Ya'll really blessed me wow. Potere ranked #29 in Action a few days after the update and I want to thank each and every one of you for your votes, comments, theories, and heartbroken cries for help.
I hope you stick around for – what I hope – will be an iconic journey.
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
Men stand in adoration and respect as we walk by. Dressed in tailored, fitted suits, they stand on either side of the makeshift path they have created for us, which leads from our ride, through the Luciano family mansion, and into the conference room for the mandatory meeting Liam has arranged. With arms already folded behind their backs, they bow their heads as we pass.
Liam walks with purpose on my left, his jaw set, his gaze resting on the beautiful suburban mansion that is now considered the headquarters of the Luciano family. His hands are busy working buttons of his jacket; unbuttoning them, then redoing. A gap separates us as we walk side by side, our shoulders occasionally brushing together. I can't remember the last time he's touched me; in bed or out of it. I'm even having a hard time recollecting the last kiss we shared.
I'm upset with him – with everything that's going on – but I must admit to just how good he looks today. His wine-colored suit fits him perfectly, giving definition to his shoulders, arms, even his thighs. Studs are nestled in his ears, while the rare rays of sunlight make his white dress shirt seem even brighter than it already is. His hair is disheveled in the purposely messy style I've come to love.
Dominic trails us, along with Luciano's security detail. A group of six men – often times more, sometimes less – are dressed in tactical gear, their glocks finding a home in the holster that's wrapped around their thighs. Large, semi-automatic rifles are strapped to their backs, easily within reach in case something goes down. They all maintain an emotionless expression, trained to never let their attention fall from the man they've sworn to protect.
We march up the steps together, our footsteps creating a synchronized sound. Liam breaks away from my side and sharply turns to face me as I pause in front the doors that are being held open for us. I can't pinpoint the exact moment when it was made known that I, Faith Crawford, had to walk through the magnificently large doors first, but it had become a ritual that I was now accustom to.
I walk through, then Liam follows.
His hand finds the small of my back for the first physical contact we've shared in weeks. Liam's fingertips barely brush against the fabric of my dress as he leads me past his men – our men. I want to say something, to question him as to why it feels as though he's doing everything he can to not touch me. It will surely lead to an argument, knowing the tone I would speak with isn't a kind one.
Then I see the dejected looks on the faces of a few men we pass. Some look downright exhausted, while others appear unsure, uncertain of what the future holds for them. A couple perk up as we walk by, happy, even borderline elated that their leadership is here to announce what's next, to explain that although the Russians are indeed a threat, we have it all under control.
I bite my lip.
If only they knew that their leadership, the man that they look up to as their King, and the woman they've come to respect as their Queen, is falling apart right before their eyes.
We march underneath the archway of the conference room just as a voice commands, "All rise."
Twenty-four of the most influential and important members of Luciano's family rise to their feet as conversations halt, as attentions fall on us. Men that aren't important enough to have a seat at the large, long table – who manage to snag a portion of the wall to rest their backs on - scramble to their feet as we proceed to walk deeper into the room. A few rest a fist over their heart as Liam passes by.
I step in front of my designated seat – the seat to Liam's left, watching as he takes his place at the head of the table. We both overlook the room, our eyes drifting from one man to another. A few shift their weight to the opposite foot, while others clear their throats. All of them, however, await the next command.
I sit down first, taking a second to get comfortable. I toss my right leg over my left, frown, then reverse in an indecisive manner. Leaning forward, I flip over the manila envelope that's been prepared for me. It's an exact copy of Luciano's, stating everything he needs to know for the week; from profit to deaths.
"Miss Crawford—" Liam's voice is low as he dips his head, giving me an irritated look.
Oh, shit.
I stare up at all of the men that still stand in a respectful manner, waiting for my command. I was still becoming used to my new found role in Liam's family and I haven't quite mastered it yet. So, with my cheeks tainted a light shade of pink, I offer up an innocent smile. To my relief, quite a few men around the table break their neutral expressions, soft smiles crossing the faces of intimidating men.
"As you were, gentleman."
Everyone lowers themselves to their seat, including Liam, and the meeting commences without missing a beat.
"I'm sure you all are aware by now as to why I've called this meeting," Liam flips open his envelope, absentmindedly skimming pages as he carefully chooses what to say next. "One thousand three hundred and sixty five families are currently mourning the loss of husbands, wives, daughters, sons, nieces, and nephews." He slaps the envelope closed and lifts his attention to the table, his eyes floating around the room like a laser. "I'm going to cut to the chase, we have reason to believe that the same force that burned down the De Santis empire is planning on coming for us."
A shaky voice speaks up from the corner of the room, "We can't let that happen."
Luciano's voice hardly falters, "We won't."
"I have a lot of topics I need to hit on gentlemen and little time to do so." Liam continues, "Keep up, because I'm only going to say everything once." Most of the men nod while some grunt in understanding. "Due to the possible threat, I want a security detail prepared for Rosie." The three men in charge of security lean forward, scribbling notes on a page. "She'll be escorted to school, but please, I still want her to feel normal, so keep your distance. On school grounds, you'll remain in the parking lot at all times but anywhere else, you follow her like gum on the bottom of a shoe. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir." one of the three young men lean back, "How many men do you want assigned to Rosalie?"
"Two for now." Liam doesn't hesitate, "If a problem arises, let me know and we can adjust accordingly."
"You're the boss. Anybody else?"
Luciano leans forward, resting the palms of his hands on the oak wood. "Yes, actually. I want another detail assigned to my mother. As head of my company, the board already assigned a couple bodyguards for protection." Liam makes a face, "They're amateurs and I want them replaced, now." As he continues to talk, the men proceed in taking notes, making sure their boss's every wish is granted. "She'll be escorted from home to work and back again. The only reason they are to leave her side is if she has to take a piss." There's a long, silent pause before he questions, "Clear?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Dominic Santiago—" Luciano doesn't stop as he casts a glance over my shoulder, where I'm sure Dom stands.
A few men whoop at the sound of his name, causing tension releasing chuckles to fill the room. I even hear someone shout, "Daddy Dom!" Which not only earns laughter from most of the men, but even the slightest smile from their boss. Liam's ghost of a smile makes me smile, even if it's slight. I haven't seen – nor have I been able to cause – his smile in a long time.
The only person whose expression hasn't been lifted by the short, but much needed comedic relief sits across from me on Liam's right hand side – the third most important seat in the room, behind the seat of the King and Queen. Austin Romano is a handsome, twenty-four year old who quickly climbed the ladder as one of Liam's favorites. He's respectful and kind, serious, smart, yet sometimes witty. I've spoken to him quite a few times in passing and I'm beginning to understand just why Liam has considered him as the top runner to overtake Dominic's old position as the Underboss; a position he's found nearly impossible to fill.
Austin wasn't around last year when Dom worked alongside Liam, but most of the family was, meaning over the last ten months that he's been here, Mr. Romano has heard countless stories of the one and only Dominic James Santiago.
And now that he's back, I'm sure the young man sees Dom as nothing more than competition; as a threat to the highly desired job that he's almost bagged.
"Dominic Santiago," Liam reiterates as the room settles down, "will also be receiving his own security as well. He'll be staying with us for now and although he could probably take care of himself if something were to ever happen, I'd feel better knowing he's being looked after." He pauses until his men lean back, finished with their notes. "That'll be all for secu—"
"No," I snap, speaking for the first time since the meeting started. Everyone's gazes fall on me and I can feel my cheeks heating up under all the attention, however the only persons gaze I was truly nervous under was Liam's. I don't have to look at him to see he's working his jaw, his lips pursed in irritation. When I do look his way, I smile. "I'd also like to request a security detail for Carmen Vega."
The room falls silent.
Feeling the need to explain my point, I continue, "I told her she could stay with us as long as she liked, and if the Russians are a threat to us, then they're certainly a threat to Federico's closest friend." I blink slowly, my eyebrows touching when I don't see the men reach for their notepads like they were when Liam had spoken.
I catch their gazes floating over towards Liam in uncertainty, waiting for him to authorize it. As if my word isn't enough.
My frown peaks as I shoot them a look of disproval, "I don't recall stuttering."
I have to fight my smile as they turn towards their notes and add in my request. Liam doesn't even wait for their heads to lift before moving on to the next subject.
"Michael always told me to hope for the best and prepare for the worst," His eyes scan the table, occasionally lifting to the crowd of men that line themselves along the wall, "so that's exactly what we're going to do." Liam's fingers tap a gentle beat on the wooden table as he glances around, almost nervously, "If the Russians decide to come to us, we need to be prepared, and if they don't, then I need everyone ready to go to them."
A man seated beside Austin talks up, "Are you indicating that you're prepared to start a war?"
Luciano laughs, causing the entire table to tense. The well-dressed man who poised the question begins to look around, appearing almost scared at his boss's reaction. I wipe at my face, discreetly hiding the smile that was beginning to show. Liam's laugh has always had the same effect on me.
Slapping his palm on the table, Luciano leans forward, out of his seat. I can't see the look he gives the young man, but I'm sure it isn't a pleasant one considering his complexion is starting to pale.
"Let me make something very clear," Liam's voice lowers an octave or two, "The Russians came here and dismantled one of our strongest empires. They tortured its King. They supposedly killed my friend, and then they had the balls to imply that they're not done?" He leans back, all eyes on him, "I'm not starting a fucking war. I'm finishing it."
"How do you plan to prepare for something like this then?"
Liam's gaze meets the man who had politely inquired. "Well, we have two options. We can recruit, or we can train the men we already have."
"Recruiting might give us better talent," Austin speaks his thoughts after the room falls in a collective silence, contemplating the options Liam set before them, "but bringing in new people is always hard. They may be more talented than our men, but do they work well together? Will they work well together?" Liam nods at the points the young man makes, "Talent is important, yes, but so is chemistry. Do we really have the time to sit around and wait for everyone to bond?"
I look to Liam, "Austin makes a good point."
Liam nods in response, sharing a brief glance with Mr. Romano. "He does, that's why he's sitting in that chair."
I'm the only one that notices the twitch of Austin's lips at his boss's praise. His eyes lift over my shoulder as a smug look transforms his features for only a second. I glance over my shoulder, noting that Dominic stood directly behind me, leaning against the wall. His jaw is set and his glare is obvious as he looks in Austin's direction.
Oh, boy.
I zone back in on the conversation, catching up to speed with everything I missed in the short span of five seconds. As usual, Liam's commanding orders in that deep voice of his as other's jot down his notes. "—then it's confirmed. We'll recruit a few more people, while also training our own. If everything goes well, we'll continue to recruit and train until we're strong enough to fight this force." He pauses, allowing them to catch up before continuing, "Veleno, one of Vincenzo's most decorated assassins, will be arriving to our home shortly. I'll speak with him on my own, but I do plan on having him help train."
A chorus of "Yes Sir's" echo off the walls of the room.
I watch Liam shift in his seat, growing visibly uncomfortable. He looks at me for only a second before clearing his throat and addressing the room, "Last but certainly not least, I was informed that we buried an empty casket. So, because I am in deep and utter denial that our friend Rico is dead, I gave Mr. Romano here—" He motions toward the man to his right, "—the most important job any man could ever have. I told him to find Rico."
Everyone in the room inhales, collectively holding their breaths in anticipation.
"What you asked of me was next to impossible." Austin begins, focusing on Liam, "You asked me to try and find a man who not only was confirmed as dead, but a man who lived his life as a ghost—" He casts his attention around the room, the corner of his lip curling upwards, "—no pun intended."
Liam just blinks, "What did you find Austin?"
Mr. Romano just closes his eyes and I can feel my stomach drop.
Austin leans forward, speaking cautiously, "I was able to get in contact with a group underground that keep track of people like Federico." He pauses, inhaling deeply, "I'm not sure if you all know this, but there are people out there that keep tabs on high valued members of the mafia. Dons...assassins—"
Liam snaps, motioning to Austin to slide over the documents he had just reached under the table to retrieve. A single sheet of paper makes it into Luciano's hands. I don't waste time sliding over in my seat to get a glimpse. The look on his face is enough to tell me that whatever the paper stated, wasn't good.
"They don't work with others unless they know you're willing to drop a pretty penny for their information," Austin continues, "but knowing the relationship between the Luciano and De Santis family's, they decided to give me everything they knew." He motions towards the paper in Liam's hands, "Federico's line has been quiet for two weeks, since the night he infiltrated the Rostov mansion."
Liam lets go of the paper, letting it flutter to the desk. I cautiously reach for it as he rests his head in the palm of his hands, irritated. It takes a second for me to understand what I'm reading. Times are stamped on the left, going back for months. Beside them, are short sentences explaining where the person was spotted. The last time stamp on Rico's sheet is dated back to two weeks ago, just like Austin said.
"If your friend was alive, Liam," Austin casually points to the paper, "he would've been spotted by now."
"Unless he doesn't want to be," I hardly recognize my voice as it draws the attention of the room.
Liam agrees. "She's right. If Rico doesn't want to be found, he won't be."
Austin gives us both a look.
"We don't have a body," Liam re-informs the room.
Austin's voice dips an octave as he leans forward, pressing his fingertips against the wooden table, "Liam—" His tone is grave.
I jump a little in my seat as Liam shouts and slaps the table. His anger and frustration is taken out on Austin. "This is Federico De Santis we're talking about—"
"You don't think I haven't done research on this man?" Liam's soon-to-be right hand man responds, "I've studied Federico's file, I've heard things about him. I may not have had the opportunity to meet him face to face, to work with him, but I've done my research." Austin leans away, "You're a smart man, Liam, and I know you've lost men before. You don't always get the body back."
Nobody replies.
"You're in denial because you refuse to believe that your friend, that one of the greatest assassins in our lifetime was slain. You didn't get a body," he continues, "but Fantasma entered that place and the only thing that came back was a box, sent from Valentin's address, with Federico's most prized possession inside."
"—oh and don't forget the audio we received the other day," a random man adds in.
Liam perks up, ignoring Austin's conclusion, as we both state, "What audio?" at the same time.
I can't help but notice as the room tenses, as Austin and a few others glare at the man who spilled information that clearly wasn't supposed to be spilt. Liam observes the entire room, his eyes falling and landing on the man who spoke up. The poor kid's face turns a dark shade of red as his eyes dart between his boss and his other boss.
"What audio?" Liam growls out this time, his voice low. The response he gets sounds like a cry for help that doesn't quite make it all the way up man's throat; almost like the guy was choking. Ignoring the guy, Liam's attention falls on Austin once more, "Romano."
Accepting defeat, Austin runs a hand down his face. He doesn't waste time explaining, "A couple days ago we received a box in the mail sent from Valentin's address."
You can hear the tension in Liam's voice. "The last time I received a box from an enemy, it continued the head of one of my men."
I throw a look over my shoulder at Dom, wincing slightly, "Sorry about the shoes."
He gives me a thumbs up.
"It wasn't a head, or, any body part for that matter," Austin confirms. He reaches into the pocket of his pants, slapping an item on the table. Everyone focuses on the slim, black USB drive. "I was going to tell you, just not..."
Luciano doesn't wait for explanation, "What's on it?"
The men around the table begin to shift, uncomfortable in their seats after their boss's question. They refuse to make eye contact, while some force a cough into their fists. Suddenly, the scratches in the wood are more interesting than the conversation. I note their behavior and look to Liam.
"Avoidance." the corner of my lip lifts upwards, "They know."
I can't determine whether Austin is giving me a look of approval or annoyance. He looks away from me as quickly as possible. "We listened to it," He starts, "that's why they know what's on it." Pausing, we wait as he thinks about what to say next, "It's...it's not...just..." Unable to find the words, he slides the USB drive down towards the opposite end of the table before uttering a few words in Italian. The man who receives it nods, before getting up to insert it in the computer.
I feel pressure on my seat, causing me to lean my head back and glance up. Even from this angle, Dominic looks handsome. He forces a smile, one that I return, before we pay attention to the noise that suddenly fills the room. All chatter from the men around us cease right after Austin turns to Liam, softly muttering, "I'm sorry."
The sound of heavy footsteps come through the surround sound speakers in a synchronized fashion. The marching is drowned out by the sound of guns; their ammunition being checked, their safety features being released. A voice drenched in a thick, Russian accent comes through clearly, "We have an intruder in Valentin's room."
"Shoot to kill?"
"Shoot on my command," they reply.
"Who is it?"
I can hardly keep up with the different voices. Some appear closer to whatever device is recording, while others are in the background, gearing up to engage.
"De Santis's kid."
"—Somebody go get Diavolo! This is his bitch."
The chuckles that come through the speakers make me tense. My eyebrows knit together at the blatant disrespect to my friend. Federico De Santis was, nor would he ever be, someone else's bitch.
"A Team, surround the perimeter. If he makes it past us, he's yours." There's a pause, "Team's B and C, we are to make sure he doesn't make it out of Val's bedroom. And again, shoot on my command and my command only."
There's more shuffling.
"Why don't we just light his ass up? He's stupid enough to break into our home—"
"Do you know who this is?"
"Clearly not."
"Torturing him for information would be far better than putting a bullet in his head. By the time we're done with him—"
"—Death wouldn't have come soon enough," someone finishes.
Talking ceases as the sound of heavy footsteps return. It's easy to assume that there's a bunch of them in this group, their footsteps appear to echo forever as they march upwards. A splintering crack causes a few men around the table – including Liam and I – to jump in surprise. It sounded like a door was kicked in. The lack of noise that follows feels as though the audio froze. Liam looks up in anticipation, about to speak when the Russians beat him to it.
"De Santis! Put the gun down!"
"We have you surrounded, kid."
A deep, commanding voice speaks from a distance, "Did your father really believe he could send you here to kill me, and expect you to come back?"
The look Liam gives me is enough to confirm my suspicions; that was Valentin Rostov, the head of it all, speaking.
"Yes," my heart stops at the sound of Rico's voice. Tears immediately find their way to the corner of my eyes. "he did."
"Then you're stupider than I thought if you believed the same as he did," Valentin continues.
"Who said I ever believed I would return home?"
Dominic releases a breath from behind me. I glance at him, watching as he takes two steps back. His eyes are wide, his lips parted as if he's just been slapped. Hurt washes over his face, forcing me to look away, to look at Liam, whose expression is no better.
"You're saying you knew this was a suicide mission from the start?"
Liam stands in anticipation, unable to sit still any longer. His jaw is set, his eyes following the count on the screen of the large projector as the end of the audio nears. My stomach feels uneasy. I clench my teeth, lean back, and close my eyes.
I hear Rico again. "There's not much I don't know."
I flinch in my seat at the sudden commotion that fills the room. Over the speakers, men are shouting curse words while others yell orders. The familiar Russian voice from the beginning speaks again, "De Santis, put the gun down!"
"Close in. He's going to pull the trigger."
"Boss! He's gonna do it!"
"Just surrender, De Santis!"
I unsteadily rise to my feet, pressing my palms into the table for support. I can't sit still either. Liam and I share just a second of eye contact when Federico's wavering voice meets our ears for the last time.
I can't determine if he was speaking to the men who surround him, or to himself.
"I surrender."
"—No!"
We are all expecting it, but that doesn't mean we're ready for the gunshot that sends the conference room into an eerie silence. A few men flinch, while others glance around the room in obvious discomfort. Some fiddle with their ties, their suit jackets, doing everything they can to avoid direct eye contact with anyone, afraid that the tears welling up in the eyes of others was a sign of weakness they aren't supposed to notice. Dominic is the first to make a sound.
There are only a handful of occasions that I can remember Dominic Santiago being left speechless, and this will be one of them. The room shifts as people angle their chairs in his direction at the sound of his strangled, "I—I..." Dom works the buttons of his dress shirt, releasing the tension around his neck. His eyes dart around the room, before landing on me, then Liam. "I..." He's already making a beeline for the door. "I need air."
Liam is the first person we all look to after Dom's quick exit. The expression on his face is one I've seen many times. He has his lips tucked into his mouth, his eyebrows creasing together. Unfallen tears cause his naturally brown eyes to stand out even more, especially when hit by light at a certain angle. His palms are pressed firmly against the table as he leans over in a stance of power, command, looming over the table with his aura of intimidation.
He appears to be holding it together, but only those that know him as well as I do would know that he's on the verge of crying.
You can tell Liam is doing everything he can to keep his voice steady. He addresses a well-dressed man at the opposite end of the table. He appears to be young, a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. If I recall, his name is Steven. "You're good with computers, I hear."
"The best," Steven replies, a slight smile on his thin lips.
Liam goes straight to the point. "Tell me, is it possible for this audio to have been manipulated? Edited in a way that we would hear what the Russians wanted us to hear?"
Stevens plays with the bridge of his glasses, yet he never looks nervous. "Audio can easily be edited, manipulated in a sense, Sir. But this," he points to the black screen, "I had a few other tech guys go over it when Austin first received the USB, including myself." A solemn nods causes me to slump even further in my seat. "This is the real deal."
"But—"
"—Steven and his group of geeks—"
"—tech savy," the young man snorts, correcting Austin with no hesitation whatsoever.
Austin merely rolls his eyes as he faces his boss once more, correcting himself this time, "Steven and his group of tech savy geeks compared Federico's voice in this audio to one we have on our own record," he informs, "it's a one-hundred percent match."
"You wanted a body?" Austin continues, his tone lowering with each passing word. He hooks a thumb towards the computer, their eyes never straying from one another. "That's the best I could do."
Liam pulls away from their intense stare-down to get a feel for my own thoughts. He looks to his left, to me. Every wall I've ever seen him build up, momentarily fall as the room waits on pins and needles for his next move, his next command. He looks confused, unsure, almost bewildered. Shocked. Hurt. Afraid. Uncertain. All I can give him is a slight, downwards nod. That was all he needed.
His voice is strong when he speaks in front his anticipating audience for the final time and I let out a breath at the sound of his accent peaking through every other word. "Get the families on the phone," Liam commands, "Set up a meeting. There, I will be the one to confirm, to prove Federico De Santis's death. There, I will inform them of our plans moving forward."
A man in the corner questions, "What're our plans?"
The same booming voice orders us to, "All rise," at the conclusion of this meeting. Men – including I – stand to our feet, joining Luciano at the head of the table. He adjusts his suit jacket, but instead of looking for the man who poised the question, his scolding gaze lands on me. I don't look away.
Liam's reply needs to explanation. "War."
The uncertainty that drifted around in his eyes just seconds ago, is gone. The glimmer of sadness, of lost hope that I've become so accustom to seeing whenever I look at him, is replaced with something far scarier. Something deadlier. Hatred.
"I'm sure you don't need to be reminded of this, gentlemen." He continues, "War is not for the weak." I hear a couple grunts of agreement. Liam's gaze softens when it lands on me one last time.
"Buckle up."
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
Since the day I met him, Dominic Santiago has always spoken with a strong, commanding voice. He walks with confidence and talks with assurance. The chip on his shoulder may be invisible, but anyone who has had a conversation with him, would know it's there. A true leader does not need to boast about his position of power. A true leader would let the respect others have for him prove to the doubters just how powerful and influential he really is. That was the Dominic Santiago I knew.
The man sitting across from me in the crammed, corner booth of the local diner with his shoulders slouched and his gaze vacant, is not my Dominic.
His untouched plate of pancakes, bacon, and eggs look unappetizing now that they've been soaking in syrup for the last fifteen minutes. He has yet to unroll his utensils from the napkin and the only reason he's sipped from his glass of orange juice is because I told him he needed to eat – or drink – something. We make eye contact for a fourth time, forcing him to reach for his glass and take a not-so-discreet non-sip. His lips press firmly against the glass, but his mouth doesn't part. He's just going through the motions.
"Dom." I groan in irritation as I drop my fork to my plate.
He shoves his glass away, causing some juice to spill over the rim. I study him more than I study the growing puddle of orange juice. He's been bouncing his left leg underneath the table since we sat down and his attention has been focused on the traffic outside rather than the food right under his nose. Dominic looks at me and I don't turn away, not caring that he's caught me analyzing him. The whites of his eyes are slightly red and his cheeks are stained with drying tears.
"I'm a shitty brother."
I cringe and pretend to turn a dial back after the family to my right sends us both dirty looks.
Dominic raises his voice purposely and I'm pretty sure if this was Twitter, his next statement would be considered a subtweet. "They can fuck off." He misses my soft stint of laughter as the outside draws his attention again.
His voice cracks the next time he speaks and it's clear he's trying to keep his emotions at bay. "I'm sorry I didn't come to the funeral, I just..." My appetite vanishes once the tears in Dom's eyes form. I push away my plate in disgust. "I couldn't," he painfully admits. "I just couldn't, Faith. That would've been the third funeral I attended in two years and..." Dom looks away from me, shaking his head all the while.
I frown and follow his gaze outside. Storm clouds are beginning to roll in for the second forecasted storm in two days. Droplets of rain hit the window beside our booth as the wind shifts. I want to ask Dominic what he meant by the third funeral. We all know his wife, Rose, died in early 2015. With her unfortunate death, followed by Rico's, who else did he lose?
The curious half of me wants to ask, but I know better. I keep my mouth closed, determined to remind myself that whenever he's ready to tell me, he will.
For now, I just listen.
"Emotionally, I couldn't bring myself to show up and I'm sorry," he admits. Dom squeezes his eyes closed and speaks in a hushed manner. "I feel like I let him down."
"No," I cut him off and reach forward, resting my hand on his for just a second. "No, Dominic, you did not let Rico down—"
He pulls his hand away and dips it underneath the table. "As a friend, as a brother, as someone who knew what he was going through, what he was fighting, yes, I let him down. I let my friend down. I let my brother down."
"Dom..."
"He would call me," A stray tear falls from his eye. He wipes at his face, but it's too late. "At...crazy hours of the night," a breath passes his lips, one that resembles a laugh. "He would call at two-thirty, sometimes even three in the morning. I would lay there and watch the phone ring..."
I frown, "You wouldn't answer?"
There's something he isn't telling me as he shakes his head and turns away.
"I would give up my first-born to see his contact photo pop up on my screen one more time." Dominic wipes underneath his eyes as I sniffle. The corner of my lip lifts upward as I motion towards his iPhone that resting on the table.
"His contact photo?"
Dom taps the screen a few times, scrolls, before turning the phone around to me and pushing it in my direction. I was okay until my eyes dropped to the still framed picture of Rico holding one of the largest stuffed Olaf's I have ever seen. They appear to be in a store as people mill in the background, oblivious to the intimidating looking, tattooed man who has his arms wrapped around Olaf's body and his face buried in the toy's chest.
I push the phone away, then I push my plate even further. I'm not hungry anymore.
"When Rose died," Dominic softly continues, "I ran. I packed a bag and I came to California to live with Liam because when I was here, I tricked myself into believing that my wife would be waiting for me when I went home." He pushes his cold food around his plate, uninterested in eating it, "I tried to run from death and while I was running, it caught two more people that I love."
He releases a breath. "That's why I'm here and not at home. I'm here now because I want to help Liam catch and brutally murder the men responsible for Rico's death. And I swear on the grave of the woman that raised me, I will never let my little brother down again."
I lean forward and lower my voice, "That's the third death?"
He blinks and looks away, confirming it. "Three months ago, yeah. The woman that adopted me, raised me, she died.
A pitiful, breathless, "Dominic—" is all that comes out my mouth.
Dom swallows hard. "I'm tired of funerals, Faith." He falls back against the booth and looks me in the eyes. "I'm tired in general. I'm just...tired. If this is how Rico felt every day, how did he get himself out of bed? How did he will himself to do every day things?" Dom pauses as the waitress arrives at the table to clear our plates. Once she leaves, he finishes, "He claimed he was exhausted, but what stopped him from ending all of this? What stopped him from killing himself?"
I'm shaking my head before he's even stopped asking the heart wrenching questions. My eyebrows connect as my voice shakes in nervousness at his final question. Dominic has always been the levelheaded one, yet here I am, trying to pull his thoughts out of whatever dark abyss they've fallen into. "Dominic, he...please, understand that—"
"No! You don't understand!" I flinch back as Dom's palm meets the table, jarring the glass and the silverware. His shout causes the entire diner to freeze. The people at the registers look our way. The surrounding tables pause, mid-bite, in confusion and curiosity. My shoulders tense and my faces flushes red at the unwanted attention. Dom's eyes never drift from mine. "My reason for living is dead! I don't have one anymore!"
His jaw is shut tight as the veins in his neck and forearm rise as adrenaline rushes through them. He's angry, he's frustrated, he's tired and exhausted. He's suicidal.
"I admired my little brother from the moment I met him!" Tears freefall from the corners of his eyes. He makes no move to wipe them off as they continue their journey downwards. "He was stronger than I will ever be. He was a fighter, I'm not." With a shaky breath, Dom adds, "He was everything I'll never be."
"Dominic, don't say that."
"--yet, I thought, if he could overcome everything he's gone through, then I could too." When Dom pulls his hand away from the table, it's shaking. "I fought through everything I was feeling after Rose died because of him. I didn't put a bullet in my head, because of him. I didn't OD, because of him."
My shoulders slump and I'm left speechless.
"When I found out he was my brother, I understood my purpose to keep on living." His tone softens, "He was young, innocent in a way I can't really explain. I wanted to be someone he could look up to, someone he could trust with every secret. I wanted to be a big brother, and now I'll never get the chance to be."
With both hands, I brush away my own tears.
"I feel bad for you," Dom says again.
"Why?"
"Because, once the men that are responsible for his death are dead," He leans forward, "I plan on seeing him again." Dominic slaps a pair of twenties on the table and stands, beginning to walk past me.
I turn, stand, and grab his wrist. Pulling him towards me is easy, and in the middle of a crowded diner, we hug. My arms snake around his abdomen as I bury my face in his chest. His hand presses against my back, pulling me closer to him. I can feel his chin resting on my head and his quiet sobs are easily heard. His shoulders shake as he cries.
I manage to catch a breath in between my own sobs. "Don't die." I don't dare let go of him, knowing that when I do, he'll fall apart.
His response is one I expect.
"I miss my little brother."
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
I can't draw for shit, which leads me to wonder what the hell possessed me to register for a basic drawing class scheduled for the evenings. I spend more of the class-time smacking myself for making this decision back in August than actually drawing.
My desired degree doesn't exactly require an art class, but at the time, I thought it would be fun. Over the summer, I decided – after much persuasion from Liam – to get a degree in Business Management. The decision was easy, especially after I reminded myself that my boyfriend owned a company. Which, he eventually promised to get me a job in after graduation.
In a way, I feel like I'm somehow cheating the system. There are so many people out there that struggle to find jobs after college, and here I am, not even graduated yet, with a position being held for me at the company my boyfriend owns. Blessed isn't even a word that could describe my situation.
With my final class of the day letting out at eight p.m., the campus is mostly silent as I make the long, peaceful journey to the only place I can ever find parking; the on-campus parking garage. I pass by a few students, smiling at those that are willing to make eye contact, sometimes even whispering a "Hi," if they stare long enough.
I yank open the side door to the garage. Entering the stairwell, I march up three flights of steps, my attention focused more on my phone than what's in front of me. I frown disapprovingly at the sight of no new texts or replies from Liam. After the meeting, he had informed me that he would be in and out of even more meetings today – yet, I can't imagine why he couldn't send one simple text message back to me. I huff, frustrated, and shove the phone into my back pocket.
I reach the landing of the third floor and throw open the door. When I first arrived on campus after Dom and I's breakfast, the place had been packed. By eight-fifteen, the parking garage was close to empty, only two cars in sight; a blue Toyota and the sleek, black Audi Liam had gifted me for my twenty-second birthday last month.
I'm within feet of my car when I'm shoved, knocked off balance and caught by surprise. I spin around with a shout, my eyes narrowing at the stranger who appeared out of nowhere. He's tall, redheaded, and built like my 0.7 lead pencil; not a muscle in sight. He rummages through the compartments of my backpack, taking his precious time.
"Can I have my backpack," I take a step forward and extend my hand. Not-so sweetly adding, "please."
"Yeah, sure." His yellow teeth make an appearance as he tosses my bag in my direction. It sails over my head, and into the arms of a second man. This one is short, stockier than his friend. His arms are larger than my ever-growing thighs.
My shoulders slump as I glance between the two men. "You two don't have anything better you could possibly be doing?"
"Nope!" The voice that comes from behind me is startling. I jump and spin around, my eyes landing on the last boy. My glare narrows as the stocky man screeches in excitement.
"Eureka!" To my right, the man pulls out the keys to my Audi, a smile on his face that matches one of a little kid on Christmas morning. He spins them around his finger, then tosses my bag to the last guy.
"Let me see here," the redhead pulls apart my wallet, scanning the contents. "A couple credit cards, a bank card, oh—" My stomach drops. I shouldn't have stopped at the fucking bank—"—gentleman, I think we hit the jackpot." He pulls out a wad of cash, waving it eagerly.
"You son of a—" My body collides with his before he can understand what's happening. The force I took off at is enough to knock him over, my wallet and every loose penny falling and scattering along the floor. The redhead cushions my fall as I ball my hand into a fist and swing, just like my mafia boyfriend taught me. With his hands pinned beneath me, he can't do anything as I punch him, his head smacking against the concrete with each delivery.
My assault lasts less than a minute. The two men behind me rush to their friend's aid by throwing me off and dropping to their knees to check on his wellbeing. The last thing on my mind is my money and credit cards as I rush to the pair of keys the man dropped in the frenzy. With their shouts from behind me, I scramble to my feet and race to my car.
The door unlocks as I throw it open and fling myself over the driver's seat, reaching for the glove compartment. I scream as a cold, clammy hand wraps around my ankle and begins to pull. My fingertips brush along the gun I keep locked away for situations just like this. I curse as I'm yanked out the car without my weapon.
I don't have time to reassess the situation as the redhead slams my car door, momentarily making me see black as pain shoots from my hand and up my arm. I scream as the door crushes my fingers, the pressure being almost unbearable. Tears prick the corner of my eyes as he reopens the door, freeing my fingers from their hell.
He slams me up against the door, his hand griping the collar of my shirt. A bruise is already starting to grace the right side of his face and over the subsiding pain in my fingers, I feel just an ounce of pride until he wipes it away.
"If you can throw a punch, you can take one."
I'm defenseless as his fist repeatedly connects with my cheek, my head hurting even more with every passing punch. My screams fall on deaf ears as the two men in the background blur, watching with disinterest. I'm so close, yet so far from getting help. A single dial on the phone that's lodged between me and my car could have an army of Luciano's men sent to my location in a matter of minutes.
I can taste the blood from my busted cheek as it coats my teeth and my left eye throbs as his punches cease for some reason. Blood settles between the crease in my lips and just as quickly as I open my eyes, I prepare to close them again. The redhead has his fist pulled back, ready to unleash another fury of punches.
The angry expression that once covered his face is gone, his muscles relaxing. His eyebrows part, his lips purse themselves in a straight line. The glare he once gave me is gone, his attention now drifts above me and over my shoulder. His mouth parts as blood spills from the corner of his lip. My eyes travel lower and all my questions are answered. Two spear-looking weapons protrude out of his gut, covered in blood.
Slowly, they're retracted, causing the redhead to scream out in agony. His dying breaths echo off the walls of the parking garage as he falls to the concrete, dead.
Standing before the remaining three of us, is a figure shorter than me, dressed in black clothing from head to toe. Their identity is hidden behind the hood they have tugged over their head. I tense as they step over the body of their victim and near me, expertly twirling two katanas in their grasp. They have to look up to me to meet my terrified gaze. A mask covers everything but the pair of beautiful eyes that stare back at me.
Without a word, they turn around, now standing between me and the two remaining men. It is a silent proclamation, stating that if you want to reach me, you'll have to go through them.
"Okay," one of the two men that stand a few feet away speaks slowly, their eyes never leaving the new threat. "We're the gazelle and that," he points to the figure, who's still slowly twirling his weapons to pass time, "is the Lion—"
"Dumbass," his friend starts, "what does that have to do with anything?!"
"I've seen enough Animal Planet to know that you never turn your back on the predator!
The one guy shoots a look over his shoulder, eyeing the door that leads to the stairwell. "He can't catch both of us. One of us will make it to safety."
The heavier man glances down at himself, frowning. "Yeah," he replies sarcastically, "I wonder who that'll be!"
His friend shrugs, "It's not my fault you're the weak link."
"Fine. On Three?"
"On three," the other confirms.
"One."
"Two."
"Three." All eyes turn to the figure that stands before me, their voice altered by a modulator. They drop their blood covered weapons. The noise they make echoes off the walls of the parking garage. They take a step forward, using the opportunity to launch themselves off their back foot, getting the head start on their quote on quote, prey.
I watch in utter silence and disbelief as my two attackers turn and run in the same direction. Like I figured, the larger man in the one the person targets first. Everything unfolds in slow motion as they launch themselves from their feet and in one fluid motion, manage to sit atop his shoulders, their legs dangling on either side of the guy's face.
The man screams, aborting his mission towards the exit. His thin friend stops on a dime, turning and hesitating to continue his journey to freedom. I brace myself against the car, watching in awe as the figure sits atop his target's shoulders, swaying as the man below him screams and spins, doing everything he can to shake them off.
"Okay, okay!" the man raises his hands and shakes his head, "I'm sorry, okay, just get off me!"
The eerily deep voice crackles, "As you wish."
Somehow, someway, they cross their ankles together, trapping the man in a headlock. Then they lean their body at an angle and everything after that speeds up. I see them fall, I hear the crack, I watch the man that once threatened me hit the ground, his neck now twisted at an unnatural angle – whoever hides behind that mask and underneath that hood stands, straddling the body of his next victim.
They lock eyes with the last remaining guy.
He lifts his arms high in surrender. "Don't me kill me. Please, I have a kid!" The man fumbles for his wallet, which he retrieves and flips open, yanking out a photo I can't even see from here. He holds it out in front of him, as if it's the only thing protecting him from death itself. "S-she's three months old. I...I...I can't die and leave her, I just can't—"
Words are lodged in my throat as I glance towards the figure, watching as they slowly make their way towards the final man.
Their altered voice fills the vacant parking garage. "I am not the judge."
"Please!" The man takes another step back, shaking the picture in desperation. "Please! I have a wife!"
"I am not the jury."
"Stop! No, no, no, no, please—"
With pristine accuracy and most definite training, they flick their wrist, sending a small, dagger-like weapon whistling through the air. It cuts the man's photo in half before settling deep in his neck.
He's dead upon hitting the ground.
"I'm just the executioner."
They don't touch my loose money. They don't reach for my backpack. They don't stick around to rate their handiwork or hear me thank them. They leave, walking right out the door those two men were headed for.
My head spins and my vision blurs, forcing me to slide down the side of my car. I pull my legs up against my chest and focus on breathing. The tears that spill out my left eye sting and I can already feel that side of my face swelling up. My chapped lips part as a sob erupts from my throat.
I pull out my phone, wincing at the reminder of my stiff fingers. I wipe at my tears, typing Liam's number in my heart. Pressing the phone against my ear, I send up a silent prayer – one that's answered just seconds later.
"Faith?" His voice rings through the phone and I breathe a sigh of relief. My mouth opens to speak, but he cuts me off, "I told you I was in a meeting," he snaps, catching me by surprise. "You always do this, you always call—" I don't remember what he finishes with, I block everything out.
"Liam." My voice shakes and he stops, mid-rant.
"Faith?" He says my name again with an entirely different tone. He sounds concerned, worried. His voice is gentle, it's soft, it's comforting. I struggle to get out a response, prompting him to soothe me. "Hey, whatever it is, it's okay. What's going on?"
The world begins to tilt again, causing me to shut my eyes. "My head."
"Where are you?"
A wave of nausea washes over me and I shut my mouth, unable to respond.
"Faith?"
I have so much I want to say to him. I want to explain what happened. I want to tell him exactly where I am and how I got here. I want to tell him that I was hit multiple times. I want to tell him I'm feeling nauseous, dizzy, even faint.
Every word except the last two that I find the strength to utter, fail me.
"Help me."
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
a/n: my dum ass really thought I could keep this chapter under 8k words and here we are, 9k strong. i hate myself sometimes afhuafuas
so besides Rico's audio, Dominic's suicidal confession, and Faith getting the ish beat out of her, i'd say this was a pretty decent chapter, eh?
Thank you all so much for NOT bombarding me with messages to update you guys made this process so much easier and I'm so thankful for you guys! I truly didn't mean for this to take almost a month!!!
Don't forget to follow my twitter (tkxo_official) – for teasers, pictures, OR COME TALK TO ME. can we hit 800 followers? Don't forget my IG (xotaintedkisses) if you want to see mafia aesthetics and of course, follow me on Wattpad! We're so close to 17K!!!
p.s. I'm still kind of getting the feel for everything in this book, so certain characters that you haven't seen yet (i.e. rosie/veleno) will be appearing soon!