Live For It

|20|

Adelaide sighed through her nose before smiling down at her twins and making her way towards the kitchen, but completely stopped in her tracks when her eyes landed on the six men standing tall, blocking the hallway. 

Her face immediately dropped, something that slightly pained a few of the men, and she grew a bit mad that they were spying on her and her friend. 

She showed them her manicured middle finger before shoving Liam out of the way and walking with her kids trailing behind her like ducks. 

{EZEKIAL}

I had been working with the Armani's since I was sixteen. A stupid, reckless, and ignorant sixteen-year-old. My teenage days were something I wasn't proud of, but they made me out into who I am today, two years later. 

And that is a tattoo artist for the most dangerous underground business in the Italian lineage. I second as a first-hand bodyguard who basically scares people off. Whether because of my height and build or because some people stick to stereotypes when looking at my skin, it works anyway. 

I had been the basic drug dealer working on the corners in South Shore and Chatham, getting caught up in things I shouldn't have only because I needed the money to fly my Ma out from the deep end of the Caribbean. It was more dangerous where she was than right there in Chicago. I was lucky enough to move with my dad before he split, and never realized the real reason why we left behind my mother. 

But that's not necessarily important to this story. 

Zion found me rummaging around for anything to keep myself alive one night after he had flown in for a meeting deal with one of the big suppliers I used to work for. I had gotten thrown on my ass, literally, and almost died in the alley right beside the main underground lab I had contacts with. 

He and his seconds were quick to get me help, ask me questions and shit, and figured out very quickly what I had been doing for a living. 

In return for saving my ass and giving me a place to live with a steady income, they wanted information. Intel on the underground drug ring the big guy that ran our streets owned. And damn if I didn't hate that guy already, finding out what he had done to the Armani's only made me loathe him more. 

So, yeah, of course I took that chance and ratted out the guy, knowing he had underpaid me and took half my earnings each check-in. He also ordered people to jump me when I sold too much or spent my money too quickly. Sucked, too, 'cause my Ma never got out of our first home. 

After a while of just working as a soldier and working my way up, Zion recognized a lot of talent that I didn't believe I had, which really blew me for culture shock. I had inked the other guys of my sector when they wanted cover-ups or just new shit, and honestly thought I had fucked up bad when I got called in for it. 

But it was the opposite, actually. Got promoted and ended up doing sleeves on almost all of the inner-circle, giving my reputation a hella good boost. They started callin' me Cobra because of my famous snake tats, the ones a lot of the guys got done because it looked sick. And the name just kind of stuck, as well as my risen position. 

And here we are, living in a safe house because Zion took it upon himself to take in the little birdie from down the street, punched her a few times, and attempted murder like it was nothing. I respect the hell out of my boss, though, don't get me wrong. I just really don't understand -nor care- why Zhara Di Maggio is still alive. But hey, I heard she's funny and throws a heated punch, and that she really wasn't as bad as her damned father. 

I decided to chat with her, told her to meet me at 8:30, and now I'm trying to help her find a way to avoid getting killed tonight. 

I heard Xavier talking earlier about how he had a pretty good assumption of what was gonna go down, and from the little heart I have left, I decided that it wasn't fair for her. 

She was right, it was obvious. I had been studying what she had proposed earlier because Zion gave me orders to...I guess- and figured out a bunch of hidden secrets this Slone guy had. 

"You bring in all the facts from your head, don't say shit about me, and a favor for a favor..." I explain, leaning back on the glass wall with my arms crossed as the assassin stared at me quizzically. 

"What's the favor you want?" she asked simply unbothered by my ordering tone that most seemed to be scared of. 

"You let me tattoo you," I stated seriously, watching her eyes widen in surprise, then her lips twitch in humor. 

"Really?" she tilts her head at me, checking behind her and down the north hallway as if she thought someone was gonna pop out and tell her I was joking. 

It was odd, I know, but I always liked tattooing the blank skin, which she has a lot of, and making something out of it for myself and the individual. Not many understood it, and most thought it was weird, but Zhara just seemed surprised at the simplicity of the particular favor. 

I nodded, no emotion seeping into my features as I ran my eyes- modestly- over her body, eyeing the really nicely done flower tattoo flowing in a floral mixture from her hip to her mid-waist below her chest. And the ones on her collarbone and back...which I noticed earlier in Zion's office. 

"Fuck yeah, thanks," she grinned, a sight to see on a girl like her, before looking through the files I handed her again. 

"We got a deal then?" I question, wanting to finalize this and gain as much trust as I could, knowing I wouldn't be first on her assassination list if she decided to snap one day. 

"Sure, Cobra," she shook my hand, "You gonna be at that meeting in twenty minutes?" 

I had to attend, mostly to be a vouge and a guard, but also because I had pulled some strings to hide the evidence of me even speaking to Zhara in the first place. Yeah, maybe it was wrong, but Zion doesn't know how much this information could do with the right person to put it together. That person being the dark-haired girl in front of me. 

"On duty, so yeah," I flicked my chin towards her, "Your back good?" 

Her eyes lost a bit of gleam as I brought it up, but she nodded anyway and looked down at the bandage. 

"Not the first time I've been shot," she smirked lightly, leaning across the wall from me. "What about you, big guy?" 

I arch an eyebrow, silently asking for her to elaborate before I have to answer a question I shouldn't. 

"You ever been shot?" not that the question worried me, but I hoped that the evil grin on her face wasn't meant directly. I thought about it, not commonly able to remember much of the past. 

"Once," I answered shortly, not wanting to touch on the subject. Luckily, she got the memo and nodded, content with the fact I was similar to her in a way. 

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and unfortunately, I took most of those measures for someone who no longer is on my list of people I wouldn't burn alive. But I got over it, as most do when they get stabbed in the back. 

That was sarcasm. 

"I don't know your story, Cobra, but I don't think I need to know it to know you," she stated after a long minute of silence, and my fist clenched in annoyance at her words. I don't want someone to 'know me' in the cliché way. 

I usually despised people that said those types of things, but she kind of came off differently, a more serious and badass version of those sappy words. 

"What's that supposed to mean, Raven?" I noticed the way her back straightened at the name, and her eyes went into slits before humoring her face up again with pursed lips. 

"Don't know, saw it in a movie once," she shrugged, walking away, files in hand, without a second glance in my direction. My eyebrows furrowed at her retreating figure as I pushed myself off the wall in mild frustration. Something about her disappearing presence fucked with my head, nagging something about what she said.

Zion was right. 

Zhara Di Maggio is a damn catch.