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Twelve Years Ago
Sosa Estate
(Wattpad isn't allowing me to put outsourced fonts in my chapters anymore so we'll have to make do.)
Ivan Sosa sinks into his comfy leather seat in front the the crackling fireplace in the sitting room. It's typically reserved for greeting unwarranted visitors, but he always liked this spot the best to relax. There's a lot less commotion going on in this part of the manor this time of night. After the day he's had he needed nothing more than an aged whiskey on the rocks while he lounged about in the rattiest pajamas in his arsenal.
Today, began with a bang. Quite literally, in fact.
He'd been with his team on one of their finally missions together they needed to wrap up. A drug lord a few states over knew it was his time, that he'd been outsmarted and cornered. That only ever ends in two ways in Ivan's experience - in surrender or in bloodshed. This drug lord decided to blow them all up along with his entire gang. If he was going down, he'd burn the world right alongside him.
Those were the most despicable sorts in Ivan's mind. He's always been on the more compassionate side compared to his comrades. They all tended to look through a microscope, analyzing every criminal they took on like a bug to be squashed. He looked at them like the people they were. Some people just got dealt a bad hand. Some just got scraps to play with in their life. Some were stuck in awful conditions with only one route out. Most Ivan came across tended to be that way - victims of circumstance. The asshole today however, fully deserved the wrath of the Elm Faction, and Ivan didn't step in to interfere when his Commander decided to beat the shit out of him for endangering everyone on the premises just so he wouldn't go to prison.
Already in a foul mood, it grew fouler when his wife called to remind him of the luncheon she'd been planning for weeks he had to attend and a fundraising gala at the Museum of Natural Science they'd RSVP'd to months prior. Onto the plane he went, having no time for a nap after being up all night dealing with a dying gang as he was too busy suiting up.
At the luncheon he got to see his three grandchildren - Luna, Wynter, and Evan. Luna and Wynter were sisters, daughters of Ivan's youngest, Selene. Evan belonged to his son, Salem, but lord knows where that boy is off to. Salem barely sticks around long enough for his son to remember his face before he's off on 'business'. Selene isn't his favorite company to keep either, being a bit too much like her mother in the worst ways possible, but at least she made the effort to speak to him with respect. Salem barely acknowledged him anymore. Only crawling out of the gutters when he needed something.
While his children may be pills to swallow, he adored his grandchildren. Luna, at ten, was quite the little lady. She constantly corrected her grandpa on his ill practiced manners which tickled him to no end. Wynter, at seven, was far more intellectual than her cousins. That girl always arrived with a new subject she'd learned as if she'd gone off to college and came back with a degree in it. Half the time, Ivan just nodded along as if he understand her ramblings if only to salvage his dignity.
Evan, at ten, was turning out to be a bit too haughty just like his father before him, but there was undoubtedly a loneliness in his gaze that hurt Ivan deeply. Evan stepped into his father's shoes as man of the house, looking after his mother as Salem should be doing. Ivan worries for the boy. His childhood left his young life far too early, hardening him into a creature unbefitting of a kid his age. He spoke with the guests today as if he were an adult, as if he partook in the same adult things they all did. Part of Ivan was proud that he could keep up with his peers of a far greater age, another mourned what it meant.
Today, Evan even went as far as to shake Ivan's hand instead of hugging him like his two cousins had so enthusiastically done.
Selene was civil enough, if not a bit shallow, when she spoke to him. She wanted to gossip about what she'd read in the society papers, and didn't even bother with pleasantries.
Salem's wife, Cecelia, had also been there. Though she didn't interact much with anyone today except for tidying up her son's hair when no one was looking as per Evan's request. Cecelia's demeanor at the luncheon bothered Ivan. She's not exactly a lively creature to begin with, but today she had a gaze full of hurt and wrath.
Both of his children, and all of his grandchildren took after Ethel the most in appearance. Ethel had been quite the looker back in the day, with long black tresses and a sly smile. Why, Ivan can still recall the way his heart near leapt out of chest when he first laid eyes on that spitfire of a woman. She once was the epitome of the dream girl men desire. She had a quick wit and an acid tongue, beauty beyond measure and a love for adventure.
Ethel is less so like the girl she was these days, completely addicted to peacocking with high society and what others thought of her and their family. He can still see her though, on the back of his dark green Vespa as they zoomed along old country roads in Italy for their honeymoon. Ethel wouldn't dare these days.
He can't fault her though. Times change. People change. He's not exactly that mischief maker who debated his professors in high school as he preened under the attention of the schoolgirls drooling over his bad boy demeanor. He use to be so full of himself, never doubting his ability to charm the socks off a salesman. He'd wink at the girls when he'd pass them in the school corridors and whistle at the principal like he was a dog.
They've both grown up and been beaten down a time or two by life. Life likes to strip people of their optimism. Ethel at least still fixes herself up for him to this day and always somehow manages to have dinner on the table no matter the hour he finally gets in. It's the little things that keep a marriage intact.
Ivan swirls his whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid swirl in a lackadaisical hypnotizing way, trying to take his mind off his long night and day. While today had been nothing if not stressful, he mourned the end of an era. The Elm Faction is officially retiring soon. All that's left to finalize the decision, is to wrap up their remaining cases and sign on the dotted line. It was his Commander's decision originally, but one by one the others followed his lead. They were getting old, Ivan himself in his sixties. They all had families and grandchildren to spoil, dogs to take for walks, and wives to coddle while they still can.
They've done a lot of good over the years, got into a lot of mischief, saved a few damsels, threw a particular one back in the river when she kept screaming like a banshee because her makeup was ruined...
They've had some great adventures, with many stories to bring home to share over drinks with their civilian friends. They've acquired secrets that can never be uttered, that they'll take to the grave. They've met many people from all walks of life, made friends across the world they rarely see but are always willing to aid them if the need comes.
Alas, all good things come to an end. They need to make room for the younger generation to have their glory. A bunch of old men don't have a place out in the field. Nothing puts a damper on a mission like an old guy grappling at his arthritic kneecaps while trying to stand up from a crouch. The Commander won't be officially returning. He's done and ready to be. His granddaughter just had a boy and he wants to spend time with his family. The mechanic and doctor on their team will still volunteer their expertise on the home front when the youngsters are drowning in work, but otherwise plan on keeping it minimal.
Ivan however, was offered a position on the East Coast Senate for the Syndicate and he's seriously considering it. The Senate is ate up with old stuffy bastards with no mind for progress. They're stuck in their ways and don't have any patience or tolerance for law breakers. He feels he could do a little good before his time comes.
Rain pelts against the Sosa Manor like hail, clattering so loudly that Ivan doesn't hear the sound of wheels crunching on the gravel as they make their way to the front entrance. It isn't until a car door slams that Ivan looks up and furrows his brow in confusion. It's late at night, well past midnight in fact.
"What in tarnations?" Ivan mutters to himself as he sets his whiskey down and gets to his old feet.
He straightens his back carefully, his aging bones creaking and popping with reluctance. A second door opens and closes. Ivan stills, keeping his ears tuned in to see if he can make out what exactly is occurring outside. Heavy sure footsteps take wide strides, sinking loudly in the gravel pathway. Lighter steps scurry and occasionally drag beside the other steps, as if unable to keep up with the first's pace.
Lightning crackles, illuminating the foyer just as the lights shut off. Ivan glowers around, trying the light switch, cursing as he blindly tries to find the foyer table. He just gets his hands on it as three resounding knocks bang against the heavy wood door. Swiftly, he opens the drawer and yanks out the revolver, pointing it directly at the door," Who goes there, I say?"
No one answers.
Carefully, Ivan steps towards the door, revolver clicking as he takes off the safety. Heavy footsteps thud against the porch, obviously leaving. This time the tiny scampering steps don't follow.
Ivan yanks open the door, pointing his gun wherever he looks. He looks over to the driveway last and sees the back of his son stalking calmly towards his black Rolls Royce parked by the fountain. His son is a handsome boy. His dark curly hair is sticking to his neck, pale alabaster skin glowing with every strike of lightning. He's wearing his usual business attire - black slacks, black leather shoes, grey button up, and a black trench coat that flutters behind him as he walks away.
Ivan lowers the gun and calls out to him," Salem, my boy!"
Salem stills, but doesn't turn around. Ivan goes to walk over to him, worried for his middle aged child, but he stops in his tracks when one step forward has him nudging a tiny child a bit roughly. Ivan quickly snatches her back to her feet before she can fall and crouches down in front of her to see if the little girl is okay. With his hands on her shoulders, he takes in the girl with hair as white as snow that hides her face from his inquiring gaze. He takes a hand away from her shoulder to gently hold her chin so he can look her in the eyes.
As her face lifts, her tearful eyes open gazing at him with the palest blues. His breath is stolen away instantaneously.
The child can't be older than eight, gangly and a bit undernourished from the looks of it. Her white hair falls to her knees, soaking and sticking to her slight form like a beautiful wild creature that crept out of the forest. Her eyes are the eyes of a tortured soul - world weary, battle worn, far too jaded and sad to belong on such an innocent pretty face. Her skin is startling alongside her vibrant hair and eyes - dark and bronzed like the Sahara sands. She's covered in soot and dirt, the scent of fire and smoke wafting off her in breathtaking amounts.
Her feet are bare and her blue summer dress is ripped and obviously hand me down. She looks up at him like he's a scary monster that's going to hurt her and it breaks his heart. In her hands, clenched tightly in between her grimy fingers, is a piece of notebook paper - like something dug out of the trash in an after thought.
Ivan gives the little girl a soothing smile, keeping his eyes locked on hers as he carefully pries her fingers away form the note. He glances down at it swiftly seeing the chicken scratch handwriting so obviously his son's.
" This is my bastard. Her mother died yesterday. Cecilia doesn't want the creature near our boy, so do with it what you want. Saffa gave the girl the name, Callaia Lilla Sosa. It doesn't speak and hides under furniture like a rodent. Maybe you can find a foster home that'll take her. I'm washing my hands of her."
Ivan's eyes shoot up to look at the back of his son who still hasn't turned to look at them. "S-Salem! Tell me you aren't actually doing this?" Ivan croaks out in shock. He knew Salem had a cruel streak in him, but for him to go so far. The poor girl didn't ask to be born. She didn't ask to be a burden to him. She can't help it that her mother passed away. How could he be so heartless to his own flesh and blood?
Salem turns his head until his piercing blue gaze is staring down at them both emotionlessly, and monotonously says, " I will not have that bastard rip apart my family. She's no more my blood than a gazelle is to a lion." Salem then glares in disgust at the girl, " I always bury my mistakes."
Fury boils Ivan's blood as he tugs the girl into his arms, holding her close to offer her some comfort as he snarls at his own child, " If you do this, if you walk away, you are no longer my son. If you get in that car Salem, you will inherit nothing nor will you be welcome here again."
Salem looks away, staring at his Royce in thought for barely more than a few seconds, before he walks away without a word. Ivan can only watch in horror as his eldest child and only son gets into his car and drives away. If not for the quivering little thing burrowing herself into the warmth of his chest, he probably would've stared at the place he'd just been for hours.
His eyes squeeze shut, willing the pain stabbing him in the chest down deep, before he pulls away just enough to gaze into those familiar eyes - his eyes, no doubt about it. She's a Sosa through and through. Vaguely, his heart clenches as he thinks of Saffa. They'd met briefly near nine years ago, after Ivan went on the hunt for his son who'd been absent longer than was justifiable. Cecilia had been blowing his phone up, hysterical and upset as she tried to soothe their crying son who'd been barely over a year old at the time.
Salem always did have a bad habit of wandering off into the beds of strange foreign women, and he'd stay there for months at a time without a word to his wife. Saffa had been a pleasant surprise. Most of the women Salem chose all came from similar backgrounds - prostitutes with little substance.
Saffa wasn't too bright, quite simple in mind and heart in fact, but she was the most beautiful person Ivan has ever had the pleasure of meeting. She had an optimistic view of life even after all that she'd been dealt. She walked around as if in a daydream, a sweet little smile on her full lips. She aided the community when she wasn't working at the brothel and even was trying to better herself by learning how to read. She was a kind soul and it's a bitter reminder of how cruel the world can be that someone like her was snuffed out at so young an age.
Ivan still can picture the last time he saw her. She walked by his side as they made their way through the streets of Marrakesh. Her skin smelled of warm oil in the sun and her hair of myrrh smoke. Her long dark hair had the usual golden ornaments weaved within those luminous locks, tinkling with every step she took. Her brothel attire was a bright red color and swished in the wind.
The last time he looked upon her face was as he climbed the stairs to his private jet and decided to look back at her one final time. The desert winds pulled at her skirts, revealing long bronzed legs and bare feet. Her hair sounded like wind chimes in a spring breeze as she covered her eyes form the brash sun blinding her. A beautiful smile lit up her face when he looked at her. They waved at one another, promising to keep in touch. They had, in fact, kept in touch. She called him every few months to keep him updated, but she never mentioned she had a daughter. Why she kept Callaia from him, will always remain a secret as she took the answers with her to the grave.
Giving the small child a reassuring smile, he whispers gently," Let's get you warm and fed. Can't have you getting a cold."
The little girl didn't reply. In fact, it would be almost a year before she'd say another word.
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Present Day
Sosa Estate
6:55 A.M. - Earlier Today
Alec
Looking into the mirror in his en-suite bathroom, Alec straightens the navy tie around his neck, minuscule bronze stripes angled downwards at two inches apart. He'd been in the service of the Sosa Empire since he graduated from Flight School at the age of twenty three. At thirty seven, the uniform he's worn these fourteen years has become almost like a second skin. The navy suit with its two gold stripes on the cuffs, gives Alec a sense of pride every time he gazes into a mirror.
Putting on his hat, Alec gives himself a little wink and goes about gathering his phone, keys, and vape off the dresser top just to the right of the bathroom door. Last but not least, he puts his cuff links on - a multipurpose trinket for each sleeve. It's decorative of course, but it's also a tracer and a com link.
Alec then walks over to the desk where he has Callaia's itinerary and the paperwork he has her go over each morning. He's found over the last three years that it's best to get this over with first thing in the morning. She tends to have a foul mood if he approaches her after the coffee has kicked in. If he gets her when she's not able to think coherently enough to plot his execution, it goes relatively smooth for him. Commander Callaia is a hell of a woman in Alec's books. Never in his wildest dreams did he think his position as the Sosa's personal pilot would inevitably turn into him flying the dirty secret of the family around the world. He didn't think he'd end up needing to learn combative flight maneuvers - both offensive ones and defensive ones. He didn't think he'd need to become trained to conceal carry a weapon, or even that he'd simultaneously be her secretary when he isn't flying her around.
The secretary part hadn't originally been in his job description when he began to fly her around, but if there's one incredibly predictable and humorous thing about the Commander, it is that she is absolutely hopeless when it comes to paperwork. Just saying the word in her presence will cause her to break out in a cold sweat. In those early months together, Alec spent a lot of time watching her struggle to find things or remember where she was suppose to be at any given time. In all fairness, she has a lot on her shoulders. It's not easy to manage so much at one time. That's when Alec first began to take over her scheduling and emails. He started getting up an hour earlier every day just to go over her emails and any updates from the day prior he might have missed along the way.
Alec likes to think of Callaia as the machine and he as the oil to get her going. He points in which direction she needs to head towards, and she happily does so without question. It's nothing extraordinary that he does for The Foundation, but if it helps Callaia even in the slightest he considers that a victory.
He knew two years into their professional relationship that his Commander both valued him and saw him as a friend, when on Christmas morning a beautifully wrapped present box was delivered to his home. Within it was a designer watch with customized flight themed designs ingrained into the clockwork, and on the underside she'd engraved - One Hell of a Pilot.
He fondly glimpses at the gold watch on his wrist as he makes his way out the door of his suite. A swell of pride fills him after glancing at it, eager to start their day, eager to keep living up to the man the team thinks he is. He never thought he'd surpass the status of being the help in the eyes of those he worked for. To most who can afford a private pilot, that's all the pilot will ever be - expensive help.
Ivan rarely made him feel that way, but the rest of the family treats him predictably. Callaia and the team treat him as one of their own though, like a key contributor to the cause. They invite him out when everyone is ready to let loose and go crazy, they text him like one would a friend not just a coworker, and they remember him when he's in the room. His opinions are valued and taken into serious consideration. Alec has never once felt he couldn't talk to Walter or Callaia about an idea. Both of them listen and think it over carefully before telling him the decision they've come to.
At The Foundation, everyone is important - from the Commanding Officers to the janitorial division. The little people are seen as actual people. The whole place has a very mom and pop kind of feel where the higher ups actually listen when there's a dispute in the lower ranks, where if someone's son is sick they let them leave immediately no questions asked. They'll even check in to make sure the son is okay and send food to help them out. Alec has never once heard of someone quitting because of the work environment.
It probably has a lot to do with the force being mostly made up of people from awful situations that needed help.
Alec works as he walks, smiling politely to greet those he passes in between reading over some emails and adding some of it to the itinerary or agenda. He's a bit later than usual. Walt had called him at five to let him know that he feels it's best to leave Callaia alone after hearing about the entirety of the circumstances from yesterday.
" Give her a little space this morning, Alec. I have a feeling the news she's to get isn't going to be joyous in nature. We'll both need to be attentive and alert. She may withhold the intel from us and withdraw. You and I both know she has a bad habit of doing that. So for now, let's step back a little. See if she wants a coffee or something at about eight. Contact me as soon as your interaction is over so we can work together on how best to move forward based on what you find."
So that's what Alec did this morning. He did business as usual just in case she wanted to throw herself right back into work. That meant getting the paperwork in order, returning a few calls in her stead, and conducting team checkups to make sure everyone is still alive and safe. At fifteen past eight, Alec peered down at his watch and decided to check in on Callaia as Walter decreed.
He decided to approach this as if he didn't suspect anything was amiss and it was business as usual. It wasn't until he got to the floor she stayed on that he realized that'd be a lost cause. She'd know they were giving her space as soon as she checked her phone and didn't see the report he sent her every morning without fail. Even on her off days she wants a report.
"She's such a workaholic," Alec groans to himself under his breath.
As Alec nears her door, crashing sounds can be heard and angry gut wrenching screams. Alec presses his ear to the door and hears the cries behind the screams. Curses slew from her mouth, violent hateful words full of sorrow. He looks around quickly to make sure no one has noticed yet, more than happy her suite is a bit off on its own. When he's sure they haven't been compromised, he hurries over to her cream door and knocks swiftly. " Callaia?" He calls, hearing the strain in his voice.
It becomes dead silent on the other side of the door. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Alec has seen her in some downright awful moods. For all her bravado and courage, for all her ferocity and determination, Callaia is still a young woman with a gentle heart. It's contrary to think so when faced with the regal woman who rarely shares her true feelings or thoughts with the outside world. It doesn't make it any less true.
She contains within her a lot of rage. She also holds within her a well of sorrow.
Failure haunts her, keeping her up at night instead of getting the much needed rest she desires. Callaia goes into missions at full throttle. It takes a hell of an obstacle to stop her from jumping back into the frey of things. So long as there's a life to be saved, Callaia won't stop. Death, injury, danger - none can cease her determination to go in for another. God forbid it's one of their own. She's impossible to rationalize with when a team member is in danger. Alec has seen that side of her often enough to know that this is no ordinary circumstance. He's never heard Callaia sound like that.
Her screams and cries sounded like loss incarnate, as if everything within her was unraveling at the seams. Just what the hell did Ivan tell her, Alec asks himself.
Alec swallows thickly, knuckles hesitantly raising to rap on the door. "Calla?" He asks. "Everything okay in there?"
The tension becomes thick like London fog and a stillness takes over the violent air from seconds before. Nothing comes from the other side - not a breath, not a peep.
Alec tries again, " Callaia? Honey? Is there anyway I can help?"
A throat clears, "I'm fine."
She sounds anything but fine. She's trying to keep face but there's a fragile quiver caught in her throat. Alec pulls he head back quickly to give the door a look, " Doesn't sound like it to me."
The heavy silence between them thickens. Alec's mouth parts and then closes, opens once more only to purse them together as he tries to figure out what to say. She bites out, shattering the silence, " I'm going to do yoga by the pool."
"Oh....okay," Alec replies quizzically.
"I'll just..."
Another bang as a door slams interrupts him, immediately followed by the sound of something huge and glass breaking against the floor. He sighs, running his fingers through his hair, " It's gonna be one of those days. I can already tell."
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Sosa Estate
11:34 a.m.
"I'm aware that the espresso will die if you serve it without a mixer. She doesn't care. Just set the damn thing up and I'll fucking make it," Alec growls out between his teeth, eyes squeezed shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose.
The maid, an elderly woman with too many opinions, has been sassing Alec since he decided to come down to the kitchens and get Callaia her espresso. It usually perks her up a bit and she sounds like she needs perking. Problem is, the mouthy maid keeps lecturing him on serving the 'miss' dead espresso.
As Callaia so eloquently puts it, I want it deader than my soul.
Miss Mouth however is refusing to just set up the cart for him and insists he mix water or cream to salvage the flavor.
"I can't believe you'd dare give a lady of this house spoilt espresso! The audacity of you youngsters!"
Alec opens his mouth to retort when three sets of swift business shoes clack in perfect synchronization into the kitchens. Alec and the maid glance over at them and as soon as he locks eyes with a brunette with whiskey eyes, he bristles.
"You!" Alec snarls, pointing a trembling finger.
Alec remembers that bastard quite well. He'd been the handsy man who'd intercepted Callaia at the airport and stood in her way. Put his filthy lips on her hand too. On either side of him were one out of set of twins - one moody, one bashful. This guy though, slowly smirked at him as if enjoying an inside joke only he knew the punchline to. He was shorter than the twins, yet stood taller. In fact, that cat that caught the canary look and the lazy regal way he held himself, reminded him of a certain someone.
His eyes actually close as he flicks his bangs out of eyes with two fingers. When his eyes open, a cunning grin pulls at his lips. He drolls out arrogantly, " I have a name you know."
Alec is so strung tight with agitation that he feels like his shoulder might actually dislocate, " You need to leave. I don't know what the hell you're trying to accomplish but leave Callaia out of it. She's got enough on her plate without you assholes."
The moody twin rolls his eyes, " We can't."
Alec turns his glower on him, " What do you mean you can't?"
The arrogant brat in the center of the trio raises a mocking brow to him, " Oh? She hasn't told you yet."
He didn't even have the decency to phrase it as a question. It was a statement, an attempt to put him in his place.
Alec wasn't having it, but before he could lash out at him, the bashful twin scurries forwards until he stands between everyone. With a hand out to each party, he says, " Come on guys. This isn't why we're here."
Alec snarls out, " Then pray tell, what exactly is your agenda here?"
The bashful twin blushes and scratches the back of his head while looking down at the pilot, " Well, Callaia probably already got the news..."
Alec stills to the bone at his words. His heart actually stops in his chest. Vaguely he hears Callaia's anguish earlier intertwining with the shy kid's explanation , "Ivan's sick. He doesn't have long to live. He's recruited us to tag along with her."
Alec sputters once the ringing in his ears subsides, hands waving madly like a fly is zooming around his face, " What? No. You must be mistaken. Ivan's not sick. He would've said something!"
The ringing is back, almost overtaking his hearing. Alec feels light headed, like the world is tilting and taking him down with it. The air in his lungs comes in shallow, spiking his blood pressure even more in the process. Ivan can't be sick. Ivan is family. He gave him a chance when no one else would. He's an amazing man - always willing to put his neck on the line to save others or give them a chance.
And then there's Calla....
Alec does tilt at that. Hands swiftly grab him by the upper arms and hold his weight up. There's voices but they sound underwater. Calla. Poor lonely Calla. Alec will never forget the day Ivan asked to see him about a special assignment. That's the day he met the woman he would fight beside from then on. He'd seen her from time to time as a little girl. He was already almost thirty by the time she got dropped off on the step.
Ivan talked about her nonstop back then. He'd try to contemplate what made her tick. He'd grumble when they'd butt heads. He'd lean in to whisper her latest feats in Alec's ear with a proud twinkle in his eyes. Ivan would sit down and have a whiskey on the rocks, telling Alec all that that little girl would become and ponder all that she's already achieved. Calla was this poor child stranded alone in this cruel world. The people who were suppose to take her in, threw her onto another like she had fleas. If not for Ivan, Callaia would never have found her crown to wear. Ivan spent months getting her to even acknowledge him, longer to get words out. He's been her wall for so long and now she's going to be tossed right back into this world alone.
He has to tell their team...
She may go rogue. Maybe go AWOL and jump ship. She may just give up. Alec didn't honestly know, but he had a feeling it wouldn't be an outcome they'd want for the woman who is both friend and leader to their entire team. This will destroy her.
Said so softly, he barely even heard himself, "Ivan...Callaia's grandfather....he's dying?"
The arrogant rich kid from before actually gives him a saddened look, " Yes. He doesn't think he'll last more than a year."
Alec covers his face with his hands, flashes from the past overrun his thoughts.
"Alec! I'd like you to meet my granddaughter, Callaia."
Alec grins down at the little girl, all dolled up like a proper little southern lady. Tipping his pilot hat at her, he says, " Why, hello there, little lady. Don't you just look as sweet as pie."
Callaia hides behind Ivan's leg, glaring at him hatefully from her hobbit hole.
Ivan chuckles down at her fondly and runs his fingers through the top of her hair, " She's not too talkative just yet. We're working on it though."
Callaia blinks up at Ivan with a childlike reverence. He smiles at her and shoots her a secret wink.
"Ah! I'm glad you could make it, Alec my boy!" Ivan says jovially as he putters at his tobacco pipe. Alec takes off his pilot's hat in respect and gives a slight bow, " How may I be of service?"
Ivan looks at Alec form across the parlor, a smile twitching at his lips that he constrains. Ivan turns away to stare into the fireplace, arm resting on the mantle with leisure. It's silent for a bit as Ivan mulls over what he wants to say. Alec stands diligent and disciplined at the door with his hat tucked under his right arm. He's been flying for the Sosa family since he graduated from flight school. His respect for the family patriarch runs deep.
Finally, Ivan concludes his inner debate and tilts his head towards Alec's direction without actually looking at him, " Callaia has recently had a bit of a crisis happen to her and this crisis has inspired an unusual path in life she's dead set on doing no matter how much I try to sway her otherwise. She needs people she can trust at her side and I can think of no one better to add to her team than you."
Alec blinks at him like a dope," Me?"
Ivan does turn to look at him this time, a mischievous smirk on his face that he'd soon find out Callaia inherited down to bone.
"You're an extraordinary pilot, lad. Damn loyal and hardworking too. Callaia needs those sorts to surround her right now. So I'd like to extend that invatation to you here and now. If you accept, you will be the sole pilot flying her around."
Gobsmacked, Alec bows deeper this time," I'd be honored."
"It'll be dangerous, Alec. I can't guarentee your safety or life if you agree to this. There'll be no turning back either I'm afraid."
Alec stood up straight, eyes locking on Ivan with an unwavering stare, " When do I start?"
Alec feels faint as he follows Ivan through another of Ethel's parties. There are hundreds of posh socialites, huddling in packs like the cowardly predators they are. None actually bother to look his way, not until he passes that is. It's when two doormen open the crystal glass French doors for Ivan that Alec gets his first glance at the woman that little girl became.
Elegant, sultry, unafraid - those are the first words to come to his mind as he takes in the gorgeous girl standing by her lonesome on the balcony. The pale moon shone on her alone, like a spotlight for the star of the show. Her snow hair fell in lazy vintage waves to her waist, giving him a full view of her refined bone structure and crystal blue eyes. A silvery dress that clung to her beautifully, twinkles in the starlight. She gazes off in the distance, a glass of champagne barely held by her fingertips. Her other arm holds her waist. It comes across as a lovely unconcerned body language, but her shoulders coil tightly, giving away her actual discomfort.
Those eyes he'll never forget though.
When Ivan called out to her with love weaved into the very tone, her icy gaze slowly turns their way. Briefly, just over her grandfather's shoulder, they look directly into Alec's. In that brief shared exchange, Alec saw the currents beneath the frozen lake. Underneath that indifferent exterior, was a sadness and loneliness he near couldn't bear.
Ivan puts an arm around her shoulders, smiling fondly down at her. She smiles in turn, subtly, just enough to make all the difference in the world, and those frosty eyes melt into pools of adoration.
Ivan alone could unfreeze the Ice Queen's guarded heart.
"Callaia, you know Alec. He's agreed to fly for you," Ivan says.
Callaia, the moonlit angel, looks directly into his eyes with a regal raise of her chin. In that moment, he saw war.
Not Ivan. Anyone but Ivan...
For Callaia's sake, anyone else but him.
🌐
(A/n: What do you guys think about Alec's perspective?
This will actually continue a bit in the next chapter. If all plays out accordingly, it'll transition back to Callaia halfway.
Can't wait to hear your thoughts🖤)