xx | for the empire

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The Russians never see us coming. They're so focused on leveling their guns at Zara and preparing to open fire, that they don't see Carmen and I slip out from our hiding spot and take aim. I put a bullet in one of the soldier's lower leg and he drops like a sack of bricks, fumbling his weapon and crying out in agony.

Everything that transpires next is a fast-paced blur, a series of events that makes me appreciate my assassin acquaintances even more. I drop to the floor and scramble behind Zara's large desk, my chest rising and falling with every heavy breath as they shoot in my direction. Carmen was able to jump behind something as well, and all the bullets did was whiz by our heads in a call far too close for comfort.

There's no time to overthink or plan. Hidden strategically underneath the desk is a sharp letter opener. Grabbing it without hesitation is a move that needed to be made, because two seconds later, a soldier rounds the corner and prepares to introduce me to peace.

She's not somebody I want to meet today.

I drop my hands to my side and press my palms against the floor as I lift my lower body off the ground. It isn't complicated, nor a move that needed to be taught. I swipe my foot left, knocking the weapon from his hands and sending it scattering across the office floor. He doesn't have a chance to recover. I tighten my hold on the letter opener and scurry to my knees, driving it right through his muscular thigh.

He drops to a knee with a cry of pain but doesn't let the object protruding out of his thigh to stop him. The soldier reaches for me before I can crawl out of his way. The cold material of his gloves grab at face. He pulls me toward him with surprising ease and twists my body, slamming me to the ground.

I lose every ounce of air in my lungs, plus whatever excess might've remained when he drops his full body weight on top of me.

I gasp at air but waste it all with a yell. I should've known better, but it hurts. It hurts the way he squeezes my head and strategically places his thumbs over my eyes, pressing down with all his might. But I can't do anything. I can't kick him where it hurts or bring my hands up to swat erratically. I can do nothing but feel pain.

Then I remember one of the many defensive moves Liam taught me, most of which came late at night when we found ourselves unable to sleep. We spend most of our nights talking, kissing playfully, and joking with one another. Nights are when I hear the most stories about Michael, Liam's childhood, and the good times he does remember. But nights are also when I learn.

I learned to create distance when distance was needed. I learned to overpower a man stronger than me, and how to escape a hold that appeared impossible to slip out of. Liam's lesson works, and with the space needed, I draw my knee into his crotch and shove with my forearm, sending the soldier off me.

He never has time to recover. I yank out the letter opener jammed deep into his thigh and this time, aim for his throat. Again, again, and again. It pierces his Adams apple, drives through his trachea, again and again. His blood coats my fist, but that doesn't stop me. Nothing stops me.

I rise to my unsteady feet only when he's stopped clawing at his neck, grasping for air.

But there's no time to admire my handiwork.

I turn just in time to see the soldier Carmen is engaged with wrap his arms around her waist in a tackling fashion. He slams her into the wooden table, and they topple over it, knocking plastic silverware, dirty plates, used utensils, and leftover Chinese food everywhere. He jams his shoulder into her stomach as they tumble to a heap at my feet.

The way her face twists in agony and the soft whimper that leaves her plump lips tells me she's hurt.

My knee introduces itself to the side of his face, sending him off the woman below. The brief look from Carmen is enough to know I'm appreciated. He tries to recover, tries to push himself to his feet but the strength of her right hook is unsuspected, and definitely surprising to the soldier. Air leaves his mouth as Carmen climbs over him, and the battle of adrenaline commences.

There's a struggle, but she manages to wrap her arms around his neck and squeeze.

Carmen doesn't move until he's suffocated to death.

I don't have time to focus on the Russian Carmen took down. I spin entirely around, just in time to witness the two remaining soldiers slam Zara against the shades of the large, glass window. I grit my teeth, cursing at soldier who's noticeably limping from the bullet I put in his leg. I should've aimed for the head.

His hand finds its way around Zara's throat as he pins her against the solid surface, finding a comfortable position between her legs. She doesn't seem to mind that her dress has ridden up. She purposely wraps her legs around his waist and tilts her head to the side, a sly smile curling her lips apart.

"This position is oddly familiar—"

The injured soldier prepares to finish her off, but Zara – once again, gets the best of him. She wraps her hands around his head and rolls her own to the side just in time. Just in time to slam the soldier's forehead into the glass behind her. He screams and clutches his forehead before collapsing and waiting for his vision to return.

Carmen makes her way to her feet, while I secure a firm hold of the weapon in my hand. We send each other a look. A silent passing word of our duties. She's going to assist Zara in taking on the standing Russian, while I worry about the injured man that's beginning to climb to his feet, ready for revenge.

Zara ducks a wild punch and slams her elbow directly into the Russians throat, causing him to stumble a few steps backwards. All it takes is a shove from him, though, and an odd step backwards and Zara's limping. She curses and glances down at the broken heel of her shoe.

He sends the floor rushing up to meet her with a wicked left-hook, but she bounces back faster than he ever could've imagined. And before he knows it, he's retreating, eyes darting between the deadly woman with a heel rotating between her long, manicured fingers, and the younger one, with a gun in one hand and a look of determination on her face.

I leap onto the back of the injured Russian, who was starting to make his way towards the fight. His leg can't support his weight and my own, and he drops to the ground with a thud. We struggle. We fight. He knocks my gun away but I'm able to recover it before more damage can be done. I find my way on top of him, my legs pinning him to the ground. His punches miss. Mine don't.

I'm so busy focusing on the threat under me that I don't turn my attention on Zara or Carmen until it's too late. I've always heard that if you hear a gunshot, it wasn't meant for you. But this is the one gunshot I didn't hear, because my attention was on something else. I was concentrating on someone else.

Their Russian is dead, and the only one who remains lies underneath me. He's quit throwing punches, he's quit fighting; his fate is as sealed as is all his friends, and the way his bottom lip quivers tells me he knows it.

I look up to see Carmen dragging herself away from the dead body. She clutches her stomach, grimacing ever so often, and shakes uncontrollably. Adrenaline is still flowing freely through her veins.

They both rest their gazes on me, and on the gun I have aimed at the Russian's head.

The doors burst open seconds later, and Liam and his army storm in after him. My eyes are the first thing his catch and I fight back a smile at the sight of him. They move in slowly, bypassing the dead bodies on the floor. Sweat glistens from their brows, having just jogged up an uncountable amount of flights to rescue us. Us.

Liam rests a hand on the holster that he has tightened around his thigh but raises his injured hand and commands: "Hold."

Commander Giovanni glances at his boss swiftly, before raising a fist of his own. Our soldiers fight back the will to follow their leader as Liam steps forward, cautiously placing himself between me and the army that's now behind him.

The brown eyes that I love more than anything in this world never leave mine, and I practically burst into tears.

"Are you going to kill me?" The Russian spits. I look down at him. "You going to kill me? For what?" He jerks his head in Liam's direction. "For him?"

"No." I snap. "Not for him. I'm not killing you for him. For the innocent woman that raised me. For the first man that ever taught me love. For my mother, for my father, and for the empire."

I put a bullet in his head.

He's just another dead body amongst a war full of them.

But above all else, he's just another tick to the list of all the people that I have killed, and to the people that I will.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

I was the only one that got out of the Russians attack unscathed. Zara twisted her ankle and has developed quite a limp because of it. Out of the three of us, Carmen was dealt the worst hand. In severe pain, we took her to the hospital, where she was diagnosed with two broken ribs.

Her injury isn't serious and it's relatively common, meaning hospitalization wouldn't be needed. But when media crews and cameras came bombarding through the emergency room entrance, shouting out questions and shoving microphones in Liam's face, hospital security did the best that they could. They transported us from the vulnerable ER room to a private floor, designated for celebrities and the one-percenters.

As beautiful as this room is and as pleasing the hospital staff have been, occasionally checking in on us – offering drink and food whenever the nurses' make their rounds, Zara and I can do nothing but wave them away.

We've dragged two chairs to the end of Carmen's bed while she sleeps the pain medication off and plaster our attention to the news onscreen. The volume is low, and the subtitles roll underneath whomever is speaking.

Neither of us have spoken, because we both feel sick.

We made US history today. With eighty-seven people injured and seventy-three dead, this will go down as the largest mass shooting of 2016.

I slam my foot down with a disgruntled, "Fuck," before dipping my head into my hands. I grasp at the roots of my hair and tug in frustration, before gaining to courage to lift my gaze back to the television. Zara, with her throbbing ankle propped against the edge of the hospital bed, just purses her lips and focuses on the television as evacuations continue to take place.

The news anchor is nothing but a distant voice as EMTs walk out the front doors of Tanner INC pushing stretchers, their white sheets doing their best to cover the dead body beneath it.

"This isn't good for Liam, at all." I look over at Steven and Austin, who quietly slip inside the room and shut the door. I haven't thought about the consequences of this attack on a deeper level than witnessing all the innocent people who lost their lives today, but what Steven said is true. This won't be good for Liam.

Zara winces as she lowers her leg to the floor and sits up in her seat. "What are you guys' hearing?"

Austin and Steven share a brief glance.

When Steven adjusts the glasses on his face and lowers his eyes to the floor, Austin knows he's going to be the one to speak up, and he does. As soon as he says it, a banner flashes across the screen, signaling breaking news. My stomach drops. "Jerry Brown, the governor, is calling this a terrorist attack."

"Liam is livid," Steven finds the need to add.

"And he has every right to be." I say.

Every California state official knows that when it involved Liam Luciano, you speak to him first. I don't know everything running through Liam's mind and I won't pretend that I do, because the logistics of Liam's double, CEO-mafia life often confuses me. But what I do know, is that Liam would've preferred that the words terrorist attack be left out of this.

The television cuts to the governor of California and to Richard Davis, the LAPD Commissioner Liam was on the phone with just hours ago. And with my own ears I hear them cover up the truth that the public will never know. They credit our rescue, and the rescue of all those who did make it out of the office building alive, to the LAPD. They get the credit, while our soldiers work in the shadows, as they always have.

But as important as watching this press conference might be, I just find myself thinking about Liam; worrying about Liam. I said two words to him: I'm fine, before riding with Carmen and Zara to the hospital. I saw glimpses of him after they got Carmen situated in a private room, but before storming off one last time with his phone trapped between his shoulder and ear, I heard him shout at his private security to remain at her hospital door.

Giovanni and a soldier I've seen more than once stand guard right outside.

"Oof." Steven nudges the man at his side and tilts the screen of his phone in Austin's direction. Zara kills the volume of the press conference first, then shuts off the television entirely. By then, Steven has gained our attention. "I know this may not seem like it can get any worse, but the top five trends on Twitter right now are: Liam Luciano, terrorist attack, Mass Shooting, Hasthag:PrayForPeace, and holy fuck.

I slide even further down in my seat, wishing I could do anything to help, rather than sitting here and watching it all unfold.

Zara rises unsteadily to her feet and places a hand on my shoulder. Her smile is encouraging. "It'll blow over. It always does."

"I'm sure the people who lost family members today think the same."

It's an unnecessary comment to make, that I know.

Austin and Steven shift in their stances and look to one another for rescue from a conversation spiraling down an awkward path. I hear them mumble something about going to get food from the hospital cafeteria, and in a soft voice, Zara asks them to wait for her by the elevators. They nod and move out the room. The soldier to the left of the doorway pulls the door shut for them.

"I know it's upsetting. I know." I avoid Zara's eyes as best as I can and settle on Carmen's sleeping figure. She follows my eyes and sighs. I know it hurts for her to lower herself back into the seat, but she does it for me. She does it so we feel equal, and it's only then that I can look at her. "Do you want to know what I learned in all my years by my husband's side? War is destined to happen. Death is inevitable. Focus; worry only about what you can control and end this war. Once and for all, and make sure that the death of those we lost aren't in vain."

She doesn't wait for me to answer her. Zara stands and gingerly makes her way out the room. I only let out my unsure and shaky breath when I hear the door click shut. I'm not alone long.

My vision has blurred, but I've willed the tears of frustration not to fall. My lips press against my hand as I zone in and out of reality, and the thoughts inside my head. I watch Carmen sleep her pain off, occasionally witnessing a grimace.

"How's she doing?"

Giovanni. The hospital doesn't let him openly carry, so he lodged his pistol in the waistband of his baggy, military green cargo pants and called it a day. He holds tight to the collar of his bulky, bulletproof vest and leans back. His eyes scan my profile.

I wipe at the corner of my eye and motion towards Carmen, as if that's answer enough. "She's fine."

He pauses briefly before questioning, "And how're you?"

"Shouldn't you be watching the door? Isn't this—like—I don't know, considered abandoning your post."

I look at him just long enough to see him smile. Damn him.

"I mean we can talk or sit in silence." I've only heard Giovanni speak a handful of times. The first time being at the club, when he stood up to LAPD SWAT, and every time a word has come out of his mouth, it's been full of pride, confidence, and belief that he's the smartest in the room. "Your choice."

As much as I feel the need to be alone, he isn't leaving. "I've had better days," is my honest, truthful answer.

He focuses on Carmen for half a second and nods in her direction. "Looks like she has too."

The laugh that finds its way out my mouth forces the last tear to roll down my cheek. I wipe it away without a second thought and extend a hand, shoving Giovanni like I've known him my whole life. "You're lucky she's sleep. She'd beat the shit out of you if she heard you say that."

He folds his hands together and leans forward, sending me a sly look out the corner of his dark, brown eyes. "Yeah? I'm not scared."

The quiet that hangs between us is peaceful, reflective. I let another moment pass before I clear my throat, earning Giovanni's attention. "How long have you been working for Liam?"

"Four years," He answers quickly.

Four years. He's been here long before I met Liam, and even experienced all that we went through last year. He was there, he was everywhere, somewhere in the background as we worked to kill Ryan Costello and Peter Corinelli. He was there, living under the same roof as I and I didn't even know it. Maybe that's why he doesn't feel like a total stranger, but rather somebody I know through quick glances and smiles I don't remember sending.

I shift in my seat. "Why hasn't Liam spoken of you?"

"We aren't friends." He says with a shrug. "I protect him, and he pays me."

I take in everything Giovanni says, from the way he says it to the brief wording he uses. Elaborating only when he deems it vital and keeping it short to spare me from details he isn't ready to share.

"What did you do before this?"

"Private security."

"And before that?"

"Military." He angles his body toward mine and smiles. "Italian Militia for three years. Private security for five."

"Does it feel weird?" I take my eyes off Carmen and focus on him. I would be a fool to deny how attractive he is; from the gentle scruff that dots his chin to his biceps, from his white teeth to the smooth look of his brown skin. "Working for the good guys, then the bad guys, I mean."

Gio laughs. "Military men may be selfless for sacrificing their lives for the average civilian, but from my personal experience, we were no better than the people I work for now." The way his smile fades and his hands clench one another tells me that's all I'm going to get regarding that.

"Can I ask why you left?"

He doesn't look at me when he says, "I was diagnosed with PTSD and failed my psych eval."

"What about private security?"

A muscle in his jaw ticks. "Failed that psych eval as well."

I smile as a thought crosses my mind. "So, you joined the mafia, where we want you crazy."

With his forearms resting on his thighs, Gio ducks his head between his legs and laughs. His shoulders shake as he manages to say, "Yeah, exactly."

A knock on the window overlooking the hospital unit we're situated in causes us both to look over our shoulders. The other soldier taps his knuckles against the glass, mouthing something only they would understand. I look at Giovanni just long enough to send him a smile. He pulls himself to his feet and heads for the door. He nearly runs into someone on his way out.

"Jesus—" The young voice says. "That guy was huge. He probably gives really good hugs."

Crixus clutches the straps of the worn backpack that clings to him. I hardly recognize him without his katana's and his all-black ninja inspired outfit. Without a much-needed belt, his jeans hang low on his waist. He has a black jacket tossed over his shoulders, paired with a simple white t-shirt. I see the hint of a bandage beneath its sheer fabric, but don't have time to comment on it.

I shoot out of my chair with a smile. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the one person who always arrives when we need him."

His wide smile is sweet. "You can just call me an angel. I promise it won't go to my already highly inflated ego."

I pull Crixus into a well-deserved hug. I ended up telling Liam what he had done for us, and even he wanted to shake the boy's hand when he had a chance. And within the week following the club, Veleno in his charming fashion, made it not-so-clear that he was worried about the assassin that ran from us, concerned that he wouldn't get the help he truly needed. I just wish they were both here, to thank him, maybe even hug him if they wanted to.

I look down at the withering object clutched between his thumb and pointer finger. "What is that?"

Crixus focuses on it. "It was the prettiest flower you never saw." I give him a doubting look, and he shoots back with, "You're just going to have to trust me on that."

"I love flowers."

An unspoken apology passes from my face to Carmen's as she looks between me and the youngest in the room. I hadn't meant to wake her up, but she doesn't seem to mind. Instead, she reaches for the green stem in Crixus' hand. The yellow rose has certainly seen better times. It's missing more than one petal, while the others are wilted, fallen limp over one another. But it earns the first smile from Carmen since before the attack.

Crixus moves closer to the bed and hands off his gift.

Carmen quietly admires the dying flower. "I love it. Yellow is my favorite color, too. How'd you know?"

The young boy is too busy taking in the features of Carmen's face up close to respond. He stutters. His cheeks warm, turning a faint shade of red. It's more of a blush than feelings of embarrassment. "Lucky guess, I suppose." He lifts one shoulder higher than the other when he shrugs. "I'm glad you like it though. The florist I stole it from was pissed. He chased me for like three blocks. You'd think it was a hot-fudge sundae the way he was cursing at me."

I hold back a laugh, but at least that explains the thin, shimmering layer of sweat that clings to Crixus' brow, and why the curls in his hair are tighter than usual.

Carmen's laugh is starting to become a typical reaction to anything that comes out of the kid's mouth.

I feel my heartstrings tug tight when Carmen glances up from her gift, her eyes catching his. Her mouth parts as she takes in the same shade of eyes she fell in love with, the same pair that she misses more than anything.

Crixus takes a step back and looks at me when I clear my throat. "Have you two been properly introduced?"

"He's the brother." Carmen answers correctly. "And he's the one who saved my life, our lives." Her attention falls back on him. "Thank you, by the way."

I lift a finger, earning a look from them both. "One more question: how'd you even find our room? Nobody should be allowed up here."

Crixus lets out an exhausted sounding breath. I come to find out seconds later that it was an exaggeration. "Please," He waves a hand in dismissal. "Getting through your security was a breeze. All I had to do was smile..." I narrow my eyes at his hesitant pause. He rolls his eyes when he realizes we don't believe him. At all. "And maybe I had to get on my knees and beg and plead to see my girlfriend—but they eventually let me through, after I ran past them and shut the stairwell door on their fingers—"

"Your girlfriend?" I catch.

His eyes go wide and he spins towards Carmen, sputtering out, "Will you go on a date with me?"

"How old are you again?"

Crixus hesitates, one eye closing more than the other as he tries to guess an age close enough to Carmen's to be realistic. "Twenty...three?"

If Carmen does answer, we don't hear it. There's a tap on the door and it's opened. Giovanni takes a couple steps inside. "Ms. Crawford, you have some visitors." Nathaniel and his brother, Gabe, stand over his shoulder. My wave signals that I approve, and he moves out the way, allowing them in. But before he repositions himself outside the door, he says, "I don't often eavesdrop, but who's asking Ms. Vega on a date?"

Having found a comfortable spot on the chair closest to the hospital bed, Crixus raises a weary hand.

"Ah." Gio's smile is captivating. "Then may I get in line?"

He winks playfully and shuts the door behind him.

Crixus looks between his smiling girlfriend and the door as his hazel eyes narr0w. "Activate jealous boyfriend mode."

"I'm not quite sure what we walked in on, but," Nate steps forward to give me a hug. I offer a wave in Gabe's direction, but something outside the window has caught his attention. "I turned on the news and saw what happened. I remember you telling me about your boyfriend so I—I dunno. We've been searching all over LA for you, I swear—"

I pull away and smile. "I appreciate it. Um, Carmen, this is Nate." She leans up just far enough to shake his hand. "And this is Gabe." I motion towards the only one who has yet to say anything. His hands are shoved deep inside the pockets of his windbreaker, and the rim of his baseball cap is pulled low over his face, hiding most of his features and his expression from us.

She extends a hand. He doesn't reach out to shake it.

Nathaniel sends a judging glare at his brother before stepping back to his side. "He's shy." Is his explanation for Gabe's behavior. "Sorry."

It's safe to say that we all wait for the boy in the corner to pipe up and say something worthy of laughter. He's drawn his legs up on the chair with the rest of him and has removed the tattered black bag from his shoulders. It sits nestled in his lap, but his attention resides on Gabe. His lips are parted ever the slightest, his brow forming together in a look I can't discern.

"People are saying it was a terrorist attack?" Nate breaks the eerie silence.

"Yeah." I confirm.

"I can't argue with that logic," He continues. "All the victims are saying that the guys' were Russian or something, and apparently that's what everyone else was saying about that school shooting a few weeks ago. Seems like somebody pissed off a Russian."

My fake laugh cannot be contained.

"I don't want to overstay our welcome." Nathaniel begins to back towards the door, Gabe in tow. "We just wanted to make sure you were alright." His eyes are on me as he says it. "We miss you in class by the way."

I've nearly forgotten entirely about school and can only force a smile in hopes he knows that I miss it as well.

Nathaniel leaves first, but his brother remains underneath the doorway, surrounded by soldiers on either side. He removes a hand from his pocket and grabs hold of the doorframe. I felt hurt that he didn't greet me, despite the talk we had the day of the shooting at Rosalie's school. And although we haven't spoken since, I felt like I was in good standing with Gabe – to a point where he could talk to me if he was upset, even with my life in complete disarray.

He glances over his shoulder, tilts his head back the slightest, and locks eyes with me.

The right side of his face is an entire bruise.

"Gabe—"

He's gone before I can stop him.

"He was tall." Crixus quietly comments from the corner of the room that he's claimed. Whatever kept him transfixed during the time our visitors stood in the room has passed. He turns his attention back on Carmen. "Hopefully you don't like your men like that—"

"Kid?"

Pure joy crosses the young boy's face at the sound of the voice, causing him to twist his body towards the door so quickly he reaggravates his stab wound. The name, "Veggie," comes out in a squeal. He hops off the chair and flies at Veleno, leaping before the man can even process what's happening. Crixus wraps his arms around Veleno's abdomen and rams his face into V's shirt, pulling him close.

Veleno's laugh sounds nervous. He places a palm on the boy's head and ruffles his thick hair. All in the same move, he pries Crixus's forehead off of him and pushes him backwards. He's still all smiles though.

He tries to hide his true excitement when he says, "I'm glad to see you didn't bleed out."

Crixus lifts the hem of his white shirt, exposing his stomach. A clean bandage covers his wound. "I'm brand new."

"You sure are. What're you doing here?"

"I saw what happened on the news."

"You watch the news?"

"I'm sophis—sop—sup—'" He begins to stumble over the word he's searching for, unable to properly pronounce it.

I assist him. "Sophisticated."

Veleno laughs and moves into the room. He grabs the second chair and positions it on the other side of Carmen, before dropping down and leaning forward. His voice is a low mumble as he questions her, asking how she is, how she feels, and so on. Crixus finds comfort in his previous seat and with his attention momentarily captured by the contents of his backpack, I glance out the doorway.

I could find Liam in a store full of people just by the sound his keys make in his pocket.

Excusing myself, I move out the door and shut it behind me. Giovanni and the other soldier have left their post on the vacant hospital floor, but it only takes a few seconds to realize why. Liam's in the middle of a conversation with Gio. I don't wait for him to finish.

I mutter an apology as I walk past the commander and throw my arms around Liam's neck. His lips are on mine in seconds, and I have to remind myself over and over that we're in the middle of a hospital. My lips brush along his beard, his neck, while his hands dig into my back. I rest my head on his chest and sigh. I focus on the sound of his heartbeat and on the warmth of his skin.

I only let him go when I realize what I'm witnessing across the hall, nearest to the elevators. Vincenzo is holding onto his crutches for dear life while Zara hugs him. He eventually lets one go, trusting her enough to hold him steady. And he wraps a tattooed arm around her waist, shifting her even closer to him. His face finds its home in the crook of her neck, and I swear I imagine the kiss she presses to his cheek right before he does so.

It's the most display of attraction I've ever seen from the two, but right now I don't think they care.

The bass in Vince's voice travels down the quiet hallway, and I can't help but overhear the pain that coats his words as he pulls back just the slightest to talk. "I'm sorry I couldn't do anything—I'm so sorry—"

Zara cuts him short with a finger to his lips. "Shh."

She doesn't silence him with a kiss, but another hug.

Liam's fingers trail across my temple, brushing away strands of hair. "Vince wanted to come see Zara, so I went back to get him and Veleno. I don't want too many transports out at once—are you okay, though?"

"The question is, are you?"

He looks exhausted, utterly defeated. I can only imagine the phone calls he's receiving from families of injured employees. I can only imagine the pressure on his shoulders as he worries about not just this empire, but the company-empire as well. He tries to smile to convince me that he's fine, but I know better than anyone.

"Liam—"

"Walk with me. Please." My hand finds his uninjured one. He casts a look over his shoulder at Gio, whose retaken his position by Carmen's door. With a world-renowned assassin by her side, Crixus on her other, an ex-Italian Militia by her door, and a former king and queen in the hall, I'm convinced nothing could possibly get to my friend while I'm gone. I clench Liam's hand tight and enjoy his company while I have him.

We duck inside a family consulting room and shut the door. He presses his back against it while I take in the small room, the loveseat on one wall and a few chairs on the other. There's a coffee table covered with magazines and tissue boxes. Liam's crying when I turn around.

"Baby—"

He lifts his eyes to the ceiling as more tears threaten to spill over. "I'm tired."

"I know."

"I just want to go somewhere; me, you, a beach, and some fruit. That's all I ask for."

"As soon as this is over." I promise him.

He glances down at me, mumbling, "Will it ever be?"

I lean over and pluck a box of tissues off the table, only to hand him one. He glares at me. "What?" I wonder with a soft smile. "We can't let the people know that the king cried."

The corner of his lips can't help but lift as he grabs a single tissue. But all he does is ball it in his fist, using it more as a stress reliever than a tear wiper. "Will it ever be over?" He asks again.

"My dad, the one that raised me, he was no famous philosopher." I place the box back on the table and turn around, only to find Liam's gaze on me. "But he always used to tell me that the only way out is through. The only way out of something challenging is to go through it. Not to back down, not to retreat, to march through it. The only way out is through, my love."

Liam pushes himself off the doors and walks straight into my waiting arms. My palms press against his cheek bones as his face nears mine. His eyes flutter closed as our foreheads rest against one another.

"Per I'impero."" He whispers against my lips. My eyes open as I search for the translation. Liam smiles. "For the empire. Dad used to say it all the time when I was younger, and I didn't understand it then. But today, when you killed that Russian and said that—it—it made sense. Everything we do—"

"We do it for the empire," we finish together.

Liam and I share a few more quiet moments of peace with one another, randomly placing quick kisses against each other's lips. He tells me what his conversation with Gio he was about, and how got a phone call from the family, stating that an alarm was triggered on the property. Liam said he has plans to go out there and check, to see if his theory of a false alarm is true.

But first, he wanted to check on me, and on Carmen.

I lead the way out of the consulting room, dragging a refreshed and happier Liam behind me.

Carmen's large hospital room has shrunk in size. Vincenzo and Zara stand in one corner, arguing beneath their breath. I pick up bits and pieces. Zara says that the physical therapist whose been seeing Vince wouldn't appreciate that he's standing, saying he should sit in the seat she's dragged over for him.

He holds tight to his crutch and says he's never followed rules and doesn't plan to start now.

Veleno still sits by Carmen's side. She hands him the flower Crixus gifted her and watches as he takes it. She tells him that her favorite color is yellow.

"Crixus." Liam's clearly surprised to see the boy in the corner, who's using his backpack as a pillow. The kid shoots up at the sound of his name. "You're a hard man to find."

Veleno snorts. "Man?"

Crixus looks like somebody ran over his three-week-old puppy. "Wow, Veggie. I didn't expect that from you."

Liam holds out his hand and Crixus accepts it, shaking. "You saved people I care about at the expense of yourself. Thank you."

"No nickname today?" The boy teases.

Liam simply smiles. "Don't test me."

He refocuses his attention on the woman lying in bed, and his expression softens. Veleno stands and offers his seat to the king. While Liam politely accepts the offer, he lowers himself to the seat and leans forward, speaking so only Carmen can hear.

Giving them their moment, I look between Vincenzo and Crixus. "Have you two met?"

Sensing the oncoming introduction, Crixus pulls himself to his feet once more and crosses the room. "Vincenzo, this is Crixus, and Crixus, Vincenzo."

Vincenzo's large hand engulfs Crixus's. "I trained your—"

"I know." His normal chirpy demeanor fades for just a second, and I can see a look of sadness pass over his expression. Crixus shakes Vince's hand and steps back. "Do I get a cool nickname too? Like—Fantasma, or Veleno—"

Vince just laughs in the boy's face. "Nicknames are earned, kid."

"You don't think Veleno is my real name?" Immanuel says with his arms crossed.

Crixus turns to him. "No disrespect or anything, Veggie, but unless your parents were high as shit, there's no way in hell they named you poison."

Liam quirks an eyebrow. "You know Italian?"

"Enough," is all Crixus says.

"Where's Dominic?"

Carmen's random question causes everyone to glance to their left, then their right. Veleno is the only one who shrugs, keeping his gaze on her the entirety of the time. "I left Sav home with Rosie. He wasn't there when we left."

Crixus sits back down and pulls his feet to the chair, planting them on the fabric. He leans forward and wraps his arms around his shins. It's quiet for just a moment. "It's that bad, huh?" The boy finally wonders. "Dad always tells me to be careful when I take stuff for pain because it runs in our family. Addiction, I mean."

"He'll be alright, kid." Veleno says in an attempt to reassure.

"You can't promise that."

And he's right. He's so right in fact that none of the adults in the room have a retort for that.

With a quick clearing of his throat, Liam changes the subject effortlessly, telling the group what he previously told me. Saying that he got a call from the family, announcing that an alarm had been triggered and that he was going to take Giovanni and head over there. "For now," He continues, "I already told the hospital to keep Carmen overnight. It would be safer for not only her, but you." His eyes are on me as he says it. "If you're willing to stay with her, that is."

"Of course." I say without a doubt.

Liam rises to his feet. "I'll call you if anything changes." He glances over at Vince, then Veleno. "Let me know when you two head home." Liam nods towards Gio, who stands in the doorway, ready. "On me." He gets halfway out the door before turning around and finding my eyes, forgetting the most important part of his speech. His eyes settle on me. "I love you."

"I love you more."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

I wake up in a cold sweat, the sound of my adopted mother's voice repeating itself in my head. Save me, please save me. I press my palm against my chest and work on slowing down my breathing. The nightmare felt real. I was convinced it was real.

Night as fallen on Los Angeles as I fling my legs over the side of the small sofa. Carmen is fast asleep, as is the small figure curled up on the reclining chair by her side: Crixus. I remember Vincenzo and Zara dipping out when the sun began to set, but Veleno had remained, promising to see them when he got home. He must've been the one to slide a bundle of blankets underneath my head, as well as tossing one overtop of me.

He even managed to tuck Crixus in, and I smile at the thought of it.

My phone starts to buzz, signaling an incoming call. I fumble for a few moments as I tug it out my pocket and press it against my ear. I end up hitting myself in the temple with it, mumbling a curse at the erratic process. There's no time to check the caller ID or glance at the contact photo that I assigned each and everyone in my phone; ranging from cute pictures of us, selfies they took and sent to me, or memes that make me think of them.

"You're up?"

I groan and lower myself back to my makeshift bed at the sound of Liam's voice. It's deep and his accent is thick. He's tired.

"Barely. What time is it?"

"12:30."

"In the morning?" I groan again, placing the back of my hand against my forehead. I slowly wipe away the layer of sweat caused by my dream. "Why are you still up? How did everything go after you left? Was it a false alarm?"

I hear a female voice in the background, followed by a voice deeper than Liam's. She sounds like she's explaining something, but her voice doesn't register as someone I recognize. Liam orders something in Italian, and I swear I hear him slip something in Spanish to whoever else is with them. When he places his mouth near the phone again, he starts speaking another language, before cursing and reverting back to plain 'ole English for me.

"Kind of." He sighs, and I can picture him running a hand down the side of his face, tangling his fingers in his growing beard. "I'm glad you're awake. I sent a transport for you. I want you here. I need you here. They should be there already, if not soon."

"Yeah, yeah." I stand up too quickly and the room spins. "Wait." I begin to overthink the way Liam's voice sounds, the pitch, and the fact that this may all be a setup. Another perfectly orchestrated attack put on by the Russians. "Is this really Liam?"

The man on the other end of the phone pauses, but actually enlightens my request by saying. "How do I prove to you that I'm me? I'm Liam."

I narrow my eyes. "Tell me something only the real Liam would know."

There's a pause, and then, "On Valentine's day last year I took you to Paris. While we were walking down the street you started nudging me on the shoulder and I got tired of it so I nudged you back, but I pushed you so hard you stumbled into the street and almost got run over by a double-decker bus."

"And you laughed," I add, feigning a disgusted tone, thankful that Liam can't see the smile on my face. Liam's chuckle is loud and clear on my end of the line, and I force myself from joining him as I pick my blanket up from off the floor and put it onto the sofa. I move across the room, contemplating on whether I should wake up Carmen or Crixus.

I choose Crixus.

With a quiet, "Hold on," to Liam, I pull the phone from my ear and gently shake Crixus's shoulder. He stirs but is surprisingly easy to wake up. He sits up just long enough for me to tell him that I'm leaving. "Are you going to stay till morning?"

With his eyes half open and his curly hair a mess on top his head, watching Crixus nod is almost funny.

I'm halfway out the room when he speaks up. "Wait." He points a lazy finger to the side of his face. "What about a goodnight kiss?"

I expect him to crack a smile, to tell me he's joking.

He's not.

With a huff, I march back over and bend down, kissing Crixus's cheek. "Thank you for everything," I manage to tell him, but I'm pretty sure he's already fast asleep. His head hits his backpack and he's out like a light.

I shut the hospital door behind me and smile at the two new soldiers that stand on either side of the door. A new pair of soldiers come every six hours, so their shift is almost up.

"Who were you kissing?" I hear Liam ask as I head in the direction of the elevators.

"My prince charming. Where are they picking me up from? Out front?"

"And risk a sniper picking you off from the steps of the hospital?"

I should've known better. "Fine. Basement?"

"Basement."

I step inside the empty elevator and head downwards, my phone still pressed tight against my ear. Liam's with me the entire journey, and I only lose him for a second or two when I'm in the elevator. We hit the basement and the doors swing open, revealing a three-way hallway. You can either go straight, leading towards the cafeteria, to the right, or to the left – in the direction of the spacious parking garage.

Liam jokes with me, saying that he isn't going to hang up until he knows I've made it, considering I've had a bad history with parking garages. I laugh in his ear and listen to him talk randomly. He says he's in the kitchen making dinner. When I ask what he's making, he says cereal, then begs that I come home, and fast.

The parking garage is basically empty, save for a few cars belonging to the nurses working the nightshift and a few family members willing to stay overnight with a loved one. The idling black SUV is in the distance; sitting far enough away from doors not to look suspicious, but close enough that I don't have to exert more energy than needed. With a quick peak at the license plate, I know it's me.

My shoes echo off the pavement as I pass by car after car. I don't tell Liam how spooked I actually am. I flinch every time I see my faint reflection in every rear car window I walk by. I swear I see some sort of movement off to my right, like something is drifting in the shadows of the dark that surrounds the garage. Upon closer inspection, it's just a sign that had fallen over and been pushed in the corner until maintenance can get to it.

I grab the handle of the SUV and prepare to open the door. "Thanks for keeping me company, but I'm getting in now. I'll see you soon."

"Okay. I love you. Come home to me."

I hang up and yank the door open, climbing inside the waiting vehicle. While my back is turned, the soldier in the seat behind me closes the door. I thank him and plop down in my seat with my phone in my lap.

Nobody moves.

"Thank you, guys for picking me up. I appreciate it."

Nobody responds.

My heart does a thing. That thing where it skips beats when you know in your heart something isn't right. I lean forward and press my fingers into the back of the driver, giving him a gentle shove.

He falls forward without any resistance, and his head rolls to the side.

His throat is slit.

I grow pair and look to my left. The soldier closest to me has succumbed to the same fate, and I don't dare lean forward to peak at the man in the passenger seat. My breath catches. A part of me wants to turn around and see if those in the backseat resemble their friends, but that's when I hear it.

A growl; a low, rumbling, threatening growl that's beginning to rise from the base of one's voice.

I don't have time to scream. Cold, gloved hands wrap themselves around my neck, my head, blocking my vision and managing to cut off my air all in one impressive move. Diavolo. He pulls me with all his might, like he's trying to tear the seat apart and drag me into the back with him.

In a desperate move, I jam my nails into his left hand, and he releases me in an instant.

His cry of pain isn't far behind.

My cellphone goes one way and I go the other. I fling open the SUV door and nearly topple to the ground. My hands catch my fall. I push myself off the concrete and angle my body towards the two double doors I just walked out of.

And I run.

I run like I've never run before.

I don't look behind me. I would be stupid to look behind me. The doors draw nearer, closer, yet I still don't glance over my shoulder. But that's when the advice of every assassin I've ever met comes into my mind. Never turn your back on your enemy, and I come to a full stop and spin around.

Diavolo hits his own set of breaks and comes to a stop just feet from me. Mere feet. One more step, without a doubt, and he would've lunged.

He looks just like I remember; dressed in black from head to toe like Satan himself. He leans most of his weight on his uninjured leg, while the shoulder that accepted Carmen's bullet sags more than the other. I can't tell how his hand is doing, or what his back looks like, but the injuries that Veleno and Crixus inflicted on him didn't fully heal in a week.

I take a step back, and he takes one forward.

And I know I have no choice. Nobody is coming to save me; and although Liam has taught me a lot, and Veleno has shown me more than just a few moves, its nothing that can free me from the hands of Diavolo.

I'm going to have to run, and hope I make it to freedom in time.

I know his eyes follow my hand as I reach into my front pocket, fingers tightening around my Chapstick. Create a diversion, I can hear Liam now when I asked him what I should do in case I'm caught alone with someone far larger, and far more trained than me. Create a diversion, and haul ass.

So that's what I do. I chuck my Chapstick at him and haul ass.

I lock in on the doors that will lead to my freedom, to my safety, managing to stay a good step and a half ahead of the man chasing me. But he likes the chase, and he's enjoying every second of his time as I run in fear. I lunge for the doors and the tips of my fingers brush against the cold, metal handle.

I don't make it.

Every bone in my body shudders as I'm thrown against the solid wall. My feet leave the floor, while Diavolo's hand finds its way around my throat. He presses his chest against mine and uses his knee to dig into my hip bone, keeping me pinned between him and the surface behind me.

His hand tightens around my throat and for the first few seconds I fight. I fight because in my heart I know I still have a chance. But no matter how much I kick or swing, his grip doesn't loosen. It only tightens, more and more, until I can only focus on dragging in the slither of air he's allowing me.

My vision swims with confusion as I claw at his hand. Tears form when I realize this is it. This is it. And in sheer desperation, with the last little air I have, I plead with him. "I'm sorry—I'm so sorry about your mom—please—"

He does nothing but cut off my circulation entirely.

Darkness. It starts in the corners of my vision, slowly closing. I catch movement to my left. Diavolo brought backup. He brought backup. Who knows how many of Valentin's soldiers wait in the distance, just waiting for Diavolo to finish me. And I know if I escape him, I won't be able to escape them. This is it, but dying isn't what I'm afraid of.

I'm afraid of everything that I'm going to miss if I do. I won't be able to see Rosalie grow up to be the most independent, strongest woman to ever grace the earth. I won't be able to see Dominic get his life together, end his addiction, and live his life to the endless potential that runs through his veins. I won't be able to see Vincenzo reclaim his throne. I won't be able to further my relationship with Carmen, or make Zara and Michael proud. I won't be able to witness Veleno and Crixus become the most lethal duo the mafia has ever seen.

I won't be able to stand in front of Liam and say I do.

I won't be able to be the king he knows I can be.

I won't be able to make him proud.

My lungs are on fire. I want to scream but there's no air in my lungs to do so. A tear slips out the corner of my eye and if I had the chance to whisper my last words, I would waste them declaring my love for a man who can't even hear me.

My vision swarms black, and I am certain my time has come.

But just when I think I can't last another second without air, air comes. It comes out of nowhere, just like the person that drives their shoulder into Diavolo's side, sending him tumbling to the floor. I hit the ground with them and throw myself against the wall, inhaling so quickly I cough, violently.

My mind spins with so many thoughts that I can barely comprehend the fight breaking out right before my eyes. The most important part about all of this is that I am no longer Diavolo's primary focus. I am not a threat, but the man that stands to his full height, barely any shorter than Diavolo himself, is.

Diavolo surveys the new threat, as do I. He cranes his head to the side as they circle each other. He looks like a dog staring at himself in a mirror for the first time. They wear dark pants and boots similar to the one's on Diavolo's own feet. They, too, conceal all aspects of their identity with a simple hood.

They fight. Diavolo offers a disapproving sound and lunges first. They try and knock each other off balance. They throw jaw-rocking punches, but none land. They dance. They dance like they've danced together for years because they are both good at it. They are both great. But in my awe and partial state of shock, I realize it's because they're evenly matched.

A cry, similar to the sound of a person wrapping a chain around the neck of a barking dog and yanking it, is what comes out of Diavolo's mouth when the man he's going toe to toe against wraps him arm around his throat. He body slams the Russian assassin to the floor with surprising ease, reigniting a flare of pain caused by the knives Crixus drove into his back.

Diavolo doesn't stay pinned down for long, he claws at the man above him, grabs hold of his hood and pulls.

Material rips, exposing the one who risked his life for me.

I don't recognize him.

I don't recognize the head of long, black hair that droops over their brow, stopping just short of his thick eyebrows. I don't recognize his face, which is covered by a thick, but neatly kept beard. I don't recognize the pair of light eyes. I've stared in eyes like them before, but they were full of pain and drowned by depression and wrapped in the chains of anxiety.

A fire is lit behind these eyes. These eyes have a beginning, a purpose, and an end.

I don't recognize Federico De Santis.

He grabs the fabric wrapped around Diavolo's head and lifts him from the floor. His eyes find mine again and I hear him. I hear him above the sound of traffic and above the hum of a distant generator.

I hear him above the sound of cracks forming in the foundation of Valentin's empire.

I hear him above all else as he slams Diavolo's head into the concrete floor.

"Get off my throne. You know I still reign."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

a/n:

plot twist i planned in october 2017 coming into motion? yes please.

somebody pls roll the open fucking credits pls let's get this bitch GOING