xiii | incognito
a/n: lol @ the millions of comments saying faith is going to "become an assassin." have...ya'll been reading the book? the sheer trama every one of my assassin's have gone through is NOTHING compared to losing....a mom. if anything, losing her mother will strengthen her and mold her and help her comfortably reign as k—queen when she needs to be.
but faith will not be hip-hopping alongside buildings and sniping innocent women and children anytime soon so pls. stop. ur desperation for a female assassin is showing.
previously on potere...
steven finds the name of diavolo's former trainer and schedules a meeting.
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
When I say Liam Elijah Luciano moves like the president, I don't mean by the way he walks. Where each step he takes radiates a certain level of power, confidence, and dignity. I mean it by the way he travels.
Three of the most recent modeled Cadillac Escalade's idle in a half-moon right outside the grand doors of our home, their headlights illuminating the structure of the house. Two out of three of the SUV's are just decoys, positioned in front and behind the vehicle Liam and I will be riding in. Their purpose is simple; protection, and from what I understand, will be carrying a group of soldiers – just in case.
All of the SUV's Liam owns look the same. Blacked out. From the shimmering rims to the tinted, bulletproof windows. The body of the vehicle matches the black windows, blending so seamlessly that you can hardly tell where they meet. Even the rims and the wheels match. It's done so well in fact, that in the dead of night, with the lights switched off, the SUV can vanish.
Disappear.
Incognito.
The night is still young by the time I step out on the porch, overlooking the organized chaos below. A breeze ruffles through my recently pressed hair and a few strands tickle the back of my neck. Carmen helped me get dressed for tonight, plucking out a short, black off-the-shoulder dress that was perfect for this formal, yet not-so-formal occasion of meeting Angel Ferrari, Diavolo's former trainer.
Not only did she do my hair, pick my outfit, freshen up my makeup, and throw a perfect pair of opened-toed heels in my direction, she made me feel beautiful for the first time in a very, very long time.
Carmen didn't just prep me for my night at the club, Poison, but she talked – and she talked a lot. She told me a little about her childhood, like how she was born in Tijuana, Mexico, where her father, Sancho Vega worked as a cop and her mother, Alisa, worked as a school teacher. But she doesn't remember the brief time she spent, only because by the time she was four, they ran. They ran from a gang that was gunning for her father, her mother, and for her as well.
They laid low in California for a couple days, before catching a flight to Detroit, Michigan, where they had family.
And that is how Carmen and Federico's stars aligned.
They met a year later.
She didn't just tell me stories that her parents told her. While drawing the flatiron down the last section of my hair she mentioned something that was concerning her. Something I didn't know about – or realize, for that matter – until she said something.
She hadn't seen Dominic all day.
I wouldn't have batted an eyelash at the news if we were still at the Luciano home, castle, whatever the hell you want to call the enormous house that Liam had constructed for the large group of men that're willing to not only die for him, but for me as well. The place is huge, and I swear I discover a new wing every time I visit. The hallways are long. They twist, turn, and lead to rooms that even the people who live there don't know about.
It would be easy to avoid someone there, but our personal home is a little more modest in size. Sure, it's big and yes, it's equipped with all the finer pieces of technology. And let's not forget the gracious sized indoor – and outdoor – garage Liam personally designed for his fleet. But there's no way you can stay hidden from everybody all day, and because of that, I'm worried.
I raise a hand to the side of my face, tempted to run a frustrated palm down my cheek, but Carmen's previous words of warning reiterate themselves in my head.
"Mess up my contour, Faith, and I'll beat your ass worse than any trained assassin could."
I knew she was joking based on the friendly wink that followed.
I let out a soft laugh as another whisper of cool air rushes past my face, carrying the rare sound with it.
Moving briskly down the steps, I walk towards the group of familiar faces. Veleno stands near the SUV situated in the middle with his arms tossed across his chest like he's hugging himself. He sways gently, showing no signs of being cold despite wearing nothing but shorts and a sleeveless shirt. Austin and Steven stand by his side, all engaged in conversation.
"What's it like being hot?" Steven's voice greets me first. He stares directly at Veleno. "Like, I can't relate."
I approach at the worst time. Instead of replying, Veleno looks over at me. You'd think being under his gaze would be less intense than everyone else considering his quote-on-quote disability, but I'm wrong. Dead wrong. With limited sight, he isn't prone to distractions. If he's looking at you, he's focusing on you and you alone.
I squirm.
He gives me a once over and looks away. "I don't know. Ask Faith."
"Faith," Steven cuts in, "What's it like being—"
Austin's elbow introduces itself – once again – to Steven's ribcage, silencing the young man instantly. He takes the moment to speak up before Steven can.
"You look beautiful, Faith."
"Thanks," I shoot them all smiles and shake out my sweaty hands. "I'm nervous."
Veleno frowns, and I can see his mind working, calculating, rummaging through his vocabulary files for the term nervous. Based on the brief look he gives, something tells me he doesn't know what that means, or how it feels.
His frown deepens. "Why would you be nervous?"
"This may be our only chance to understand that thing that's coming to—"
"—kills us all and take names?" Steven gladly interrupts.
I nod repeatedly. "Yeah, thank you, Steven."
He smiles wildly, evidently missing my irritation.
"Don't be nervous," Austin steps forward and pulls out a folder that's been pinned between his body and his arm. He flips it right-ways up and hands it to me. I gratefully accept and flip it open. "This is everything we know about Angel Ferrari. Birthdate. Living family. Places of residence. Photos. People and well-known families that he's worked with. We provided Liam with the same information, thought you two could read over it before you meet Angel."
I skim over the first page as best I can with minimal lighting. A photo of Angel is clipped to the top left, followed by his full name, place of birth, age, and height. I shut the folder and look up, thanking both Austin and Steven for the research they put into Angel to give Liam and I a headstart.
Unbeknownst to them, Carmen and I did a little research on Angel and his club by ourselves. Well, it was mostly me, bent over, eyes narrowed at my cell-phone screen with Carmen peering over my shoulder occasionally whenever a photo of Angel popped up.
It all starts with Enzo Ferrari, the founder of what we know now as the car. A few generations later, added in with a dash of interracial couples comes Angel Ferrari, one of the prettiest men Carmen claims she has ever seen, and I can't exactly disagree with her. Standing at 6'6 with a beautifully trimmed beard and a line-up so sharp it could cut paper, Carmen wasn't the only one drooling onto my phone's poor screen.
It wasn't until we looked deeper into his club did things get interesting. Poison isn't a club situated down one of the most popular streets in downtown LA and you won't find your favorite Hollywood celeb at its bar.
You only get into Poison if you know about Poison, and long-term, upstanding LA citizens don't. The club is known famously around the underworld, and I wouldn't be surprised if a couple corrupt cops know about it too. It's a place where all the most dangerous players in organized crime hang out. From unknown assassins attempting to move through the ranks and gain recognition, to established hitmen, meeting up for a potential job.
I'm going to be waltzing right into the belly of the beast, reeking of innocence.
My palms start to sweat even more.
"—Don't be nervous." Austin's hand finds my bare shoulder and I snap out of my thoughts. Concern etches his features as he gives me a gentle squeeze. "We tightened security. Ten soldiers in that car," He nods toward one Escalade, then the other, "And ten in this one. Not only did I have a couple men scout out the route beforehand, but we have checkpoints set up from here to the door of Angel's club. When the transport passes, they're required to let Steven and I know. We'll know where you two are at all times."
You'd think the extra security would ease my nerves, but my heart only begins to race faster. "Are you expecting something to happen?"
Austin glances worriedly over his shoulder at Steven, who sets his face in a determined, strict, and professional manner. It's rare, but he can do it.
"Not at all," He assures me. I smile a bit as he rests a hand on Austin's shoulder, pulling himself forward, closer to me. "But with the Russians and Valentin...just...we have to be extra cautious. That's all."
"Austin! Steven!" The light, high-pitched voice manages to carry itself through the strengthening breeze from the porch. Rosalie stands in front the door, waving a box in their direction. "You promised that we would get to play Twister!" She points dramatically at the game.
Veleno's laugh reminds me that he's here.
"Be safe," Austin's hand slides down my arm. He grasps my hand and smiles. "We'll be here till you two get back."
Steven dismisses himself with a wave, and then I find myself alone with Veleno.
"What?" I step towards him and glance over at the house, where Austin and Steven head through the front door. Rosalie is talking adamantly about something. The door closes behind them. "You don't want to go play Twister?"
The corner of his lip lifts as he eyes me. His words come out in a low mumble. "I'm not flexible."
I smile. "That sounds like bullshit to me."
He bows his head as a laugh shakes his shoulders. When he looks back up, he's smiling. His tongue runs over his upper lip. "Fine, maybe I wasn't invited."
"Rosie? Not invite you?" I shoot Veleno a look. "Your lying skills are wavering, assassin."
He doesn't seem to take that as a challenge considering how wide his smile grows. "Or maybe you're just finally getting to know me," His eye drops from my own to my polish covered toenails. The moonlight does wonders to his eyelashes as he addresses me in a tone far lower than normal. "Queen."
"I still don't feel like I've knocked down every wall, yet."
Veleno looks back up. "You haven't. You probably won't."
"I can always try."
"That you can." He looks away, scanning the soldiers as they enter inside their vehicle, clearing the driveway. It's almost time. Veleno shoves a hand inside his pocket, tightens his smile, and nods toward the car door. "Be safe—" He turns to leave.
"Wait—" I reach out to him but stop midway. He's always turned back towards me, looking slightly impatient. "Um, I'm sure it's nothing—Carmen brought to my attention that she hasn't seen Dominic all day? Look, I know you probably have a million other things to do, but—"
"—I'll find him." He outstretches his arms and gives me a gentle shove in the direction of the car. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to go twist my body in unnatural ways to make a 9-year-old smile. Call if you need anything."
I nod, turn, and throw open the passenger door.
Liam startles me.
He's already seated, slouched slightly against the leather upholstery. I climb inside and pull the door shut behind me, purposely avoiding mentioning just how amazing he looks. Per usual. He could wear the same damn suit every day and still manage to make it look good. He's the king of patterns, solids, and hell, even stripes. Always managing to put two colors together that one wouldn't think looked good until they saw it on him. I'm amazed every time.
Tonight, it was navy blue with a pastel pink dress shirt and accents; from the handkerchief sticking out of his suit jacket to his socks, which peak out from the gap between the end of his pants and his pointed dress shoes. He must've decided against the matching, deep blue tie since it lies between us, lazily discarded while I was outside running my mouth.
"Do all women take three hours to get dressed, or is that just you?"
I welcome his playful, teasing tone and I match it. "Are you always an asshole?"
His lips part and I can hear the air that rushes out from between them. "Nine to five."
"It's eight-thirty."
"I work overtime."
I look over at him, only to catch him smiling back at me. I can't contain it anymore, and my lips mirror his as I chuckle. "You're an ass."
"You look absolutely beautiful." His teasing tone is replaced with a serious one, and I can't help but feel warm as he stares at my dress.
I mess with a strand of my hair as I admit what I'd been thinking earlier. "It's the first time I've felt beautiful in a long time."
"Well then, I'd say I need to take you out and get you dressed up more often, but you should know you don't always need an expensive dress and a face full of makeup to feel beautiful."
I laugh in his face and glance out the window as our home grows smaller and smaller by the second. "Bold of you to assume self-confidence and I have met."
Liam stares at me for a long time, and by long time I mean a few uninterrupted seconds. He responds by putting a palm on my exposed knee and giving it a squeeze. Then he leans forward, speaking through the divider that separates the driver and the soldier that sits beside him. I watch quietly as he pulls up the tinted glass, setting it in place – keeping our conversation (and whatever happens in the spacious backseat of this vehicle) between us, locking us away from the chatter that arises between the two men upfront.
Liam's only pulled up the divider twice in the span of our relationship. The first time involved our first heated argument as a couple. Our voices were muffled for the poor driver, but I'm more than sure he learned a few new words that day.
The second time was heated as well, but for an entirely different reason. We couldn't keep our hands off each other that entire day, and the only moment we could spare alone was on the ride back home. His lips were on my neck the second he closed the car door and my jeans were halfway down my thighs before the SUV shifted into drive. He yanked the divider up and securely locked it in place without his lips leaving mine, one of the many talents I didn't know Liam had.
I cross one leg over the other as the memory of that eventful ride rushes to the forefront of my mind. I remember the ache between my legs and the way my lungs burned as I did everything I could to be quiet, a command Liam gave multiple times in Italian. It was nearly impossible to keep my cries of pleasure to myself, and when it was all said and done and I had reached my peak, I bit into Liam's shoulder so hard I drew blood.
He called me vampiress for a week.
I'm going to trust that female intuition of mine and just assume that I'm not getting fucked tonight.
"I wanted to apologize." Liam's voice distracts me from the sound of the engine revving beneath us as it gains speed. The gap between us feels wider than ever. He doesn't even give me a second to question what he's apologizing for and a part of me doesn't care. I just want an apology. "I wanted to apologize for what I said this morning."
I know exactly what he's talking about. "No, no," I shake my head, face contorted in a look of displeasure. I turn my attention out the window. "What you said this morning, that was true. I'm—I'm not a queen."
"That's not what I said."
"That's basically what you said." I look over at him. "You said that I loved being queen, but I didn't like the responsibilities that come with it and I don't. I don't like them because I don't know how to do them." Liam sits back with a sigh.
"You had Michael," Just at the mention of his late father's name, I can see Liam's muscles tense underneath the fabric of his slim-fit suit. "You had someone to show you how to do what you were destined to do. To be. Me?" I motion to myself, eyes wide. "I was just a dumb, twenty-one-year-old who fell in love. I didn't have someone to show me how to be some...some..."
I huff in annoyance. "Women all around the world fall in love every goddamn day, and they don't inherit part of a goddamn dynasty."
Liam rests his hand on the seat between us, forcing me to look at him. "That's why I'm apologizing, because what I said was unfair to you. You just need guidance."
I laugh coldly. "And where am I going to get that from? Zara?"
"No," The surprise in his voice startles me, drawing my eyes to his. He's scooted a fraction of an inch closer. His eyes appear darker than usual, but still as beautifully brown as ever. A perfect reminder as to why they're my second favorite distraction. "You'll get that from me. I won't just teach you how to be a queen, I'll show you how to be king; that way, when the time comes, you can be both."
I contemplate his words for a second longer before tearing my eyes from his and looking out the window, awed by the blur of city-lights as we pass. "When the time comes?" I repeat breathlessly. Liam's face is all but a blur until I refocus. "You plan on going somewhere?"
"And leave your side? Why would I?"
Liam doesn't commit to the playful, joking tone, and the words settle like a brick in the middle of my stomach.
I crack the window half an inch.
"I also want to apologize and explain everything and maybe you'll understand and maybe you won't, but..." A sliver of air blows into the car, ruffling not only my hair, but Liam's as well. A few strands topple across his forehead, nearly landing in his eye. He brushes it away quickly. "All my life, Michael has been by my side. Giving me advice, showing me what to do, telling me who I can trust, guiding me in a direction that'll only take this family to bigger, greater, better places."
I hate a lot of things, and the list grows every day, but I don't hate anything more than seeing Liam cry.
I see the look, I know the look, and despite all the problems we have, I scoot across the backseat to be right by his side. I hesitate at first, but nothing – not even my own doubting thoughts – stop me from drawing my hand to his. I intertwine my arm underneath his and grab hold of his hand, weaving our fingers together, securing his large palm to mine.
Liam rests his head against the cool, glass window and shuts his eyes. "Initially, when he died, I thought I'd be okay. I thought everything would be okay. I had my mom back," He squeezes my hand, making me smile. "I had you, and the first few months were okay. I was treading water. I was fine, and then all of a sudden my head was under and no matter what I did—I..."
His eyes open. "I panicked, and I did what Michael always, always told me not to do. I lost focus. I was so sure that I was doing what was best by spending all my time with the family when in reality I wasn't. The family, yes, they're important – every man inside that house is, but when it comes down to it, I don't need them. I can find more of them. I can—"
Liam tightens his grasp on my hand and holds my attention with ease. "Valentin could burn that house down with all of those men inside of it, and still this dynasty would stand as long as you and Rosalie are by my side."
"I know where my priority stands now," Liam concludes. "I can't change the past, but I can alter the future."
I twist around Liam and bring my lips to his – my favorite distraction. I know I catch him off guard, because there's a few seconds after my lips meet his does he kiss back. It starts off gentle and sweet, then I feel his arms snake around me, pulling me to his lap. I let out a gasp as my shoulders press against the window, and just like that the kiss was no longer hesitant and tender, but rough and fervent.
Like we've both been wanting to kiss the anger out of each other for the longest time.
Liam's fingers dance across my thigh, and they're just as cold as the window is against my back. He slips his hand underneath the material of my dress, just as I part his lips and slip my tongue between them. My move startles him just as much as he startles me and he pulls away, a grin on his lips.
"Be careful where you put that tongue," He teases, mumbling deeply.
"Then watch the hand."
Liam smiles and leans forward. The kiss is gentle, but the tug of his teeth against my bottom lip is anything but.
I lay my head back against the glass, smiling. "Don't think I've fully forgiven you. You still have to work for my entire forgiveness."
"Really?" He shoots me a sloppy grin, "And exactly how many times do I have to go down on you to earn it?"
I roll my eyes and rest a hand on his cheek, tilting his face slightly. His smile transforms into a slight frown as my thumb runs along his cheek, directly over the fading mark of my nail. It hadn't been deep enough to create a lasting scar, and the redness behind the flesh wound had faded, leaving a scratch that would be gone by morning.
"I shouldn't have hit you, and I want you to know I'm sorry as well."
"Hey," Liam rests his hand over mine. "Don't worry about it. I guess we both have a couple of problems we need to work on."
"Oh, please, you're my only problem."
He rests a hand over his beating heart. "I'm truly honored—"
"You're such a--!" I lean against him, allowing the laughter that comes. I press my face against his suit, praying that the setting spray Carmen practically dipped my face in does its job. Liam wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my head. He kisses me again, and again, traveling down the side of my face before hovering near my ear.
I thought he was going to say something cute, but all I hear is, "Get off of me before you make my dick hard."
I lean back, mocking an offended look.
I did what I was told, technically, but instead of returning to my seat, I scoot off Liam's lap and position my head between his legs, tongue out.
He laughs, hard, before pushing me away. I scramble to my seat, our chuckles filling the backseat compartment of the car. Our laughs mix together in a harmony prettier than any song I've ever listened to, until it fades and turns to quiet giggling, only for the process to start all over again right when we think we're done.
A fist raps against the divider, instantly silencing us.
Liam leans forward, unlocks it, and pulls it down. "What's up?"
The two men glance up in the rearview mirror. "You two okay back there?"
He looks over his shoulder at me, a ghost of a smile on his face.
"Yeah, we're a little better."
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
The second half of the journey was a little quieter. I decided to tell Liam about Carmen's concern, so for the rest of the trip, the two of us did our best to reach Dom. I sent four text messages and called him eight times. It rang endlessly the first three times, then went straight to voicemail the remaining five.
Liam wasn't as enthusiastic as I was. He texted once, called once, and didn't even spare an extra two minutes to leave a voicemail. He tosses his cellphone to the leather with a huff, visibly displeased, before taking a moment to massage his temples.
I look down at Dominic and I's thread of messages. My blue uninterrupted text bubbles ascend up the screen so far it's almost embarrassing. I quickly type out, where are you? while reassuring both of us.
"I'm sure he's fine."
But the seed of doubt has already been planted. What if Valentin has him? I curse at myself at the picture that forms in my head: Dominic strung to the ceiling like a piece of meat as it ages, enduring pain most men aren't trained to handle.
I feel anger bubble in my chest. Anger directed towards Valentin and the Russians, but then it shifts – just as quickly as it forms – to Dominic. He should know better. He does know better. He understands the threat that's after us. He understands it better than everyone else, so why the hell is he walking out the house without informing a soul?
But just as I'm starting to get worked up, Liam exhales. "It's my fault."
"How on earth—"
"I can't remember everything," He cuts me off, more irritated with himself than anything. "I haven't been giving those pills to him—"
"But that's a good thing—"
"Withdrawal is not. You can't just cut somebody off medication they've become dependent on." Liam looks out the window.
"You have way too much going on to be worried about dispensing Dominic his medication," I inform. "Let Carmen do it. I trust that she wouldn't let Dom abuse it, besides, she's gotten Rosie whipped into shape. Her homework is getting done every night. She's smiling a little more each and every day, somehow managing to get all 9 hours of sleep as well – plus, a hearty breakfast each morning."
Liam lifts an eyebrow and smiles at me. "That's cute."
I glance around the vehicle. "What's cute?"
"You and Carmen. You have a friend."
I shrug and look away. "It's nice being able to talk with her. Our stories are basically the same." The window nearest to me draws my attention as we pass by an abundance of worn-down buildings. The smooth road switches in an instant as we take a right, rumbling down a street with potholes deep enough to sink a car.
Liam turns, pulling his knee up on the seat, allowing himself to face me. "How so?"
"She fell in love with a man involved in a life she knew nothing about, and eventually found herself willing to do anything she could to make him happy."
He tucks his lips inside his mouth and nods slowly. "You make it sound like your stories aren't entirely the same. What's the difference then?"
"My man's still with me."
The car pulls over to the shoulder and jolts to a stop right between two buildings. Moss grows alongside each building, wrapping around a corner that leads to the decently sized alleyway between the two structures. I peer out the window and glance up, finding it harder to locate a window on the two buildings that's still intact. Both doors are boarded up on the ground floor, most likely due to the high amount of stragglers that linger in the alleyway.
"We're here," the driver announces.
I focus more on the alley considering the amount of attention it seems to draw. My heart tugs in pain at the amount of people that line either wall, tattered clothes barely hanging to their thin frames. Most sit against the wall, talking and even laughing, despite their homeless state. Cigarettes are lit, lighting a dim path from the luxurious SUV we arrived in, to the door that sits at the end, where two large men stand, arms crossed behind their back.
I look over my shoulder at Liam, who's fixing the collar around his neck. "Why does it feel like we're walking straight into the lion's den?"
He grins. "Look alive, my love."
I'm greeted by a loyal soldier, who opens my door and extends a gloved hand. He escorts me to the curb, but we don't move until Liam rounds the car and joins us. He holds a brief conversation with security, informing them that he doesn't want to overwhelm the club by waltzing inside with a miniature army, strapped with AK's across their back and handguns on either thigh. Instead, he plucks four of the twenty soldiers (not including the two that sat upfront in our vehicle) and heads down the alley.
It takes all of three seconds for the soldiers to shift into working position. Two of them in front; one, a few paces ahead and to the left, the other, to the right. The remaining two carry up the rear, walking just a step behind my left shoulder, and the other behind my right. Liam and I are cornered, protected on all sides as we stand in the middle of four heavily armed guards.
People practically throw themselves out the way as we walk. Some press themselves against walls, while others bring their knees to their chest, not afraid that they could trip us up, but terrified that if they aren't careful, they may lose a limb. And some of them don't even appear to care; they lean over a friend, carefully rolling a twenty-dollar bill, unaware of us as we pass. There's a handful of people who're passed out, too strung out on drugs to even realize what's going on.
But it's the looks and the whispers that resonate with me, and maybe – just maybe – it's also the sound of my heels against the asphalt that triggers my epiphany.
This is power.
"Gentlemen," The largest guard greets us as we approach. He looks bored, like he has a million other things he could be doing with his night instead of baby-sitting a bunch of potentially troublemaking loiters. His eyes roll from my shoes to the top of my head. "You're late."
"And you don't have a private entrance," Liam informs, sounding neither pleased nor displeased.
The quiet guard cracks a smile as the talkative one tilts his chin. "You scared of a little crowd?"
"Me?" Liam's voice rises an octave as he chuckles. He holds his tongue as the quietest guard pulls open a rusted door. Stepping forward, Liam works the cuff of his dress shirt, and rolls it up his arm as he leans to the right, speaking loud enough for our group to hear. "Scared? Why should I be?" He nods toward the open door. "Everyone inside knows the criminal hierarchy, and they know who sits at the top."
The beat drops as soon as we walk inside. My eyes barely have time to adjust as multi-colored light beams travel overhead, obnoxiously swirling around the vast club. It's larger than it looks like from the outside. Where they found the space, I do not know. The bar, dancefloor, VIP corner, and stripper poles are a little below ground level. To reach them, you must take a couple steps down and pass through another security checkpoint to reach.
Liam doesn't show ID and the guards don't ask a single question; despite the military grade weapons our soldiers are strapped with. Liam turns heads as soon as we lay a foot on the floor, but you can tell it's the quote-on-quote amateurs that find his presence fascinating.
The VIP section is full of older men, all too busy smoking on their cigars and drinking half-filled glasses of whiskey to be bothered. It isn't a move of disrespect, and if we had walked by, I'm more than sure they would've greeted each other in Italian.
We turn down a hallway right next to a packed bar. The further we walk from the action the darker it becomes. The beautifully colored lights fade, as well as the beat of the current rap song, and the smell of smoke. My eyes adjust once again, and it's only then that I realize the hallway we're marching down is lined with some of the largest men I've ever laid my eyes on. They stand so still they may just rival the guards that stand outside Buckingham Palace.
I don't understand why a man as large as Angel Ferrari needs bodyguards. At 6'6, easily pushing past the 200 mark on the scale, he isn't somebody that I could ever see needing help if stuck down a dark alley – and seeing him in person, rather than in photographs – only proves my point. The pictures Carmen and I had seen might've been a couple years old, but nothing differs drastically except the fullness of his beard and the tattoo that sneaks its way up his collar, etched into the side of his neck.
The doors close behind us, separating us from our security and the privacy of Angel's office as he turns around, a glass of alcohol in his hand. "Mr. Luciano, Mrs. Crawford." Despite the traveling Angel has done for his career, and the variety of criminal organizations he's affiliated with, there's no denying his heritage, his background, and his blood. He's Italian, through and through, and the accent he's trying to suppress proves that.
He motions to two seats opposite of his own that we can take. Liam holds the back of my chair, making sure I'm settled before he lowers himself to his own.
Angel tosses his head back, downing the rest of his drink with a shiver. It isn't until he eases himself into the chair behind his large, ornate desk do I take the opportunity to speak first. My eyes dance along the walls, falling on a familiar symbol. A black horse on a yellow back drop.
"You're the company, huh?" I greet.
He swivels in his seat and looks over his shoulder, as if he hasn't seen his family's symbol thousands of times. A displeased sound rumbles out the back of his throat as he spins back towards us with nothing but a nod.
"Then, if you don't mind me asking, why is your younger brother in charge of it all? Shouldn't you, the eldest, have inherited the family business?"
Angel contests a smile. "You've done your research on me."
"Just as much as you've certainly done on us."
"I don't have to do much research on the Luciano family," He narrows his eyes at me, but its not intimidating or challenging. His eyes flit to Liam, and when they meet, he leans off his seat and extends his hand in a firm, commanding shake. Liam returns the gesture as Angel falls back to his seat, adjusting his collar. "I know I'm a little late, but I'm sorry to hear about your father. He was a force to be reckoned with, and he will be missed."
Liam cracks an uninterested smile. He's heard this one too many times before, and after a while it gets tiring. Directly following Michael's death, Liam received more phone calls that week than ever before. It's crazy how so many people who could barely stare Mr. Luciano in the face while he was alive, was declaring the love and loyalty they had to him once he was ten feet under, and that's exactly what Liam tells Angel.
"—Michael was all alone until the day he died," Liam concludes. He's staring over Angel's shoulder, his eye having caught a scuff mark in the wall. His gaze is distant as the same thoughts that kept him up night after night come flooding back at the mention of his father. "He lived alone. He died alone—"
"You don't think that's part of the sacrifice?" Angel leans back in his chair, and glances over at me, inviting me into the conversation. I sit forward in my seat as Luciano snaps to attention, ears perked. Angel grips the armrest of his chair as a smile plays along his full lips. "The sacrifice to be great. To be the reason the Luciano family is who they are today. You don't think everything he did wasn't for that?"
I frown. "How the hell is being alone a sacrifice?"
"I've witnessed the rise and fall of criminal empires all over the globe." Angel's eyes are solely on me. His voice is low, deep, and I have no choice but to watch his lips move as he speaks. "And what separates the good from the great, the names that are written in the history books versus those who are forgotten once the last member dies is this – the ability to separate the happiness of this world for the mission."
Veleno's voice snakes into my head. "...be willing to die for the mission."
And it hits Liam like a sack of bricks.
He rests back against his chair, mumbling in confirmation, "He sacrificed personal happiness for the mission." Then he folds a fist and punches the armrest, muttering underneath his breath, "...didn't I think of that?"
"Michael Luciano didn't appear to have any friends because he was respected and feared. The Luciano name will remain carved in the history books because of him. You shouldn't be annoyed at all the people who're showing him the respect he deserves now that he's passed, you should be proud. Impressed, even," Angel says.
"I never thought of that," Liam admits, intrigued at Angel's different point of view.
Angel throws his hands up, "That's what I'm here for, but I know that's not why you two are here..." And just like that, we're in business.
Liam shifts in his seat and clears his throat, cutting straight to the reason we're here. "Diavolo."
The expression on Angel's face doesn't change, and if I didn't know better, it was like the name hardly registered. Like he has no idea who Diavolo is.
He fights a frown as he rests his elbows on the desk and folds his hands together. "I've heard the rumors of your issue with Valentin Rostov, and I might as well send you on your way now." He motions toward the door, but neither Liam nor I move a muscle. "You picked a fight with the Russians and I can't help you."
"Just because you did a little research on me when you heard I was coming to meet you, doesn't mean you know everything. First things first, I'm not here to ask you about Valentin," Liam states, jaw clenched. "Second, I didn't pick a fight with Valentin. He picked it with us when he went to Detroit, unprovoked—"
"--unprovoked my ass," Angel retorts, visibly agitated. "The war between the De Santis and Rostov family has been ongoing for years, long before Vincenzo reigned. Valentin hated Antonio De Santis, the two had more than a few incidents between them, some you could probably read in the newspaper archives if you have a few hours, and a rainy day to spare. And don't act like Vincenzo is innocent—"
Liam shoots forward, slapping a palm on the wood of Angel's desk. I jump, startled. "Valentin ordered a hit on an innocent woman and a baby, a baby," Liam hisses. His voice draws lower and lower, "Vincenzo had nothing to do with this when Valentin involved him by killing the woman he loved and his child. Vince never retaliated. He threw—"
"—He pulled his father off the throne and took control of the De Santis empire," Angel concludes with a knowing look, "I know the story."
"Unprovoked." Liam repeats again, drilling the word into Angel's skull. "If Valentin can attack one of our families, unprovoked, then he can do it again – and who would I be, as Michael's son, to let that happen again on my watch? To put innocent people at risk because I didn't want to take a stand? This is more than just picking a fight. This is retaliation, and prevention."
"Kind of like a sick dog," I mumble, trying to put it in words I can understand. When I look up, they're both staring at me. "You euthanize them before they can hurt anybody else."
Liam and Angel make eye contact. "I just want to put him down before he hurts someone else, and what would that make you if you refused to help me? Because you chose to help a Russian over the same blood that runs in your veins?"
There's a long pause, where Angel internally struggles with the reality of it all. When war breaks out, he's going to have to choose which side he wants to be on. There is no such thing as in-between when blood starts being shed.
He sighs, defeated, and after another thirty-seconds, speaks softly. "I've met men who have raped and killed children. I've met people who are serving one-hundred years and three life terms." He looks directly at me, and a chill runs down my spine. "I have met the worst this world has to offer, yet I still saw more empathy in their eyes than when I met Diavolo for the first time."
"I can't tell you everything," He then clarifies with a dismissing wave of his hand. "I signed a contract, something like a non-disclosure agreement, like the whole doctor-patient confidentiality bullshit. Valentin flew me out there for three months, paid me three-times more than what I asked, and it wasn't until I got there did I understand why. Diavolo was not like any other assassin I've ever encountered."
"How so?" Liam asks.
"They train him like an animal," Angel answers swiftly, his confident demeanor seeming the change the more he speaks. "They treat him like an animal, and just like an insecure dog on a leash, they led him out the house in handcuffs and shackles, surrounded by six guards just to introduce himself to me." Angel runs a hand alongside the left side of his neck and turns his head, revealing the scar he's tried to hide with tattoos. "And he still did this."
Liam and I share a look.
"Diavolo doesn't use weapons, and I blame that on how Valentin raised him. You put a gun in a baby's hand, and they'll carry it around when they're older like a teddy bear, but Diavolo won't even glance at one." Angel leans back, deep in thought as his voice echoes off the walls of his office. "For three, sometimes four consecutive days in a row since he was five, Valentin would put Diavolo in their basement and toss him in a goddamn cage. Three concrete walls, no natural light, and a floor to ceiling barred prison door. No food, no human interaction, and every few hours they'd throw him a sponge soaked in water."
My mouth is dry. "Since he was five? Why?"
Liam's words come out muffled as he runs his hand over his mouth. "Dehumanization."
"Fuck," is my response.
"I spent most of my three months examining Diavolo, but nothing frightened me more than when Valentin threw a prisoner in the cage with him. He was angry, Diavolo was, and most assassin's that I've observed kill slowly when they're angry. They want their victim to feel the pain that's burning inside them, but Diavolo—he...he kills quickly when he's angry, and slowly when he is not and that is not something I've ever seen before. He does it because—"
"He enjoys it." Liam finishes.
"He enjoys it." Angel mirrors with a solemn nod.
"Answer me this," Liam sighs, "Have you seen his face?"
"No."
I frown. "You worked with him for three months and—"
"No." He repeats, and that's that on that.
"Is he deaf?"
"Diavolo can hear fine," Angel responds honestly, "But he does not speak."
It's Liam's turn to ask a question. "Does he have a weakness?"
"You killed her."
His mom.
Liam and I look at each other again.
"One on one, is there anybody that you know of, that you've trained, that could take him on in a fair fight?" Luciano glances down for a split second, mumbling the last bit, "Asking for a friend."
Angel leans back, letting Liam's final question sink in. He doesn't answer quickly, dismissing the question like he never gave it any thought. He looks at Liam and shoots him a sympathetic look. "Are you asking this because of Veleno?"
I lift an eyebrow. "You know him?"
"Vincenzo hired me to work with him right after he brought him to the states. One of the most determined, strong-willed, talented men I've ever had the pleasure of working with." After giving me the answer to my question, he turns his attention back on the man sitting beside me. "Diavolo is one of the best assassin's I've ever worked with, arguably the best in the world, and to defeat that you can't have any visible weaknesses – and unfortunately for Veleno, he has a very obvious one."
"That isn't fair," I argue, "Veleno works hard—"
"That he does, and I won't take his hard work away from him," Angel responds quickly, "But facts are facts, Ms. Crawford. Veleno can't see as well as us. He can't focus as well as we can. His field of vision is far smaller than what we're accustomed to. At the end of the day, he will never be as good as Diavolo is, and will be. Veleno can work as hard as he wants, but he's plateaued. He'll never get any better than he is now."
I narrow my eyes in a glare.
"And he knows it," my heart clenches at Angel's final words, which shut me up for good.
"Fantasma?" The nickname is but a whisper on Liam's lips as the room falls silent, everyone envisioning the fight that would play out between two of the best assassin's this decade has & and had ever seen.
Angel shakes his head, no. "How could he defeat a demon when he was too busy fighting his own?"
Reluctantly, Liam stands up. He looks annoyed as he works his jaw, probably irritated that every name he's mentioned so far couldn't contend with Valentin's monster. I follow suit, despite being a little confused at Liam's quick end to the conversation. "Thank you for your time, Angel."
Liam and I turn our back to the trainer as we head to the door. Liam's hand finds it rightful place on the small of my back as he guides me forward, his other hand reaching for the knob.
Angel's voice stops us in our tracks. "There may be one."
By the time we turn around, Angel has a paper-thin manila folder in his hand. "They're young. Inexperienced. Started making waves about two years ago. Unique choice of weaponry. Incredible skill set." The folder is slapped down against the wood as we're drawn to it. "I've trained the best assassin's this world has to offer. I know greatness when I see it, Luciano. And I've never seen anything like this before."
Liam reaches to open the folder as Angel looks up at us.
"Just because I said Fantasma couldn't defeat Diavolo, doesn't mean his bloodline can't."
There's no information inside. No brief biography or summary of their life. No date or place of birth. No hometown. No parents. Nothing. Just a picture. A slightly grainy photo taken from a distance. A thin figure with their back towards us. Wearing a heavy jacket that drapes down their back, stopping at their calves, like a cloak. I can't tell if the jacket is purposely long or if they're incredibly short. The hood is thrown over their head. A dagger sits in one hand, while a katana in the other. Their legs are spread apart, covered by a pair of tattered, black jeans; in a striking position. They're training. Honing their craft. Perfecting their incredible skill set.
They've noticed the camera, and their head is thrown over their shoulder, staring directly at us.
A young boy.
And the same hazel eyes I remember seeing in the parking garage that night.
This is him. The same one who saved my life and threatened Rosalie's all within the same week.
"Crixus Josiah Santiago."
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
"This is them. This is him." I grip the edges of the photograph Angel Ferrari provided for us of Dominic and Federico's brother. I lean my shoulder against the door of the car as the engine revs, readying us for our journey home. Liam sits directly beside me, an arm casted over my shoulder as he angles his head, studying the individual with piqued curiosity. "But why would he save my life, he doesn't know me."
I can feel Liam's eyes on me as he speaks lowly. "His brothers do. I just want to know why he's here." His thumb runs along the side of the folder, tilting the photo at such an angle that the faint ray of moonlight hits the assassin's face, then his eyes.
"He's looking for them."
When Liam doesn't say anything, I look up and repeat myself.
"He's looking for them." And it all clicks into place, as if it hadn't before. "He came looking for them, probably started following everyone he knew who was in contact with them—"
With his bottom lip poked out, Liam nods, "Would explain why he was in the area of the UCLA parking garage that night, 'cause you were."
"And he came looking for Rico when I was with Austin and Steven, but he never mentioned Dominic." I glance down with a frown, eyes scanning the picture for the hundredth time. "Why didn't he mention Dominic..."
"Maybe Dominic's help isn't what he needed."
"Maybe he doesn't know Dominic is his brother," I ponder, throwing out assumptions without much thought.
"Okay, see," Liam plucks the file from my hand and snaps it shut. He tosses it to the see to his far left, out of sight. I smile as Liam tilts my chin up with a finger, a smile playing across his lips. "That's how I know you're tired. Dominic and him share the same last name," He murmurs beneath the quiet conversation the driver and his accompaniment share up front. "If he knows Rico was his brother, then he knows Dom is too."
"Mmm," I close my eyes and send Liam a close-lipped smile. I swear I feel his lips brush against mine. "Good thing I never said I was smart."
"You really aren't."
Chuckling, Liam leans forward, briefly watching as the vehicle hurtles down the street, heading towards the highway exit. The streetlights are nothing but a blur of green and occasional yellow as we pass street after street, exceeding the speed limit by a number or two. The divider is down as Liam and I press against each other, often commenting on the conversation happening in the front.
I'm not sure what I do to initiate a kiss from him, but he turns toward me anyways, and I know that's exactly what he wants.
Wordlessly, he smiles, and leans down as I lean up. His eyes are on my lips until the very last second, until they snap up and over my shoulder. His dark brown eyes lighten in an instant, like they always do when light hits them. I witness his pupils shrink and for a split second, I see fear. Chilling fear.
Time slowed. I wish it had stopped.
There's a split second, a sliver of time between life being tolerable and disaster. I wish time had stopped so I could live within that sliver of time for a little while longer. But time doesn't stop, it just slows long enough for Liam to reach across me and lock my seatbelt into place.
He doesn't have time to do the same for his.
Nothing makes sense, and I stop relying on myself to understand the situation as my primary senses take over. I hear metal crunching. I smell rubber burning. Glass shatters. I feel weightless as the heavy vehicle loses touch with the asphalt, hurtling inches above solid ground due to the impact. I can't determine up from down and down from up as the side of the SUV drags along the ground. Until we finally roll to a stop.
I feel something wet running down my forehead, obscuring sight in my left eye.
Shouting. Men with Italian accents are shouting as car doors are being slammed and the safety feature is being released from their powerful weapons. Gunshots follow. Curses. Bodies hit the floor. I hear the familiar sound of bone crunching. Bone breaking due to blunt force.
This was no accident.
I reach blindly to my side, swiping my arm around the seat where I remember Liam last being. But he's not there. He's gone.
"Liam," His name comes out in a sob as I struggle against my restraint, trying desperately to rip myself free of the jammed seatbelt. It clutches to my chest, making it hard to breathe. Hard to do anything, for that matter. "Liam." I call his name again, but my cry is drowned away by the last wave of automatic gunfire.
That's when I realize I'm upside down.
And that's how I find Liam, lying on the hood of the car with shards of glass sprawled across his face like glitter, shimmering under the moonlight. His eyes are closed and he's bleeding. There's a cut along his eyebrow and one at his temple. Blood runs down his nostril and coats portions of his hair, matting the strands to his scalp.
"Liam!" He doesn't respond the first time, so I don't know why I try again. "Liam!"
I try to calm myself down. I try everything I can, but the eerie silence isn't a good sign. The gunfire has stopped, and the Italian voices belonging to the men that I know were on our side are gone. I only hear Russian now.
I freeze and shut my eyes, sending up a prayer to any god that has the time to listen.
When I reopen my eyes and glance down through the window nearest to me, I see them. Two black boots with scuff marks decorating the toe cap. I see a piece of the thin, black material drifting in the wind as they step forward just an inch, glass crunching underneath the weight.
Diavolo.
He's here.
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
a/n: so class, what did we learn today?
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