xxiii | love you in the dark

a/n: mama says never ever become predictable. bet you didn't see this one coming.

dedicated to kari & london. 

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"Nathaniel Rostov." 

Steven sits across from us within the spacious seating of the luxury SUV, ankle crossed over his knee.  The steaming disposable cup of coffee, which might I add is his fourth this morning, resides in the cup holder between his seat and Austin's.  He yawns and using a single finger, pushes his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

Without another word, he tosses a fresh manila folder to the man who sits across from him.  None of us slept last night.  Steven's occasional yawning and the way Austin continually shifts in his seat, doing his best to keep moving to stay awake, proves that.  I, too, was guilty of leaning my head on Liam's shoulder and shutting my eyes for two minutes.  The pothole our driver hit woke me up and I began mumbling apology after apology to Liam.  I don't think he heard me, because I'm pretty sure he was guilty of shutting his eyes behind the tinted sunglasses that he wears.

I've rehashed the story of last night over, over, and over again to the point that I'm tired of speaking on it.   But every single detail that I may not deem important, may be an idea as to what I possibly missed, or as to what the Russians have planned.

Liam pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head and flips open the file without a word.  His eyes are bloodshot red. Exhaustion is undeniable, yet exhaustion has never looked so good. 

"Nathaniel is Valentin's eldest son.  Heir to the throne, we can assume." Steven takes a sip of coffee, hesitates, and takes another larger gulp before drawing the cup from his lips. "I wish I could say it was as easy as typing his name into google and adding Rostov behind it, but it wasn't.  I had to do some pretty illegal digging."

Liam flips the page of the small file Steven and Austin were able to dig up on my former friend.  He stops on the third page, his thumb running along the edge of a few poorly developed photographs.  "What else did you find?"

"His mother is American."

"Was." Austin corrects as he stares out the vehicles tinted window.

"Was," Steven agrees nimbly.  "The woman you murdered wasn't just Valentin's wife.  She was Nathaniel's mom."

I let out a breath.  "You sure do have a way with people's moms, huh?"

Liam ignores me as he raises his gaze, meeting Steven's eyes.  In a voice devoid of all emotion, he says, "Is that supposed to make me feel something?"

Steven chalks Liam's question up as a rhetorical one and clears his throat.  "Did you piss them off when you killed her? Yes, but Valentin already had his men in position before then."  He motions for Liam to flip the page.

Our attention falls on a few printouts clipped to the top of the folder.  One is a receipt for the first monthly payment of their apartment, while the other is proof of Nathaniel's registration into UCLA in August – all of these papers dated three months ago.  He had told me that he was taking a full load of classes, but the sheet of paper before me says he was only taking one.  Mine.

Liam's eyes narrow.  "What else?"

"Not much." Steven continues.  "I'm not sure what he told Faith, but he's twenty-seven.  Unmarried.  No children.  He's been to the United States quite a few times before this.  I was able to track down the information on Valentin's personal jet.  I red-flagged a lot of trips to Vegas, and Valentin doesn't seem like the clubbing type."

"What is his purpose in all of this then?" I ask.

Both Austin and Steven start to speak at the same time, both trying to explain to me what they researched and put together in the early hours of the morning.  Steven takes over midway through, trying to help me understand the logic they put together.  "Valentin sent his eldest son here to befriend you, Faith.  To get you to trust him, become friends with him—to be the person you would run to when you needed someone."

I shake my head, mumbling, "That's exactly what he became," loud enough for everyone to hear.

Steven unbuckles his seatbelt and scoots forward, "Initially, I believe he was placed here to keep an eye out on his brother, Gabriel,  because Diavolo would be no help to Valentin if he was in Russia and the Luciano family was here. But Valentin also stationed his sons here to gain your trust.  It's quite possible you didn't become as close friends with Nathaniel as they were hoping, so they threw in the idea of abuse.  If you realized Gabe—" Steven air-quotes Gabriel's nickname, "—was being abused, you would feel the need to shelter him.  Keep him safe.  Ideally, you would eventually trust him."

All I can do is nod because the story Steven tells somewhat makes sense.  I steal the folder from Liam.   "Nathaniel and Gabe—they're definitely brothers?"

Steven nods his confirmation.  "Different mothers."

"At least that part was true," I note.

"Were you able to find anything on Gabe?"  It almost appears painful for Liam to even reference the assassin by nickname. 

Steven winces, "With all due respect, Liam, I think we should stop referring to Gabriel as Gabe.  The symbolism between his birthname – Gabriel – and his name as an assassin – Devil, which translates to Diavolo in Italian is almost eerie.  Valentin knew what he was doing when he combined the names.  The archangel and the devil, all in one.  His name is Gabriel."

"I don't give a shit what his name is."  Liam snatches the folder from me, his jaw working as he steals one last glance of the contents inside.  He slams it shut with about as much force as one would with a flip-phone.  He looks up, eyeing Steven through his lashes.  "Let them worry about what they're going to put on Gabriel's gravestone when I'm done with him."

The SUV descends into silence until Steven clears his throat.

"DID. Disassociate Identity Disorder."  Austin appears to be the only who knows what Steven is rambling about now.  Steven's attention darts between Liam and I as he leans forward, explaining a theory I don't think either of us had considered.  "DID is a mental disorder that, in short, is characterized by someone who has at least two completely different personality states – on a side note, I would really recommend watching an interview or case study of someone with DID it's absolutely fasci—ow."

Austin retracts his elbow from Steven's ribs before carrying his previous point home.  "The Gabriel you explained was insecure and lacked confidence."  I feel a chill when Austin's serious expression meets mine.  "You said you witnessed fear in his eyes.  You saw him cry.  You saw him feel pain.  You saw him hesitate, you saw him portray clumsiness – but according to your stories, the only emotion you never saw Gabriel express was anger.  True, pure anger.  And why not?"

The epiphany Austin leads me to nearly blows my mind.

I sound like a child in school, who finally understands the complicated math problem that the entire class figured out fifteen minutes ago.  "Because anger is the only emotion Diavolo cannot fake."

"As interesting as DID was to research, I don't think Gabriel suffers from a mental disorder." Steven pauses, thinking about his words carefully.  "Okay, he definitely suffers from a mental disorder, but disassociate identity is not it."

Steven's tone rises with interest as he continues to speak, elated about the research that he conducted and the pieces of the puzzle he fit together all in a few hours.  "Gabriel was dehumanized at the age of five. He had emotion stripped from him before he even knew what it was.  From what I heard, from what I can see in short clips of him, and from what I gathered off Angel Ferrari's laptop—" He holds up a sheet of paper.

Austin supplies a reminder quickly "—Gabriel's dead ex-trainer."

"—Gabriel cannot feel emotion." Steven doesn't miss a beat.  "The Russians are sick.  They stole humanity from a child and beat the anger back into him because they needed it.  Valentin needed it.  Anger drives.  Anger leads.  And anger kills."

The paper Liam accepts from Steven's extended grasp could've only been authored by the late Angel Ferrari.  Long before his death, he had locked the contents of this report deep inside his computer – possibly even on an encrypted device for extra security.  How Steven obtained this information is beyond me, but it isn't my job to ask questions.

I swear I witness an ounce of sympathy pass Steven's face as we lock gazes.  "Gabriel has mastered the art of mirroring emotion.  Angel said it himself."  He nods toward the paper grasped tightly between Liam's fingertips.  "He can't feel anything but anger.  He can't feel love, he can't feel happiness, he can't feel fear.  He doesn't even know how to hesitate—he doesn't even know what insecurity means—" Steven sighs, stopping himself from continuing to drive his point home.  "Gabriel is more a weapon then he is a human being."

"It's deeper than just emotion." Speaking of mirroring, Austin rests an ankle on his knee as he combines their findings.  "I truly don't think we understand entirely what we're dealing with here.  We're dealing with someone, with something that stood in front of a mirror and taught himself how to smile.  How to imitate a laugh so authentic, so genuine that even his eyes crease."

Angel Ferrari confirms everything Austin and Steven managed to put together and easily explain.  I'm hardly halfway through his report before Liam balls the paper in his hands and chucks it at the window opposite of his seat within the car.  He rests his elbow near his window and lets his fingers work their way through the coarse hair on his chin, eyes locked on the scenery.

"That isn't what scares me," Liam admits, finally breaking the tense silence he caused.  He tears his attention away from the window and shifts in his seat, his shoulder brushing mine. "I was raised around fake smiles and forced laughs.  But never in my twenty-nine years of life have I ever seen a man lie to arguably one of the best assassins in our generation and walk away.  Veleno stared me in my eye and said that Gabriel was not a threat.  He took the beating I gave him, and he didn't even flinch.  He didn't break character, not even for a second."

I witness the beating like it's happening all over again.  A soldier landing a vicious kick to Gabriel's ribs.  He cringed and grabbed his stomach, groaning in what I know now, as fake agony.  There's an unprovoked punch across his jaw as he narrowly catches himself from hitting the ground.  A thin line of blood rolled down his nostril, his lip busted.  He had his eyes closed, cheek resting against the cool concrete floor, appearing unable to find the strength to open them.

But what I mistook for pain, was Gabriel lying on the floor of our basement, quieting the demons that were beginning to stir.

A single line that I was able to scan from Angel Ferrari's report makes sense: Gabriel is in control of every demon that inhabits him.

A warning follows: But don't wake them all up at once.

"I'm a man—a stupid man, but a man—I have too much pride and an ego," Liam continues.  "If someone starts to beat on me, what would I do?"  He answers his own question.  "Fight back.  His level of control is impressive, almost scary.  He played all of us.  He made Veleno say he was innocent and left me thinking that maybe I had made a mistake.  He profiled Faith to a tee, made himself become someone that he knew she would sympathize with."

Liam shakes his head and returns to his thoughts.

Liam and I hadn't talked much, making this one of the first questions I aim his way this morning.  I don't know why I ask it—like I'm searching for some type of closure to an open-ended conversation.  One I know we'll return to eventually.  "Where do we go from here?"

He multitasks with his response by resting a hand on my clothed thigh and eyeing Austin all at once.  He gives me the reassurance that I need in the moment, while ordering his right-hand to pass the message to his soldiers once they return home. 

"We kill on sight."

There's not much more anybody else has to share, and for now, the car remains silent.  Liam pulls his hand away from my thigh to cross his arms over his chest and stare out the window.  Steven eyes Liam cautiously as he pulls his iPad from behind him, quietly flipping open the cover of his protective case.  The way his eyes dart from the screen to Liam suggest he's doing something he shouldn't, and when Austin glances over his shoulder at the screen, I learn why.

"Oh my God, you're playing candy crush?"

The teasing smile Austin tries to hide is easy to see from where I sit.  Steven drops the device to his lap and angles his entire body towards Austin, unable to believe that his friend just ratted him out.  Steven sticks his tongue out, the equivalent to the middle finger for him.  He whispers something beneath his breath and refocuses on his game.

Austin laughs and says something that sounds like an apology.  He scoots closer while Steven tilts the screen to his left, making it easier for Austin to analyze the game they're playing.  It's quiet for a moment or two before Austin asks if he can play.  Steven hands him the iPad before subtly resting his head on Austin's shoulder to view the game.

At least someone's relationship is flourishing.

Liam and I hardly spoke once Federico and Crixus retreated to their apartment after the events of last night – which, we came to learn they acquired by killing the white collared employee that lived there.  Liam remained by my side the entirety of the early, early morning.  He was with me through every emotional retelling of Gabriel and I's story and didn't leave me until we arrived home and got ready for bed.

I refrain from nudging Liam's side and asking how he slept last night.  I want to spark some form of conversation between us, but there's no point in wasting my breath when I already know his answer.  Exhaustion is written on his face and detailed in his eyes because at four-thirty in the morning I found him on the floor of the living room, back pressed against the sofa, watching the security footage of the Russian attack on his company.

And again, I refrain from nudging Liam's side and asking if he saw me standing underneath the archway of the living room at four-thirty this morning.  There's no point in wasting my breath when I already know his answer.  He didn't.  I found him sitting on the floor, the collar of his simple black tee shirt tucked between his teeth.  The glow of the television had casted shadows across his sharpest features.  It highlighted the heaviness of his eyelids and drew my attention to the dark circles underneath his eyes.  The faint glow even pinpointed the small, shallow scars left from the car accident the Russians inflicted.

And again, I stop myself from nudging Liam's side and asking him why he would sit down in front a television and watch a massacre.  But because I know him, I know why he did it.  Liam was torturing himself, blaming himself, and maybe a part of him wanted to feel something. 

He had the volume on the television low due to the late hour, but the sound of gunfire wasn't hard to miss.  He clutched the remote in his hand, thumb hovering over the rewind button as a woman begs the Russians, pleads with them as they shove her to her knees.  She begs them not to kill a new mother.  She pleads with them and with tears in her eyes, says that this is her first day back from maternity leave.  She says she wants to watch her babies grow up.  She says she wants to see her twenty-eighth birthday.

I had turned away as a quiet, pop, sealed her fate.  A headshot, execution style.  But before I made my way upstairs to a bed which I know now – I wouldn't get any sleep in – I turned around.  Liam rewound the footage and had begun to watch the woman's execution again.

The barrage of gunfire.  She begs.  They kill her.  Liam repeats.

"How many times did you watch her execution?"

Liam blinks slowly as his eyes remain on the scenery that passes by.  My question exposes me, for sure.  Suggesting that I don't sleep well, if at all, when Liam isn't in bed beside me.  But he doesn't comment about my late-night adventures as our SUV takes the next exit, decelerating as we come to a stop sign. 

"Eleven," He answers plainly. 

That partially explains why just three hours after I found Liam re-watching the security footage, he was standing at the end of our bed, putting on a slim-fit suit.  In my exhausted, sleepless haze I heard him ask if I wanted to accompany him to the hospital downtown, where the 160 victims of the company's shooting were transported to.  He said a few had been released, but the more seriously injured remained hospitalized.  He said he wanted a break from this, from the war, and I agreed. 

Deciding what to wear and making sure I looked approachable after the events of last night had been harder than ever before.  Liam still managed to pull it together quicker than me.  Liam's definition of casual consisted of Louboutin dress shoes, black slacks, and a black dress shirt.  He'd discarded the matching suit jacket as soon as we got inside the car, but the gold watch on his wrist, rings on his fingers, and collar chain that accompanies his all-black outfit was the perfect touch. 

I had struggled finding what I wanted to wear to a hospital full of victims.  I didn't want to dress too casual to the point they assumed I didn't care or didn't try.  I didn't want to dress too fancy, worried that someone may assume I'm pushing money in their face.  So, I took Liam's lead and had thrown on a suit myself.  The black slacks hugged my ever-growing thighs perfectly and the matching blazer fit snug over my shoulders.  While Liam shaped up his beard, I ran a flat iron over my hair.  The final touch was the gold necklace that drew attention to the sheer black top underneath my jacket. 

And just like that, we were a match.

Camera crews and news reporters stand outside the grand entrance of the hospital, awaiting our arrival.  I don't know how they know about a decision Liam seemed to have made at the last second, unless the company's public relations team got the word out to make it appear as those the leaders of Tanner INC weren't entirely heartless and cold.

Our ride halts at the front entrance of the hospital and immediately my eyes lead me to Liam's window, and up at the large buildings that line the busy street.  Most would look up and adore the sky, marveling at the gorgeous shade of baby blue that suggests today is going to be a good day.  But I'm looking for snipers.  For any sign of the Russians.

"I have two snipers on every building for as far as you can see," Liam assures me. 

Austin sits forward and nods.  "They have orders to shoot anybody that appears to be a threat."

"Shoot first, ask questions later." Steven adds.

"Sounds like a cop's motto," Liam pitches in bitterly.

"Hey."  Austin cuts in.  "We focus on one problem at a time.  Today is about these victims, let tomorrow be about the cops."

"Right, yeah."  Liam unbuckles his seatbelt and scoots forward, eyeing the media through the tinted windows.  Reporters clutch recording devices in their hands while others grasp their phones.  They all rush the SUV doors at once, shouting questions at Liam even though they can't see him.  The doors to the transport behind us open and soldiers stream out – but to the public, they look like your every-day bodyguards, dressed in formfitting suits rather than tactical gear.  They force themselves through the crowd and create a barrier between the news teams and our vehicle.

Liam lowers his gold-framed Ray-Bans over his face.  "I plan on being here most of the day.  I want to try and talk to every family that's been affected by this—"

"Every?" Steven questions.

Liam sends Steven a look, and even through reflective lenses, it reaches its mark.  Steven leans back. "I want you to focus on finding out who bought the institution that Mrs. Mitchell was recently released from."

Liam looks in Austin's direction.  "And I want you to find Savaughna's daughter.  I need you to find Analía."

Austin runs a finger across his temple as he winces.  "Liam, I'm absolutely sure you know the statistics of kidnapped children—"

"Most don't live past the first twenty-four hours—" Steven blurts the fact without much thought, clearly unaware of his awful, awful timing.  He lifts his gaze from his iPad at the silence that follows, and it registers. "—but I'm sure that isn't the case here." He ends with a forced smile full of teeth.

Neither men acknowledge Steven.  "I'm going to be blunt, Liam.  This is more of a body recovery than a rescue," Austin boldly states.

The three of us wait with bated breath, gauging Liam's reaction underneath his tinted glasses.  The way his lips press together and his jaw works from side to side suggests he doesn't appreciate Austin's statement, albeit realistic. 

"Find her," is all Liam needs to say as the SUV's doors are ripped open and we're escorted out into the manic crowd of reporters vying for the opportunity to poise Liam a question.  A solider rests a protective hand on the small of my back as the united group of six escort us toward the entrance.  I keep my head low, somewhat tucked into Liam's side as cameras flash, blinding me.

"Liam, can we ask you a question?"

I feel a nudge in my side and nearly trip over my heel.  Liam's arms find their way around my waist  as he pulls me into him and holds me tight.

"Liam, do you have another comment to make about the shooting at your company?"

"Liam, do you have any comment about this being the largest mass shooting this year?"

The motorized hospital doors pull apart at our entrance.  As soon as my heels hit the vinyl tile of the hospital's foyer and I'm deemed safe, Liam lets me go, turns around, and grabs the only reporter who is beginning to break boundaries.  His hand tightens around her own, as well as her recording iPhone, and he brings it up to his lips, making sure to stare down every reporter in the growing crowd.

"I said everything I had to say yesterday on television."  He yanks the phone away from his mouth, simultaneously shoving the reporter in the process.  The news-teams, along with Liam's PR, will have a field day with that. "Watch it again."

The doors close, and thankfully, silence welcomes us.

The eight of us stride through the quiet foyer like we own the place.  We were instructed before we left the house to immediately head to the sixth floor.  Sometime between the front door and the hospital elevators Liam discarded his sunglasses, neatly hooking them on a pants pocket.  We call for the elevator, but nobody moves when the doors open.

I don't recognize Dominic Santiago.  His curly hair is long and falls so far over his forehead it obscures parts of his vision.  It looks oily, unkempt, and is long due for a cut and style.  His beard is no better.  His once flawless complexion is dotted with acne.  Even his skin-tone doesn't appear as rich in color as it once was.  His clothes hang loose on his gaunt frame. 

I didn't think it was possible for him to look any worse than he did when he stormed out the house after he and Liam fought.

Our eyes meet, and I know every drug he's ever entertained is holding him captive.  My eyes water at the sudden realization that Dominic's pleas of not wanting help never came from him.  The Dominic James that I remember is crying for help, but the drugs always manage to speak louder, clearer, and they're the ones that tell us he doesn't want it.

Liam throws a hand in front the separated elevator doors, stopping them from closing.

A sick feeling in my gut suggests that if they do, we'll never see Dominic again. 

Not alive.

"I overdosed three days ago."  Even his voice sounds different.  It isn't the one that commanded an army nor is it the one that helped lead a dynasty.  "Pills and alcohol.  Woke up with this on my wrist."  He raises an arm, motioning towards the hospital band that clings to his wrist.  His name on the band: John Doe.

"Dominic," Liam's eyes never leave his friend.  "Let me get you help."

But Dominic acts like he doesn't hear him.  "Is it bad that I—I want to OD again? Hope they don't save me this time?"

I lift a hand to my mouth, unable to form any type of answer.

"Dom, please let me help you," Liam urges.

"I don't want help," the drugs respond.

"And I don't want to get a phone call notifying me that you're dead."

Dominic moves past us, heading in the direction of the front doors.  His furrowed brow hints at his irritation.  Liam pushes himself away from the elevator and slaps a palm on Dom's shoulder, forcefully spinning him around to face us.  Dominic rips the hospital band from his wrist and tosses it in Liam's face.

"I promise you.  I fucking promise you that you will not get a phone call when I die."

Dominic strides away, getting smaller and smaller as he crosses the vast foyer, distancing himself from us with every pained step.  Liam looks torn, deciding between chasing Dom down and if not getting him help this instant, taking him back to the house where we can keep an eye on him. But the nurses on the sixth floor are waiting, and the victims Liam feels guilty over still lie in bed.

Liam's on the phone by the time we've stepped inside the elevator.  His security guards remain in the foyer, unable to join us on the sixth floor.  Austin picks up the call.  "Dominic just walked out the doors of the hospital.  If you're still in the area, follow him.  I want to know where he's going." He hangs up by the time the elevator doors separate, welcoming us to the floor they've dedicated to the shooting victims.

It doesn't take long for us to introduce ourselves to the waiting nurses.  They inform us that twenty patients on the floor have been discharged.  But the smile on Liam's face shortly fades as we're escorted to the start of our journey.  The first family.  The victim behind this door, the nurse explains, is a seventeen-year-old, black, female high school student who was caught in the crossfire during a fieldtrip.  Her name is Janiyah.

She was shot three times in the leg and trampled.

Her left leg was amputated.

Janiyah is clutching her blanket tight to her chest when we walk in. Her attention remains on the HGTV show her and her mother were watching, at least until the woman fell asleep on the small, uncomfortable loveseat in the corner by the window.  She does a double take when she glances over at Liam.

"Oh my God—mom—mom—" 

"Hi, Janiyah." Liam strides into the room as the nurse shuts the door behind us.  She extends a shaking hand, unable to tear her eyes away from Liam's face.  "My name's Liam," He introduces.

The teenager does nothing but stare, shell-shocked.

"Trust me," Her mother sits up slowly on the sofa, fighting back a soft grin.  "She knows who you are."

I offer a wave to them both.  "I didn't know CEO's had fans."

"Oh, please," Janiyah finally says.  "I've been a fan of Liam since that picture of him and Rihanna on the red-carpet went viral."

Whoa, whoa, whoa.  I bump Liam playfully with my hip, imitating a look of happiness between the two of us as I offer my hand to Janiyah.  "Rihanna?" I look over my shoulder at him.  "How come I haven't seen this photo?"

"They say if you search the internet hard enough, you can find it."

Liam drags a chair behind me, offering me a seat.  I take it and watch as he eases himself down on Janiyah's bed.  I watch them talk.  I listen to them engage in a conversation so deep that I find it impossible that this is the first and only time they've ever met.  But it isn't until Liam mentions Janiyah's school, and the way she's managed to maintain straight A's through the unrightful shooting of her older brother, and the death of her father, both which came by the hands of police officers earlier this year that it hits me.  It hits me when Liam turns his attention to Janiyah's mother and asks how they've been managing financially that I know.

He didn't just spend last night watching the footage of the shooting, but he spent his time getting to know each and every victim.

"Janiyah."  I swear every time Liam says her name her soul leaves her body.  "I heard about your 4.0 GPA."

"Yeah."  Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes the way I expected it too.  "It's the only thing in my life that's perfect." She clears her throat, "My dream was to get into MIT.  I've been saving since I was, like, ten, but rumor has it I'm going to have some serious hospital bills." She waves a hand around her missing leg.

"Don't worry about the hospital bills," Liam says.  "And don't worry about MIT, either  As long as you maintain your 4.0 GPA, I'll pay for it.  I'll pay for both."

Her mother rises to her feet quickly.  "Mr. Luciano, you do not have to do that—"

"Ma'am, if I were to sell every car on my lot, I could pay for your daughter to go to MIT, twice.  Let me do this."

Janiyah's mother drops back to her seat, speechless and in tears.

"The only thing you need to worry about right now is your rehab."  Liam says, addressing the girl once more.  "You focus on your school, on spending time with your mom, and on yourself.  And I promise you, I promise, you will never see a bill from this hospital, you will never see an invoice from MIT, and you will never have to worry about the people who did this to you, ever.  Not when I'm done with them."

She throws her arms around Liam's neck and yanks him toward her.  He laughs and attempts to curl an arm around her back in reciprocation.  Her tear-filled eyes meet mine and she mouths a silent, thank you, in my direction.  But this was all Liam, and I can take no credit in the kindness of his heart.

"Thank you, Mr. Luciano."

And as meaningful as this interaction is for Janiyah, a young, seventeen-year-old who will never forget this moment – I think Liam enjoys it just a little bit more.  She looks happy, but it's possible that he looks happier. 

His entire world is falling apart.  The crack in the foundation of his dynasty is beginning to spread.  He can't even properly protect the ones he loves from Valentin, no matter how hard he tries.  I can only imagine the weight he's carrying, and a part of me wants to address our argument right now.  But Liam said this morning that he wanted today to be about the victims and not about anything else. 

And standing here, watching him pull Janiyah closer, I understand why.

This is Liam's therapy.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

We spent the entire day at the hospital, migrating from one room to the next.  Each family was different.  Some were rightfully upset, pissed and wanted answers as to why this happened to them, to their loved one.  Others were grateful just to be alive.  But the only thing that united each family we encountered today, were the tears they shed when Liam assured them that their finances would be covered.

There was one woman though, a single mom, who had lost her only reason for living.  Her son.  She clung to the sheets on the bed that still smelt like him and she cried, she shook, she wept.  We were told not to go in, but Liam's never been much for orders other than his own, and he pushed through the doors anyways.  And he gave her what she needed.  A hug.

Dinner calls my name as soon as we step foot back inside our home.  For the first time in a long time, the house feels alive.  I can hear Zara and Carmen in the kitchen, having relieved the chef of his duties for tonight.  I can see the glow from the television as Rosalie's favorite show provides commentary through the foyer.  I cast a quick glance inside the living room, where Vincenzo sits on the couch, Rosalie curled up in his lap.  They appear to be sleep.

I shrug my blazer off my shoulders as Liam works the buttons of his shirt, starting at the top.  He exposes his neck, then his collarbone, allowing the light of the grand chandelier to draw my attention to the chain around his neck.  Potere.  He pauses just long enough to check his watch.

"Giovanni has a meeting with me shortly."  Liam distances himself as he says so, beginning to make his way down the hall towards his office.  "If you hear the doorbell, please send him my way."

I nod towards the kitchen, and the smell of dinner that drifts throughout the first floor.  Even though I'm still upset about what's transpired, I don't want to witness Liam starve himself.  "You haven't eaten all day."

"Soon," His promise is muffled as he drags his phone to his ear and greets the person on the other end of the line.  Their conversation fades as he pushes his way inside his office, "Do you know where he went?"

I make my way into the kitchen and rest my blazer across the back of a chair.  Zara stands at the oven, a mitt in hand as she bends over to check the contents of the oven.  Carmen sits at the island, phone in hand.  She rises to her feet when she sees me and gingerly meets me halfway.  She tosses her arms over my shoulders and pulls me in for a solid, warm hug.

I smile.  "I missed you."

"I missed you, too." She pulls away with a soft smile, but the pain from her broken ribs has yet to subside.  She grabs at her side and lets out a breath, one mimicking a gentle laugh.  "And I missed the food."

"What, hospital food wasn't doing it for you?"

Her smile grows.  "Honestly, I think Liam paid off the cafeteria or something because all the food was great.  But it wasn't homemade, you know."

I pick a seat at the island beside Carmen as Zara pulls the final entrée from the oven and sets it down beside the meal she's prepared.  We fill Carmen in on the details of the shooting, all of which she claims she heard on the news.  Our conversation lulls as Carmen's phone vibrates continuously on the marble counter.  She unlocks the device and checks her messages.

"Rosie has been begging me for mashed potatoes and gravy for days."  Zara sets a plate full of food in front of us both.  "Vincent wanted steak, and I wouldn't be a mom if I didn't throw in some type of vegetable."  She winks, "Eat up."

Carmen already has a piece of steak in her mouth by the time Zara turns her back.

"Hey, Zara."

She acknowledges my call with a grunt as she focuses on preparing two more plates.

"Where's my mom?"

I can feel Carmen's eyes on the side of my head as I strain to keep my attention on Zara.  She drops a serving of mashed potatoes on the final plate and takes her time drizzling the dark gravy overtop.  She reaches into the drawers for silverware, before finally addressing me.  "Probably in her room."  She grabs the plates and heads for the exit, "I don't know.  I didn't make enough food for her."

"Your mom?"  Carmen spins in the stool, eyes wide.  "How long was I gone?"

I stab an asparagus, thoughts carrying me to the hug Crixus and Federico shared.  I see the C necklace that Carmen gifted him, and the way his fingers brush across it in a reminiscent manner.  Federico was never trained to be gentle.  None of these men were trained to be gentle, but they always are with us.  Liam with me.  Veleno with Savaughna.  Federico with Carmen.  Vincenzo with Zara. 

I get why Liam avoided dinner.  The food smelt good as soon as I walked in, but nothing in my life right now is sitting right with me.  I feel nauseous at the idea that Carmen has cried herself to sleep night after night in mourning of her best friend, and I was just sitting across from him, our knees brushing. I feel nauseous because I can't tell her, can't celebrate with her, can't rejoice with her.  I feel nauseous because of the internal battle I've been fighting since my mother made her way inside our home, pitting a war between my feelings and Liam's. 

"Too long."  I watch, disinterested, as the asparagus falls back to my plate.

"Didn't she, you know," Carmen draws her index finger across her neck, indicating death.

She notices the force behind my laugh as she grabs a vegetable between her fingers and takes a bite.  I explain as much to Carmen as I can, unsure as to how much I've told her before.  But if she's heard the story before, she doesn't stop me as I explain the way my sister, Ellie, played Liam.  I tell the story like I was there, narrating it with as much detail as I can.  I tell her how Federico, at fifteen years of age, pulled the trigger that caused the accident.  I tell her how my mother and I survived, unlike my father and sister, and how she was sent to a psychological institution while I was adopted.

"My adopted mother died, not my biological."

She rests her fork down and her phone buzzes again.  "And how do you feel about it? I mean, her being back."

I shrug.  "I think I would feel better if I didn't simultaneously find out that my boyfriend has been paying for her to remain there for over a year, when she was never crazy.  Michael Luciano just wanted them to think that she was."

"So, Liam's dad put her in the institution, paid to keep her there, and when he died, Liam continued paying?"

I nod.

She stabs another piece of steak and shoves it in her mouth with a sound of enjoyment.  She points her fork at me.  "This is delicious."

"The drama or the steak?"

Carmen's laugh suggests both. "I fucking love you."

Carmen's phone buzzes with another notification. 

"Sounds like someone is dying to talk to you."

"It's just my parents.  They heard about what happened, somewhat, and they're checking on me."  She shakes her head, "I don't feel like answering their questions right now."

"Mashed potatoes!" Rosalie comes skidding into the kitchen, a grin on her face.  Her hair is tousled from her nap and an imprint from one of the many pillows that decorate the sofa indents her cheek.  She hops up on the seat beside me as Carmen and I laugh.  "Can you make me a plate, Ms. Faith?"

I rest a hand on the little girl's cheek before excusing myself.

"Hi, Aunt Carmen," Rosie greets. "I missed you."

I can hear the smile in Carmen's voice as I reach for a plate in the cabinet.  "I know, sweetheart.  You've told me every single time you've seen me since I got back earlier."

"I know.  I'm just making sure you remember."

I fill Rosie's plate with mostly mashed potatoes, before adding smaller portions of the rest of the meal.  I made the mistake once of serving Rosalie lunch without a drink.  It took her months for her to finally forgive me.  I wouldn't make the mistake again.

I rejoin the table, resting Rosie's dinner – and drink – in front of her.  Her smile is wide, her thank you, muffled by the forkful of potatoes and gravy she jams in her mouth.

"Aunt Carmen?"

"Yes?"

"Did you get pills from the hospital?"

Carmen finishes a lengthy text and rests her phone facedown.  "I did, why?"

Rosie shrugs.  "You have to hide them from Uncle Dominic because he'll pop them like tic tacs, at least that's what Manny said when they thought I was sleeping."

I spin to face Rosie as she shoves another helping of her dinner in her mouth.  "Who is Manny?"

"They?" Is Carmen's question.

"Manny."  Rosalie looks at us like we're insane.  "Immanuel. Veleno." She huffs, unable to believe that nobody else though of the nickname first. "And they," She continues, answering Carmen, "Like, him and Savaughna.  She was helping me with my school but she got confused about something so she got Manny, but then I got tired and wanted to take a nap and she said I could—they started talking when they thought I was sleep."

Carmen's stool scrapes the ground as she inches closer, a gleam in her eyes.  I smile and hold back a laugh as I push my food away, allowing the three of us to lean closer, anticipating the gossip the little girl has for us.  "And what did you hear?" Carmen asks.

"I heard that Dominic is a drug addict, Vince keeps trying to walk without his doctor's permission and it makes Zara mad."  Rosie leans over her plate and grabs an asparagus.  She eyes it carefully, untrusting.  Then her attention lifts to us as she finishes with, "Oh yeah, and I saw Manny and Sav kiss."

Carmen and I nearly fall off our stools in shock.

"Oh my God," Carmen screeches, resting her palms on either side of her face to calm her growing smile.  "I love, love.  I mean, they aren't in love yet, but I just love, love."

"Okay," I rest a hand on Carmen's shoulder to calm her – and my – racing heart down.  "What kind of kiss was it, Rosie?  Was it like," I grab Carmen's face and plant a kiss on her cheek, "That, or was it like—"

The little girl stares at me, offended.  In a matter-of-fact tone, she states, "I wasn't born yesterday, Ms. Faith.  They used tongue."

Carmen flies off the seat, hand in the air as she walks away.  "I'm the maid of honor."

I stand in objection.  "No, that's definitely going to be me."

"Well, I know I'm the flower girl," Rosie points out.

I turn to Rosie, "Sweetheart, they would already have a flower girl."

Her eyes narrow.  "She can fight me—"

"Who's getting married?"

Savaughna stands in the doorway, looking as stunning as ever in a pair of basketball shorts and an oversized shirt.  She's knotted the shirt so it fits snug around her abdomen, but still hangs loose across her narrow shoulders.  She wipes at the perspiration that dots her face.  When nobody responds, she moves into the kitchen and reaches the refrigerator, feeling right at home as she reaches inside and grabs two bottles of water.

She cracks one open and tilts it to her lips.  "V and I just went on a run." Her eyes scan over the food Zara prepared.  "How was dinner?"

Rosalie says something that sounds like, good, but her mouth is full of potatoes.

"Okay," Savaughna's smile is bright and worthy of a runway, not our kitchen.  Her eyes dart between Carmen and I as we fight back smiles.  "Are you guys okay?"

"Perfect."

"Wonderful."

Savaughna still shows no sign of belief as she turns to leave, "Okay, I'm going to take a shower.  I'll be right back."

She turns to leave, and runs into a sweaty, shirtless Veleno.  Savaughna freezes, shoulders tense.  She shoves the cool bottle of water against his chest, right between each pec.  I don't need a magnifying glass to witness the condensation mix with perspiration.  It runs over his bare skin, rippling across every muscle in his abdomen. 

His thank you mixes with her apology as she dances around him and heads into the foyer, destined for a cool shower.  He breaks the seal of the refreshing drink and takes a sip. 

Veleno catches my attention and jabs his head in the direction of the foyer.  "Can I talk with you for a second?"

"Of course."  I slide off the stool without another word.

"Rosie," I hear him warn as I join his side.  "Eat your vegetables."

"But they're disgusting," She whines.

"You won't get big and strong like me if you don't eat your vegetables."  Veleno chuckles as he turns his back.  He lifts his arms high and flexes quickly, making his point to Rosalie, yet also giving Carmen a hell of a nice view.

Carmen's laugh fills the space as I look over my shoulder, watching Rosalie grit her teeth, scrunch her face, and mimic Veleno.  Her muscles are in no comparison to his.

"I would ask Carmen, but I don't want her to know," Veleno starts as we welcome our privacy in the foyer.  He lowers his volume and leans closer to me.  "Would you mind fixing me a plate?  I know Sav wanted me to eat with her but I, uh, I want to get out of here with the least amount of questions as possible."

"Where are you going?"

Veleno's eye is sharp, focused, and I somehow manage to feel small under his stare.  "Let's just say that I need to grab a hot fudge sundae before I get to where I'm going."

I smile and go to pat his chest before awkwardly catching myself and folding my hand in a ball.  "I'll cover for you, don't worry about that."

"Thank you," But instead of walking away, Veleno catches my arm to stop me from doing so.  "I heard what happened," He adds quietly, pausing just long enough to scan my expression.  If he's looking carefully, he would see the twitch in my brow as I fight back a frown.  "Are you and Liam okay?"

"What's your definition of okay?"

Veleno hesitates.  The conflicted look in his eye suggests he doesn't know what the definition of 'okay' is either.  I offer him the most genuine smile I can muster before grabbing his muscular arm and shooing him towards the staircase.  "Hurry and take a shower," I purposely pull myself close to whisper in his ear, knowing not everyone can hear what I say next, "The recipient of that fudge sundae isn't a patient one."

"Hot fudge sundae," Veleno corrects with a wicked grin as he pulls himself up the stairs the disappears with a laugh to himself.

I run a hand through my hair.  Instead of returning to the kitchen where the sound of Carmen and Rosalie's laugher fill the air, I peak my head into living room.  Watching Vincenzo turn the volume down on the television and throw his arm around Zara, urging her closer as he asks, "What's wrong?" is worth the pitstop. 

Rosalie's laughter invites me back into the kitchen.  No matter what is going on around us, I can already count of her presence to brighten the room – hell, even the house.  I slap Veleno's dinner in a takeout container I found stashed in the back of the hardest cabinet to reach. And when I spin around, ready to figure out why the laughter died down, I find my mom standing in the entryway.

"Hi."  Carmen puts on a dazzling smile, trying to decide whether my mother deserves a formal Vega greeting, including a hug and all – or if a simple smile and wave suffices.  She sticks with the wave and the smile.  "You must be Faith's mom."

"Mrs. Mitchell," She nods, confirming.  "Or, you can call me Kathryn, Katie, Kate, Kat, I have a lot of nicknames." My mother clears her throat, nervous.

Carmen's eyes dart to mine for half a second. 

"You're Rose, right?"  Kathryn Mitchell wonders, eyeing the little girl.

"It's Rosalie or Rosie," She hops down from her stool, meal finished, and approaches the woman with her head held high, confident.  "Rose is Uncle Dom's wife.  She died.  Don't get us confused." 

Rosalie extends her hand for a kiss.

Kathryn glances over at me, unsure.  "What does she—"

"Just kiss the hand," I command.

She does as told and rises to her full height, watching the smile on Rosie's face widen even more.  The little girl nods, impressed, and struts out the door as Carmen calls after her, reminding her to take her shower and change the sheets on her bed.  She adds that she'll be up later to tell her a bedtime story, and Rosie shouts back, okay.  From the distance of her voice I can assume she's halfway up the stairs.

"She's a," Mrs. Mitchell rests her hands on her hips, head shaking, trying to digest what just went down.  "Handful."

"Well," Carmen comes to stand beside her.  "I think she handles life well considering all the death that surrounds her on a daily basis."

My mother's attention falls on me and her gaze softens in sympathy.

"Um, I'll be upstairs if you need me."  Carmen snakes out the room before I can beg her to stay.

"So," Kathryn folds her arms across her chest as I lean against the counters, watching her admire the large kitchen.  It isn't as big as it once appeared now that I'm used to it.  "This is your life?  Mansions and fancy cars?"

I shrug and mimic her actions, throwing my arms across my chest in a stance of emotional distance.  "Marry rich.  Can't go wrong with that."

My attempt at dry humor lacked the proper amount of sarcasm because my mom doesn't laugh.  She makes that face, the one all parents make when they're about to turn an innocent sentence of yours into a lecture.

"Faith, are you sure this man even loves you?"  She lowers her voice and advances toward me.  I feel guilty just entertaining this question, but I do it anyways.  "It's possible Michael told his son to get with you to keep an eye on you."

"Mom."  My teeth grind against one another in building irritation.  "Don't start."  She looks like she's ready to fight me in every verbal sense, but she clamps her mouth closed and lets me make my point.  "The first thing you said when you walked through the doors of my home was, and I quote, if only your sister found a man like that—guess what, she did, and guess what again?  She broke omertá.  She deserved everything she got—"

"Okay," She sounds like she's ready to fight that too, but decides against it, taking a different route.  "But did you?  Did you deserve what you got?  Did you deserve to have your father taken from you?  To have your mother taken from you?  To have your childhood stripped from you, forcing a social worker to throw you in a home with people you didn't even know?  Was that deserved?"

She has me there.

"I didn't mean to call you a traitor.  That was anger and I'm sorry," Kathryn admits, "But these people—the Luciano family are the villains in our family's story.  Whether Ellie broke this—this code or not, they committed murder.  And you're sleeping with the son of the man who killed your father. Who locked me away, who made you forget most of your childhood, who—"

"Saved me."  I cut her off.  "He saved me."

"Jesus Christ, Faith, he kidnapped you."

"He saved me."

"Let me repeat that.  He kidnapped you."  She takes my lack of a response to her advantage and steps toward me, lowering her voice even more as she damns the name of the man's house we stand in.  "Your boyfriend has been lying to you this entire time, and you don't want to leave him?  Word on the street is there's a spot opening up in a mental facility somewhere in LA.  You could use it."

My laugh isn't convincing.  "I'm tired.  I don't feel like talking about this."

She reaches me then, her cold hands grabbing my own.  Her eyes reach mine and I can't help but believe her.  "You have to trust me.  We can put you in witness protection.  I promise you. I promise you." She shakes me and pulls me close, her last words a whisper on her lips, "They won't hurt you."

"I can't leave."

The look on her face says it all.  She isn't going to back down until I do what she says, until I leave the family she deems ruined ours.  Confusion lines her face.  "You have no ties here, what's your hesitation?  You could leave with me.  You could live a life you deserve.  One filled with happiness and not, not, whatever the hell this is."

"It's not that easy."

"It was very easy for that sniper to pull that damn trigger that murdered—"

"Federico De Santis.  That sniper, has a name."

"Oh my absolute fucking God, you're friends?"

"I can't just leave," I repeat.

Her shoulder sag in defeat.  "Faith."

And I choke on my own tears when I say, "I love him.  I love Liam. And you can damn his name all you want, but you know nothing. He put my life before his so many times.  He secured my seatbelt without any thought to his when we got in a car accident.  A decision so quick it couldn't be an act.  And that sniper is a guardian angel.  He's always there when I need him.  You're just so blinded by anger that you want someone else to pay for the crime Ellie committed.  But she already paid.  She paid with her life."

Her hands find their way to my shaking shoulders.  "Faith," She starts, attempting to calm me down.

"I was wrong for what I said yesterday.  They're not bad people.  How can they be when this is all they know, when this is all they were born to do?  They're just victims. They're victims in their own story and a part of me wants to save them all."

The fire lit in Kathryn's eyes is put out by the tears that replace it.  She pulls me into a hug, her hand rubbing gentle circles in my back.  There's no point to keep arguing.  I know we'll never agree.  She only knows one side of the story and no matter how many times I try and tell her the Luciano side, she'll never listen.  We will argue this till the day we die, but I'm still grateful for this moment.  This hug.  This second of peace.

She rests her chin on my shoulder and tilts her lips to my ear, reminding me of something I accepted long ago.

"You will never be able to save them all."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Giovanni is standing in Liam's office when I walk in, wiping away the last piece of evidence suggesting that I had cried.  Their voices are low, deep and for a few seconds they don't even know I've crept inside, pressing my back against the wall.  Liam remains seated behind his desk, while Gio stands a few feet away, his feet shoulder-width apart and his arms folded across his chest. 

Their conversation ends somewhat abruptly and when Gio turns toward the door, his eye catches mine.  He smiles and strides toward the door, not looking like someone who has just been sentenced to death. 

Gio's almost out the room when Liam finally looks up from the mountain of papers that sit on his desk.  He finishes the flourish of his signature with his eyes on me.  "'Vanni has been on my security detail since he got here four years ago.  He's the best soldier I have, and you deserve the best."

"What do you mean?"

"Starting tomorrow," Liam taps the back of his pen against his desk, "Giovanni will be the head of your personal security detail."

Giovanni stops when he reaches the door and shoots me a teasing grin.  "Hope you're not afraid of shadows, Ms. Crawford, because I'm yours now."

I nearly miss Liam's smile watching Giovanni exit.

"What about you, though?" My voice is louder than necessary considering we're the only two in the room.  Liam's eyes follow me, observing as I take shallow steps towards his desk.  His grip on the pen tightens the closer I get, then his eyes drop as he grabs another stack of papers and continues to sign off on them. 

"I'll find someone to replace Gio," He finally says.  "But you're the one they're gunning for."  Liam drops the pen and looks back up, and I know what he's going to say has nothing to do with my security.  He's been thinking about whatever it is all day, and finally found the moment to say it.  "You knew about Rico.  You told me and I didn't believe you.  How long did you know?"

"That same night," I admit without much hesitate.  "He's the reason I'm here.  Diavolo would've had me if it wasn't for him."

Liam's statement comes out as more of a fact than anything else.  It doesn't even sound like he's addressing me when he says, "He saved your life."

"Look," Liam glances back up, tearing his eyes away from his paperwork.  I doubt I'll have his attention for long, so I speak like time isn't on my side.  "I didn't come here to talk about Rico.  I'm here to apologize, not for what I said, but for speaking irrationally yesterday.  For speaking before I had a moment to think."  Liam flips his pen from side to side, his gaze burning a hole in the center of my forehead. 

I inhale, exhale, and continue, "I can't say that I regret telling you I don't want to marry you, because in all honesty, our world is crumbling to ashes and—"  I hesitate. I stumble as a flash of pain fills Liam's eyes.  But he blinks, and it's gone.  "—and, maybe for just a second I thought that marrying you would stop the constant—the constant—"

I break down for the second time tonight.  Tears skate out the corners of my eyes faster than I can draw my hands up to stop them.  The man sitting before me, my world, he blurs, and the room follows.  I struggle to catch my breath, to inhale, to exhale, and that induces another level of panic.  I somehow manage to cough out, "I can't breathe."

And just when I'm certain I'm about to pass out, I feel his arms wrap around me and tug me against him.  He presses his lips into my hair, mumbling soothing affirmations.  Telling me to breathe, that everything will be okay, that I'll be okay, that we will be okay.  I believe him, but even then, the only thing I am sure of in the moment is the beating of his heart.

I'm tired of the death, of the sadness.  I'm tired of the lies and the lack of communication.  I grit my teeth and clutch the back of his dress shirt.  I hold on for dear life and admit something I've always wanted to say.  "I can't love you in the dark."

"You won't have to anymore.  I promise."  Liam steps back, worried.  "I don't want you to break up with me."

"Then tell me the truth." I challenge.  I'm reminded of what my mother said earlier and of the thought that crossed through my mind, if only for a second during our argument.  What if Liam only got into a relationship with me to keep an eye on me.  What if all of this, everything I know and hold dear, was fake.  Every hug, every kiss.  Are you sure this man even loves you?  "Has this been some sick game from the beginning?  You pretending to love me so you can keep an eye out for me? To make sure I don't expose all of this?"

Liam doesn't appear to be even the slightest bit offended at my questions.  He understands the doubts and that almost instigates another wave of tears because he's always understood.  And if he doesn't, he would sit with me and talk with me until he did. 

His thumb trails the path of a tear down my cheek.  "My love for you was never an act.  It was never fake. It will never be fake.  I don't think you understand how much you mean to me.  You do not understand how much I love you."  He pulls his hand away and takes a step back, arms outstretched by his side to indicate the house we stand in.  "I would give all of this up for you.   All you have to do is look at me and say you're done, not with me, but with this—and Faith, I will take my crown and put it on someone else's head and walk away."

One look in his eyes and I know he's telling me the truth.

"All you have to do is say the word," Liam presses.  He steps forward, hands finding their home on my hips.  His grip is tight, but secure.  His lips part, like he wants to add something, but no words come out.  He wants to say please.  A part of him wants to beg me to say the word, to force him to walk away.  A part of him wants to be done, and with my chin resting against his chest, staring up at him, I watch the part of him that wants to stay, to reign, and the part of him that wants to walk away, fight.

He shuts his eyes, exhaling while he does so, and when they open the war is over.  "I would rather live my life as a free man with you by my side, even if only for a couple hours – before some assassin puts a bullet in my head – I would do it because I know you'd be happier away from this."

I wrap my arms around him again, pulling myself flush against him.  I rest my head against his chest, shut my eyes, and bask in the warmth he radiates, in the truth he shares.  But he knows I'll never say the word.  He knows I'll never say I'm done, but he knows I know that he would willingly walk away at my command.  And despite the issues of communication and the problems our relationship has, I know that's love.  I would be a fool not to realize it.

"I know you would," I whisper.

Liam's hand runs down my back as he lets out a breath.  "Michael didn't explain anything to me in regards of your mother before he died.  He told me she was a threat, rightfully so, but I didn't know he was paying this institution until a bill came last September.  I didn't ask questions.  I figured Michael knew what he was doing and I cut another check." He sighs, again.  "I should've talked to you about it, told you, and I can't make up an excuse for why I didn't.  I'm terrible at communication, if you haven't noticed."

"I've noticed."

"But I understand she's your mom.  I get why you're upset. You deserve some type of normality, so she can stay, but I hope you understand – or at least try to – get why I did what I did.  Why I kept paying.  Michael, this family, took everything from your mother.  Killed her daughter, the love of her life, took her right to raise her remaining daughter – and then she gets out and finds out you're in love with me.  Her anger is justified and non c'è furia peggiore di un donna che è stata offesa."

"I understand your side too.  I can see how she could be a threat to this family. I just wish you would've been honest with me. I wish you would've told me.  We can find a way to compromise, so this family is safe and I can get to know my only living relative."

"We can compromise," Liam nods in agreement.  He dips his head and like every kiss after an argument, it feels like the first.  My heart starts to beat faster and my palms feel sweaty while the voice in the back of my head is trying to tell me that I'll be bad at it. 

His kiss takes my breath away, and momentarily I forget about the rest of the world.  His hands run down my sides and land on my hips.  He squeezes with an intensity like never before and pulls me against his chest.  My lips part for him, and if I'm not careful, my legs will too. 

He bends, just long enough to run a hand down my ass and hook his arms around the back of my legs, lifting me from the ground with ease.  He leads me to the edge of his desk and sets me down, breaking the kiss just long enough for me to catch my breath, and for him to focus on my neck.  I wrap my legs around his torso, forcing his lower body against mine.  Every inch of him tenses.  Every inch. 

I lean away from him and he grumbles his disappointment against my skin, leaving a lasting kiss behind my ear.

He licks his lips, eyes darting between my own to figure out my non-verbal command to stop.  "What's wrong? You don't want birthday sex three days early?"

I run my hand down the base of his neck.  His teasing tone causes my smile.  "No that's not—wait, you remembered?"

With everything going on, my upcoming twenty-third birthday is at the bottom of the list of the most important things.  And with everything on Liam's mind, the fact that my birthday has crossed his mind makes me happy, even if just a little bit.

Liam looks offended.  "Of course I remembered, but that isn't what's wrong.  So, what's wrong?"

"Yesterday you said good things don't happen to people like us, to people like you," I press a finger to his chest, watching his eyes drop from me, to it. "But they do.   They really do."

He fights back a knowing smile and challenges me with, "Give me one example."

Out of the two scenarios that pop in my head, I go with the one that I know will make him laugh.  "Me." 

He rolls his eyes and stops fighting the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're not a good thing.  You're the best thing."

I run my hands across his shoulders and down his toned arms.  My hands find his and he welcomes my touch.  "I told myself I wouldn't regret what I said yesterday, but I do.  I want to marry you.  I just don't think right now is the best time, but I do want to marry you.  I really do."

With just a kiss, he agrees with everything I said.

"She talked with me this evening," I mutter against his lips as he slowly pulls away. "She was trying to convince me to leave you and go into witness protection."

I wrap my arms around his neck as he grabs my waist, lifting me from the desk and lowering me back to solid ground.  I detach myself from him, trying to study his response from afar.

"Witness protect would be a waste," He says, entertaining the idea if it were to ever happen.  It won't. "My men could easily infiltrate, but that wouldn't be necessary.  I wouldn't hurt you if you left me."

"I know you wouldn't."

Liam nods, thankful that I know, and moves past me to retake his position behind his desk.  He eases himself back into his seat, attention falling on the piles of paperwork that require his immediate attention.  He looks up at me, yearning for some type of reassurance.  "We're good, right?  You're not done with me?"

I fold my arms across my chest, acknowledging what I've always known.  "I could never be done with you. Yeah, we're good."

His lips curl in a weak smile.  "Get some sleep, you need it."

"Hey, Liam—"

He looks up.

I can't fight the dreaded idea that resurfaces, suggesting that the timing of my mother's reappearance coincides too perfectly with the Russians doing.  I can't deny the fact that Liam was right about Gabriel, just as he may be about my mother.  He's opening the doors of his home for her, because of me, and I would never be able to forgive myself if something happened to him, or anybody under this roof that I love, because of me.  Because of the decision he made for me. 

"If we find out that my mother is a threat our empire.  If I find out that she is a threat to you, to me, to everybody here that I love, that I would die for, I will put a bullet in her head myself."

And the promise I make tonight is not one I will ever back down on if the damned scenario arises.

"And I will kill my own mother."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

a/n: me, dying because i'm juggling 2438783 side characters that all deserve their own books with their storylines and me, accidently, losing dominic 5 chapters ago and not remembering where I put him but then it all plays out perfectly and I pretend I did it on purpose to make ya'll think I'm a good writer when I'm not I'm just a mess throwing a mess together that comes out beautifully, somehow.

thanks for 1 mill btw love you!