xxxiii | the last dance

a/n: posted this chapter 1 day early due to me being busy tomorrow. please read the ending a/n! thank you.

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I pray my death is slow and agonizing.

I pray that it is drawn out and exaggerated long enough for me to see the faces, to hear the voices, of everyone I love one last time. Because it dawns on me once more as I stand underneath the doorway of Zara's untouched bedroom, that she was never given the chance.

She didn't get to dance with Michael for the first time, for the last time. She didn't get to feel his tear on her fingertip, the only one the king happily accepted at their wedding for the first time, for the last time. She didn't get to reflect on where it went wrong with Michael, or if it was ever even right. She didn't get to reflect on her growth, on the woman she once was and the one she became. She didn't get to feel the barrel of the gun on her forehead, to look up into the eyes of what would be her favorite assassin for the first time, for the last time. She never got to tell Vincenzo De Santis that she loved him for the first time, or for the last time. She didn't hear Rosalie's laugh. She didn't feel Vincenzo's touch. Or savor Carmen's indescribable hugs.

Zara's death was quick and painless. Her soul was taken in the whisper of the wind, and Liam only caught what was left. The only peace, the only comfort I can find in her leaving us—and the only thing that stops me from crying hysterically in her doorway—is this.

Zara's voice was the first Liam ever heard, and his was her last.

I could stand here for days and cry about how unfair her death was. I could drop to my knees at her headstone every day at the same time and lay rose after rose, and flower after flower, at her head. I could beg Vincenzo to tell me every story he has about her, relieving her memory one word at a time. But nothing will provide my heart the peace, or the comfort it needs until the woman associated with the Yakuza, the one who ordered her hit, is dead.

I pray my death is slow and agonizing because I intend to deserve it.

Her room is untouched. Forever frozen in a moment of time that will never see the next. The air is stale, but if you close your eyes, you can smell her. The faintest whiff of the last perfume she ever danced through. Her favorite. A single wrinkle in her duvet, one she swore to fix when she got back, when she crawled in bed that night. Her phone is on its charger. Liam put it there the first night, unable to look through it, or admit she would never need it again. Her closet door is open. The only pair of shoes missing are the ones that never made it back.

Her room felt like a time capsule that was opened too early, and never given the chance to become as special as it deserved to be.

I sit down on the edge of her bed, doing everything I can to keep it the way she left it—even if only for a minute longer. And I cry. I cry because I'm tired. I cry for Zara. But I cry for myself, because none of these people were ever supposed to be as special as they have become. They were supposed to be nothing. Acquaintances that would appear in my dream every blue moon. They weren't supposed to become my life. They weren't supposed to become everything.

One of them knocks on the bedroom door. Carmen stands underneath the doorway, her arms full of empty boxes. They're stacked so high that they obscure her face and vision. But her long, jet black hair and Federico's black sweatsuit are unmistakable. She drops the boxes in the middle of the room, tosses a strand of hair over her shoulder, and begins to work the oversized sleeves up her short arms. She quickly adjusts the excess material that gathers at her ankles. Her smile doesn't fade until she looks up and sees me.

"You're crying." It was more of an acknowledgment to herself, than to me.  Carmen glances down at the boxes. "Liam thought you might want some help..." Her shoulders fall when she catches me wiping my eyes again. Carmen pushes a box out her way and lowers herself beside me. She throws an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. She smells like Rico.  "I'm sorry." Her hug, and the silence that follows, is oddly healing.

"I'm so sorry," Carmen whispers again. "I wish I knew what to say to comfort somebody. But the only person I ever really lost came back, and that's because he's a ghost."

I snort, and the laughter that follows is not attractive. The sad tears and the happy tears combine and all I can do is wipe at them both. "You're so annoying," I let out another laugh as she presses a friendly kiss to my temple, squeezes me tight, then lets go. "And I love you. Thank you for being my friend."

Carmen stands up, hands on her hips, and turns to face me, her smile wide. I nearly laugh again. The black sweatshirt and matching pants that were designed for an individual a little over six feet, manage to swallow Carmen who stands a little below five foot five.  "I love you too and thank you for being my friend."

"Liam wants to clean out her room, pack her stuff up so the Santiago parents can stay here for the time being," I explain to her. "He can't do it himself, and he didn't want people who didn't care—to touch her stuff. So I offered..."

Her smile is comfort. "Well now you have help."

"He said we can keep what we like. Donate the rest."

Carmen doesn't hesitate. "I'll start with the jewelry."

We work quietly, but efficiently. Her closet is cluttered and overwhelming, but perfectly organized. Her dresses are separated by color and length. Each shoes sits with their respective pair, tucked neatly—toe first—into a cube shaped organizer built into the wall. Her shoes, too, organized by color. Her heels are on top. Sneakers and sandals at the bottom.

Most of Zara's dress shoes end up in the donate box, but not before I call out to Carmen, who glances over her shoulder and with one word—keep or toss—decides if she would like them for herself or not. I set aside a pair of timeless black, open-toe heels for myself before I move on to her sneakers and sandals.

Carmen slowly works her way through Zara's vanity. Every time I look her way, she's eyeing another piece of jewelry. The ones she really likes, she holds up to her neck and poses before deciding if it's a keep or a toss. She works through each necklace, bracelet, and ring.

"Gold or silver?" I ask, momentarily taking a break from my work. Carmen doesn't need me to elaborate.

I can hear her smile.  "Gold, every time."

Carmen's pace slows as she moves on to the small, but various perfume collection that is lined up perfectly along the vanity. I grab a handful of dresses and with the hanger, transfer them out the closest and onto the bed for a quicker decision process. Both Carmen and I agreed to go through each other's donate box in case one's trash is another's treasure. 

I keep one dress and plan to donate the other, but when I look up, Carmen is still staring at the same bottle of perfume as she was two minutes ago. Something's on her mind.  I clear my throat, "Did you get to meet the Santiago parents?"

"I did," She answers quickly. "Grace is so sweet." Carmen sets a perfume bottle aside and grabs another, our eyes meeting momentarily in the mirror above the vanity. "She's funny and can talk about anything. Definitely a people person." There's a pause as she sprays the perfume and inhales. She decides to keep it. "I think that's why she and Anthony are perfect together. I couldn't get three words out of him. He's harder to read."

"You think trauma?" I offer as I pluck through a sleeveless, formfitting black dress. I toss it in the keep pile without much thought.

"No, I think he's always been like this," She comments. "Quiet. Introverted. His wife has the personality, and he knows it. So he lets her have her shine while he plays the quiet bodyguard. It fits them."

"The quiet bodyguard," I chuckle, repeating her phrase.

"He can guard my—"

"Don't finish that," I urge Carmen with a smile toying on my lips.

Our eyes meet in the mirror once more. "Girl," is all Carmen says.

"Girl," I shoot back. "I completely agree, he's fine as hell, but he has three children. He's guarding somebody's body, and it isn't yours—"

Our laughter trickles throughout the moments that follow. I sort through ten more dresses, while Carmen does perfume. The air begins to grow thick, each perfume spray beginning to mix with one another. I start to feel light-headed. It isn't until Carmen starts coughing that I drift across the room and unlock the window, lifting it just enough to get a breeze.

Carmen is staring at me by the time I turn back to her. She's nervously working the loose ring around her index finger in circles, the nearly permanent upward curl of her lips has downturned. She's upset.

"Damn," I mutter, "I was just joking about Anthony—"

That earns half a smile, and I'm proud of myself for it. But Carmen shakes her head, a breath of laughter escaping her. "That's not—that's not it," She says. "It's Rico."

I scramble over to the edge of the bed. "I'm seated."

Earns me another smile. "I know I'm probably overthinking it," She continues, "But something's wrong. Federico used to hate physical touch. And I backed off when we were younger because I came to understand that it is not everyone's love language. But then one day he put his arm around my shoulder, and the next his hand on my leg and before I knew it, it became his. But he hates it when he's upset. So he can fake a smile. He can force a laugh. But when we crawl in bed and he pulls himself so close to the edge of the mattress that he nearly falls off instead of throwing an arm around me, I know something is wrong."

The doubt in Carmen grows as my silence does the same.

Dominic's situation is a current worry for us all, especially his brother. But Federico never hesitated to share his worries about his brother with Carmen. There's Vincenzo and the second half of their fight that managed to conclude last night. Carmen has heard bits and pieces of that situation, but it comes to me that she doesn't know it all. Rico is grieving. Slowly, quietly, disassociating himself with the person he claimed Vincenzo made, the same one he never wanted to be. And each time the clock strikes midnight, leading us closer to the impending confrontation with Valentin, time draws ever nearer to his most desirable goodbye.

It's scary how life always comes full circle. Federico once planned his suicide. To walk into the Rostov empire and not walk out. Never could he have imagined that he was going to try it, again. Fantasma will walk into the Rostov empire. Only Federico will walk out. A suicide mission. Except this person, this piece of him, is something he doesn't mind letting go of. And forever will that piece of him remain. Ashes among ashes.

We will leave Russia. Time will pass. The foundation of what remains will be swept away and buried. Our lives will move on. Fantasma will be forgotten. His name will fall down the list of the greats as those who accepted what they are will replace him, pass him. Federico will be happy. And maybe one day when he's healed, Federico will return to the place he left himself. It will be unrecognizable. As will he. He'll smile at the flowers. And he will leave, convinced that maybe, just maybe, beauty does come from ashes.

"You know what it is," Carmem says softly, "You know what's bothering him."

I don't feel the lone tear until it curls under the edge of my jaw. I wipe it away quickly. "Rico hates himself." I finally find the words. "And as I, Faith, your best friend—which you didn't know until now—I would never want you to love somebody who hates who they are. But Rico is special. He didn't become this person. It became him. And that's the problem. He loves you but hates him. He's at war with himself. So he pulls away from your touch and he dodges your kiss when he's upset because he doesn't want to drag you into his mess—but he loves you, so he stays, even if that means clinging to the edge of the bed."

Carmen quietly registers my opinion.  She nods, "I just wish he loved himself."

A thought comes to mind, but it takes a second to get my words in order. I completely bypass the disclaimer. "You once told me that you and Rico have never had sex, and it bothered you. It still bothers you because of your own insecurities. And it doesn't help because you know he's slept with other women before; women who you think are prettier than you. But have you ever thought, that maybe he doesn't want to give that version of himself to you? That maybe he wants to wait until he loves himself, to give himself to you?"

The silence that follows, and the look that gathers in Carmen's eyes suggest that she has been so concerned, so focused on her own insecurities, that she never thought the reason could be his own.

There's a knock at the door. "Am I interrupting?"

Carmen turns away from me quickly, but I don't miss her wipe the tears that gathered at the corner of her eye. Savaughna steps cautiously into the room, her eyes taking in everything, from the clothes on the bed to Carmen wiping at her tears. "I'm interrupting," She decides, answering her own question. "I'm sorry, I can just—"

"You're not interrupting," I tell her. "Are you okay? I haven't seen you since last night."

You can tell she hesitates.  "I'm fine. It was scary," Savaughna admits, "Having a gun to your head." She thinks about something, and turns to Carmen, "Except you didn't look scared. Actually, you were probably the calmest out of all of us for the most part. And who the hell taught you how to shoot a gun like that?"

I smile and switch my attention to Carmen, "Sounds like you have a fan," I tease.

Carmen just smiles. "My best-friend is a certified killer, and my dad was a cop. Between the two of them, I learned a little bit." She pauses, thinking for a second, "I was scared, especially when Rico took his attention away from me. He used to talk a lot about the missions he failed. About all the times that he messed up. All the shots he missed. But I wasn't worried. He wasn't missing that one."

Carmen's smile transitions into a nervous one. She glances away from Sav, away from me, and quietly works the gold ring around her finger. Her tell. A nervous habit, which might explain why she doesn't wear it very often. She misses the look that passes across the former model's face. Something mixed with admiration and confusion. Admiration for Carmen's trust in Rico. Confusion for Carmen's ability to trust in a man equally as bad as all the others.

"I'm leaving." Savaughna states quickly. Carmen tries to argue, as I would expect, for Sav to reconsider and stay. Savaughna doesn't let Carmen get out more than two words. "I came here as a last ditched effort to save my daughter. We couldn't. This isn't my home. And I don't really know where that is without my daughter, but it isn't here." She shifts in her stance, "I already thanked Liam, but I wanted to thank you, and you," Sav directs at me, "Because I've learned that maybe men like them aren't as bad as I thought they were. I think—actually, I know you have a special one." And I know she's talking about Liam.

My smile shows my appreciation. "When are you leaving?"

"The plane leaves in thirty."

"Where are you going to go?" Carmen questions.

Sav offers a sheepish smile and a shrug, "Liam said it's best I don't tell anybody. At least until all this mess is over. I'll reach out to you both. I have your numbers."

I stand up as she begins to cross the room, arms extended for a hug. I pull her close, tell her I'm going to miss her, and let her go. Carmen pulls her into a hug of her own, while I ask, "Do you need a ride? We can take a break and--"

Giovanni all but appears in the doorway, a sly smile on his face. He's back in uniform. The bulletproof vest clinging to the black shirt underneath. His hand tucked inside the collar. The badge pinned to his chest. Savaughna tosses a thumb over her shoulder, "He already offered, but I really appreciate it."

Carmen's eyebrow raises while her voice lowers. She leans in, just far enough to make a lopsided circle, "Oh, he offered?"

Sav doesn't even fight the blush. "It's not like that."

"Did you tell Veleno goodbye?"

Her eyes snap to mine, the answer immediate. Something in my stomach drops. Because the look she shares doesn't just suggest that she hasn't, but also tells me she never will.

Carmen sees it, too. "You should tell him—"

"I can't," She interrupts. There's a pause as she waits for Carmen and I to jump in, to tell her what a mistake she's making by leaving without saying a word to him, or the others. It never comes. We both somewhat understand. "I just can't..."

Gio takes a step forward, his eyes cast downwards to the watch on his wrist. "Savaughna, we need to leave—"

"I'm coming," She reassures him quickly before pulling us both into another hug. She gives Carmen a warm smile before shooting me a knowing one. Slowly, she backs away. "I better get an invite to the wedding."

I laugh. "You will be getting an invite. And please, if you have any model friends, bring them along. I might need a couple placeholder bridesmaids."

Her laugh is louder than mine. "Done," She agrees and spins, strutting out the room just as beautifully as her soul entered our lives. She tells Carmen and I to be safe before reaching Giovanni's side. He offers us a gentle, respectful nod before turning and joining his escortee at her side. He misjudges the distance between the two, and bumps into her shoulder. At least that was how it appeared, until Savaughna laughs and bumps her shoulder against him in retaliation.

Carmen and I watch until they fade from view. She's the first to say something. "Oh, there's definitely something going on there."

And I can do nothing but agree. "Absolutely."

"So," Carmen presses, "I know Liam hasn't officially proposed or anything, but just out of curiosity, who would be your maid of honor?"

"You, Carmen. It would be you."

I can't help but laugh once more as she does a short, but exaggerated celebration dance, squealing something that sounds like, "Yes!"

Time passes quickly after that. The clothes in Zara's closet were organized, all items separated into what would be donated and what would be kept. Her vanity was cleared, her perfumes and jewelry organized in their respectful donation and trash containers. I won't go into detail just how long it took two, grown adult women to change the bedding. Although it was painful, it felt nice to laugh until my lungs burned and my sides ached while I watched Carmen fight with the fitted sheet. Somehow, after numerous attempts, it recoiled back on her. In defeat, she stood there, like a poor attempt at being a ghost for Halloween. "At least I'm pretty," was all she had to say before we realized that we chose a bedding set one size too small for the mattress we were working with.

We were in the middle of the final bedding process when we were interrupted. Somewhere between the application of the pillowcases, we got distracted. Some will say I swung first, others will say she did. But there will be no mistake as to whose swing is more intense. And it isn't mine. Carmen swings her pillow like it's a brick, and I dodge her with a loud laugh before swinging and connecting with the back of her head.

Anyone who happened to walk past the bedroom door would hear us screaming, laughing, and the thump of a pillow as it connected with a piece of furniture, missing its target. Carmen's last shot connected with my ribcage, and I bent over, trying to catch my breath and laugh all at the same time. Truly a painful experience. "Stop, stop." I hold out a hand and wave the invisible white flag.

Carmen lowers her pillow, her weapon. She buys it. And never anticipates my final swing. But before my pillow connects with her beautiful face, I playfully shout, "Bitch."

The MLB would've been proud of my swing.

She stumbles backwards, and partially due to both her laugh and her surprise, she falls. She clutches her pillow to her chest. She's in the middle of screaming, "That's so not fa—" when she opens her eyes. The rest of her words fail her, as she stares up at the expressionless face of Vincenzo De Santis.

He blinks down at her. "Are you really going to let her get away with that?"

Because I know him better than she does, I can hear the teasing between his words. Carmen only hears the seriousness, only sees the stress in his eyebrows, and scrambles away from him and to her feet. She's already slowly backing away.

His eyes lift to mine, and I'm left to answer the question he has yet to ask.  "The Santiago parents," I start off. And just at the mention of their name, something in his expression twitches. Jealousy? Hatred? Towards himself more than them. Vince glances slowly around the room, taking in what is left of her. "Liam wants to give them their own room, and thought it was time to... He thought it was time."

Vincenzo doesn't respond. I follow his gaze to the chair in the corner. To the place where he would fall asleep, respecting that she wasn't ready to take that step with him, but wanting to be near her anyway. To the place where he judged her outfits by her request, a smile on both of their faces. To the place where he comforted her, held her, while she curled against his chest. To the place where she reminded him that the throne does not make the king. To the place where he reminded her that the king does not make the queen. To the place where their relationship blossomed. To where their dream of being together flourished. And to where it died. Promised only in another lifetime.

Vincenzo doesn't respond. He will never need to. 

The former king turns away. He takes a step, pauses, and turns back. But now his attention falls on Carmen, who does nothing to hide how uncomfortable she is under it. Her nails nearly rip through the fabric of the pillowcase as she hides behind it, clutching it to her stomach. His gaze only intensifies, and I swear a bead of sweat forms on her brow.

"You saved my life last night," He tells her. Carmen doesn't look surprised, but clearly, I missed a detailed portion of the fight between them and the Russians that stormed our home.

It takes everything in her to look up, to meet his gaze. "I don't like bullies. You were trying to fight four of them at one time, and make sure they didn't hurt Rosie. It was an unfair fight from the start. One on one, two on one, even three on one and I would've left you alone. But four? Bully behavior."

The corner of Vincenzo's lip curls, trying to form a smile in a room that once saw so many of them. "You're a good shot."

"My dad taught me the basics. Your son fixed my form. I perfected the rest." She smiles.

I can't help but do the same at the sound of her confidence. Vince hears it, too. He nods, impressed, and once again turns to leave. I'm nearly bouncing on my toes, waiting for his departure so I can grill Carmen on exactly what went down before Rosalie pulled the trigger and put an end to everyone's night.

And sending Nathaniel Rostov to a permanent one. 

"I was wrong." Vincenzo lets out a breath and turns around to face Carmen once more. "And I'm sorry. I should have never interfered with you and Rico's friendship the way I did, and I had no business threatening you to stay away from him." Her grip begins to relax on the pillow as her eyes dart between his. "I was focused on what I wanted, and not what he did. And I see the way you look at me, the way you tense up when I'm around. It's the same way you looked when I approached you that day, and I'm sorry."

He takes a step back, and after a moment of silence, his eyes fall to the ground. He retreats, convinced that Carmen won't accept his apology—but just like she doesn't know him, he doesn't know her.

"I don't hate you," She tells him. "I never hated you. Rico loved you, so I did too. But you don't think you should apologize to him, too?"

"I waited too long," Vincenzo admits. "Apologizing about you now won't change anything. He won't think I mean it. He'll think I'll say anything to try to get him back into my life." He thinks about it for a second, a soft smile playing on his lips, "And I would, but I don't think I could ever be who he needs me to be. Look, I just wanted you to know that I was sorry—"

"Do you know how many times you've saved my life?" Carmen questions.

Vincenzo just sighs.

"I accept your apology," Carmen says, "But even if you never brought it up, if you never apologized, I would have never held it over your head. You do scare me, sometimes, but you've saved my life more times than I can count."

I ask the question Vincenzo doesn't. "How?"

Carmen looks at me, and the reassuring nod I give her is enough for her to tell her story. "My parents and I don't live in the best place. The neighborhood has been going downhill for a while, and it's only getting worse. We only had one car, so I walked a lot, to school and work."

She clears her throat, and continues, "A young man followed me once. One block turned to two, then three. I could see my home. I had no weapon on me. The only people who would've heard my cry for help, would've helped him. There was no way I could outrun him, but it was my only choice. He chased me down. Pushed me down. Dumped the contents of my backpack all over the sidewalk. He grabbed my wallet and put a gun to my head. Another man turned the corner, and I just knew. He was laughing until he looked me in the face, then he told the one with the gun to put it down. Because De Santis knows her."

Carmen wipes at a tear, but before I can move to comfort her, Vincenzo does. He hesitates, his hands hovering over her shoulders, but reluctantly he touches her. "Carmen," He mutters with a smile, hoping to get her attention. "Carmen, I know." She glances up, unable to catch the next tear. "Just because I didn't want you in Rico's life doesn't mean I wanted you dead. I made sure you, your parents, were untouchable to every wannabe me in Detroit. And some didn't listen. But from school, to work, to home, you had an angel on every corner."

She sniffles. "So, you remember that one time—"

"Yes."

"And that other—"

"Yes."

"And then there was that other—"

"Yes, Ms. Vega."

"You know," She pauses, "A lot of them didn't listen."

"And they were all dealt with accordingly," Vincenzo promises softly.

"Do you know what Detroit is like without you?" Carmen ponders out loud, her eyes searching for the answer in his.  Vincenzo releases her shoulders and steps back, suddenly uncomfortable with their proximity. "I talk with my parents almost every day, and every day it gets worse.  They've implemented a city-wide curfew. Groups are raiding stores. Crime rates are skyrocketing. Nobody is afraid of the police. And to hear that Liam is generous enough to build back what you had, only for you not to take your rightful place on its—"

"Carmen." Vincenzo stops her. "I know we just had a moment, but I'm not going to stand here and tell you about what I lost and how it felt. But just so you know..." He smiles a bit, "My daughter thinks the same."

My daughter.

"She struggled to go to sleep last night," He glances up at Carmen, at me. "She cried because she was scared. She was scared because she doesn't feel Michael with her anymore. That she could always hear his voice when she thought of him. That she would always feel safe when she pictured him beside her. She cried because he's gone, and he was the one who was supposed to teach her how to be a king. But I'm starting to understand that he started her on this journey, knowing that I would be the one to finish it."

Michael knew. He always knew. A step ahead of everyone else and Michael would always feel behind. That's why he was always two. Vincenzo would finish what he started. Yet somehow, Rosalie will teach him just as much. She will teach him how to be a king, just as much as he will teach her. Her first lesson is already churning in Vincenzo's mind, slowly coming to an understanding that if he is going to teach his daughter to never give up, he can't either.

She's his last hope, and somehow, maybe he is also hers.

"Will you ever tell us?"

Vincenzo stops just underneath the doorway, quick to make his exit. He freezes, steps back, and glances over his shoulder at me as I wait.

"I asked Zara how she met you, once," I explain further.  "She didn't answer me. She just smiled—the same way your smiling now." Its faint, almost nonexistent, but the curl of his lips is undeniable. "She never told me. I was curious if you would."

I'm surprised when he doesn't hesitate. "I will."

Vincenzo leaves without any explanation, any promise of a timeline. Carmen and I get back to work. This time, quietly. We clean out underneath the bed, where Zara stored her most memorable and favorite valuables. An old camcorder resting inside a tattered box, filled with tapes labeled 'Liam's first Christmas' or 'Valentines Day '89'. A scrapbook full of black and white photographs. Their wedding. Liam's hand wrapped around Michael's thumb. A family portrait. I let Carmen pack the rest, my back leaning against the mattress as a thought comes to mind.

I believe him. I believe Vincenzo will tell me the story, one day. He'll wait. He'll wait until she stops appearing in his dreams. He'll wait until he starts to forget her voice, until trying to remember the sound of her laugh is like trying to catch the wind. He'll wait until he starts to forget the last smile on her face, right before the bullet struck her. He'll wait until he starts to forget, to tell me the story.

But until then, that's where it will remain.

Between them.

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Content. That's how I felt standing underneath the archway leading into the living room and seeing everyone sitting, talking, laughing. I've had a lot of favorite moments during my time here, and this one will surely make that list. That second in time where everyone is so focused on their conversation that they don't notice the one watching them. Their smiles. Their laughs. The way their head tilts back and they nearly fall off the piece of furniture they're sitting on, from laughing so hard.

Grace and Anthony Santiago are the first to greet me. They try to rise in a respectful manner, until they both realize that they can't. Crixus's legs rest on his father's lap, his head on his mother's. His arms are folded across his chest, his eyes closed. The smile on his face resembles the feeling in my chest. Content, as Grace pushes his curls off his forehead and gingerly trails a path across his hairline.

I reach them first and extend a hand. Anthony takes it. "Faith," I introduce. He nods.

Grace releases her son just long enough to shake my hand. "Grace," She gives me her name and I give her mine. She motions to her right, towards Anthony, "That's Anthony. So, you're Faith? All three of my son's mentioned you last night. Federico said—"

"Federico said—" Rico drops to the sofa, joining Anthony at his side. "That you only have good things to say about me. All good things. All good things." He winks.

"All good things," My smile is natural, but I stress the forced look. Grace laughs just as Crixus shoots upwards, his eyes opening.

"Rico, you're crushing my feet!" Crixus shouts his displeasure, "You're ruining my spa-like experience."

"Your spa— " Federico doesn't fight his eyeroll. "You're such a bitch."

"Mom."

"Grayson, do not call your brother a bitch." Grace corrects sternly. "He's a little bitch."

Crixus looks like he's been betrayed. His gaze drifts from Grace to Federico, back and forth, his eyes narrowing the longer his stare is drawn out. His attention falls on his dad, yet somehow, he looks even more disappointed when he catches Anthony with a hand to his mouth, the distinct twitch of his lips.  "Dad," He calls out, disappointed by the lack of support.

"Sorry," Anthony wins the fight against his laugh, but you can hear the struggle in his words. "It was kind of funny."

I miss what happens next, my attention drifting to the empty space beside Grace. Anthony had saved a seat beside him for one son, where Federico now sat, laughing loudly at the two's muffled conversation. Grace saved one beside her, but Dominic never showed. Somehow Crixus ends up on the floor, Anthony driving a hand into his side, tickling the boy until he screeches in distress.

Rosalie is stretched out on the floor, lying on her stomach as she flips through a massive coloring book. Two boxes of 64 count crayons rest on either side of the page as she slowly, deliberately, makes an incredibly important decision. It takes her longer to choose a page to color than it did to put a bullet in Valentin Rostov's son.

The little girl finally chooses a favorite and flips it around. "Do you like this one, Liam?"

Liam is slouched in a seat in the corner of the living room. He's traded his dress shirt for a white tee, his suit jacket for a black Nike runner. The glistening layer of sweat that sticks to his brow and that of Tatum, who is standing over his shoulder, arms folded, suggest their early run was a challenging one. Both of their attentions are glued to Liam's phone, tilted in landscape mode for a wider viewing angle. Occasionally a murmur is shared from one of the two.

Enough time passes for me to cross the room before Liam glances above the edge of his phone. "I love that one," He tells Rosie. "You're going to make it look beautiful."

Liam greets me, missing the kick of Rosalie's feet and the smile on her face at his faith in her. He lowers his phone to his lap. Screen down. A hand reaches for my waist, pulling me down just enough to press a kiss to my lips. Tatum has backed away smoothly, his attention already torn between something else.  He lowers himself across from Rosie and if my mind wasn't so focused on trying to figure out what the two were watching, I might've found the Lieutenant Commander lying on his stomach with a purple crayon in his hand and a glock in his holster, adorable.

The two make eye contact.

"May I color with you?" Tatum offers.

Rosie smiles. "You may."

They clink their crayons together and begin.

I turn back to Liam. "What were you and—"

"Faith, are you hungry?" Carmen glides into the room from the kitchen, a hearty breakfast proportioned on our best silverware.

I don't feel nauseous until she mentions food. "I'm not but thank you."

Carmen smiles at me and excuses herself as she steps over Tatum and Rosie. Even with his eyes closed and his temples being massaged, Crixus times his fist-bump with a passing Carmen perfectly. The smile on his face grows. Federico is the last to greet her, but I don't know what he's eyeing more. Her or her plate.

"Do you mind if I—"

"No, Rico. Get your own plate."

"Okay, well," Federico leans forward. His eyes glisten and his voice lowers as he grips her thighs, pulling her to his knees, "How about you eat that, and I eat—"

Federico never sees the elbow from his father coming. He releases Carmen quickly, the air in his lungs rushing out as he lets out a painful grunt. "—toast," He cries out, breathlessly. "I was going to say toast." Federico, out of dramatics, has fallen out of his seat. He points an accusing finger at his father's expressionless face. "Oh, I think I'm starting to get to know you really well.  Your mind is in the gutter, you should be absolutely ashamed. You're worse than me."

Federico almost earns a smile.

"Toast?" Carmen steps forward, offering her perfectly toasted and buttered piece of bread.

Rico snatches it and takes a dramatic bite. "Thank you." He watches her saunter away and drop into an empty love seat.

Federico stops munching just long enough to lean towards Anthony, whispering something. He glances quickly at Rosalie, at Tatum, who are so focused on their coloring that they're unaware of everything else around them. Then Federico's eyes drift up to mine. I register the look. He leaves the room first. And I follow.

I look over my shoulder when I hit the archway. Liam's focus is back on whatever he was watching previously.

I expected Federico to be right around the corner, yet he still scares me. "Well?" He finishes his last bite, brushing the breadcrumbs on his pants. "How did it go last night?"

Our shoulders bump as we walk down the foyer. I smile softly, glancing up at him. "You should've been there."

He shoves a hand in the pocket of his shorts and smiles, too. "I earned that one."

"I was just kidding." He leads the way, and although our footsteps are aligned, I still follow. We turn down another hallway, one towards the backend of the home. "You had a good reason not to go. How's Dom?"

"I brought food up to him earlier," Federico's shrug is one of defeat. "He ate a little bit but then he threw it up. I didn't think he could get thinner, but I feel like he is."

I'm searching for an answer, the only sound that surrounds us is the echo of our footsteps down the hall.

Rico changes the subject. "What did you and Cinderella talk about?"

"You were right. He's a good listener. But what we talked about?" I shake my head, "I don't kiss and tell."

He makes a face and recalls one of the most random moments. "I would know. Wasn't I your first kiss?"

"You were. But thankfully I only needed to kiss one frog to get to the prince."

"You're sick."

We share a laugh, then silence falls between us. The exterior wall slowly transitions to windows, displaying the sprawling acreage at the back of our home. A pool we hardly ever use sits out back, covered by a tarp. A full-sized basketball court is off to the side. A lone ball bounces into view as Federico and I stroll to a stop in front of two sliding glass doors.

"He makes me sad," Federico admits softly about Gabriel. "He's convinced himself that he only has one option. And he's happy with it as long as he takes Valentin with him." His eyes fall to mine, his bottom lip curling downwards. "I know how he feels. When I went to Russia for the first time, I thought I only had one option, too. But I didn't. And no, I don't know him as much as well as I know you or Veleno, or Liam, or Dominic—shit, even Crixus. But..."

He stalls, and I reach for his arm, providing him with a gentle squeeze. "But?"

"He's worth saving."

A part of me wants to agree. The other part of me doesn't. I'm starting to understand Federico and Gabriel's connection. It wasn't strengthened by the limited amount of time they spent together or the few laughs they shared. But by their experience. Federico was once a boy who needed saving. And Gabriel was, too.  Stripped away from home and taken somewhere foreign. Thrown down and dragged. Suffocated and starved. Shackled and beaten. The only mercy shown to him was them beating him long enough for unconsciousness to take him, so he didn't have to experience the rest. The little boy needs saving, but does Diavolo?

Because you can't save one without saving the other.

Federico has already pulled open the glass doors and stepped through, a few steps ahead of me. I shut it behind me as he jogs slowly onto the basketball court, claps twice—gaining the attention of the individual with the ball, and waits. Veleno smiles and sends the ball flying through the air and into Federico's chest. The assassin catches it behind the three-point line, aims, and lets it go.

The swoosh is satisfying. "What can I say?" Federico smiles. "Shooter."

The double mean doesn't go unnoticed.

Veleno smiles as he catches the rebound. He bounces the ball and offers me a friendly wave. The assassin winces when he turns, the bruise on his side still giving him trouble. "You could always join the NBA," He calls out to Rico as he slowly approaches. Veleno gives the ball a bounce, then another. "You're what? Twenty-three? Almost twenty-four? You could still have a good career. Maybe start out in the G-league. You'd be a good photographer, too."

"Yeah," Federico lets out a breathless laugh as Veleno drives towards the basket, nailing the layup.  "Line them up and pull the trigger."

"More like press the button," I correct him, "But sure."

"Why are you talking about side hustles?" Rico asks him.

"You consider me a friend, right?"

Federico and I share a look. He lets out an exasperated sigh, "A frie—" He takes a couple fingers and runs them across an eyebrow, hoping to ease the oncoming headache. "A friend? Are you really going to make me pull out the government name? You're more than my friend, Immanuel."

Veleno lays the ball up once more before catching it, clutching it to his chest, and marching back our way. Something in his face softens. "Stop. Are you finally making this relationship official?"

"Veleno, what the absolute fuck—"

Veleno's anger is explosive, and it's one of the few times I catch it on record. "Dammit, Rico." He slams the ball down hard. His reflexes don't fail him. He catches it. "When were you going to tell me?"

Rico, still lost, can do nothing but blink. "That I lost my virginity?"

"You're so unserious." Veleno turns, disappointed.

Federico breathes out, "Okay," and strides forward. Veleno drops the ball as Rico grabs him by the shoulder. I swoop in and scoop it up, trying my best impression of his previous layup. It isn't as pretty, but at least the ball goes in. Their conversation is in the background, the bouncing of the basketball in theirs. "It depends." I hear Rico say, "It depends on what it is."

"You're retiring." Veleno says. "I overheard you talking about it. I was with her." I can feel both of their gazes fall on me. Which explains why I airball my next attempt. "She doesn't seem very surprised, so you guys must have talked about it more. But I've been waiting for you to come say it to my face. So, when were you going to tell me?"

The truth is delivered quickly. "I was never going to."

Silence falls, and for a while it's just me and the basketball—my feet moving against the court, the ball hitting and drumming around the rim, bouncing off the backboard, and the gentle swish as it falls through the next. I glance over at them. They both stand side by side, arms in their pockets or folded across their chest. Federico watches the skyline. Veleno watches me.

"Do you remember the promise you made me?" Veleno questions him.

Federico shifts in his stance, uncomfortable. "I've made a lot of promises. And I'm not happy with myself because I've broken more, so you're going to have to remind me."

"The first mission we ever went on," Veleno glances at his friend, "What did I tell you the first time we worked together?"

Federico's smile is a proud one. "You said you hated me."

Veleno shoves him playfully, "That still applies. But I said something else."

Rico's smile fades, slowly but surely as he stares at one of his best friends as the horror of his terrible memory comes back to haunt him.  "To tell you when it would be the last one."

"The last what?" Veleno raises an eyebrow.

"The last dance."

Veleno smiles softly. I wave at the two, and they wave back, watching as I position myself for a free throw. I miss the first one but make the next. They both offer me a thumbs up, and a smile.

Veleno starts, hesitates, then tries again.  "I'm not usually one to tell people's darkest secrets, but whether Crixus and I work together, or you and him, I think you should know." Genuine concern crosses Rico's face as he angles his body toward the other assassin. "He had a panic attack last night, after shooting the Russian holding Dominic. It took a very long time to calm him down. He was shaking. And I care about your brother, Rico, I—" Veleno looks away, "I love him. And I am so excited to see him mature and perfect what he's so good at, but he's stubborn. And I'm not telling you this to go around his back and be a bad person, but I know he never will. He probably thinks you will never look at him the same if he admits that he, an assassin, is afraid of guns."

Rico takes a minute to process it. For some reason, I expect him to laugh, to make some kind of twisted joke that only the two will understand. He doesn't. "What happened?"

"He had a friend. They were young. Crixus believes she might have had a learning disability. He doesn't know which one, but it doesn't matter." Veleno lets out a breath, "He was forced to execute her. One shot to the head. He doesn't have a problem looking down one. He only has a problem when he has to hold it."

"That doesn't make him any less of one of us," Federico declares.

"No, it doesn't. I think he needs to hear you tell him that," Veleno comes back, "But that is something he needs to learn to share, especially if he works with any one of us now or in the future."

Rico nods in agreement, his eyes trailing the ball as it bounces away from me.  "He's going to be great."

"You can see it in him," Veleno quietly agrees. "He will be."

"But no matter how great he will be, and how much I love him—and I do love him, more than I ever thought I could this soon—"

Veleno laughs in understanding. "I get it. He has that effect on people."

Rico speaks again once his laugh has died down. "I love him, but if this is it for me...if Russia is where my career ends, I want you to know you're the best partner I could've ever had. And I wouldn't have wanted anybody else by my side except for you."

"How dare you," Veleno bumps Rico with a smile. "You've gotten all sentimental in your old age. But if we're being sappy, then yes, I love Crixus too and working with him is fun, but nobody will ever replace you, Rico. Especially as my friend. Just don't tell Crixus I said that."

A sly smile crosses Federico's face as he takes a step back and widens his arms. "I want a hug."

Veleno all but audibly groans. "Since when have you gotten so into hugs—"

"Carmen got me into them." He wiggles his fingers, "Now bring it in."

"Do anything weird and I'll choke you."

They pull each other close.

"I love you, Veggie."

Veleno laughs. "I love you, too."

As if he was summoned, Crixus bursts through the crack in the glass door. He jogs across the back patio and hops onto the basketball court with a smile on his face.

"Crixus!" Federico pulls away from Veleno with a clap, "Veleno said—" Rico stumbles forward from the shove in his back, and the reminder of the promise he was made to keep, "—he misses you."

"I missed you too, Veggie!" The boy bounds forward until he reaches Veleno's side. He notices the wince of pain and his expression morphs immediately. "Did you take the medicine I left you? I even put a glass of water beside it. You need to be careful. I don't want you hurting yourself more and—"

"Crixus," At the sound of Veleno saying his name, the boy shuts up. "I took it. Thank you for the water."

"I know I was with my parents last night, but do you think I could stay with you and watch another movie tonight?"

"Sure, as long as you don't kick me in your sleep," Veleno states.

Crixus is offended. "I do not kick."

"And my eyesight is perfect."

Crixus begins to mock him, and all Veleno and Federico can do is laugh. Veleno shoves his hand out, connects his palm to Crixus's forehead, and shoves him backwards. He stumbles away and extends his arms, mirroring the look of a plane as he zooms away. I lose sight of the boy until he sneaks up behind me and snatches the ball. He spins, tosses the ball up, and catches it once it goes through the net.

"I want to play a game," He announces with the ball pinned against his hip.

Veleno and Federico are about to protest, until the doors leading to the house open once more, a few people pool out. The two assassins share a look and then nod. Teams are chosen. Federico chooses Crixus. Veleno picks Liam. Because Veleno picks Liam, my team is automatically assigned for me. Federico pulls Carmen onto the court. Her assignment is to guard me. Veleno takes Tatum. Rico grabs Anthony. Four against four.

"I'm guarding Lima Bean," Crixus announces loudly as his team takes their position on defense. "He's ass, I can already tell."

They check the ball. Liam rests it on his hip, bending forward as he prepares his first move. Crixus didn't manage to hide the fear in his eyes very well. Liam blows past him, splits Federico and Anthony who attempt to contest his shot. The ball goes in.

"I think I need some help," Crixus finally mutters.

The game goes by quickly, each team trading a basket. Federico and Liam talked the most, trying to get inside each other's heads. It was easier for Liam, and he succeeded when he drove to the basket on one of our last possessions. Federico met him there, timing his jump and contest as Liam did the same and released it. Federico couldn't have played better defense as they collided in the air. The ball still went in. Once their feet hit the ground, I heard Liam say something that consisted of "little boy," and "shit." Whatever it was, Rico didn't like it.

Even Tatum and Anthony were good. They were good team players and had their share of makes and good passes. Neither did much trash talking. In between the times they didn't have the ball, they bent over, hands on their knees and conversed quietly. Tatum was never bothered by Anthony's silence, nor was he surprised when he received a few words in response. Near the very end of the game, Tatum even got a laugh and fist-bump.

Somewhere halfway through the game Crixus switched and began guarding Veleno. I want to ask, but the assassin will never tell me if he was going easy because of his ribs or because he wanted to make it fair for the boy, who currently lacked both his size and speed. Crixus stole the ball from him twice—once was allowed, the other was by surprise. Crixus never notices Veleno's lack of effort, and maybe that's what makes him the happiest as he zips around. You could tell the boy's effort was genuine by the sweat that glistened across his skin and the way his curls began to fall, wet. He was giving it everything he had.

Carmen and I weren't too shabby either. We had more energy in the beginning. We ran and talked, laughed and dodged as the men zipped past us. Both of our hands stung from the speed they would use to pass the ball to us, but we were having a great time. Our broken conversation turned to heavy panting and heaving as the game neared its end. Between the broken breaths and arms raised high over our heads, Carmen and I agreed to do some cardio on the side. Carmen had even made a shot. I hadn't.

"Next shot calls game," Tatum calls out.

Carmen translates for me. "Next shot wins the game."

Liam rests the ball on his hip once more, as he did in the beginning. Sweat runs down his temple, his breathing quick. He takes one look at Rico, at the basket, and does the absolute unthinkable.

He passes it to me.

I stand where Federico stood at the beginning of all this, behind the three-point line. Carmen raises her hand and rushes at me. It doesn't give me much time to think. She shouts something in hopes that I miss. I shoot it.

I give myself a little credit, but the wind and the powers up above get the rest.

It goes in, with the same satisfying sound Federico's shot did earlier. The opposing teams shoulders fall, but smiles are shared all around. They look at me, and I act like I knew it was going in all along.

"What can I say?" I offer a confident shrug. "Shooter."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

I thought I was content then, but I am even more now. We all gather back in the living room, refreshed from our showers and fighting the post-workout fatigue. Carmen and Federico share the two-person love seat. He's slouched over, his head resting gingerly on her shoulder. Anthony has his head in Grace's lap. Crixus draped overtop him, his arms wrapped tightly around his dad's body. His eyes are closed. I take the chair Liam once occupied and he sits on the floor in front, his back to me. He put his head in between my legs, which are now draped over either shoulder. A hand is around my ankle, massaging it without thought as the room murmurs with low conversation.

"So," Liam speaks up when he catches a lull in the conversation. His eyes dancing between Anthony and Grace. "What happens now?"

Grace shakes her head, "I don't think I follow."

"The Organization of Assassins doesn't exist anymore," Liam clarifies. "You and your husband are free, to go wherever and do whatever you want. Just tell me where. I can have a plane warming up in five."

She understood him the first time. Her statement more for her to articulate the best response, because as expected, Federico and Crixus sit up, both eagerly anticipating her answer. Dominic isn't here to hear it.

"Thank you," She says earnestly. "Thank you so much. Crixus told me you didn't have to do what you did to help us and you did it anyway. You're a kind man and my kids seem to love you, so I was kind of hoping you would tell me about this Russian bastard I keep hearing about."

"What I'm saying is, we're not leaving," Grace continues, "We weren't going to do this forever. We never wanted to. But if the last thing we can do is help you take this man down with our children at our side, we have to take it."

Anthony sits up in agreement. "Full circle."

Liam grips my ankle, his calming massage pausing just long enough for him to say, "I'll have a file on Valentin Rostov on your bed by tonight. You'll be updated on the full situation by tomorrow morning."

Grace claps her hands together and Anthony jolts, the sound far too close to his ears. She either doesn't see him, or she doesn't care. "So," Her gaze darts to Carmen and Federico, a mischievous grin on her face. "How long have you two been dating and why didn't you introduce her as your girlfriend, Federico?"

Federico sits up quickly, his head leaving Carmen's shoulder instantly. "Oh, no, we're not—"

"—Friends." Carmen finishes, her face darkening.

Rico frowns, taking his eyes off his mother long enough to shoot Carmen a look. "We are friends."

"Yes," Carmen agrees, laughing nervously, "But we're not—"

"Okay, well, while you guys' figure that out," Grace angles her body in Liam and I's direction. "Please tell me you two are dating."

Between her question and our answer, Veleno and Rosalie tear through the living room. She sits atop his shoulders, arms outstretched wide, a zoom on the tip of her lips as they dash through the room. By the time they reappear, Veleno is breathing heavy, and Rosie is laughing, a permanent grin on her face as he sets her down and falls over. She begs him to fly her around the house once more. "Airplane is tired," He heaves. She understands, curls against his side, and lays down.

"We are together," I confirm after the brief delay.

"No confusion about that over here," Liam offers her a smile, but shoots Federico a look across the room.

Crixus starts to say something, until he glances at the archway leading into the foyer, where Dominic quietly stands. He looks tired, like even though he slept easily over eight hours, he could sleep ten more. His hoodie feels a size too large, once being a perfect fit. His eyes lower at the sight of all of ours, on him, and he shuffles forward. Grace stands and reaches for him, and together, they lower themselves to the sofa. Her eyes drift up, accidently meeting mine, and her concern tugs at my chest. She may not know his whole story, but she knows enough to want to help him.

Grace pulls Dominic close, whispering something only he hears. His nod takes whatever energy he has left. And that was the only time I clocked Anthony's expression change. He watches his eldest silently, but his expression says it all. He looks sick. Like he's about to throw up any second, and that's when he stands abruptly. His lips move, excusing himself, but nobody hears.

Federico's eyes trail Anthony as he storms towards the foyer. Dominic opens his eyes just long enough to watch his father leave him. The room falls silent, but the voices in his head fill the void. He's a fuck up. Nothing, in comparison to his brothers. Federico and Dominic share a look, one only the two will be able to translate. Federico's eyes soften in a silent apology. Dominic closes his, unable to decipher what Federico is trying to communicate.

It isn't because of you.

Anthony Santiago never makes it out of the room because Vincenzo De Santis turns the corner at the same time.

That's the moment. My moment. That's when it clicks. And that's when I fully understand why Federico is drawn to Gabriel, and why he wants to save him so bad. Gabriel was taken from someone and given to another, and in a similar way, was not Rico? Gabriel was forced to become something he never expressed desire to be, and was not Rico? The root of both Gabriel and Federico's situation are too similar to overlook.

Vincenzo takes an exaggerated step to his left, opening a lane for Anthony to pass. Mr. Santiago does so without saying a word.

Federico stands as Vincenzo moves into the room. Vincenzo pauses at Rico's side of the loveseat, watching as the boy stands and clears his throat. "Dominic, do you want something to eat?" Federico asks him.

"No," Dom murmurs against his mother's side.

"Wonderful, I'll warm something up for you."

Vincenzo watches him disappear into the kitchen.

"You must be Vincenzo."

The former's kings attention drifts from the entryway of the kitchen and falls to Grace Santiago.  "I am."

She stands slowly, offering him a hand. "Thank you for raising him. I'm Grace, and that was my husband, Anthony. But I just..." She releases his hand quickly when the handshake begins to draw on so long it becomes awkward. "I was always worried about them, about where they ended up, and when we found Rico and realized who had adopted him, well...just, thank you. Thank you for loving him. And I'm sorry about my husband, he's kind, I promise."

"He won't agree," Vincenzo adds quietly, "But I should be thanking you for letting me borrow your son, even if only for a little bit. He's a good kid. They all are. But as for your husband? Telling me he's kind, is like the owner of a Doberman telling me he doesn't bite. Yeah, well, he doesn't bite you."

The room erupts in a series of low chuckles.

"Are you calling me a dog?"

Vincenzo rolls his shoulders and turns around. "Does the shoe fit?" He asks Anthony.

There it is again. The ghost of a smile that never seems to fully come through. Mr. Santiago extends a hand, his only response being an introduction. "Anthony."

"Vincenzo."

Their introduction is short, but necessary. They sidestep one another, Anthony lowering himself back to the sofa, while Vincenzo walks around the coffee table and finds a seat next to Veleno. The two are out of earshot, but Veleno mutters something in Vincenzo's direction. He earns a smile and tosses an arm around the only father figure he ever came to appreciate.  Rosalie crawls over the laps of the two, finds a comfortable position, and with Veleno running a comforting hand up and down her back, lays down.

Rico returns shortly after, doing everything he can to balance a bowl of soup with two hands. Liam's stifled laugh causes my own. Federico hears it and mutters something about, "I'm a killer, not a waiter." and proceeds to serve Dominic his partially warmed bowl of soup. Everyone on the sofa scoots down so Rico can sit beside his brother while he eats.

The room falls silent, each separate conversation dying long enough to watch Dominic mouth a spoonful of soup, while Federico nudges him gently. Whatever he says makes Dominic smile.

"We always wanted children," Grace starts slowly, one hand nervously picking a scab on the other. She pauses, just long enough to tell the room that this wasn't an easy story to tell. She glances over her shoulder, catching the eye of her husband for just a second. "We had ran away from the OA. It might have been a year, maybe two? We figured they weren't looking for us anymore. That we could finally start that family we always wanted. The same one we didn't want to raise in there."

Her attention finds a lone spot on the ground. Anthony finds the exact same one as her story continues. "I got pregnant with Dominic. We had a house. We spent hours on his nursery." A smile crosses Grace's face at the memory, at the blood, sweat, and tears they poured into the colors, the specific furniture, and every little detail that would make it perfect. "For eight months I looked forward to raising him, to knowing he wouldn't have to live the life we did, and then just weeks before I gave birth..."

"They found us," Anthony assists when Grace can no longer finish.

Grace wipes a painful reminiscing tear from her eyes and further explains, "We abandoned the one place we had spent so much time making our home. I had Dominic. And I came to the painful realization that even after eight months of wishing and hoping and dreaming, I would never get to be his mother. So we left him on the doorstep of an orphanage in Florida, and we ran."

"North," Anthony adds softly.

Grace glances over her shoulder once more, questioning the man that was beside her the whole way. "That was when it started to fall apart, wasn't it?"

Anthony nods.

Carmen and I have both scooted to the edges of our seats, eyes glued to the two storytellers. Liam has scooted away, his position between my legs no longer comfortable. "What started to fall apart?" I ask eagerly for everyone.

Anthony and Grace look at each other. She answers. "Us."

"I was depressed," Grace admits. "We jumped from motel to motel every night, and by the third week, we realized that nobody was coming. They might've been close, but they missed us. And that's when the realization that I gave up my baby for nothing, hit me." She doesn't wipe this tear. "I blamed Anthony even though he wasn't to blame. Our decision to leave Dominic was mutual, but I was mad, and instead of blaming myself, I blamed him. I hated him. We started arguing. He took the floor, I took the bed. I would hit him. Whenever he tried to get close, I would hit him and I will never be sorry enough. Never, because he never laid a hand on me. He was always patient, and kind, and I will never deserve him. I lost myself first, then I lost him, because he—"

"I started using," Anthony says.

The room turns to him. Dominic, too. "I've had trouble with addiction since I was fifteen. It helped me cope then and I figured it would help me cope in the moment. I had lost a son, too, and it did, but I never would have imagined how much farther I would fall that time than the last." He says, as a memory passes. "I don't remember the motels. I don't remember arguing. I don't remember any of the times the cops were called. Grace could've walked my head down a wall and I would've told you it felt good." He lets out a breath, concluding his longest sentence in recent memory.

Grace releases a breath. She shakes her head, as if she's still displeased about her decision. "Some time had gone by," She begins again, "The OA was nowhere near catching us. We got a house. Much smaller than the last. No decorations. The basics. I wanted to try again. Anthony was still using. It was a terrible idea, but I was desperate. I thought a baby would save us, save him." Her eyes drift back to her husband, who watches the ground while Dominic watches him.  "A second chance we didn't deserve. There was no nursery this time. But the closer we got to Federico's due date and the less we heard from the OA, I started to think that maybe this was the one. This was the one I would get to raise."

She skips to point. "He wasn't. The OA showed their faces again when I gave birth to him. I didn't think it was possible, but I felt worse the second time. We dropped him off on our way through Detroit. We never made it out the state. They caught us. And that was the last time I saw my husband for almost ten months."

Everyone's attention gently drifts over to Anthony in anticipation that he takes the story's reigns. He doesn't. "They put him in isolation to detox," Grace says. "One of the lowest levels in the OA's basement. No communication with anybody else. Ten months. Three months detox because of his personal history. Seven months dedicated to physical rehab. I still don't know what happened down there, but the Anthony that came back to me was different." She tilts her head, trying to find the best word. It comes to her. "Quieter."

There's a pause as the reality of their situation sinks in, as the questions the first and second born Santiago always desired to have answered, are. Yet nobody has anything to say.

Crixus interjects softly as the story narrows to a close. "Tell them about me."

Grace hesitates for the first time in the story. "Crixus was planned. He wasn't an accident. He was planned because the Organization knew that me and his father were two of the best that they had—and they wanted our kid."

Crixus doesn't take the news one way or the other. "That isn't the story you told me."

"I know," his mother says.

Crixus has repositioned himself with his head in his mother's lap, his legs on Anthony's. He arches his back, locking eyes with his two brothers. "I told you," He tells them, "I'm the one they didn't want."

Grace shakes her head, tapping his stomach long enough to get his attention once more. "You might not have been in our plans. But we love you just as much as the two that were."

"I find it funny," Anthony finally speaks again, "That we tried so hard to keep them from this life and they found it anyway."

A response isn't required, but the room is quiet as they think of that, too.

A knock on the wall draws everyone's attention towards the foyer. Giovanni and Tatum escort a familiar woman through the doors, but by the way they stand—one on either side of her—it's as if she's the one doing the escorting. Something about her is striking. She stands in confidence, in power, just a few inches short of the men that stand just a few feet behind her. Her dark hair is trimmed low in a buzz-cut, her eyes and her jaw being what draws your attention to her face. She lifts her hand in a friendly wave, despite her lips pursed, at Crixus. It reveals the tattoo etched into the side of her hand, and the bandage that sterilizes a cut under it. He waves back. Friends. She's OA.

"Mr. Luciano, I was told you wanted to speak with me," She looks at Liam as if he's the only one in the room, unable to care enough about the others that fill the room with him.

"You can call me Liam."

That was the only time she let her eyes drift. The intensity in them is what gives her away. It's the way she quickly scans the room, taking in every potential threat, potential weapon, and potential exit. The sternness of her expression shifts just long enough for her to offer a friendly smile towards Grace and Anthony.

"You can call me Nova," She finally says.

"I asked Gio and Tatum to bring me the one all the other assassin's listen to—" Liam begins.

"—That would be me." The woman offers. "We want to thank you. All of us. I know the Santiago's were your target, and it would have been a lot easier extracting two people out of a home, but you and your soldiers chose to try and save us all. We want you to know that we are forever grateful to you and this family. And we promise, we'll get out of your hair soon enough."

Liam cracks a smile. She almost does, too. "Do you know where you want to go from here?"

"We do," She answers confidently. "We've talked already, trying to decide what to do next. The Organization doesn't exist anymore. But for most of those people, it was all they knew. It was home. We took a vote to discuss starting the Organization of Assassins over." Nova nearly cracks another smile as she glances in the Santiago's direction. "But if we did it, it would be different. No abuse. No unnecessary trauma. No cages. No undeserved pain. Not a prison. A home."

Crixus stirs from where he lays. The boy raises an index finger. "I vote you to be leader, Novie."

Even she has a nickname.

"As did the others," She tells him. "I would have voted for you, but you ran off and found some famous friends." Crixus smiles. "You're going to make history, Crixus, and I'm glad I can say I was there from the beginning."

The assassin refocuses on Liam. "But what does or does not become of the Organization is not the current problem at hand." She tosses a thumb over her shoulder, indicating the Commanders' that wait there. "I couldn't help but overhear their conversation. Valentin Rostov. He dismantled the Organization, and for that I love him dearly, but he put us in cages, only drawing out our lives long enough to give us hope, before he planned to kill us. Every fight he engages in is unfair. No warning. He's a fucking coward considering what he did to Vincenzo De Santis's empire because he knew if they had declared war and Vincenzo was given enough time to prepare, he would've been fucked."

And all the entire room can do, is nod.

Nova continues, "He tore down the De Santis empire for fun. He tortured him, for fun. He took his son and trained him, changed him, with a desire that he one day would be the one to kill his own father, for fun. So, Liam, I want everything you have on this Valentin Rostov, his Russian empire, and the background to this entire war on my bed by the time I get back to your estate because we're going with you." The assassin takes one step back, then another. "Since that's what we do, right? We kill, for fun."

Silence is left in her wake.

"Sorry Carmen," Crixus has his elbows on the armrest, his head in his hands as he watches Nova go.  "I don't know how to tell you this, but I think Novie was my first love."

Something tells me Carmen doesn't take it to heart.

"I want you to get that information over to her immediately," Liam directs his order at Giovanni, who nods. "Everyone else, pay attention because I'm not going to say it twice." Liam spends a second on his phone, before the television hung as the focal point of the room begins to power on. It relays a slightly blurry video, a timestamp on the top left. The time begins to moves, as does the picture on screen.

I stand to get a better view. Federico rises to his feet, while Vincenzo and Veleno climb to theirs. Tatum and Giovanni make their way into the room, their gazes attached to the television. Crixus remains seated, positioned just enough to see the screen.

"Crixus had a different mission than the rest of you last night," Liam informs. "With the help of Steven, Crixus was able to hack into the security database of Valentin's estate in Russia." He grabs the remote, a finger hovering over the buttons. "We have access to every camera, which tells us everything from when Guard A takes a piss, to when they swap out, night shift for morning. Who knew the kid was smart?"

Crixus forces a laugh, "Funny, coming from you, Lima Bean."

Liam's laugh is genuine but fades quickly as he turns back and catches the eye of Veleno and Federico. "I want you to have this footage, their routine, memorized in forty-eight hours. I need you to monitor every door, every pair of guards. I want you to be able to tell me when Guard C needs a smoke break and when his partner needs to call his mother. I want to know everything." He reminds them, "Forty-eight hours."

There's a pause as Liam reads the bewildered expressions on their faces. "What's wrong?" He asks.

"Forty-eight?" Veleno questions, almost offended.

"We can do it in twenty-four." Rico confirms.

"I think there's something you need to know." Crixus's voice causes everyone to turn, to step out the way, giving us all a clear view of our favorite, and smallest, assassin. He's unaware of the stares, of the attention, as his eyes remain glued to the television.

Everyone lifts their attention to the television in time to see him.

Diavolo. He's slowly drifted into view of the camera that records in live time. There's a brief encounter between him and the two Russian soldier's that guard the entrance of the Rostov estate. And that's when he looks up. Liam freezes time with the press of a button. And that's when I know. He knows. Because although his face is concealed behind the thin material that's so intricately wrapped around his features, he doesn't just look at the camera. He looks through it.

And he finds me.

"Steven and I were starting to have trouble," Crixus continues quietly. His eyes leave the television, choosing the dance around the room, landing on each and every one of us for just a second.  "We couldn't get past the last firewall, and I was timing myself.  Time was up. Time had been up. He saw me. He came in." Crixus's eyes dart towards the screen once more, identifying the he. Diavolo. "I was scared. I was so scared. I'm good at what I do, but he's still better than me. And I remember I grabbed the knife in my boot, and I went to throw it and—"

"And?" Grace finds her seat next to him for encouragement.

"He knew my name." Crixus continues, "I don't know why I didn't hurt him. Something about the way he said my name. And then he reached for the computer, and I swear it only took him like three seconds to understand what I was doing. Next thing I knew, we were in." Crixus's eyes drift back to the television screen. "I thanked him. He didn't say anything. He left. As much as I want to take credit, I can't. Diavolo gave you access to every camera on the Rostov estate. Not me."

The room is quiet. Liam slowly lowers himself to the seat I gave up in the corner, having listened intently to Crixus's story. Veleno and Federico have already assumed a comfortable position on the loveseat he and Carmen once shared. Anthony joins his wife and his eldest. Vincenzo and Rosalie remain with their backs against the wall, her lying comfortably across his lap.  All slowly processing the story Crixus told.

I'm the only one who remains standing, or so I thought, until Giovanni and Tatum move behind me, their arms folded respectfully behind their backs.

"I want the kill order on Diavolo cancelled, effective immediately." I don't recognize my own voice.

It's a habit. The way the two gentlemen are so accustomed to flanking the one that sits above them all, that they automatically assume that position behind me. Tatum over my left shoulder. Giovanni over my right.

I glance at Liam just long enough to see the hint of a smile; the way his hand tries to obscure the slight upward tilt of his lips as he watches me quietly, patiently. Proudly.

"Done." Giovanni answers me. "Is there anything else you want the family to know?"

"Valentin Rostov is our target." I tell him. "That doesn't change. That will never change."

Tatum leans forward, brushing against me just the slightest as he anticipates, "But?"

My eyes find his once more. Diavolo. And I can't help but wonder if it's too late. If we're too late. If the damage done is irreversible. If the boy I'm searching so hard to find is already gone. His cries for help having raged on so long he's gone silent. Convinced that no one will ever come to save him. That help will never come. It's a risk. Because there is no promise that there is anyone left to save. But it's one I have to take. For him. For the little boy.

That's why there is no mistake about it.

I fold my arms across my back, assuming the position of the soldiers behind me.

"This is a rescue mission."

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

a/n: 3 chapters remain (and no, that is not a mistake. THREE).

these first three chapters that i have posted have been me tying together some loose ends, having conversations that needed to be had. the last three chapters (in my opinion) are going to be the hardest—but, i think they're some of the best.

I know this story is emotional and so many people say "they can't do this" and "it's too sad"...but as i take this story where i believe it deserves to go, i truly hope that (if you can't see it now) one day, you realize how beautiful it was. that you learn something. that in 20 years from now, you reflect on something someone said and realize that it was life-changing.

i hope you learn that family isn't who you're born with, but who you'd die for.

see you next thursday, for the beginning of the end.