Potere | Book II ✓

xxxvi | forever

xxxvi | forever

a/n: thank you for taking this journey with me.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

It's Christmas Day, and Rosalie makes sure we don't forget.

We were dancing between my favorite place, reality and unconsciousness, when her piercing scream shatters the peaceful realm around us. We're thrown into the blinding, morning light that shimmers beautifully across our bedroom and wake up as the nine-year-old bursts into the room. And all I can do is watch, in a haze, as she rushes across the hardwood floor and launches herself onto our bed, and Liam.

Liam rolls over, sending the little girl to the bare mattress between us with a giggle. A groan dances off his lips at the unexpected greeting. If he wasn't awake before, he certainly is now.

"Merry Christmas!" Rosalie shoots her hands upward, and I thank my partially alert reflexes for getting my head out the way in time. I stifle a laugh as she rolls her small body towards Liam, grabs his face, and plants a kiss to his cheek, uttering, "Merry Christmas!" Again. He mumbles a weak and feeble, Merry Christmas, back as his lungs continue to work to replace the air Rosie knocked out of them. She flings over towards me, grabs my face, and does the same. "Merry Christmas, Ms. Faith!"

I smile and grab at her face as she pulls away, "Merry Christmas, king."

Rosalie rises to her feet, doing her best to balance on the mattress. She hops to avoid our entangled legs and leaps from the mattress, hitting the wood floors already in mid-sprint. The little girl screeches something incoherent before adding, "I have to wake up Uncle Rico and Aunt Carmen!"

"Good idea," Liam mumbles sleepily into his pillow.

Our eyes meet.

Liam pushes himself up quickly and twists his body towards Rosalie, narrowly missing her as she skates between the doors and out into the hallway. "Rosie, wait!" He calls out, "Maybe you should..." Liam's voice fades, knowing the little girl is far too excited to listen, and already too far to hear. He shoulders fall with a sigh. "I really hope they have clothes on."

"The octave of her scream will let us know."

I let out a laugh of my own as Liam wraps an arm around me, playfully tackling me back against the mattress. My arms snake across his shoulders and wrap around his neck as he presses a light kiss to my cheek, to the spot just below my ear, and another somewhere high on my chest. His chuckle vibrates against my skin before his head finds the crook of my neck, and the pillow beneath me.

We're quiet for a while. The dancing of my fingertips across the back of his neck is relaxing enough to lull Liam back to sleep. The weight of him alone, with his arm draped across my stomach and his leg entangled with mine would have been enough for me to. But a thought crosses my mind. Then another.

I angle my head towards him and smile. His eyes are closed. And his lips are parted slightly. His skin is warm to touch, and I find myself admiring him. My thumb runs across his brow, a faint scar remaining from the fight in Russia. I had seen it, time and time again since that night, but never asked him how he got it—was it inflicted by someone, or when the building came crashing down around us?

I feel guilty for waking him. "Can I ask you a question?"

His eyes never open. "Yes."

I shift, doing my best not to disturb him. "That night, in Russia, how many Yakuza got out?"

Liam releases a breath. He lets a second pass, thinking. "We only ran into a couple trying to get out of the explosion ourselves. The building fell primarily on them. Thankfully," His eyes open. "So, to answer your question, not a lot.

"Another question?"

Sometimes I wonder how long it took Liam to learn me. To understand me in a way I might not understand myself. To memorize each facial expression and match it with my tone, suggesting when I'm stressed, when I'm worried, or when I'm relaxed. To know when one touch meant I needed him in comparison to the touch that meant I was okay with letting him go. Sometimes I wonder if Liam learned me as quickly as I learned him.

If he hasn't perfected me, he's close to it, because the tone in my voice forces him to retract his arm. He shifts positions and pulls his body away from me. The room is cold. He uses his elbows to prop himself up on the mattress and makes eye contact with me. His gaze is sharp, but his response is gentle. "Sure."

He waits patiently. His neutral expression fades into one of concern when I pull my eyes away from him. I blink back a couple tears, my eyes on the rays of sunlight that dance across the bedroom floor. "Was Veleno wearing a vest that night?"

Liam follows my attention to the spots on the floor that the sun illuminates. "Yes. He did everything he needed to. But those vests are designed to stop bullets, not something as sharp as a katana."

I let out a shaky breath. "I know it's Christmas, and I know you wanted everyone to have a break from all this mess, but if the Yakuza is coming after us—if we're going after them, we're going to need some vests that work."

Liam doesn't verbally agree or even nod to suggest that he heard me, but something tells me I don't have to repeat myself. He knows. He's working on it. I reach for him, my fingertips tugging gently at his beard. His lips curl slightly, but his eyes remain stuck on the bedroom floor, on the way the rays of light move—ever so slowly—as the sun does.

"You were upset," He says softly. "When Valentin said he hurt Gabriel." Liam's eyes find mine. He reaches for my hand and pulls it away from his face. He draws it to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of my knuckles before intertwining our fingers together. "I don't think I've seen you that mad. Not for a while. Maybe not ever."

My answer is short. Simple. "I'm tired of losing people."

"He seems to like you. Gabriel." Liam comments. "I've noticed he talks to you more than anyone else, even more than Federico."

I smile.

Liam groans, "Please don't say something stupid—"

My smile widens, "You can call me the assassin whisperer."

Liam laughs, his smile and the low chuckle that dances past his lips urge mine as well. Our laughter fades and for a brief second, all you can hear is mumbling from the hallway as the house begins to wake. Liam's touch, as he wipes away the tear formed from my laugh, brings my attention back to him. "Use that." He finally says. "Use that to your advantage. You're good at it. And I'm proud of you."

I lean up and kiss him. "I'm proud of you. Always."

"We should hurry up and get downstairs," Liam murmurs against my lips, his eyes focused on them. "Rosie might kill us if we take too long."

"That's not funny," I whisper back, my lips pulling into a smile.

Liam smiles, kisses me twice, and throws his feet over the edge of the bed. His palms press into the mattress as he prepares to rise, cross the room, and begin a slightly rushed morning routine. Liam glances over his shoulder. He smiles at me. Silently offering a one-way ride to the bathroom. I scramble from under the blankets and wrap my arms around his neck. My legs find their way around his waist when he stands. His hands come to rest against my thighs, securing me to his back, as we travel into the bathroom together.

He sets me down on the counter and turns to face me, to face the mirror, nestling somewhere between my legs. I wrap my own around his hips, trying to pull him closer. The countertop doesn't allow it. Almost all of my favorite moments with him have been the silent ones, where brief looks, and teasing smiles communicate for us. His palm finds my thigh, snaking past the fabric of my shorts. He rubs his thumb in a circle, watching the mirror while I watch him.

He maneuvers both his, and my, toothbrush between his fingers, allowing water to run over the bristles before handing it to me. Liam removes his hand from my leg long enough to grab the toothpaste and apply a drop to our toothbrushes.

He grins at me. "I love you."

"And I love you."

We extend our toothbrushes, and they clink together in cheers.

We washed our faces together. Our routine this morning was supposed to be a quick one, but when I gathered water in the palm of my hand and waited until Liam turned to me to throw it at him, I knew it wouldn't be. His shock morphed into a smile, a laugh, and a threatening statement. He threw water back. I retaliated once more. Liam rushed to the bathtub and began to fill up a bucket. I screamed and for what felt like eternity, stood in the corner of the bathroom, begging Liam—with droplets of water rolling down his temple and across his chest—to please not dump the bucket of water on me.

He agreed not to if I kissed him.

I kissed him, and he dumped the water on me anyway.

It had been a long time since I heard Liam laugh that long, that hard. At points it sounded like he was struggling to catch air, my reaction, my surprise, being what fueled his laugh for so long. He helped me dry off, a chuckle escaping him every so often. My playful glare would stop it.

We cleaned the bathroom and got dressed together in record time. He had his arm around my shoulder, allowing me to lean my head against him, eyes closed as he led us down the hallway. You can hear fumbling inside the bedrooms as Rosalie's voice echoes from somewhere in the house, waking everyone up. I can feel us slow, my eyes opening just long enough to see the look Liam gives to one room in specific. Dominic's room.

He doesn't think I notice, because not many have. Not many noticed just how little Dominic and Liam had spoken, or how far apart the once duo had drifted. They were once attached at the hip, arguably inseparable, but now they feel like strangers. Two people in a home that have nothing to say to each other. Two people who once trusted each other with everything they didn't trust to tell other people. Liam, too frustrated at himself for ever allowing his friend to get this bad, and too frustrated at Dominic for letting it. Dominic, having been too ashamed to ask for help and too embarrassed to talk to Liam once his addiction got out of hand. Their relationship had suffered. Is suffering.

And the look Liam shoots towards the empty bedroom suggests he fears it will never be the same.

I rest a palm against his chest as we continue our journey to the second-floor landing. "Dominic will be okay."

Liam doesn't respond. He grabs my hand, and for the second time that morning, presses a kiss to my knuckles.

"Liam!" Rosalie's voice drifts up from the first floor, "The cool assassin lady is here to see you!" The two share a brief, muffled conversation, but before you hear Rosie's feet patter across the hardwood floor, she shouts, "Merry Christmas!"

And with my hand in his, Liam and I quickly descend the stairwell. Morning light pours into the foyer from the grand windows above, lighting up the house effortlessly. Nova, the nominated leader of what will become the new and improved Organization of Assassins stands in the foyer, hands tucked into the pockets of her dark jacket.

"Merry Christmas, Ms. Rosalie," Nova offers as the little girl scurries away, far too excited to stand in one place for long.

Her eyes shoot up at us. I'm used to brushing it off. The way the eyes of most women only linger on me long enough to ensure that Liam could probably do better. They tend to watch him longer, appreciating the trim of his beard and the low cut of his hair; the way his jewelry shines against the light; the way he walks in confidence, in power. But Nova doesn't watch him. She watches me.

Nova greets us with a respectful nod and a half bow. She keeps her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket to keep them warm. "I came by to thank you, especially you, Liam, for all that you've done for us. You didn't need to house us this long, and for that, we're all appreciative."

"I should be thanking you," Liam says in return.

Nova smiles slightly, her eyes pulling away from his just long enough to glance down the empty hallway over our shoulders. "Valentin Rostov destroyed the main OA facility, but from my understanding, he knew nothing about the backups. They're smaller in size, but they will work just fine until we can come up with something bigger, and much better."

I knew my question couldn't be specific, so I voice it as vaguely as I can. "Will you—will the OA be local?"

Nova refocuses on me and smiles wide. "The OA will be local," Her attention drifts over to Liam, back to me, and repeats. "It's a part of the reason I came by this morning. I wanted to say thank you, of course, but almost mention that if you ever need something, please don't hesitate to reach out to me, to us."

Liam watches as Nova hands me a small card, a phone number with no name, scribbled messily across the back. Someone brushes past us. The brief glance out of his peripherals distracts Liam from our conversation as he tries to identify who it is. He does. Liam extends a hand to Nova and begins to back away quickly, but not before adding, "If you ever need us, you're always welcome here."

I join Nova at her side as we both watch Liam jog down the hallway, chasing down the figure in black. He calls out the individual's name. "Gabriel." And the figure stops. Gabriel stalls just long enough for Liam to make it to his side, and his stride begins again. But before the light in the hallway begins to fade, preparing to hide their expressions and their conversation, the assassin glances over his shoulder, locks eyes with me, and offers the ghost of a smile.

Liam whisks him away quickly, their conversation fading to nothing but a hum. "You are a part of this family." Liam tells him. "And you're more than just his son. If anyone tries to convince you otherwise, send them to me—"

"You trust him?" Nova's question draws me back to her side. I frown, feeling caught off guard. She motions toward the two men, but her question only pertaining to the one. "Do you trust him?"

I could go into immense detail and drag her three to four word question into an hours' worth of conversation. I could throw in hypothetical situations and moments that may or may not one day arise to determine just how much of Gabriel, of Diavolo, that I trust. But her question is simple, so my answer must be, too.

"I do."

Nova waits a moment before speaking again. "I'm thirty-one. You might not agree with me, but I believe there is only one in a generation." She turns to me, "You have your good assassins, and you have your greats, but I wholeheartedly believe that each generation only gets one that's legendary. The generation of Michael Luciano got Vincenzo De Santis. Our generation has Federico, although by the end of it, some might argue it was him." The assassin motions in Diavolo's direction. "And I do believe the next generation has already been claimed."

I sway, listening to her carefully. "Who?"

"Crixus." Nova admits, "I was there when he lost his first friend. I thought it would change him because of how young he was when he experienced it, and it did for a little while—he was quiet, less talkative...He surprised me. He surprised us all. He bounced back, but..." Her words fade, failing her as she slowly shakes her head, rejecting a thought that comes to mind. "Now he's lost two. Two friends. And I'm worried about him."

My question sounds insensitive. "Why?"

Her eyebrows twitch together in a frown, but she thinks before she speaks. Her eyes dart between mine and instead of jumping down my throat, of damning me for asking such a ridiculous question, she tilts her head. And silently, she challenges my why, and waits for more.

"Are you worried about Crixus because of what pain does to people, or are you worried about Crixus because you don't think he can handle it?"

Nova watches me a second longer and nods, "I was there when Crixus was forced to execute his friend. I witnessed quite a few executions. They always needed someone else in the room, as proof. It always ended up being me. Out of the five executions I watched, Crixus was the only one who never looked away. Not even when her body hit the floor. So, no, I'm not worried because Crixus can't handle it. I'm worried about what it'll do it him."

I nod slowly, in understanding, "You're worried about what it will turn him into."

Nova nods along with me, a faint smile on her lips despite the topic. She glances away from me and angles her body towards the door, ready to leave but hesitant. "There's something about you." She says slowly, softly as her steps carry her towards the front door. She smiles at me and with a hand on the doorknob, nods to confirm her next thought. "I like you."

I can only assume Michael Luciano once thought the same thing. But the difference would be that I never got the chance to ask him what I ask Nova. "What is it?"

Nova pauses just long enough to glance back at me, hoping one last look will jar the word free. "Just..." She doesn't find it. "Something."

She smiles at me before she pulls the door shut behind her. A look she sends over her shoulder that reiterates her earlier request—if we ever need her, don't hesitate to call—but the look is shared with something else. It isn't until she disappears that I realize what it was. She had formed the answer to my question. She had realized what that something was.

A part of me wants to chase after her. To fling the door open and blurt my question out again. I don't. I lock the front door behind her and back away, her expression still etched into my mind as I follow the low hum of conversation back inside the house.

Rosalie sits on her knees in front of the Christmas tree, moving from one present to another, shaking it gingerly in a haphazard guess on what it was. She glances over her shoulder and smiles when she sees me underneath the doorway. Her smile fades quickly once her eyes drift to the sofa. To Grace and Crixus. She starts to say something to Crixus, but changes her mind. She was so accustomed to his reckless, happy-go-lucky energy that always seemed to mirror her own, that she didn't know what to do now that it didn't.

Grace and Crixus share half of the sofa. His mom has an arm around him, doing her best to comfort him in the only way she knows how. He leans away from her, finding more comfort in the arm of the lifeless sofa than in her. Grace's voice hardly rises above a whisper as she asks him questions, doing her best to get him to say something, anything. Crixus eyes the Christmas tree and the mess Rosalie is making underneath it.

The guard at the cemetery might have been right. Crixus might be here, but he has yet to leave Veleno's side.

Grace catches my attention. There's something pleading about the look she shares with me that draws me toward them. She slowly unwraps her arm from around her son and whispers something in his direction. His lips move, barely, in the quietest response. Grace stares at me just long enough to offer a silent thank you before she stands and moves toward the kitchen. I lower myself to where she once sat.

Crixus plants his feet on the sofa, tugging his knees to his chest once Grace's back is turned. He wraps his arms around his knees and rests his temple on his kneecap, now facing me. He waits until she disappears into the kitchen to say something, "Mom is making hot chocolates."

"Why plural?" I question.

The boy scrunches up his face. His response follows in a hoarse whisper, "Because one chocolate can't make a whole cup to drink." It sounds like he's losing it. His voice. Between his cries of frustration and shouts of anger, it can only handle so much. "I've never had hot chocolates before."

He makes me smile. It's a sad smile.  He watches it form quietly, his eyes darting across my face as he watches my expression change. My heart breaks for him because he deserves nothing but the best. I want to reach out to him, to hug him and squeeze him until he begs—through laughter—to let him go. But all I can do is reach out to him, my fingertips finding his longest curls and pushing them away from his youthful face. His eyes close.

"You should go," I wished my voice wasn't my own, because the words that follow would mean Crixus would leave. The group that I have come to love, losing another member that made it so special. It would pull him from his brothers, setting him on another path of life that might guarantee he live longer than twenty-five. "You should go," I emphasize once more, "Go with your parents. Go to school. Join the gymnastics team, and I promise, we will fill the entire section for you and cheer for you every chance we get. You need to leave this life behind. I want you to leave it behind."

A tear slips out the corner of Crixus's eye. "I don't ever want another friend again." He reopens them, and the pain that resonates within them suggests he means it. "I'm never making another friend again. Something's wrong with me. My friends always die."

I try to convince him otherwise, but he doesn't want to hear it. "Crixus—"

"No." His eyes find mine, "No more friends."

I look over his shoulder. He looks over mine. Crixus watches his mother turn the corner of the kitchen, cradling a steaming mug of hot chocolate. I watch Gabriel, who leans against the doorway, a hand in his pocket, watching Crixus as intently as Crixus eyes the mug in his mother's hands.

Grace mutters a warning to her youngest as she gingerly passes the cup from her hands to his. Crixus glances inside, quietly trying to figure out how many chocolates it took to fill a mug this large. The corners of his lips curl for the first time in days when he spots the fluffy, white marshmallows that float around the rim. That was enough of a thank you for Grace. He sips his drink with a smile on face.

His smile vanishes faster than it should, swallowed up by the shadow that replaces it. Gabriel. The little assassin glances up. The biggest one looks down, more interested in the contents of Crixus's cup than in the fact that he's closer than he should be—breaking the small, personal bubble of space that many people don't appreciate being breached.

Gabriel tilts his head and questions, "Melted chocolate?"

Crixus leans back and nods, appearing somewhat annoyed. "It's hot chocolates."

The noise that Grace makes resembles a faint laugh. "It's hot chocolate, Gabriel." The assassin turns to her, a look of question still on his face. "Would you like me to make you some?"

I'm not sure what I expect Gabriel's answer to be. But the softest, most gentle, "Please," was certainly not it.

I offer to make it for him, and Grace quietly thanks me with a hand on my forearm. She rejoins Crixus at his side as Gabriel trails behind me, heading towards the kitchen. Rosalie calls out to him as we pass, "Hi, Mr. Diavolo!" He waves back to her, mutters something that sounds like, "Hi, Ms. Rosie," and waves. The little girl smiles and turns back to investigating the presents.

Gabriel pulls a barstool out of his way and rests his forearms against the marble island, watching me quietly as I fling open cabinets, searching for the largest mug. I glance over my shoulder every few seconds. I stop on the third glance, catching myself right before I tear open the packet of chocolate powder. Gabriel's attention is in the living room, back on Crixus, and it hasn't moved.

And like he knows I'm watching him, Gabriel mumbles, "He's sad."

"He is," I confirm quietly, before turning and filling the mug. "He's very sad." I say, my back turned. "Crixus and Veleno were good friends. Best friends." I spin around with a bag of marshmallows in my hand, prepared to ask Gabriel his preference. Something stops me.

Maybe it's his hair, or maybe it's the look on his face that resembles something, something close to pain. An expression that even three bullets to the chest couldn't pull out of him. An expression that even refused to show when Veleno drove the dagger through his hand, staking him to the floor. Or maybe it's just the way his hair has grown so much more since I've known him, each inch earning him another loose curl.

Or maybe it's the fact that for the first time in a long time, he isn't hiding under anything. He has absentmindedly pulled the hat off his head. Unaware that his hood still sits around his neck. It's the first time in a long time that I get a good look at him. And even the faintest scar that lines the side of his neck and the cuts inflicted just a week ago couldn't hide the fact that his mother must have been beautiful. He got all of her features and inherited Vincenzo's best ones.

Gabriel pulls his attention back to me. "I know how Crixus feels." He glances down, away—his eyes finding the boy in the other room once more. "I know how he feels."

There's only one appropriate question to ask. "What was their name?"

Gabriel never looks at me. He doesn't have to. He's pulled away from me, dragged by a demon stronger than his own into a place where his friend's death remains on repeat. He experiences it for a second time. It hurts more than the first. And he will slowly come to learn that he can't manipulate the ending, no matter how many times he tries. He can't change the ending. He will never be able to change the ending.

I turn away from him, quietly mixing his drink together and adding a marshmallow or two as a surprise.

The room falls silent, and I allow it as a thought comes to mind. The occasional clink of the spoon against the sides of the mug as I stir is the only sound that's heard. Content that his cup of hot chocolate is mixed, I turn around, and nearly drop the entire thing.

Gabriel is staring at me. His eyes are what scare me. Their normal shade of deep brown always darkening to a shade that feels sinister. Black. Gabriel has perfected the tilt of his head, rejecting any light that tries to pierce his gaze, causing his eyes to appear darker than they naturally are. The assassin has perfected everything between darkness and light. I'm slowly learning that he is, too. Darkness and light.

"I slept in a basement till I was sixteen." His murmur, hardly a mumble, is so soft that I nearly ask him to repeat himself. Gabriel's attention falls from me, a crumb or two on the marble countertop from the night before, gaining his full attention. I take the opportunity to deliver his drink, caution that it's hot, and sit in the stool nearest to him. He flicks the crumb in my direction and smiles softly at my playfully annoyed expression.

He reads my expression wrong and frowns, apologetic, "I'm sorry—"

I shake my head slowly, a frown of my own forming—one of concentration—and offer him a quiet, "Keep going," as encouragement.

Gabriel casts a look over his shoulder, and once he's content that what he says will stay before us, he turns back.  He keeps his voice low, even leaning towards me as he explains. "I got a room, a real room, like one with all the other soldiers when I was sixteen. For my birthday." He can't hold eye contact for long and looks away. "I slept in the room one night. I went back to the basement. I didn't like it. I don't like it." His eyes find mine once more, "I'm having trouble sleeping."

My eyes dart across his face, hoping to find the reason for his sleeping troubles. He gives nothing away, and all I can do is try to offer a few suggestions. "Gabe, maybe we can—"

The front door slams shut. Tatum marches in through the foyer, casual clothing clinging to his tall frame. A smile is on his face as he greets the individual over my shoulder. "Hey, killer."

I glance back at Gabe, who tries to hide the faint curvature of his closed lips. "Tatum." He greets, extending a fist to meet Tatum's in a fist bump.

The soldier leans down quickly, pulling me into a one-armed hug. Look at you, making friends," I nudge Gabriel playfully, feeling somewhat like a proud mother.

Gabriel looks away, and Tatum just smiles, directing his next statement towards me. "I found him walking alongside the road, heading towards the estate a few nights ago. Gave him a ride. I learned he's not much of a talker, but he said that he was having trouble sleeping." Tatum leans to his left, trying to get a glimpse inside the living room. "Gio and I gave him a tour of the estate and talked some more—" The soldier lets his attention fall on Gabe once more. "Come back another time. It was nice, having someone who listens more than they speak."

Tatum misses Gabriel's nod.

"What're you drinking?" Tatum leans over our shoulder, getting a glimpse inside the steaming mug.

"Melted chocolate."

Air escapes Tatum's nose as he fights a laugh. He smiles at Gabriel, offering a reassuring hand on the shoulder. "I love that stuff."

The soldier briefly excuses himself and makes his entrance into the other room. The sound of conversation rises once he joins, a few greeting Tatum as he arrives. Rosalie has slowly taken a liking to the soldier second in command and rises to her feet to greet him. Her momentum carries her small body into his arms. Tatum spins and releases her back to her feet. His back faces us, but I know he's smiling. He greets Vincenzo with a handshake, Liam with a hug and a faint, "Merry Christmas." He tells the others that Giovanni should be joining them shortly, but that he was outside, held up by a phone call he received on their way over. Rosie grabs his large hand, dragging him towards the presents to see if he can help her guess what toys she got this year.

I take two fingers, and slowly push the cooling mug of hot chocolate toward Gabriel. He draws his gaze from the busy room and eyes the King mug. He eyes the lettering. "I'm not a king."

"Would you want my Queen mug instead?"

The next time his eyes reach me, they're piercing. "We are not royalty."

I smile, and he does too.

Gabriel moves slowly, the way his hand gingerly wraps around the mug. He pulls the cup to his lips and takes a sip. The expression that crosses his face is different, yet somehow similar to the one Crixus made—a half smile. A genuine one. But just like Crixus's, the smile slowly fades as he lowers the mug to the counter.

"His name was Kirill," Gabriel says quietly. He watches the marshmallows float around his drink, then looks at me, and relives the death one more time. "His name was Kirill, and he was my first friend."

"What happened to him?"

Gabriel doesn't hesitate, neither does he look away. "What's going to happen to all of us."

I'm not given a chance to respond. Rosalie's voice cuts through whatever response is forming. "Ms. Faith! Mr. Diavolo! Hurry up, we are going to open presents!"

A muffled voice responds to Rosalie. It sounds like Federico. A tired Federico. "Can we eat first?"

"No." Rosie rests her hands on her hips, cutting him a sharp eye as she mimics him, "No, we can't eat first, Uncle Rico. It's Christmas."

Anthony and Grace Santiago sit close, lounging on the left side of the sofa. He has his arm around her shoulder. Her head against his chest. They look comfortable, but occasionally cast worried glances to the right of their sofa, where Crixus sits, alone and pressed against the armrest closest to him. Gabriel and I part ways when we enter the room. He all but vanishes, separating himself from the small group that has begun to congregate.

As seats fill, Federico silently offers his to Carmen. He looks exhausted after staying up so late for his birthday party last night. He says something to Vincenzo, who shares the loveseat with him, before getting up. Carmen takes the seat Federico offers, thanking him as he settles on the floor between her legs with a kiss to the top of his head. Federico mumbles something. She laughs and throws the hood back over his head. Neither sees the other smile as they lean back, getting comfortable.

Vincenzo stands abruptly. I don't realize what he does until he lowers himself to the floor and joins Rosalie, who already has her wrapped presents scattered around her. They share a brief conversation, Rosalie laughing as she wraps her arms around his neck, her small hands drifting across the tattoos that crawl up his neck. She kisses his cheek. His deep laugh is distinct.

I take the open seat beside Carmen and greet her for the first time this morning. We smile knowingly at each other. We hug. But neither of us speak about the fact that she will be leaving soon. And I try to keep myself from thinking about how they all will be leaving soon. Everyone going their own way. Going home. It's a shame. Because the house is only ever full of life when someone is trying to gun us down.

Giovanni joins us. He slips his phone into his pocket, extending a hand towards Anthony and Grace as he passes them. He finds a seat on the floor beside Tatum and waves enthusiastically at Rosalie. Liam finds me. He plants a kiss on my cheek, a quick one to my lips, and lowers himself to the floor beside Federico. The two share a quick conversation before Liam looks over his shoulder, offering Carmen a friendly wave.

Something tells me to look over my shoulder. And I do, just in time to see Gabriel inching towards the entrance way, patiently waiting for the perfect time to make his discreet exit. Un-noticed. Certainly not missed. But he hesitates. The war inside himself intensifies—the angel on his shoulder telling him to say, the demon he knows by name telling him to leave. Whatever he decides within those few seconds, he commits to it. And quietly, Gabriel approaches the sofa. He motions towards Crixus. The boy looks up, looks at the open seat beside him, and mutters in agreement. Gabriel sits down and scoots away, leaving a small gap between him and the boy.

Crixus looks annoyed and somewhat offended. The room laughs at something Rosalie says, completely unaware of the low conversation taking place beside them. "What are you doing?"

Gabriel looks down at the small, but reserved seat that separates him and Crixus. His voice is so quiet, you almost have to revert to reading lips. "Saving a seat."

"For who?"

It's Gabriel's turn to look offended, like he's the only one who considered what he had. "For your friend."

Gabriel looks away. Crixus smiles.

"Nobody really had time to shop for presents this year," Liam says from his seated position. His hand resting over his shoulder, entwined with my own. "But I wanted to get everybody something. Like, a token of my appreciation, for all of you. And of course," He motions towards Rosie, who eagerly waits to rip apart the present in her lap. "I wanted her to be able to open something. Next year, we should do a gift exchange."

Nearly the entire room groans at his idea.

"That would be entirely too chaotic," I confirm.

"I'm down." Federico agrees.

Murmured conversations continue to be held as Rosalie rips open her presents. The Santiago parents agree to the gift exchange, even going as far as inviting everyone to their place for next year's holiday season. Rosalie sets aside her new toys, particularly raving about a nail salon kit that Liam gifted her. It came with a multitude of different nail polishes, glitter, and stickers. Carmen and I both jumped at the opportunity for a free manicure. Rosie agreed, but not before convincing her dad to be her first customer. He said he would, but only if he got extra glitter.

Crixus had two presents. He pushes himself away from the sofa and awkwardly steps over legs to reach the center of the room. He grabs at his first present. "I bought you two presents," Liam tells him, "Just incase you don't like the first." Liam smiles. Crixus tries to.

He lowers himself to his knees as Rosalie bounds over, just as excited for his presents as she was for hers. She plants her hands on his shoulders and leans over him.

Crixus tosses the wrapping paper to the side and opens the unmarked box, his intrigue growing by the second. He opens his present, and the room stills.

Two katanas. Custom made. Light dances off the blade as Crixus pulls the weapon from its box. A dark, navy blue accent color intertwined beautifully within the black handle. Crixus lowers his weapon of choice to his lap. The katanas are engraved. Not with his initials, but with Veleno's. IJS.

Crixus runs his thumb over the three letters, and cries. He fights to compose himself, drastically rubbing the sleeves of Veleno's large hoodie across his eyes, desperate to stop the tears. Liam and Grace are the first to budge in his direction, preparing to comfort him. He stands abruptly and pushes the katanas as far away from him as he can. "I want to go home," He chokes out painfully. "I can't take them. I don't want them. I won't ever want them. I just want to go home, wherever that is. I just want to go home."

The boy starts to back away. Federico stops him. "But leaving would mean—"

"But what, Rico?" Crixus snaps, wiping angrily at a tear he missed. "I'm not as good as you think—or you, or you." He looks at Liam. At his father. "He wanted me to leave. Veggie wanted me to leave. He wanted me to be normal and go to school and join the gymnastics team and maybe even the swimming team, and if you loved me, you would too."

"It's not that I don't love you," Rico counters.

Crixus throws out his arms, emotionally exasperated. "Then what?"

Federico's answer is simple. "Because you're not leaving. You're running."

Crixus doesn't answer him. He tries. His bottom lip quivers. Crixus starts to shake his head, slowly, from left to right in denial of what Federico said. He starts to compose himself, to try to tell his brother something in response when Grace reaches for him.

She gathers his attention, and motions towards Liam and the second present he's holding. "Open your second present, sweetheart."

He nods, making sure to avoid his brother's gaze as he approaches the middle of the room again. Liam pushes his second present to Crixus but doesn't release it until the boy looks him in the eye. "I'll hold them for you. I'll keep the katanas safe for as long as you need me to. You may never want them, and that will be okay, but you can come get them if you ever do."

Crixus's nod is faint. He accepts his second present. He's slower to open this one, more nervous than he was for the first gift. He pulls apart the box and glances inside, immediately recognizing the case that greets him. Crixus scrambles to his feet and pulls the carrying case out the box. He quickly undoes the latches, exposing the untouched violin. A slow smile crawls across his face as he carefully picks up the instrument, inspecting every part of it. "How did you—"

"I would love to hear you play one day," Liam offers.

His smile grows. Liam rises to his feet just long enough for Crixus to place his violin down and wrap his arms around the one much taller than him. Liam hears Crixus's muffled, "Thank you," clearly and returns to his seat as Crixus finds Federico. "Can you help me tune it later? I need you, and the piano."

"Of course," Rico agrees.

"And by the way," Crixus says softly, staring at his new violin instead of his brother as he says, "I'm not running." He looks at Rico. "I just don't want to end up like you, or dead like him."

And Federico can do nothing but silently agree, watching Crixus as he returns to the sofa. The boy smiles softly at his favorite gift and sits it beside him, where Veleno would have been. Something falters in his expression. His smile fades, a thought coming to mind. He stares at the violin, knowing he will never get to show his best friend his talent. His smile never returns.

Rosalie scrambles back under the tree and grabs at a small gift. She reads the name on the label, and scurries across the floor, arms extended in Carmen's direction. "This one is for you, Aunt Carmen!"

"For...me?" Carmen is hesitant to reach for it, grabbing the small box from over Federico's shoulder. She glances at the beautiful ribbon, one that appears even larger than the box it's attached to.

Federico and Liam position themselves away from the loveseat Carmen and I share, spinning around so they can see Carmen's expression when she opens her gift. Rico stops her. "Okay, wait. Not to be that person, but this one kind of needs an explanation."

Carmen lifts a brow, curious.

"Federico bought the gift," Liam explains, carefully dancing around his words, hoping to keep himself from saying anything too revealing. "But I wanted to do something for you too, so we teamed up and worked something out. I'll explain more when you open it." Rico and Liam sit shoulder to shoulder, assassin and king, with the slyest grin on their faces as they wait in anticipation.

Carmen begins to open her gift. "Rico, you know I didn't get you anything. You said we weren't exchanging gifts this year."

Rico lifts one shoulder higher than the other in a shrug. "It isn't a gift. More like, a token... of my love for you."

Carmen opens her present. She lets out a gasp and slams the cover over the box before I can see what it is. She looks at Federico, peaks inside the box again, and finds him once more. "Shut up." His grin widens and she opens the gift again, making sure her eyes hadn't deceived her. It was a key fob. To a Mercedes. "You bought me a car?"

Federico lets out a laugh. "Like I said, a token—"

He barely makes it to his feet before Carmen slams her body against his in the tightest hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you so much. My car is absolutely terrible—"

"I know," Rico responds with whatever air is left in his lungs, "I rode in it a few times."

"Thank you," Carmen emphasizes once more. She pulls her head from his chest, gently resting her palms on either side of his face. She rises to her tiptoes, and even then, Federico leans down to meet her. She kisses him.

The room is divided into two reactions.

"Gross!" Rosalie gathers a ball of discarded wrapping paper in her hand and tosses it at Carmen and Federico as if she was front row at a comedy club with a tomato in her hand. It hits the ground, never getting close to her targets. Vincenzo joins. "Boo!" His throw connects with Federico's leg. The moment, the kiss, is ruined when Rico laughs.

Grace and I on the other hand, are in sync with our chant. "Date her! Date Her! Date her!" I laugh when I realize that Liam has joined in.

Federico backs away, motioning at his mother to be quiet. He looks flustered, nervous even. Despite having asked Carmen once before to be his girlfriend, the idea of having to do it again seems even more nerve-wracking than the first. Grace laughs at his reaction and quietly apologizes to him when she sees just how flustered he is.

"The car was delivered to your parents' house in Detroit." Liam tells Carmen. "It's registered in your name, but your tags are associated with the Luciano family. You should never be pulled over, but if you are, they'll apologize and go about their day." He shifts in his stance, a soft smile dancing across his handsome features, "Mercedes are expensive to maintain, so if you get it serviced for any reason, the bill will automatically be sent to me."

Her shoulders fall. The look on her face is a grateful one. "Thank you so much." She closes the space between them and throws her arms around Liam. He laughs and hugs her back. Her hands slide down his arms as she leans back. "I would kiss you, too, but you know—"

Liam laughs again. "Don't worry about it."

Carmen makes it back to her seat, and while Rosalie meticulously searches underneath the tree for the next gift, she leans over and shows me the key. She mutters something about not being able to wait until she gets home, and I threaten her to facetime me immediately when she lands, wanting to experience the exciting moment with her. Carmen enthusiastically agrees.

Rosie pushes herself away from the tree, a present similar in size to the one prior, in her hands. "This one is for dad," She announces, "But I don't see one for Mr. Gio, Mr. Tatum, or Rico's mom and dad."

"We already got ours, Rosie." Gio holds up his present, and Tatum does the same from beside him.

"The soldiers at the house are opening presents later," Tatum explains, "We're waiting to open ours with them."

"And we kind of already got our present," Grace scoots to the edge of the sofa, a smile on her face as she addresses the little girl. She looks at her husband, searching for agreement in what she's about to tell the room. "Anthony and I are leaving for Massachusetts tomorrow. Liam initially offered to purchase our house and let us pay him back, slowly, over time." She smiles. "But he changed his mind, told us it was a gift, and said that all we should have to worry about is making our house a home." Grace finds Liam once more from across the room. "Thank you, again."

"And Uncle Rico is the greatest assassin ever." Rosalie exclaims, "He doesn't have a gift either—"

"No I'm not," Federico says softly.

He doesn't anticipate Rosalie hearing him. "You're not the greatest ever?" She questions.

"I'm not an assassin." Federico toys with the string of his hoodie, his eyes lowering to avoid the attention of everyone in the room. He clears his throat, cutting through the surprised silence that follows his statement. He finds Liam, his eyes lingering longer on his friend than on the man he had considered a father for so long. His eyes lift to the sofa, to his parents, before falling to his lap again. "I guess I should have...I mean, I've been..." Rico squeezes his eyes shut, surely wishing the floor would swallow him.

Carmen is as stunned as the others, but she leans forward, tentatively resting a hand on his shoulder. She offers a reassuring squeeze. Federico might not realize it, but his head leans towards her touch.

"Russia was the last one for me," He breathes out softly, forcing the room to strain to hear him. "I don't want to do this anymore. And maybe I was a little worried to say anything, especially after meeting you two." Rico's attention falls on his parents, who watch him intently. "I didn't want you to be disappointed in me. But I'm not...built for this. Not like you two. Not like him." The attention of the room swivels, only for a second, to Gabriel. "And we can talk later, but I never wanted to become this—be this."

Federico realizes he's rambling, and curses faintly. "I know my life will never be normal," He continues, quieter this time. "I lost that chance years ago. But I can't keep doing this." Vincenzo and Federico find each other. "I'm done with this. I'm done with Fantasma. I left him in Russia, and I don't plan on going back to get him. And I'm sorry."

Rosalie speaks for the room as she stands. "Don't be sorry. You're still my Uncle Rico. You'll always be my Uncle Rico."

Federico cracks a smile as the little girl walks over, drops into his lap, and throws her arms around his neck. She finds his cheek underneath his hood and plants a kiss on it. Federico returns it. The room mirrors Rosalie's sentiment. Grace and Anthony assuring Federico that assassin or not, he will always be their son. Liam telling Rico he's proud of him. Carmen saying the same and questioning if this is what's been bothering him for so long. Federico says yes. Even Giovanni and Tatum offer their praise of his decision, jokingly asking if he has ever wanted to be a soldier. Rico laughed. Vincenzo looks away, with nothing to say.

Rosalie pushes herself off Federico's lap and scurries back towards the tree. She grabs the gift she abandoned and extends it toward her dad. "This is for you," She tells Vincenzo, "It say it's from Liam."

Vincenzo stands as he rotates the small gift in his hands, equally as nervous as Carmen was to open hers. He looks like he's about to say something, to protest and admit that he doesn't feel as though he deserves a gift. He hesitates before opening it. And freezes. "It's a key."

"It's a crown." Liam corrects with a faint smile. He motions toward the present in Vincenzo's hand, "I told you I would build the De Santis empire back, and I did. There's still a lot of construction that needs to be done, and they will continue to work on the rest of the estate until it's finished. But the main house is complete. All it needs is a little furniture, and its king."

Vincenzo lowers his attention to the silver key, nestled comfortably against a velvet pillow. He picks it up, his thumb running along the ridges designed for only one lock.  "I never wanted my reign to end this way," He starts softly, like he's the only one in the room. "I could tell you about the night the Russians came over and over again, and only Rosie knows, they still show up in my dreams." He finds Liam, again. "If you gave me this key two months ago, I would have leaped to the throne. But your mother—Jai, she kept telling me that the throne didn't make the king. I didn't believe her. Rosie is the one who convinced me she was right."

Vincenzo places the key back inside the box, and slowly draws the lid over it. "I just want to be her father." He tells the room. His eyes fall to the little girl, who is busy reading the instructions of her unopened gift to notice. "I just want to pack her lunch, to drive her to school, to walk her to class, and to pick her up when the bell rings. I want to take her to the park. Help her with her homework. I just want to be the one she calls to chase the monsters away. I want to be her king, not Detroit's. Detroit deserves better than me." The lid clicks in place.

And Vincenzo holds it out to Federico. "Detroit deserves you."

Rico is left speechless. The shaking of his head is almost unnoticeable as he crawls to his feet, his lips parting but no words escaping them. He finally gets a word out, "I'm not your—It belongs to Gabriel. He's your firstborn."

Gabriel eyes the box that hangs between them, refusing to meet Federico's stare.  "I'm not a king, Rico."

Federico all but throws up his hands, "Then it belongs to Rosie—"

"I'm only nine, Uncle Rico," Rosie says from her seat on the ground. "I'm a king, but I'm not a big king. Not yet."

Vincenzo urges the gift closer. The shaking of Federico's head is now noticeable. He tries to take a step back, his heel knocking against the seat behind him. "I don't even—I have no idea how to do anything. I'm just a—I'm just an assassin. A retired assassin. I kill people—I killed people. I don't lead them." Federico tries to convince him. "I can't—I'm not your son—" His voice cracks, and a tear escapes him. "I don't want your crown."

The former king's voice holds steady. "Why not?"

Federico wipes at a lone tear. "Do you know how many nights I cried myself to sleep, terrified because I knew that if I ever got your throne, that it would mean I would lose you?" He wraps an arm around himself and turns away, trying to wipe at another tear without the room knowing. "And I don't want to lose you. I know I hate you, sometimes, most of the time, but I love you, too. And I don't want to lose you. Even now."

Vincenzo lets a moment pass in silence. "You might not be my biological son, but you're the one who made me a dad. And I didn't just teach you how to be a good assassin. I taught you how to be a great king. You won't lose me. You aren't losing me." Vincenzo doesn't like whatever he sees in Rico's expression, and asks, "Do you remember when you were little, you asked me how I knew everything?"

Federico laughs at the memory, "Yes. You told me you could time travel."

"You believed me for a week."

The De Santis duo laughs at the memory. "Yeah. Yeah, I did." Rico smiles, reminiscing on a time that was much simpler than this one.

Vincenzo's smile fades to a grin, "I'm here from the future to tell you, that as a king, you did amazing." A warm chuckle follows at the sound of Federico's laughter. He takes another step closer. "You're the only one in this world I trust this with. You're the only one I would want to give it to. From my head to yours."

Federico accepts the key.

And the crown.

The deal is sealed with a hug.

Vincenzo says it first. "I love you."

Federico hugs him back. "I love you too, time traveler."

The two pull away, Vincenzo fading into the background as the room congregates around Federico with hugs. Rosalie reaches him first, her hands on her hips. "Uncle King Rico is hard to say, but I'll practice for you." She gets a hug first. Liam is second. He pulls his friend close, tilting his lips towards Federico's ear to say, "Make me laugh in a council meeting and I'm slitting your throat."

Rico's response being very on par. "Challenge accepted."

Grace gets her hug. Anthony gets his handshake. Crixus, a fist bump. Gabriel, having slipped out of the room before anyone other than Crixus could notice. I wait patiently for my hug, only rising long enough to throw my arms around Federico and voice just how proud of him I am.

Carmen quietly investigates the key from her seat. She balances it on her head and strikes a pose, "How do you like my crown?"

Federico snaps a picture on his phone before I can. "Lockscreen worthy."

I catch a glimpse of Liam, who has migrated away from me, drifting over towards Tatum and Gio. The two soldiers stand, arms folded, leaning towards their boss. The three in conversation is nothing that would typically raise suspicion. But Liam is nervous. The way he shifts from one foot to the other, his eyes falling to the floor rather than scanning the room.

"Uncle Dom has a present!" Rosalie squeals as the energy of the room dies down, everyone finding their seat once more. She holds the present carefully and stands. "I don't like surprises. Maybe we should open it for him and when he calls from his vacation, I can tell him what it is."

Vince just tilts his head. "Rosie..." He states in a warning tone.

"Okay, fine," She huffs before setting Dominic's present back down underneath the tree. "But we have to keep his present super safe so he has something to open when he gets back."

"He'll appreciate it," Grace tells her.

"Ms. Faith!" Rosie grabs the last present from under the tree and stands excitedly. "This one is for you." She doesn't move to hand it to me, and I push myself off the comfortable cushion and stride towards the center of the room to accept it. Rosalie bounces when the present hits my hands. "Can you open it here? I want to see what it is!"

I oblige the little girl and rip open the beautiful packaging. The gift sits inside another box. I sense movement and look up, my eyes locking with his. With Liam. I smile, my hand on the lid. "I gave you a lot of Christmas gift suggestions earlier this year, and if I remember them correctly, none of them could fit inside something this—"

It came in a little black velvet box. The ring that would change everything. I never stood a chance. I cry. Carmen screams. Grace makes a sound that's similar. I'm too busy fighting away the tears that rush down my face to focus on anything else. On anyone else. Even him. But I can feel him. His presence. The way he stops in front of me, his face, all of his features – even his smile – a blur.

His thumbs catch the latest wave of tears, brushing them away before they can finish their journey. "Don't cry," He whispers, bending down to shorten our height difference, to look me in the eyes. "You're not supposed to cry." His touch is gentle. The palms of his hands are soft, and I find myself leaning into them. Thankful for them. For him.

I wipe at another tear before he can, "I just love you."

Liam leans forward, his response being a kiss to my forehead. The little velvet box is smoothly transferred from my hands to his. It feels like he's pulled away from me. The kiss, his presence, nearly not long enough before he takes a small step back. He looks to his left. He looks to his right. And I do the same, only then noticing how almost everyone has their phones out, their cameras open, their videos recording.

Liam's focus falls back on me, and he lowers himself to a knee.

And the one the Italians bow to, bows to me.

"Faith." My name has never sounded so beautiful. My vision blurs again. He pulls open the box, revealing the diamond ring that sits comfortably against its pillow. The Christmas lights twinkle off the diamond beautifully. "I've given thousands of speeches. Some to a few million. Others to only a couple hundred. This is the only one I remember being this nervous about." Liam wipes a palm on his pants, laughing nervously. "I could be down here forever. I could talk about you forever."

I laugh with him, a hand finding the corner of my eye to wipe away the tears that remain. "You're okay," I reassure him, emotion shaking my voice.

Liam looks back at me and takes a deep, steadying breath. "You've changed my life. I thought I had everything before I met you. You made me realize I had nothing. Because you were everything." Liam looks away. I fight to rush to him. To wipe away the tear he loses. He doesn't wipe it away. "You've brought me, this family, together in a way you may never understand, or see. You've changed them. You've changed me. You've changed my perspective in so many ways. I'm starting to believe that maybe faith is something you can see. I should've done this sooner, but I won't let another day go by without asking you. Would you give me the honor of being your husband?"

I was nodding before he finished. I wasn't sure if I could get a word out through my slowly intensifying tears. "Yes," I mutter between sobs. "Yes."

Liam slowly rises to his feet. He reaches for my hand around the same time I reach for him, trying to catch his tear. He smiles. And slips the ring on my finger. Liam catches my momentum, pulling me into a swift hug. We spin. He leans back just enough to seal his proposal with a kiss. I can hear everyone, their shouts of encouragement and excitement. But I can only feel him.

I press my palms against his chest, the ring catching my attention almost immediately. "Wait, I didn't—I didn't get you a gift."

"Yeah," Liam smiles, "You did."

He looks at me so intently. He looks at me like he's proud. He lifts a hand, his thumb catching the final happy tear as it slowly travels down my cheek. There's a flash of a phone camera. Someone catches the moment, but the hundreds of times I will look at that photo – each time I pick up my phone to look at the screen, to catch a notification, to check the time – the picture will trigger the sound of his voice. And forever will I remember what he said.

"I got the best gift," Liam whispers softly. For me. To me. And only me. "I get to be your husband."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Everyone left.

Grace and Anthony Santiago left the day after Christmas to start a new chapter in their life. One that had nothing to do with assassination. It would take them far away from us. From the West Coast to the East. To their new home in Massachusetts, settled just outside the city of Boston. We drove them to LAX. We promised to visit them and their new home soon. Hugs were shared on the tarmac.  

Crixus is the only one who didn't look back.

Federico and Carmen departed a few days after them, their flight a red eye from LAX to JFK. New York. A short getaway for the two of them before they returned home to Detroit. Federico had only been to New York on assignment, having seen almost every dark alley the city had to offer, but none of the sights tourists wandered from far and wide to see. Carmen would run out of film on her disposable camera. Federico reminded her time and time again to not waste it. She hadn't cared, snapping a picture of him eating New York style pizza from New York, for the first time. Snapping a picture of him readjusting the baseball cap on his head and standing in the middle of the crosswalk, blocking traffic – for the aesthetic.

The penthouse Federico reserved for them was beautiful, but nothing would top the view the two would have as they watched the fireworks together on New Years Eve.

But it's possible that Federico officially asking Carmen to be his girlfriend was the highlight of their trip.

Giovanni and Tatum's presence was missed. Their trips to the house grew less and less frequent as life without an active threat returned to normal. They spent their days at the estate in training, making sure their skills and that of their soldiers remained sharp until needed once more. Tatum was sent on assignment, to Italy, and would be back by the end of the week. The last time I had seen Gio, he asked me if I had heard from Savaughna. I said I hadn't, that I'd been meaning to reach out to her after the funeral.

I called her. She didn't answer.

Vincenzo and Gabriel stayed until New Years. Rosalie insisted on watching the fireworks with her dad before he left. The two left the next day on a private flight to Detroit, Michigan. But Vincenzo wouldn't be gone long. He stayed for about a week before returning to Los Angeles. Rosalie hugged him like he had spent the week at war. He hugged her like that's exactly where he had been. But he came back to take her from us. Rosalie finally confronting Liam that although she loved it here, with him, in LA—she wanted to live with Vince. She wanted to live with her dad. Even if that meant starting all over, in Detroit.

They had yet to leave, the duo spending most of their days sorting through Rosalie's belongings – packing what was necessary and donating what was not. When they got tired, Rosalie and Vincenzo would go out for a ride. She would take him to her favorite places; her school, the best soft-serve place known to man, and the park she was no longer allowed to play in due to safety reasons. Vincenzo reassured her that nobody would hurt her with him there. She spent most of the time at the park trying to push him on the swing.

But as much fun as she was having with Vince, she still insisted on staying one more day to celebrate Liam's birthday with him. And then, only then, could Vincenzo take her home.

Liam's thirtieth birthday is tomorrow, January 11th.

"What are you thinking about?"

I lift my hand, allowing the sun to catch the diamonds embedded into the ring. It shimmers beautifully in the natural light, as Liam and I stroll towards the graveyard. He glances down at it, and I lift myself to my full height and throw a palm over his face, blocking his sight. "Be careful, you're not supposed to look directly into the rock—"

Liam's laughter is music to my ears.  His eyes immediately find mine once his vision is restored, and they don't leave, even as he grabs my hand and draws it to my lips. "I know my mom gave you her ring, in hopes that I would one day give it to you, but..." He laces his fingers through mine, letting it fall between us as we approach the ones who left us. "I felt like she deserved to keep it, so I buried it with her. The cut of your ring was heavily influenced by the one my dad gave her, but it's still unique. You're unique. You deserved unique, and big." He smiles at me, nervous, like a teenager would be with his crush. "But that's not what you're thinking about."

I heave out a sigh, my side bumping with his as the headstones come into view. "You know me so well."

"I do, fiancé."

I swing around to face him, and no longer constricted with a sling, wrap both arms around his neck. My grin is wide. "Fiancé?"

"Yeah, fiancé." His eyes lower to my lips, and his voice deepens. "But don't make me wait too long to call you my wife."

"We can start wedding planning tomorrow."

"Oh yeah?"

My response is a kiss. Liam greets me eagerly. His hands bunching the fabric of my shirt, his grip intensifying as the kiss does. They don't remain there for long, falling to grip my waist and even lower as he pulls me against him. I pull back breathless, and easily escape the hold he has on me.

"Not. Not." I lift an index finger, motioning towards the headstones over my shoulder, "Not in the presence of the loved, lost, and dearly beloved—"

Liam breaks out in a grin, the white of his teeth shining through. He runs a thumb across his lower lip, a laugh floating out of them as he smacks his lips together. "I like your lip gloss. It's moisturizing."

I smile back at him. Another moment where spoken word would ruin it. He changed me. He changed my life. Everyone that I have met through him has changed my life. In ways that I love, and in ways that I have yet to fully accept. He said that I changed his life. That I made his house, a home. I was the missing piece to their puzzle, and they were the one to mine.

Liam slips his hand in mine, our short journey towards the ones we leave slowly coming to an end. The skyline slowly transitions as evening approaches, the intensity of the sun diminishing as it prepares to end its shift.

"Have you ever thought of moving?"

"Moving?" Liam reiterates the word as if he's never heard of such a thing before, his face twisting at the sound of it. His eyes lift to the skyline. "LA has always been home. I've never thought of moving. Dad started here. Everything has happened here." We slow to a stop in front of his parents. "They're buried here. Why are you asking?"

He doesn't accept my shrug as a response, and patiently waits until I can find the words I'm searching for. "I don't like the fact that I only get to see the people I care about when someone is trying to kill us." He watches me, about as intensely as I watch him, my head shaking at the revelation of the fact. "It just feels like all our family, our friends, are on the East coast and we're stuck on an island out here, on the West. And I know I can catch a flight to Detroit to hang out with Carmen or red eye into Boston and spend a day with Grace, but we're still so far."

Liam nods in understanding. "If we moved, where would you want to go?"

My reply comes without much thought, "Upstate New York." Liam lifts a brow, and I fight a blush. "I...might have been looking at some land, but..." I wave the thought away like I would mosquitoes on the evening of a summer night.

A part of me feels stupid for even thinking it, for even bringing it up, but Liam eyes me like he's considering putting thought towards it. His next question, asked in a much lower voice than all his others, reminds me why I plan to marry him. "Faith," He tugs at my hand, forcing me to look him in the eye. "Would it make you happy?"

There's no doubt about it. "Yes."

Liam nods, his attention falling on his parents. "I'll think about it. I never really have before. California was always supposed to be home."

Silence falls between us. We admire the headstones of those that came before us. Michael and Jai. Of the ones that once were us. Of the ones who once were just excited about their future together as we are about ours. Of the ones who stood in front a congregation and read their vows, both handwritten and unique. Of the ones who experienced trials and tribulation, parting ways, and ending their marriage on the fact that they would never agree on the most important thing, person, in their life. Their son. Of the ones who would never be given a chance to mend what was broken, one forced to leave this world before the other.

"Michael was always busy on my birthday," Liam says. "I don't know why. I don't know if he did it on purpose. But he was always busy, so we would spend the day before—today—together. We would do whatever I said I wanted to do. No questions asked." The corner of his lips curl in a tight smile, yet he still looks sad. "So, thank you," He tells me, "For not looking at me like I was crazy when I told you that I wanted to spend today with him. It meant everything to me."

And that's what we did. We spent most of the day using the sofa as our backrest, the floor as our seat. A blanket sprawled across our laps with snacks nestled between us. We watched home movies of Liam on Christmas Day when he was five, six, and seven. Zara being the one to capture precious moments between her husband and her son. We laughed at little Liam and his first Easter egg hunt, watching that over the years it got just a little more challenging. Michael was always by his side, hand in his, guiding him in the direction of another. We watched Liam and Michael's solo trip to the amusement park. Michael admitted that he liked the bumper-cars.

We laughed alongside Michael. We—correction, I—cried along with Zara when little Liam snatched the camera from his mother, his young features taking up the entirety of the camera as he ran away, breathless, and anxious as his mother chased him. He spun around just in time to catch Michael surprising Zara with a better, even prettier, ring. One he thought a woman like her deserved. Michael winked at Liam, privately thanking him for executing the distraction they had orchestrated together perfectly.

We spent the day with the little king, the big king, and the woman who brought them all together. Liam hadn't been able to stop smiling all day. That alone made it all worth it.

"You're welcome," I tell him softly, meeting him halfway in a quick kiss. "But your pre-birthday festivities aren't done yet. Don't forget about our reservations for dinner tonight. I think I did a pretty good job picking the restaurant. It's beautiful. It's downtown. And I may or may not have booked the entire place just for us."

Liam fights the widening of his grin. "With my money?"

"Yes," I admit sheepishly, "But it's the thought that counts."

Liam laughs, his shoulders shaking underneath his dark grey hoodie. He reaches for the rim of his black cap to tug it even lower over his forehead. And with his cap darkening the shadows around his face, Liam mumbles, "If this restaurant is as nice as you say it is, then I don't think my outfit is appropriate." My eyes drop to his well-fitted pair of dark grey sweats, to the print between his legs, and they stay there.

He stares back at me. "You're sick." I laugh, unable to control it as Liam lunges forward, wrapping his arms around my neck and tugging me into his chest. He spins us around, our laughter combining to drown out any noise that is made around us. Liam slows us to a stop, his lips finding the top of my head, my temple, once more. He continues to hold me tight, refusing to let me go. "It will be your money soon," He promises me softly. "Do with it what you please. And as much as you like my outfit, I might have happened to stumble across the dress you probably bought for tonight, and I want to look just as good for you as I know you'll look for me."

"I appreciate that," I mumble into his hoodie.

"Gio called me earlier," Liam tells me, "Apparently the soldiers' have a surprise waiting for me at the estate. Gio is supposed to pick me up and take me there. I won't be long. I'll meet you back at the house. We can change, and we can head to dinner. How's that sound?"

I lean my head back and lean up to kiss his jaw. His beard tickles my lips. "Sounds good." Liam pulls away and I motion towards the headstones. "I'll stay here, spend a little more time with them. I'll beat you back to the house."

Liam laughs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. "No, you won't." He nods towards the parking lot, just over the small hill. "The soldier that brought us here, Emiliano, will take you back—" I turn back to see what caused Liam to hesitate, mid-sentence. His smile starts to grow as Tatum takes a step over the hill and waves. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in Italy until the weekend?"

The lieutenant commander waves at me. I wave back, watching quietly as Liam jogs up the remainder of the slight incline to meet one of his favorite soldiers. "It's your birthday tomorrow. No way I was going to miss it," Tatum responds. The two clap hands together and pull each other into a tight embrace. "I talked to Gio to see if I could surprise you and pick you up instead..." Their conversation fades as they climb the remainder of the hill and disappear over the ledge.

I watch them go, only speaking until they've vanished from view. "He's turning thirty tomorrow." I tell them both. Both his mother and his father. "You would be proud of him. You would be so proud of him. Sometimes I wonder if you would be proud of me." I know Jaiyana would, but it's her husband I'm looking at now. "I think you would. I'm becoming a pretty good liar. And at the Rostov estate, everyone looked at me like they were scared... I don't know." I ramble, crossing both arms over my chest. "I don't know what's happening to me."

The wind blows. It blows strong enough to shift my attention to where Veleno lies, the first pair of flowers Crixus ever gifted him, shaking at the intensity. They've lost their grandeur, their color dimming, and their leaves withering. They would soon shrivel to the point of being unrecognizable. They will wither and eventually be blown away by a gust much stronger than this one. But no matter how many flowers we might lay there for Crixus, who is too far away to do it himself, none will replace these. Like the person that they rest on, they will be unforgettable.

"I want to start bringing you flowers," I tell Michael. "I think it's time you finally got yours. Because I don't think you really were the man you made everyone believe you were. I might be wrong, but I think you were raised in a home where kindness was seen as weakness. You masked yours, but that's always who you were. Jaiyana didn't marry a selfish man. I believe she married a dedicated one." I take a step back, the wind rustling through my hair. "You did everything you could have done to set the Luciano empire up for success once you were gone. This, the empire, it was everything to you because of what you had to lose to get it. The future of it is in good hands. I promise. I wish—"

My phone rings.

The wind carries away my sentence as I look at the caller ID. Carmen.

I'm smiling before I put the phone to my ear, "Well, hello. Just for clarification, should I refer to you as Mrs. De Santis or Mrs. Santiago?"

Knowing Carmen, she's fighting a smile and releasing an eyeroll all at the same time. "Faith." She groans out in warning and in hopes that her face doesn't flush at the thought of it. She's in a car, the noises of the road managing to sneak their way through the mic. Someone mumbles something on her end. It's Rico. "I know I sent you pictures from our trip, but I've been meaning to call you to talk about it, and to catch up."

I turn away from the headstones. "I only have one question. What did he say when he asked you?"

"I think I blacked out," Carmen mutters, "But he said something about how the next time he does anything like this again, he's going to ask me to be his wife."

I smile to myself.  "Oh yeah? What else happened after that?"

There's a pause. "None of your business."

I burst out in a laugh, and Carmen joins me. "How's your car?" I ask.

"She's beautiful," Carmen squeals, certainly dancing in its seat. Along with pictures of their trip to New York, Carmen had set a few of the exterior and interior of her brand-new Mercedes Benz. "Federico's driving right now. Rico? What do you think about my car?" She extends the phone, putting it speaker near his lips.

"The only thing that rides smoother than this Mercedes is—" Rico never finishes his sentence, the phone ripped away from his mouth before the name could dance off his lips. "Ow!" His cry is muffled, "Car—I'm driving Carmen, oh my God—"

When Carmen returns to her phone, she's breathless and Federico can be heard quietly chuckling from the driver's seat. I can all but see her brush a few strands of dark hair away from her face as she recomposes herself, laying a rightfully deserved few punches into Federico's shoulder. All delivered playfully, and without much force.

"Sorry about that," She says to me, still trying to catch her breath. "Federico is that person who you can just never put on speaker because there's always a chance they are going to say something extremely out of pocket. But we've been meaning to ask you, have you heard from Crixus?"

The question doesn't deserve much thought. I start to make my way, slowly, towards the parking lot. "I haven't. Grace facetimed me a couple weeks ago and gave me a tour of their home. Still unfurnished, but it's cute. We should take a trip out there soon. But she didn't say anything about Crixus."

"Rico's been texting him. He hasn't answered any of them."

"I think I called him the first week of the New Year," I recall, "He never called back."

"I'm worried about him," Carmen admits softly, knowingly glancing over at Federico who certainly does everything to hide that he is not. "Rico is, too, he just won't admit it."

I let out a sigh. "I'm sure when he feels like talking, he will reach out. Oh, did Dominic call Rico a few weeks ago?"

You can hear the excitement take over the sadness in Carmen's tone, "He did! I hardly recognized him. His voice sounds—"

"It sounds like him," I nod, knowing exactly where she was taking her comment. "I never realized how much his voice changed when his addiction started. I don't understand why, or how...but when he called Liam last week, it sounded like him, like who I remember him as."

"That's what Rico said," Carmen adds. "Oh! Faith, someone wants to say hi."

There's shuffling on her end of the line as Carmen twists to hand her phone into the backseat. There's a long pause before someone greets me. "Hi."

I break out in a wide grin. "Hi, Gabriel. How are you?"

"I'm good." There's a long pause, and in the background, I can just see Federico looking in the rearview mirror, motioning his hand in a circle, telling Gabriel to keep the conversation going. The assassin probably just blinks. "Here's Carmen." The muffling continues as the phone is handed from one person to another.

I reach the parking lot, greeting the soldier who waits patiently for me with a nod. It's a habit now. To take a quick look at his badge, at his badge number, an easy identifier if he is truly one of ours, or a fraud. He is, and I gladly accept his hand as he assists me to my seat. The door closes behind me.

"Faith?" Federico's voice comes over the phone. "Carmen is fixing her face—"

"My makeup—" She corrects him in the background.

"Yeah, whatever," He refocuses on me, "We wanted to know if you and Liam were doing anything for his birthday this weekend. We were thinking of flying in on Thursday or Friday if you weren't. Carmen, Gabe, and me. I would ask Grace and Anthony, but if Crixus doesn't come, then they wouldn't."

"We only have stuff planned for his birthday, tomorrow," I tell him. "I'm sure he would love to see everyone if they came. Let me know what you decide to do."

"We will." Federico shifts in his seat, "Be safe, and love you, Faith."

"Love you!" Carmen shouts from beside him.

I offer them both a love you before hanging up. My fingers dance across my phone screen before opening my messages. I scroll past a few from Tatum and Gio, their texts pertaining to pickup and drop-off times for a doctor's appointment I needed earlier in the week. I scroll past Federico, who is still waiting for me to play my turn in an iMessage game. I scroll until I find Crixus. I'm embarrassed to admit that it took nearly the entire short ride from the graveyard to the house to type out a text that I liked. I'm even more embarrassed to admit that the text that took so long to compose, is only seven words.

Call me if you need to talk.

I hit send as my door opens, the soldier offering his hand once more to escort me onto our driveway. "Would you like me to follow you inside?"

It was courteous and a question all soldiers have a habit of asking, especially when the house is empty.  I shake my head. "No need. Liam is waiting for me. Thank you." I look over my shoulder as I bound up the stairs, reaching into my pocket for the key. "And thank you for taking the time to wait for me. I know you would've preferred being at the estate with everyone else."

The soldier shakes his head and climbs into the vehicle. "No need to thank me, Ms. Crawford. Anything for you."

I step inside our home and close the door behind me. It feels like stepping inside another world, the sounds of the outside fading with the simple click of the door. I let out a breath and push myself into the kitchen, the soft glow above the oven casting just enough light to make the first floor look lived in. I glance inside the living room, where the lights of the Christmas tree still shine. Rosie and Vincenzo were going to take it down before they left.

It didn't hit me until I prepared myself to move back into the foyer and continue my journey upstairs. I didn't hear the television. I didn't hear the patter of Rosalie's footsteps against the wooden floors, causing them to creak whenever she stepped on one that was older than all the others. I didn't hear Rosie.

"Liam?" I shout as loudly as I can, slowly retracing my steps into the kitchen. I tug at a drawer in the kitchen, one many believe is faux, purely decoration. And once upon a time it was, until Tatum spent the day converting it to a secret safe. Not many feel the slight protrusion that was installed on the inside of the handle. I press it. I tug. The drawer opens. I grab the handgun, and the cartridge beside it.

Liam never answers.

I release the safety.

The steps are taken one at a time. The goosebumps on my arms rising as I do. It starts to get warm, even warmer the further I ascend. I hit the landing on the second floor. And that's when I see them.

Rosalie and Vincenzo are lying in a pool of their own blood.

I don't even feel myself panic. I race to her side without a second thought, without a glance over my shoulder to make sure the entire second floor is clear. Rosie had pulled herself up against the wall, her small hands shaking. She watches the blood that gushes out of her stomach. I jam my palms into it to stop the bleeding, and she looks up at me. She's pale. "What happened?" The little girl is having trouble focusing, and I press my hands into her stomach. She cries out, her blood covered hand wrapping around my wrist. "Focus. What happened?"

Either she's in shock, or she's going into it. She drags her head along the wall, trying to look around me. "Ms. Faith," Her voice shakes, "I think my dad is dead."

I don't want to, but I do. I look over my shoulder. Vincenzo lies on his stomach, right where he was left. Blood seeps out from underneath him, his wound surely like hers. He doesn't move.

I turn my attention back to Rosie and nod, "I'm going to check on your dad, but you need to keep pressure on your stomach, okay? Apply pressure." I swap my hands with hers, placing them directly over her wound before scooting away and positioning myself over Vincenzo.

And with Rosalie watching, I shut my eyes in a quick prayer. I position two fingers along his neck, searching for one of the most common pulse points. "Vincenzo?" I wait. I shake him. "Vince?" I move from his neck to his wrist, desperately searching for what I've come to find. But I can't find it. I can't find a pulse. And I can't be the one to tell her.

"It was a woman," Rosalie says softly, fresh tears rushing to the corners of her eyes. "It was her and some other guys. They had the swords Crixus used to use. They really hurt..." She winces in pain, her dried tears glistening underneath the hallway lighting. "Faith, I don't feel good. Am I going to die? And is dad—"

I push myself away from Vincenzo, convinced that there is nothing else I can do for him. But the bandana tied tight around his head will prove to not only be useful, but potentially lifesaving. I pull the red bandana off his forehead, watching his curls fall around his closed eyes. I reach Rosalie's side with urgency, removing her hands just long enough to stuff Vincenzo's bandana over her wound. The little girl is a fast learner. She shoves her hands over it, and presses down, hard. "You're not dying. Do you understand me?"

She nods fervently.

I yank my phone out of my pocket and drop it in her lap. "This woman, where did she take Liam?"

Rosalie lifts a weak hand, too tired to say anything. She points in the direction of our bedroom.

I start in that direction, yelling my directions to her over my shoulder. "Call any one of the soldiers in my phone and tell them..." I stop. We needed something that would halt it all. That would cause the lives of all the soldiers to come to a shuddering stop. We needed the calvary, and we needed them two minutes ago. And there is only one code, one cry for help that could get them here in record time. My heart sinks knowing I have to say it. But it hurts even more knowing Rosalie is going to be the one who declare it. I look the little girl in the eye. "Code black."

If Rosalie says anything to me, any last words, I don't hear them. I yank the doors to our bedroom open and shove myself in, weapon raised. She's the first one I see. "You." I take three steps in, and the doors slam shut behind me, her two soldiers flanking them like the room is their own. They were waiting for me. She stands with her hands behind her back, observing the window that overlooks our yard. "Don't lie to me. You're the one who ordered the hit on Jaiyana. Why?"

Two soldiers remain behind me. Two a few steps away from Liam, who is kneeling in the middle of the room, arms yanked uncomfortably behind his back and tied. He's been hit. More than a few times. Blood running down his temple, down his nostril. One side of his face more bruised than the other. He looks like he tried to fight and gave up halfway, knowing his energy was wasted. He isn't getting out. There's four in total, plus her.

The woman shifts in her stance. Her hair is short, dark, and black, falling just around her jawline. She rolls her shoulders, the muscles in her back rippling from the motion. She lets out a sigh. "I did. She might not have been a Luciano. But she once was." The woman turns around to face the barrel of my gun and offers a faint smile. "You look good, Faith. I missed you."

Ellie Mitchell.

My dead sister.

"She was once a Luciano." Ellie repeats. She pulls a gun from her holster and jams it into the back of Liam's head. "And I want them all to burn."

The flashback hits me harder than any man has ever. The day my father returned from work, only for a fleet of sleek SUVs to surround his vehicle. I was inside, waiting patiently to greet my dad after a long day at work, watching from the window. They were armed and surrounded him, giving him no means for an escape. I remember Michael Luciano on another occasion, a much younger version than the one I officially met, dressed in his sharpest suit. He was sitting in our living room, looking at his watch, impatiently, while my mother eyed him warily from the kitchen. I had watched her text a warning to my father.

"Where does dad work?" I remember asking her.

She had huffed, my question interrupting the flow of her fingers across the screen. "Langley, Virginia, honey." She had said.

I remember googling Langley, Virginia. There were hundreds of results. All of them revolved around three letters. CIA.

"Dad was Michael Luciano's man inside the United States Government," Ellie explains, closing the gaps and filling in the missing pieces of my story. "He gave Michael all the information he asked for, all the information he needed. I don't know exactly what happened or when, but dad no longer wanted to work for Michael. He felt like people at his job were aware of a snake and they were closing in on him. He told Michael he wanted out. Michael said the only out he knows is death." She jams the gun against Liam's skull. He curses, wincing as the pain radiates across his temples.

"I wasn't going to let that happen," Ellie continues, "I met Liam. He's always been handsome, funny, extremely driven. I liked him, but I saw an opportunity to use him like his father used ours. I took it. I took everything his little bitch ass gave me. Recorded everything he told me. Everything I heard."

Liam scoffs, arching his back to mutter over his shoulder. "You think you used me? The only reason my father let you inside our fucking house was to—"

"Shut up." Her weapon connects with his face. He winces and spits blood.

"Michael had a deal with the government," Ellie continues after a huff. She breathes in, breathes out, trying to slow her racing heart. "He was untouchable, but the things that I found, the stuff I gave to dad...It would've sent Michael Luciano on a one-way trip to the electric chair."

I keep my gun level at her, only then noticing the drop of blood that runs down my neck. Her soldiers have closed the gap, each holding the sharp end of a katana against my throat, the pressure only increasing whenever I take a step forward, towards the one they obey.

"Do you remember where we were driving to that day?" Ellie asks, her question directed towards me.

I adjust my grip. "I don't give a fuck where we were driving to that day. I want to know how you're not dead. How are you here?"

She pulls her gun away from him and lowers it at her side. "I'm here because the government is more powerful than them." She motions weakly towards Liam. "I survived the car accident. I woke up to a government official telling me that my father was dead, and that so was I. Witness protection. Japan."

I'm shaking my head, "But I could've sworn mom, or somebody identified your body."

Ellie's lips lift. "You don't fuck with the government. You can't fuck with the government. My time there was miserable, but the best day of my life was when an undercover agent knocked on my door and said Michael Luciano is dead."

I blink, asking a question I know I will regret. "Why are you back?"

She thinks for a second. "To stop my sister from doing the stupidest thing she could ever do in her life." She smiles, waiting for a gracious thank you that will never come. She shrugs when she doesn't get it and aims her gun at Liam. "And to kill him."

I steady my weapon, "You should leave him alone."

Ellie fights a laugh. "You don't get it, do you? Michael Luciano was a fucking bitch, but the day our car was shot at—the day we were trying to take our evidence to the government—was the same day his friend, Vincenzo De Santis, had an emergency. Nobody knows what the emergency was. But I'm learning that Michael left. He went to be with his friend despite knowing that we were on our way to ruin his life."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Michael Luciano didn't order the hit on our family."

Liam shifts his weight from one knee to the other. He looks up, and never has he looked more like his father than he does now. "I did."

Everything stops. The sun could have remained in the same place for over sixty seconds, and I would not have noticed it. I lower my weapon, Ellie's shoulders visibly falling in relaxation. I take a deep breath.

And aim it at him.

The soldiers remove the katana from around my neck, now no longer a threat to Ellie. She lowers hers, a smile pulling at her face as she mutters something along the lines of, "Oh, this might be easier than I thought."

Fear. Shock. It overtakes Liam's features like never before. He struggles against his restraints, fighting harder the closer I get. "Faith...Faith, wait."

"It was you?" I whisper, my grip tightening.

He kneels before me. The browns of his eyes have never been more prominent than now, with the barrel of my gun sitting between them. I feel something stir in my chest, a tightening. Anger. I retract the barrel just enough to jam it back into his forehead. "Fuck you."

I pull the trigger.

And Ellie drops. The bullet pierces her knee. The next few seconds are chaotic. I reach her side, jamming a finger inside her wound and twisting. The look that pulls at her face suggests that the move is just a half inch short of torture. I jam my gun against the side of her head, "I will never turn on him. You couldn't pay me enough to turn on him—"

I pull the trigger.

It's the one shot I miss.

She wasn't going down without a fight, and even with a bullet inside her knee, she gave it that. Twisting just enough so that this one didn't enter her head, but the floor beside it.

Her soldiers grab me, yanking me away while the two who remain check on Ellie. I struggle. There's a fight. I'm thrown to my knees, just a few feet across from him. From Liam. My arms are wrenched behind my back, my weapon kicked to the far-side of the room, and my hands are bound. I convince myself that it was worth it. Just to see Ellie fight to get to her feet, made it worth it. But the punches they land on me were not. I took them all, seething through my teeth after each one.

I could hear Liam, telling them to stop—begging them to stop.

All I could do was hope that Rosalie stayed conscious long enough to make the call.

"Don't." Ellie grimaces, her voice strong as she speaks to someone over my shoulder. She stops him. "Don't kill her. We aren't here for her." It takes everything in her to pick up her weapon that had scattered to the corner of the room. She checks the safety. "We're here for him."

Ellie limps to Liam's side. "Tell me, how does it feel?" He doesn't look at her and she leans over, doing everything she can to get him to look her in the eye. "How does it feel being the last one? There's no one after you. Not a brother. Not a sister. And trust me, I did my homework. Liam Elijah," She lifts the gun to his temple, and taps it annoyingly. "You're the last Luciano."

I shut my eyes. "He's not the last Luciano."

And I open them, a trail of blood narrowly missing its corner. "I'm pregnant."

It's incredible how the same question can be voiced in two different ways.

Ellie, in disappointment. "You're what?"

Liam, in shock. "You're what?"

The tears don't take long to come, but I can't wipe them. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, brother," Ellie fights an eyeroll and limps away, rubbing at her forehead.

"Don't be sorry," Liam laughs, more in disbelief than anything. His eyes dart across my face, falling quickly to my stomach, before reaching my eyes again. "Don't be sorry," He repeats in confidence. Liam glances over my shoulder, at the soldiers that stand there, over at Ellie, who waves her gun around frantically in quiet conversation with another. His attention falls to the floor for a period, before lifting back to me. "Have you thought about any names?"

"Names?" I mimic the face he made earlier, at the graveyard, when I mentioned moving. Despite the grim situation, Liam tosses his head back in a laugh. "It's too early for names," I finish softly. "We have time."

I could hear the denial in my own voice when I said it, unwilling to accept the situation for what it is. Liam's eyes never stray from my own. "We don't have time." And he watches my heart break. "Hope," Liam suggests. "If it's a girl. You know, to keep it on theme."

"On theme?" It's my turn to laugh. Laughing hurts my head. "I like Hope, but for a middle name. What if it's a boy?"

"I always wanted to—" Liam winces as a soldier yanks his arm uncomfortably and shoves him towards the floor. The soldier and Ellie share a brief conversation, and my sister positions herself at Liam's back. "I always wanted to honor Michael in some way. I never knew how. But if it's a boy, maybe you can give him his middle name. Davidé."

Gravel churns outside.

"Ellie." A soldier states. "Make a move and make it now. His people are here."

But even with a clock that's counting down, Ellie doesn't sweat. She smiles at me, "Don't ever call me a bitch, because at least I gave you two time to name your baby." Ellie aims the barrel at me, then at my stomach, "You two are a problem for another day," She looks at Liam, hitting him in the head to get his attention. "Time's up. Say it."

"Say what?" Liam asks, confused.

Ellie hits him again. "I don't like your attitude. Fix it." And she gives him time to, slowly wiping the gun on her pant leg and positioning herself behind him, only a few steps back. "You know the saying. The one you and your father would say all the time. The one I hated the most. Say it."

Liam shuts his eyes and something in me sinks. It's the way his shoulders fall. It's the way he relaxes. It's the look in his eyes when he reopens them, the realization of the situation we find ourselves in dawning on him. I'm already shaking my head, denying what I know is true. Michael had been right, once more. Maybe a king does know when his time is up.

Liam looks at me and starts. "Blessings and Honor."

I rebuke it. "No." I shake my head and tug at my restraints. I tug again. Each time harder than the last. But even if I got out, I never stood a chance. Four soldiers with katanas would converge, the least I could do would be to take one with me when they ended my life. "No." I stop cold when the blade of a katana presses against my neck.

Liam narrows his eyes, wanting to argue with them but knowing its best not to. "Glory and Power," He continues.

"Liam, stop." He's gone. I can no longer see him. My tears have blurred my vision to a point where all I can recognize are colors—the blood on his face, the dark grey hoodie that he wears, his complexion. But his expression has vanished. And so have his eyes. I can feel my body shake as I lean forward, the katana cutting a thin line across my neck. It draws blood. "Elijah." I can feel the attention of the room on me as my breathing increases and my shoulders shake. "Please, stop."

I couldn't see the tears in his eyes, but I could hear them in his voice. "I love you, both."

I didn't think I would get it out in time. A soldier jams a hand around my neck and yanks me backward. One day I would be thankful. Thankful that Liam got to look me in the face, one last time. "I love you—"

"Forever."

I will never know what was louder. My scream or the gunshot.

"Stupid bitch." I can hear the footsteps, the sound of the army striding up the stairs. I can hear voices in the hall. They hit me, and they take one last opportunity to slam my head against the floor. They leave me there. Their exit swift, organized, and planned.

I'm only a few feet away from him, but I'm alone.

I was there.

I was there with the Rostov empire fell. I was there and I felt the entirety of everything Valentin had built shudder underneath my feet. I watched its foundation crumble. And I was there. I was there when Federico pulled the trigger, ending the reign of the Costello's king. I felt the foundation of that empire splinter, and fall. I was there. I was there to witness the fall of the Corinelli empire. I watched it collapse.

But the room is silent. The Luciano empire holds steady. The foundation that Michael Luciano laid down had not budged. Because unlike all the others. This one knew.

It still had its king.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

the continuation, to the end.

Lealtá
Book 3.
Releasing Mid-Late 2024.

Lealtá is the last book in the Luciano trilogy.