xxx | brace for kickback

xxx | brace for kickback

kickback – the backward movement a shooter feels when the bullet is discharged.

••━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Michael Davidé Luciano has had every weapon formed against him, but none scarier than his mind.

It was the only thing he could not escape.

He's failed at everything he's ever done. He failed as a husband the moment he slid the diamond on Jaiyana Zara's finger, knowing damn well he wasn't the man she needed. He failed as a father the moment he brought Liam into a world he helped ruin. He failed as a friend the moment he couldn't be there for Vincenzo the same way he was always there for him.

His overwhelming thoughts weigh heavily on his chest. He feels like he's drowning. But she saves him. She always saves him. The faint, sweetest voice to ever pass his ears. She comes in the name of innocence. And maybe, just maybe she will be his saving grave. Maybe he hasn't failed at everything.

"Dad?"

Michael lies in bed, attention stuck on the white, vaulted ceiling of his grand bedroom. His forearm rests gingerly across his forehead. The small girl is too far away to see his lips transition from a frown to a pained smile. She makes him happy.

He doesn't respond, but rather listens to the 6-year old's feet pad across the hardwood floor. "Dad? It's noon. Are you sick?" A small hand pulls at his forearm. He drops it to his side and welcomes the concerned expression on Rosalie's youthful face.

He lets out a faint chuckle at the sight of the little girl. Her hair is still a mess from sleeping, strands sticking in multiple directions. Impressions of her sheets still line her face, paired with a drool stain out the corner of her mouth. Tucked between her side and elbow is the neck of her favorite stuffed bunny. She's had it since she was born, a toy Michael placed into her crib one night and never removed. The bunny's floppy, half torn ear and grungy appearance suggests its age.

His chuckle doesn't lessen the little girl's concern. Rosalie slaps a small hand to Michael's forehead, causing the grown man to wince. "You're not hot." She tosses her bunny over Michael's body and anchors a foot between the mattress and box spring. She grabs at the sheets covering half of Michael's body and pulls herself up and over him. Rosalie positions herself on her knees and slaps a hand to Michael's bare stomach. "Does your tummy hurt?"

Michael flinches. Her hand is cold. "It does now."

Her contagious, high-pitched laugh prompts his.

Rosalie's lips pull apart and pure joy washes over her face as her laughter dies. "Your laugh has an accent."

Michael's chuckle is faint, his smile fading faster than his laughter. He reaches for the little girl, his hand finding the underside of her chin. She's always been somewhat ticklish there. Her head tilts as he wipes at the corner of her mouth. "You're going to be the prettiest king I've ever seen."

She squeals and drops herself beside him. She places a hand on the sides of Michael's face and draws her face close to his. Her small fingers run through the salt and pepper of his thick beard. "No way. You're the prettiest king I've ever seen."

"You're biased," He smiles.

"Because I love you." She positions herself beside Michael, her side pressed against his while she clutches her bunny to her opposite. He tosses an arm around her as she nestles into him. A moment passes before she whispers, "You're sad, aren't you?"

His response is delayed. "Why do you think I'm sad?"

"You're pretending not to be."

Michael lets out a breath. "You didn't answer my question."

He can feel her shrug against him. "You didn't tell me my bedtime story last night, or the night before that, or the night before that." She sits up a little. "You never forget."

Rosalie frowns at the look Michael sends her. Her lips curl upside down at the tear that forms at the corner of her dad's eye. She presses a small finger at its crease, stopping it before it can fall. "And you never cry," She whispers.

The innocence of her touch is comforting. "You're a gift," He mumbles in her direction. "And I know I told you about your dad, your real dad..." Rosalie's eyes drift to his, her happiness fading with every word. She remembers that story, one he told her not too long ago. "One day he's going to need you—"

She shakes her head quickly, "He didn't want me. That's what you said."

"No," Michael shuts his mouth, his frustration boiling. He repeats himself, this time softer, "No. It's not that he didn't want you. He just knew I needed you more than he did." He reaches in the little girl's direction, fingers grazing her cheek. The action makes her smile.

She picks at the fabric of the blanket that covers the half of Michael's body. "Does he love me?"

"He would be a fool not to."

Her eyes drop to his. "Will I meet him one day?"

Michael's nod is faint, his confirmation even fainter. "Yeah," He tries to smile, but the thought causes it to fail, "When I'm ready to give you back."

Rosalie continues to fiddle with the blanket, her attention drifting from Michael and the comfortable object. He can see the gears in her little mind churning. He can hear the sadness in her voice when she speaks up. "Don't give me back too soon."

Michael smiles this time. "Only when you're ready."

Rosalie's laugh is soft as she pulls her bunny into her lap, playing with its ears.

"Promise me something," Michael adds, gathering her attention once more.

Her eyes are on him immediately.

"Do for him what you would do for me," Michael finishes. Rosie tilts her head and Michael continues, "Love him like you love me. Take care of him like you take care of me. And I promise he will be a better dad to you then I could ever be."

Rosalie lies her head down beside Michael. Her lips part. She doesn't entirely understand the meaning of her next statement, but she knows the weight that it carries. She's heard it before. It means something. Something big. "But dad, I would kill for you."

Michael rolls over on his side to face the little girl. "Then you know what you have to do."

The little girl nods, somewhat in confusion, somewhat in understanding. She smiles softly in Michael's direction as she positions herself closer to him. She's young. She doesn't entirely understand it, but she knows Michael is special. Only special people cause normal people to lower to their knee when they walk in the room. Michael is special. Rosalie loves Michael.

She reaches a small hand forward, touching the course, trimmed hair that covers the chin of the man who raised her. "You'll always be my dad."

Michael's smile causes Rosalie's to grow. He wraps a large hand around her small wrist and pulls her outstretched hand away from his beard. He presses a kiss to her small fingers, sealing his next promise. For today and forever.

"And you'll always be my king."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The sound of Rosalie's sobs echo through the grand hallways and seep underneath the cracks of our bedroom door. It made me sick to my stomach and causes tears to form in my own eyes at the thought of her pain.

I knew immediately that our never-ending day was about to get a little longer. It was pushing the early hours of the morning. We had just gotten back from our meeting with Diavolo and crawled in bed, then her cries hit our ears and sleep was suddenly the furthest thing from Liam and I's mind.

I feel the mattress shift underneath us both as Liam tosses his legs over the edge and onto the floor. He's standing in a matter of seconds, dressed in under a minute, and gone before the remaining fragrance of his cologne could hit the floor. He didn't say much. Just that he wasn't going to sleep, or try, until the Santiago parents were safely in his custody.

He didn't mention Rosalie's crying and neither did I. I know Liam's heart and neglecting the little girl will never be his intention. But the look on his face suggests he would be the worst person to try and comfort her right now and I had to inwardly agree.

We part ways in the hallway with a kiss, just as Carmen squeezes through the jarred door leading to the guest bedroom she and Federico share. She shuts the door quietly and tightens the robe around her waist. She looks ridiculously cute in the scarf she used to tie her curls up for the night.

"I heard her," Carmen nods in the direction of Rosie's bedroom, "And I just..."

"Couldn't sleep?" I pitch in.

"Between her and Rico, no."

"What was he doing?"

She cracks a faint smile and shakes her head as we walk towards Rosalie's bedroom. "He's a very active sleeper. If he isn't rolling around, he's kicking you. If he isn't kicking you, he's talking about some "Shoot him," like shoot who?" Her laugh encourages mine. "I don't know how he wakes up refreshed and well-rested when he just fought a demon in his sleep."

We reach Rosie's door.

I lower my voice. "I guess the extra practice is why he's the best of the best."

"Feels like cheating to me," She teases.

The familiar feeling settles in my stomach the moment we push forward into Rosalie's room. It doesn't settle right. She lies in a bed far too large and spacious for just herself. The light on her nightstand casts a warm glow around the room, exposing Rosie's tear-stained pillowcase. The side of her face is pressed against her pillow, her attention resting on an old stuffed bunny that lies discarded on the floor beside her bed.

Carmen takes the lead. Her eyes follow the object on the floor that has Rosalie's undivided attention. The little girl's eyes dart to Carmen as she gets close. The pitch Carmen's voice takes is light and almost makes me feel better. "Who's this?" She asks, motioning to the stuff animal.

There's a delay in Rosie's response. I make sure to shut the door before turning around. The little girl sniffles against her pillow before answering. "Mr. Bunny."

I can hear the smile in Carmen's voice. "Mr. Bunny looks old. He shouldn't be on the floor." She reaches out gently and picks up the stuffed animal. It's ears flop from side to side and immediately I can see how Rosalie took an extreme liking to Mr. Bunny. He's cute. "Can we lay with you?"

Rosie nods and assists by kicking the blankets down to her feet, inviting Mr. Bunny, Carmen, and I into bed. She grabs her pillow and scoots to the middle of the mattress while I climb in bed beside her. Carmen and Mr. Bunny join on the other side. Rosalie pulls the covers back up once we're all situated.

Rosie is quiet for a little while, before extending her arms, silencing asking to hold Mr. Bunny once again. "Michael gave it to me when I was a baby," She starts softly. "His gift to me because he said I was gifted to him."

I can't help but smile as my head hits one of her extra pillows. I tuck a hand between my head and the silk pillowcase. "Sounds about right."

Carmen rolls over on her side, both of us watching Rosalie quietly fumble with the stuffed animal. Her cries are no longer verbal, but silent tears might be more painful than the ones we let people hear. I catch a tear or two that fall out the corner of her eye, using my thumb to stop them from traveling down her cheeks. She lets out a shaky breath.

"I never met Michael, but I heard about him," Carmen says quietly. "You should tell me about him."

An instant smile washes over Rosalie's face. "He wasn't what people said or what you saw." She drops the stuffed animal to her side, eyes on the ceiling. "People said he was mean and cruel and a terrible person. But they don't know the real Michael, they just saw the scary Michael."

I entertain her story. "What side did you see?"

"I'm not saying he wasn't scary, but he never let me see those things." She fiddles with the ears of Michael's gift. "I liked it when he did my hair. He did it better than mom. She always hurt my head and he did it and it didn't hurt."

"What else did he do?" Carmen wonders.

"He's the best storyteller. He told the best stories that had all the cliffhangers and stuff." She laughs at a memory. "I liked it when he would get dressed and he let me pick out his outfit. He sometimes let me tie his tie."

The silence only lasts a second as Rosalie rambles on.

"I thought he hated me," She admits softly, "But he was just being the best teacher. He never got mad or frustrated when he was teaching me." Her eyes begin to water. "I miss him. I miss his hugs, his stories, and holding his hands, but I think I miss his voice the most."

"It sounds like you loved him," Carmen mutters.

"And he loved me," She answers confidently. Her next statement lacks the same confidence. "I'm scared." She doesn't allow time for either of us to question it. "Will I forget her voice like I'm forgetting his?" She's talking about Zara.

I reach for her, "Rosie—"

"Nobody ever says goodbye," A sob follows shortly after and the pain that radiates in my chest is caused by the way she forces the second part of her statement, "They're just gone."

"I feel like I'm forgetting their voices too," I whisper to myself. Carmen and Rosalie remain quiet. They think I'm talking about Michael and Zara. I'm not.

"She was like my mom. She was like Michael, but the girl version. I think that's why I liked her so much." Rosie mumbles. "At least they're happy again."

I frown, "What do you mean?"

Rosalie's shrug is weak. "He said when he lost Zara, he got me. This time he lost me, but at least now he has Mama Z."

I wish I could explain the feeling that washes over me. It feels like panic, because suddenly I can't breathe. Emotion tightens my airways and tears rush to the corners of my eyes. I scramble out of bed without any explanation and rush out the room, leaving Rosie and Carmen to fend for themselves.

I descend the stairwell quickly, my eyes locked on the front doors, the only thing separating me from fresh air. I stop the moment I touch the doorknobs. The tears start to fall. I didn't want to die how Zara did. Her death was avoidable, at least it could've been delayed if we had simply parked in the underground garage. I let go of the doorknobs and beeline toward the most peaceful place in the house.

The garage.

There's something about the stillness of the garage that's always been comforting. There's something about the silence that's peaceful. There's something about Liam's ever-growing car collection that makes me forget about the sickening feeling that has settled on my stomach. And although the air is laced with the faintest rubber scent, I can feel my heart slow.

That's when I spot the idling car and the individual reclined in the driver's seat.

I wipe at the corners of my eyes and approach the car cautiously, not to scare the person hiding behind the tinted windows. The doors are unlocked. I drop into the passenger seat and gently close the door beside me.

Dominic's eyes are closed, but the corner of his lip pulls into a partial smile. "You found my hiding spot."

He knows it's me. "No," I correct softly, "You found my hiding spot. This has always been the most peaceful place in the house."

"With all due respect, Ms. Crawford," One eye opens, and his smile grows, "This was my spot before you came crashing into our miserable world, but I don't mind sharing it with you."

I smile instantly and fake a half bow. "As one should for his queen."

Dominic's laugh is music to the ears of those deprived of what happiness sounds like. It's refreshing, and so is the relaxation of his tone. "As one should," He confirms politely. His eyes close and a moment passes before he speaks again. "I would ask if you're okay, but is anybody anymore?"

My attention falls on the pill bottle that sits on the car's dashboard. "I think I'm more worried about you."

It's like he knows. Dominic's eyes open and immediately fall on his bottle of pills. "I tried to stop," He says. "One day without them is bad. Two is even worse. I can't do three."

"Get help." I didn't mean for my statement to come out as harsh as it did. But I care. Maybe too much.

Dominic mutters a desperate, "I can't."

"What do you mean?"

"The help I need is more than just sitting in front a damn webcam talking to a fucking therapist." Dominic glances at me. I look at him. I can hear the anger, but I can feel it even more. This anger isn't directed at me, but at himself. "I'd have to go away," He explains, "I can't do that—I can't leave you all with..."

"You're no help now."

Dominic looks away and I immediately regret how that came out. I don't regret saying it, but my tone could've been nicer. "I'm sorry, I—"

"You're right." He states firmly. Dom raises a hand. He doesn't have to show me the point he's making. His hands are shaking, and bad. "I can't even hold a fucking gun. I'm nothing but a liability." He lets out a breath, "Maybe I should go, at least my parents wouldn't have to meet me."

Pure confusion washes over my face. "Dominic, what are you talking about?"

"I know there's a lot more pressing issues at hand, but..." He shrugs warily. "I'm nervous to meet them. I don't think I even want to meet them." Dominic's attention drifts above the pill bottle, scanning the spacious garage. "What's Liam going to say? Hi Mr. and Mrs. Santiago, this is your son Federico—a highly decorated assassin whose name is bound for the history books. And this is Crixus, your 15-year-old son who is ridiculously talented and destined to be better than his assassin brother and most of those who came before him. And this is Dominic. He's an addict."

The declaration wasn't funny. It was the way he said it that was.

I keep composure and frown. "You're not just an addict, Dom."

"I'm nothing but an addict, Faith."

I wish I had something to say to that, but I can see where Dominic is coming from. His using has changed everything. From his position of power and respect among the Luciano empire, to the way he carries himself, and to the way he looks. Pills have stripped him of everything. He is nothing but an addict, but that doesn't mean he has to be forever.

"You want to hear something insane?" He questions quietly. He picks at the hem of his baggy black shirt, messing with one of the strings that have come undone. He looks to me when I nod. "I miss Michael. We weren't close. We didn't always have the best relationship because my loyalty was to his son, not him. But I went to him a few times after my wife passed away because I was worried that if I spoke with Liam, he would see how bad I was doing and take my job away till I got better."

"Did he help?"

Dominic doesn't answer. Instead, he leans forward and reaches for the pill bottle. He snaps open the lid and pours a few into the palm of his shaking hand. I can tell the conversation is coming to an end and although I don't think it's going to conclude the way I want it to, I'm thankful for it. I'm thankful anytime I can speak with Dominic.

He sits a bottle of unopened water between his legs and twists the cap open, prepared to down the medication he's so used to abusing.

"Just so you know," I begin, "If I was ever king, you'd be my right hand."

His smile is pained but there's appreciation in it somewhere.

Dominic takes the handful of pills and flushes it down with water. He reaches for the seat adjustor at his side and reclines the chair to its max. I open the passenger door and step one foot out before pausing and glancing back. His eyes are already closed.

"Did Michael ever mention the Yakuza to you?" I ask.

He makes a sound, similar to a forced laugh. "No, why?"

The length of my hesitation causes Dominic to open his eyes. He shifts in the driver's seat and does his best to focus on me. "Valentin didn't order the hit on Zara. We believe the order came from a woman inside the Yakuza."

Dominic knows where I'm going with this. He arches a brow. "You believe?"

"We know," I confirm.

He's quiet for a while. "Michael was smart. He wouldn't wage war or do anything disrespectful to another syndicate, especially one as powerful and well-known as the Japanese mafia. I don't think he's the reason, but I could be wrong. You should ask Vincenzo. They were close."

I nod and utter a "Thank you," before stepping out the car. I turn around, undecided as to whether I should say goodbye or goodnight, despite the sun being on the rise. Dom already looks at peace. His chest rising and falling slowly as he nestles comfortably in his seat. The only thing he was missing was a blanket and a proper pillow.

The peaceful look on his face causes my exhaustion to feel heavier than it ever did. I can feel it weighing on my eyelids, drawing them to a close as I exit the garage. I make it up the steps with the help of the handrail, propelling me upwards like I've forgotten how to walk. I take a peak inside Rosalie's bedroom and smile at the sight of her and Carmen cuddled together, asleep. Mr. Bunny was being squished between the two of them.

Sleep was calling my name, until I walked into our bedroom and saw Liam sitting on the edge of our bed, his eyes red.

His feet are on the floor. His posture slouched. He holds the remote to our television in one hand. I didn't need to look up at the television to know what was playing. A second tear slips out the corner of his left eye. I can do nothing but approach him and slowly lower myself to the mattress.

I catch his third tear. I'm not strong enough to look at the television his eyes are glued to. Instead, I wrap an arm around him and pull him to me. I rest my forehead against his temple and shut my eyes. "You don't have to keep watching this. How many times have you watched her die?"

Liam presses pause on the security tape of that fateful day and gently turns toward me, his forehead bumping mine. His voice is low, "While I'm awake or while I'm dreaming?"

"Liam—"

I have no choice but to glance at the television and watch Zara die once more. Liam rewinds. Nothing ever changes. Zara tells her son something. He smiles and extends his hand. She dies. He catches her. Rewind. Liam smiles. Offers his hand. She dies. He catches. Rewind. Liam smiles. Offers his hand. She dies. He catches. Rewind.

I expect another playthrough. It doesn't happen. His anger erupts out of nowhere and the television is caught in the crossfire. He rises to his feet with a curse and launches the remote at the screen. The damage was minimal—easily fixable until Liam took a fist to it. Then another. And another. There's nothing I can do until Liam steps away, exposing a side I rarely see.

"Fuck," is the last coherent word that comes out of his mouth before his shoulders begin to shake and tears freefall down his cheeks. He turns away from me as he draws his shirt over the half of his face and cries.

Liam turns back to me, eyes red. Tears falling. I can barely understand him. "I'm sorry I couldn't save your parents. I'm sorry I didn't do more. I'm sorry I couldn't save yours and I'll always blame myself for not being able to save mine." I stand quickly and close the distance between us just as fast. This might be one of the first times I'm scared to touch him. "That's why I have to do everything I can to save theirs, even if a part of me doesn't want to. Because I don't want to watch them hug their mom and dad when I can't hug mine, but I know..." He lets out a frustrated noise and wipes at his eyes, irritated by the emotion he's showing.

I grab at his wrists and pull his hands down to mine. "You're cute when you cry." I accomplish my task at his faint smile. I shake our hands, forcing him to look down at me. "You having that one thought that you don't want to save their parents does not make you a bad person because we know you're going to do the right thing. You always do the right thing, that's why I love you so much."

I earn another soft smile.

"And I will sleep peacefully at night for the rest of my life once Valentin and the Russians pay for what they did to my parents," I add. "We'll get them, the same way we'll make sure the Yakuza pays for what they did to your mom. We'll get them." I lift an eyebrow with a smile, "We always win in the end, right?"

"Always," He mumbles with a nod.

I take a step back and look at him. He looks awful and good all at the same time. His eyes are red, caused by the exhaustion and the tears. His lip still quivers, and I'm honored. Honored that he feels safe enough with me to be so vulnerable. And standing across from him tonight reminds me of why I've stayed. It reminds me of why I'll always stay. Until the last star.

I open my arms wide, "Come here, baby boy."

He chuckles through the last of his tears and welcomes me in the most comforting hug. He presses a kiss to my cheek before burying his face in the crook of my neck. His arms snake around my waist and me pull me as physically close to him as possible.

"We'll get them," I promise again. He pulls away slightly but keeps his arms around my waist.

"You sound confident," He notes.

I shrug playfully. "It's a Luciano thing. You wouldn't understand."

I can hear him coming back to himself. "I wouldn't understand, huh?"

I back away from him, forcing Liam to drop the hold he has on my waist. I slip my hand back inside his and take another step away. "What's that saying again?" He doesn't let my hand go, even as I take another step away.

"We have a lot," He entertains.

Our arms are suspended between us as I hint the infamous saying that I'm talking about. "Operate with honor," I begin.

He catches on immediately. "Execute with power."

Liam raises his arm higher, allowing me to playfully twirl underneath him. He pulls me close as I finish, "We rise above—"

I hit his chest, and he finishes with, "And brutally murder them all."

I toss my head back with a laugh. My hand finds a way to his chest, gently slapping him. My eyes naturally zone in on his lips and my voice lowers. "That's not how the saying goes. The word you're looking for is conquer."

Liam smiles against my lips. "I think it works."

"It's starting to grow on me," I admit.

"That's not the only thing."

I think it's the exhaustion that makes his comment funnier than it should have been. My arms find their way around his neck and his lips find mine. We pull away slowly, my fingertips grazing his full beard.

I smile up at him. "Your parents would be so proud of you."

"Then I can't imagine how your parents would feel about you." He admires softly. His grip is firm on my waist. I feel protected. "You've grown so much and I'm so proud of you."

My "Thank you," is a genuine one.

"But," Liam adds. His attention drifts over my shoulder. I can only assume he briefly eyes the damaged television. "I don't just want my parents proud of me. I want you, too."

There's no hesitation. "I am and I always will be."

His smile makes everything feel like it'll be okay. It fades quickly and a part of me wants to do everything to get it back. I pull him in for another hug, but when we pull away, I can see his mind has shifted gears. His eyes locked on damaged television screen once more. I give it a glance over my shoulder, only a corner of the screen portraying the top right image of the frozen security tape.

Liam's lips take a downward turn. "I asked Vincenzo if Michael ever had any ties or altercations with the Yakuza. He said no."

"Funny," I wrap my arms around his waist and rest the side of my face against his stomach. I can see the television out the corner of my eye. "I asked Dominic, too. Just in case he remembered something you didn't. He said Michael didn't have any interaction with them either." Liam's chest rises and falls once before I add, "What about Zara? Maybe she—"

He shakes his head. "I asked Vince that, too. Asked him if she might've gotten involved with them somehow when she was running from Michael." Liam shrugs, somewhat defeated. "Faith, I don't think..."

His words fade and I step away, making sure I can look him in the eye.

"I don't think the Yakuza killed my mom for something my parents did."

I put two and two together. And quickly. "You think—"

"They put a bullet in my mother's head for something I did."

The laugh I let out isn't caused because something is funny, but rather quite the opposite. Terrifying. "What in the goddamn hell could you have done to warrant the Yakuza waging war—"

"I don't know." His honest answer his appreciated, but not comforting.

Liam finishes with what I've already concluded. "But I think we're about to find out."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Carmen spent so much time wrapping a present she wouldn't tell me about, that we were 15 minutes late to the briefing of the OA—but primarily Santiago parents—rescue mission.

Liam wasn't kidding around when he said he would get their parents back, because that same evening Giovanni and Tatum had Liam's soldiers prepared and ready to go. Liam told me the plan before we went to bed early this morning. They were to move out by sunset and at the way things were running once Carmen and I reached the passageway of the large room, where most of the soldiers had gathered, they were right on schedule.

A sea of uniformed men stand before us. Some are busy securing holsters to their upper thigh, while others stand in groups, talking and laughing as they tighten and adjust the bulletproof vest that clings to their muscular frames. You can tell specific soldiers apart. Those higher on the scale of respect tend to have a coiled wire running alongside down neck, the earpiece tucked gingerly in their ear. Others sling semi-automatic weapons across their back, mindlessly adjusting the strap to make sure the fit is secure. So many men. All different yet serving the same purpose.

One thing that stands out is how they do it. The checking and distribution of ammo. The tightening and securing of their holsters. The mic checks on their interpersonal line of connection. It's second nature.

I reach over to Carmen, playfully poking at her plump, bottom lip. "You're drooling."

What makes it funnier is that fact that she isn't, but still wipes at the corner of her mouth just the same.

Her smile urges mine. I turn back to the sea of attractive men and nod like I know what I'm talking about. "You get used to it, Rook."

Carmen's hesitancy earns another laugh. "No, I don't think I ever will."

I hook my arm around hers and enter the packed room in search of our favorites. Most soldiers offer a greeting in my direction, followed by a polite head-nod to the woman they don't recognize that's attached to my elbow. We see our first familiar face a few steps into the room.

Tatum, the second in command of Liam's army approaches with a warm and inviting smile on his face. He dresses no different than most of the men we've passed, but something is different. He's different. Maybe it's the way he carries himself with the upmost maturity and respect. Or maybe it's the way he walks, portraying a level of confidence that the soldiers below him can't exude, no matter how hard they try. Or maybe, just maybe it's the badge that he's hooked on the top of his bulletproof vest, displaying his badge number and his name that separates him from the rest.

But the name displayed on his badge is not even a name. It's just a letter. T.

That alone is enough to suggest that he might have one hell of a backstory.

"Faith," He comes to a stop, greeting me in the process." His attention darts to Carmen and unlike me, he offers her the gentlest of smiles. I thought he might have been trying to flirt with her until I got a good look at the expression on her face. She looked overwhelmed and incredibly intimidated, which explains why the grip she has on my arm continues to tighten as the second's pass. "Ms. Vega."

Tatum doesn't give us a second to respond. He poises a question in Carmen's direction, forcing her to ignore the crowd around us and focus on him. "Who's the gift for?" He asks, offering a nod in the direction of the gift-wrapped package in Carmen's left hand.

"Rico," She answers quickly.

Tatum nods, sneaking a quick glance in my direction. I can tell he's trying to cater to the nervous energy Carmen is giving off, but also trying to be kind enough to send her away, leaving the two of us alone. He lifts his gaze, catches the eyes of someone in the crowd, and waves them over with a finger.

The commander of Liam's army is at his side in a second. Giovanni. It hasn't been long since I last saw him, pushing only a few hours, but in the meantime, he's trimmed and shaped up his beard. Even his hair looks touched up.

Tatum catches me staring. "Gio's hair looks good, right?"

I approve. "It does."

"I told you," Tatum steps away from his friend. "I told you a white man can cut a black man's hair and this right here, is proof." The second in command smirks, "I'll take that money you owe me."

Giovanni makes a face. "Carmen, what do you think?"

She takes a second to scrutinize, then grades it. "Ten out of ten."

Tatum does nothing but extend his palm. "Money, please."

Gio doesn't rush to pull a wallet from the pocket of his black cargo pants, designed specifically for combat. He slaps a wad of bills in the palm of Tatum's hand while simultaneously slapping the back of the soldier's head. The whole interaction ends in heart-warming laughter.

They share a brief few words in Italian before Gio steps forward, offering his arm to Carmen. "I would be honored to escort you in Federico's direction, Ms. Vega."

She releases my arm and latches on to Gio's. She offers me and Tatum a polite wave before disappearing into the crowd with her good-looking escort.

Tatum's smile is gone the moment they are. Straight to business. "You ready?"

Liam and I discussed this before we fell asleep. He was going with them. There was no way in hell he was going to sit back and watch his operation play out before him, and I agreed. I wasn't sitting this one out either. Instead of playing king and queen tonight, we decided we were going to drop a few ranks and play solider.

I looked the part. I had been gifted a pair of pants similar to the ones all the soldiers were wearing. The black tee-shirt wasn't too hard to find. Tatum leaves my side just long enough to grab me a Kevlar vest. He rests his hands on my shoulder, positioning me properly before looping the vest over my head. He works quickly, making sure the vest is secure. He moves on quickly to the holster he has trapped between his knees.

"Have you ever worn a thigh holster before?"

"Not that I can remember."

Tatum lowers himself to a squat and orders, "Spread your legs."

He makes a face the moment he says it. We both smile as he casts a nervous glance over his solider. I know exactly who he's looking for. "You think Liam heard me?"

I shrug, "Say it again."

His smile is visible, even from here. Tatum offers a friendly pat to the inside of my thigh, reminding me of his command. I take a step to the side as he works the holster around my upper thigh. He pauses, then looks up at me. "I can tighten it with my teeth if you want me to."

I fight the rolling of my eyes. "Do your job."

He secures the holster, with his hands, before rising to his full height. Tatum holds two weapons, one in each hand. He raises the gun in his left. "This is your primary." He hands it to me, then raises the gun in his right. It's identical. "This is your secondary. This goes on your hip. Don't forget it's there."

I holster it as a murmur rises in the crowd, drawing Tatum's attention away from me. The group of soldiers have thinned, many exiting the room and marching to their assigned vehicle. But there's enough to notice the rise in noise, and that's when Giovanni reappears.

He rests a hand on Tatum's shoulder. "Liam just released the no-kill order on Diavolo," The commander announces to the two of us. "If he makes any attempt to hurt or kill us, we have the greenlight to shoot and kill." Gio offers his friend another pat before dispersing, relaying the information to the soldiers who have yet to hear.

I don't know why I'm smiling. But I'm smiling hard.

"You'll do fine tonight." Tatum offers me a parting smile. "See you soon."

"Thank you for your help."

I don't stay in the same place for long. I pick up a stray holster and attempt to attach it to the waist of my pants while in search of another familiar face. With the crowd thinning, it isn't hard to find Federico, Carmen, and Veleno against the far wall, engaged heavily in conversation.

Veleno's attention lands on me first. He smiles. "You look good."

"I'm almost as official as you," I tease, easily shimmying into their small circle. I cast a quick look around, surprised to not find Crixus attached to his bestie's hip.

I said almost because on first glance, they had twice the amount of weaponry strapped to them then I did. Both Veleno and Federico had the sleeves of their black shirt purposely rolled up to their shoulders, tucked neatly underneath their vests. Veleno has a thigh holster strapped to each leg, one higher on his leg than the other. He has a holster designated for specific daggers tied around his calf, one only to be reached for in case of an emergency.

Federico hooks a hand inside the collar of his vest, shifting it for comfort. "I heard your coming with us," He notes.

Veleno answers before I can. "She has a different mission." He nods to his right. "She's with Liam, so we probably won't see her that much."

Federico glances at Carmen, who's attention has fallen to her feet. He waves his boot in front of her line of sight. "You coming with us?" It's more of a joke than a serious statement.

"Please," She laughs, clutching the present tight in both hands. "You know I can't do that stuff."

Veleno motions toward the present. "Who is that for?"

Carmen glances down at the object in her hands like she momentarily forgot she was holding something. "Oh," She takes half a step forward and extends the gift to Federico. "It's for you."

He accepts it with a nervous laugh. "I know we don't like talking about it, but um..." Rico glances down, pausing, hesitant. He's looks as nervous as her. Federico clears his throat. "I know we don't like talking about what happened, but I promise, I'm going to do everything I can to come home tonight, so you don't have to give me a present or anything—"

He tries to hand it back. Carmen doesn't accept it. "Just open it."

It takes a second before Rico begins to pull the wrapping apart. He opens the box and freezes. His entire demeanor changes. It feels like a mixture of sadness and happiness, of relief and regret. He looks elated, but somehow disappointed all at the same time.

Carmen clears her throat. "They gave that to me when you died," She makes a face, suggesting the long and complicated story nobody feels like diving into right now. "They gave me her, your gun, I mean—Charmaine," She finally corrects with a genuine laugh. "And I was honored, but I dreamt almost every night of giving it back because that's your gun. I'm just the one you named it after."

Federico pulls the weapon that has brought him through everything out of the box. The gun that started his career and unknown to the circle around me, the gun that will probably end the era of Fantasma as we know it.

"She's protected you even when I couldn't," Carmen adds, faintly.

"I don't have a problem with you keeping her," Rico finally says. "She's protected me, and now she can protect you."

"But I have you for that." Carmen motions toward the gun in his hand, "And her."

The two share a brief laugh before Rico glances over at Veleno, who's smiling—and hard. "Can you give us a minute?"

I answer for the assassin. "Of course." It takes me all of a minute to offer Carmen a quick hug from behind and grab Veleno's elbow, drawing him away from the two for a moment of privacy.

He chuckles, speaking up once we're a safe distance away. "I just love, love."

I barely think about my response. "And what do you know about love?"

Veleno's defined shoulder bumps mine, forcing me off balance. "First of all, watch your tone. Second..." His walking draws to a slow as his attention falls on Crixus. The boy is seated on the opposite side of the room, near the entrance. He's propped high on stacked foam boxes designed for working out, a katana in one hand and a cloth in the other. The boy is so engrossed in the cleaning of his most valuable possession that he doesn't see or hear anybody else in the room. "I always wanted a little brother," Veleno begins again, a hand now in his pocket. "I remember asking my parents for one, thinking we could grab them at Walmart. Then I got older, saw the nature of their relationship, and stopped asking."

He pauses for so long I feel forced to nudge him to help him finish his thought. Veleno hesitates. I can tell there's more he wants to say. He's opened up to me before, but I can tell by the way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other and nods in the kid's direction, that he wasn't opening up this evening.

Crixus has moved on from his katanas. His legs dangle from his seated position, ankles crossed. He's too busy using one dagger to sharpen another to watch us approach.

"You look like you need a haircut," Veleno suggests in greeting. The comment made by the brief motion Crixus performs to toss a loose curl out of his eye. It wasn't clear to me when or where Veleno managed to snag an extra bulletproof vest, but by the time we made it to the boy's side, he had one in his hand. "You also look like you could use one of these."

Crixus glances at the vest in Veleno's hand. His eyes narrow as he sets his most recently sharpened dagger to the side and grabs the one lodged between his lips. He flaunts his level of expertise when he begins to sharpen it without looking. His eyes are on us.

"Thanks, Veggie," His smile is faint, "But I don't do bulletproof vests."

"You don't do—" Veleno offers up a laugh, "Well you do tonight."

Crixus's response is quick, "No one has ever asked me to."

"Because nobody has ever cared about you like I do." The older assassin tosses the vest to Crixus's side, landing on the weapons he recently sharpened in preparation for tonight.

Crixus pauses, his entire body tensing at Veleno's statement. His attention falls to the floor before he sets the daggers in his hand down and shifts toward the vest at his side. He uses one finger to test the weight of the vest. "It's heavy," the kid notes. "Do you know how badly this will fuck with aerodynamics?"

"Language," Veleno corrects.

"Language," Crixus mimics, an exaggerated mocking expression taking over his young face.

Veleno reaches forward quickly, aiming to playfully slap the boy across the head. The kid dodges, but the sound of his laugh causes a few heads to turn in our direction. He doesn't seem to mind. His smile wider now then it was before.

"The only aerodynamics I'm worried about is the bullet fired in your direction," Veleno clarifies. He picks up the vest, the muscles in his arm flexing underneath the weight of it.

I knew my comment was unnecessary the moment I made it. "That thing probably weighs about as much as you, Crixus."

The boy shoots a stern look in my direction. "Don't make me disrespect you, Ms. Faith."

"Come on, buddy, she's right." Veleno holds the vest higher. "I think we should get you a kiddie size."

Crixus forces the smile off his face. He's trying to remain serious and express his disappointment, but you can hear how happy he is. He scoots off his seat and lands on the ground, arms folded. "A kiddie size?"

Veleno makes a face. "Would you prefer mini?"

"I'd prefer you to shut up."

Veleno tosses an arm around Crixus. He holds the vest in the other. "We still have some time before we leave. We can find you one that fits, and you can practice with me so you're used to it." He shoots me a smile before playfully pulling Crixus into a headlock. The boy just laughs. "But I want you to wear one. I don't want anything to happen to you." The two begin to walk away. "And one day, when you're big and strong like me, you won't have a problem with a regular-sized vest. But you got to make sure you eat your veggies—"

The squeal Crixus lets out gathers more of the room's attention than his laugh earlier. "You said it!" A slow, mischievous smile appears across his lips. "You said veggie."

Veleno blinks. "Yes, Veggie as in Vegetable. Not Veggie as in me," He corrects.

The little assassin's grin widens. He nudges Veleno's side. "You love me, don't you, Veggie?"

"No."

Crixus reads through his bestie's bullshit with ease. "You're a liar."

I can hardly hear the rest of their conversation as they wade through the thinning crowd. The last I see is Veleno rest a large palm on top of the boy's curly hair. His response was simple. "Maybe I am."

It isn't hard to find Liam now that most of the soldiers have dispersed to their assigned vehicle. He's standing beside Giovanni, securing the last strap on his vest. Liam can't see the worry on his commander's face. "I can tell you haven't been sleeping," Gio mentions to him. When Liam doesn't answer, Gio phrase his statement in the form of a question. "Have you been sleeping?"

"It doesn't matter." The way Liam says it exposes the truth.

But Giovanni doesn't back down, not even once I enter their circle of conversation. He offers me a brief look out the corner of my eye before turning his attention back to his boss. "Answer my question."

Liam shoots me a weak smile. He doesn't take his eyes off me. The response he gives Gio is less of an answer to the commander's question and more of a factual statement. "I'm usually the one giving orders."

"I'm aware of that," Gio's short response is packed with an unappreciative attitude. "Feel free to take this the wrong way. This might be your army, but you gave me full control and command over it. And if you're strapping on a vest and planning to join us tonight, then till we exit the Rostov mansion with those assassins and the Santiago parents, you listen to me." He takes a step in Liam's direction and gives me a firm pat on the chest. "I hope you can nap on the way there. I need you."

Giovanni is gone, but before Liam and I can even share a word, Vincenzo has taken the commander's place. "A Respectfully disrespectful statement," He says, talking about Giovanni's declaration. "You've got a lot of good men working for you."

I second that. "You coming with us?" I ask him.

Vincenzo releases a breath. "I'm not. Maybe in my bandana era, I would have." We both smile at that. Me more than him. It feels like a long time ago, but it was more recent than we like to admit. We've all been through a lot, but it wasn't that long ago Vincenzo broke into Peter Corinelli's home and spun around playfully in his chair, a bandana tightly tied around his forehead.

"Still," Liam takes half a step forward, holding the barrel of the gun while he extends it to Vincenzo. "I know how Valentin works. I'm positioning a small group of soldiers here once we leave. It's possible Valentin might try to hit the house if he knows we're busy dealing with him."

Vincenzo accepts the gun.

"And if Valentin does," I add with a teasing smile, "We're going to need Bandana-Vince."

His smile is sweet. "You got him."

Crixus joins me at my side. The vest he wears looks like it was designed just for him. A perfect fit. He twirls a knife in his hand like one would play with a stress ball. Veleno arrives next, a hand resting gingerly on the holster attached to his hip. Federico is next. He has both hands curled inside the neckline of his vest. The jewelry clinging tightly to his neck shimmers once the light catches it. We're missing a few, but the most notably being Dominic.

An awkward silence settles on the group, caused by two people in particular. Vincenzo's attention falls on the boy he raised. "You excited to see your parents?"

Rico's response is dry. "Extremely."

And that was about the length of their discussion.

Crixus breaks the silence. "I'm excited." I swear he fights back an excited, but unnatural sound. "This like the first time I'll be able to fight with Veggie and Ric—"

"You have another mission." Liam cuts the boy off quickly. Crixus's excitement fades as fast as his voice. The two share a look. Liam lifts a brow, "You remember?"

I can't discern the boy's tone. "Yeah."

"Crixus will be busy," Liam continues, attention dancing between Veleno and Federico. "Besides him, you two are the best I have, and I need you to do everything you can to buy time for your parents to be freed and safely escorted out the building."

Veleno translates the statement to how he interpreted it. "You're suggesting a Diavolo rematch."

Liam shrugs. "You staked his hand to the floor last time," He reminds.

Veleno doesn't hesitate. "And I'll do it again."

"No," Rico interjects, "You won't."

Veleno merely offers his longtime partner in crime a pat on the shoulder. "He's your friend, RiRi. Not mine." The assassin backpedals with a smile and turns away from the group with a deep chuckle.

Crixus smiles. "Yeah, RiRi," and exits the scene with a complicated gang sign.

Federico offers Vincenzo one last look, like there's something he wants to say. He changes his mind and turns his back on the group. He trails behind his little brother and Veleno as they head out the door, prepared to hear the last of their orders before we leave.

Vincenzo offers a soft, "Be safe," before heading towards the exit. I can't tell if he's offering his concern to Liam and I, or Federico. He walks away slowly, but without the assistance of his potentially violent cane. Dominic appears underneath the doorframe for just a second. He says something to Vincenzo, and the two walk away together, in the opposite direction of the wave of traffic.

I smile up at Liam. I shouldn't be surprised. I want to mention how good he looks, but I would just be reiterating myself as I do every single day. He's killed every suit combination he's ever worn, but there's something different about the way the tight, black compression shirt clings to his upper body, paired with the Kevlar vest and the weapons he has strapped to his hip. He makes for an extremely good-looking king, and arguably an even more attractive solider.

"You told me their mission, but you didn't tell me ours," I wonder.

He smiles and tosses an arm around my shoulder. Liam's hip bumps mine as we turn towards the door. We're the only ones left in the room.

"Me, you, Gio, Tatum, and a couple other soldiers have the best mission of them all," He teases. I stop, just long enough for Liam to kiss my temple.

"And that would be?" I urge.

"We're going into the throne room," He quotes, practically word for word. That's enough to explain our mission. Ours probably the most important of them all. We're the ones that are going to free the assassins and the Santiago parents. "You know," He nudges me with a smile, "Where the king sleeps."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

It was silent. The entire car ride was silent. It was a welcomed silence. A calm. A feeling of peacefulness that I didn't feel like we deserved. The silence continued when we arrived outside of the Rostov mansion. It continued as, what felt like, hundreds of us piled out of the vehicles. It continued as we gathered in our groups and approached the property in synchronized fashion. It continued as orders were given in a non-verbal fashion.

I thought the infiltration of the Rostov home would be silent too.

It wasn't.

The silence is broken the moment the two lead soldiers bust through the front doors of the Rostov mansion. The Russian house is immediately flooded by Italian soldiers, shouting orders at the stunned individuals inside the foyer like they're SWAT.

The first people caught in the crossfire look like kitchen staff. They freeze at the orders given by the Luciano soldiers. One decides to run. She's executed. Another one runs. He's executed, too.

There's an equal dispersion through the home as each group of soldiers take a different hallway. I lose sight of Veleno, Crixus, and Federico quickly. There wasn't much time to focus on the direction they went, because by the time I zone back in, a lone Russian solider has his weapon aimed at me. He says something to me.

I put a bullet in his shoulder. Liam finishes with one in his head.

Tatum and Giovanni lead our small group of soldiers down a hallway to the left. We knew infiltration would be easy considering Valentin and the Russians weren't prepared. It was the extracting of the assassin's and the Santiago parents from the property that was going to be hard. Backup would be here by then.

I wish I could just stand back and watch the small group of soldiers move. It's quick, but slow. Calculated and precise. Everything about their timing is on point, all the way down to their right foot hitting the ground at the same time.

A Russian solider turns the corner of the adjoining hallway, curious as to the distant gunshots he hears. He wasn't prepared to run into a group of us. You can see it in his eyes. He doesn't even try to reach for his weapon. Giovanni puts a bullet in the Russian's left knee. Tatum puts one in his right, and the man collapses, crying out in agony as they storm by, undeterred from the mission.

Liam steps over the agonizing soldier's body.

I do too, before turning around a putting a bullet in the back of his head.

The journey to the basement door was relatively quiet after that. Distant gunshots ring out, growing in intensity and frequency as time passes. Our distractions were working overtime to keep the Russian's focused on them, allowing us enough time to free all prisoners and escape, alive—preferably. But it wasn't about to stay this easy, and that hit me once Tatum pulls the door open, exposing the steep stairwell and the dark hallway leading to hell.

I take a look over my shoulder, making sure nobody is sneaking up on us. I toss an elbow into Liam's side. "You think Michael's down there?"

He fights a smile in the most serious situation. He leans his head into the doorway, quickly shouting, "Dad?"

Tatum lets out a laugh. He nods toward the darkness. "If we all go down there and soldiers surround us, we're trapped. But if we split up and half go down and half stay up, we might be outnumbered and still trapped."

"We stay together," both Liam and Giovanni answer.

"The real question is," Gio turns toward the stairwell that descends into the darkest hallway I've ever seen. You can see the first and second step, but the rest is swallowed in night. "Who goes first?"

A solider steps forward with a brave smile on his face. "Me."

He takes a step, unaware of the black glove that reaches up from the dark and latches around his ankle. And he's gone. The solider is gone, yanked down the descending stairwell like a wave would pull you under in the ocean. His screams fade. Silence. You hear his neck break.

Stunned silence would describe our group as we raise our weapons, one by one. It's the longest thirty seconds of my life. Our life. The barrel of every gun aimed at the doorway, waiting for what we know is coming. Diavolo's emergence.

The assassin rises from the dark stairwell, his outfit blending perfectly into the darkness behind him. He has a gun in his hand, aimed steadily in our direction. He takes a step forward. We all take one back. Gio and Tatum, waiting for a simple order to shoot, or a sign that Diavolo is about to inflict bodily harm. The assassin shows no signs. Instead, he removes one hand off the gun and lifts it, palm up, and slowly backs his way down the hallway.

Liam lowers his weapon and orders, "Put your guns down."

I'm the last to obey and Diavolo notices that.

He drops the weapon he stole from our solider the moment mine hits my side, but he never turns his back on us. He backpedals swiftly, the breeze of his movement causing the excess of the material he wears to sway in its wind. I can feel his eyes on me, and they don't leave until he's reached an intersection and disappears, headed toward the sound of repetitive gunfire.

Gio glances quickly between Liam and the intersection. "What if he's going to get backup?"

Liam doesn't respond. There's no time to explain to the others why Diavolo might have decided not to hurt us. "Move." He demands, "We move now."

Nobody else hesitates. Flashlights on, Tatum and Gio descend the stairwell, followed closely by Liam, me, and the few remaining soldiers that joined us. We take three seconds to find a light-switch. We give up when we don't, relying solely on our handheld light.

Someone breathes out, "Holy Shit."

I look up, away from the dead solider on the ground to understand why. The Rostov basement was as large as the floor above us. The walls are lined with large cages. Some have cots inside, while others hold torture equipment. The hallway turns and welcomes another indefinitely long row of cages on each side, all full.

There's no time to investigate, despite the small part of me wanting to find the cage Diavolo is held in. It would be an impossible task, considering each cage is full of women. That's the first thing I notice. There are a few men scattered here and there. They're quiet, most pressed against the walls of their cage with their legs tucked against them. Not a single ounce of hope in their eyes.

Liam is busy glancing around each cage his eyes can land upon, looking for the two reasons why we're really here. He shouts an order for Gio, Tatum, and the others to begin freeing the individuals trapped. He tells me to follow him, and I begin to, until I hear the conversation between Giovanni and a prisoner.

The woman slams herself up against the metal bars, shaking them violently. There's more anger in her expression than pity. Her body is everything I wish mine was, slightly muscular and well-defined. Her hair is as short as Liam's once was until it started to grow. A buzz-cut. There's a tattoo on the side of her hand, and a painful looking cut.

"Are you OA?" Giovanni's question causes our audience to stir. Individuals behind the woman begin to stand, while those in other cages come forward to see the man who asked the question.

They allow the woman to respond. "Yes. We're OA, or what's left of it."

"You're almost all women," I note the obvious.

"Thousands of women in comparison to hundreds of men," The woman says. Even through the dirt and the grime, I can see her proud smile. "Why do you think we were so powerful?"

"Get them out," Tatum begins working on one door, while Gio does another.

I join Liam's side. The further we walk the thinner the crowd in the cages become. The end of the hallway is in sight, and we haven't caught a glimpse of the Santiago's. Until we reach the final two cages.

I press my hand against the cage on our left and glimpse inside. A woman is slouched against a chair in the corner. She aimlessly works on the bandage that's wrapped around her arm. The dried blood is easy to spot. "Is your name Grace?"

She looks up, and that's all the confirmation I need. I see Federico. Her silky black hair is shorter than the son who takes after her. The longest of her strands falling just half an inch across her forehead. The woman rises, gingerly using her good, tattoo covered arm to hold the injured one against her side. She steps toward me. "Who are—"

Her eyes fall on Liam. There's some level of immediate recognition.

The next word out of her mouth is her husband's name, "Anthony."

I expect Mr. Santiago to emerge somewhere from beside her. But instead he's behind us, locked and trapped in a separate cage. He steps forward. Dominic is his twin. It's hard to argue from the head of thick, tightly curled hair to the warm brown of his complexion. The vast difference between father Santiago and his first born is the fullness of his beard and the tattoos that decorate his skin. Both arms are covered, the ink traveling high on his neck and as low as his muscular thigh.

It's my turn to give the obvious order. "We have to move."

Nobody goes against me. We help them out their cage as Tatum and Giovanni approach, signaling that they're ready to leave. The assassins that remain of the OA stand outside their cages, politely making way for us to reach the front of the long line. Our journey from the edge of the basement to the bottom of the stairs is quick, but long enough to offer weapons to the Santiago's. I have time for one question.

"Why did they separate you two?"

The Santiago parents just smile.

Giovanni and Tatum stand at the end of the stairwell, eyes locked on the door that separates us from the rage of gunfire above. I hadn't been paying much attention to the coiled wires in both Tatum, Gio, and Liam's ears but I could tell there was more talking going on now then earlier.

"What's the plan?" Tatum asks to no-one in particular.

Gio and Liam glance at each other. Liam shrugs. "You're in charge."

"There's more of them then I thought," Giovanni analyzes. And he's right. The Russian's had way more assassins locked in their basement then we initially thought. "If we all go together, we'll lose half of them."

"May I?" Grace Santiago steps forward. She makes sure to keep her injured arm against her side, her newly gifted gun clutched in the other. Gio nods, and she continues, "Call for backup and everybody take a couple people. I can take a few with me and so can my husband. We can get everybody out of here."

Tatum nods. I can tell he likes the idea.

Giovanni is more realistic. "I appreciate your help, but you don't know the layout of the home—"

"They didn't blindfold us when they walked us through it," She comes back. "I know the layout."

Gio offers a laugh, "You saw it once?"

"I'm a fast learner."

We didn't argue it. A plan was a plan. Liam and I stand at the bottom of the stairwell, doing our best to quickly separate the remaining prisoners in groups small enough that our soldiers could lead them to safety. Giovanni and Tatum, paired with the Santiago parents, ascended the stairs first. It was evident backup had arrived. Grace Santiago is first, partnered with a small group of her unarmed friends. They exit first.

Tatum is second. He and his group follows Grace's closely, just in case something were to happen. He and Gio offer each other a fist-bump before the second in command disappears into the hallway, welcomed by a barrage of gunfire. The remaining soldiers take most of the assassins, dipping out into the hallway when deemed safe.

"We're going to be last," My question had an obvious answer, but I ask it anyway. "Aren't we?"

His eyes are on Giovanni and his hands are on his hips. "The captain always goes down with the ship."

Giovanni disappears with his group. And Liam turns to me. "You're next."

"I'll go last," I offer.

"Not in a million years." His hand finds the small of my back. He smiles and pushes me up the stairwell, followed by a group of quiet OA assassins. Unarmed, assassins. Liam follows closely once I ascend the stairs and take a glance out the door, gun in hand.

We reach the level of the first floor, Liam right behind me. I hear it when I take my first step. Cries. Far different than that of the Russian solider earlier whose knees were blown out. Female cries. One look in Liam's direction suggests he hears it too.

"There were more of us," one OA members says softly. "I don't know what they did with them."

Liam speaks quickly, "I know what you're thinking," because of course he does.

"I couldn't sleep tonight if I knew somebody else needed help and we just—"

"Go," Liam commands, brushing past me without a discussion. He tells my group of assassins to join his and turns back to me. The clock is ticking. Without hesitation, Liam rips the cord from his ear and places it in my hand. It cut him off from all communication with his army. A sacrifice I would have to thank him for later. "If you need help, press against your ear. Somebody will hear you."

I nod and work the wire in and around my ear. I wished there was an extra solider around to take with me, but there's no point to ask. All are busy, so instead, I just smile, "No kiss, goodbye?"

His smile urges on mine. He nods to his group and begins to walk away. Liam backpedals for a second and offers me a little wave. "I'm not saying goodbye to you."

Standing in one place long enough was like committing suicide. I move the moment Liam turns his back on me, ordering his group and the few soldiers that were sent to help down the hallway in a stealth manner. I turn a corner, gun raised and ready while I follow the sound of the cries. It was a woman's voice, not something Diavolo could even attempt to recreate, no matter how excellent of an actor he is.

I turn a third corner and find what I'm looking for. A woman is on the ground, her knees pulled to her chest. Tears stream out the corner of her eyes. She doesn't look like she belongs here. I take a cautious step towards her as her attention lifts to me. I holster my gun and reach for her. She parts her lips, but she doesn't sob this time. "I'm sorry."

I feel the gun on the back of my head.

"You're free to go," The individual behind me tells the woman on the ground. I grit my teeth. I want nothing more than to shoot the bitch in the fucking back. It isn't until the individual shouts a, "Thank you for your help," do I recognize the cursed voice.

Mom.

"You fucking—" I spin around, allowing the barrel of the gun to kiss the skin between my eyebrows. My fucking mother. "I thought you went home to the east coast."

"And I thought you were going to ride with me to the airport."

I let out a frustrated breath.

"Liars and falling in love with liars runs in the family, I suppose," She comments. "Arms up." I obey. She reaches for my holstered weapons and tosses them both to the side. She pats the sides of my pockets before stepping back. My mother pauses, then steps forward once more to rip the wire out my ear. It dangles in the hand before she drops it to the floor and steps on it. "Wouldn't want your boyfriend knowing he's the reason his first and second girlfriend are dead."

I only have one thing to say. "Fuck, Ellie."

"That's your sister."

"I said fuck that bit—"

Her gun connects with my cheek. It's a pain that I could've never imagined. A stinging feeling that radiates from the corner of my mouth and travels a bit further than my temple. I hit the floor and taste blood.

My mother is laughing. Nothing is funny. "I was locked in that psychiatric facility for years."

I spit blood. "From the looks of it, you need to go back."

She ignores my comment. "Valentin told me he would help get me out, but I had to assure him that I could make you leave your little friend group and come home. He would've let us go back to the east coast and be a family."

I prop myself up on my elbow. I refused to admit that my head was still ringing. "And you believed him?"

Her response is simple. She's closes the distance between us and her gun at my head. "If I do this, maybe now we can finally be that happy little family.

"In hell?"

She shakes her head, "I tried to get you to leave that cursed family alone. You chose them over me. If this is what I have to do to get you to leave them, then so be it."

I'll give my mother credit. She didn't hesitate. Her finger curled around the trigger, and she pulled it.

The bullet should've gone straight through my forehead, but instead impales itself into the ground.

My hand found the sides of her gun and twisted it. I yank it with everything I have, pulling my mother down on top of me, causing both of us to lose our grasp on the weapon. It slides across the wooden floor, out of both our reach. Of course it does.

We scramble to our feet. She has a headstart. There's no way I'll reach her gun before she does. Then I remember mine and turn my back on her just long enough to scramble for it and aim. She has her gun trained on me. Mine on her.

"You pull that trigger and we both die," I say.

Her confidence sends my heart in a sick spiral. "I'm okay with that. Are you?"

I answer by pulling the trigger.

She does too.

I've never felt this type of pain in my life. It hits me like a fucking freight train. It knocks me off my feet and forces the ground up to meet me. Every ounce of air kicked out of my lungs.

It isn't the bullet. I wouldn't have felt a bullet that was aimed at my head.

Diavolo pushes himself away from me with a pained grunt.

He curses loudly, before pulling his hood down, exposing the painful expression on his face. Gabriel straddles me, his knees on either side of my legs as he grasps frantically at his shoulder. He presses a firm hand against his left shoulder before pulling it away. His gloved hand soaked in blood caused by the bullet he took for me.

I fight to get out from underneath him, turning quickly in my mother's direction. She lies on the ground, motionless. Blood pools around the side of her face my gunshot ripped through. No checking of a pulse is necessary. She's dead.

I catch motion out the corner of my eyes and I focus my gun on it. Gabriel. He's propped himself up on one knee while a hand applies pressure to his wound. "I tried to save your mother," We both share a look at my dead parent, "Your other mom," He clarifies. "I tried to save her like I saved Federico. I couldn't. She was doomed, just like me but she was willing to die for my mission as long as I promised not to kill you."

I take a step back as the assassin pushes himself to his feet. I lower my weapon. "She didn't ask you to save me."

"No, she didn't," Gabriel admits. His full height always catches me off guard. "But she gave me an order."

Diavolo pulls his hood back up as he makes his closing remarks. "And orders I always obey."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Everybody was waiting for me once I made it outside. I was one of the last to reach the vehicles. Liam was outside waiting, his concerned expression deepening the closer I got. He meets me halfway, but there's no time to talk. His soldiers are heavily engaged with the Russian's, who have attempted to storm us out and regain control over their home.

There was a noticeable difference in the amount of SUVs outside the home now. More than we came with. They peel away quickly, securing the prisoners.

"Later," is all I can say to him as we pile inside our SUV.

Giovanni presses a hand against his ear. "Do we have ev—" He pauses, listening intently to the voice on the other end of the line. Gio's leg stops bouncing. He shoots Liam a look, then he taps the shoulder of the driver. He only has one word for him. "Go."

Liam sits forward. "What's wrong?"

Tatum glances up, in the middle of reloading his weapon. The only reason Liam wasn't aware of what they were about to tell him was because his earpiece was somewhere inside the Rostov mansion, crushed. "We lost contact with the soldiers stationed at the house."

We have no response for that. The car ride was the longest of my short life. My hands didn't stop shaking, and all I could do was hold one in the other and hope Liam would stop looking at me. I couldn't stop replaying the interaction with my mother.

And I couldn't help myself but feel sick at my lack of hesitation when I pulled the trigger. Not because she was my mother, but because I knew she would pull the trigger too.

I want nothing more than to tell Liam the entire story, but the thought of what was potentially going down at the house felt more pressing. And it was. The SUVs skid to a stop in our driveway in record time. It didn't feel like it. We're the first people out the vehicles.

There was no pause for orders or declarations and commands. It was all discussed before we arrived at the house. All those we rescued and the soldiers currently protecting them remain inside their vehicles.

Federico and Veleno move with their guns raised, quickly passing Liam and standing beside the front doors, debriefed on the potentiality of a dangerous situation. Giovanni and Tatum follow, positioning themselves in front of Liam and I, prepared to take the first bullets upon entry. The soldiers nod. The assassins pull open the door.

And my stomach drops.

They move in ahead of us, appearing unfazed by the scene playing out before us. Carmen, Savaughna, and Dominic each have a Russian solider at their back, a gun pressed against the side of their heads.

Federico aims his weapon at the solider who holds a gun to Carmen's head. Veleno trains his weapon on the solider who holds a gun to Savaughna's head. Crixus positions himself beside his brother, but instead of reaching for a dagger, he snatches the extra weapon off Federico's hip. He aims the gun at the solider holding a gun to Dominic's head.

Bodies litter the floor around them like decoration. It wasn't that our soldiers weren't prepared, but they are outnumbered. Two dead Italian soldiers lie in front of Carmen and Savaughna. They all look terrified.

All except Dominic.

I thought that was the worst of it, until I heard a high-pitched scream and looked to the other side of the foyer. Vincenzo and Rosalie are engaged in a fight with four Russian soldiers, one of them being Nathaniel Rostov. The heir to the Rostov throne, and Valentin Rostov's only son.

Vincenzo is engaged in the fight, more-so than Rosalie. The little girl is tossed around the circle while Vincenzo struggles to keep an eye on her and fight off a group that's outnumbered him. He's already dropped five other soldiers, who lay in the vicinity of them, blood pooling from gashes in their head. He's getting tired. Sweat drips off his brow at the sound of another scream. He slams the head of the solider who just grabbed Rosie into a doorframe. He grabs Rosalie's forearm and tugs her against him, while jamming a strong elbow into the throat of one of the last soldiers. The Russian bends down, and Vincenzo delivers a sick-sounding uppercut. The solider collapses.

Vincenzo was so close. The only individual left to fight was Nathaniel. Rosalie's scream catches him off guard and divides the fallen king's attention. Vincenzo had two options. Protect himself or protect Rosie. He chooses her, right as Nathaniel drives a punishing blow to the side of his head.

Everything happens in a split second. I can hear Giovanni and Tatum telling Liam that they can't get a clear shot. Vincenzo falls to a knee and raises his hand to block. It doesn't help. Nathaniel drives another punch into the side of Vincenzo's face. Again, again, and again.

We still couldn't take the shot. Rosalie was in the way. She managed to escape Vincenzo's grasp and wrapped her arms tightly around Nathaniel Rostov's thigh, doing everything in her little power to pull him away from Vince.

Somebody shouts at Rosalie to move. She does, but against her will. Nathaniel leans back just long enough to rip the little girl from his thigh and throw her into Vincenzo's chest. She was a nuisance to Nathaniel and arguably to Gio and Tatum, who were doing everything they can to get a clear shot, but she saved Vincenzo another punch he couldn't take. I can't tell who Nathaniel aims his weapon at. Vincenzo or Rosalie.

No shot could be safely taken now, not at the risk of their lives.

Liam calls out to Nathaniel.

Nathaniel glances away just long enough to see the damage that he's done. He smiles. Our soldiers are dead the floor, but all that remain of his men who stormed our house are those holding guns to three people we care about. He lost almost as much as we did.

He doesn't respond. He turns back to Vincenzo and his confidence falters at what greets him.

The nine-year-old has a gun aimed in his face.

"Don't touch him." The hold Rosalie has on the weapon she acquired is textbook. It's like she wrote the form herself. "Don't touch him." She takes a brave step forward, even in the face of danger and declares, "Don't touch my dad."

The room stills. Liam and Federico lower their weapons in shock.

Carmen screams, "Grayson fucking Jus—"

Federico curses loudly. "Sorry, sorry." He lifts his weapon quickly, re-training it on her captor. Even then, his attention resides on the little girl—as is everybody's. But Federico's reason not for the same as mine. His eyes are locked on her small fingers, prepared to pull his trigger if she were to dare pull hers.

Dad. Vincenzo tenses. Blood is pouring out his nose, running down the side of his face, and slipping out the corner of his lips. He gave every solider everything he had left to protect the little girl. And he looks like it, too. We weren't here to see it. She was, and it's clear she's going to do everything she can to protect him.

"Your dad?" Nathaniel forces a laugh. He takes half a step back and lowers himself to a squat, eyeing the little girl in the eye. "I didn't know that. Everything we know says that Michael Luciano was your father, unless, you know—" He tilts his head just long enough to look Vincenzo in the eye. The Russian laughs. "—you have two dads."

Rosalie doesn't respond. She keeps the gun leveled on Nathaniel.

Nathaniel lowers his weapon. It's unsure as to whether he's speaking to Rosalie or us. "You shoot me, and my friends kill yours." He motions to his right, where our three are threatened by his.

Rosalie doesn't lower her weapon.

"Tell me," Nathaniel begins, the tone in his voice changing. "Did your dad even say goodbye to you? And you know the dad I'm talking about."

"He's trying to get in your head," Vincenzo pushes himself up and fights a muttered curse. He rests against the wall and lets out a breath, "That's what they do. Don't put that gun down. Don't ever put it down."

Nathaniel shoots Vincenzo a look over Rosalie's shoulder. He sounds irritated when his eyes lower to Rosalie. "Answer my question."

"Yes and no," She says quickly.

"Explain that one to me, sweetheart."

Vince interrupts. "She's not your fucking—"

Rosalie never takes her eyes off her target. "No," She cuts her father off. "Michael didn't say goodbye to me before he died. He said goodbye to me every day, every time he taught me something new."

Nathaniel outstretches his hand. He works his way forward, now able to rest a hand on her weapon. He's almost worked Rosalie down to losing her focus. He's almost worked his way to snatching the gun from her hand. "And what was the last thing he taught you, cutie?"

"Brace for kickback."

Rosalie pulls the trigger.

The fate of Carmen, Dominic, and Savaughna might be up for question. But one thing is for certain. The heir to the Rostov throne is dead.

And a nine-year old killed him.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

a/n: wrote 14k in approximately 4 days and that's just me...i would be lethal and ya'll would be dead if i could do it consistently lol.

thanks for being patient w/ me. see you on my live on ig sometime this week to talk ab the chapter!!

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