He holds a hand up to the side of his face once more to block the light as his eyes crack open. I can't help but notice the band the hospital slapped on his wrist the night he overdosed still clings to him. "Are you here to drop off my shit, my clothes, or is there something else Liam wants to take from me?"

My mouth opens and I curse at myself for not being able to find the words to say. The only thing I can say is what I've been rehearsing in my mind from the moment I learned Dominic was struggling. "I can't let you die."

"I can," is all Dominic says as he lowers himself back to the bed.

Giovanni swallows hard and steps forward, drawing Dominic's full attention for the first time. The ex-underboss struggles to concentrate on the figure that appears to be walking out the light. Gio doesn't wait for Dominic to offer any kind of hint that he recognizes him. "Mr. Santiago, sir. You're not going to want to hear this, but we can't leave here without you."

Dominic's voice is weak as he states, "You can leave me here. That's a fucking order."

"I don't mean this is any disrespectful way, Dominic," The casual usage of his first name from a solider forces Dom to pay attention. Giovanni clenches his jaw and tilts his head back, declaring, "But I no longer take orders from you."

"You remember Veleno?" I step forward, trying to draw Dominic's attention back to me. It takes a second—a long second—for Dom to tear his gaze away from Giovanni. But he does, offering me time to speak. I don't wait for him to respond. "I'm not sure how you remember so here's the short version. Veleno had a kid. She was five. Her mother came to the house because Valentin Rostov had the little girl kidnapped. This morning, she was left on the porch, giftwrapped. And if Valentin can do that to a child, I can only imagine what he would do to you and I can't—I won't let that happen to you."

Dominic lies still, offering no indication that he's afraid that what happened to Analía may happen to him. But when he speaks this time, the irritation in his tone and the anger that backs every word up is gone. And if I close my eyes and listen carefully, I hear Dom. I hear my friend, the gentleman, and the second in command.

"Why didn't you tell me Rico was alive?"

Air is suddenly hard to come by, but tears are not. This is no rumor Dominic has heard, for the way he posed the question tells me everything I need to know. He knows. I couldn't even bring myself to lie if I wanted to.

Dominic tucks the comforter under his chin as he recalls the event he begins to speak about. "One night, I woke up, and I saw him. I saw Rico, standing at the end of my bed. I thought it was a dream, because when my wife died, when Rose died, I would dream about her—see her standing at the end of my bed, but this wasn't a dream."

"Why do you say that?" I question.

"Because I felt his touch," Dominic strains, like he's trying to convince himself that he's right. "I never felt Rose's touch when she was in my dreams. But he touched me. He grabbed my hand because I reached for more pills. I heard his voice—he told me to stop, that I had taken enough and to go to bed. But I was so fucked up, I don't even really remember..."

I take a half step towards his bed. "Dom..."

But Dominic isn't paying me any attention. The look in his eye is distant as he struggles to remember the nights his brother visited. "He started bringing Crixus. I would hear them talking but I couldn't say anything, everything was always just..." Dominic struggles to find the words to explain how the drugs messed up his cognition, suggesting that he was so high he couldn't even form words to speak, to ask if what he thought he was seeing was actually real.

Giovanni eyes Dominic warily, thinking deeply. He states the obvious in a deep voice. "They were protecting you."

My chest tightens once I meet Dom's eyes. Tears gather to the corners of his eyes as he clutches the comforter to his chest. His grip tightens so much that his knuckles lighten half a shade. I see his anger, but I don't feel his pain until he speaks. He sounds weak. The once commanding voice is now nothing but a whisper, a murmur that the wind can easily carry away. But the hurt in his soft voice is like a sharp object to my heart—to ice—and I feel it shatter in my chest when he begs, "Why didn't you tell me?"

The words come out as quickly as my tears. "He told me not to tell anybody and I—I swear I didn't know for long I just—he saved my life, and...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I expect another angry reaction from Dominic, but all I get is resignation. "It's fine. At least they have each other."

"Don't say that. They still need you."

"Evidently they don't."

"Dominic—"

"Stop!" Dom shoots up to a seated position, hands combing through his lengthy hair. He grabs a fistful of curls and clenches his fist around them, tugging. "Just stop it. Stop trying to convince me." The anger has returned ten-fold, and just like that, I don't recognize him anymore. "They don't need me. They would be better without me. The family is fucking better without me. This world is better without me." Dominic yanks his hand downward, breathing heavily.

But then he opens his palms, revealing clumps of his hair that fell out with ease.

Tears spill out the corner of his eyes as he slaps the strands of dead hair in his palms away, disgusted. He chokes on a sob. "I'm tired. I'm tired of trying to be the good guy. I'm tired of being the gentleman. I'm tired of pretending everything is okay. I—I'm tired of hearing people mourn a Dominic that never existed. You don't know me! I haven't been myself since she died. But everybody wants me to be the person I pretended to be again. Everyone expects it. But how come I have to be perfect? How come nobody expected Rico to be perfect? How come Liam can make mistakes but I—"

"Dominic," It takes everything in me to keep my voice from shaking. "That is not what..."

"If I could have a word." Giovanni cuts me off politely, offering an apologetic glance in my direction. I swallow what's left of my tears and nod in return, prepared to see where the soldier takes the conversation. The corner of Gio's lip quirks upward in a half-committed smile before he turns to Dominic, who's busy wiping the tears from his cheeks.

"Mr. Santiago, as the commander of the army you once helped lead, I need you to know that nobody expected anything from you." Gio takes a cautious step forward, eyebrows furrowed together in thought as he quickly forms appropriate sentences in his head. His concern appears genuine. His care for a man he claimed he wasn't even friends with is obvious. "You built a reputation around yourself that appeared perfect, and it did, to our eyes—to every solider you walked past, every soldier you ordered. You were kind, the upmost gentleman, and I'm sure Ms. Faith here can agree. But nobody asked you to keep up a façade. Nobody asked you to chase perfection and nobody expected it."

Gio sighs, welcoming the silence from Dominic and I. "The pressure that you're feeling, that you felt, it's all self-inflicted." The soldier offers up a weak smile. "I served three years in the military. I served five in private security and I'm currently commander of one of—if not thee—most powerful mafia families in the world. I have seen a lot, Dominic, yet nothing is scarier than the mind. Nothing has ever made me cry more, fight more, than my own dreams."

I'm intrigued at just how intently Dominic is listening to Giovanni.

"I'm not sure if you remember, Dominic, but I served on Michael's security detail when I first arrived." Gio smiles at the fond memories. "I wanted to pick his brain, and one night, I asked him what he was afraid of. Because according to the other soldiers, Michael Luciano wasn't afraid of anything."

"What did he say?" I ask.

"His feared his own mind." Giovanni explains. "Michael feared his mind because that was the only thing he couldn't escape."

"You're a good man, whether your mind lets you believe it or not." Gio turns back to Dominic. "And if it's true, if your brother is still alive, I guarantee you that he needs you, just as much as you need him—them, whatever. But please, don't ever think you have nothing, or nobody. The soldiers who served on your security detail are refusing every single assignment I give them because they want you. They want to protect you. And if I told them where you were—" Giovanni laughs in disbelief. "This world will never be better without you. This family will never be better without you, and next time you think about taking your life, think about your family. And I'm not talking about blood, I'm talking about the hundreds of men at the house that consider you their brother." The soldier takes another step towards Dom's bed, then looks over at me. 'I've said everything I need to say."

To say I see Giovanni in a slightly different light would be the truth. For someone who commands an army, he looks somewhat uncomfortable in a room of only two people, like he spoke more than he's ever had.

I smile in his direction. "I have nothing else to add."

He returns my smile with a grin of his own, then extends a hand toward Dominic, offering him one last chance.

"Take it or leave it," is Giovanni's offer.

Take his hand, and we leave with Dominic.

Leave it, and we leave without him.

Dominic struggles in the seconds that precede his decision. I know deep in my heart that if we leave without him, we'll never see him again—but I can't physically drag Dom out of bed, down the hall, and into our waiting SUV. I can't drag Dominic to rehab or force him to quit his unhealthy ways of handling his depression, his loss. Only Dominic can help Dominic. Only he can make this decision. His decision. Life or death.

Giovanni's hand falls by his side and what I assume is Dominic's decision, is made. Leave it.

But then Dominic, with what's left of the energy he has, raises his hand.

Giovanni doesn't hesitate to take it.

And for today, Dominic has spared his own life.

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We return to the house a few minutes short of noon. Dominic didn't stop talking from the moment he got inside the car. Have you seen him? Have you hugged him? Have you talked to him? How's he doing? Does he look good, like he's taking care of himself? And the most important question of them all; Who else knows that he's alive?

I dismiss Giovanni for the day, promising that if I plan on leaving the house, I'll contact him. He nods with approval, in respect, and leaves.

"Me, you..." I anchor my arm around Dominic's bicep, escorting him towards the front doors. I smile softly at few hired hands that stand around the yard, working, talking. I make sure to keep my voice low, tilting my lips in Dom's direction as I finish. "Liam, Veleno, and Crixus. Nobody else. Not yet." I grip his arm hard as we come to a stop on the steps. "Nobody else can find out, okay?"

He nods, managing to add, "Okay," before I swing open the front doors and usher him inside.

Carmen turns the corner with her hair in a bun and a glass of water in her hands. She's been crying. Her eyes are red, and her cheeks are stained with tears. Her face falls when our eyes meet. I don't have to ask to know. Liam told Savaughna. Everyone knows the little girl is dead.

But Carmen's face lifts as she glances over at the man beside me. She breaks out in a bright smile and rushes forward, throwing her arms around Dominic's neck and embracing him in a crushing hug. I jump back as water splashes to the ground from her uncontained excitement. Air leaves Dom's body as a laugh is forced from him. He hesitates, but slowly snakes his arms around Carmen's waist, hugging her back.

She pulls away, resting a hand on his cheek as she excitedly proclaims, "You're the best-worst looking person I have ever seen."

"...Thank you?"

Carmen squeals in excitement and tugs Dominic in for another hug. He lets out a breath of distress and Carmen pulls back again, apologizing. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I missed you. We missed you. I like hugging people. Are you okay?"

"No," Dominic answers honestly. "You're okay, though, I just..." His eyes drift to me and he sighs. "I just, really want to lay down." He's already heading in the direction of the steps before Carmen can respond.

"Are you hungry?" She asks, "I can bring you something to eat if you'd like."

"Yeah, please."

"And Dom?"

He turns around.

"You should stop by Rosie's room. She misses you."

It's almost painful watching Dominic climb the stairwell, tightly gripping the railing as he drags himself upstairs. His shoulders are slumped, and he leans into his left foot more than his right, relying more on the railing to keep him upright than on his own strength. He struggles to lift either foot, using all the energy he has left to carry himself upstairs.

Carmen and I watch in a sad silence.

I clear my throat as Dominic reaches the landing of the second floor and disappears down the hall. Carmen eyes the stairwell for a second longer, blinking quickly—but not quick enough to hide the tears that begin to form in the corners of her brown eyes.

"You heard?" My question is as vague as can be, but she knows what I'm asking. She nods and proceeds to blink some more, but this time her long eyelashes fail to keep her emotion at bay. Tears fall.

"I heard." She turns to me, bottom lip quivering. "I heard Liam tell Sav what happened." Another tear falls, then another—she wipes at her face hastily, muttering something about her mascara as she attempts to wipe away the evidence of her tears. "She was just a child, a baby. I wish I could keep every child safe. Safe from people like Valentin, safe from abusive parents, safe from this fucked up world—"

"Safe from Vincenzo De Santis?"

Carmen's eyes meet mine, sharp and intense. Her nod is as subtle as can be.

I let my gaze drift up the stairwell. "How is Savaughna doing?"

As if on que, the faint sound of crying echoes off the grand walls of our home. Making my way towards the steps is a decision I make unconsciously. I heard crying and my first thought is to comfort them, to hold them, something—but Carmen stops me with a gentle tug of my sleeve. She wipes her cheeks clear of tears and shakes her head.

I nod, promising to Carmen that I won't bother Savaughna. We depart ways shortly after. I, upstairs, while Carmen turns back towards the kitchen, having promised Dominic a meal—and with a quick glance at the time, noon—suggesting that she go ahead and fix Rosalie something to eat.

Carmen's voice fades as I ascend the stairwell, but what she said earlier stirs a feeling I thought I lost. She was just a child. I reach the second floor and turn, heading straight for our bedroom. A baby, Carmen has said. I can hear Liam's voice in my head, like he's walking beside me in this very moment. Kill them all, and I remember the tightness in my chest, and the hesitation that I suffered when Austin glanced my way, practically pleading that I talk some sense into Liam. I wish I could keep every child safe. Safe from people like Valentin, from abusive parents—

I stop halfway towards our bedroom and turn around, my feet carrying me towards another bedroom door before my mind can process my decision.

Safe from this fucked up world, I hear Carmen again.

Then I hear my own voice, and the words I spat out just a few hours ago. I'm not trying to get into heaven. I'm trying to win a war. I was angry, pissed because an innocent child was brutalized by the hands of a demon—or, more specifically, by the hands of a man who created one.

But who would we be if we turned around and did the same?

I turn the knob and push open the door, stepping inside the room without an invitation. The bedroom is just as grand as all the others. High walls with detailed and ornate furniture. A litany of expensive looking dresses long and short, vibrant and mute lay on the bed, sprawled out as potential options.

I have heard stories about how people would feel in the presence of Michael Luciano. I heard that you could sense he was in a room before he ever spoke. Before your eyes ever landed on him. He drew people to their knees in respect. His power was unmatched, so they say, but when my attention falls on Zara, I have to ask—was it really?

Zara stands before her vanity, her all-white suit is stunning, especially on her. Her pants hug every curve, tight around her hips and her thighs. She tugs at her suit jacket and tilts her head, focusing on her reflection. Gold dangles around her wrists, her neck, and from her ears. Her hair is wrapped in a flawless bun, while gentle whispers of hair delicately fall around the prettiest of her features.

I shut the door quietly behind me, doing my best to keep my hands from continuing to shake. "Can I ask you for advice?"

"Depends." Zara glances over at me. "Are you coming to me as my future daughter in law, or as the queen?"

I fight a soft smile as she turns back to her vanity. "Does that change how you respond?"

The corner of Zara's pink lips tilt upwards. She responds with a breathy, "Yes."

"The queen," I say.

She nods, waiting for me to continue.

I don't know where to start, or what to say first. I breathe deeply, trying to calm my nerves and move closer to her, watching as she scans her vanity before picking up a perfume bottle. She notices my hesitation but doesn't say anything about it. "This was his favorite fragrance. He gifted it to me on our anniversary. He would always compliment me about it, forgetting that he was the one who bought it. We got in a fight about a month later and he threw the bottle against the wall. Broke it." She lets out a sad laugh. "It's crazy how smell and memory work. He gave it to me on one of the happiest evenings, but all I remember whenever I smell this is the fight we had."

"Why do you wear it then?" I inquire.

Zara's smile is as sad as her laugh. "It's one of the only two things I have left of him."

"What's the second thing?"

I recognize the look in her eyes. I saw it in Veleno this morning, for all but a quick second, but I saw it. It is all I see whenever Dominic and I meet eyes. It's in Vincenzo—harder to spot, but it's there when you look hard. I saw it in Carmen's eyes this morning when she saw Dominic again. I see it in her every time Federico is mentioned. I see it in Liam, more and more as the days progress—as the war intensifies. I even see it in Rosalie, deep, deep, deep down.

I saw it in Diavolo. It was nothing but a flicker, there and gone as quickly as light is when you flip the switch. I saw it when he was climbing through the broken window of our SUV after that fateful accident that nearly took Liam's life. I locked eyes with Diavolo and was met with nothing but the abyss. But you can always see something, even on the darkest of nights.

I see it in me once I join Zara in front of her vanity and stare down my reflection in the mirror.

It's getting harder and harder to hide it now.

Pain.

I look away from the mirror, and from her. Silence is her answer to my question. And silence is what I give back in respect.

"Did you and Michael ever disagree?"

"All the time," She doesn't miss a beat as she takes a step back, watching me curiously. "We were great partners—business partners. Mediocre in marriage, though." Zara turns back to the vanity, deep in thought. "We were both strong minded. Hot headed. Neither submissive. Fire on fire." A soft smile graces her face as she trails a nail across a scratch in the wood.

"What did you do if you disagreed on something that he agreed to?"

"Depends on what it was."

Zara waits a beat, anticipating my further explanation on the situation. She turns her attention to me and lifts a brow. The simple movement breaks the dam and I spill everything. I tell her about Analía, and she nods, having already heard the terrible news. I tell her about Giovanni and the group of soldiers he led to orchestrate a hit on the families of Valentin's soldiers. I tell her about Liam and the demand he made, and how horrible I feel for not shutting it down when I had the chance. I tell her how I was upset, pissed, and let my anger get the best of me—forcing me to make a decision my heart didn't agree with.

"We'll be just as morally corrupt as Valentin if we kill children, if we touch innocent women. We can't bring back those who our soldiers murdered, and I feel terrible about that...but we can't kill children. He can't kill children. Liam cannot kill children," I finish with.

Zara watches me carefully, her face as hard as stone throughout my story. I end my statement with a huff. I expected more emotion out of Zara—a pair of tear-filled eyes, a crease in the brow, even a damn frown—but I get nothing. As a mother herself, I thought the idea that innocent children and innocent women being murdered—something she once was—would hit home. I thought it would hit something and then I remember who I'm talking to.

Jaiyana Zara—the ex-queen of the most influential, most powerful mafia families in her decade. The once wife of Michael Luciano. The only one in the world who could go toe-to-toe with the ex-king himself and strut out the room, alive. The one that drew the most powerful of men to their knees, and commanded armies who didn't have to obey her. And we feared Michael because of his power, because of his status, but Zara should surely be feared herself. For her mind and her heels—both having ended lives.

"You have two options," She begins. "If the king and queen disagree on orders given to soldiers, and the soldiers are aware of this, then the army cannot move on either command until the hierarchy is in unison."

"And the second?"

"Communication," Zara says plainly. "Talk to Liam about how you feel and how you disagree. There are hundreds of answers to a solution, but we always tend to pick the ones that we believe will make us feel better. What you said was true. We would be no better than the enemy if we execute innocents. Remind that boy who we are."

I hesitate. "Luciano's?"

"Luciano's. A light on the darkest of nights. We are blessed. We operate with honor, in glory, and we execute with power. We don't bow, and we certainly do not fall to the level of our enemies, especially Valentin Rostov." Zara and I lock eyes. "We rise above and conquer it all."

I nod although a part of me wants to tell her that maybe she should tell Liam this herself, but this isn't her fight. It's mine. "Thank you, Zara."

Her smile grows. "Of course, your majesty."

Liam barges into the room, grumbling about his suit. His fingers are busy working to straighten his bowtie, which is clearly irritating him. It's not a surprise that he looks good. His all-black suit combo is something I've seen before, but the details of the suit jacket is new. Crystals. They shimmer whenever the light catches them, as does the earrings nestled in Liam's ears.

He doesn't look up until he comes to a stop in front of his mom. Then he notices me. "I didn't know you were back. Did Dominic come with you?"

"He's back." I glance between the two of them and their formal attire. "Where are you two going?"

"The company is finally re-opening today," Zara answers. "I was too nervous to go by myself, and Liam agreed to come with me." She motions for her son to take another step towards her. They meet somewhere in the middle and she immediately goes to work trying to fix Liam's crooked bowtie. She runs her hands down the lapels of his jacket and smiles up at him. The look in her eyes grows distant. "You look like your father."

"Weird," Liam takes a half step back, thanking her for the assistance. "He always told me I looked like you."

At a glance, I can see both. I see Michael when I look in Liam's eyes, but I see Zara when I catch a glimpse of his profile. I see Michael when Liam is mad, but I see Zara when he smiles.

Zara's smile is faint as she backtracks on her previous statement. "You do, but...I meant, you dress like him. Because Michael, he could dress."

"Who do you think taught me?" Liam teases. The corners of his lips fall as he glances from his mother to me. "I've been seeing him a lot." He holds my attention when he says it, knowing I've been curious about the dreams that have been waking him up every night. "In my dreams...I miss him."

"You aren't the only one." Zara's tone lifts, a certain level of excitement in her voice when she realizes she isn't alone in how she's been feeling. "Why do you think I hang around Vince as much as I do?" Her question isn't one to be answered. "You should talk to Vince, that's what I do when I start to miss him. They weren't the same person, but damn near close." Zara's smile is a sad one. "Sometimes he tells me stories, stories I never heard of Michael. I think I've learned more about him since he died..."

Zara turns from us both, a tear gathering in the corner of her eye. She grips the edge of her vanity and leans against it, shutting her eyes tight. She sounds like she's in physical pain when she speaks again. "I regret it. Every single fucking day, I regret it." When she turns back to Liam, her eyes are red with tears. "I regret ever trying to take you from him. I was stupid. The first time I held you, I just knew that I didn't want you involved in any of this fucking mess. I loved you so much and I didn't want to lose you, not to this life. But you were destined for this before you even had a heartbeat."

A tear finds its way out of Zara's eye.

"And I remember threatening to take you from him and telling him that if he lets me leave with you, to divorce me and find another woman to have his heir." She shakes her head, "He said he didn't want any other woman to be the mother of his children."

Zara sighs. "I think I came to respect Michael more after he put a hit on my head, because that's when I knew he was serious. I regret it because those years, away from you and him, are years I can't get back. I'll never get him back."

She snatches a necklace and hands it to Liam. Zara spins around, requesting that he secure the jewelry around her neck. Liam glances at it, offering me a look as well before proceeding to place it around his mother's neck.

My Jaiyana, it reads.

"I care for Vince a lot." Her voice is a light as a feather as Liam gingerly places the necklace around her. She turns back around, fiddling with it. "But why do you think I'm so afraid to lose him? I'm terrified because if I lose him—if I lose Vince—I lose Michael, for good."

"You won't lose Vince." Liam's statement is a promise. Zara's nod is pitiful, and the shaking of her head only causes more tears to spill. Liam mumbles something about, coming here, and he sweeps her in a warm hug. I hear him tell her he loves her, and she repeats it back through her occasional sobs.

Her eyes meet mine around Liam's shoulder as they continue their embrace.

"I said there were two things I had left of Michael."

I nod.

"The last one is Vincenzo."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

"What're you doing in bed at seven o'clock on your birthday?"

I groan and roll over, the sound of the bedroom door opening having woken me up from my lengthy nap. I roll over on my back, lazily reaching for the lamp on the nightstand. The flip of a switch causes a warm yellow glow to illuminate the room. I groan again and throw my forearm over my eyes.

"How was re-opening the company?" I ask groggily.

The sound of Liam's sigh forces me to drag my arm from my face and lean upwards, finding his eyes in the dim lighting. He's busy working the buttons of his suit jacket. He slips it off and curls it around his forearm to lean down, greeting me with a quick kiss.

"Emotional," He comments, stepping back. "But it was fine. The press, though, they're having a field day with the footage of me shoving that reporter back at the hospital."

I push myself into a seated position as Liam moves toward his closest, slowing unbuttoning his black dress shirt. "Hopefully he doesn't press charges," I comment.

Liam's smile is bright as he undo's the final button of his shirt, exposing his chest and the chain that clings to his neck. "If he loves his family and knows what's best for him, he won't. I'm not a man who relies on the law to handle my business."

He disappears inside the closest and returns in what feels like a matter of seconds. But he doesn't come out dressed for bed, or ready to meander around the house—he comes out dressed to the nines. He exits the closest in a beautiful floral print all-black tuxedo paired with shawl lapels. A red handkerchief is tucked inside the front pocket. Something red is drooped across his forearm, but he's too busy running a brush from the back to the front of his head, smoothing his short hair down.

"You look—" There's not enough words in the English language to explain just how good he looks. A reminder every day that no matter who this family fights, or who we engage with in war, that I won. "What's that?" I motion towards the article of clothing on his forearm.

He tosses it to me and the moment I feel the red, silky material, I know.

"Your dress." He smiles at me and turns around, walking towards the door, "Get dressed, birthday girl."

I throw my legs over the edge of the bed quickly, holding on tight to the expensive dress. "What for?" He pauses halfway to the door and slides a hand inside the pocket of his dress pants. Liam turns his head, doing his best to glance at me over his shoulder. All I'm met with is his breathtaking profile. "I thought we weren't doing anything, and I know you're tired as hell—"

"—rest is for the weary."

I sigh.

Liam glances down and eventually angles himself back towards me, his dress shoes making a distinct sound against the hardwood floor below. "I thought long and hard about what I wanted to get you for your birthday. I thought about a car," He takes a step towards the bed. "But what's another Mercedes, another Ferrari, Lamborghini? Another Bugatti? I even thought about another house, somewhere on the beach, but what's another piece of property when you have as much money as I do?"

I can't help but smile, grateful for the man that slowly approaches me.

"And I knew you wouldn't want a car, or a house, so I started to think about what you would love." He comes to a stop, his knees brushing mine. I tilt my head back, keeping his eyes on me. "My present for you isn't physical, but it's something I know you will cherish forever. With this war, safety and security isn't promised, but it's promised tonight. That's what I wanted to give you. A night of security, safety, and the fact that where I'm taking you—for a few hours—will be the safest place in the world. Where we can eat in peace, dance in peace, and hang out with everyone we love—in peace."

My hug catches him by surprise. He stumbles back with a laugh, his arm finding its way around my waist as he pulls me as physically close to him as possible. My hand grips the back of his neck as he rests his chin against my shoulder. He tells me happy birthday in the lowest of voices, followed by my favorite pair of words. I love you. I love you to death.

And just like that I'm out of his arms and he's shooing me in the direction of the bathroom, commanding that I hurry up and get dressed.

Getting dressed with Liam in the room has always been entertaining. There have been times where we would break out in song, typically one that we heard on the radio the day before. And although we would usually be doing it for laughs and giggles, I was always astounded by the sound of Liam's voice, and just how well he can carry a note. I always thought his voice was rich when we talked, but hearing him sing is different—a very good different. Because of this, I let Liam sing louder and on a few occasions I found myself recording him, in awe.

I replay the videos of him singing, wearing nothing but the towel he exited the bathroom in, whenever I miss him.

And if we're not singing or laughing, we're admiring the other's beauty. I can't count how many videos I have on my phone of Liam shaving. One in particular involves me adding amazing commentary to his shaving routine one morning. The video was going smoothly until I made a comment so funny that Liam cut his chin.

But tonight, it's Liam admiring me.

He sits on the end of the bed, shoes planted to the floor as he intently watches me slip the final dress strap over my shoulder. I run my hands down my hips and spin around to face him, only then noticing how the red of my dress perfectly matches with his handkerchief. It isn't until I turn around that I notice the flash of his camera blinding me, and the current video he's recording.

I laugh, trying my best to cover my eyes. "What are you doing?"

The intense light is gone, and I feel his hand on mine, guiding my own away from my face. He wraps his arms around my waist, twirling us both around the room with a laugh. He nuzzles his face in the crook of my neck, trailing a series of light kissing up a path, leading towards my ear. "I like taking videos of you, I'm sorry."

I lean my head back to get a good look at him, hoping he doesn't miss the suggestive tone in my voice. "I understand, as long as nobody else gets a hold of your phone and sees some of the videos and pictures you have of me—"

Liam makes a dramatic motion of locking his iPhone. "Locked."

I make an unbelieving sound, forcing him to twirl me again.

"Nobody else will see what I get to see," His voice is low in promise.

"And if they do?"

"I'll rip out their eyes."

His smile matches mine as he leads me in a spin, dancing us towards the door of my closest. I squeal as he dips me, able to lean himself down just long enough to scoop up my pair of open-toed heels. He draws me back to him and twirls us to the edge of the bed. His grip on my waist loosens as he spins me once more. I drop to the end of the bed with a breathless laugh. He falls to a knee and takes my foot in his hand, gently sliding my shoe on.

I make a sound out the back of my throat, urging Liam to glance up. His touch is gentle, soft—nothing but a whisper as he secures my heel to my foot. "Good thing I like my men a little crazy."

He offers me his hand once he's finished and pulls me to my feet.

"I love you, Fi."

"I love you too."

Our walk to our awaiting transport is quick, Liam's hand never leaving my lower back. It isn't until we reach outside, and he offers his hand to me, leading me safely down the front steps that I notice just how quiet the house was. I don't have time to ask Liam where everyone is, or where exactly we're going. We reach the blacked-out SUV within seconds. Giovanni holds the door open, having left his typical attire at the estate tonight—replacing it when an all-black tuxedo. Diamonds are nestled in his ear lobes. A curled, communication wire runs down the side of his neck, the speaker resting gingerly in his ear.

He nods respectfully to Liam and offers me the slightest of smiles. Their hands meet in a quick handshake, nothing as complex as the one he and Tatum shared earlier that day—but one more out of respect. They both offer me a hand helping me inside the vehicle and Liam follows seconds later, but not before the two share a word. I hear Gio mention something about seeing us when we get there, then the door is shut and immediately locked.

I strap my seatbelt in and tug, paranoid that the security feature was potentially tampered with. There's not much I trust in anymore. Liam leans forward, dropping the privacy screen to address the driver. "Drive slow. I swear this may be the only time we have without interruptions."

"Unless we get slammed in the side by a raging fucking dog," the soldier to the right of the driver adds, joking about our previous incident with Diavolo and the Russians.

Liam fights to hold back a smile, forcing his expression to remain neutral. "You're not fucking funny, Zay." He yanks the divider up, but it's hard to miss the laughter of the two soldiers up front.

Liam finds a seat beside me, not hesitating to strap himself in as well. His hand finds mine as soon as the car lurches forward, our journey commencing. He brings my hand to his lips, his eyes finding mine as he presses a kiss to my knuckles.

"I feel like I have to tell you everything before we reach this mystery destination."

He lowers my hand from his lips to respond, but I cut him off, shoving my hand back in his face with a smile on my lips, anticipating more kisses than just that.

Liam's eyes light up as his warm laugh fills the interior of the SUV. His lips find my wrist this time, trailing a path down my forearm. He intertwines his fingers with mine when he pulls back, a smile curving his lips upward. "I can't wait for you to see this mystery destination."

"Any hints?"

Liam pretends to zip his lips closed.

We fall into a comfortable silence. My head rests on his shoulders, my eyes falling closed in true peace. It's a peace you feel when you trust the person you're around enough to close your eyes, to let you guard down, knowing if something were to happen they will have you back, one-hundred and ten percent. I probably would've found a way to fall asleep with the way his shoulders rise and fall with every breath—but then he speaks.

"How did things with Dominic go this morning?"

With my eyes still closed, I paint the picture of Dominic's room as best as I can. I talk about the takeout containers and boxes of moldy pizza that liter the filthy room. I talk about the water damage that stains the disgusting carpet and lines the perimeter of the ceilings. I talk about the woman we found in Dominic's bed, and how she didn't stop from touching him, kissing him, despite how drugged up he appeared to be.

I finally open my eyes and sigh. "I didn't do much convincing, though. I have to give credit where credit is due. Giovanni got him out of bed, and I'm thankful."

Liam nods a little too quickly. "I'm thankful too."

"What about you?" I sit up straight, stretching my arm. "How did telling Savaughna go?"

Liam sounds defeated when he sighs. "About as well as you can expect..." I want the urge more out of him, but the way he looks to the window suggests he doesn't want to dive any deeper, and I respect that.

I hesitate at first, unsure how I should start, yet determined that what Zara and I spoke about earlier needs to be mentioned. And with knowing how often Liam and I get interrupted, it may be a while before I have another moment truly alone with him.

I jump straight to it. "I think we need to talk about the whole killing children, thing."

Liam tenses, keeping his attention trained on the city as we pass. "What about it?"

"A lot of things," I begin. "I think Giovanni should be punished for what he did." Liam looks my way. "Not just for killing innocent people, but for orchestrating a mission that we didn't greenlight. I don't know about you, but personally, that feels like pure disrespect. And I know he didn't mean it that way, he was amped on emotion, but if his actions don't go punished, it'll appear as though we can't control our own men."

Liam nods, appearing to agree with what I'm saying. Yet, he still challenges my way of thinking. "I understand where you're coming from, but Esposito is the commander of this army. What do you want me to do? Slap him on the wrist? Execute him? Take his badge? He's too good of a soldier, arguably one of the best we have."

"We don't play favorites." I stand firm on what I said, and I hope Liam realizes that. "The same way you would punish another soldier, I think you should punish him. You don't have to decide tonight, just think about it, please."

A second passes, and like usual, Liam reads the room perfectly.

"Something is still on your chest," He comments. "Tell me, or it'll ruin the rest of the night."

There's no point to hide, and certainly no point to pretend. My hand falls to my lap in frustration. "We can't kill children. That will make us just as bad as Valentin—"

"You were on board with it this morning," He shoots back quickly.

"People change."

"That fast?"

"Yes."

Liam's eyes drift to the window. He pauses, thinks about what he's going to say, then exhales. "Let's not do this tonight."

"Fine, raincheck it then."

A part of me regrets bringing up the heavy, controversial topic but there's no guarantee that we would have another chance to speak on it, at least any time soon. My hand finds my own, fiddling with the rings on every finger—rings on every finger except the ring finger. I feel Liam pull away from me, swearing that even the heat his body was radiating off just a moment ago is now gone. I fight to keep myself from offering up an apology that he doesn't deserve.

But then his hand finds my thigh and he squeezes it gently, drawing a faint smile to my face.

I take his invitation of touch to suggest that I hadn't completely ruined the night, and soon find my head back on his shoulder as we near our destination. My eyes wander around the interior of the vehicle, eventually training my attention on the windows opposite of us, carefully watching for any sign that may indicate another Russian improvised accident. But the longer I anticipate, the more stupid I feel—they would be utterly ignorant to pull the same move twice.

I glance at the divider, separating the compartment we ride in, to the front of the vehicle, curious as to what the soldiers up front are talking about.

Then I look up at Liam, my gaze unnoticed as I watch him watch the world blur by. His grip on my thigh tightens every so often. His jaw is tense, lips pursed. The night lights that illuminate every building we pass reflect off the brown of Liam's eyes. I look away from him as well.

Something at the roof of the SUV catches my attention.

I squint, identifying a chart that's imprinted in the ceiling of our transport. It only takes a matter of seconds to identify the codes. There's a code red, code orange, even a code purple. Beside each code, each color, is a short description of what each code means. It lists off every color of the rainbow, and more. There's a code grey, code W—white, I can assume. I frown when I reach the end.

Code black.

The description of a code black has been purposely scratched off.

I point to the ceiling. "What's code black?"

He meets my eyes first, no need to refresh his memory.

"Code black. The king has fallen."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Liam rented out the Staples Center for my birthday.

I've only been here twice before, on two very different occasions. The first was to attend the event in which Federico sniped Ryan Costello during his speech. The second time was a date I planned for Liam, having picked courtside seats so he could see Kobe Bryant play once more.

I was surprised at how many well-known people approached Liam and I that night, mainly to say hi to him and exchange a quick handshake.

"I cannot imagine how much this cost," is all I can say as he escorts me through the underground entrance, following a path I've seen NBA players take on ESPN whenever they exit the bus. He grabs hold of my arm and positions his hand over my eyes.

He laughs, "Pocket change."

The next thing I hear is a chorus of, happy birthday's, followed by the soothing sound of an orchestra. The orchestra is located on the lower level of seating that the Staples Center offers, just a few rows behind the expensive courtside seats—right at mid-court. There's at least a hundred people on either side, playing their various string instruments beautifully.

The tears are inevitable.

Liam pulls me close, planting a kiss on my forehead as he murmurs against my skin, "Happy twenty-third birthday, my love."

The atmosphere of the party changes once we make our presence known. The music plays behind the party, more like background noise to the chatter and laughter throughout the massive crowd of attendees. Waiters and waitresses' breeze through crowds of people, some broken off in small groups, while others are paired off in twos. They manage to balance flutes of champagne on platters, holding them with one hand as they nimbly dodge partygoers.

I recognize most of our soldiers. They're all dressed in their nicest suits rather than their favorite gear. Who I don't recognize, however, are the women that hang on the arms of many; each and every one dressed for the occasion—long, formal dresses paired with stylish updo's, while others sport shorter, more revealing outfits. I grab Liam by the arm as he leads us through the crowd, occasionally offering a thank you, to whoever offered me a pleasant, happy birthday.

"Where'd you find the beautiful women?" I question with a smile.

Liam laughs, briefly waiting to answer my question as he reaches out towards an extended hand. He greets the soldier that says hi before continuing to lead me through the throng of people, heading towards the outskirts of the party, towards the multitude of circular tables that offer seating and a place to sit.

"Most of them are girlfriends or wives of our soldiers," Liam states. I nod, taking in the idea that maybe Giovanni is among the few soldiers that don't believe a relationship can work properly in his line of work. "I thought it would be nice for them to see their loved ones." He waves to another group of people, and they wave back, smiles on their faces. "Analía's death didn't just hurt us, it hurt them. We failed, but so did they and I just thought..."

We reach the edge of the crowd and I stop to glance over my shoulder. A happy occasion joined us all together, but despite the smile on many faces and the carefree laughs that rise above the soothing sound of the violin orchestra, there's still a weight that rests over us all. That although this is a celebration, another year of my life—that everyone who knows, is mourning someone, a child, who will never see their sixth birthday.

I look up to Liam, an epiphany dawning on me. "You flew all these women—these people that they love, to LA to cheer the soldiers up?"

He shrugs. "It didn't cost that much."

"You're amazing. You know that?"

"Yes." His smile is cute. "But tell me again."

I take in the decorations, trying to fathom just how Liam found the time to plan something so detailed. There are multiple tables serving food, while another offers drinks. The orchestra transitions smoothly from one song to another, forcing a few couples to leave their seats and join the crowded dance floor. The few decorations that would suggest it's a birthday party are minimalistic—cute, but not overpowering. I even spot one of the largest cakes I've ever seen, planted in the middle of the largest table of food.

I glance up at Liam for a second, unable to find the words for how I feel in the moment—and I nearly smack into Vincenzo De Santis. He reaches the empty table just as we do. It's set off to the side of all the action for a little peace and quiet from the constant conversation, a peaceful area to people watch, to enjoy the food, the drinks, and the violins.

He looks like the Vincenzo De Santis that I remember. The ruler of Detroit. The King. The product in his hair causes his short, growing curls to tighten and glisten underneath the warm lights. His burgundy suit hugs his shoulders well. The top two buttons of his black dress shirt remain undone, exposing a portion of his tanned chest. But what captures and holds my attention is the lion-head cane that he's replaced with his crutches.

It isn't a typical cane. Certainly not one you would see accompanying the average seventy-year-old. The length of the cane appears gold, and depending on where he got it from, I can assume it might just be the real thing. Instead of the common U-shaped handle, Vincenzo's cane is intricately detailed to replicate the head of a roaring lion. It's black and shimmers beautifully in the right lighting.

He notices my attention on his new device and lifts a brow. Vince slips his thumb into the mouth of the lion and presses down, lifting the cane from the floor as he does so. A sharp, six-inch dagger exits out the bottom. And I come to realization that Vincenzo's cane isn't just a cane. It's a weapon.

"Gifted to me by yours truly," He points the tip of the dagger in Liam's direction, the weapon coming far too close to Liam's face for my liking. But he doesn't budge or flinch, knowing Vincenzo won't hurt him. Vince slips his thumb out the lion's mouth and the dagger retracts—and just like that, Vincenzo's cane is just a cane. He sets it back to the floor with a smile.

"I got it custom made for him," Liam tells me. He pulls a seat out and motions for me to take it. He nods at Vince.

"I appreciate it." Vincenzo skips the seat beside me and drops into the next one, letting his cane rest against the table.

"Are you thirsty? Hungry?"

I shake my head to both questions. "I just want to sit here a while."

Liam nods before mentioning that there were a couple people he wanted to find. He said that if anything were to happen to look out for Giovanni. "He's around here somewhere," is all Liam says before pressing a kiss to my scalp and vanishing into the crowd, greeting and thanking people as he goes, leaving me entirely alone with Vincenzo.

We sit in silence for a bit, people watching. I scan the crowd of people dispersed around the large, regulation basketball court. Tatum stands near the edge of the crowd, dressed in a black tuxedo. If you look closely, you can pinpoint the gun secluded beneath his dress jacket. He appears to be enjoying the party, occasionally talking with groups of people around him, but it's evident that he's still on duty, providing security.

I catch Giovanni exit the tunnel behind us. He adjusts his black bowtie and straightens his black tuxedo jacket. He looks great in all black. It compliments his darker skin-tone perfectly, making his complexion appear clearer than it already is. The studs in his ears shimmer as he casts a casual glance around the arena. He stops his scanning just long enough to make eye contact with his friend and his fellow soldier, Tatum. They salute each other with a smile.

I risk a quick glance to my right, getting a good look at Vincenzo. He doesn't notice me, his attention on the dance floor and from the intensity of his stare, it doesn't look like his eyes are leaving it anytime soon.

I follow his gaze, and find his attention drawn to Zara, who's dancing with another man. He's just another soldier who probably happened to run into her at the drink table and found the courage to ask her for a dance. She obliged. They dance like they've danced together before, twirling around other couples like professionals. His feet work is impressive. Hers is better. The soldier appears to follow her lead, rather than she follow him.

Zara's dance partner rests his hand on the small of her back, dipping her gracefully. Her smile is wide and the laughter that leaves her lips feel louder than the orchestra and the hum of constant murmuring. It's only because we're watching her intently, analyzing her every move.

I break our tables silence. "You alright?"

Vincenzo's shoulders lift and fall in a pathetic shrug. He never draws his gaze away from the dancing couple. "Other than the fact that I lost everything and can't even stand without assistance, sure."

I nod, still watching Zara and the unknown solider spin, completely in sync, around the floor. She says something to him, causing him to smile. "I feel like there's more," I comment.

That statement alone is enough to break the dam, and the words spill out of Vince's mouth faster than he can comprehend. "I'll never be out of Michael's shadow. I worked hard in Detroit to be my own person, to be better—but even dead, he'll always be better than me." Vincenzo exhales. "Michael is like the older brother whose shadow I'll never get out from under."

I ask the first question that comes to mind. "Is that why you mess with Zara? To stick it to Michael?"

Vince looks utterly offended. "Fuck no. I adore Jai." That sounds very much like the truth, but he elaborates anyways. "But what's upsetting is how she sees me. I'm just Michael's best friend. Practically his brother. The king—ex king—who isn't as powerful. The king of second place." His laugh is one of personal disappointment. "What's the point of dying right?" His eyes find the time to leave Zara and land on me. "I'll just be Michael's right-hand man in hell."

"You should tell her how you feel."

"And get my heart broken? I'd rather not."

"Vince..."

He clears his throat. "Forget it." We look towards the dance floor one last time, just long enough to witness the song end. The soldier releases Zara and bows at his waist in respect to the former queen. Her smile is wide as the solider walks off, but it only grows when she feels someone tap her on the shoulder. She turns, to find herself standing in the presence of her son. Liam offers his hand and she gladly takes it. Vincenzo turns back to me, his eyes drifting over my shoulder. "But...happy birthday, Ms. Crawford."

I'm barely able to get out a thank you before a friendly voice speaks behind me. Carmen. Her dress is beautiful. A shade or two darker than mine, probably considered more of a deep wine, burgundy color. It's long and sweeps the ground elegantly, clinging tight to her body in all the right places. Her heels give her the few inches of height she needs to pull the length of the dress off, even doing so much as to make her legs appear more toned, longer than they actually are. The slit in her dress complements her thighs beautifully.

She doesn't notice the eyes that follow her as she reaches our table.

"A water for the drugged up gentleman." She teases, a laugh on her lips as Vincenzo accepts his drink. She sets two flutes of champagne down on the table. "And champagne for me."

I look up at her as she proceeds to take a seat. "Both of those are for you?"

She looks at me for a long moment. Too much time passes before she gingerly slides one over towards me. "Of course not."

I laugh as she grabs my hands, pulling me to my feet. Carmen wraps me in a warm hug. "Happy birthday. I'm really thankful I got to meet you, and I hope, you know, once all of this is over, we can stay friends."

"Of course. We'll still be friends." I laugh and take half a step back, bumping the table as I motion towards her. "But who told you, you could out dress me at my party."

Her cheeks turn a faint shade of red as she immediately becomes a little self-conscious. Her hands fly to her hips, doing her best to work the dress down a little more—as if it's too short. She glances over her shoulder, hoping she hasn't captured anybody's attention. I hear her breath catch, "It was Zara's stupid idea. She said it looked amazing on me, but—I don't like being the center of attention too much—oh my God why is that guy staring—"

I glance around her. She has Tatum's full attention.

I grab her arm as I sit down. "Carmen." She looks to me. "Zara was right. You look amazing. And he's staring because, well, you know."

"I know what?"

"Your ass."

"Oh." She drops to her seat, seemingly forgetting the miniature panic attack she had just seconds before. She takes a sip of her champagne. Vincenzo is in his own little world, quietly sipping his water as his eyes scan the party.

"Have you seen Savaughna?" I ask curiously. I try to look for our friends in the thick crowd, but I don't spot her or Veleno.

Carmen nods. "She's here. I'm surprised she came, to be honest. This morning was insane. I think I held her for an hour because she didn't want Veleno anywhere near her." She takes another sip, her mood falling a bit. "She ended up kicking me out as well, so..."

"Ladies." The deep, welcoming voice causes both Carmen and I to look over our shoulder, meeting the eyes of Giovanni. He stands a few feet away, hands tucked inside his dress pants. His elbow pushes his tux jacket back just enough to expose the holster on his hip, and the gun tucked neatly inside of it. He scans us both, his gaze lasting longer on Carmen than on me. "You two look nice this evening." His eyes drift over my shoulder and he nods, acknowledging Vincenzo.

"Sorry I was late," Gio apologizes.

My eyebrows form together in confusion. "Late for what?"

"I'm on duty tonight."

"No," I strain with a smile. "You're not. I'm giving you the night off. Go enjoy yourself." I nod towards Tatum, who stands quietly on the perimeter of the party. "Your friend looks a little lonely." Giovanni doesn't look very convinced. "I hear this is the safest place in the world right now."

"It is," He confirms without hesitation. "Multiple levels of security. I orchestrated it myself. I can't speak for certain areas of the parking lot, but this building? No one is getting in and no one getting out that wasn't personally invited."

I lift my glass of champagne, and drink to that.

I find Savaughna on the outskirts of the party, approaching a waitress. She plucks an alcoholic beverage from the tray and downs it in one go. She reaches for another, finishing it just as quickly. The concern on the waitress's face grows as Savaughna proceeds to down another. The glass makes it to her lips, but the alcohol never makes it down her throat. Liam lifts an eyebrow, quieting her response, and downs her drink instead. A slower tempo song begins to play, and he offers his hand to her. She takes it reluctantly. I can't hear everything that's said between the two.

"Commander," Carmen greets Gio. "You clean up nice."

He smiles. "You can call me by name, citizen."

"Hey!" Carmen's laugh is sweet to the ears and warming to the soul. Healing to a place that I didn't even know needed it. She flips her incredibly long, recently pressed hair over her should and smiles even wider. "You worked hard for your title, I think it's only right to address you by it."

Gio nods slowly, trying to fight the urge to smile. He goes to respond, but a young voice beats him to it. "Are you flirting with my woman?"

Giovanni steps out the way. Crixus approaches the table, side-eyeing the large soldier. He's dressed perfectly for the occasion, but I know he would have a fit if I told him he looked cute. He pairs his black tuxedo with a teal vest that peaks out of his suit jacket and a teal bowtie. A crooked teal bowtie. His curls are tight, held together by some sort of gel.

The kid glances between Carmen and I, pointing an accusing finger in Gio's direction. "Who is this?"

Giovanni returns the irritated tone, asking us, "Who is this child?"

Crixus scrunches up his face in disgust. "Child?"

"Crixus," I warn. The two glance at each other—Crixus having to look up, while Giovanni looks down. "Crixus, Giovanni. Giovanni, Crixus."

"Giovanni." The soldier extends a hand, a smile playing on the corners of his lips as he waits for Crixus to meet him halfway in a handshake. "I'm her bodyguard." He nods toward me. "Her shadow."

Crixus turns to me, the innocence in his voice hard to miss. "Faith, why is your shadow uglier than you?"

The table bursts out in a fit of laughter and smiles. Vincenzo's water slips down the wrong pipe, forcing him to cough forcefully.

Giovanni moves a hand quickly, nearly knocking Crixus in the side of the head. The boy dodges easily and its impressive considering his attention was on Vincenzo and not Gio. The soldier nods, highly impressed. "Good reflexes," He makes note.

"I was trained well," Crixus nods, a smile crossing his youthful face. He extends his hand and the two shake firmly. "You're cool," He tells Gio, "But watch yourself—" Crixus makes the universal, I'm watching you motion with his fingers.

Giovanni laughs, excusing himself for a second but promising he would be back shortly. Crixus watches him go and if I blink I would've missed the boy raising his middle finger.

Carmen lets out a breath, "Crixus."

He spins around. "Yes, wife?" The two blink at each other and his cheeks flush red. "I mean, Carmen. Yes, Carmen?"

She smiles and slips out from her chair. Her hands find either side of Crixus's face as she plants a kiss on his cheek. "You look very handsome."

His mouth falls open. Speechless.

Someone rests a hand on the boy's shoulders, practically stapling the little assassin to where he stands. Veleno stands over him, a laugh erupting from the base of his throat as he's witnessed the last few seconds. It's a genuine laugh, but you can still see the sadness in his eye, and the weight of his and Sav's daughter's death on his shoulders. "And just like that, little Crixus decided that he no longer wanted to play with toys anymore—"

I didn't think it was possible for Crixus's complexion to redden anymore. He spins out of Veleno's grasp, clearly happy to see his friend, but embarrassed by the comment. The boy sends a fist into Veleno's stomach. The assassin doesn't budge. "Man, shut up, Veggie. I thought you had my back. Fucking embarrassing me and shit."

"I'm just trying to help you, kid." Veleno smiles, but the only thing that responds to the act is his lips. His expression more sad than happy. Crixus notices, his eyebrows pressing together and for a second I think he's going to question his friend, but he stays silent. Veleno reaches for him, straightening his bowtie. "You look good."

Crixus beams, returning the comment to Veleno and his perfectly fitting sky-blue tuxedo. There's nothing particularly special about his deep, navy blue shoes and dress pants, but his suit jacket is what catches everyone's attention. It's sky blue with navy blue details.

"Thanks," Crixus says, proudly. "I dressed myself."

Veleno forces another smile. "Good job."

The boy spins back to face us, digging deep in his pockets. He pulls out a wad of bits of paper and a straw wrapper. He shoves his hand back in his pockets, mumbling something about my gift. Crixus finally pulls out a beaded bracelet and hands it to me, his smile wider than ever before. "This was made for you. Happy birthday."

Not I, as in he made it for me—but this was made for me, by someone else.

I take the homemade bracelet and smile at the word the alphabetic beads spell. Bestfriend. The beads indicate that there's another bracelet identical to this one, but when I glance at Crixus's wrist, I realize he isn't the one wearing it.

I look up. "Who has the match?"

Our eyes meet and his boyish grin confirms it. Federico.

Crixus begins to dig into his pocket again, finding the next bracelet with ease. He hesitantly hands it to Carmen, feeling the need to explain her gift before she investigates it. "I was making Faith's gift and I didn't want to leave you out, but I couldn't think of anything clever," He rambles, hardly taking in a breath, "So it's kind of a gag gift but I liked how it came out." Carmen's bracelet reads—my gf. "If you hate it you can throw it out."

She laughs and begins to tie it to her wrist. "I'm not going to throw it out."

Crixus lets out a deep sigh of relief. "Good." He yanks the sleeve of his jacket up, revealing the matching bracelet on his wrist—Carmen's bf. "Because I made a matching one and let me tell you how awkward that would be—"

"Crixus! A small body slams into the little Santiago's side, sending him stumbling to his right. Rosalie. "Wait." She pulls back, tucking a strand of hair that slipped from her high ponytail. "Do you remember me?" She doesn't look so confident. "From the shooting at the school?"

"Of course, I remember." Crixus escapes her hug, looking slightly uncomfortable. "You were really scared and looked like you were about to cry in the car while everyone else was talking with the police and I gave you the butterfly origami I made."

She nods, elated that he remembered her. It's clear he never left her mind, not from that day. Rosie reaches into the convenient pocket of her dress, pulling out a slightly disfigured, sort of bent up origami. She hands it to Crixus. "I kept it with me the whole time just in case I saw you again because I wanted to give it back."

"You can have it," He says. "We're friends."

"Friends?"

"Friends."

Her smile grows and she grabs at his hand, tugging him towards the crowd. "I want to show you this place I found. If we can sneak past the guards, we can go really high into the stands and see the whole stadium, but it's really high up." Crixus stumbles after her, giving us all a partial salute as they practically disappear into the crowd. I hear Rosie's parting words. "I hope you're not afraid of heights though, but if you are it's okay, I'll hold your hand."

Carmen smiles, watching after them as they nimbly dodge through dancers on the dance floor, scurrying towards the perimeter of the party until we lose sight of them. "She needs a friend somewhat around her age."

I nod, taking another sip of champagne. Veleno has moved beside Vincenzo, joining him in conversation. They talk in a hushed tone, their eye contact intense. Veleno's eye drifts to me, to the fact that I'm listening in, and he leans closer towards the only father figure in his life and lowers his voice.

I try not to eavesdrop on their conversation, and that becomes easy to do once Savaughna breezes past our table without a glance or a word. The distress is evident on her face as she jogs by in a sky-blue blur. Her short dress the same shade as Veleno's jacket. I don't rise to my feet until I see Liam walk past us as well, desperately calling out her name.

A look is all Carmen needs to shoo me away. I walk as fast as I can in heels, doing my best to catch up to Liam who is struggling to follow Savaughna. She breezes up a flight of stairs and I damn her and her ex-modeling career for teaching her how to move as quickly as she does in heels as high as hers.

She pushes her way through glass doors, sending her into the lobby of the massive arena. The lights remain off and Liam skids to a stop as he lets the doors slam in his face. He lets out a breath and turns around at the sound of my voice. "What's going on?"

"She just..." He waves through the doors, watching as she glances over her shoulder, catching both our eyes. Savaughna turns down a corridor and vanishes from sight.

"Come on." I grab his bicep and follow her, leaving the lights and the music of the party behind us.

Savaughna doesn't make it very hard find her. We turn down the same hallway she did and find her slumped against the wall in the dark, sobbing. She didn't wear any makeup tonight and the way she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand suggests it was for the best. Liam and I separate. I sit down on her right side. Liam on her left.

I don't know how long we sit in the pitch-black listening to Savaughna mourn her daughter. I take her one hand in mine. She opens up shortly after that. "I wasted your time," She says softly. "I wasted everyone's time and I'm so, so sorry. I should have never bothered you with this. I should've just stayed away, I should've..."

I allow Liam to answer. "You didn't waste anybody's time. And if anybody is sorry, it's me. I'm sorry we didn't find her in time. I'm sorry this war has escalated. But what I don't want you to do is blame yourself. Blame me."

Savaughna shudders, cold. "It's not your fault. You did everything you could and I'm thankful. I'm thankful, I just wish—Just know I'm sorry," She says quietly. "I'm sorry about everything I thought about you before I got to know you. I'm sorry for judging when I had no idea—" She lets out a breath, "Some of your soldiers, they brought me dozens of flowers tonight to honor her. They look like they're in more pain than me."

Liam nods. "They're the best of the best. Some of the most dedicated men I know."

"What am I supposed to do now?" She glances between the both of us, tears still falling. Uncertain. "Where do I go?" I can hear the panic in her voice and see it in her eyes. "They know where I live—but I can't stay here, you don't want me—I'm not—like them."

"Like what?" is Liam's question.

Her voice is as soft as I've ever heard it before. "I'm not family."

"You are family," I tell her, squeezing her hand gently.

"I couldn't do much for Analía," Liam begins quietly, "But that doesn't mean I can't do anything for you. Stay. You're safer in my home than any other and I'm not taking no for an answer. You'll have your own security detail by tomorrow."

The sound of footsteps echo down the darkened entrance, causing the three of us to glance down the hall. Giovanni stands in our line of sight, squinting as he spots us. He moves toward us. "I saw you slip away and wanted to make sure you were good," He tells me. He's smiling until he reaches us and spots the distraught look on Sav's face.

"I'm fine." I nod. He offers me his hand and pulls me to my feet.

Liam stands and extends his own to Savaughna. She doesn't take it. Liam bends at the knees, quietly asking her something. I almost miss her nod as he rises to his full height. "Do you mind escorting Savaughna home?" Gio nods, not seeming to mind his boss's request. "Be gentle with her, please." Again, Gio nods. "Text me when you reach back safely and don't leave her 'til we get back."

Liam wraps a hand around my waist as I say my goodbyes to Savaughna before he escorts me back towards the sound of laughter. I risk a glance over my shoulder at Savaughna and Giovanni. I hear him introduce himself. The last thing I see is Gio lowering himself to the ground and extending his legs before him, matching her position. And the two sit in comforted silence until she's ready to leave.

Crixus and Rosalie are seated at the table once I return, a thin layer of sweat clinging to their brows. They both sip on the apple juice-ginger ale combo offered at the drinks table, their pinkies extended outwards as they pretend to be dignified. She sits in Vincenzo's lap, his arms around her waist as she leans in Crixus's direction, laughing about something that happened during their little trip.

Crixus shares his attention with a giggling Rosalie and Zara, who's seated at the table as well, sipping a cocktail. I hear him tell her that he's Dominic's brother, the youngest Santiago. She nods, listening to him tell his origin story. I even hear her tell him that he would've adored Federico, and just how much Crixus reminds her of him.

"It's the eyes," Crixus returns with a smile.

I move over towards Dominic, resting a hand on his shoulder. He looks up at me and shares a brief, pained smile. He isn't as dressed up as the others and the thought is somewhat upsetting. Typically, Dominic wouldn't hesitate to put a suit and tie combination together that could challenge Liam's. But tonight isn't the case. A simple black suit paired with a white t-shirt. The wrinkles are easy to spot.

"I'm glad you came," I nod.

He tries to smile. "Happy birthday, Faith."

"Look at you!" Liam is loud, but not as loud as Crixus's squeal. The boy spazzes, a dramatic reaction to the finger Liam poked in his side. "It's good to see you. You look good," He says.

Crixus narrows his eyes in a glare. "I'm ticklish, so watch your hands next time. But thank you. It's good to see you, Lackadaisical."

Liam blinks. "You still not going to use my name?"

"Not until you earn it, pretty bo—"

Vincenzo spills his drink.

Dominic rises to his feet.

The crowd noise falls to a hush.

I think of the worse thing that can possibly happen and glance around at my group of friends, keeping track. "Where's Veleno and Carmen?"

Crixus points to the dance floor.

And that's when I see what everyone else sees. Carmen and Veleno are certainly stealing to show as they dance slowly. Her expression is pure, contagious happiness that even causes Veleno to really smile for the first time today. But my friend's dancing didn't cause Vincenzo to spill his drink, nor did they cause Dominic to rise to his feet.

The crowd fell to a hush when people started to recognize Federico De Santis. A dead man walking.

His eyes are trained on Carmen and Veleno as he dodges groups of people and waiters. It feels like he glances in our direction, but he looks over us. The glimpse of his face is enough confirmation for those who didn't know. For Vincenzo. For Dominic. For Rosalie. For Zara.

Veleno sees Federico coming. Carmen does not. Her laughter is oblivious to the man that stands just a few feet behind her. "Why are all assassins such good dancers?" Veleno spins her, but instead of pulling her back, flush against his chest, he lets her go.

And she spins right into Federico's arms.

He has an answer to her question.

"Because dancing is all we know."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Carmen steps back in utter shock. Her lips part and her mouth opens but no words find their way out. She glances over his hair that he's styled back, off his forehead. She eyes the thick, but neatly trimmed beard that hides his jawline and skates over his upper lip. She stares at the suit he's wearing, certainly the only thought drifting to the fact that Federico once said he hated suits.

She grabs his face and pulls him in for a kiss. A kiss that can speak for her when she physically can't. She hates him, but she loves him. She hates that she loves him. She missed him. She never wants him to do that again. She never wants him to leave her again. A kiss that can say it all—even the confusion on how the hell he's holding her right now.

I swear I hear Rosalie scream, but when I look to my left, I realize it's Crixus. He slaps a hand over his eyes, then over Rosie's. Then he removes his hand from his own eyes and leans upwards, covering Liam's. "There's children here!" He shouts.

Liam pushes Crixus's hand a way, muttering something.

I turn back to Carmen and Rico, just in time to witness her slap him. "You fucking idiot!" She chokes on her tears and stumbles backwards, crying. "You died—you—"

Crixus removes his hand from Rosalie's face. "That's more like it." He takes a bite of the cold sandwich on the plate in front of him.

Federico reaches for her, but she steps just out of his reach and rushes away. She avoids Veleno's outstretched arms and disappears into the crowd. "You should go after her," He says, turning to Federico.

Rico shakes his head, a smile on his lips. I can't tell if the sick bastard enjoyed the kiss or the slap more. "I made that mistake once. Chased her and I swear she started speaking in tongues." The two laugh and embrace. "I'll talk to her later."

Federico has barely pulled away when he glances to his right. I can't see the tears in Dominic's eyes as he beelines toward Rico, damning everybody that gets in his way. Rico's eyes soften, but he barely has a second to prepare for the oncoming hug. They meet, and Dominic throws his arms around his brother and cries.

"It's okay," is all that comes out of Federico's mouth as we surround him. He holds Dom tight, repeating the statement over, over, and over again. Dominic breaks away, wiping at his eyes as he steps back. There's a lot more he wants to say but is kind enough to let everybody have their turn.

Federico and I's hug is quick. Liam's even quicker. Federico bends and sweeps Rosalie off her feet, spinning her with ease as she wraps her arms around his neck. She starts to ramble, telling Rico everything he missed while he was gone. He pats her on the back and sets her back on her feet, promising to hear everything, in extensive detail, later. He gives Zara a polite hug.

Vincenzo is the last one.

Zara steps out the way as Vincenzo gingerly walks toward his son, using the cane Liam gifted him for support. Federico's eyes fall to the lion head and he struggles to swallow. His smile falters. "Look at you, old man. A cane before your seventy? Didn't see that one coming."

"You dying before you turned thirty?" Vincenzo stops. He leans into the walking device, more confident that it will keep him upright than his own strength. "I didn't—" His voice cracks.

Federico rushes forward to meet him. "Come here you big baby." His teasing words earns a smile from Vincenzo. They wrap each other in a hug. Rico rests his head on Vince's shoulders. "I'm not dying until we get the kingdom back. I promise."

Vincenzo shuts his eyes tight. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, dad."

As soon as the father and son duo part it feels like everybody is shouting a question at Rico, curious as to his explanation on what happened. He winces and steps back, discreetly twisting his wrist to catch the time on his watch. You can tell he's overwhelmed and makes it evident by what he says next. "I—um—I'll explain everything soon I just... need a smoke. Excuse me." He brushes by our group, his shoulder bumping mine as he heads straight for a side door.

Our group disperses, many of them heading back towards the table in excited chatter. The party feels alive again, a certain buzz brought to the air by Federico's revival. Liam whispers something in my ear and I laugh absentmindedly, my attention focused on Rico's figure as reaches the side doors. He glances over his shoulder, like he's making sure he isn't being followed, then exits.

Veleno is the last one to leave, joining me by my side. He follows my eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Rico said he was going outside to smoke."

Veleno doesn't understand my concern. "And what's suspicious about that?"

"He told me he stopped smoking."

"Maybe he lied?"

"No." I shake my head, taking the same path Federico did towards the door. "He wasn't lying to me. I would know if he was lying to me."

There's an unspoken agreement as Veleno falls in step with me. He trusts me. I glance behind us as well, making sure everyone is too busy dancing or laughing, talking and chatting to see Veleno and I slip away for a second. He steps ahead of me, holding out a hand to slow me as we reach the door. He pushes it open and takes the first peak into the parking lot. He whispers something about a car to hide behind, then pushes the door far enough open for me to slip out into the night. He follows.

We hide behind one of our many SUVs that park, scattered around the VIP parking lot near the back of the stadium. Federico stands a few hundred yards away, underneath one of the few lights that illuminate the dark lot. It lights up a wide circle around him, but everything past the lights reach is succumbed to darkness.

Neither Veleno nor I need to say anything to know we stumbled amongst something interesting. Tucked in Federico's grasp in a manila folder. It wasn't something he had before he left the party, meaning whatever he picked up was stashed somewhere outside previously.

Veleno and I glance at each other, frowning.

Federico paces for a bit, before stopping and speaking. "I'm sorry I'm late, okay? I know I said I would be here ten minutes ago, but I got held up at the apartment—" He flips the lapel of his suit. "I needed a little extra time to look good."

Nobody answers him.

He huffs and glances over his shoulder, concerned that someone might've followed him outside. He waits a moment before slipping his hand into the pocket of his pants, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He rests it between his lips and lights it effortlessly, blowing out a cloud of smoke. He continues to pace some more. Another minute passes as he spins in a circle, raising the folder high. "Come on, Cinderella."

And somewhere, lurking within the shadows of the parking lot is a low growl.

Federico spins around and narrows his eyes, cautiously taking a step in the direction of the noise. His feet come inches from where the light stops, and the darkness begins. He raises the folder up and a smile crosses his face. He takes a step backwards, drawing Diavolo from the darkness and leading him into the light.

He slaps the folder against Diavolo's chest. "I have your shoe, Cindy." Federico laughs while Diavolo snatches the folder, holding it tight in his gloved hands. His identity, as always, is concealed by his black outfit. But we know who's under there. "Everything you need to know." Federico nods as Diavolo flips open the file and scans it. "Everything you wanted to know."

My heart skips a beat, and I can't help but fear what is in that folder. I don't want to distrust Federico, who has done nearly everything for us, but what kind of information could he possibly be giving the enemy?

Diavolo shoves the folder back in Federico's chest, forcing the assassin to stumble and cough out his next breath. The Russian assassin snatches the cigarette from between Rico's fingers and brings it to his own lips. He inhales deeply, then blows a cloud of smoke in Federico's face before snapping the cigarette in half.

He lets it fall to the floor and stomps it out with his boot.

Federico looks down at his crushed cigarette. "I feel like I've lost control of this conversation."

Diavolo huffs and slowly points toward the folder that Rico clutches to his chest. And then he does something that I never would've expected. Diavolo speaks. "Everything in that folder is true?"

"Yes," Federico strains. "I wouldn't lie to you. It's the truth." He catches something on Diavolo's expression, somehow. "You're not going to die. I can help you. You helped me, so let me help you." He hands the folder back to the assassin.

Diavolo moves in a circle, refusing to stay still, forcing Federico to spin to keep his eyes on him. "I am going to die." He doesn't sound like Gabriel and it takes another moment for me to pinpoint why. "Valentin knows I know. He's going to kill me, unless your friend kills me first." It hits me. Gabriel suppressed his accent. As Diavolo, he does not.

Federico frowns. "Liam won't hurt you—"

"I'm not talking about Liam. I'm talking about the girl."

"Faith? Why would she—"

"I slit her mother's throat on video call."

"Everything you do has to be theatrical, huh?" Rico asks, a faint of humor in his tone. Diavolo doesn't make a sound of amusement, causing Rico to sigh. "I killed Faith's sister and her father." Diavolo stops pacing, craning his head towards his fellow assassin. "They spared me. She spared me."

Diavolo utters one word. "Different." He hesitates at first, then adds. "We aren't the-the same. Different. They didn't hurt you because you are their friend."

Federico shakes his head, "We aren't that different, G. I'm a villain, too. Don't forget that."

"You are only a villain because they made you one." Diavolo pulls the material from his head off, exposing himself. Exposing Gabriel. His lip is busted. His eyelid swollen. Cuts decorate his face like freckles on someone who spent too much time in the sun. "I was born one."

Federico looks away, clenching his hand into a fist. "What happened to your face?"

"He killed the little one." It pains Gabriel to exhale, leading me to assume that whatever, whoever, assaulted his face did the same to his body. "Dad did. I tried to stop him. He killed her anyways. Then almost killed me too."

Rico frowns. "Why did you try to stop him?"

"Who are you talking to?"

Federico spins around at the sound of the side door clicking shut. He does his best not to look behind him in hopes that Gabriel had time to get away. And the assassin did, drifting back in the shadows before Dominic could spot him. Federico lets out a breath and steps toward his approaching brother.

"Myself." He recovers quickly, forcing a believable smile across his handsome face. "Sometimes you need expert advice, you know?"

Dom nods. "I thought you came out here to smoke."

"Damn," Rico teases, "I couldn't get a little fresh air in before I did?" Dominic joins him underneath the light with a laugh, watching quietly as Federico shifts out another cigarette, placing it between his lips.

"I missed you," Dominic admits.

Federico blows out another puff of smoke. He removes the cigarette from his lips just long enough to say, "I missed you too." But before he can put the cigarette back, Dom reaches for it. Rico immediately frowns. "I didn't know you smoked."

"Shit changes." Dominic takes the cigarette, uncaring of his little brother's stare as he inhales briefly. A look passes Rico's face and honestly, I'm concerned about what's to follow.

"I sucked dick before I smoke that thing you know—"

"Let me guess," The corner of Dom's lips curls upwards as he passes the cigarette back to his brother. "For Frozen?"

Federico throws his head back in a loud laugh, one that the party goers inside certainly don't miss. "Oh shit," He draws the cigarette away from his lips after a brief hit. "Back when times were good, and shit was easy." Rico's smile grows, "But no, I didn't such dick and definitely not for Frozen. You might not believe me, but I'm a little more you know—mature."

That earns a laugh from the eldest Santiago. "A little?" He runs a hand through his loose curls, his eyes never leaving his brother. "You look good," He mentions after a moment. "You look like you gained a little weight."

"Muscle," Rico corrects with a smile. "But yeah, I did. Vince kept telling me that I needed to put on a couple pounds before I left. I've been trying to eat better and skip less meals. Workout more, you know." He looks down at the cigarette in his hand but doesn't comment about it. "Been getting more sleep, trying not to let the demons in. They still knock though."

What leaves Dominic's mouth next doesn't run through a filter first. "I wish I was in a good place like you."

The comment causes Rico to smile, yet he still shakes his head. "Not a good place," He corrects, "But a better one." He lets out a breath. "You can get there though. And just because you need help getting out of this place doesn't mean you're weak. Do you know how long it took for me to crawl my way out of rock bottom?"

"Rock bottom," Dominic repeats. He snatches the cigarette from between his brother's lips and inhales deeply, like he's hoping the toxins from the cigarette itself will kill the uncomfortable feeling in his chest. "I lost my job." He says.

"To who?"

"Austin."

"Who the fuck is Austin?"

"There's a guy walking around in there," Dominic points to the arena, "He wears glasses and always has an iPad with him. Austin is the one that follows him everywhere. They're sort of, kind of, not really but kinda a thing, I think."

Rico nods slowly, trying to comprehend. "Sounds lame." Dominic stifles a laugh. "But, um, Liam wouldn't take away your job without a reason. What did you do?"

"I hit Faith," He says plainly. "Said I almost got everyone killed. Said I'd never work again. Not by his side anyways."

Federico eyes him. "You hit Faith—"

"—Twice—"

"—And you're still alive?"

Dom nods. "Liam extended mercy."

"No way, man, fuck Liam. Have you seen the look in Faith's eyes recently? She'll kill a bitch, no hesi."

Dominic laughs, nodding in agreement. "She's grown," He nods some more. "Different. I mean, aren't we all?"

Federico reaches for the cigarette, taking another drag. It's hard to tell if he's trying to keep his story strong, that he truly only came out here to smoke—or if he lied straight to my face and hadn't given up the habit.

"When dad would initiate new soldiers, he would always give them a chance to leave," Rico begins in a reminiscing tone. "Thirty seconds. Just thirty seconds to decide their fate. He would let them walk out if they wanted too. Said this life holds no prisoners. Her change," He says, speaking of me, "We all saw it coming. No prisoners."

"He wasn't wrong."

"That man never is."

"You happy to be back with him?" Dom asks.

Federico nods. "I am. He's not the same though. I mean, before I left, even. Something just isn't there. The spark. The fire." He shakes his head. "It scares me, because Liam told me that right before Michael died, he saw it too. The spark, the shit that kept him going for so long was just gone one day. Michael didn't have that fire, and honestly...dad hasn't had it for a while."

"If push comes to shove, would you take the throne?"

Federico shrugs. "That would mean giving this up." He locks eyes with his brother, trying to gauge Dom's reaction. "What do you think about that? Like, me, retiring?"

Dominic's question is simple. "Would it make you happy?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"Then if the time comes, do it."

Rico nods, grateful for Dominic's response to his question. He focuses on the cigarette between his lips and only looks up again at the sound of his name. "I don't think I can stop," Dominic mutters, worried. "They want me to get better but I—I just don't think..." He lets out a shaky breath. "I woke up one night a couple weeks ago and saw you at the end of my bed. If you tell me I was hallucinating or high as shit, I'll believe you, but please just be—"

"Yes," Rico admits, confirming Dom's theory.

Dominic's breath catches in his throat. "Why?"

"I used to use that shit to feel something," Rico explains. "To feel better. And what I craved the most wasn't someone standing over my bed, yelling at my wrongdoing while I was high as shit. All I wanted was someone to be there for me, so I didn't feel all alone. I stood there to make sure nothing happened to you. But I also stood there because I didn't want you to feel as alone as I did."

Dominic wipes at the corner of his eye. "Well, thanks to you nothing did—"

"You overdosed the one night I wasn't there."

Dominic freezes. "How—"

Federico blinks quickly, suddenly uninterested in the object between his lips. He casts it to the ground, blinking rapidly. He looks up, in our direction, exposing the tears that form in his hazel eyes. "I'm not a praying man, Dominic. But I've never dropped to my knees so fast when I went to see you the next morning and you weren't there."

Federico shoves his shaking hands into his pocket. Dominic reaches for his brother. "Rico—"

"I can't lose you, Dom."

Dominic is the first to cry. He takes a step forward, his body language changing entirely, along with his tone. He's upset. He's angry. "That's how I fucking felt when you went away and did some stupid ass shit—"

"That's different," Rico mutters, trying his best to defend his actions.

"No, it isn't."

"You're a good man," Rico says. "I'm not."

"Bullshit."

"Bullshit it all is then," He concludes. The air cools between them. Rico takes a deep breath. "We have to be better. We have to do better. For us, and for the kid. For Crixus."

Before Dominic can agree, the door behind them slams once more. "I heard my name," Crixus states, grinning from ear to ear as he approaches his two brothers. "If you were talking about how good I look tonight, then yes, I agree."

Rico smiles, welcoming Crixus underneath their circle of light. "You do look good today. All credit to the one who dressed you."

Crixus rolls his eyes, catching Dom's attention. "All Rico did was help me put on my bowtie."

"Yeah, I helped you with your bowtie and it's crooked, again."

Rico steps forward to fix it once more, but Dominic beats him to it. "I got it." Crixus tilts his head back, letting his oldest brother straighten his bowtie for what they hope will be the final time tonight. It takes Dominic a minute and as the time passes, you can tell Crixus is getting more uncomfortable by the passing second. "So, you guys had each other?" Dominic steps back, glancing between the two. Then he looks to Crixus. "Is he the one you were going to find that night you got hurt fighting Diavolo? You knew he was alive and didn't tell me?"

Crixus looks to Federico, unsure how to answer the heavy question. Rico steps forward, "Don't blame him—"

The pain in Dom's voice is easy to spot. "But he knew."

Crixus shifts awkwardly in his stance, finally deciding to add something to the conversation. "I'm sorry. It was for—"

"Shut the fuck up. Just, shut the fuck up." Dominic turns from the two of them. He tugs at his hair, stressed. "Can we just finish this conversation another time?"

Rico nods. "I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."

Dominic heads back into the party without another word, slamming the door behind him as he goes. Federico notices the hurt on Crixus's face and takes a step in his direction. He rests a hand on the boy's shoulder, squeezing gently. "He's hurt, okay? He'll come around eventually when we get a chance to explain everything. But what you did wasn't your fault. I asked you to keep it quiet, so thank you."

Crixus nods, like he's shaking Dominic's comment from his head. "I know he didn't mean it." The boy hooks a thumb over his shoulder. "You coming back to the party?"

Federico looks over his shoulder. A casual glance—not one Crixus or anyone would find suspicious. Rico turns back to his little brother. "I'll be back in a second. I just want a couple more minutes out here. It's peaceful."

Crixus understands. "That's cool. I know you think I'm a baby and all that shit, but if you ever want to talk to me about anything, you can." The boy extends his hand and Rico smiles. They slap hands twice, ending it with a salute. A short, but sweet and personal handshake. "I'm not your average fifteen-year-old." Crixus winks and follows Dominic's path back to the party.

He doesn't hear Rico add, "No, you're not kid."

As soon as the door clicks shut, Gabriel breaks free from his hiding spot. Federico turns around, clearly surprised that the assassin didn't take the opportunity to escape. But Gabriel looks torn, his expression confused, keeping Rico from asking the question that was on the tip of his tongue. Why are you still here? Instead, he asks, "What's wrong?"

"Is that what you were talking about?" Gabriel's attention is on the door the two brothers just exited. "In Russia? That?" He lifts an arm, pointing an accusing finger towards the arena.

"My brothers?"

"No..." Gabriel tilts his head. "That."

It registers on Rico's face. "Love?"

Gabriel nods.

"You don't know what love is?" Federico's question is met with a blank stare and two blinking eyes. He doesn't wait much longer to begin explaining. "Love is, well let's be honest, I'm still learning what it is—but it's definitely an action word. You can say you love someone, but if you don't prove it to them, then it means nothing. Love is..." Something clicks in the back of Rico's mind. "It's what your mom showed you."

"She's dead," He deadpans.

"It's what she showed you."

Gabriel thinks hard for a second, appearing to struggle. "She would spit on me," He says softly. "She would protect me from dad, from the soldiers that wanted to hurt me, but when they left the room, she would beat me just like they did. Is that...love?"

The four-letter word doesn't even sound right coming from Diavolo's lips.

Federico is visibly upset. "No," He responds quickly, as if a fast response is going to change Diavolo's idea on love. "No, no. That—that isn't love, G."

The assassin shakes his head. "Then I do not know love."

Federico turns around. Whether he's preparing to leave, or not willing to let Gabriel see the emotion that gathers in his eyes at his pitiful declaration is unknown to Veleno and I. He turns back, finding Gabriel standing in the same place he was just moments before.

"Back to what you were saying before Dom interrupted us," Rico begins. "I know why you saved my life, but why did you try to save...?"

"The little one," Gabriel says again. He narrows his eyes, trying to think of a reason. "I think I tried to save her because..." He meets Rico's eyes. "She looked...scared. I remember being scared. The last thing I remember feeling was fear. I hated that feeling. I don't feel it anymore."

Rico nods slowly, an amused and somewhat impressed look rests on his face. But he doesn't comment on the slight empathetic nature of Diavolo's comment. Instead, he sighs. "That's called conditioning, G."

Gabriel ignores him, deep in thought. "I don't feel anything anymore."

Rico looks over his shoulder, cautious. "I don't think that's true."

"What do you mean?"

He fights back a smile. "Crixus told me about the fight at that club, Poison. I let him talk his excited ass off." Rico shifts his weight from one foot to another, eyeing Gabriel closely. "And the more he talked, the more he told me about you, the more I came to understand—you gave up."

Gabriel takes a step back.

"You gave up." Federico repeats. "You gave up in the club, and you gave up in the parking garage when I came to help Faith. They don't know it. They think they won, or you all tied. But I know. You can't fool me. I know. I know you gave up. Tell me why."

"I always give up."

"Why?"

"Everyone would be dead if I didn't."

"So, you care?" Rico asks.

"No." Gabriel's response is stern. "All I care about is not killing everyone at once."

Federico smiles, a laugh on his tongue. "I'm going to crack you one of these days, Cinderella." Gabriel tilts his head to the right. Rico answers his question before he asks. "Cinderella is a Disney princess."

"I am not a princess."

"That's the joke."

"You're not—" Gabriel's shoulders tense. He glances over Federico's shoulder. "Funny," He finishes slowly.

"What's wrong?"

"Something feels off."

Overcome with the feeling that they're being watched, Gabriel backtracks to the edge of the light, the heels of his feet flirting with the line that separates the shadows from the light. Federico follows him, but before Gabriel can disappear with the file that was gifted to him, Rico offers him his hand.

"Next time we dance, you better bring everything you got." Federico smiles, nodding towards the arena doors. "It's three against one."

Fantasma, Veleno, Crixus versus Diavolo.

I catch the hint of a faint smile teasing Gabriel's lips. He slowly pulls the thin fabric over his head, wrapping it around him effortlessly. He's only done it a million times. "That's where you're wrong, Rico." His accent is so thick his words nearly suffocated in it. "Not three against one."

He looks down at Federico's extended hand and ignores it.

A low grumble forms at the base of Diavolo's throat. A warning, but also a declaration. I heard it inside the car with Gabriel. I heard them. Every demon vying for the spotlight, and I heard them all again, tonight.

"Three against hundreds."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

a/n: there's just something so empowering about logging into wattpad, dropping heat, and walking away.

pls the underhanded and lowkey comments about my updating time aren't funny anymore lol. this chapter was closer to 20k. ur favorite could never. pls cut me some slack. you are getting twice the content in potere than you got in luciano—check the time it takes to read each book if you need proof.

thank you all for the 32k followers and for the people making the tik tok videos, keep doing what you're doing, i see you and i love you