Daniele loved coffee.

He loved it black and dark, like his dark, dark soul, he used to say. He had insisted I have it the same way, and feel the tang of bitter coffee on my tongue. I remember him forcing me to take a gulp, and me spitting it all out, spraying his favorite white shirt with coffee stains. He had laughed, discarded his shirt and never again compelled me to drink coffee his way.

I only drink black coffee now.

There happened to be a Starbucks, just across the road, and I couldn't resist. Italian or not, I am a sucker for Starbucks, and it is with heavenly pleasure that I take my first sip of real, original black coffee in months. The coffee at Baristas was good too, but that was made by Christian. There was a difference in having coffee made by someone you hate desperately, and the pure, innocent Starbucks coffee.

Enjoying the metallic taste in my mouth, I grab the bag of groceries from Jared's car and pocket the Aspirin. I knew for a fact that Christian could barely look at the light with his ongoing headache, which I deduce as the reason for his grumpy I-am-angry-with-you-so-shut-up attitude.

When I reenter the premises, Christian is right at the reception. He's sitting with his head bent down, his hair tousled. I should probably get him a comb.

'Happy Birthday. Coffee?' I say instead, extending a cup of Latte I procured from Starbucks. His head jerks up, eyes flashing, and clamps down hard on my wrist. He's then pulling me forward, moving through the hospital, winding up the stairs.

He knows the place like the back of his hand, apparently, and I am impressed when he pulls me into a secluded room and shuts the door firmly behind him. It's another of the bedrooms, but it has not been converted into a hospital room. Vintage dressers and mirrors adorn the walls, and there is a scenic balcony on the right.

I guide my face back to Christian, who is now glaring at me, waiting to pounce.

I steady my arm. It's begun to bruise around the wrist.

'I could've spilled your latte.'

Christian loses it.

'What game are you playing?' He turns and pushes me against the wall, the force with which my back hits the door makes me lose my grip on the cup. The latte splashes on the carpet.

'What is it that you want?' He holds me in place with his forearm pressed to my neck.

I try to bring fear into my eyes. 'I,' I choke. 'I don't understand.'

'You play with me, I don't care.' His arm presses into my neck sharper. His breath is harsh on my skin. 'Mess with Chase, and you will pay for it.'

I close my eyes. 'Stop.' I gasp. 'You are hurting me.'

He lets go quicker than lightning. Remorse flashes in his eyes, and he pulls away from me, maintaining a grateful distance.

My breath whistles as I exhale.

'I am sorry, Coral. I don't know what got into me.' He pulls at his already messed up hair. 'My head hurts like hell and my breath stinks, honestly – '

I raise a palm to stop him, letting it shake. I drop the bag of groceries on the floor and pull out the Aspirin tablets, along with the Mentos packet I always carry around and thrust it into his arms. I don't look at him when I turn on my heel, pull open the door and walk out.

I drop the keys to Jared's car at the reception. I rub at my wrist, where Christian's fingerprints are beginning to show.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I shouldn't have let him touch me. I shouldn't have let him push me against the wall. I shouldn't have let him feel that he intimidates me.

I walk out of Westhall, and not once do I look back. I cross the streets, pulling out my phone. It's ten in the morning, and I've got things to do.

Like smash Sean's nose.

'Where are you?'

'Uh, you know Westhall?'

Zach takes a moment. 'That creepy house that looks as if it needs someone to call Ghostbusters?'

'That's the one. Where are you now?'

'Twenty minutes away. Hang on.'

I don't. Instead, I hang up. Ha.

I push my hands into my jean pockets and turn into the shadier parts of Boston. My eyes skim over the graffiti and skateboarding goth kids. Daniele loved skateboarding, too.

Daniele.

His warm blue eyes float around in my memory. That, and a perfectly chiseled face. There wasn't much he couldn't do – he was better than me at wielding weapons, and he always hit the target right. He could shoot at moving objects, and he was the one who taught me to fight. Daniele was a villain, the typical ruthless Mafia man, but he was my hero. My big brother.

'Hands above your head, now!'

It's a kid – around sixteen or seventeen perhaps. He is holding a battered pistol, that looks just as worn out as his shabby clothes. He is wearing a confident sneer though, happy he's got a new prey.

I realize that I have managed to get myself cornered in an isolated alley by a teen mugger.

Perfect.

'Hands above your head, lady!'

Biting my lip to fight off a smile, I press my fingers to my skull.

'I don't have anything on me.' I lie.

His expert eyes move over my body. He must have been doing this for quite a while now.

'Your left pocket. There's a wallet.'

Impressive.

'Empty wallet.'

He gives me another sneer. 'I'll be the judge of that.'

He comes closer to me and I back up, my back hitting the brick wall.

Time to test my newly acquired acting skills.

'Please.' I plea, my voice a sharp pitch. 'I'll give you whatever you want. Please don't do anything.'

The boy sneers even more. He walks forward, and I press myself against the wall. He places the barrel of the gun on my head and then trails it down over my face, pressing it into my neck.

'Be good, lady.'

His hands grope over my chest, slide over the width of my hips and trails towards my left pocket. He hooks a hand into my pocket and pulls out my wallet.

He opens it with one hand. 'Woah.' His eyes gleam at the sight of the rolled stacks of bills. 'You're loaded.'

He closes the wallet and thrusts it into his jacket. He presses the pistol deeper into my neck. 'Empty wallet, huh? Little liar. Let's see what else you are hiding.'

He makes a move but I am faster. I drop my pretense in the blink of an eye. I twist and pull the pistol away from my neck, turning his wrist so that he loses his grip and the gun clatters to the cement floor.

The guy looks baffled.

'What the?'

I ram into him like a freight train. I punch wildly, without restrictions, feeling the strong jabs of pain traveling through my knuckles as my fists come in contact with his jaw. He ducks and kicks, but his moves are too predictable.

I grab him by the arm and push him forwards, thrusting his entire weight into the very wall he pinned me against. My palms fist in his curly hair and I push his forehead into the brick walls repeatedly.

He is dazed now, and blood streams from his forehead. The sight of the red liquid enthralls me, and I feel the adrenaline rush.

I've wanted this. Oh, gods. I've wanted to do this for so long. This, this feel of hitting someone, the pain that courses through my own bloody knuckles, the hot spurge of adrenaline that rushes through my bloodstream.

I feel untamed, wild. I feel like the beast I am.

With a roar, I jump on him, swinging my legs around his neck. I grab his ears with my hands and I twist his head with my thighs as I leap off him, hearing the pleasant sound of a breaking neck.

I land on my feet.

The bastard sways and falls backwards, his head hitting the cement with a sickening crack.

I catch my breath. I wipe my nose with the back of my palm. My knuckles sting, and I pinch my nose between my bloodied fingers.

Relax, Alex.

I squat next to the guy. He's not moving, but I don't think he's dead. Not yet, anyway. His head is bent at an unnatural angle, and I know that he won't live long. Ten minutes, tops.

I reach into the guy's filthy jacket. It's frayed at the edges, and the seams are redone, the blue threads a stark contrast against the brown jacket. My fingers brush along the familiar edges of my wallet and I pull it out.

I stand. I look at the mugger's face. He must be sixteen, seventeen? Not much older than Chase.

I bite my lip. I open the wallet and throw a fistful of bills over his body. I pocket the empty wallet, brush my knuckles on my jeans, and I walk out of the alley.

I don't feel anything.

/////

'There's blood on your face.'

I wipe away at the smear, but I guess it's dried up.

'You are telling me now?'

Zach shrugs as he pulls his Volkswagen into the Casa's garage. 'I forgot to mention it.'

I roll my eyes. 'We've been sitting practically ten inches apart for like three hours and you seriously forgot?'

Zach grins slightly, rubbing at his eye with the heel of his palm.

I drum on the dashboard, before flipping it open.

'Are you riffling through my things?' Zach looks at me crossly before pulling my hands out and shutting the compartment close.

That makes me adamant.

'What's wrong if I did look through your things? There is no "your thing, my thing," is there?'

Zach clenches his jaw. He is angry.

Well, that escalated quickly.

'Just don't, Alex.' He pulls over next to a Bugatti, and shuts off the engine. 'Come on, let's go.'

He is almost out the door when I pull him back by the collar.

'Nope. Not so fast, amigo. I want to know what it is that you are hiding.'

'Let go, Alessandra.'

Okay. Now, he's downright mad. And that makes me curious. Zach never gets mad at me.

I reach for the compartment but Zach grabs my wrist. I extend my left arm, but Zach manages to grab that one too.

'I said, no.'

I twist my wrists, but he's holding me too strongly, in an iron grip. Instead of vainly trying to free my arms, I head butt him.

Zach lets go of me, cursing.

The world spins in front of my eyes, but I reach for the dashboard. I thrust my palm into it, my fingers brushing over paper clips and packets of gum.

Why was he getting so worked up?

Zach groans next to me, regaining his senses. My fingers fumble around wildly, and suddenly I catch hold of a packet. Actually, a whole lot of packets.

A packet of something white?

I pull it out.

It's something fine and white. I open the door of the car, and get out, walking towards light. I rip open the packet, a small square the size of my palm. A fine white powder, like talc spills out of it.

I pinch some of it, between my forefinger and my thumb, and I raise it to my nose.

Holy shit.

I don't want to believe it, or think about the odds. I am in the Mafia, and I deal with this stuff. I know what this is. What I don't understand is –

'Alex,' Zach manages to get out of the car, rubbing away at his temples. He glances at the packet in my hands.

'Alex, I can explain.'

I scoff and extend my palm to him. 'Explain? You can explain? Oh, crap, yes! Tell me! Make me understand why you have cocaine in your car! And a whole heap of them! Explain!'

Zach shuts his eyes. I notice the dark circles under his eyes, and his dull features. How come I did not see this before?

I move closer to him.

'How long, Zach?'

He doesn't answer.

I drop the packet and grab his collar, pulling him closer to me. I can smell smoke on him. Smoke and... Drugs.

'How long, Zachary?'

He pushes my hands off his collar.

'A while now, okay? Stop interrogating me like I am an effing rat.'

I bite my lip.

'Zach. Drugs can harm you. You know we deal in them only for the profits. None of us really use it.'

Zach pulls at his hair. It is dull and lifeless, just like his eyes.

'Well, I am using it now.'

I am horrified. 'Zach!'

'Oh come on, it's just coke. There should be some benefits with actually being in the mafia, after all.'

He crouches, picks off the packet from the floor.

'Text me when you need me to drop you back.'

'Zach? Zach, wait.'

He doesn't listen. He gets back in the car, backs up and drives off the garage.

Well, eff it.

////

I am absolutely livid, even after I broke Sean's nose for the god-knows-how-many-th time.

'How come none of us ever saw it coming?' I fall to the couch, next to Sean. Jay raises a perfect eyebrow, looking up from his phone.

Sean groans, clutching the ice pack firmer. 'The bastard. And he had the nerve to get out of here. What did my nose do in any of this?'

'Oh, shut up.'

Jay leans back, resting his head against the wall. 'I had my doubts. He was getting too closed off, for one. And, he was hanging out with Justin more.'

I groan, thinking back when I assigned Justin Maxwell to deal with the drug consignment. Looks like he got his extra kicks from Zach.

Blade frowns. 'It's not just Zach that's bothering you.'

I bite my lip, and throw my head back. Minutes later I feel Blade's warm hands on my shoulders, his calloused palms twisting away at the tense muscles.

I let out a satisfied hum.

'Just relax.' That's Jay, his voice soothing me. 'Deep breathes. Maybe we should get you a squish ball.'

I close my eyes. 'I met another Beneventi today.'

Blade stops massaging my shoulders.

'What?' Sean gloats. I feel the cushion beneath me dip, and then there are warm hands on my face.

I open my eyes, and sure enough, his face is millimeters away from my own. I push him off me, and roll my shoulders at Blade.

'You are not done here, yet.'

He presses his palms back onto my shoulders.

'There are more Beneventi's?' Jay's voice is incredulous. 'Do they breed like rabbits?'

'His name is Chase. He's fifteen.'

'A goddamn kid?' Sean lifts himself off the floor and settles back next to me.

'A goddamn paralyzed kid who suffers from depression and is apparently into self-harming.'

Blade lets out a shaky breath. 'Okay. That's fucked up.'

'Language.'

'Yes, Mom.' I can't see Blade's face, but I hear the sarcasm dripping off his voice. 'The thing is, Arrigo has had a family and we knew nothing about it? How fu – uh, shitty, is that? I mean, we've been researching on the guy for years, and we know absolutely nothing about him. We don't know what he looks like, nor do we know where the hell he is.'

I close my eyes again.

It's been five years since I walked into my father's study and found him dead, his throat slit, a bullet firmly embedded in his skull. It's been five years since I saw Daniele's mangled body, face blasted into smithereens, his legs blown off, his fingers cut.

I try to block the gruesome images but I can't. I've been fighting against it for so long, the memories. They catch up with me, and I feel like I am being pushed underwater, and waves and waves of memories overwhelm me.

I no longer feel Blade's palms on my shoulder.

/////

This one, is for @TheBibicalSinner.

He's one hell of an amazing author, and his story lines are bomb. 

His crossovers? Out of this world. 

His characters? Effing relatable.

His geniuses? Mindblowing.

Brains are the new sexy, btw.

P.S. I too have a fish named Bob, Rya. Don't tell Vince ;)

Till I update 'gain, bitches.

Peace out.