A/N: *insert ear piercing scream here* yay! 1M reads! Thank you all so much!

Follow, comment, and vote for more!

P.S. - I want to thank @T-Arth for helping translate a few words and phrases.

P.P.S - I actually got a few comments that said Luciano and Omerta should do a crossover. I laughed a lot because...I mean would that not be a dream for me...but then I thought about it and here's 2 reasons why I doubt it will happen.

1.) I do not know Ms. Author of said book.

2.) The female population would come to an end because nobody's ovaries could handle that.

~ ~ ~

Where did I go wrong?

The question repeats itself constantly in the back of my head as I step out of Liam's recently washed, all-shiny black BMW. I'm pretty sure the part where I ran up the steps and not out the door was the main factor in all of this. When you're scared, you aren't thinking straight; clearly.

My eyes immediately fall over the homely looking apartment building that stands - just barely - in front of me. I latch my hand on to the top of the car door as I use it as a body shield as I can the premises.

This was nothing like the rich, money-oozing Los Angeles areas I was used to.

The outside of the building was made of brick, with ivy running nearly straight up its entire side. A pair of steps led to the entrance - which consisted of two doors barely hanging onto their hinges. I tore my gaze away from the horrible condition of the building and to its surroundings. The parking lot needed a lot of help - along with the cars sitting in the parking lot. I saw nothing nicer than a 2005 styled car, Liam's BMW surely sticking out like a sore thumb.

I managed to tap the lock button three of four times as I carefully walk towards the front door. Luciano's car beeps multiple times, indicating it's locking of the doors, but that isn't enough for me. I hit the button another dozen times before finally feeling slightly more secure.

As I stand outside the building, still hesitating on whether to enter, I peel out the thin piece of paper Liam had handed to me earlier. Rotating it between my fingers, I glance at the fancy, italic-like handwriting that told me my destination. I lift my gaze, only to find the same building number on the card, on the building ahead of me. Internally, I had wished I had made a wrong turn somewhere.

Why couldn't Liam do this? I groan on the inside as I run a hand through my hair. I rock on the balls of my feet as I take a look around, the area itself giving me chills. At this point, I was certain I would feel safer inside the building than outside.

My mind repeated my earlier question about Liam as I pushed the door open with my foot. It was clear why Liam couldn't come: he was sick. From the moment I walked into his room this morning, I knew something was wrong. His face held a layer of sweat that wasn't natural, and his constant trips to the bathroom definitely indicated that something wasn't quite right.

Melanie had insisted that he stayed home; reminding him that she would take care of him. Rosie too joined in, hands on her hips, as she ran around gathering anything that her mother thought they would need to heal her brother. When the two care-givers had left to get Liam a cool glass of water, he had turned to me and uttered words I never wanted to here: I need you to do something for me.

After convincing me that I wouldn't be shot at, choked, lunged at, or dumped in a back-alley dumpster, I went. He had handed me this slip of paper with the address and a name I could hardly pronounce with my feeble, American accent.

Federico De Santis.

Of course, Liam pronounced it much smoother than I, but I got the jist. His instructions were simple, "Tell him I sent you; and that you're filling in for me today. All he's doing is taking you to the Staples Center to scope out the place for next week." That sounded easy enough, right? "Oh, and one more thing; don't piss him off." That was fair enough.

And that, Ladies and Gents, is how I found myself in the entrance of a shithole apartment building.

The ground floor was covered in tiles that appeared to be tan and a shit color brown. Obviously, the tan had darkened and now just looked straight up disgusting. The smell of alcohol and smoke filled my nostrils as I kicked the door back in behind me; there was no way in hell I was touching anything.

A few doors were ahead of me, including a wooden staircase that led to the upper floors. Unfortunately for me, I was given no specific apartment door number, which left me lost and highly confused.

"Marty! Marty! Open the goddamn door!"

An elderly woman stands at a closed door, a broom in her hands. She supports a pair of clogs and an apron. Her hair is tied up in a net and her fist is clenched as she rattles off another set of knocks.

I bite my lip as I take a step towards her, "Excuse me?" She's mid-knock when her eyes lock on me. She takes a step back, her hand on her waist as she gives me the once-over. I watch her swirl a toothpick in her mouth as she nods.

"Huh," She seemed to be speaking more to herself than to me, "I ain't ever seen you around here before. But you look way too modest to be a stripper. Who're you lookin for, Hun?"

I stumble over my words as I un-fold my paper and glance at the name before me once more. "Um, Federico De Santis?" I say his last name with great hesitation as I look up. Her eyes seemed to flash with recognition as he nods.

The motherly woman didn't even have a second response before I see a figure on the stairwell. The man wears a form fitting suit, his hand stroking his tie as he tucks it back into his jacket. "Nobody looks for Rico," The foreign looking man chuckles as he shakes his head. He steps down onto the floor, towering over me. "Why do you need him?" Clearly, this was one of Mr. De Santis's friends.

"Uh, Liam Luciano sent me?" I sounded so pitiful and small in that moment that it was almost humiliating. I used Liam's name like it was an outlet, a safe-word. The blue eyed man nods as he points up the stairs, as if my answer was all he needed.

"Second floor, corner room."

I had eased myself onto the steps, propped myself up on my tippy-toes and attempted to find the door from the suited man's position. But when I turn around to thank him, he's gone.

There was no way my imagination was messing with me; a rat, a rat scurried across my shoe the split second I landed on the second floor. I screeched, shaking my leg widely as I hurried to the corner room.

The door I stood in front of looked fairly old. The numbers that had been engraved were faded. I spotted a small, peep-hole as I stood there quietly. The rest of the apartment seemed fairly quiet as I lifted a hand to the door and knocked. I had to bang on the door three or four times before I finally heard footsteps from behind. The sound of locks unlocking from the top to nearly the bottom of the door filled my ear before the door itself was cracked open.

"Who is it?"

"Uh," I clear my throat as I lean closer towards the crack in the door. I can't match a face to the voice I was hearing as I finished my reply, "Faith; Faith Crawford. Liam sent me."

The sound of another latch of locks unlocking fill the silence of the rest of the apartment before the door swings wide open; and the person who was speaking to me mere seconds before comes into full view.

"Grayson?"

The tattooed, dream crushing man stands before me. He wears a pair of black pants that aren't too tight, yet not too loose. His shirt is missing, which makes the necklace he's wearing stand out even more. A thin line of sweat sticks to his chest, his beautifully sculpted abs glistening without effort. I notice the longer hair style he had not even a day before was gone; his most recent haircut reminding me of a military style cut that had been growing in for a few months. To make it simple, his hair was not too long, but not so short that I could practically see his scalp.

My eyes drop to his tribal tattoo sleeve.

I finally notice the distressed emotion he has written on his face at the sound of his name. Clearing my throat, I take my chances and step forward. My sudden movements only cause him to frown and cower over me, his hand on the top of the door.

"I'm looking for a Federico." I state my point of visit as I lean to my left, getting a good look of the apartment behind him.

The living conditions behind him were no better than the apartment building itself. Pizza boxes were sprawled out on the floor, along with empty beer bottles and cans. I couldn't help but inhale sharply, which only caused me to cough; the thick smell of cigarette smoke beginning to pour out the open door.

"Speaking," the tattooed man said again. I blinked.

"I thought your name was Grayson."

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger before pulling away. "Grayson is my birth name; but technically, legally, it isn't my name anymore." I eye him, slightly confused, "I guess I should start this over then-'' He side-steps to the side and ushers me in, the sound of a door closing comes shortly after I step fully into the apartment.

I turn around as he nods, re-introducing himself correctly this time. "My name is Federico, but my friends call me Rico - and I like warm hugs." He outstretches his hands, his eyebrows wiggling as I let out a short laugh. This man didn't seem to be as intimidating as the man downstairs made him out to be.

I turn in a mini circle as I take in the rest of his apartment. The walls are bare, the paint cracking as we speak. They contain no photos or works of art that I could see. A small, two person sofa is crammed in the corner, barely standing on the legs it was designed to have. A television that easily made its way from 2002 played static, half of the screen blue. It made an unnatural noise and that's when I noticed the crack running up its side.

His kitchenette was no better. Boxes and boxes of empty Chinese take-out were sprawled on the counter. Half-drunk beer bottles were scattered around the room. I also took in notice the orange-ish colored prescription pill bottles, the labels torn messily off.

Then I glanced down at my feet. The carpet that had previously been white was now a shade of cream. Dark stains were scattered throughout the room, making me shiver. I was torn out of my home investigation by the beeping of a watch.

Rico was standing there, eyeing his phone. We make eye contact as he shoots me a very forced, slightly creepy smile. "You sort of interrupted me; do you mind if I continue what I was doing?" Figuring he meant, surfing the web, or maybe binge watching a show on Netflix, I shrugged, stepped back, and nodded.

But when Federico sauntered into his bedroom area and came back, his hand clamped around matted hair that belonged to a bound up woman, I nearly screamed. He grunted as he pulled the brunette woman to a stop in the middle of the room; Rico wiped his hands off on his jeans, as if I wasn't even there.

She finally turned around and I gasped. I stumble backwards slightly, my hand gripping the filthy counter. Her mouth was covered in duct tape, her arms were wrenched behind her in handcuffs, and her feet were tied together by a thick, white rope.

Well this is normal.

I didn't notice Rico had grabbed a pair of black, leather gloves; nor did I see him grab his gun. Most guns that I had laid my eyes on were black, some maybe even dark grey; but this one was silver.

He squats in front the terrified looking woman, who had blood trickling down a cut in her forehead. Rico tilts his head to the left, "Okay," He sighs, "Let's try this again." His throat is cleared, "Did you go to the police after you saw me kill your husband?" Federico rips the duct tape from the woman's mouth, and even from where I'm standing, I can see the expression of pain crossing her face.

Her cheeks were stained with tears, her nose red from all the crying. "N-no," She stutters. I watch nervously as Rico shakes his head; but it wasn't until he started speaking fluent Italian that my attention turned to him.

Hold the phone. "You're Italian?"

"I was raised in an Italian family," He answers, his back towards me. But as he speaks, his accent diminishes. He could switch between no accent to a full-on accent in a matter of seconds - interesting. "Why are you lying to me, Maria?" He runs the barrel of the gun under her chin, propping her face upwards. "Where do you think I got these?" Federico shakes her hands behind her back, indicating the handcuffs. "You don't think a cop gave those to me willingly, did you?"

"You killed a cop?" My occasional outburst of speech happen once again. I could see his back muscles tense as he turns his head to the left, addressing me.

"Kill is such a disgusting word; I prefer eliminate, assassinate, or maybe even terminate."

He's psycho.

Rico shakes the jaw of the woman harshly, her head in his hand. "Huh? I can't hear you." She struggles to speak, but she does so through closed teeth.

"What...what did...I do wrong?"

Federico laughs.

His laugh is so genuine, along with the smile that comes with it. He leaves me confused, bewildered even; the woman, too, sharing my same expression. Rico stands up, shaking his head as he turns to me.

"They always ask that," He chuckles, "They always ask me what they did wrong when they know."

"I don't know!" The woman spat. She desperately tried to get on her two knees, but failed miserably. "If I knew I wouldn't be asking you, you dipshit."

"You went to the police!" Rico yells as his hand waves as he speaks clearly to her.

"No, I didn't!" It was a yelling match Maria wouldn't be able to win. Federico's voice was much deeper, stronger, and didn't nearly sound as weak as hers.

"You little-''

"Wait."

Grayson, a.k.a, Rico, turns to me. I can see his nostrils flaring, a vein sticking out on the side of his head. His hand gripped the gun in his hand so hard I was sure his knuckles were about to turn white. Even Maria, matted hair and all, turns to me, a pleading look in her eye.

Rico said she was lying.

She said she wasn't.

I motion for him to come close, which he did. I lower my voice as he nears me, "You need to calm down. Scaring and possibly killing the woman isn't going to solve your problems." I attempted to give a slight pep-talk, but I most definitely didn't want to see anyone murdered right before my eyes. "So why don't you take a deep breath, think about everything, then react."

He exhales slowly as he turns around, his eyes turning to slits as he stares down the woman sitting on his floor. "You're right," He nods, "We have two ears and one mouth for a reason."

"Exactly,"

The dark haired man nods as he closes his eyes, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath.

"You ready? Are you calm now?" I let a moment pass before speaking again, hoping the breathing exercises calmed the highly wired man. He nods his head yes without hesitation. "Okay." I take a step back and watch the rest of the scene play out in front of me.

Federico lunged before I could even grab his arm. His left hand yanked at the woman's jaw as he twisted her head in an unnatural angle to the left. Her mouth opens as she yelps in pain; and that's when he takes the opportunity to shove the barrel of the gun as far into her mouth as he can, before his accented voice seeps through the stillness of the apartment.

"Omertá, bitch."

Then he pulls the trigger.

I didn't even have time to turn my head away. The lifeless body drops to the floor when Federico stands up, letting go of the woman's jaw. Her head whacks against the coffee table on the way down, but I know the woman doesn't feel it.

My body feels numb as bile seeps up into my throat.

Oh my god.

I wasn't sure what scared me the most. Maybe it was the fact that this was the second time I saw someone brutally murdered in front of me - this, was possibly the worst - considering the last time, the people killed had wanted to hurt me. This woman, she was innocent; was she not? Or maybe it was the fact that Federico had barely flinched, not even blinking, as he pulled the trigger and ended to life of a daughter, a wife, and possibly a mother.

How can someone be so cruel?

I wanted to run. I wanted to turn on my heels and head straight for the door, but my feet wouldn't move. They were practically mocking me, saying, "Sike, Bitch." I clear my throat and point both of my index fingers towards the door, just as Rico turns around.

"You know what?" I nearly choke on my words as I force my feet forwards. Left, right; Left, right. "I think I'm going to go."

"Ti sfido."

Even though I had no idea what on earth Federico had said, I stopped dead in my tracks just at his tone. I heard an unfamiliar click, then the feeling of hard metal being pressed up against the back of my skull.

"Listen, Ms. Crawford; as long as you don't piss me off, we can be the best of buddies - "

Don't piss him off, is what Liam had warned me a few hours before - I was beginning to see why.

I sigh as I turn around, my arms folded. He lowers his gun before tossing it over on the couch behind him, stepping effortlessly over the dead body now decaying in the middle of his apartment floor.

Federico bends down in a squat form once again as he cleans the woman out. He wears his leather gloves the entire time as he pats down her pockets, pulling out keys and a wad of cash. But that isn't what sent my blood boiling - gingerly, he picks up her left hand, her index finger more specifically and slides off her diamond ring. Rico tilts it in the light, running his thumb over the diamond before pocketing it. He then manages to sling the woman back over his shoulder and carry her back into his bedroom. A door slams once or twice before he comes back out, dusting his hands off.

"Okay, I'm ready."

Rico snatches a grey shirt from off the couch and slides it over his built frame. His muscles seem to constrict as he tugs at the hem of his shirt, straightening it.

"You're taking Liam's place today right? Going to go check the venue for Costello's party next week?"

I nod slowly, still managing to keep my distance from the man as he walks towards the front door. He managed to grab his gun before leaving, checking it quickly before shoving it in the back of his pants, lodged between his belt and lower back.

My chest nearly bumps into Rico's back as he stops. "Omertá," he says boldly, and then waits for my reply. I clear my throat.

"What is this 'Omertá' bullshit?"

"Code of silence," He answers my question swiftly as I step out the room and he closes the door behind him. He doesn't even take the time to lock it and I find us heading down the stairs, towards the parking lot. "You snitch, well, you saw that woman upstairs."

I surely did; and I would be seeing a lot more of her in my nightmares, that's for sure. We had just landed on the first floor of the STD infested building I'm sure when I stop. Federico stops to, turning around and arching an eyebrow.

I was having an internal battle with myself. Personally, I didn't feel as though it was okay for people to be murdered just because they let their emotions get the best of them.

We step out into the sunshine as I lead the way, Federico falling back as I point towards the car we would be taking.

"I'm driving!" I wasn't sure whether Federico even heard my previous statement, but it sounded as though he hadn't. I watch him bound towards the driver's side of the car where I stand, a laughable smirk on my face.

"No, you aren't. I have the -- "

Federico jingles the key inches from my face, a smug look on his face.

When I reach for my key, It was gone.

Federico De Santis, you murderous bastard.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

//Third Person//

He wasn't sick - he never was.

It was on very rare occasions like Liam Luciano actually caught a cold; and this, was not one of them. He had sent Faith Crawford out on an errand of his that needed doing, but it was one he knew she could handle easily with Federico De Santis. Liam on the other hand, had something much more important to do.

Liam stared out the window, anger already beginning to build at the anticipation of his future encounter with his father. He shifts his weight on his right foot, burying his hands deep into the pocket of his sweatpants as he watches Faith maneuver the car down the driveway and out the gate. That's when he made his move.

Moving swiftly, Liam threw open his closet doors and scrambled through clothes racks as he searched for a top. He managed to rip the white t-shirt off the hanger with one hand. Half the shirt was over his head before he could even close his closet door. He slips on a pair of black and white Jordan brand shoes, grabs his switchblade from his desk, and heads out the door.

"Liam? Where are you going?" Rosalie Peters stands on the steps, frozen as she watches her brother beginning his descent down them. She holds a glass of water, two ice cubs floating freely around the cup. It takes her two hands to steady the water, the muscles in her arm tightening.

"I'm going outside to get some air," His answer to her question was short and sweet. Liam snatches the water from her grasp and tilts it to his head, finishing it as his feet hit the first floor. Rosie's voice calls out from behind him.

"Okay! Have fun!"

Luciano made no intent to stop as he pulled open the front doors and exited to quietness of his home. The day was gorgeous; sunny with a breeze - he hated winter, despised it even - so soaking up the summer was a necessity for him.

Multiple gardeners and mowers were out today, taking the weather for granted. The gardeners plucked at flowers and cut down weeds as he walked by. They greeted him with their normal, "Good afternoon, Mr. Luciano," but it was rare that they received any sort of reply.

Liam pushed through the white gate that separated the backyard from the front and made his way up the paved pathway. His fists clenched out of habit when he saw the figure standing at the tennis courts.

For an aging man, Michael Luciano had perfect posture. His shoulders were erect and his back straight. As the days went by, a strand of gray hair were pop up somewhere on his head - but he supported the salt and pepper look well. Liam stood idly by for a moment as he watched his father throw a tennis ball in the hair, only to make contact with his racket and watch the ball harmlessly knock against the chest fence surrounding the court.

"That's how you're going to die," Liam's voice broke through the rattling of the fence as he continued his journey towards his father. Michael gripped the racket tighter at the sight of his son. "Alone."

A cold hearted laugh bellowed from Michael's throat as he turned his attention away from his game and on to his son; a son that looked just like him. "Are you going to make sure of that?" His father's words contained a teasing tone of voice; and Liam simply watched as Michael threw up another ball, whacking it against the opposite fence in satisfaction.

Although Michael's question was clearly meant for answering, Liam let it go. His arms were folded across his chest as Michael shot him another look, before repeating his stress releasing process all over again. His son's face didn't move from the rattling fence as Michael smacked five more balls against it, before finally coming to face the fact that his arm was sore.

Wrapping a towel around his sweat covered neck, Michael walks over to a chair, picking up a glass cup and tilting the half-full glass of scotch to his parched lips. Liam eyes him carefully.

"You're going to kill yourself before I can,"

Michael scoffed at the statement. His son had power, lots of it, but he didn't have nearly as many resources and contacts as Michael himself had. For being in the game for ten years, surely Liam knew people, just not as many as his old man. As for a response, Michael gave none. He simply tilted the glass of alcohol farther back before placing it back on its seat and turning around.

"What did you do to William?"

"Pardon?"

"William," Liam repeated through closed teeth. His father's expression held a glimpse of confusing, as if he had no idea what Liam was talking about. Fucking, Liar. "What did you do to him?"

"What do you mean?"

Luciano let out a breath of hot air as he stared down his father. "He is my right hand man. He used to let me answer his calls, and I would let him answer mine; but right now, I don't feel comfortable with letting him do that, and clearly, he doesn't feel comfortable leaving his phone with me."

"If you two need therapy, I am surely open to pa- -"

Liam lunged.

In the 0.5 seconds it took Liam to reach his father, he had managed to reach into his own pocket, snag his knife, flip it open, and press it sharply to the right side of his father's neck. Anger that had been building for not only months, but years, made Luciano's patience thin with his father.

Michael didn't even flinch. Liam had a hand cupping his father's face, pushing it to the right, against the knife he had ready to pierce Michael's flesh.

"I know how easily Will can be manipulated," Luciano whispered harshly, watching the reaction his father made whenever he flinched his hand, the knife bending - but not breaking - Michael's skin. "You've manipulated him before, you can do it again. You've murdered people that were close to me, and you could do it again. But I swear if there's a God in heaven, I will kill you before you can hurt anyone else."

"You threatened to kill me before, mio figlio."

A speck of blood appeared on the knife as Liam put even more pressure against it. His father gritted his teeth, grinding them together at the second of pain.

"I mean it this time," The intensity burned in Liam's eyes as he clenched his jaw shut. "I may poison your food tonight at dinner or I may hire someone to kill you while you walk the streets." Luciano stabs an accusing finger at his father, as his words are spat right in Michael's face, "You do not know when, and you do not know how, but you better believe you will die on my word, and on my hit."

Liam pulls the knife away from his father and storms off down the hill, leaving Michael to recollect all his thoughts.

The older man scoffed at his son, "You forgot to drop the mic."

~ ~ ~

A/N: Again, this is a part 1 of a chapter so I hope you all enjoyed it! I will be picking up next chapter with Faith and Mr. De Santis.

Are you not proud at how fast this update came?! THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN ASHLEY GETS TIME YA'LL!

edited, hardly.