xix | surrounded

a/n: happy early birthday to my girls on IG, and my king, luciano. tomorrow is the day.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

One week. It's been a week since we've seen or heard anything from the Russians. A week since the fight at the club transpired. A week since Veleno drove a knife through the palm of the Russian's son, their guardian angel, their demon. It's been a week since we started looking for Veleno's daughter, Analía, and over a week since she went missing.

The lack of Russian sightings should be a good thing, but the constant feeling of dread that tightens my chest tells me it isn't. Every day that passes by without a pathetic attempt to scare us only makes me more cautious, and even more concerned. We are more on edge than ever, unsure as to whether the incident at the club scared them more than we thought – or if they're pacing in the shadows and waiting for the right moment to strike harder than ever before.

Then there's Analía. A five-year-old girl who did nothing to deserve this, and a mother whose worry has caused her to shut down. Savaughna sits with us, she eats with us, and she nods her head whenever we try and engage in conversation – but she's stopped speaking. She believes her baby is dead.

Veleno has yet to acknowledge that the child is his, but the situation is wearing him down. He's frustrated, and yesterday he snapped at Rosalie when she asked him a simple question. He picks at his food, stares at his drink, and according to Austin, has intensified his training with the family. He put a fellow soldier in a headlock two days ago. The soldier was hospitalized in critical condition.

I don't want to believe that the little girl is dead. I told Savaughna that we would bring her child back to her. I placed all of my faith in Liam, in his word, and as the hours pass, I can feel it beginning to falter. I can feel my hope slipping out the palm of my hand. And the one thought I refuse to entertain sneaks its way into my mind this early November morning, as I stare at my reflection in the large, bathroom mirror.

Analía is dead.

I turn the faucet on and let cold water rush into the palm of my hands. I lower my head and splash it on my face, letting it mix with the warm tears that slip out the corner of my eyes. When I draw my head back, Liam is standing behind me.

I stare past my reflection and focus on his. A week has done his facial hair more than just good. He pairs his fitted, black dress pants with a navy-blue turtleneck that hugs his shoulders and clings to his biceps like an excess layer of skin. He has the shirt tucked into his pants and paired with a belt. He's busy pulling the sleeve of his shirt up an inch to successfully latch a diamond studded watch to his wrist.

I don't have to say anything. Liam knows.

"We'll find her."

In my own irritation, I slap the marble counter and spin around. "We've searched everywhere, Liam. Everywhere." I raise my voice in anger, not at him – he's doing everything that he can – but at the situation. "Savaughna hasn't said anything, but she's loosing hope. She's lost hope. Even Veleno—"

Liam clicks the watch securely on his wrist and lets his arm fall. "Veleno never had hope to begin with, Faith," is his argument.

"I know that."

I lean back against the counter as Liam takes a step forward. It isn't intimidating. It doesn't scare me. His voice rises when he says, "I am doing everything that I can—"

"I know." My voice sounds hoarse, like I spent the entirety of yesterday screaming in frustration. "I know." I repeat. I meet Liam as he meets me – right in the middle. I grab at his waist, at his arms, before finally lifting my hands to his face. My fingers brush along the hair on his chin, on his jaw, that will soon be longer than the strands that cover his head. "But your everything isn't enough—"

He takes that personally and removes my hands from his face. "What do you want me to do, Faith? I've had Veleno search every single home in this area that I know Valentin is associated with—what more do you want me to do—"

"I don't know." I answer honestly, "And I don't care what you do." My hands fall to my side as I lean backwards, pressing my backside against the counter. I put myself in Savaughna's shoes. I put myself in the shoes of a mother who has lost her everything. "All I know is, I looked her—I looked Savaughna dead in the eyes and told her that we would bring her baby back."

"Michael used to tell me that our word is all we have, so when I told Savaughna that I would bring her child back, I meant it." Liam says. "But Faith, I never said I would bring her back alive."

I feel like I've been punched in the gut.

I don't realize I'm crying until I feel a tear drip off the edge of my jaw. I use the back of my hand to wipe it away. "Don't say that." I manage to choke out.

"You know who we're dealing with—"

"I refuse to let you walk through our doorway with that little girl's limp body in your arms! We have to save her—"

Desperation is his tone as he sighs and mutters, "I'm trying."

"We have to—"

"Faith, we can't save everybody."

"I want to." I wipe at my face as more tears well up in the corner of my eyes and fall, rushing down my face in streaks. "I want to save everybody. I want to help. I want to try. We have to try." I sniffle and lower my attention to my hands. "We can save everybody. You just need to have faith."

The irritation has washed away from Liam's expression by the time I look up, stifling a pathetic smile at the usage of my name, and what I believe he needs. His grin is contagious as he chuckles in a low manner and steps forward, pulling a hand from his pocket. He reaches out for me and grabs my chin, forcing me to tilt my head back and watch him as he moves closer.

He leans down, whispering, "I will always have fiducia."

Because he will always have me.

His kiss is so gentle, his lips so soft, that I swear I imagine it. It's short-lived, but when he pulls away he embraces me in a hug. I love his hugs. I always feel safe. I always feel loved. My arms snake under his as I attempt to pull him closer, grasping at his skin underneath the material of his turtleneck.

Liam leans back as the last tear falls. I let it roll down my cheek as he runs his hand down my arm and entwines my fingers with his. He presses our palms together. His eyes remain on mine, even as he pulls my hand to his lips and turns it slightly, pressing a kiss to my finger. It's a habit, I'm beginning to notice. He always – he always kisses my ring finger, even though no ring sits on it.

I press my palm back to his before he can let me go, tightening the hold we have on each other. Our hands hang in suspension between us. "I need you to understand—I hope you understand, if this was you...if something happened to you, I would do more than everything to get you back, to save you. And if I would do that for you, I have to do it for her."

Liam's lips curl slightly. He nods. "I understand."

Our moment ends as soon as the sound of Liam's ringing cellphone reaches the bathroom. He doesn't voice an apology. His eyes tell me that he's sorry. He lets go of my hand and trails a path out the bathroom and to the side of our bed. I follow him, only to stop underneath the doorway. I lean against the doorframe as he lowers himself to the mattress and glances at his caller ID.

His expression tells me it's an unknown number.

He answers the call with a tap of the screen, and with another, puts the caller on speaker. He greets with a simple and efficient, "Luciano." His accent does more than just make him sound attractive, but it adds a level of authority over the American that sits on the other end of the line.

"I don't think an introduction on my part is necessary, Mr. Luciano. You know who I am."

Liam's eyes lift to mine and I curse for him. Richard Davis, one of the four LAPD commissioners. Our fallen ally, former commissioner of the LAPD, Aadya Lopez, was the reason Liam had more than enough power of the police force that watches this city – his city. But with her death, just a week ago, we knew things would change. And it was only time before we got a call from the one man who disapproved of Liam Luciano and the chokehold he has on the entirety of the LAPD.

"Aadya's funeral is today." Richard continues. "You're the reason she's dead, and if I see you anywhere near the church her service is being held in, or remotely close to the hole she'll be lowered into, I will put the FBI—the CIA—and anybody I need to on your ass to make sure you've locked in a cell for the rest of your goddamn life."

Liam cracks a smile. "Is it too late to offer my condolences to Aadya?"

Richard doesn't seem to appreciate the evident sarcasm. "Listen to me—"

"No." Liam stands. "You listen to me. Crime in this city, and those surrounding are down because of me. Armed robbery is down because of me. Burglary is down because of me. You still have a job because of me. I will not let you threaten me, scare me, or run me out of the LAPD just because Aadya is dead."

"You don't seem to understand—"

"I know exactly why you chose today, of all days, to call me. To try and threaten me. You're a racist pig who is aware that every leader in California's law enforcement is on their way to LA for the meeting of a lifetime. All of them coming to speak on a topic you know I'm passionate about. Saving innocent, black lives from the hands of your—"

Liam clamps his mouth shut. A fire is lit behind his eyes.

"Listen to me closely, Davis. Nothing will change regarding my position of power over the police department that you commission. I will be in that meeting later today, and I will be sitting right beside you. And if you ever call me and attempt to threaten me again, I will make sure your wife and three kids know that you fathered two more children out of wedlock and are still paying their mother hush money."

I smile at the silence on the other end of the line.

Richard's tone has completely changed. "I will save you a seat, then."

"Commissioner?" Liam pauses, making sure he has the man's undivided attention. "In regard to the Central Intelligence Agency and the Federal Bureau of Investigation? I have people in there, too."

Liam hangs up, and the phone call we have been speaking of ends just the way we imagined it. There was no doubt that the commissioner who took charge after Aadya wasn't keen on Liam's control, but it played out just like we hoped. Liam killed it, and I couldn't be prouder. The growing smile on my face shows that.

I fold my arms across my chest as Liam looks up. "I have this weird feeling that you like putting the fear of God into people."

"I do." He smiles and jokingly adds, "It's a hobby."

His eyes leave mine, but mine never leave him as he moves throughout the room, plucking a few remaining jewelry accents from the nightstand and his dresser. He stands before the full body mirror as he positions a set of diamond earrings in his ears. I always thought I was special because I get to see a side of Liam many don't. But I also get to see the side of Liam that everyone fears – and I adore them both.

Watching Liam get ready always hurts. It hurts because a painful reality always finds its way into the back of my mind whenever I see him straightening his tie, buttoning his suit, or running his hand through his hair. It hurts because there's always a possibility that Liam won't return.

He stands before me now, looking as heavenly as the most powerful angel. How someone as beautiful as him could ever fall in love with someone as normal as me, will be a question I'll ask until I take my last breath. I absentmindedly touch his cross necklace, which still hangs around my neck. He gave it to me a week ago and hasn't asked for it back. I figured he forgot, but as I reach around my neck to complete his perfect outfit, I feel him stop me.

"No." Liam simply says. "It's yours now."

I don't have time to question his decision.

"I'll be in meetings all day," He continues. "I don't want you to feel trapped in your own home, and I don't have a problem with you leaving the house, just—"

"Take security." I anticipate. "Yes, I know."

Out of habit, Liam presses his hand to where his tie would be as he leans over to kiss me. A goodbye kiss. I grab hold of a loop in his pants before he can move out of arms reach. I don't want him to go, for many reasons. One of them being the feeling that settles in my stomach, warning me that I shouldn't let Liam out of my sight – at least not today. The other one being, there's still a few things I want to address before he goes.

"Giovanni." I blurt out. "It's been an insanely busy week so I haven't had the chance to ask, but who is he and why haven't we met before the incident at the club?"

"We lost a handful of men the night of our car accident," Liam explains. I know he's in a rush to leave, but he doesn't act or speak like it. He's patient. He's patient with me. "We lost every soldier on my personal security detail. I only offer those positions to the best, and Giovanni made the cut." Liam's eyebrows form together. "You'll be seeing a lot more of him now that my former commanding officer is dead. If that's going to be a problem, say the word and I'll demote him."

I don't anticipate an answer when I ask, "You'd do that for me?"

I know Liam would.

My hand finds his as he leads me out the door of our bedroom and across the vast, second floor. We move down the steps hand in hand, footsteps in unison as Liam's cellphone vibrates in his pants pocket. He doesn't need to look at it to know that his transport is outside, idling.

We're nearing the bottom of the stairwell when Liam speaks again. "What else is on your mind?"

"Steven."

We reach the first floor and stop. "What about him?" He questions.

"His punishment." Liam looks like he's forgotten. "Look, I know it's been hectic, but Steven is the reason over twenty of our people are dead. And as much as I like him, I don't think he should go without—"

Our front door opens and four men storm in, cutting me off midsentence. I take a step back, distancing myself from Liam as they position themselves around him. They nod at me and I nod towards them, appreciating their dedication and their respect. Their purpose is simple. To escort Liam from the house to the waiting vehicle, and if necessary, to lay their life down for him if something goes wrong from the doors of our home to the SUV.

"I am punishing him, my love."

I lift my eyes to Liam, frowning.

"I am punishing Steven." He clarifies. "Steven's mind is his own worst enemy. An overthinker if I've ever met one. He is so convinced that I am going to punish him in a brutally, unimaginable way. There's no doubt in my mind that he's losing sleep as he awaits my punishment. But the punishment has already started. I'm punishing him by making him think I'm going to punish him."

I smile. "You're diabolical."

Liam laughs. "No. I'm just trying to find an even line between being the merciless king my father was and the compassionate side of myself I'm afraid I'll lose. I don't want to live in Michael's shadow for the rest of my life. I don't want my men to fear me. I don't want to torture the men that work for me, that will lay their life down for me. I don't want to live in Michael's shadow for the rest of my life."

"You won't." I reassure him.

"I know." He steps forward, and his soldiers follow. He shoots a playful smile to his left, then his right. Liam's gaze falls back to me. "When I was fifteen, Michael looked me in the eye and asked me a question that I still think about to this day. It's time I ask you.

What kind of king will you be, Faith?"

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

What kind of king will you be?

The question Liam poised to me before leaving me with one last kiss echoes in my head for most of the morning. But it's a question I find myself struggling to answer, as if two sides of my personality are trying to defeat the other. I hear Veleno telling me to show no mercy, but I also hear the gentleness of Liam's voice as he tells me that the goodness of my heart, and my compassion, are the reasons he loves me as much as he does.

I put my thought process of the question on hold as I rap my knuckles against Carmen's door. I haven't seen her much since the club incident. She spends most of her time in her bedroom or with Rosie. She hasn't accompanied Zara to the company all week, and that's why I'm concerned, because I know just how much she was enjoying it.

There's a mumble in response to my request to enter. I take it as a yes and push myself through the door.

Carmen and Dominic both occupy her room, and her bed. Her sheets are unorganized and messy, but that didn't stop Dominic from flopping on top her mattress and falling asleep. He's discarded himself of his shirt and lies on his stomach, his face buried in a pillow. I can see a hint of the dark hair that covers his jaw, his chin, and his upper lip – facial hair that he hasn't touched in over a week. His curly hair is even longer than I remember it being last.

It isn't until I take a few more steps inside do I see the small figure curled up at Dominic's side. Rosalie.

Carmen sits cross-legged on the other side of the bed, clutching a t-shirt. She smiles warmly at me and urges me forward, knowing my hesitation with Dominic being in the room. She casts a brief glance at him before focusing on the shirt in her hands. "Don't worry about him."

I stare at Dominic a second longer, before adjusting my attention on Carmen. I'm not afraid of Dominic, and I'm not going to run from him either. "I'm not worried about him; I'm worried about you." Carmen looks up as I move to stand in front of her. She looks tired, but beautiful none-the-less. "Zara left for the company; said you haven't been with her all week. Also said she kind of misses you talking her ear off—"

The air that rushes out her parted lips sounds like a laugh she didn't commit to. She diverts her eyes from mine. "Zara didn't say that."

"She did." I turn and ease myself on the bed beside her, narrowly avoiding Dominic's feet. "I thought you liked going there."

"I do." Carmen sounds strained as she admits the truth to me. There's a pause and I wait. I wait for what I expect is coming; the truth, and nothing but. I expect to hear her come forward with me, explaining just how terrified the Russian attack at the club left her. It was the first time since she's been here that she was involved in something personal, something she'll never forget. And she has every right to be afraid, but that fear can't paralyze you – as I'm coming to learn.

"I love going to the company with her." Carmen finally continues. "Zara's a good teacher. She teaches me a lot, like how to run a company and stuff, especially since I..." She catches herself running ahead of her words, but this pause is different than the others. It's reflective. "...I always wanted to own my own orphanage."

The way she smiles softly, trying her best to hide the light in her eyes tells me just how happy it makes her by just thinking about her plans. I tilt my head towards her and simply ask, "Why?"

"After my family had to leave Mexico and we made a home in Detroit, I remember telling my mom just how unfair life was." Carmen looks over at me and shakes her head, disappointed in her young self. "I had to leave my friends, and the family that remained there—but I didn't realize how blessed I was till we visited the local orphanage. Our monthly visits became weekly. And when I got older, I started going there by myself just to visit. We would bring food every Thanksgiving and gifts every Christmas and I wish you could've seen the smiles on their faces—even though they might not have gotten what they wanted, they were happy. Even though they didn't have parents to love them—"

I look away from her as her words register.

"They're the reason I studied social work. Rico is the reason I studied social work, and why I spent my time minoring in psychology." She frowns momentarily, "He always said that I was too busy taking care of him to face my own problems—"

I let some time pass before asking another question. Carmen's problems. I haven't known her long, but I do know what she's referring to. Her insecurities. Her body. Her weight. "Is that what's been bothering you this week?"

Carmen shrugs.

"You can talk to me," I urge.

She responds as one typically would. "I don't want to add more shit on your—"

"Carmen. Don't bullshit around this, please. I ask because I care. You aren't burdening me or bothering me. And if I couldn't handle it, I wouldn't have asked—so, again, what happened to make you upset? Was it the soldier in the meeting with Savaughna?" I don't wait for her to confirm. "He's an asshole, Car."

"Do not call me that." The sweet-sounding tone of Carmen's voice, which is always mixed with the faintest hint of a Hispanic accent switches on a dime. She grinds out those five words which as much venom as her pure soul can manage. Her brown eyes mirror Liam's whenever he's upset. The glossy appearance that follows seconds later, followed by a tear finding its way to her outer eyelid grabs at my heart. I can't even form a decent enough apology. "Please, please don't call me that."

She uncrosses her legs and slides off the bed, wiping at her eyes as she does so. My "I'm sorry," is drowned out by the shuddering breath she exhales as she puts pressure on her eyes, doing everything she can to keep the tears from falling.

"It wasn't about him." She says before dropping her arms to her side. "I mean he didn't help—who was that guy? Not the soldier, but the one who helped us at the club. Do you know who he is?"

I hide my smile. "All I know is that his name is Giovanni Marcello Esposito, he has an amazing accent, a flawless skincare routine, teeth as white as snow, and was checking you out without shame."

A blush creeps to Carmen's cheeks. She bends down to grab a discarded pillow at her feet and chucks it at me. I catch it. "Shut up! I mean, I noticed, but shut up."

And I throw the pillow right back, hitting her square in the face. "How are you gonna hit me and then agree with me?"

Carmen pulls the pillow from her face and clutches it to her chest. Her grin is wide, contagious, but falters too suddenly. I don't have to pry anymore. "I hate my body."

My eyes drop from her face to the tip of her toes in a quick assessment. "What's there to hate about it?"

"My thighs touch. My stomach isn't anywhere close to flat. My hands are fat, and my fingers are short and ugly. My face is fat." Carmen huffs as she lets it all out in one breath. "I'm fat."

"Okay, but that ass? Definitely fat."

Carmen clenches her jaw and in a disapproving tone I've heard one too many times, mutters, "Faith." I shoot her a smile she can't possibly stay mad at. "Faith, I'm being serious."

My smile drops and I stand to my feet. "So am I. You're gorgeous, Carmen."

The look on her face tells me she doesn't believe me, and I don't expect anything else. Fat has been a word that's probably followed her around wherever she's gone – whether it's her own mind chanting it, or bullies that surround her. She's convinced herself that not only is she quote on quote, fat, but not beautiful either. But all I see is a loving, kind woman with a personality most people in this cold world don't possess. I see a short woman with large thighs and a stomach she isn't proud to show off.

All I see is a woman lacking confidence because she doesn't fit the mold of what society deems as beautiful.

I can't say I've never felt the same, because I have, but not to the extent or length of time Carmen has. These are insecurities that have followed her all her life. These are the problems Rico must've referred to, when he said that she spent so much time comforting him, that she never faced them head on. And now he's gone, and he took whatever ounce of confidence Carmen had left with him.

"Where is this coming from?" I speak up when she doesn't. Her eyes have fallen to the floor and when I realize she's crying; I take a cautious step towards her. "Is this because of Giovanni?"

"This isn't because of Giovanni!" I raise my hands in defeat as her head snaps up and her tone turns harsh. Tears free-fall from her eyes as she repeats herself, "This isn't because of Giovanni—all he did—" She takes a second to recover and sighs. "He looked at me—he looked at me the same way Rico would look at me, like he wanted me."

I frown, my eyes darting to take in her entire expression, trying to figure out where she's going with this before she gets there.

"And Zara—she apologized, but what she said, was it true?" I take a couple steps back. What Zara said regarding Federico and Carmen was brutal and unnecessary, and despite the apology, only fueled the negative thoughts Carmen already has about herself. It was her comment about Rico never sleeping with Carmen, never taking their relationship to another level, plus the comment our soldier made, and the thoughts that already circulate in Carmen's mind that caused this bout of depression, I suppose. All it did was make her insecurities flare to the surface.

"Carmen, you know it wasn—"

"What, true?" Her laugh is cold. "Rico wasn't a virgin, Faith. He slept around. So, what was wrong with me? What is wrong with me that he—" Carmen's leg shakes as she bites her lip. A nervous habit, possibly. "—I mean did he just date me because he knew I've had feelings for him for...forever? Did he date me out of pity? Did he kiss me because he had to? Because he couldn't sleep with someone as ugly as me?"

I focus on Carmen, and Carmen alone. "Look at me." She does exactly that. "He made you smile. He made you laugh. He was your confidence. Because there's no doubt in my mind that you felt better about yourself with a man as fine as that on your arm."

Carmen laughs, and I nod – because I know. I know how that feels.

"Don't let the doubt ruin what you remember of him." I continue. Carmen bows her head, her smile matching my own. "Rico was the most complex person I've ever met. I'll never understand him, and I won't try to, but everything he did had a purpose. We'll never know this one. All I do know is that he stood in front that camera and claimed you queen—that's love."

The whites of her eyes turn red once more as another wave of tears prepare to break. She looks up at me. "He always told me that I was so busy trying to teach him to love himself, that I never learned how to love myself. I guess he was right."

She sounds like she's talking more to herself than me.

"I think it's time we learn." Carmen looks perplexed, but let's me add. "We can't rely on men to love us, so I think it's time we learn to love ourselves."

She doesn't fight me on that, in fact, it sounds like she agrees in her own way. "It'll take a while," Carmen responds humbly.

"Yes, it will," I reply truthfully, "but I know we can do it. You can do it. You're a bad bitch."

Carmen laughs and dismisses me with a "Shut up."

"I'm serious."

Her grin fades as she eyes me. She starts to nod and breaks eye contact. "Yeah, well, maybe I'm just trying to keep up with you, King."

"Okay, see, now you're being extra."

We dissolve in a fit of quiet laughter that makes my cheeks hurt. And when it dies down, I pull Carmen in a reassuring hug. She wraps her arms around me and tells me she's thankful for me. I'm thankful I met her. I'm thankful for her.

And when we pull away, there's no doubt about it.

Carmen Vega gives the best hugs.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

With Carmen in a better mood, we both decided it would be best to get out the house. We managed to convince each other to trail Zara to the company; a place Carmen enjoys, and one I don't visit as often as I should. We both get dressed, while I simultaneously inform Austin of our decision to go out. He schedules an appropriate time to send our transport, accompanied by security, and hangs up. But before we leave, breakfast.

Savaughna and Veleno are in the kitchen when we walk in, seated atop stools that surround the marble island. They use the aesthetically pleasing seats to twirl playfully in a circle. It's the happiest I think I've seen Savaughna since she's been here; comfortable and relaxed, like she trusts the company she's in.

A plate of pancakes sit on the burner, staying warm. Their conversation remains at a low mumble as I fumble around trying to find two clean plates and cups. Carmen joins me at my side as I slide a plate over towards her, including silverware. She gives me a low smile and nods upwards, towards the two sitting across from us.

"Okay, I've been wanting to ask you this for a while." Savaughna spins to a stop and prepares to dig her fork into an equally cut bite of pancake. "What was your first impression of me?"

Veleno lifts his glass of orange juice to his lips and twirls his stool, facing her. "I thought you were a bitch." He takes a sip of his drink while Savaughna recovers. He lowers the glass from his lips as they curl slightly. "I wasn't wrong."

She throws a weak, but playful punch in his direction. Veleno's eyes never leave Savaughna's face, yet he catches her fist in the palm of his hand effortlessly. He holds her hand in his for a second longer than necessary, and drops it. Savaughna laughs. Veleno just smiles.

"What about me? What did you think of me?"

The two don't seem to mind when Carmen and I sit down across from them, our plates full. They haven't even acknowledged us, let alone glanced in our direction. Veleno senses our presence and is less likely to be startled than Savaughna. His shoulders look tight, his posture less relaxed than it was moments ago. Carmen, too, notices that – as well as the shape of Veleno's shoulder, which is exposed thanks to the sleeveless compression shirt that clings to his upper body.

How Savaughna is able to sit beside him and stare at his face rather than his chest is unfathomable to me.

She chews thoughtfully though as she rests her elbow on the countertop and clutches her fork. She shakes the utensil in thought before swallowing and finding her answer. "I thought you were...nice."

"You're lying."

"I am not."

Veleno rests his hands on his thighs and leans forward, a smirk teasing at the corner of his lips. "Nobody has ever looked at me in all my twenty-five years of life and said, he looks like a sweetheart." His eyes narrow. "Be honest."

Savaughna sighs and turns to face her breakfast. We lock eyes for a short period of time before she looks back over at Veleno. "Honestly, I thought you were missing something."

Veleno stabs his pancake. "If that's another eye joke—"

Carmen nearly chokes on the food in her mouth, and I have to stop sipping my juice to save myself from spewing it on the woman across from me. But Savaughna doesn't laugh, in fact, she looks more apologetic then anything.

"No! No, God no. I'm dead serious." She looks down. "You're missing something."

It's clear she can't find the word she's looking for, so I offer some assistance. "Compassion?" I try.

Carmen swallows quickly and pitches in. "A sense of humor?"

"Attractiveness?"

"An eight-pack?"

"Talent?"

"A big di—"

"I'm going to stop you right there." It's the first time the two look at us with purpose. Veleno looks irritated, while Savaughna just aims her fork in Carmen's direction. "That last one? I can confirm."

Carmen's lips peel apart in a grin. She casts a look to me out the corner of her eye and mouths, "And I oop—"

"Smart move." I tell her aloud. "Reverse psychology. Works every time."

"I had to hear it for myself," Carmen laughs softly. She glances at Veleno, then at Savaughna and shrugs. "For research purposes, of course."

Veleno blinks, but the sarcasm in his voice is obvious. "Of course."

"Can I ask you how you lost your eyesight?" Veleno doesn't miss Carmen's playful wink before focusing on the hand that's sits on his forearm. Savaughna leans back, quietly apologizing for the question, and for touching him.

I expect Veleno to hesitate more than he does, but I catch his eyes fall on me. I remember his story, about what he opened up to me about in private, and I wonder if he's going to go into detail with Savaughna. His mind is in overload as his lips part, a part of him trying to convince himself that he needs to let go – to explain the entire thing, to not hold back.

"It's a long story," He begins, dare I say, nervously? Veleno shuts his eyes.

"You don't have to—"

"She was an assassin, hired to kill me." He opens his eyes again, and the blue of his iris is as cold as ice. "I slept with her not knowing—actually, you were the first woman I was with after that—"

"Why? You couldn't have trusted me."

"I was lonely, and I saw you across the room and thought, well—I wouldn't mind losing my other eye to her."

Their laughter in contagious. They're in their own little world, and all Carmen and I can do is watch from the outside. We keep our obnoxious comments to ourselves, and glance at each other occasionally whenever a look of wonder passes Savaughna's face – because we know. Every second that passes, every brief glance from the corner of her eye when Veleno is eyeing his food, and every smile that lingers on her face longer than it should, lets us know. Savaughna is falling.

She takes a swig of her drink and sets it down. "Happiness." She says after a brief pause. "That's what your missing." And I get why she says that. He doesn't smile as hard as she does. His laugh doesn't bury itself deep in the pit of his stomach like hers does. He doesn't look happy like we all often do. "Have you ever been happy?"

It's a question too deep for the breakfast table, but she asks it anyways. Savaughna may appear quiet, shy like most, but she's bold. Bolder than she makes herself initially appear, and that's why she caught Veleno's attention in the club that night. He's different than most, but as is she.

Veleno finds his attention caught on a loose string of his shirt as he tugs it, eyeing Savaughna. His face turns a slight shade of red from her stare, from Carmen's stare, and from mine as well. He tears his eyes from her and looks over at me, at Carmen, then down at his feet. "Happiness?"

He says it like he's never heard of it before.

Savaughna gives me a look: pity. "Yeah," She eventually says, "Like..."

"Christmas morning." Carmen speaks up. "Like Christmas morning as a kid. When you wake up and run downstairs and there's presents everywhere, and you sit down and open up the one toy you were absolutely dying for—happiness."

Veleno frowns. "We never celebrated Christmas."

"I thought your mom was—"

"—A Christian, she is." He cuts me off. "But dad wouldn't let her buy gifts or decorations. Said she was wasting money on stupid shit. Wanted the money for alcohol." Carmen reels backwards and all I can do is frown. Savaughna looks like somebody personally hurt her. But Veleno laughs, trying to ease the growing tension and lifts the baseball cap off his head, readjusting it. "Mom and I would go on a walk Christmas eve and look at everyone else's trees. It was fun."

Savaughna asks what Carmen is wondering, and what I already know. "He was abusive?"

Veleno looks at me. Save me.

I speak up. "Maybe we should—"

"Was the asshole abusive?" Carmen's voice lowers as she leans forward, her voice stern, strict.

I rest a hand on her arm and squeeze, but she doesn't tear her attention away from Veleno. He struggles to swallow. His eyes divert around the room, doing everything he can not to make eye contact with the three of us. The mentioning of his father affects him more than he lets on and leaves him shaking more than a 6-foot-4 assassin in all black.

"Yes." I answer for him.

Carmen kicks the stool out from under herself and stands up. Savaughna does the same. Carmen begins to roll up the sleeves of her large shirt, while Savaughna pulls her hair into a low ponytail. "Where's he at?" Carmen questions, "I'll—"

"He's dead." Veleno shuts her down quick. "I can take you to his grave, but he's dead." He casts a glimpse over at Savaughna. "I killed him."

He stands quickly and with short, brief eye contact with us all, leaves without a word. The whites of his eyes were slowly turning red from the burning of the oncoming tears. Veleno wouldn't let us see that. He would never let us, or me, see him cry.

Carmen and Savaughna watch him leave. I shovel another forkful of pancake into my mouth. "Well, damn," I mumble with a full mouth. "Posse up, I guess. Were you really going to go fight his father?"

Carmen drops to the stool beside me with a huff. She drags her sleeves back down. "I protect mine."

I laugh alongside her and give her shoulder a gentle nudge. Savaughna lowers herself to her own seat, her eyebrows just barely touching. She smiles a bit. "I can't really fight, so I would've gone too—energy is important."

All three of us share a laugh.

Savaughna looks back up after a moment of silence. "I think I know what you mean now." That's catches our attention quick. "They're just as much victims as the people whose lives they cut short. But they love, they hurt, they smile, and they laugh just like us. We're privileged, all of us in this room—we grew up with a loving family, with no expectations on our heads to end lives or run mafia empires. Life wasn't fair to them, and it isn't our right to judge."

I share a knowing look with Carmen, before we both extend our hand across the table and speak in unison.

"Welcome to the family, queen."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The ride to Liam's company, Tanner INC – in honor of Zara's maiden surname – is a short one. The soldiers that pack around us make it awkward at first, but they don't speak to us and we don't speak to them. Their eyes lock on to the windows, while they hold their precious weapons, and hear nothing regarding Carmen and I's conversations.

I lean over her shoulder most of the time, watching brief makeup tutorials on Instagram. She said she was never into social media until she dated Rico, who had convinced her to make an IG so he could follow Rihanna.

She shows me pictures of her family. Her mother, who is just as beautiful as she is. There's a glow about her—one that makes her stand out in the family photograph. Her hair is black, mixed with faint strands of gray, giving her a more mature look. Her hair is just as long as Carmen's, if not longer, and flows freely down her lower back. Carmen tells me that she's growing it out to donate it wig companies dedicated to helping cancer patients, as well as women who suffer from alopecia.

She points out her father, who looks like a cop. Maybe it's the stance, the stern expression on his face, or his short haircut that gives it away. She tells me stories about him, and stories that he used to tell her before tucking her in bed every night. She says how dedicated to his work that he used to be, and how he fell into depression after being forced to leave Mexico, and his career. He was never accepted to the Detroit PD, even after applying multiple times. Carmen has never told him, but she now realizes why.

Vincenzo De Santis oversaw every hire the Detroit Police Department made, and her father's application once landed on his desk. He personally denied it.

Our security decides to remain in the lobby of the gorgeous, newly remodeled office building. Located right in Downtown Los Angeles, the skyrise building blends well with many of the others. With more glass than walls, light isn't a problem for the grand foyer that greets us as we walk inside.

Carmen and I move briskly through the crowd of people. I go to question the purpose of so many people standing around, only to hear something about an ongoing tour. Most of the people look young, probably teenagers on a fieldtrip.

I reach the front desk and smile. "Can you let Zara know we're here?"

The woman snaps her gum and continues to type away on her keyboard. She never looks up. "You have an appointment?"

I snort.

She looks up, and immediately apologizes. "Oh my God—I'm so sorry, Ms. Crawford—how're you doing? How's Liam doing?"

We share a second of pleasantries before parting ways, Carmen hot on my tail. We breeze through the packed foyer and slide into a separate elevator – one that bypasses all other unnecessary floors, leading you straight to the top. We spin around in the elevator and watch as the doors close.

"Did you see everybody staring at you?"

I roll my eyes. "Nobody was staring at me."

"I caught three men and about four women staring at you."

The elevator rises quickly. I focus on the floor count. We're in the twenties now.

I raise my left hand and wiggle my ring finger. "The women are looking for the ring—they know who I go to sleep beside every night."

I catch Carmen frowning out the left corner of my eye. "What about self-love?"

Oh, shit. I forgot. "I mean—I'm hot as fuck, of course they were staring at me—"

We stumble out the elevator clinging to each other, laughing. The floor opens to a vast looking foyer, with seats and coffee tables topped with fashion and sport magazines. There's a receptionist styled desk off to the left, but the chair is empty – the assistant off duty for today.

We approach the large, double doors, noting the name, LUCIANO, which is engraved on a gold-plated plague across the wood.

Carmen pushes our way through.

Zara stands near the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the skyline of Los Angeles. She spins on the balls of her feet and greet us with a warm, closed-lipped smile. Her arms outstretch just a bit as she says, "Ladies, welcome to my fortress."

"Zara, the place looks amazing." I haven't been back since the day I visited Liam over a year ago, back when things were simpler. The remodeling of the entire building did it wonders, and the pictures I scrolled through on Liam's phone didn't do it justice. New furniture, new, larger windows, and the beautiful flooring makes it look like an entirely different place. I spot a few items of Zara's that she's thrown up on the walls, making her office more hers, than the man that left it behind.

"And it smells amazing too." Carmen beelines toward her large, lavish desk. It's covered in takeout containers from a nearby Chinese restaurant. Carmen's right, it smells amazing.

Liam's mother smiles – truly smiles – at us both. A weird expression, coming from her. We don't talk much, and the only thing we do share is our love for Liam. She opened herself up for a while after Michael's death, but after Vincenzo's fall and the Russians declaration of war, she closed herself back up. She's usually busy hiding in his bedroom, or in the kitchen to spend time with anyone else – and now I see why Liam gave the position to her. It makes her happy and gives her a purpose.

She crosses one ankle over the other and grabs hold of her own hand. Even from here I can see the sparkling diamond rings on her fingers, and the necklace draped across her upper chest. Her dress is gorgeous; definitely designer. I can't determine if it's navy blue or black due to the way it sparkles whenever she moves, whenever light hits her. It's just long enough to be work appropriate, but short enough for any man's imagination to run wild.

"Thank you." She motions toward the spread on her desk. "I bought lunch, early lunch. I wasn't sure if you all ate already, and wanted to wait—"

"We did." I say.

"Which does not mean we can't eat again," Carmen defends.

All it took was a simple fine from me to get the buffet rolling. After washing our hands and distributing paper plates and utensils, we sit down to feast – again. I swore that I had just ate and wasn't hungry but wouldn't mind a spring roll. That one spring roll turned into a serving of Lo Mein, fried rice, and a few pieces of sweet and sour chicken.

Carmen and Zara top their plates and share turns in telling me the details of the days they spend here together. Carmen talks to most, with Zara only adding in a few comments she deems important for the story. The more Carmen talks the more I realize just how much she does enjoy following Zara to work. I nod and eat, making a sound every so often to show I'm paying attention.

I catch Zara's eyes out the side of my own. "Carmen—" She says randomly.

The young woman pauses mid-sentence. "Yes?"

Zara absentmindedly stabs the vegetable roll on her plate. "I apologized for what I said to you in the mall that day, but I never told you why I said it—" Carmen goes to respond, but Zara moves on quickly, "I said it to make you feel bad about yourself, to hurt you, because I'm envious of you."

It's the second time in less than three hours that Carmen finds herself struggling to swallow a mouthful of food. "Me?"

"You're everything I aspired to be. You're everything Michael tried to make me." Her eyes drift from an open-mouthed Carmen to me, who studies her with keen interest. This is about as close of a heart-to-heart I've ever had with Zara, and she isn't even addressing me. "You're confident—"

Carmen holds up a chopstick and laughs. "I am not confident—"

"—About your body, no, but in everything else you do? Yes." I doubt Carmen has opened up to Zara as she had with me about her body insecurities; so unless Carmen accidently let it slip during a work day, I can only assume Zara was able to pick that up by her behavior alone. "You're confident in your work. You're confident in your ability.

I shift in my chair, seated across from Zara and beside Carmen. "Everyone's different," I tell her.

Her gaze lands on me. "Michael once told me that some queens are born, while others are made. I was made. I couldn't stand up for myself. I couldn't look a stranger in the eye. I froze with fear when I would stand in the presence of a room full of people. I would be nothing if it wasn't for Michael, but she would be something." Zara nods in Carmen's direction at the mention of her. She sighs. "Quite frankly, I was intimidated, I was jealous—I wish I was everything you are—"

Carmen's shoulders sink. "Zara..."

"You were born a queen. I had to be made into one."

I grit my teeth. "That doesn't make you any less a queen."

Nobody picks at their food for the time-being, letting Zara's confession hang in the air. Carmen squirms in her seat and breathes deeply, before scooting to the edge and changing the topic. "What was it like being married to Michael Luciano?"

Zara's somber expression flips like a switch. Her eyes light up and her demeanor changes somewhat—her shoulders roll back and she sits up just a tad straighter. Proud. "Fun." She says plainly. "So fun. Would we execute thirty enemies today? Maybe. Would there be a high-speed chase on the 405? Quite possibly. Would he dick me down real good? Definitely—"

We share a much-needed tension breaking laugh.

"I'm just messing with you." She recovers. "The Michael you knew isn't the Michael I fell in love with." Her eyes find mine, then Carmen, whose knowledge on her late husband is much more limited than mine. "This life changed him. I watched it change him, and that's why I wanted to run with Liam. I wanted to run and never look back and keep him away from all of this, because I saw what it did to my husband."

Carmen looks intrigued at this point, while I'm just hearing what I already know. "What did it do?"

"He sacrificed his quality of life for the goodness of his kingdom—our kingdom. Everything he did, he did it for the family." Zara looks away. "Even putting a hit on my head. Even hiring one of the best assassins at the time to take me out. He did it for the family, despite the love he had for me. Michael did everything for this family."

"I applaud you though." I lean forward to rest my empty plate on the desk. "You just wanted to save Liam."

"I did." She admits, "But I learned soon after that you can't save these men from themselves."

Carmen clears her throat. "Will you be honest with me if I ask a question?"

"Let me hear the question."

"You and Vince—do you love him?"

Zara looks to me when she says, without hesitation, "Yes." A question she answered with a lie when I asked her initially. This is her coming clean with what most of us already know. "I love him, and I don't want you to think I stepped out on Michael, or ruined Vince's relationship with his fiancée all those years ago. We've been friends since we met, but ever since Michael died I—he reminds me of Michael. He reminds me of the Michael I married, and not the Michael I buried. Funny, caring, powerful and always willing to damn prove it—"

"Vince?"

"Caring?" I pair with Carmen's bewilderment.

"I know it seems crazy, but you two ladies should know better than anyone that it isn't how these men present themselves that make us fall in love with them."

I twist my lips in agreement and look over at Carmen. "I mean—he's hot."

"Incredibly," She agrees with no stutter before staring daggers in Zara's direction. "But is his dick big though—I'm conducting research—"

"You cannot be conducting research on your father-in-law—" My arms flail widely as I try to make my point.

"First of all, I never married into the family. Second, aren't Italian's all about loyalty? And I'm being loyal, not only to one man, but to one family—"

Zara's laugh joins mine as Carmen tries to solidify her point. The office phone that sits on the top left corner of Zara's desk suddenly blinks red; indicating an awaiting call. With a finger to silence us both, she presses 'speaker' and answers the call as she normally would.

"Good afternoon, Claire. What's going on?"

The voice that comes from the other end of the line, just a few floors below us, does not sound like the woman who greeted us earlier.

Russian is his native language.

Zara ends the call before he can finish speaking. But the sound of screams and rapid gunfire echo behind his words. Even now, with the phone call ended, you can hear it—dimmed just enough, that when you're concentration, you can hear it. Another Russian attack.

Carmen looks scared. "What did he say?"

"We have you surrounded." Zara rises to her feet and we join her. I can see her mind working, calculating, planning, thinking, preventing—"Follow me." She doesn't need to repeat herself.

We're on her heels like young children following their mother through the store. "Let Liam know what's going on—" I already have my phone in my hand, but pause over his contact, over his contact photo. A picture of us, experiencing happier days on the last vacation we took. Aruba.

I hear sirens in the distance. Police. All of them, streaming out a meeting Liam is currently sitting in to respond to shots reported at the headquarters of one of the most popular companies in not only LA, but the U.S. They're on their way, as is he.

I slide my phone back into my pocket and trail Carmen and Zara out the office. There's no reason to text him. I'll see him soon.

Zara moves quickly in her heels, rushing to the door leading to the stairwell and flinging it open. She leans her head inside and listens carefully, before scrunching up her face and backing away. The door shuts behind her.

"You need to tell us what you're thinking," I tell her.

"I need to get you two somewhere safe, but the stairwell won't work. We're surrounded. You'll get halfway down, and they'll meet you. You both will be dead in seconds."

Carmen runs a hand over her head and sighs. "I'm assuming the elevator is out the question?"

"Very much so." She struts past us both and grabs the emergency handle, drawing it down. Alarms begin to blare, and the ceiling begins to rain. Zara doesn't explain the move, and she doesn't have too. It shuts down the elevators, eliminating another access point for the Russians.

Only about a million questions rush through my mind. One finds my way to my lips, "How did they get past our security?" But I manage to answer my own. Our security must've been overwhelmed, and I'm glad I did, because my words are drowned out by Carmen's own concerns.

"So, what? We're just going to stand here and let them come?" She retreats towards the stairwell and flings the door back open. She hesitates. She hesitates when she hears the echoing of the boots belonging to the Russian soldiers, as they bound up the stairs. Heading for us.

Zara angles her head to the side while her eyes light up at the opportune teaching moment. "Michael always told me that if your enemy comes for you, if he shoots you, let him shoot you in the chest. Let him shoot you while you look him in the eye, but to never, ever take a bullet to the back. Don't die running like a fucking coward."

Carmen registers her words carefully, and the fight I know is inside her ignites. She slams the door and steps back. "Fine then. Let's find a way to block this door. Make them work for it."

Zara and I smile proudly.

We're not running. We're not running from those we don't fear. We prepare. We make sure everything is ready, because that's all we can do. It takes both Carmen and I to break a leg off a wooden chair Zara had storing in a partially hidden closet in her office. We manage to lodge it between the stairwell's doorframe and knob, jamming their entry for only but a few seconds.

Zara works near her desk. She presses a button, and the motorized shades slowly begin to block most, if not all, the sunlight coming through the wall-sized window.

As she fumbles with belongings inside her desk, I can hear them. Faint screams of torture, cries, pleas of employees that beg for their lives below. I can only imagine the tour of high school students as they hide somewhere in the building, and the frantic state of the teacher who promised their parents that their children would come home; safe and sound.

I hear gunshots; some rapid, some single, as the Russian soldiers march their way through the building. One team focusing on causing terror to Liam's employees, while the other focuses on the main mission: us. The three vulnerable, yet important women isolated and alone on the top floor with no means of escape.

This is why they've held their silence all week. They were preparing for this.

I step forward, jaw working. "I think I'd feel better if we greeted these bastards with a—"

"Gun?" Zara looks up from her desk drawer. Her grin forms slow, but its comforting. "You don't know me very well, Faith, albeit that is my fault." She rises from her squatted position and holds up two weapons, both resembling my own. Her smile widens. She lives for this. "Know this. I always carry."

Her strides are long and purposeful as she makes her way over to us, handing one gun to me, and the other to Carmen. I check the chamber.

Zara glances between us both. I don't realize how tall she is until now, as stands before us with her legs slightly parted. Her legs are toned, defined, and shimmer like a diamond under light. Questioning Michael, or even Vince's attraction to her would be stupid.

"I'm assuming you ladies know how to aim and pull a trigger?"

"You know who my man is." I answer with a smile.

Carmen releases the safety on her weapon and looks up. "My father is a former cop, and my ex was an assassin, so you tell me."

"Confidence." Zara plainly states, proving the point she made earlier about Carmen, to Carmen.

I motion towards Zara's empty hands. "What about you?"

She gives me a look. A look I don't like. A look that makes me fear the worst. A look that makes me second guess her motives, her intentions, and what's to come.

Carmen catches on, voicing her own concern. "You need to protect yourself too—" She goes to sacrifice her weapon to Zara.

The former queen denies her offer. "No." She takes a half step forward in her heels, resting a hand on either of our forearms. We're led to the far wall, to the door of the same closet we previously searched in. We both stop to face her. "My job is to protect you both. You are the future. I'm just the past—"

I wrench her arm from mine and stand up for what I know is right. "Bullshit. If something happens to you—this entire war started because of you. Valentin wants you. The Russians want you. They will not hesitate to put a bullet in your head, but they would hesitate for me. You know they would."

"Yes." She admits lowly. "They would hesitate for you, but I would not put the woman my son would lay his life down for in the open to get—" Zara cuts herself off, realizing just how loud her voice is rising. She focuses on being quiet, on speaking with intent, rather than emotion. "I will not put the future of this empire in harms way. You are queen. I am—"

"Queen." I blurt out. "You're a queen."

Zara looks at me like she pities me. Like she knows something that I don't. She informs me of that seconds later. "Sweetheart, I lost my title the moment Michael died. His soul stripped it from me, because I failed my duty. I failed to protect him. I failed. I am no queen."

Her shove is gentle, not malicious; just hard enough to send us stumbling backwards into the small closet.

"Shoot them all." She instructs. "On my word, or on the sound of my body hitting the floor—shoot them all."

She denies her strength, her power, her title – even if the word former deserves to be in front of it. But I see it in the way she walks, the way she holds herself, and the confidence that Michael instilled in her. She is every inch a queen.

Carmen and I watch in silence through the tiny crack in the door as Zara moves over to her desk. She doesn't fidget. She shows no signs of nervousness, even as the walls of the office shake. She glances up, mentally noting that the group of Russian soldiers have hit the stairwell door and are struggling momentarily to get it open.

She struts over to the small water cooler in the corner, plucking a bottle from inside before shutting it with the back of her heel. She breaks the seal and comes to stand before her desk. Zara leans back and faces the door. She crosses one ankle over another and is taking one final sip when the Russians storm inside.

There's six of them and they're all shouting something different. One accent rises over all the others. "Get on your knees."

"Gentlemen, thank you for arriving on time," She greets.

They move forward in unison and the leading soldier takes a few more steps forward. "Get on your knees."

Zara's jaw defines itself as she clenches her teeth, fighting back witty remark. "I do not bow."

The lead soldier moves toward Zara, leaving all the others in his wake. Carmen tenses beside me, but neither of us make our move. This isn't the time. This isn't the signal. Her posture remains sure, composed, and tells me she's still in charge.

Zara uses the desk to keep her body propped up as the soldier breaks every personal boundary known to man. The material of his black cargo pants brush along Zara's thigh as he rests the barrel of his gun underneath her chin. She twists her head slightly, just enough to look at him from underneath her mascara covered eyelashes.

Her voice is just above a whisper when she says, "You are not a killer. I would know. I've fallen asleep beside one more than once. You don't have the look. You don't have the eyes. So say what you're going to say, and get out."

The soldier doesn't want to hear it. He jams the weapon up into her jaw, and she winces. I can feel my heart hammering in my chest. I can hear Michael screaming, demanding the demons holding him back to let him go. Let him go. But Michael can't come, Michael isn't coming – Liam is, and we have to buy enough time for him to get here.

"Where are the others? Luciano's girl and the Mexican—"

Carmen calls the Russian a name in Spanish, clearly feeling the disrespect.

Zara shoves him slightly, giving herself just a little bit of space. "I'm the only one here."

"Shut the hell up." He doesn't believe her. With a shrug, the others form a half circle around Zara, and raise their weapons – aiming for the head. Her head. "If anymore bullshit comes from that fucking mouth of yours, I'll put a bullet in it and fuck it till your body's cold—"

His rage gets the best of him. Zara gets the best of him. She wrestles the gun from out his hand and sends an elbow to his face. Her moves are precise, practiced, perfect. I can hear her telling us now how Michael taught me everything I know, and I see it in the way she moves. The way she angles her body around his, keeping the soldiers from pulling their triggers – afraid that they'll be guilty of the death of their own. When the wrestling stops, when the struggle ceases, Zara is still standing – and she has a good hold of the soldier's head. He's bent at an awkward angle, clearly uncomfortable, and worried about his fate.

As he should be.

Zara flings her hair over her shoulder as she looks up, locking eyes with every Russian that stares back at her. "If you feared Michael Davide Luciano, then you need to fear me too, because he taught me everything that I know."

"You're not a killer." I applaud the soldier who tries to use the same tactic as Zara, and I can't help but listen closely for her response. "I, too, have seen killers. You are not one." He tells her.

"No." Zara glances at the man in her arms and looks back up. Her grasp begins to weaken. "You're right."

The signal is coming; whether that be Zara killing the Russian, or the sound of her body as she hits the floor. The Russians adjust their hold on their weapons, preparing to execute as soon as their leader is out of harm's way.

Zara's glance to her left, toward the closet, towards us is as inconspicuous as it gets. The Russians don't notice. But I do. I feel her eyes on me.

She breaks the Russians neck right in front of us all and even dead, he manages to bow at the feet of Michael's queen. She steps over his body and makes her declaration clear, even above the sirens of the fire alarm.

"I am not a killer, but I married one."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

a/n: LETS GOOOOOGOJIIGGSBGSHBDJSK

FUCK THIS BOOK GETS ME SO HYPE

ZARA CAME UP IN THIS BITCH AND SAID ITS MINE I SAID YES MAMA HAHAAAAAAA