SHE WAS SITTING ON HER KNEES, IN THE MIDDLE IF THE NIGHT, ON THE COLD FLOORS OF HER KITCHEN. Sleep had become an absent presence for Monica nowadays and nothing seemed to comofort her besides her friend's cap, whose razor blades had been sowed in and out tens of times.
But now she had bleeding fingers and the pain stopped her from doing any more, so she had to pick up something else, another habit to calm her and waste her time. A part of her wanted to just sleep, but she knew too well that closing her eyes meant only nightmares. She got up from her spot and hissed at the low temperature of the floor on her warm feet as she approached the telephone. She wanted to call Finn so much, wanted to hear his soothing voice over the phone. She didn't even care that the cable girl would probably listen, or that the maids would hear call someone but Matteo at this time, but then again, she hardly cared.
She picked up the telephone but faced with the actual possibility of talking to him she suddenly became a coward and decided she couldn't do it. In Monica's head, calling him meant that she was wholeheartedly admitting her childish feelings towards him, and the girl was not ready to do that just yet, perhaps not ever.
Another idea popped into her head and she took out paper and a pen. Her twentieth birthday was in too weeks and she had to write the invitations anyways, and what better time than at one in the morning, when the streets are lively and filled with foolish people who believe one night of fun will make up for all those of sorrow?
Chiara was coming as well, which couldn't bring anything but happiness to the Montecello family. They loved her to bits, but she lived a happy life in the Naples, with her husband and child. Chiara has always been the one person Monica admired, mainly for her sweet heart and passionate character. Not to mention her relationship with Oliver, her husband, which Monica found to be ideal and wished that for herself.
Just as she set the pen on the paper the phone rang and she jumped at the sound, dragging the pen across the paper by accident. Her heart immediately started beating faster and a unexpected feeling appeared in her stomach as she hoped that Finn had the same thoughts that she had and decided to close the unsettling distance between them with a call.
Alas, as she answered the phone, Finn was not there. Instead, it was his older brother, a man who Monica both feared and was intimidated by.
"Mon! Monica, we've got him. We've found Franco. Come to Small Heath, now."
•••
"We meet again."
Monica smiled widely and sat down on the opposite chair from him. Finally, perhaps she would find peace. Perhaps she would sleep again at night.
"That we do, Franco," She said whilst picking up a knife from the table and toying with it between her calloused and cut fingers. She looked somewhat demonic, in her black dress and red high heels, with the unmatched red lipstick staining her lips. "I have Tommy to thank for collecting you."
"Hm," He straightened up on the chair which he was tied to. "I suppose you do. But then again, what makes you think I didn't let myself get captured? What if there are men coming, eh? What you'll do then?" Franco asked in a playful manner, trying to push her buttons.
"I'll kill them like I'll kill you."
Her now stoic face made it clear that there was no joke; today she was sending the man straight to hell with no chance of survival. Her eyes, eyes who was seen to much in too little time, were tired, and the once sparkling blue was now paled and washed, the color drowned away by the tears.
"You're a little girl who likes to play games, Montecello. I see right behind that curtain of yours, let me tell you."
Monica's knuckles had turned white from how hard she was holding her fist, trying desperately not to just shoot him and be done with it. No, he deserved more for tormenting her ever since that night, for making her jumpy and paranoid.
"You say that, but I can see your leg shaking. I can see your teeth clenching." She got up from the chair and closed the distance between them, making him flinch. "You say I'm a little girl, but here you are, afraid of a little girl. You could not harm me yourself but do not fear, as I have no issue with harming you."
He laughed dryly, even though he knew she was right. He had heard the stories, much like anyone else. Franco knew what she was capable of, but he was trying to fool her into believing he wasn't scared, believing he would find a way to get himself out of there and return back home to his children in one piece. But Monica Montecello had never showed mercy before, and there was simply no reason to start now.
"Am I going to be burried with two M's on my cheeks?"
Rumour was, Nicolhas Shell was a man Chiara Montecello used to date many years ago. Things went south, he hurt her and was seen leaving a party with Chiara's sister the following night. He was found dead with a 'C' on his right cheek and an 'M' on the other. The practice began far before Monica, however, and many who wronged the Montecello family ended up dead with initials scribbled onto their faces.
"You think you're going to get a grave? You should thank me if I don't leave your body to be picked apart by crows."
He laughed once again, as he saw how much it pushed her buttons. "Then kill me, Monica. Kill me, but I know you can't. I know you can't, love."
Furious tears were now pooling in her eyes. She picked up a swift knife from the table and drew it close to his face. "You think I can't?"
She dipped the tip of the knife in his skin and started scribbling her name, her legacy, her power. An 'M' was forming on his right cheek, and whilst the action was giving her pleasure, the man was screaming so loud it could be heard from outside the Garrison, and there was no doubt the Peaky Blinders were listening, curious as to what she was doing.
"You think I fucking can't, ay?" Monica screamed at him, unleashing the Montecello venom they all had inside of them. Franco was screaming in pain.
"Do you still think I'm a little girl?"
She started the other cheek.
"Am I playing games?"
The 'M' was finished, but she wanted more, hearing him stop from screaming was not good enough, so she started cutting other parts of his face as well, let it be his tongue, his nose, his eyes. Just as she put her knife on the corner of his mouth, she felt herself going too far, too insane, too fast. She took a step back and examined the now mutilated, but still alive man in front of her, one she had hurt and maimed. Monica realized, albeit too late, torturing him would not bring her peace.
Nothing would.
"Apologize to me, Franco."
"I will not," He could barely speak, he was on the verge of dying yet death seemed like only a distant friend, he was in between worlds and nowhere on them at all.
She cocked her gun and pointed it at his head. "Apologize, Franco, apologize before I rip your skin off your bones! If you do not, trust me, you will regret it as I am willing to spare you with an undeserving bullet but by God, apologize!"
Franco looked at the end of his powers. He was mumbling a prayer between his lips but how foolish, religious man, how could one prayer save you from an infinity of damnation? The prayers should have been said earlier, years earlier, lives earlier, as at this point prayers had only a placebo effect and would mean no salvation.
"I apologize, Monica Montecello."
Tears were streaming down her face as she looked down at him, at the man marked with the double M on his face, a man who got three times what he deserved. She had not only hurt him but humiliated him as well, proved that the little Montecello girl was in fact a strong woman.
"You are not forgiven."
And Franco met his creator.
•••
By the time she was finished the crowd outside the Garrison had dispersed and now only Finn stood there, waiting for her to come out. His mind was racing with contradictory thoughts; on one hand, he found Monica strong and impressive, and on the other he was somewhat scared and upset with himself that he hadn't truly realized what she was capable of.
When she exited the bar she had blood all over her white shirt. Finn gasped for air at the sight of her in the pale moonlight. There she was, looking like a princess of some sorts, something between a fairytale and a nightmare.
In his eyes, she truly was formidable and was more than just a girl he fancied, she was absolutely compelling and addictive. Intricate, mysterious and untamed, Monica Montecello represented more than just a crush to Finn; he saw her as wild and free and everything he wasn't, finding himself in her.
Perhaps she could complete him and make him whole, for once.
And for her, Finn meant safety and compassion and warmth. They were the same yet so different , came from the identical backgrounds but didn't grow alike, had been surrounded by the same type of people but ended up nothing like them. Even if they didn't certainly knew it just yet, Monica and Finn completes each other in more ways than just romantic, in ways many people could not and would not understand in their entire lives.
Because in the pale moonlight, when Monica got closer to him and he couldn't say a word, because he was simply so stunned at the sight of her, they both found themselves hooked. And in a desperate moment in which they both needed another body and compassion, a moment which none of them had the courage to dream of, Finn closed the gap between them and touched her lips with his.
The rain had started pouring over their heated bodies, but they could barely feel their clothes starting to stick to their skin, as lips on lips were simply too much, too much to comprehend for the pair. It was pleasure, mixed with the weighting pain that one of them had just killed a man. It was desperation and adoration in the highest form.
And once they started kissing, once they sticked their bodies together in front of the Garrison on that one rainy November night, there was no coming back.
•••
NOTE: thank you so much for 1k reads! my readers are the reason i keep writing.
also, they kissed! yay! what do you guys think so far?