xxvii | one last time
a/n: woke up at 5am to edit this b/c i couldn't sleep and all of a sudden my 13k worded chapter read like trash lmfaoooo the standard i hold myself to is ridiculous. hope you enjoy.
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A seventeen-year-old soldier strides down the hallway of the Luciano empire, his heavy footsteps drowning out the sound of the sole of his military grade boots against the wooden floors. A Kevlar vest is strapped tight to the soldier's fit frame, exposing the sleeves of his black compression shirt. Black cargo pants hang low on his waist and bunch at the beginning of his boots. Sheathed daggers hang from the holster on his left thigh, while a gun is nestled in the one on his right. Those are the only weapons you can see, but rest assured, the young soldier is heavily armed.
Michael Davidé Luciano is standing before the full-length mirror in his office, shrugging the deep burgundy suit jacket onto his shoulders. He fixes the collar in a fluid motion before buttoning it. He winces. Then unbuttons the jacket. A casual look today. Michael always preached that an outfit wasn't finished without the diamonds in his ears, but today he would have to settle with the rings on his fingers and the chain that clings tight against the skin at the base of his neck.
He was running late, and one look in the mirror suggested that the soldier standing underneath his doorway was there to tell him just that.
"You're late," The soldier states, as predicted.
Michael glances over his shoulder quickly, "Are you rushing me, Tatum?"
The fear the king's words instill in the young soldier is evident. It's a known fact that Michael doesn't take kindly to those who march into his office without being summoned first. And Tatum is aware he wouldn't be the first soldier executed by the king himself for something as little as being annoying.
Tatum glances at the ground for a second, then meets Michael's gaze. "Yes, I am rushing you, sir." His voice isn't quite as deep as his superior, but he does his best to match it—a serious tone growing with every word. "We take precious time out of our day to schedule the route of your transport and we pre-check every road and every damn high-rise on that street to make sure you don't die on any given day. I haven't been doing this long, but I do know that every second counts. One second too late and two seconds too early and the next face you may see is your maker. So, with all due respect, I'm rushing you."
Tatum doesn't see the smile that crosses Michael's face. Not many people stand up to the Don of the Luciano empire. The young soldier passed his test.
The two men exit swiftly, Tatum leading the way by a step. Michael finally speaks. "You will never be the commander of my army, but you keep that attitude, and you may be the commander of my son's."
Tatum chuckles in disbelief. He glances over his shoulder briefly, catching the eye of his superior. "You really think I'll live that long? Long enough to see Liam take the throne?"
Michael doesn't hesitate. "You're the youngest solider in my army. You better live that long."
The young soldier stops in hesitation, allowing Michael to pass him. Tatum hooks his fingers around the collar of his bulletproof vest and clears his throat. "Sir, in all honesty—"
Michael tosses his head back, eyes closing just long enough for him to gather himself. Words never come to him easily, especially those that carry emotion. The king slips a hand inside his burgundy dress pants and faces the soldier. "Tatum, I didn't train you for me. I'm not preparing you to be the commander of my army. I'm preparing you to be the commander of Liam's."
"But—"
"You're the youngest solider in my army," Michael declares, not allowing the boy to get a word in. "If anybody is going to see the next generation it's going to be you." Michael fights a faint smile, "I know Liam is only seven, but it's never too soon to start putting things in order for him—for his reign."
"Wait." Michael releases a sigh and turns back around, somewhat impatient. He lifts an eyebrow in anticipation of what the soldier is about to say. "You were the one to teach me not to make promises, so I know it's wrong to say this, but I want you to know...if something ever happens to you, to Mrs. Jai—"
"I know."
"It's the least I can do," Tatum states. "You saved my life..." He mumbles the last part, "Even though you've never told me why."
Michael Luciano vividly recalls the day just nine months ago as he strode through the government building, awaiting a minuscule trial. He would be acquitted, there was no question about that. But it wasn't the impending trial that held his attention that day, it was the sixteen-year-old boy who sat handcuffed to a bench. Michael stopped just long enough to question what the boy had done. Murder, they had said. He's going to get the death penalty, they had said.
Tatum was in Michael Luciano's custody by the end of the day.
Michael continues his journey down the hallway as it opens to their foyer. Tatum is close behind, his mind working just a little bit harder than before. Michael stops at the doorway, leading the soldier to do the same.
"If something does happen to me," Michael starts quietly, "And if something, God-forbid happen to my wife, do everything you can for my son. Everything. And give this empire the second chance I gave you."
Tatum nods. "Yes, sir."
Michael casts a quickly glance at his watch. "Give me a second." He doesn't wait for a disappointed response. He takes the steps two at a time and rushes forward as soon as his feet hit the second floor. He finds his palms on the door of the master bedroom, gently pushing it open and easing himself inside.
Jaiyana woke up this morning with a fever and she's been the only thing on Michael's mind since he rolled out of bed. He felt terrible about leaving her, especially over a meeting that could be rescheduled, but she had insisted that he continue with his day as planned. He rounds the side of her bed slowly, resting the backside of his hand against her cheek. She flinches slightly at his touch. She's still warm.
"It's miserable and cloudy outside," Michael whispers. "Can I just stay here with you?" He gingerly runs a hand down the side of her face. She cracks her eyes open just enough and angles her body in such a way to get a glimpse of the rays of sun that stream through the curtains.
"It looks like a gorgeous day." She rolls back over, her sentence muffled as she mumbles into her pillow, "I know you're trying to stay here with me, but I'll be okay, besides—it's beautiful out there."
Michael takes a step back, offended. Jai flips around quickly at the feeling of her husband's touch leave her. "Listen here, wife," He points an accusing finger at the window, "I don't know what sun that crackhead world out there revolves around, but my world revolves around you—so when you're sick or you don't feel well, my day is shit. Don't make me say that again either."
Jaiyana rolls her eyes, but she can't fight the smile that crosses her face. She plops back down to her mattress with a pursed smile. "You're annoying as fuck."
"Mom!" A seven-year-old Liam tosses the heavy comforter of his parent's bed away from him. He reveals his hiding spot to his father, who he told his mom he was trying to scare, until she cursed. He curls against his mother's side, eyes narrows and voice quiet. "That's a bad word—and dad," His eyes lift to his father, "What's a crackhead?"
Michael begins to respond, "You'll find out eventually, bud—" Jaiyana and Michael's eyes meet. He diverts smoothly, "Something you'll never be, little king. Don't worry."
Liam's smile widens immensely at the sound of his title—little king. His dad is the big king, and he's okay with that. He likes being the little king. He likes walking into a room and pretending that the voices stop for him, that all eyes fall on him, that people bow in respect for him, despite it all being for his father. He likes joining Michael on some easy days with the family. Sometimes the soldiers even bow for him, but Liam knows it's fake. His dad probably said something scary to the men before he walked into the room, forcing them to do so.
Liam's favorite moment was probably when his father asked if he wanted to come to an official meeting with the family. Liam was overjoyed, and as he and his father strode towards the massive doors that appeared to open just for them, Michael had stopped. A small Liam strode through the doorway alone, and chills ran down his arms as everyone around the table stood at the command, "All rise."
But what Liam has slowly come to understand is that for him to be the big king, something has to happen to his dad—he wants to be the little king forever.
"Can I be little king forever?" He questions quietly, eyes searching Michael's expression.
Michael leans over Jaiyana, brushing a long strand of hair away from Liam's face. It's a bittersweet smile that pulls the king's lips apart—equally pained, equally happy. He presses a kiss to his son's temple, pulling away just far enough to add, "I would love that. Having you as my little king forever, but that can't happen." The look in the child's eyes pulls something in Michael's chest—a feeling he doesn't appreciate. "Just like you depend on your mother and I, there will come a time when we'll depend on you, when this empire will depend on you. You'll have to be the big king."
"Depend?" Liam repeats the word hesitantly. "How do you know you can depend on me?"
Michael presses a quick kiss to his wife's temple and takes a step back, allowing himself enough time to answer his son's pertinent question. "You're my kid."
Liam breaks out in a childish grin. He clutches the comforter tight, pulling it up to his neck as he fights a soft laugh. He's trying to be quiet, knowing his mother is trying to sleep beside him. "I like being your kid. And don't worry!" Michael slaps his index finger to his own lips, motioning for Liam to quiet down. His apology is a cute expression. "Sorry, but don't worry. I'm going to take care of mom while you're gone today. You can depend on me. I won't leave her. I'll make sure she gets juice and food and stays warm and doesn't move. I'll make sure nothing hurts her. I'm going to protect her."
Michael smiles at the confident look on his son's face.
"You can depend on me for that," Liam nods.
"I'm already proud." Michael leans down, resting a gentle hand on Jai's shoulders. He kisses the side of her face once more before offering a fist in Liam's direction. The little boy bumps it with his own with more than the required amount of energy needed.
Michael doesn't hear Liam's whisper as he leaves the room. "I'm going to protect her. I promise."
He rests his head beside his mother, watching her in anticipation of any expression of pain or a sign that something is wrong. Liam's eyes narrow as he watches her shoulders rise and fall evenly, sleep preparing to overtake her. He puts a small hand in front of her mouth to make sure she is still breathing, but the back of it accidently brushing against her lips. Her eyes open.
"Liam, baby, you don't have to stare at me like that—"
"What if you stop breathing?"
"I won't stop breathing. It's just a cold."
"But what if you do?"
"Elijah..."
"Zara...."
"Boy, I know you didn't just—" Liam tries to scurry away from his mom, but she manages to wrap her arms around him. His laughter fills the room as he squirms, fighting the attack of tickles coming from the one person he trusted the absolute most. He fights to get a word out, but any attempt at speech is filled with high-pitched screaming and giggles.
His mother finally lets up, allowing him to catch a breath. "Why did you do that?"
"Those were tickles for disrespect."
"I'm going to tell dad," Liam threatens playfully, out of breath.
The smile on his mother's face urges on his own. "He bows to me, child, remember that."
Their moment is soon over as Jaiyana's smile fades. Her eyes close as she adjusts to Liam, who nudges to be closer to her. She feels his small arms try to wrap around her. Her smile broadens as she scoots closer to him, allowing the little boy to hold her. She's always felt comfort lying in Michael's arms, but there something entirely different when lying in the arms of your young son. Liam tries to hold her as best he can, comforting her like he's seen his father do so many times. She shifts and he tightens his hold on her. "It's okay mom, I've got you."
She fights a smile as Liam's small hands finds a place on her face, his fingertips gently running against her skin. It would be enough to lull anyone to sleep, until her son speaks. "Mom?" He doesn't wait for a response, and he doesn't need to. Something in his voice raises the motherly alarms in Zara's mind. "What am I going to do when the world takes you and dad from me?"
The question doesn't fully register in her sleepy, ill state. "What do you mean, sweetheart?"
"We're bad people," He says quietly. "We die sooner than the good people do. So, what am I going to do when the world takes you and dad from me?"
Sleep is no longer Jaiyana's main concern, but comforting her crying son is. Tears have gathered in the corners of his eyes and have started to fall towards the pillow his head rests upon. She reaches toward him gently, gathering a few tears with the pad of her thumb. She hesitates.
"If the world takes your father and I from you, finish what we started," She declares softly. "Finish what your father started. I'd tell you to make him proud, but you already have—and me?" Jaiyana reaches for her son's side, tickling him just enough to earn a smile so wide the boy's eyes nearly shut. "You could never disappoint me."
"What if I don't finish it?" Liam asks quietly. "What if I something happens to me? What if I die?"
Jai isn't sure what causes her most recent wave of nausea—her illness, or the idea of her baby dying. "Then you come home to your father and I, and we finish the fight together."
"Together?"
"Together." She leans forward, planting a kiss to her son's forehead.
Liam reacts warmly to the comforting affection and falls silent, refusing to distract his mother anymore. His mind is racing, his question stemming from the nightmares he's been having recently. His mother falls asleep quickly, leaving him to cover a hand over his mouth and cry freely. Each nightmare is always worse than the last, yet they always end the same way—with Liam kneeling over his parent's lifeless bodies, shaking them, demanding that they wake up. "You can't leave me," is all the child chants as his nightmares would play on.
"Mom?" Liam cries out, doing his best to keep his voice even.
Jaiyana murmurs in a low response.
"Take my hand."
My world has come to a stuttering crawl more times than I can count in the last few months. Time slowed, nearly coming to a stop when my mother was murdered in front of me. Time slowed right before the car accident, right before I thought I lost the love of my life. Time slowed when death had his hands around my neck.
But my world comes to a halt as the bullet strikes Jaiyana Zara, killing her instantly.
Everything is suspended in frozen time. Cars halfway through an intersection. A woman mid-stride down the sidewalk, a cup of coffee halfway to her mouth. The sniper perched from their position, eye still focused on the scope of their high-powered rifle. The casing of the bullet that ended Jai's life, stuck in suspension over the killer's head. Even the sun ceases—because for that moment in time, I no longer feel it on my skin.
It feels like someone has hit pause on this hellish life simulation game that me and everyone I love are stuck in.
Then they hit play.
And I watch Jaiyana Zara die. There are no final words of comfort as the life fades slowly from her eyes. There's no last I love you or make me proud. There's no final hug. There's no final kiss. There's no endearing ending. There are no promises from son to mother to finish the fight she and Michael started. No promise to carry the legacy. She's there. And then she's gone.
Her life taken from her as quickly as her title of Queen, all those years ago.
The screams of bystanders must be deafening, but they're muffled to me. I can still hear the gunshot, echoing as it travels down the long road of high-rise office buildings. I feel someone grab me by the shoulders, but my attention is on Liam, holding his lifeless mother, refusing to let her body hit the floor. Her blood speckles his face and ruins his suit. I feel someone shake me, doing everything they can to get me to face them—its urgent, I know. But all I can focus on is the tears that gather in Liam's eyes. "Mom?" He breathes out. It hasn't registered.
"Faith!" And just like that full range of my auditory has returned, and it's overwhelming. Soldiers are shouting, scattering in every direction as they rush to our rescues. Bystanders practically trample each other as they flee a scene that wasn't even meant for them. Sirens can be heard in the distance.
The soldier rests their gloved hands on either side of my face, jerking my head in their direction. It's the commander. Giovanni. Doing exactly what Liam had requested of him—keep me safe. There's no direct order. He doesn't waste time. He grabs me, shields my body with his, and drags me away.
But not before I witness a scene I will never forget. Liam has lowered himself and his mother to the steps. He set her down gently and kneels over her. Tears, would not describe the amount that are streaming out the corner of Liam's eyes. But Tatum gives him no time to mourn—not here. The soldier understands the severity of the situation and grabs the arms of his king, shouting orders as he does so. "We have to go—Liam."
A distraught Liam snatches his arm away, shouting, "I can't leave her," over his shoulder. He leans back over his mother, and adds, "We can't leave her. We can't—"
His shoulders shake as he takes in his mother's face for what will be one of the last times. Her eyes, open, staring far past Liam. Her beautiful white attire stained by the brutality of a world she had no business joining. Many will rejoice at the news of the passing of Michael Luciano's late wife. Many will consider it karma for all the lives she let Michael take, and all the lives she took on her own. But that bullet did more than take Jaiyana Zara's life. It gave her what we all desire. Peace.
"We can't!"
Two soldiers assist Tatum in pulling Liam away from Zara. He does his best to fight, not willingly to leave her body despite the threat that the sniper may take his life too. But even with three soldiers holding him back, Liam manages to slip his arm out of theirs. But he doesn't run back to his mother. He tilts his head upwards, and cries, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." It isn't until Liam speaks again do we know who he's calling out to. "I'm sorry, dad. I'm sorry."
Liam gives up, and he's shoved into the side door of his transport while I'm hustled into another waiting SUV.
Soldiers race to Vincenzo's side, who was a mere arm's length away from it all. He shoves them away, and they respond with the sniper will kill you too. He says they won't. For killing him would be too merciful. He doesn't cry. Not yet. Instead, he takes the opportunity to lower himself to an unsteady knee and reach for her face once more. But this time she doesn't reach up and touch his hand as he does so. He whispers something, removes her necklace, pockets it, and rises back to his feet. And he leaves.
The door of his transport is opened, and he climbs in. And I see him cry. I see his shoulders shake as tears pour from his eyes. He hunches over in weakness and to many it would look pitiful, borderline pathetic. But then Vincenzo clenches his jaw and punches the back of the passenger seat with all his might. He jerks his attention to Jaiyana's body. His eyes happen to flicker to mine.
My face is stained with tears I didn't even know I was shedding. But instead of weeping, I smile. Because for the first time in a long time I see him. I see Vincent. I see it through the pain that warps his face and the tears that blur his brown eyes. I see the Vincenzo that sat in Peter Corinelli's chair with a confident smile on his handsome face and a bandana taming his curls. I see the Vincenzo that descended the stairwell with wisdom on his lips. And I see the Vincenzo that stood in front that camera and declared that if we thought his son was crazy, we hadn't met him. I see Vincenzo De Santis.
But the look is gone as quickly as it had appeared, like a flame that failed to ignite.
His eyes fall from mine and land on Jaiyana one last time.
When our eyes meet again, there is no hesitation.
The flame is ignited.
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I've seen everyone I love die more than once, and I watch Zara die once more as I step into the front doors of our home, hours later. The scene I lived out is playing before me once again, like it hasn't been on repeat in my mind since it happened. But this time I'm not alone—everyone is standing there watching it.
Federico and Veleno stand in front the television. Rico has the remote in his hand, his thumb hovering over the 'back' button, which he repeatedly hits whenever the recording pans away from the scene and screams erupt—restarting the scene from the beginning. Veleno stands beside him, hands on his head in disbelief. Carmen and Savaughna stand off to the side. Tears line Savaughna's eyelids, but they stream down Carmen's face as she covers her mouth with her hands, catching a choked sob. Crixus is on the sofa, knees tucked to his chest. Then there's Rosalie—tucked quietly behind Rico, watching Zara die over and over in stunned silence.
Dominic descends the stairwell, causing me to glance away from the television in surprise. He approaches curiously, clearly the only one who doesn't know. I see his lips move, mouthing, "What's going on?" but he turns smoothly into the room and stops in his tracks, catching the moment the bullet strikes her. Federico rewinds, probably the hundredth time for them, but the fifth since I've been standing here. Dominic witnesses the event in full, only blinking once it's over.
"She's dead?" He breathes out, breaking the icy silence.
Heads turn in our direction from the broken silence. Rosie steadies herself against Rico's leg and turns around, exposing her face to mine, and the tears that stream down it. The look on Crixus's face is distant, but that of his brother is determined. Veleno looks like he's seen better days, and Carmen is seconds away from crying every ounce of water out her body. Realization looks like it has dawned on Savaughna's face, but she doesn't say anything.
Rosie's blurred eyes fall on me. "How many more, Ms. Faith?" She backs away from Federico, who along with everyone else, is stunned that the little girl managed to sneak up behind them and witness something she never deserved to see. "First mom," She counts, voice shaking. "Then dad, now my other mom—" Her small body shakes with tears as she quietly chants, "It's not fair. It's not fair." No one stops her from trying to leave the room, and we hear her one last time—but this time her voice is different. This one comes from the base of her throat. This one comes from anger. "It's not fair!"
"Um—" Carmen's voice falters on the shortest of words. She wipes hastily at her eyes, trying to form the right words. But all she can do is point to the paused television screen at a loss for words. She taps her foot on the floor in anxiousness, the only sound that drifts around the stunned room as we wait for her to continue. Carmen eyes the screen again. I doubt she can see much. "But I just saw he—"
Her voice cracks, but she's out the room before any of us can begin to offer a word of comfort.
Savaughna offers a weak smile before rushing off after her friend.
"And you all are just watching it?" Dominic steps forward, his level of irritation rapidly rising. He might be pissed at his brother and annoyed with Veleno, but it isn't until I step further into the room do I realize who he was addressing—the man who took his job. Austin. And the man who likes the man who took his job. Steven. They're both seated on the furthest sofa, watching Zara's death unfold.
Austin rises to his feet, anger in his voice, "And what the fuck am I supposed to be doing? There's nothing I can do right now until—"
"You can get this fucking bullshit off YouTube!"
"Is this where you tell me I'm not doing my job right?"
Dominic catches Austin's jab. He pulls his phone out his pocket and shoots Austin a look. "No, this is where I show your dumb ass how to do your fucking job." Steven dodges to his left as Dominic hurtles his cell phone through the air. Austin catches it. "Get in touch with someone at YouTube and tell them if this video isn't taken down by the time you hang up, their headquarters will be one of the many that get shot to hell this year."
Austin and Steven are out the room in seconds. Crixus stands once they're gone. He wipes the palms of his hands on his black cargo pants and glances up at his two brothers, then Veleno. The boy motions awkwardly toward the foyer, trying to make his exit. I'm sure he feels out of place. "I'm going to go check on Rosie."
"And I need to make a call," Rico adds before handing Dominic the television remote. He trails Crixus out the room, past me, but not before I catch a glimpse of Federico's phone, and the contact he quickly dialed.
Cinderella.
"Are you okay?" I keep my eye on Federico once he's passed me. He heads in the opposite direction of his brother, phone to his ear. "Faith?" I turn my attention to the direction my name came from. Veleno looks worried. He doesn't repeat his question again. "You're shaking."
My eyes blur for the hundredth time that day and I look away from the assassin, attention falling on the paused video once more. Dominic is in control of the remote now as he lowers himself to the sofa. I remember lifting a finger, pointing at the screen. "I—I was, I was—there."
I never could've imagined that over the course of these couple hours that the only thing keeping me standing was adrenaline. But I feel it leave me, and my body experiences a crash that neither sugar nor caffeine could compete with. I can no longer support my own weight, but luckily for me, Veleno saw the signs before I did. He reaches my side and wraps his arms around me. I can't even thank him. I just cry.
Giovanni had offered to stay with me until I got settled back at home and Liam returned, but I had shooed him away, claiming that as the commander of the Luciano army, he had work to do—especially after the event that happened today. But as Dominic and Veleno slowly lowered me to the plush sofa, I was regretting my decision. Because even in a house full of assassins that wouldn't hesitate to kill for me, I don't feel safe—and one more armed individual would've helped ease my anxiousness.
But I always do what's best for other people, rather than what's best for me.
"Is she okay?" My head is in my hands, while Dominic rubs my back in a comforting manner. Federico's voice is clear.
Veleno ignores his question. "That's a quick phone call."
"They didn't answer," Rico's response comes all in one breath, and if I had any ounce of energy left, I would've hit him with a sarcastic response. "Is she okay?" He repeats again, and I feel another body standing before me. I lift my head just enough to know it's Rico that poises another question. "Do you need water or anything?"
I snap my attention upwards. "I need a bullet in Valentin's fucking head. That's what I fucking need."
There's something oddly poetic about the way the two assassins react to my outburst. Federico takes a half step back. I wouldn't dare call it fear, but he must recognize something that causes him to move away. Veleno doesn't flinch. He's always embraced it, while Rico has spent the majority of his life fighting it. I don't know what it is, but it's enough to know that whatever look Federico resonated with caused him to distance himself from me.
But ultimately, I think he's distanced himself more from Fantasma then he realizes.
I drop my head in my hands once more. I focus on regaining control of my breathing and to limit my shaking because although Dominic hasn't said much, I can tell he's concerned.
"Rico, look at this."
They must've put the video on mute for my sanity because I no longer hear the gunshot or the screams. I listen closely to their conversation.
"That's a shot," Federico almost sounds impressed with the sniper's skills.
Veleno makes a comment of his own. "No amateur."
"Highly disciplined?" Rico comments again. I can just picture his arms folded across his chest, and the look he shoots his partner-in-crime. "Look." There's a pause before he speaks again, "Their scope had to move past Liam's head for them to get that shot off. Why not just kill the king?"
"That's not the plan," Dominic speaks up from beside me.
"Let's be honest," Rico continues, "You wipe the feet out from an empire when you kill the king. I don't care what anybody says. Killing the King is like cutting off a chicken's head—the empire just runs around clueless and eventually smacks into a wall and dies."
If only I could see the look on Veleno's face. "What kind of fucking metaphor is that?"
"Honestly, it sounded better in my head."
Dominic and I are the only ones who repress a chuckle. He then drops the name of my lead suspect. The only person I can think of who would pull that trigger at Valentin's order. "Diavolo?" He questions out loud.
"No." Federico's answer comes quick, with little thought, and I know it's only because they're buddy-buddy. "This wasn't him—"
I look up again, more anger in my voice than sarcasm. "Of course you would fucking say that—"
Veleno steps in, clearing his throat. "To be fair, I don't think it's Diavolo either." His eyes fall on mine. "When has Diavolo ever used a weapon that wasn't himself? And to be even more honest, I don't think Valentin ordered this hit either." That causes a collective pause as we all turn toward the paused video once more. "Valentin tortures—he tortures your loved ones, he tortures those who love them, and then he kills them. He's a petty motherfucker and if he was petty, his sniper would've shot Zara's knees out. He would've tortured Liam by making him wake up every morning and witness what this war has done to his mother. He wouldn't have put a bullet in her head. That's too easy. That hasn't been Valentin this whole war. Why would he switch up now?"
None of us are given a chance to respond.
"Turn that shit off now."
The voice shakes but holds steady through the command. I don't think I've ever witnessed a single command cause two of the world's deadliest assassins to turn into children that appear to have been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Vincenzo De Santis's voice is as deep as anyone else's, but there's something about it that stands out from any other Italian I've ever come across. Michael's voice demanded respect. Liam's gains your attention, and his words hold it. Vincenzo's hints at something that you cannot see—something crazy, something scary.
The television screen goes black, and Federico chucks the remote so far to his left that it hits the opposing wall. If the situation wasn't as serious as it was, the room would've erupted in laughter. But now his boys' stand before the man who raised them like soldiers in the army; arms at their side, feet a shoulder-width apart, eyes on him.
Vincenzo moves slowly into the room. His lion-head cane-slash-weapon comes first, then everything else follows. He's been crying. Bloods coats his hands and dots his suit. The only reason he's standing is because of his cane. He's shaking, and as the seconds pass, it gets worse.
Federico and Veleno are in an uncharacteristic state of silence. They came to comfort me like they know how when they saw me in tears, but it's different you see weakness in someone who rarely showed it while you were growing up. To say it shakes their confidence would be an understatement.
Rico speaks first. He sounds scared. "Are you—"
"It's not mine," Vincenzo answers quickly, referring to the blood that manages to cover the tattoos on his hand. He tilts his head back slightly. It's a move to keep more tears from falling. It fails, as does his voice. "It's not m—"
Veleno reaches Vince first. "Dad..." It's the rare display of comfort that I've seen the assassin show to the man who saved his life that causes tears to form in my eyes. It's the hug they share that forces me to look away, angry. Angry that it had to come to this. It didn't have to come to this.
"Let's get you cleaned up, old man." Federico approaches the two as they separate. He doesn't offer his father a hug, but rather what he knows Vince would rather hear. "We'll get them. We always do."
Vincenzo has always taken care of them, sending backup when needed, and coming to their rescue personally if required. This may just be the rare time where Veleno and Federico have a chance to repay everything he's done for them, even if they just offer an ear to listen.
"Faith?"
I look up once more. As soon as somebody leave, someone else enters—this time, it's Carmen. Her lower lip shakes, her cheeks stained from the irritation of her wiping at her tears every chance she gets. She picks nervously at her fingernails. On any other occasion I would have no problem looking Carmen in the eye. The warmth of her gaze is always comforting, always loving, never judgmental. There's no comfort today.
"I feel bad." She pauses, doing her best not the breakdown in another wave of tears. Dominic looks up at her as well. "I feel selfish, for running out the room earlier because I-I can't imagine how you feel. You were there. And I wanted to give you the biggest hug ever, but..." Tears begin to pool. "I just...is it stupid that I looked up to her? That from the moment I met her, I wanted to be her?" She looks away for a second, no doubt Dominic's eye contact sacring her ever-so slightly. "I was jealous that she could be so confident, but she said she wasn't always like this. She said she just needed someone to believe in her, and Michael did."
A tear falls.
Carmen lets out an unstable breath. "Then she said she believed in me, even if I didn't believe in myself and it was so miniscule and it is probably a conversation she forgot hours later, but it helped me a lot. It helped me more than she knew. More than she'll ever know. And I never got to thank her."
I let a moment pass. "That's not stupid." I crack a faint smile. "I wanted to be her too. It would be stupid to not want to be her." I rise to my feet. "Now give me a hug."
Carmen sniffles. "A mutually benefiting hug, right? Because you need one more than me."
"Yes, a mutually benefiting—"
Her hug is suffocating, but welcome. "I'm so, so, so fucking sorry. You're one of the nicest people I've ever met and you of all people didn't deserve to see that, and she didn't deserve to have that happen to her. Fuck—" She pulls away, "None of you deserved that. Not Zara, not Vincenzo, not you, not Li—" Carmen pauses as the reality of the event hits her like an unexpected wave in the ocean. "Where's Liam?"
Dominic stands. This is a question for him because I don't know. "It's protocol in an event like this that he's taken to a secure location." I go to ask a question, which he answers with ease, "A location safer than the safehouses. But considering we know the shot wasn't meant for him, he should be home soon." His gaze goes distant as he glances at the black television screen, envisioning the scene once more. "They're just taking extra precaution."
Carmen nods. "You look tired," She mentions to me.
I wipe the side of my face and agree with a nod of my own. Time flew after the shooting and a quick glance at the clock suggests it's later than I thought. The clock pushes seven in the evening, but it feels like its nearing midnight. I wouldn't be surprised if I was asleep within the hour.
"Do you want to go upstairs?" Dominic asks.
Another nod.
"I'll take her," He speaks up again, "If you want to check on Rosie?" Dominic hesitates and glances down at me, "If that's okay with you, I understand if—"
I force a smile. "I'd enjoy your company, Dom."
He puts a steady arm under mine and assists me upstairs in silence. There's no doubt I could've gone alone, but alone isn't where I want to be—not now, not for a while. We're halfway to Liam and I's bedroom when I speak again. "How are you doing?"
"I'm fine."
I plant my heels into the ground, forcing us to a halt. I shoot Dominic a look. "Don't do that."
"No, you don't do that. Don't make this about me, or anyone else right now. You always do that." He tightens the grasp he has on my upper arm, and I wince slightly as he continues to drag us toward my bedroom. He might not appear as strong as he once was, but he's still retained a bit of his strength. "And you think nobody notices," He continues, "But we all notice. We all notice how you deflect your problems by talking to us about ours. And we love you for it, but it's not healthy."
We come to a stop in the bedroom. He leaves my side to shut the door. It isn't until he's next to me once again that I have an answer for him. It comes out weak, pathetic sounding even. "It's how I cope."
Dominic sighs. And maybe it's because my eyes are exhausted from the number of tears I've shed today paired with the delusions in my eyes and the faint lighting in our bedroom, but he looks good. His hair might still be thin and his shoulders less defined. His clothes might not hang on his frame like they once did, and his cheekbones may be more prominent due to his loss of weight—but it's his eyes that capture me. I see the former second-in-command when I look in his eyes.
"I haven't used today," He admits. His answer to my question is delayed but appreciated all the same. "I can't lie and say I won't, but I haven't yet. It might not seem like an improvement, but I'm usually high as shit as soon as I wake up."
"See, that makes me happy."
I lower myself to the edge of the bed and Dominic does the same. "This might come out as a shock to you, but we talk about you when you're not around and what I said is true. We've all noticed the pattern and we're all worried, especially Liam."
I fight a frown. "He's noticed?"
"You think he hasn't?"
It's an excellent question that tries to bait me into a stupid answer. Of course, he's noticed. I let out a breath. "It's just easier to focus on other people's issues than your own. And maybe it isn't healthy," I admit quietly, "Because instead of addressing issues I just suppress them to listen to others. I've just, I've never really liked talking about my problems and when I was younger my mom—my adopted mom, not the witch that roams these sacred halls—taught me that everyone is going through something. And I just adapted that to thinking their problems are more important than mine."
"They're not."
"I like helping people."
"You need to help yourself." Dominic makes a face at the statement that rolled off his tongue without much thought. I make a face along with him, and we glance at each other. The corner of his lip lifts. "What? The drug addict isn't allowed to make sense?"
I shouldn't have laughed.
"I'm going to ask you again," He warns softly, "And this time I don't want a deflected answer." There's a brief pause, before, "Are you okay?"
I barely get my words out. "She was right there." I point to a spot on the ground, just a few feet away to give Dominic a clear image of how close we were when the gun was fired. "We were just talking in the elevator. Laughing. She was happy. It wasn't supposed to happen like that, it—it doesn't make sense."
"Death never does."
"And I had a terrible thought," I continue, lowering my voice even more. "I—"
Dom glances over at me, attention falling to my hands that slowly begin to shake. "I've had a lot of terrible thoughts. I promise this one won't derail me."
I hear the gunshot again. I watch the bullet take her life. I watch it take my friend, my role-model. I watch it strip Vincenzo of another chance at love. I watch it take a mother, a former wife, and an ex-queen. Then the scene rewinds, but instead of the bullet ending Zara's life—it takes mine.
"I'm scared her ending will be mine as well."
Dominic doesn't have a response, so maybe we can chalk it up to perfect timing that the door to the bedroom is pushed open and Liam enters. Tatum is his escort and the conversation they share isn't one I can hear. The soldier looks equally as exhausted as his boss, but there's no doubt in my mind that he offers his assistance once more. It's clear Liam declines, and with a respectful nod, Tatum is gone.
Dominic rises to his feet immediately and excuses himself. He reaches Liam's side on his journey towards the door and stops beside him. They don't make eye contact. They couldn't even if Dom wanted too. Liam hasn't lifted his attention from the floor since he walked in.
Dominic speaks softly. "You always tell me that if I need to talk, I can come to you. I'm not going to ask you if you're okay. I'm not going to beg you to look at me. Just find me when you're ready." Dom glances over at me, then back at his former boss. "Let me save you this time."
He leaves.
Liam's presence is always comforting. The warm tone in his voice pierced with the accent I love is always a wonderful reminder of how safe I feel in his presence. He radiates warmth and his smile has yet to fail to light up a room. But tonight, there is no comfort. He's hardly present. His skin is cold to my touch, one he doesn't even react to. His eyes are glazed over with an emotion stronger than those that produce tears. He's in shock.
"Faith." I've never in all my twenty-three years heard someone use my name as a cry for help. I've heard it as a statement, as a question, and as a warning. But never, have I ever, heard it as a cry for help. Our eyes meet. I've memorized his looks of approval, of proudness, of love, and of discouragement. But this isn't one I've ever seen before, yet also one I never want to see again. Shock.
He allows me to take his hand, and I lead him slowly, carefully into the master bathroom. I don't dare look at my own reflection as we pass the massive mirror. Even the expensive vanity lights that hang high above its glass couldn't save me now. I lower the lid of the toilet seat and Liam collapses on top of it, unable to hold his weight any longer.
His attention falls to the flooring of the bathroom and stays there as I gather a clean washcloth and run it over warm water. I remember asking him a question. He doesn't answer. I grab another dry towel before returning to him. With a finger on his beard, I tilt his head back and gently begin wiping at the blood that's dried on his temple. He hasn't said a word.
I clean the right side of his face and move to the left.
"I watched dad die." Liam might be seated before me, but he's not in the room. It doesn't even sound like him at first, but the more he speaks, the more he begins to sound like himself. "I saw it." He reaches for my wrist, forcing me to stop and look at him. Again, our eyes meet. And I just want to throw my arms around him and never let go. "I saw death take him. I watched him leave me." He whispers, "But mom? I felt it. I felt her leave me."
I wipe at the side of his face once more, hoping he continues to talk. He does.
"I'm not saying I felt her pain," He says quietly, more to himself than to me. "Just, one second she was holding my hand and the next I was holding her."
Liam doesn't expect a response, so I don't give him one. But I offer what he really needs—a listening ear.
"It could've been you." I understand Liam's intentions. In no way was he saying that he was thankful it was his mother and not me, but the thought of me being by his side one day, taking a bullet just like Jaiyana, has clearly passed his mind. A chill colder than one I could ever imagine dances into the spacious bathroom.
I clench my jaw, unwilling to share that I had the same thought. "Yes, one day it could be." I step away from him, doing my best to keep him from seeing the tears that form in my eye at the thought. "But I'm here because I want to be here. I'm here because I love you. I'll always be here, even if that's a possibility. And I need you to look at me when I say this."
I offer my hand to his.
"I told you that I would be by your side until the last star falls."
He takes it and stands as he does so.
"I am the last star."
There's something different about the kiss we share tonight. It's shorter than most, lacking something I can't name. I can feel him distancing himself the moment his lips left mine, but all I could do was stare up at him. He gave my side a squeeze of reassurance, but that was it. We spent the rest of our evening in silence. We took turns showering, washing up, and getting ready for bed despite the early hour of the evening. But there was a certain understanding between us that we both wanted this hellish day over sooner rather than later.
Liam is the last out the shower. I've been in bed for nearly fifteen minutes, staring up into the dark abyss for fourteen of them. I'm grateful Liam doesn't turn on the lights as he crawls in bed. If he had, he would've seen the tears that skate out the corners of my eyes, dampening my pillow even more. There's something about lying in the quiet room, waiting for sleep to come, that makes me miss Zara and my adopted parents even more.
I don't know how long I lay there, trying to suppress my cries. But then I can't any longer, and I find myself blurting out the first thought that comes to mind. "I can't lose you. I can't lose you." I wipe at my eyes, but the move is pointless. I let out a shaky breath, "I love you so much, but why does it feel like we're on a collision course?" I feel Liam shift, whether that's closer to me, I can't tell. "And it's like I know this, because I'm watching everyone around us die, but I still don't want to jump off this train." I fight another sob. "I love you too much."
Leaning into Liam's touch is automatic. His bare chest against my shoulder, his arm slung over my body, while he runs a steady finger down the side of my face, somehow tracing the path of my most recent tear. He presses a kiss to my cheek, and I know for certain it's his tear I feel against my skin and not my own.
I let out another breath. "And I can't imagine how you feel," I blurt out again, "I mean, I can—but I just watched my mother die, I didn't fucking catch her. And I know you want to give up. You can deny it all you want but I see it. You look exhausted and this war wasn't even yours to begin with. But you can't give up now. I'm begging you. If you give up, if you wave the white flag, if you surrender, their deaths will be in vain."
His silence is a terrifying response.
I can't fight back the last sob. "I just want to be happy again. I just want to go back to when I was happy."
I feel Liam's presence once more. His hand finds a way to my waist, tugging me closer to him. "Like when?" He murmurs.
He doesn't see my pathetic excuse for a smile, and I poise the same question I asked—what feels like—a millennium ago, when I was happy. "Tell me one thing I don't know about Liam Elijah Luciano?"
I can tell his smile matches my teary-eyed one. "He thinks your beautiful."
"Wrong." I blurt out, "I knew that."
"He wants to marry you."
"Knew that too. Try harder, king."
There's a longer pause.
"He doesn't own a white flag."
••━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
If I considered yesterday to be one of the worst days of my life, today would be a runner up, but for different reasons. The waking up part was peaceful. My bed was warm, and I felt rested. The outer corner of my eyes was sore from the constant rubbing yesterday and if anything, that was worst of it, until I sat up and glimpsed at the television screen.
Liam was seated on the edge of our bed, shoulders slumped. The remote was resting beside him, near my feet. The grip he had on iPhone was concerning, but a specific news anchor worried me more. The heading on the bottom of the screen, written in the largest, most bold font I've ever seen: LUCIANO FAMILY INVESTIGATION?
"Being honest," The male news anchor stated beside his gorgeous, female colleague, "This is the second incident at this company in what? Weeks? A matter of a month? And people have died. This is not something the media should toss under the rug."
The female anchor appears nervous, glancing quickly away from the teleprompter.
Her lack of agreement might have just spared her life.
Liam lifts his phone to his ear.
"You don't see people dying in front of Facebook's headquarters," The man continues, trying to prove his point to his morning audience. "You don't hear of any other fortune 500 companies getting shot to hell. The FBI needs to investigate, before any other employee is shot in their head."
It was something about the slight sarcasm in the male anchor's voice when he said head that didn't quite sit right with me.
I give Liam an order. "Kill him."
Liam doesn't acknowledge if he hears me or not. "The male anchor on channel nine," He says slowly. "I want him dead. Let him experience one more Thanksgiving, one more Christmas. But I want him dead by New Year's Eve. Car Accident. Drunk driver. Put him on my hitlist."
He hangs up.
I thought the day would get better after that, but I was disappointed. It came to our attention shortly after the morning news reports that a group of reporters had gathered outside our home and were trampling over our property as they pressed towards the front door, shouting questions that come out as muffled screams. We considered calling the police, then we contemplated notifying his soldiers—but violence wouldn't look on Liam's record, so instead we drew the shades to a close and locked ourselves in our bedroom.
It ended up working out well, because neither Liam nor I had any motivation to speak to anybody—even those in our own home. Liam mentioned needing to talk to Rosalie, but then he realized he didn't know what to say and sat back down. He mentioned needing to talk to the family, to let them know that he was alright. I told him quickly that they would catch his lie, and once again, he sat back down.
Our day consisted of the television on its lowest volume with the news station playing in the background. We took naps and at my suggestion, we wrote letters to our late parents. Liam even wrote one to my adopted parents, while I also wrote one for Zara and one for Michael. Thirty minutes of our day passed as we stared at them, unsure as to what to do next. Liam said we burn them, so we did.
We knew they were never going to read them, but it was the satisfaction of knowing we finally voiced the words we never got to say that lifted a weight off our chests. And the burning? It just seemed poetic.
Our second nap of the day was cut short at around 4:30 in the afternoon by the intense vibration of my phone.
It was a text from Tatum, with nothing but a google maps location. The next text that comes through is a four-digit number, one used for security reasons. It's to confirm their identity. The number is one only the soldiers know and changes every two weeks to avoid issues. Another text comes through, and I roll my eyes. He's one of those iMessage people that can't seem to say everything in one text bubble. Try to get here in 20?
I show Liam the text. "How do you feel about getting out the house?"
I would only go if he went and although his nod wasn't too convincing, I shot Tatum a text back in confirmation. Getting dressed with Liam is always an experience, but tonight we do it in silence. There's no recording or laughter. I tug on a pair of jeans while Liam pulls a white and black Nike hoodie over his head. I grab a large sweatshirt while he searches through his drawer full of sweatpants. He picks a black pair and grabs a baseball cap on our way out the door.
The crowd of reporters, cameras, and microphones has dwindled to practically nothing, but we still exit the house through its connection to the massive indoor garage. I never had an interest in cars until Liam, especially those that cost more than most make in a year. The level of organization in the garage would make anyone happy. Cars are parked in order of make, model, year, and color. We pass by a fleet of Audi R8s. One white, red, and black. Their rims sparkle underneath the bright garage lighting, not an ounce of dust coating their shimmering paint.
I turn around the face Liam and take a few steps backward, extending my arms. "What car tonight?" He's been quiet most of the day and occasionally I would see him wipe subtly at his eye, stopping a tear before it can make itself known. I just want to make him smile. "We have the Ferrari's, the Lambo's, or the McLaren's. We can take the Maserati, or we can just act normal and take the I-8."
Liam smirks underneath the hood of his sweatshirt. "The BMW I8 is a one-hundred- and fifty-thousand-dollar car, Faith."
I smile. "Pocket change, babe."
"I've created a monster."
He approaches me with a faint smile and knowing him, he's non-verbally asking for a hug. I wrap my arms around the comfortable fabric of his hoodie and pull him close. "You definitely messed up when you gave me your black card and let me add it to every online account that I have."
I glance up at him with a smile as he looks down at me. His eyes might be red, and exhaustion might still be written all over his features, but he's still fine as all hell. "Is that where I went wrong?" He mumbles.
I tilt my head back. "That was your fatal mistake."
I've never welcomed a kiss more than this one. Liam's displays of affection were always right on time, especially this one. I felt like he always pushed me away just the slightest whenever he was upset, angry, or something as traumatic as yesterday occurred. We spoke about it earlier, and he admitted that growing up he always dealt with issues alone. But now he's slowly starting to understand—and better himself—knowing he doesn't have to do that anymore. He has me, and too many others that consider him a brother, to speak to. I could see today that he was trying. He wasn't perfect, but he was trying.
He pulls away and kisses my cheek. "Let's take Old Faithful."
Old Faithful is a 4-year-old, blacked out Lamborghini Aventador. At four years of age, the car is the oldest on the Luciano lot. Liam didn't become serious about the car until late 2014, adamantly telling the soldiers responsible for his fleet of vehicles that this is the only car that doesn't get touched. It came to my attention a few months later why this car was so special. It belonged to Michael.
He tosses me the keys. I don't argue with him or mention the fact that he's always been particular about who drives the car. We buckle up as the engine roars to life. "Damn," I mutter, feigning a look of disappointment. I look over at him as he adjusts the passenger seat to his liking. "I was kind of hoping we could take the motorcycles tonight."
His laugh is faint as he tugs the brim of his hat lower. "So you can lose another race?"
I pull the car out the garage. "To be fair," I defend, "There was something in the road."
"Excuses."
Liam pulls the maps up, directing us to our location. Liam has always been a better navigator than me, which is terrible considering he's typically the driver on our personal excursions. He's the type who will tell you when the exit is near and remind you again so you don't forget. I tend to get so lost in my surroundings and thoughts that I forget about the navigation part while I'm appreciating nature. We've had a handful of arguments over it.
"You don't get bothered about me, do you?" I can barely see Liam inside the vehicle, his face dancing in the faint light of my phone screen. He must sense the confusion in his question. There's a long pause before he speaks again. This time, I hear fear. "My two worlds have collided. I've always tried to keep my company separate from this." I can feel him look at me. "I'm tired of failing at everything."
I shake my head, "No, no." I offer him a look when I can, but I know nothing I say will be of any comfort. Just this morning we watched the anchor practically order for the Feds to rain down on our house as soon as possible, and I know for a fact that there are others out there that feel the same suspicions about the Luciano family. It isn't a good look on any company to have two deadly events happen within the same year, let alone in a span of two months or less.
Liam sighs. "I don't know what's going to be said on the news or what you're going to hear from reporters, but I want to remind you what's mine is yours." He rests a hand on my knee and squeezes. "I've made that commitment to you in my heart, now I just have to it officially."
Once again, I'm grateful for the low lighting in the vehicle as a tear finds its way down my cheek. I remind Liam that I love him, that I love him more than I'll ever love anything or anyone else. I remain silent after that, allowing his statement to carry us to our destination.
The soldiers standing guard at the gate of the park entrance wave us through and at the glimpse of the parking lot, we're the last ones to arrive. It doesn't take long to gather our things and exit the vehicle, following the sound of laughter and conversation that is hidden by the small hill we need to climb.
We reach the peak and stop.
The hill starts to slowly descend, eventually leading to a vast lake. But it isn't the amount of people that stand around chatting, all of them members of the family, that catches our attention. It's the lanterns that gently float across the body of water, lighting up the night in a way the moon could only wish to do. It hits me. It's a memorial service.
Liam grabs my hand, leading me down the hill. We turn heads and welcome solemn faces and grim expressions. I get sympathetic looks while others rest a hand on Liam's shoulder as he passes.
We make it past the largest group of people and as we near the lakes edge, I can't help seeing Vincenzo and Rosalie standing next to it, hand in hand. They're off a ways from the crowd where it's quiet, peaceful. He holds her tight as she leans forward, trying to snag a lantern as it floats by.
Tatum reaches the makeshift podium and the crowd quiets. He's surrounded by the highest ranked soldiers in the army's hierarchy, one of them being Giovanni. There's a thin piece of paper in Tatum's hands as he overlooks the crowd, dressed in his typical military grade attire. He jumps right into it. "We lost Jaiyana Zara yesterday and I know it's barely been twenty-four hours, but it wouldn't sit right with me if we waited another day to do something in her honor." He glances down at his paper of scribbled notes. "I would like to consider this an unofficial memorial service. She deserves to be buried properly and if I have any say in it, I'll make sure that happens. I—" Tatum looks up from his notes and freezes.
Giovanni looks at his friend, allows another quiet moment to pass, before taking a step in his direction. He turns his head just enough that whatever he whispers remains between them.
The commander returns to his respectful stance beside Tatum and waits.
Tatum breaks away from his speech. He looks to Liam. "You said I'm sorry yesterday because you felt like you failed your father. You felt like you failed Michael for being unable to protect your mother. It was a promise you made to him, one you intended to keep. But we, all of those who work for you, want to say we're sorry too. Because just like you made that promise to your father to protect Zara, we made that same promise to you to protect her, and all of those you love. And we failed too."
Crying is inevitable at this point. Liam tugs the brim of his hat lower once more rather than wasting the energy to wipe away at the tears that skate their way down the sides of his face. Even a soldier that stands lined up beside Giovanni and Tatum takes a respectful step back to wipe at the corner of his eye.
Tatum clears his throat. "The least we can do now is offer Jaiyana the moment of silence her life deserved." I swear his attention then falls on me. "But this moment of silence won't just be for her, but for Faith's mother as well. We might not have met her. She might not have been our queen, but she was our queen's queen, and for that, she deserves this as well. May they both rest in peace."
As soon as Tatum steps away from the platform does the moment begin. It isn't long before the beauty of the lake and the warm lights that float carelessly above it blur. I thought I had cried all my tears. Liam's arm snakes around my shoulder and he pulls me against his chest. He presses a kiss to my head and mumbles words of comfort. It hurts hearing him struggle to do so.
Their moment of honor passes. It ends for those around me, nothing but a full sixty-seconds that they may never remember. But in that time, I promise to honor the two most influential women in my life long after their memorial.
Giovanni takes the podium next. "On the ground beside you is a lantern and a lighter. Growing up, my mother always told me that we might not be able to accept the fact that our loved one has died, but we still have to be willing to let them go." He eyes the crowd, silently. "When T poised the idea of a memorial, I suggested the lanterns. Letting someone go is hard, but there's something about the visual representation of it via the lanterns that is almost...peaceful. I hope you find it comforting as well."
He steps away. No other instructions are needed as everyone breaks into small groups. Many grab lanterns of their own, while others pair up. Liam holds the lantern while I grab the lighter. It's lit in a matter of seconds, but he hesitates to let it go and when I look up, I see why. Others have released theirs, and watching them drift higher and higher is mesmerizingly beautiful.
Liam releases our lantern, and while he watches it, I watch him. The lights that float high above us casts a warm glow on his skin. He's never looked better, and he's never felt worse. And I don't know if he's talking to me or to his mother as he watches her ascend. "I just want to be the little king."
We watch the lanterns fill the sky until the small hill we all stand on is illuminated like mid-day. I have my arms around him, his around me, and we stand there is stunned silence that over the course of twenty-four hours, our world has taken a devastating turn. It doesn't help that we can't even promise that it won't take another.
Liam lets out a breath. "Do you mind if I just..." His eyes find mine. "I need a minute."
I leave him with a hug. Lanterns continue to crawl towards the stars as soldiers continue to release them in loving memory. It isn't until I reach the edge of the crowd do I start to see more familiar faces. Carmen and Federico stand beside each other, watching the sky. She's been crying. His hands are stuffed inside the pocket of his jeans as his attention remains on the events happening above.
"This might be a terrible time to say this, but this reminds me of Tangled," He observes, "But, you know, on land."
Carmen smiles softly. "You would say that." Federico is so enamored by the lights that he doesn't see the appreciative look the woman sends him. "But sadly, we aren't in a fairytale."
Their height difference makes it easy for Rico to loop an arm over her shoulder. She rests her chin on his forearm for just a second, before he pulls her towards him. The kiss he places on her head is automatic.
I continue to move past them, nearing the edge of the lake. I spot Crixus, Veleno, and Savaughna. The former model lays on the ground in silence a few feet away from the boys, unable to tear her attention away from the sky. She's in her own little world, unaware of Veleno and Crixus. The older assassin sits on the ground with his palms in the grass, keeping his body propped in a seated position. Crixus lies beside him, head on his friend's lap.
"Hey, Veggie?" I hear Crixus ask.
"Yeah, kid?"
"People die fast," The young assassin mumbles. Just like everyone else, their attention is lifted high above them.
"Yeah, they do," Veleno agrees softly. "Especially in our world."
Crixus releases a breath as he folds his arms across his chest. "I don't know what I would do if something happened to you." He gives it more thought, then adds, "And don't make a joke about Rico or Dom or Liam or something. I don't know what I would do if anything happened to them. I just..." Veleno doesn't witness the look Crixus shoots him. "You're my friend."
Veleno keeps his eyes locked on the lanterns above. "You're my friend too, Crixus."
"I don't have many friends," The boys adds, returning his attention to the night sky.
"Me either."
Crixus sighs. "I wish you were my brother, too."
"You have a lot of those. I'd rather be your only best-friend."
Crixus shoots up in a seated position and the elation in his eyes is easy to spot, even from here. "We're best friends?" He overexaggerates in a forced screech. He obnoxiously leans his face closer to Veleno in pure excitement and annoyance. Veleno uses the palm of his hand to playfully slap the boy out of his face.
"Don't make me regret it."
"Do you want me to make friendship bracelets?"
Veleno fights his smile. "No. Just kill any motherfucker that's trying to kill me."
"I can do that." Crixus returns to his previous position, resting his head in Veleno's lap. Another moment passes. "Veggie?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you, " Crixus adds softly.
Veleno doesn't hesitate. "I love you too, best friend."
I can't help but continue to move to the further edges of the crowd with a smile on my face. But as quickly as the smile appeared, it fades as I reach the end of our gathering.
Vincenzo sits further away from everybody, alone. His lantern is the only one that isn't lit, the only one that hasn't been let go. He sits on the ground with his leg parted and the unlit lantern resting between them. His head is bowed.
I sit down beside him. Rosalie is gone, nowhere to be found and although I'm curious about the child's whereabouts, I'm just as concerned about Vince. I thought I saw him at his lowest point when his empire was taken from him. I thought he hit rock bottom when he found out the boy he adopted and spent so many years loving, was dead. I didn't think he could feel any worse than the moment he lifted that gun to his head. But again, I'm proven wrong.
A tear of his hits the grass below us. "I don't want to let it go," He manages to get out, holding tight to the lantern even though it remains unlit. "I don't want to let her go," He adds in a whisper. He looks up at me and the look in his eye resembles something deeper than just pain. "Why do I always have to let go?"
I sit beside him quietly and study him. I watch his tears fall with reckless abandon. I'm not sure if I'm honored that the former king of Detroit is crying in front of me without a care in the world, or maybe he's just been at rock bottom so long he doesn't give a fuck anymore. I don't dare ask, nor do I think I'll ever find out.
"I dealt with racism a lot growing up." Vincenzo speaks even quieter than last time and I can't help but be captured by his story from the jump. "My mother was African-American and my dad was as white as an Italian can get. I was bullied by black people because they said I didn't have their hair and my skin wasn't dark enough and I never fit in with white people because I was too dark." He cracks a rare smile at a memory. "I remember taking this test and finding out I had more African-American in me than anything else and I finally felt like I fit in somewhere. I finally felt like I was in control of something."
I wait, knowing the rest of the story is coming.
"I remember sitting in the car with my mom, and it was dark," He begins slowly. "And then the car was surrounded by these white men, and they threatened to shoot the car up, because they would be ridding the world of us." Vincenzo looks at me when he says it. "They broke the driver side window and dragged her out of it. I watched them kill her. I remember begging this one guy to stop. He told me to call on my God, not him."
He tilts his head toward the sky as the lanterns are now nothing but distant, warm lights.
"She was the first one I had to let go," Vincenzo continues. He hesitates to continue. "And that same night, I remember shouting some stupid threat, something a little kid would say, I...I said something like, wait till I'm king." He almost laughs. "One of them said a black man could never be and I spiraled."
He shudders in the growing cold.
"I lost the little confidence I had and my mother all in the same night," He concludes softly. "I felt like I lost everything. And never in my life have I ever been as helpless as I was, strapped to the seat of that car while they beat the life out of her. I lost control."
And this part of the story sums Vincenzo De Santis up to a tee. "Control issues," I comment in conclusion.
"Jai was something I could never control," He whispers, eyes dropping to the lantern between his legs. "And it was terrifying. I couldn't control falling in love with her and I could barely control anything I said or did around her." Vincenzo's eyes water. "And I was so scared of that feeling, but then I accepted it—I accepted not being in control for once in a long time, because I thought maybe I won't have to let her go."
I let him cry.
He lets out a shaky breath. "I don't want to let the lantern go...I don't want to let Jai go because I know she won't come back this time." Vincenzo looks up, just enough to admire the lights drifting across the water. "You know that saying, if you love it, let it go?"
"And if it's meant for you, it will come back," I finish with a nod.
Vincenzo grabs the lighter. "I guess she was never meant for me."
He lights the final lantern.
"I'm starting to think nothing is."
And as the lantern ascends and Jaiyana floats away, my only prayer is that she lands safely in the arms of Michael Luciano.
One last time.
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a/n: also here that author note ya'll were begging for last chapter. i doubt you wanna talk now though LOL.
it would also be a christmas miracle if I got another chapter out before the end of the year because this shit takes meticulous planning and thought but I will do my best. If not, see you in 2022.
and to you jai, see you soon.