𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇

You were wrong about the Mafia you've read about in books, and seen in movies...In real life, they are not who you'd wish to get kidnapped by. They are way more ruthless, violent and deceptive. The entertainment industry gives you a reason to be sympathetic with them, maybe it's a sad backstory that might involve them being forced into it, or some story that is meant for you to glorify them... Perhaps, some of these people were forced, but I'll have you know that majority were drawn to it due to the lust for money and most of all, power.

You were right about the fact that they follow a rule, which is the Omerta, (code of silence) but you were wrong about their ability to honour anything. If there's one thing you need to know about the real mob, it would be the fact that they don't value honour and loyalty.

When it comes to the real Mafia, and if you spot them? You run like hell, they aren't playing around—who am I kidding? If I spot the real mafia and a hot one likes me (bye mom, bye dad, time to live my dream)

𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐎

ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ɪɴ ᴍɪɴᴅ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ.

Only the first part is in third person. This particular part will be titled (Elio Marino)

The characters aren't perfect.

Development might take time, but it'll eventually happen.

Don't worry, I won't go deep into the real deal that goes down with the real Mafia, this is a book created for your enjoyment.

This book is mature. (In all aspect. Language, sex, violence) Trigger warnings: (suicide, mentions of domestic abuse, self-harm)

Updates will come up Monday, and Friday... there might be occasional surprise updates on Saturdays.

I do not condone plagiarism.

This is a DUOLOGY: (The first book is titled 'Elio Marino', which means, though we would get POVs from Zahra, this book will mostly be about Elio. The next book will be titled 'Zahra Faizan' where we'll get to learn more about Zahra. But don't worry, we're still learning more about both of them, only, Elio gets to reign in the spotlight this time.

It is a slow burn.

I love comments, so bless me with them.

This is the first draft, so it is not perfect, but I'll try my best to make it readable.

All translations are going to be from Google, as I'm not Spanish, but if you're from Spain, and you're reading this, tell me what needs changing.

I don't bite, stop by on my conversation board and tell me what you think of my book or literally just anything, how your day went or how you're falling for that boy or girl or person, Anything.

If you've successfully read everything above, scream, SPORT! 

If you're here from Instagram, say hi:

𝐅𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 BIG SISTER 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆.

I know there would still be some of y'all below 18 reading this... I'm not gonna stop you cause I'm not your guardian, but as an adult, I shall warn you that there are some mature content you'll encounter... I'm sure you know this, you have an account on wattpad anyway, hehe... Either way, I'm not responsible for any possible damage this might cause to you, cause I did warn you... Yes you.

If you so wish to continue....

Welcome, sport!

_
ᴇʟɪᴏ ᴍᴀʀɪɴᴏ
ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ ɴᴇᴇᴅs ʟᴏᴠᴇ
_

UPDATES EVERY MONDAY AND FRIDAY

Dedication

For Zahra because this story would not be here without her.

When I made the cover currently on ELIO MARINO, back in 2020, she was the first person I showed it to, and her support and encouragement had me determined to write and finish this story. When I made my first edits for the characters, I showed them to her because she was the Queen of editing. Her approval made it even more special.

VanillaLust I'm beyond grateful.

Here are some beautiful edits made by her:

"ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇsᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ᴇᴅɪᴛs."

__

"Even The Wicked Needs Love."

ELIO MARINO, also known as IL MALVAGIO 'The Wicked' is a man whose presence alone is enough to evoke a silence more sinister than the one from a graveyard.

Nothing could shake him, or so he believed.

ZAHRA FAIZAN was trouble. Growing up with men who treated bullets like sugar cubes, she has risen from the streets and created the most notorious gang of thieves in the whole of Italy, but after a job gone wrong, she finds herself and her crew held captive by The Wicked, and she would do just about anything to take advantage of it. Even if it was as foolish as performing the biggest heist her gang has ever gotten to dream of.

Little did she know she was about to be thrust right into a wicked world, wicked than the one she had once known. 

Could she tame the wicked and bring him to his ruin? Or tame him and keep him to herself? After all, even the wicked needs love.

—

ELIO MARINO

ELIO

ZAHRA

DEVIL

CASMIRO

ANGELO

MILK

UPPER

DOG

A/N: Hello, tell me where you are and what you were doing before you saw this update. (I promise I'm not a creep even though this is what a creep would say. Shite!)

Elio Marino

LOYALTY WAS one word you would never find in his dictionary.

Honor changed routes the moment he tasted power, the moment he felt the thrill course through his veins. It was blissful; being on top of the world, touching the skies, making the rules, and bending them.

His whole being hungered for respect, praise, power, and status. This was the kind of world he grew up in. A kind of world where you could only sleep with one eye closed, a kind of world that reeked of blood, gunpowder, drugs, and sex, a kind of world that could be considered hell; only him, having to get a spot at one of the high tables where he could watch the happenings from above.

He was used to it; it was a part of him. It blended well with his personality, and he never intended to change it; neither was he planning to give up the power he had acquired.

He loved it when people called him IL MALVAGIO which meant: The Wicked; It pleased him to be the man who created the eeriest silence, the man whose voice was a supplement to the word command.

He didn't want it to end. At least, not until he was certain it was time for it to end. That was one of the reasons why he never denied it whenever the wind whispered the rumors of him killing his Father, Ricardo Marino, former Boss of the Marino Empire; that was why he smiled whenever the little birds chirped secrets of him stabbing his mother to death; that was why he never denied it when the ones who didn't know him, spoke of his clever work in setting his siblings on fire.

For these reasons, they feared him. For these reasons, no one dared to look him in the eye when they talked.

No one except his underboss, Casmiro Valerio could look him in the eye—could withstand him.

He seldom suspected the man had ill intentions and never trusted him, even if he had known him since they were both six.

Casmiro's father worked for his father, and now Casmiro worked for him.

Maybe there had been a time when he could have trusted Casmiro with his life, but he knew how fickle trust was, Elio didn't trust himself enough to even let Casmiro trust him, but then again, that was what he thought of every man under him. His consigliere, Angelo; his Capos, Soldiers, and even his Associates. He trusted no one, and no one trusted him.

It was better that way. Keeping people on their toes was what he liked doing.

Casmiro had tried multiple times to gain his trust again, become his brother, and be fully part of a family where one slip-up led to a bullet through your skull. But Elio wasn't having it. He always stuck to the fact that they never used to play together when they were children, no matter how much Casmiro liked to think they did.

Elio believed it was expected, and yes, they might have shared a few stupid toys, but that didn't make them friends or brothers, and he didn't care about Casmiro. He would put a bullet through Casmiro's head if he ever sensed a real threat to his goals, and that was that to it.

Everyone's fear was him, and everyone's worst nightmare was him.

A shiver was meant to run through anyone's spine just by sighting him. His infamous fitted black suit with a black button-up shirt underneath, coupled with a well-knotted tie to add to his dark aura.

It was like a uniform, his unique uniform, and he didn't like it any other way.

"White doesn't suit you, Figlio...why do you think I never wear anything with bright colors, hm? You don't want to get stained with the sinners' blood and let it show, do you?"

With his good looks, he could have any woman beneath him. His deep dark grey eyes were enough to leave women lusting after him. Tattoos snaking around his left hand to the tip of his left ear, stringing along to the back of his neck; he screamed dominance... when he moved, he moved graciously, as if time was on his side... one foot after the other, a seductive sound to the ears of those unlucky enough to hear it.

His deep, accented voice blessed the ears of everyone around him when he was in a good mood to talk.

He never smiled. He saw no use for it. There was nothing to smile at.

He could still remember it as clear as day, dragged to one of his father's many business meetings. He dared to laugh when one of their Capos made a funny joke. 9-year-old Elio received the beating of his life when they returned to the Marino empire's safety. He still had the scars to show for it. They stung mentally each time he saw something potentially funny to smile or laugh at.

"Why won't you learn, Figlio? You smile, you lose your respect... never fucking smile. Always remember, Figlio, there is nothing to smile at."

For a man who thrived from power and respect, the words of his old man were synonymous with gold atop his palm; he never forgot a single sentence, even when, at that time, the man would make life miserable for him, he loved and respected him nonetheless, all he did, all the power he had acquired, he acquired them all for his father, and he was glad he did, seeing as he loved the fact that no one could read him or his next move; He would have included emotions amongst the things people couldn't read, but he didn't think he had any left.

Fear, anger, sadness, happiness, remorse, regret, frustration, care, jealousy, envy. They were all gone. He couldn't even remember what it felt like to just—feel.

He lost all sense of humanity a long time ago and developed a nickname—a nickname bound to send a man to his early grave just by the mere mention of it.

He was The Wicked. And he loved it—more than anything.

The air was still, the smell of Cuban Cigars slightly fogging the large office. Courtesy of Elio, who sat at the visitor's seat, the cigar pressed between his lips, as he relaxed on the chair, his suit long discarded, leaving him with his black button-up and navy green tie. His eyes, half open, gave his thick long lashes a chance to shadow beneath his eyes, as he stared at the man sitting on the throne-like chair, his eyes not moving an inch since both he and Casmiro stepped into Basilio's home—one of his Capos.

Basilio, the bald man, kept glancing in Elio's direction, fear in his dark eyes. His heart was racing, seeing as Elio hadn't said a word since they entered the office; The wicked just gave him 'the look,' the look Basilio had seen him give to people who were now six feet under.

"We didn't see them." Basilio voiced out, trying to keep his voice stern. "They were like shadows. No footsteps were heard, but our soldiers fell noiselessly one by one."

"Security cameras?" Casmiro asked, his face rigid with annoyance.

"Tampered with. We don't know how. My guys are working on getting back control."

"You're still locked out?" The disbelief was evident in Casmiro's eyes.

"Whomever these people are, they know what they're doing," Basilio answered.

Casmiro shook his head. "12 billion, Basilio, do you understand," Casmiro stated angrily. "That's 12 billion... burnt down like it was nothing, 12 billion from the Marino warehouse under your care."

Basilio swallowed. "I know. One of the soldiers gave very important info. These people call themselves 'STREET.' We aren't the first ones to get hit like this. They take so little and burn the rest. It started about three months ago."

"I don't fucking care who they are. They can fuck with other families, but not Marino. Never Marino. How the fuck did they get under your noses."

Basilio shrugged with uncertainty. "It's still a mystery. I would blame it on the Nazari's, but this operation was different. It was...perfect. Like a blink—and money gone—warehouse burnt—men dead."

Elio could feel Casmiro's anger from beside him but said nothing. He just kept staring at Basilio, who kept glancing at The Wicked's calm posture. Basilio was probably wondering why Elio was so quiet.

He had other business to take care of, and if it weren't for Casmiro's insistence, he would have been dining with the big-headed governor, thinking of new ways to sink his teeth further into the governmental system.

All this felt like child's play, and the last thing he wanted was to deal with children holding guns and sniffing drugs.

His tattooed fingers, designed with rings, came to raise the cigar stick from his mouth as he blew out a streak of smoke.

"And what makes you think the Nazaris have nothing to do with this? I don't think anyone would be foolish to touch us without a strong hand guiding them." Casmiro argued.

Basilio's face scrunched up with frustration. "Same thing I'm thinking. I say we take it to them; we make them pay for this hit."

"And what if you're wrong."

"No, believe me—I'm on to something—"

Elio's gun unlocking from its safety, followed by a loud bang, was all that was heard next.

Basilio's lifeless head dropped to the table, blood seeping from the head wound.

"What the fucking fuck did you just do!" Casmiro briefly forgot whom he was talking to. His tone raised in a yell.

On the other hand, Elio rose to his feet and pressed his cigar butt against the warm blood designing Basilio's table, the fire quenching in an instant.

"We were on to something! The bastard was right... we're getting hit, one by fucking one, and they dared to mess with us."

"And you think the Nazari's are possible suspects?" Elio finally spoke, grabbing his suit and pulling it back on swiftly.

"Rasheed Nazari knows better than to fuck with us like that, so I doubt it."

Elio nodded once. "Do not go looking for trouble where there is none, Casmiro. I don't care about what we lost. All I want is to gain more. Enfocar, Casmiro. They are children throwing tantrums about not being big. Hm?"

Italian was his first language. But his mother had taught him Spanish. Hence why he used Spanish whenever he didn't use English.

Casmiro hid his glare. "Why am I not surprised? You care less about the real business these days... Politics wasn't what our fathers chased, Marino."

Elio regarded him for a bit before speaking. "I am not my father. I am not your father. I don't know what it means to care less about something. Besides, I chase and crave power, and only power, Casmiro. Politics is power." He responded. "Have someone clean up this mess," he fastened the two buttons of his suit as he asked. "where is Angelo?"

"Overseeing some exchange at the casino."

"Call him, tell him to drop it, and assign men to take over this place... I want business running here in a few hours." He ordered.

At this, Casmiro's jaw clenched.

"The occupants? Basilio's family?" Casmiro asked.

Elio's emotionless eyes swept over his underboss. "Why ask? Wipe it all away. The sinner never exists if my bullet ends up inside them. Wife, children, Sister, brother, cousin, every damn soul connected to this man."

Casmiro gave a curt nod, getting to his feet as well.

About to walk out the door, Elio held him back by his arm. "Never. Ever. Raise your voice at me. The next time it happens, I'll feed you your vocal cords. Claro?"

Casmiro didn't bat an eye. "Lo Siento."

They stayed that way for a few seconds, Elio's blank stare burning tight into Casmiro's glare, which was not letting up.

A man shouldn't look at his boss like that. Elio knew it, and Casmiro did too.

Nodding, Elio let him pass, his gaze not leaving the man's back for one second.

His apology meant nothing; Elio would have been a fool not to see it in his eyes. Casmiro was hanging on a thin thread with him... but Elio knew the man could handle things if he weren't around.

He also knew the man disapproved of how he handled things—but Elio was okay with it; as long as his father consented, no other opinion mattered.

_______
ZAHRA
_______

IS THERE such a thing as having too much money?

If there is, I'm not sure I want to be acquainted with that thing because who doesn't want to have too much money?

The black coveralls I wore made me hot all over, and I could feel that one drop of sweat sliding down my back. My gaze roamed over the pool table before me; the endless dollar bundles had me staring in shock and, simultaneously, with a thrill that was too hard to hide from my face; correction—our faces.

The adrenaline from the job we had just returned from was still pumping through our veins because this was the biggest heist we had ever pulled. All five of us were still intact, with no casualties, no mistakes, and no regrets. It was fucking fantastic, and my grin was about to split my face in half.

With gloved hands, I pulled my short hair away from my face, my tongue running over my bottom lip, unable to stop myself from shaking my head in disbelief.

"Bloody mental, what we just pulled." Upper grinned, his learned British accent coating his words.

Dog blew out a whistled breath, his dirty fingers rubbing his stubble as he looked up at each of us. "This is what I'm fucking talking about. To hell with shoplifting and home invasion. I want to keep hitting the people who have more than they should."

"Dog's right," Milk agreed, her pink hair still in a ponytail as she shrugged off her coverall, throwing it on one of the bean bags around us. "The thrill of hunting the people at the top of the food chain is—God, it's sweeter. So much money. Our vacation is ensured." Her lips curved into a smile.

Removing the black gloves from my hands, I picked a bundle of money from the table, fingers skimming through it, the smell running right into my nostrils and straight to my head—no one told me the smell of new, fresh illegal money was like cocaine.

Arms wrapped around me from behind, followed by a kiss on my neck. Devil. He was a good 6'1over my 5'5. I could tell he was also grinning from ear to ear. "We should listen to Zahra more often." He murmured, and my grin spread wider when I leaned into him.

I was the only one who answered my name. I didn't know any of their real names, and I doubted if they knew it too. Growing up in the streets, surrounded by people who stole and killed to eat, we were built from hard and harsh street dust.

They each picked a name for themselves.

Dog was Dog because that was what people called him when he was little. It was what people called him when he would steal to eat, when he would search the bins for that two-day-old slice of pizza or the burger with spoiled meat and dry mustard.

Upper was Upper because he loved to climb. People called him the window thief because that was how he would get into people's homes and on top of people's roofs to watch them leave their houses so he could break in and take whatever was small and valuable enough to sell.

Milk was Milk because she was soft and smooth. She could talk any man into doing her bidding, and it was a gift I would have killed for, but hell, it wasn't that easy. She was approachable and beautiful. Her skin was as clear as milk, and she compelled people with her smile and the seductive length of her lashes.

Devil was Devil because he had a mysterious and dark aura to everyone who didn't know him. He always wore black and knew how to handle weapons like a professional. He was hard-hearted when it was time to do something none of us would approve of but would have to do.

And I, I was Zahra because I had an anklet with the name Zahra carved on the pendant. I never knew where it was from or who put it on me. I just knew it had always been there.

I wasn't too pretty; neither was I as alluring as Milk. I had short curly black hair that reached my chin. My skin wasn't as smooth as Milk's either because there were scars I never knew how I got and freckles I would have probably inherited from one of my parents, whomever they were. I was the shortest in the group, and I'd love to think I was the bravest.

I'd jump into fire for any of them. I would stand in the front line when we were at battle, and I'd face off the strongest of men if a situation like that arrived.

I was bold, and I was fearless. When you spend every waking minute of your life with people who have the freedom to snuff the life out of you at any second, you'll also learn to be bold and fearless. Never cower when there's a gun pointed at your face.

"I'll prepare the bill counter," Dog said, rubbing his palms together as he disappeared to the small storage room.

"And I'll get dinner; what do you fuckers feel up to?" Upper pulled off his coverall, took out his contact lenses, and carelessly flicked them to the ground for the next person who would bother to use the vacuum cleaner.

We lived in a studio apartment that was never tidied and would probably get us arrested if the cops were to burst in here. But it was in the back of a not-so-popular kitchen in the city.

Devil shot Upper a taunting smile, turning me around to face him. "Get us whatever, as long as it's not stolen,"

"Oi, what the bloody hell do you mean by that, you wanker." Upper cursed, but there was a lightness to his voice that told anyone that this was just their normal way of communicating.

"I'll go with him." Milk said, picking up another helmet before dashing after Upper, who grabbed his helmet from one of the worn-out couches by the side. He threw his arm around Milk's shoulder as they both bickered before walking out the door and out of view.

Devil grinned down at me. "How are you so amazing, hm?" he asked, pulling me to his body, lips trailing down my neck, with his hands going down my back to squeeze my ass.

I pushed at him lightly, a small chuckle escaping me. "Stop; I'm sweaty and gross."

"But that's us half the time, isn't it?"

Our relationship wasn't defined. But we were together sexually and intimately. We didn't go down to talk about heart-to-heart stuff, but we knew we were both there if either of us wanted to talk.

I smiled at him, genuinely grateful to have him by my side.

"You really are amazing, Zahra."

I traced his jawline with my index finger. "I'm pretty sure when I was born, my mother or father said the word, 'amazing.' It grew with me, I guess."

"Huh uhm." He murmured, pressing his lips to mine in a kiss. My lips parted to allow him entrance while my arms snaked around his shoulder, kissing him back.

He lifted me, putting my body on the pool table, on top of the money, and hovered over me, balancing between my legs.

"I thought we wouldn't be able to pull it off; it was a fantasy," I said in a whisper, still dazed from everything that went on tonight.

"I'm pretty sure we pissed off some really dangerous people tonight." Dog's voice rang through the space as he dropped the bill counter on the table, pulled up a chair, and sat down. "Ass off the table, Zahra."

I grinned, getting off the table and teasingly stepping away from Devil as I walked backwards toward my room. "I'll go shower, don't start the fun without me."

I turned, entered my room, and let out a breath as I walked to my bed and plopped down with a heavy, dreamy sigh.

Life was going well—as well as it could be for five skilled criminals who robbed criminals. I don't know how we could pull it off by a miracle, but somehow, the forces that ruled the world seemed to be on our side.

I sat up with a smile, taking off my black sneakers—at the sight of my bare ankle where the golden anklet used to be, I paused in alarm.

"Shit." I cursed silently.

The anklet was missing.

I immediately got to my feet, looking around my room to see if it might have fallen when I came in, but I wasn't an idiot; I knew it had somehow fallen off in our struggle to leave the burning building.

"Fuck." I closed my eyes, my head thumping with a growing headache caused by worry. I knew there wasn't any way to go back for it; besides, it would have melted by now.

I shoved it to the very back of my mind as I went to wash away the day's crime from my skin.

***

"I'm thinking, America." Milk said, her eyes dreamy as her hands waved apart an invisible landscaped picture of America. "I've always wanted to live that American dream, you know? With all this money, I could even open my hairline."

I smiled at her, relaxing back on the bean bag as we thought about our next step after this. We'd always wanted to go on a one-year vacation away from Italy; we wanted to travel the world and see people and places we'd only heard of.

The money we had gathered all together could last us more than three years, and though I knew we could never have too much money, the break was something we all needed.

Hitting one of il Malvagio's warehouses was the biggest risk we had ever taken; we had made a pact before we left that if we pulled it off, we would all go on a vacation together and live our lives like royalty.

I was really looking forward to it.

"Oh yes, America. Imagine living there." Dog said. "Los Angeles, the city of angels; Miami, the city of tits."

I couldn't help but laugh; the dim lights around us and the small fireplace cackles made the whole atmosphere seem intimate.

Then again, it always was with this crew; we were each other's families and lifelines.

"Isn't America overrated?" Upper asked, playing lazily with the Rubik's cube in his grip. "I hear that it is."

"We could go to Hawaii." I chipped in. "I've heard it's beautiful there."

"And dreamy," Milk added. "I've also heard hot men are walking around with those beach shirts that they leave unbuttoned to show off their chest hair, yum."

"Why is everything about sex and men to you?" Upper asked her, sounding irritated.

"Who said anything about sex?"

"Hairy-chested hot men equal sex, Milk."

"You're the one thinking about sex with—"

"Or maybe we could travel around," Devil cut in before an argument had the chance to arrive. "Spend a month in each city, buy a house in a few countries, and live like the world has always been in our favor. We don't have to overthink it."

I directed my smile at him this time. "Yeah," I backed him up. "Let's just make the most of it because when we come back, we're gonna rain hell on these—"

Something shattered in the distance, cutting me off, and we all sat up, ultimately quiet for almost a minute to listen for any suspicious noise. But it was radio silent.

Dog frowned. "What the hell was—"

Our door exploded with a force that had my heart almost leaving my chest. Masked men rushed into our intimate space before White smoke filled the air, and I suddenly felt so sleepy; I couldn't see a single thing but blurry black figures all around me.

I could hear Devil shouting my name; I could also hear gunshots, bone-breaking kicks, and grunts—more ear-numbing gunshots and Milk's terrified screams. I tried to get to her, but my lungs felt so heavy I couldn't breathe.

Come on, Zahra, get up. Get up

I fought to get on my knees and managed to open my eyes, only to be met by the end of a gun quickly approaching my face.

I didn't get to feel the pain before I was out like a light.

_______
ZAHRA
_______

THERE WAS a ringing in my ear when I regained consciousness.

My throat was dry, and my skin burned like hell was right beside me. I could feel sweat rolling down my face, beading at the skin between my nose and lips, and sliding down my legs.

I tried to open my eyes, but the thundering headache in my head had me wincing.

My vision was blurry for the first few seconds, but I soon adjusted to the empty wall before and all around me.

Breathing through my nose was difficult because the air was burning hot, it was thick and dry, and I was dehydrated. So, I opened my mouth and breathed through there, feeling the burn in my chest.

I wanted to cry and scream at how uncomfortable I felt.

It was almost as if the air was suffocating me.

I tried to move my body, but I couldn't, and with the pounding in my head, It took me a good while to realize my legs were tied to the chair I was sitting on; my hands also felt unmovable from where it was tied behind me.

I let out a shaky breath, fear gripping my bones for the first time in years. I hadn't felt like this since I was eight, scared and alone; I'd almost forgotten what fear felt like.

The room was too fucking hot, there was no window for ventilation, and I could smell the tangy odor of something dead, of piss, of dried vomit—of torture.

This room was torture without being tortured.

I breathed with my mouth, but I was so thirsty; my breath was so thick.

"Calm Zahra, calm, get a hold of yourself," I whispered.

Sweat dripped down my chin, and I moved my head to my shoulder, wiping the irritating moisture away with my damp shirt.

My hands were numb, and I couldn't feel my fingers due to how tight my wrists had been tied.

Suddenly, a door opened, and I looked up, completely freezing, when I saw who approached me.

I had seen his face in magazines, the news, and the internet, but I never thought there would come a day when I would actually come face to face with I Malvagihimself. The Mob boss of the Marino syndicate was standing before me, hand tucked into his pockets as his eyes scanned my form from head to toe.

"You are so little." His voice was deep and accented, a little muffled in a room that was supposed to echo.

It was the heat. The heat was sucking all the air in the room.

My gaze settled firm on his. "Oh wow—the boss came to say hi him—himself," I croaked out, my voice cracked and faint as I breathed. "Can I—can I bother you with a request for water?"

Slowly, his brows pulled down in a frown as he tilted his head to the side, the tattoo on his neck peeking out of the collar of his dress shirt. "Are you thirsty?" he asked.

I managed a nod, still breathing with my mouth; it was noisy and fucking embarrassing.

"She's thirsty," he mocked, bending slightly until he was face level with me. "Is the room too hot for you? Does it feel like you're drying up?"

Annoyance bubbled in my stomach at the way he was speaking to me. Like a fucking kid. I wanted to tell him to eat shit so badly. But I was too fucking thirsty.

"Now you know how my money felt when that fire started." He said.

I hated the tears building in my eyes and the way my body shook. I hated how vulnerable I was right now.

"If you did not have the resources to take all the money, you could have just left the rest. Or did your employer ask you to do it?"

I didn't respond because my throat was dry, and I might just pass out if I exerted my energy. I was also sure this room would bake a loaf of bread if the raw form of the flour were shoved in.

"Okay." His voice rang out again.

Elio Marino raised to his full height now, and my eyes burned when I tried to follow his movements.

His face was void of all emotions as he brought his hands out of his pockets and clapped once.

Immediately, the door opened, and someone walked in with a bottle of water and a gun. They handed it to him before swiftly leaving the room again.

I could see the tiny beads of sweat on his forehead as he looked at me again. "Water?"

The fight left me at the sight of the chilled water, and I swallowed, "Please."

He nodded, gently placed the gun on my lap, and uncapped the water bottle slowly.

Then he bent again, held my face in his hand, brought the bottle to my lips, and poured the water at the surface of my lips so that it didn't enter my mouth. His grip on my face tightened to a painful hold as he raised the bottle to my nose, pouring the water into my nostrils.

My body fought to escape the brutal attack, choking and gurgling sounds leaving my throat and mouth. My eyes widened as tears fell from the corners while I struggled for air.

I could see how my struggle pleased him. He looked so relaxed while I fought to breathe. My chest constricted, my body picking on a dull buzz, and when my eyes started to see him in a painful blur, he let me go.

I coughed hot air back into my lungs and bent to allow the water that hadn't gotten to my head to slip out of my nose.

The sickest part of all this was that I still felt thirsty.

"My hand slipped," his voice rang out again, calm and collected like he wasn't also feeling the lack of oxygen in the room. "It does that sometimes."

He threw the almost empty bottle to the ground and took his gun from my lap, removing it from the safety.

My head felt lighter, and my left ear rang so loud I feared I would never hear again. The water must have found its way into my ear. "What—what the fuck do you—want from me."

He didn't speak for what felt like a minute before he began to circle me. "I want to know whom you work for. Give me a name, and I promise only to put you in a coma and not kill you."

At this, I frowned. "What?"

He stopped right in front of me. "I hate repeating myself, Zahra." He said my name, and my body went rigid. "It's tiring, this room is too hot, and the stench is killing me. So, speak, and let us be done with this."

"I don't work for anyone."

"Not what I want to hear, Zahra."

"It's the truth. My—my crew and I—we—we work alone. Wait—Where are they?" I asked, my heart thumping so hard against my chest.

Everything that happened when we were attacked was still light in my head.

Elio stepped closer to me and bent down again as his eyes roamed my face. "Dead, alive, being tortured as we speak, who fucking cares. Tell me what I need to know, and stop. Wasting. My fucking. Time."

"I already told you." I gritted out. "I work for no one! We know no one but each other. If it's your money you want, as you already know, we took a few and burnt down the rest; we can return what we took—we can—"

"You do not want to lie to me, Zahra; I am a liar who hates liars."

I allowed my eyes to lock directly with his. "Doesn't—doesn't that mean you're lying right now?"

"What?"

"If you hate liars—and you are a liar, doesn't that mean you hate yourself?"

His dark eyes moved between mine—if I wasn't tied to a chair, probably about to die, I would have commended the way he stopped his thoughts from resurfacing on his face.

He nodded, standing up straight. "You think I am here to play psychology with you."

"That wasn't—"

He raised his gun, and I heard a loud bang before I felt the pain spread from my shoulder to my whole body. It was as if my breath had been sucked out of my lungs. The cry that left my mouth was harsh and hoarse.

The bastard shot me.

For the first time, his eyes turned hard as he leaned in again, placing his gun-free hand on the shoulder he just shot, his thumb finger pressing against the wound leaking blood. "Now, I ask again—" through my blood and sweat-soaked shirt, his thumb dug deeper into the wound as if fishing to find the bullet.

"Gahhh, fuck!" I yelled. The pain was blinding, and I was grounding my teeth together as tears poured down my eyes.

"Who paid you to fuck with me."

"NO ONE!" I screamed as anger and pain mixed with my bloodstream when he twisted his thumb in my wound. "Please—please stop! I swear we did it alone—fuck!" my lips trembled.

"Don't lie to me,"

He twisted it again, and I squirmed and bit back a sob at the pain that had me lightheaded—I felt like I was losing consciousness.

"Talk."

"Why—why would I fucking lie! You are the fucking Wicked. People fear you—more than anyone—in this—business—no one could pay me a million dollars to fuck with you—no one but myself. As we have done before, I trusted myself to do this without any casualties, and my people trusted me. No one sent my team or me—we did it on our own accord—because we could."

Then there was silence.

"Fair point." He simply said, releasing me.

I sucked in a breath as more tears ran down my cheeks.

He straightened again, looking away from me and wiping his forehead. "This is a waste of my time." He muttered under his breath before looking back at me. "How can you all be so stupid to steal from someone like me? You thought you could get away with it?"

"We did," I said before I could stop myself.

"Angelo!" He yelled into the silence, and the door opened again, and someone came walking in, composure in place, his eyes moving to me for a swift second before they settled on Elio.

"Boss," he said.

"Qué dije?" What did I say? Elio had a tiny edge to his voice that almost had me believing he was angry. His voice, though, was calm. "Didn't I say they were lone rangers? But Casmiro knows best, no? Now I have wasted my time and my resources."

"Debo llamar a Casmiro?" Should I call Casmiro?

"Leave it. There is no point in dragging out something that doesn't deserve the time and energy. Kill all of them, make this one watch, and then kill her too. Before you do that, increase the heat enough to make the skin burn, it is only right to prepare the sinner for what awaits them after death."

Angelo nodded, gaze sweeping in my direction again. His eyes showed no form of hesitation, and I knew he would follow through with it.

Elio handed the gun to Angelo, adjusting his collar before turning and walking towards the entrance.

No, no, no, I can't let it end like this. There must be something—anything—there—

"You're making a mistake!" my voice rang out in desperation, and Elio stopped.

Angelo's brows shot up in surprise as he turned toward Elio.

Slowly—ever so slowly, Elio turned to me, his brows dropped in confusion. I understood that expression.

Anyone in my position would be begging for their lives, but me? I wanted to make a proposition.

Elio took a few steps back to me. "I am making a mistake?" he asked.

"Yes. If you kill us, you'll be making a big mistake."

"Pray to tell why you think this?"

I swallowed. "I can help you."

Elio's gaze moved to Angelo's interested one.

"Well, this is a first," Elio said, looking back down at me. "Why would I want the help of a twelve-year-old girl?"

This time, a scowl was all my face could muster. "I'm twenty-four." I bit out.

Elio's eyes widened. "You look twelve—too short—small face—annoying voice—short hair."

"My choice," I replied almost immediately.

There was a short silence before he nodded. "Okay, Sport, I'll bite. What does that little head of yours think it can help me with?"

"My people and I are efficient, fast, and skilled. We can go in and out of a building without getting seen. I know your syndicate has a legal face, but you should know that sometimes, you must mix the legal with the illegal. We are like shadows, and we can slip into your legal spaces and turn things to your favor without anyone ever guessing you might have been involved—if you know what I mean."

Elio nodded. "Hm." He shoved both hands into his pocket again. "Everything you just said would have been a compelling reason to keep you and your people alive if you weren't tied up in a chair after being embarrassingly caught by me."

"That wouldn't have happened if I didn't leave something behind."

His eyes widened a fraction in surprise. "You know your mistakes."

"And I know better than to make them again."

Elio looked like he was pondering hard, but it barely crossed his face. "So, you agree to be indebted to me for the rest of your life?"

"If that is what it takes to stay alive, then yes."

"You speak for your whole...crew?"

"Yes."

Elio nodded, almost as if he had just realized something. His gaze settled on Angelo. "Turn up the heat until she can't breathe, record it."

Fucking hell.

"And the others?" Angelo asked.

Elio glanced my way, his eyes moving from my head to my toe before he spoke. "Make them watch."

I let out a defeated breath as I tried to wiggle my way out of the hold on the chair, my shoulder burning away with pain. "Please!" I cried out pathetically.

Elio turned, walking out of the room without a second glance. Angelo followed seconds after him.

I was panting, shivering in fear and anger as the heat became unbearable—I groaned in pain—the plastic of water on the ground was melting by second—The wound on my shoulder was burning—and I was screaming and crying and begging—again and again and again.

I used to think if I ever was in a situation like this, I would face it with equal confidence and silence; I used to think I wouldn't beg for my life—I used to think I wouldn't fear death.

But here, in this room, alone with my misery and pain, I was trapped in that little girl's body again—the girl who was too small for the world, the girl who was trapped in a hot cabinet and was forgotten about until someone stumbled upon her.

I was that girl again—except this time—I locked myself in this cabinet, and no one was coming for me.

(A little note: Updates will come every Monday and Friday. Thanks for reading, and for your engagement in the last chapter. Do comment as you read, it helps me write faster when I get feedback. Enjoy this update.)

_______
ELIO
_______

I SETTLED the cigar between my lips and flicked open the red lighter, allowing the flames light up the shaft's end before flicking it shut and slipping it back into my pocket. I sucked in the thick smoke, taking the stick from my mouth while playing around with the hotness against my tongue before letting the smoke out of my mouth, allowing it calm my nerves.

Slipping the cigar back between my lips, I poured myself a drink.

"What were you thinking?" Casmiro's voice alerted me to his presence.

"You forget yourself sometimes, Casmiro," I said, dropping the whiskey bottle and picking up my glass.

"You're keeping them alive?" He ignored my statement, his eyes burning with anger and disbelief.

"What can I say? Being wicked was getting old." I told him while taking out the cigarette, allowing the drink warm me up instead.

"This isn't funny, Marino."

"Yes, I know. I would be laughing if it was."

Casmiro took a step closer to me. "They stole from our family, and you let them live. Why?"

I shrugged. "Because they stole from me."

Casmiro frowned in confusion. "What the fuck does that even mean? I don't understand."

I shook my head. "You think with your anger; that is why you don't understand things. I wonder how you made it this far with me."

Casmiro glared now, taking off his suit jacket and carelessly throwing it on a couch by the side before walking to the bar area of my home lounge, picking up a glass, and pouring himself a drink. My gaze kept going to the mess he made with his suit, but I hid my irritation.

He freed his tie from its hold around his neck. "Keeping them alive is not something you would do. I'm only confused." He said.

"Fair. I see potential in a partnership with them. Besides, they don't know I'm keeping them alive. I left them with their assumptions. It kills faster than death itself."

Casmiro shook his head, raising his glass to me. "Only you, Marino. Only you.

I nodded. "They have guts—and determination—I could tell from the little one I spoke to."

"Zahra?"

"Hm. Do you have the full name yet?"

Dropping his glass to the table, he nodded. "Her last name is Faizan."

"Born here?"

He shook his head. "No, Saudi Arabia. She was bought and abandoned, couldn't dig up much about her after Italy."

"Parents?"

"Father unknown, mother married with four children."

"In Saudi?"

"Yes."

"And the others?"

"I already sent you all the information you should need about them, but I know you won't read it, so—Pink-haired girl who calls herself Milk is an orphan and was in foster care before migrating to a small gang family where she met Zahra. The gang is still active, but when we reached out, they refused all claims to them. They're lone rangers. The three boys, Devil, Upper, and Dog, were also a part of that gang. Upper and Dog are orphans. Devil's background is still unclear; the background check we ran on him was void."

"Void?"

"He's a ghost."

I brought the already burnt-out cigarette to my mouth, sucked it in, and quenched the fire on the ashtray. "Hm. No childhood pictures, surveillance cameras, webcam images?"

"None. He's not in any database. Medical records are also zero, and criminal records are clear—no legal name to pin him to like the others. And we can't exactly run a check on a nickname. It makes it difficult because that face isn't on the system."

I nodded. "Interesting, We should keep an eye on that one."

Casmiro grunted. "I don't think we should be keeping eyes on any of them. They should be dead."

"They are useful."

Casmiro shook his head. "Useful in what sense? We have guys who can steal for you and would never be seen doing it."

"This street people stole from those same guys and weren't seen by them. They locked us out of our security system for two hours after they left, and they had the guts to do all of that and were still successful."

"We caught them." He pointed out.

"Because they left something behind. The jewelry. They know it too."

"I don't think this is wise, Marino."

"I think it is. They are under Marino's command now. They are not our people but believable assets we can use. Political wise."

"There we go," Casmiro mumbled.

"What? These men in the big seats only listen to the command of power, Casmiro. You might not see the use of politics. But the Marino empire is legal, thanks to me. We can touch the government and political bodies and be so big that future accusations without proof would brush past the media in a swoosh no one would see. Our fathers never thought of this because they were old-fashioned. They were scared little pussies who didn't dare to branch out of their comfort zone." I said to him, drinking the rest of the whiskey in my glass and dropping the empty glass on the counter.

It was silent after that—surprisingly, not a comfortable one.

I watched Casmiro's jaw clench and unclench, still looking at the collection of whiskeys and wine before him as he spoke. "Then let me in."

I bit the inside of my tongue to stop the words about to come out of my mouth; then I turned to pour myself another round, looking away from him, when I felt his gaze at the side of my face.

"But you won't...." Casmiro trailed off before turning fully to me. "You won't because you don't trust me—because, for some reason, you choose not to. I would have accepted that if there had been a time when I did something to break your trust in me, but I never did. You just stopped."

"I don't trust anyone, Casmiro. Don't make this personal."

"Fuck you, E. I am making it fucking personal. Usted es mi hermano, Mi única familia." You are my brother, my only family.

"Casmiro—"

"I am tired of you treating me like one of your soldiers. You make me feel alone in all of this. It was supposed to be two of us. Against everyone. But you fucking treat me like an outsider."

Casmiro's accent wasn't as pronounced as mine was. But right now, it was thick with useless emotions, making his accent touch every word he uttered.

It was times like this I didn't know what to do. Yes, we used to be close, but why couldn't he understand that things change? These days, there was no such thing as brothers, friends, or even family when it came to business. Why couldn't he understand that I would kill him if necessary? Brothers do not think that about their brothers, do they?

I am confused.

I watched him swallow down the last of his drink, shaking his head and dropping the glass on the table as he began to walk away.

"Casmiro," I called, but he ignored me. He reached the couch he had dumped his suit, swiftly picked it up, and wore it before attempting to walk out. "Stop," I called out again, leaving my glass on the table as I approached him. "Sit."

He looked at me and then at the couch before looking back at me. "I have shit to do."

"Sit down, Casmiro."

Casmiro hesitated but succumbed with a grunt.

Sitting down next to him on the couch, I waited a bit before raising my hand to ruffle his hair like I used to. "You are like a little child sometimes."

He pushed my hand away lightly, a scowl on his face. "Cut it out. Estoy enojado." I'm angry.

"¿De Verdad? " Really?

He threw a stern frown at me. "Si."

I nodded. "Useless emotions, Casmiro. This kind of heart you have isn't what this business needs."

"Did you ask me to sit so you could insult me?"

"No." I took in a sharp breath. "Listen. You cannot throw tantrums like this because we don't drink whisky together and do shit that brothers do. You said I treat you like a soldier. But I don't think any soldier would have the guts to walk in here and pour himself a drink. I don't think I would sit down with a soldier and talk to him like I am talking to you now. You assume I do not care because that is what you see."

"It's what you show."

"Yes. Because a time will come when I will have to choose between you and something I want badly, and I will choose that without blinking. It is not that I don't trust you. I don't trust myself. So, I want you to reduce your expectations of me because I cannot be a brother to you, Casmiro. I will fuck it up, and you will hate me."

This time, all I saw on his face was confusion.

"How can you be so certain you will fuck it up?"

"Because I am sick. I am unpredictable, even to myself. I do not know consequences until it hits me in the face. This is me being very honest with you because I can tell—my behavior is drawing up an unfixable rift between us. I only want you to understand this."

"I hate your honesty sometimes."

"I am not an honest man, Casmiro. I tell you what you want to hear, and I know you wanted the truth."

He nodded and was silent for a few seconds before he broke it. "I still want you to let me in—"

"Casmiro—"

"Try. Let's take power together. Teach me. You can do it alone, but you don't have to. Not when I'm here."

I worked my jaw, refusing to give myself unnecessary time to think it through. It is not as if I didn't warn him.

"Okay." I voiced. "You want to get inside my head. You want me to tell you things and trust you. You want to make a brother off me. fine."

"Why do you make it sound so scary?"

"It is the accent."

There was a slight pause before Casmiro blinked. "I think you just made a joke—but your face isn't—it's not—"

"I know. I am funny."

"It's hard to tell if you're telling a joke or—just being you. Before, it never used to be hard to tell; you made everyone laugh until that day."

"Ah yes, the beating."

"Si." yes

A comfortable silence passed, and my brain was still catching up to this new development before he spoke again.

"I just want things to return to how they were, you know? I don't want secrets between us. Whatever we're doing, we do it together, like brothers."

I nodded. "Okay, Casmiro. No secrets. But remember, I warned you. You don't get to complain that I am overbearing or talkative."

He scoffed. "A talkative is the last thing I would call you, E. Even when we were children, you only talked when it was necessary or when you were excited. I can't remember the last time I saw you excited about anything."

I nodded. "That is true. But I get excited about things." Then I pointed to the side of my head. "In my head. I also talk my mind off in my head. But now that you have offered your ears," I got to my feet, motioning to the home office a few feet away from us. "Let's go talk politics, hermano."

Thank you for 50k reads! Your engagement on the last chapter had me writing like my fingers were made of words! Don't forget to vote and comment as you read on! Enjoy!

_______
ZAHRA
_______

I WOKE in a start, making me move my shoulder in a way that sent sharp pains down my arm. "Motherfucker." I gritted in pain, realizing I was lying on a soft mattress. My head rested atop comfortable pillows stacked up to ensure I didn't cause any discomfort to myself when I woke up—apparently, that didn't work.

My left hand was in a firm sling, and I was in new clothes.

"Hey," Devil's voice had me looking up in a start; he was leaning on the wall next to the small table across from me, arms crossed against his chest, watching me like a dark shadow, dressed in all black.

"Hey creep, why are you way over there?"

A small, strained smile tugged at his lips as He approached me, getting on the side of the big bed, "How are you feeling?"

My eyes took in the bruise on his cheek. Other than that, he didn't seem injured anywhere.

"Like death." I croaked out, trying to sit up. He was quick to help me, but I moved my arm wrongly and winced at the spike of pain. "Ugh, fuck—this hurts like a motherfucker."

"I know. It's going to leave a scar. They took the bullet out, but it was difficult because of how deep it was in your shoulder; they had to tear—"

"Don't tell me. I'll probably ink it when it heals." I said, letting out a shaky breath. "How are you? Where are the others? Where are we?"

I took in my surroundings more clearly again. It looked like a decent room for guests, as no personal belongings were lying around. But none of this made sense. I shouldn't be alive—none of us should be alive.

"Where else would we be?" his tone was sharp; the edge in his voice had me frowning. He sighed, looking down at the sling on my arm. "Sorry, we're still hostages—except we aren't locked up. We were given a quarter in the compound. We're in Marino territory."

I slumped slightly, careful not to move my arm. "Fuck—the others they—"

"Are pissed. Just a heads up."

There was only one reason why they could be pissed at me. I told Elio we would forever be at his service as long as he kept us alive. When he left me in that fucking oven, I didn't think for one second that I would make it out of there alive. He hadn't given me any guarantee that he approved of my proposal to be at his service, so it made no sense—or maybe my brain was still filled with the water he had almost drowned me in.

Water—

It was almost like the thought of water reminded me of how thirsty I had been before I probably passed out from all my pathetic screaming.

I cringed—embarrassed that I had let myself go like that—that I had forgotten how to be strong.

"Can I get water?" I asked.

Devil's eyes softened as he got up from the bed to the table across the room. He poured water into a glass and brought it over to me. I collected it eagerly with my good hand before bringing it to my lips, drinking it all in just five gulps.

There was a tense awkwardness in the air between Devil and me. It was unfamiliar, but I knew where it came from; it was probably why I felt ashamed.

I dropped the glass on the bedside table. "How did we get here? Was I the only one questioned?"

"Yeah. For some reason, you were the only one they wanted to talk to."

My anklet.

"I take it you watched—everything—me?" I asked, a little part of me hoping those bastards didn't really make them watch how I screamed and begged.

Devil was quiet, and it only confirmed my suspicion.

Carefully, I relaxed back on the bedhead, watching him refusing to meet my gaze. "Is that why you're being awkward? Because the amazing Zahra you knew would have never begged, cried, or screamed while she was basically being toasted alive."

He raised his head, gaze snapping to mine in a second as he blinked his thoughts away. "What the fuck? No. Never—I don't—it's not you—" he breathed. "They made us watch. They tied us up and made us watch, and it was fucking torture, not being able to—" his voice shook. "To do anything. It was cruel, Zahra. I can still see, hear, and feel the anger. I hate myself for not seeing this happening, for not talking us out of going through with the Marino mission—we should have known."

I shook my head. "No, this isn't your fault. If anyone's to blame, it's me. I brought the idea—"

"And I egged you on; I provided the layout; I made it easier. Milk seduced one of the soldiers, and we got electronic access; Upper fucked with their systems and locked them out; Dog took the men guarding the warehouse down, one by one. This shit? It's on all of us."

"But they're pissed at me."

"Because you told Elio you speak for us. You basically signed off all our lives to him."

I blinked in disbelief. "There was nothing else I could have done, Devil; he could have killed us all—he could have—we wouldn't be alive right now if it weren't for me. I did what I fucking had to do. Do you think if it were just me, I would grovel like a fucking pussy? My head, thoughts, mind, and heart were on all of you. I don't give a fuck about my life; he could put a fucking bullet in my head as long as I know you all are far away from him."

"I'm not blaming you for it, Zahra; I would have done the same thing."

"But apparently, those shitheads wouldn't—fuck this." I was already getting off the bed, ignoring how my body felt heavy, and my arm seemed to hurt at my sudden movement.

But I was pissed; I was pissed because what the hell were they angry about? I was the one who was tortured; I was the one who was being baked alive; I was the one who saved their sorry little fucking asses.

"Zahra, slow down," Devil complained.

But I was already out of the room; hearing their voices muffled, I followed in that direction to get to them. It didn't take long before I found myself in a space resembling a kitchen. "Okay, motherfuckers let's hear it. Why whine behind my fucking back when you can say it to my face?"

I was met with silence. But I watched how Dog's expression turned into a hard glare; he had a cut on his brow that was already stitched up. Upper had a scowl on his face, but I could tell it was only directed at the situation, and Milk had a bandage on her arm, but her face was as flawless as ever; I couldn't read her emotions because she wouldn't meet my eyes.

"You wanna pick a fight?" Dog asked. "Cause I'm ready to give it to you; I don't care if you have a busted arm."

Devil came up beside me, sighing. "Guys, the last thing we need right now is a baseless disagreement."

"Baseless? We are fucked—we're all fucked." Upper spoke up.

"No more American dream." Milk's voice was quiet.

"What the fuck else was I supposed to do? He was going to kill you all—I had to do what I had to do, so yes, I spoke for us at that moment."

"Really? Who the fuck put you in charge? Because last I checked, we don't have a boss on this team." Dog said, coming closer. "This is your problem Zahra; you always love to play the hero; it's probably why they picked you and shot you."

I scoffed. "We got caught because of me. That's why they picked me and shot me. I left something behind. They probably found it."

After I said that, it went very quiet around us, and I could see them all giving me questioning looks.

"Shit," Devil said from beside me. "I was wondering where your anklet ran off to."

His response answered the question of who changed my clothes. I was on a shirt too big to be my size.

"Are you bloody joking!" Upper exclaimed. "We made a mistake?"

"Funny how that's what you're worried about when we would never get to see America ever again." Milk bit out at Upper.

"Would you shut the fuck up about America for one goddam minute?" Dog said to her.

Milk stood upright with a frown shot straight at Dog, who maintained his glare now directed at her. "Don't tell me to shut up. You're the one who's been whining about being chained up like the dog you used to be."

"Guys—" Devil tried to cut in.

"How could we have made a mistake? How could we have missed something? That never happens." Upper mused out loud.

"Miss hero probably took it off herself so she could sell us all out and keep the prize money to herself." Dog injected.

And the accusation slapped me in the face.

"You're so fucking stupid, Dog. I am trapped too! I get it. I'm short as fuck, but there's no way I can sneak my way out of this compound without being shot in the head. Besides, why would they leave the money back at the studio? It belongs to them now."

"Guys, stop—"

"Just like we belong to them, thanks to you!" Dog yelled back. "I don't give a fuck if he could have killed us all—I'd die happy knowing that I didn't have to live my life committing crimes for anyone again."

"Me too; you also kind of did bring the idea to go for Marino, so..." Milk added.

I let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, you guys are ungrateful pieces of shit. I really should have just let every single one of us die because I can't believe I brought down my fucking pride, begging for our lives, only to survive this shit to see how fucking terrible the people I consider family are!"

Dog groaned. "Don't you fucking pull the family card because that doesn't have shit to do with—"

"It has everything to do with—"

"I can't believe we made a mistake—"

"It was supposed to be our vacation time—"

"TIME OUT! TIME FUCKING OUT!" Devil yelled, and I almost jumped out of my skin as everyone else kept quiet. "We have a bigger fish to fry, okay? The last thing we should be worried about is the mistake we made, or the stupid vacation, or the life sentence, or our fucking pride. We're here, and that's done. We should be thinking about how to keep our heads above water."

Dog shook his head, returning to stand behind the counter, rubbing his palm down his face as the quietness seeped in.

"I don't care what any of you think you know—but E—Marino is not a merciful man. Do you think he would just send someone to shoot you if he wanted to kill you? No, he would send people to do it slowly and painfully until we beg for death. Zahra saved us from that shit. She took the pain for us—"

I cut him off. "I don't need you to—"

"Would you keep quiet?"

I would punch him if my left hand weren't in a sling. Then again, I knew he was going somewhere, so I let him finish.

"No matter how angry we are right now, I have no doubt we would have done the same thing if we were put in that position. It's who we are. We are family. We do our best to make sure we survive to see another day. Just because we're here now doesn't mean our life is done. We're smart; we're fucking STREET. There's no way we aren't going to wiggle out of this. I can't guarantee our freedom if we turn our backs on each other now, if we point fingers, fight, and hold grudges. We need to trust each other now more than ever."

He was right, and I felt the anger that was once boiling in my blood dissipate; almost the same time, Upper sighed, leaving his position and holding a marker pen. "I've always wanted to sign on an arm sling."

"Where did you even get the pen?"

"It was lying around." He smiled softly at me as he signed on to my sling. "Sorry, you got shot. Was it cool? Even a little bit?"

"Yeah, just a little—not cool enough to take another one ever again—but it has its cool side." I smiled at him.

He returned the smile, handing the pen to Milk, who was already behind him, before stepping away to the side.

"I didn't watch," Milk said quietly. "I only heard—I'm sorry you went through that. I don't think I would have lasted that long."

I was glad she didn't go through any of what I did. Milk's skin was too soft, just like her heart.

"If it's any consolation, I just wanted to make those bastards deaf; at least I could have had that before they killed me."

She shook her head, smiling as she signed on my cast, not bothering to give it to Dog, who was still behind the counter.

A few seconds passed before he stepped out and walked up to me. I thought he would curse at me and walk out because that was a typical Dog move, but instead, he pulled me to his tense body, careful not to hurt my arm, his hand settling at the back of my head as I relaxed into his hold. "I'm sorry," he whispered to me. "I didn't mean the shit I said."

"I know."

"I just didn't want to admit that I cried like a helpless idiot seeing you in there, suffering—did you really have to scream that loud?"

"I was baking—so yeah, kinda," I said too.

"I wanna punch that Marino bastard so bad; I just wanna draw blood from him, you know."

I nodded. "I know, Dog. I want to punch him too—but we can't."

"We can't." he echoed back. Releasing me, his eyes glancing at the sling on my arm. "I'm not signing that shit."

"Got it." I chuckled.

"So, what's next?" Upper asked from where he stood.

"We wait," Devil said.

I nodded. "Observe and listen."

"I can do that." Milk said.

"And after we've observed and waited?" Dog asked me.

"Then we do what we do best."

Devil's lips kicked up to the side as he said. "We scheme."

Comment as you read to see an extra update this Wednesday! Thank you for your engagement so far! enjoy!

_______

ZAHRA
_______

I WOULDN'T lie and say my heart wasn't in my throat. It was. It was one thing to jump into danger when you're the one putting yourself into it, and it was another thing to be running—or in my current situation—walking towards the threat.

But I maintained the look of indifference I had schooled my face into carrying this morning as we approached where I guess Elio Marino would be.

Angelo escorted us, the guy Elio called into the torture oven. He had arrived a few minutes ago at the—apartment—we were kept, with some men behind him. They all led us to another building in the compound, and now we were walking down a very long and weirdly clean hallway.

Men were everywhere, coming in and out of rooms you would never have guessed were rooms.

"Just how big is this place?" Upper asked, breaking the silence around us. I couldn't help but feel proud at how calm he sounded like we weren't going to see the man who would be deciding our fate from this moment on—thanks to me.

"It's never-ending." Milk added, but her voice was small, and she wasn't doing anything to hide the uncertainty lining her brows.

"We're almost there," Angelo answered, his head still bent, looking at his phone as he moved, almost like he knew the corners of this building by heart.

We had passed through a large kind of hall to get here, and it was littered with soldiers walking around, all distracted with tasks they had been assigned to carry on.

Beside me, Devil had one of those expressions that once had me raising my guard to the roof before I knew who he was. I could tell he was prepping his front, but I didn't understand why his whole form was tense. It seemed as if he was holding his breath.

Maybe he was scared? But that would be crazy because putting Devil and that word together was impossible.

I wanted to hold his hand, give it a squeeze to know that we were all here, we were all still breathing. But I held back because we didn't do that, and I would be a hypocrite because I was also in my head. So, I balled my hand up in a fist and steadied my breathing, calming myself.

Before I could register the faint sound of music, the men on each side of Angelo were pushing open double doors, and we entered a different space and time. It looked like we had somehow teleported into a casino in Las Vegas. The club was dim-lit, with neon lights dancing around, different poker tables, and seats filled by men who were hungry for money.

There was a live show on a distant stage. And another with poles holding naked strippers. There were also tables filled with stoners; all doped up in their own world. I was almost dizzy at the sight.

I felt warmth encase my free uninjured hand, and I tore my gaze from our surroundings and looked up at Devil. He squeezed my hand in his and bent to whisper in my ear. "You, okay?"

I answered with a stiff nod. "Are you?"

He answered with an equally stiff one.

"It's like a fucking sin bin." Dog's voice reached my ear, but I didn't turn to see what other new thing he'd found. A lot was happening all at once, and it was easy to lose focus, so I let out a breath as Angelo led us up a roller-coaster staircase, which led to a more secluded area that gave way to yet another hallway.

My anticipation grew, and my stomach knotted in nerves, but it was a feeling I could control, and Devil's hand on mine had me relaxing a bit; I could only hope he felt the same relief.

Almost as if he heard my thoughts, he squeezed my hand before letting go the moment Angelo stopped in front of a door, using a small key card to unlock it.

We walked into a large spaced area that looked like a VIP apartment, an office, a boardroom, and a library. I noticed the men who followed Angelo had stopped outside as we walked in, the door closing behind us.

In the middle of the room was a long conference table with black leather chairs on each side. There was soft classical music in the air, smooth yet unnerving.

My gaze flickered to the head of the table, and sitting there was none other than Elio Marino, a book in his hand, the hardcover a plain black. He wore professional reading glasses as he read, and between his lips, a Cuban cigar rested, burning away slowly.

Behind him, a huge black antique grandfather clock stood, drawing my attention back to him.

His black button-up had been rolled up to his elbows, outlining the tattoos on his left forearm, I didn't know why, but I found my eyes following the ink until it escaped under his rolled-up sleeve.

I couldn't tell what the drawings were, but they looked like dancing flames—I averted my gaze to the man sitting directly by the side of the head seat next to Elio. His eyes were on us the moment we stepped in, calculating and scanning us like he was cutting us down, limb from limb, to see if it was clinically safe to be in the same space with us.

My eyes shifted back to Elio, whose tattooed ring-cladded fingers moved to take the cigar from between his lips, blowing out the smoke, as he closed the book and dropped it on the table.

The man beside Elio cleared his throat, sitting up. "You can sit; the chairs don't bite." He said, sounding far from polite.

Devil moved first, pulling out a seat, and we all followed, doing the same.

I took the space between Devil and Milk.

Angelo moved to stand beside Elio while Upper and Dog sat directly opposite us.

Milk leaned into me as she whispered, motioning to the shelf. "So many books with the same black hard covers, it's creepy."

My gaze moved to the shelves lining up the walls. The spines were all black, hard-covered spines, similar to the one he had been reading.

"They are personalized versions of every popular book you can think of." Elio's accented voice rang out, and my gaze snapped to him as Milk stiffened beside me.

He still wasn't looking up, and his reading glasses were still on his face. The moment he pressed the cigarette butt to the ashtray before him, he raised his gaze, and it locked with mine. My stomach jumped, but I schooled my features, not expressing any fear, as I kept my gaze on his.

He shifted his attention to Milk, who still sat frozen beside me. "The color of your hair is pink, yes?"

She was like stone now, nervousness pouring off her in waves; fuck—we really shouldn't have spent all through last night rehashing all that this man was capable of to be prepared for whatever might come our way. "Y-yes." She answered, her voice small.

Dog's eyes glazed in irritation at how weak she was making us look, and Upper just sat there stunned and probably waiting for the other shoe to drop. Devil was tenser than he had been before we got in here.

Elio hummed. "Your hair is beautiful; what is the name?" he asked.

"Um... Milk?" she answered, confusion lacing her tone.

Elio's head tilted to the other guy's side—which I'm guessing was the Casmiro who knows best—for confirmation about Milk's name.

"Made up," Casmiro confirmed, making me frown. "You want the real one?"

Milk's breathing quickened.

"No. I like Milk better. Very...soft." Elio said, taking off his glasses and arranging them carefully beside the book before he looked at Milk again. "To kill your curiosity, Milk. My books are all black because I hate colors, and black is the absence of all colors."

"White is also the absence of all colors," I said before I could catch my tongue, and his gaze, once again, fell on me, then to my arm as if to remind me what had happened the last time I contradicted something he said. But I didn't back down this time. "Green is also the absence of all colors; basically, all colors are the absence of all other colors, so how can you say you hate colors in general?"

His right brow twitched. But he didn't break our eye contact, and I had no intention of breaking it. I noticed the music in the background beginning to ascend slowly.

"Asides from stealing money from people who can kill you, you fancy psychology too?"

"It wasn't a psychological question."

"It sounded psychological to me."

"You just didn't make any sense. I was only trying to understand you."

Casmiro's eyes widened from my peripheral vision, and Angelo shifted uncomfortably.

"I didn't make any sense," Elio stated as if tasting the word on his tongue like it was strange even to speak or hear them.

"Yes, you—"

"Zahra." Devil's voice came out in a low hum of warning.

"What? I was only pointing out what I thought was an error of thought. Isn't that allowed around here?" I raised a brow, looking around like we had an actual audience.

The tension in the room grew with the ascending music as the silence stretched. I still didn't break our staring contest, and I was glad because I saw the shift in his eyes, the way they went from indifference to a hardness that would fool anyone into thinking it was a deeper level of boredom.

"Zahra, cut it out," Devil gritted out. I didn't listen. I won't look away. "Seriously, stop."

I felt the fear I'd once harbored slipping away as control took over.

I counted up to five in my head before looking away from him, and the moment I did; Upper spoke up. "I think Zahra's right."

"Fucking hell," Devil whispered under his breath.

"The color green is the absence of all colors, pink too, brown, yellow—all of the bloody colors, so like—black, they are also lone rangers."

"Isn't Black a shade?" Dog piqued up, and I smiled, leaning back on the chair, glad everything played out how my mind wanted it to. "I read once that black and white aren't colors but shades?"

"What the fuck is the difference, Dog?" Upper countered.

"I'm here wondering how Dog got that information." Milk added.

Dog shrugged. "Found some textbooks in a dumpster once; one was about all the fucking colors; I don't even know why I read that shit; I don't know why it stuck too."

"We're all gonna die," Devil muttered again. 

"Black and White are augmented colors. Not like the other colors; they're like the parents of all colors." Milk said, nodding as if she was only just understanding what she said.

"Colors don't have parents, Milk. You're such an airhead." Upper said

"You're the airhead if you don't understand simple metaphors, Upper."

"Oi, I know bloody metaphors all right; I went to school, unlike you and these other shitheads." Shit heads meaning us.

"Shut the fuck up, Upper. When the fuck did you have the time to go to school?" Dog asked.

"We're all dead." Devil rubbed both his eyes in defeat as he shook his head, the music in the background ascending even further.

"He probably climbed up school roofs and hid in their ventilators just to attend classes." Milk said with a smart-ass evil smile curling by the side of her lips as she served him that dig.

Upper's jaw clenched. "Fine, you fuckers, I climbed up a few ventilators, so bloody what? I'm still fucking educated, better than the lots of you."

"I read actual books from the trash and still remembered deets from it, fuck—If I had gone to school, I would have been one smart motherfucker." Dog said.

"You're pretty good with numbers." I mused.

"I'm a fucking genius with numbers." He corrected me, and the room went silent again, followed by the music in the background descending.

I sat up, finally looking back at Elio, Casmiro, and Angelo.

Elio still had a look of indifference on his face, but his gaze was sweeping through our little group with wonder. Casmiro's jaw was hanging, and Angelo just stood there, wide-eyed, with amusement dancing within them and a slight smile curling at his lips.

I cleared my throat. "There you have it, we're STREET," then I let my taunting stare settle on Elio as I said. "It is only right to prepare your family for what awaits you, as you've decided to consider my request."

Elio was silent for a few minutes before he sat up, leaned in, and placed both elbows on the table before settling his hand beneath his chin. "What makes you think I've considered it?"

"I'm still breathing," I answered without blinking.

"And I'm beginning to think Casmiro knows best after all."

At the mention of his name, he cleared his throat. "I was wrong. I think they're perfect." He said.

"Just because that one climbed up a ventilator like a fucking rat?"

Devil sighed. "I think what Casmiro is trying to say is; because Upper climbed up a ventilator for years and got a full education without being seen." He said.

Elio's gaze snapped toward Devil's direction, and I saw that shift in his eyes again; the look was an obvious dare, almost as if he was daring Devil to speak again.

I could swear I saw Devil roll his eyes as he relaxed back on his chair, crossing his arm against his chest, looking straight ahead, his jaw locked.

What the fuck was that?

Elio's gaze rested on me. "Your introduction was comical but not appreciated."

"I beg to differ; if we're going to work together, you should know what you're dealing with."

Casmiro scoffed. "Or maybe you have forgotten how you got here. You work for us now, not with us. There is a big difference."

"I know, but just because we work for you doesn't mean we change how we work. Or the way we communicate with each other, getting engrossed in a stupid argument when our lives are in danger, is how we work well together."

"It's the only way we can function." Dog added.

"Chaos is STREET." Upper grinned.

"And it's kind of fun." Milk finalized.

Elio's gaze settled on each of us—except Devil—before he took his hands away from his chin, took a new cigar from the table, placed it between his lips, flicked on the lighter he dug out from his pocket, and then lit the cigar. I watched him take a long drag before letting it out slowly, tormentingly, before he finally spoke. "Why don't we test that theory."

__

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_______

ELIO
_______

I SHOULD have killed the short one when I had the opportunity.

While being annoyingly audacious, she constantly placed her foot in her mouth. She spoke without thinking and, like Casmiro, could look me in the eye without fear. 

She was going to be a problem.

I allowed the cigar warm its way around my body, removing my gaze from her to take them all in individually. I could tell they had a tight-knit relationship, not built on trust but on situations they could all relate to.

It was admirable, but a sick part of me wondered what it would take to break them up—that same sick part of me wanted to see it happen too.

My gaze moved to Devil, and my stomach curled. Was this a feeling of irritation—or anger—or was I finally reacting negatively to the countless cigars I had taken in today?

I secretly hoped it was the last one. I couldn't afford any slip-ups now—not when I was almost there, almost at the finish line.

"Should I proceed?" Casmiro asked from beside me, and I nodded once, my gaze shifting to the short one again when I caught movement from her end. Her face was pulled up in a tight frown, posture rigid as Casmiro stood up to retrieve whatever documents he had gathered for their first task.

I zoned out voluntarily—needing some time alone in my head to study these people. Starting from the one who claimed to speak for the...do I even call them a group or band of thieves? Fuck it...starting from their so-called leader.

Zahra Faizan, a twenty-four-year-old woman who looked like she had only just crossed sixteen. If I didn't entirely trust the info given by my people, I would have guessed she was unaware of her own age. Her face was small and round, curly dark brown hair cut perfectly below her jaw.

I hated it.

My mother loved her hair and was equally obsessed with my sister's hair. The only time I'd ever seen her smile was when she brushed her hair and my sister's. Sometimes, she would try to take the brush to my hair, but a look from my father would have her recoiling back, and then when I was unfortunately alone with him, he'd tell me affection was useless if it wasn't put into something like getting the actual job done.

This was why the women I fucked had a specific look to them. Long hair... could be any color, but it had to be long and healthy like Milk's. I admired the color of her hair, the length, and the healthiness of each strand; it was compelling. Not in a way that would make me want to fuck her, but in a way that I admired.

The short one's hair was unkempt, showed signs of little care, and irritated me.

I tilted my head, looking closely.

Now that I think about it, it was impossible to imagine her with long hair; it wouldn't suit those sharp eyes and small nose above her small pouty li—her gaze caught mine, and her frown deepened, upper lip turning up in an irritated snare as she raised a brow as if to ask why I was staring.

Fascinating.

The fear I saw the other day was gone—It made me question if that was even fear or defeat. Over the years in this business, I'd learned that there was an extensive line between those two feelings.

The last time I felt fear, it never lasted long before defeat came in with an ease that changed something significant in me.

"Marino?" That was Angelo's voice, and I caught myself blinking out of my head before looking away from Zahra and up to Angelo, who wore a cautious look on his face while Casmiro stared with slight concern.

"What," I asked them, discarding the cigar.

"We've been asking a question," Casmiro answered.

I nodded, keeping my attention on them, but they said nothing, allowing the silence spread even further.

I raised my brows, blinking pointedly. "Do I have to spell out that you now have my attention, or is there something on my face."

"Oh." Angelo cleared his throat. "You were supposed to update me on Dion Juan Pablo's next visit to Palazzo Blu, but I never heard—"

"Two weeks from this one. It should give the little one's shoulder time to heal so it wouldn't raise suspicions."

From the corner of my eye, I saw her raise her hand like she wanted to ask a question. "The name's Zahra, in case you've forgotten. Old age can be a bitch."

I paused.

The feeling I got whenever Casmiro would eat and leave his dirty dish in the same spot curled in my stomach again but in double folds this time.

"This," I slowly turned my gaze from Casmiro and Angelo to look back at her taunting gaze. "This is why I shot you; you do not know when to shut up. Don't make me put the unpleasant thoughts running through my head into reality."

She dropped her hand. "Maybe when you start addressing me by my name, you wouldn't have to harbor unpleasant thoughts, or kill me, which would easily result in you killing us all, and then who would help you with whatever you need to get from Dion Juan Pablo, who, mind you, isn't going to be at Palazzo Blu, but at Club Eden, because he probably knows people like you would want to pay him a little visit, hence why everyone who isn't us, would think he would be at Palazzo Blu."

"Hold on; you know Dion Juan Pablo?" Casmiro asked, unable to hide the shock in his voice.

"Uh..." the Upper one spoke up. "He's kind of like a public figure? You lots know what Instagram is, right? He posts shit about his life on there. We also happen to know through Instagram that he is gunning for control over state affairs in Turin, and of course, we know it's for the Pablo's, and they'll most likely handle private affairs; the people don't know that though, hence why there's a massive support from them because he markets himself as a people person."

"And people love people who make it seem like people would never grow old if they can help it," Dog said

"Dion is also a very cunning and foolish man, getting high on his own drug supply," Devil said. "...while boning for the power at the high seats, just like Marino is. And we know how difficult it is to breach his walls."

"For your people, not for us." Zahra completed.

Then there was silence, safe for the ticking of the grandfather clock behind me, as we all watched each other until—

"And we killed his dog."

"Oh, my fucking God, Milk," Dog

"You just had to contribute," Zahra.

"Why would you say that?" Upper

"Fucking hell, Milk." Devil

They all spoke in sync, causing a noise.

"What!" Milk whined out in defense. "I thought we were all saying stuff we knew about Dion."

Zahra groaned. "Not that kinda stuff."

"You killed his dog?" Angelo asked in that tone he used when he was amused.

"It was an honest mistake, I sincerely thought it was dog food, and the big guy was giving me the I am hungry eyes. Please feed me, kind lady; what the hell was I to do, leave it to starve?"

"Yes." They all chorused at the same time.

"That would have been cruel."

"And accidentally killing it, wasn't?"

"At least I tried to feed it; what did you do, Upper?"

Upper gasped. "He sniffed the bloody cocaine. How was I supposed to know dogs love sniffing things."

"You can ask the one beside you," Devil pointed to Dog, who allowed a small unfeeling smile onto his lips before raising his middle finger at Devil, who answered with an appreciative nod.

Milk scoffed. "Maybe the thingy in the can wasn't what killed it; the cocaine probably did, so technically, Upper and I murdered Dion's dog. Don't blame me because I'm the only girl in the group."

Zahra backed up in shock, shooting Milk a look of disbelief before Milk corrected herself by saying, "Yeah, and Zahra too."

Devil bit back a laugh which earned him a glare from Zahra.

"Okay, so what I'm getting from this is that you all have seen Dion and have some kind of personal relationship with him?" Casmiro asked.

"No man," Dog answered this time. "We have seen Dion, yes... but he's never seen us; no one ever sees us."

I shook my head at this group. "But, somehow, you managed to enter his home and murder his dog," I stated, very confused.

"We just went there for free food and the fucking amazing bathtub he announced on his socials, and well—to live a make-believe rich ass lifestyle, we stayed for just two hours... wasn't anything personal," Dog answered.

"Oh shit, they're serious; they actually killed the dog; Dion held a funeral for it," Angelo said, his eyes glued to whatever article he read on his phone.

I took in a breath and then let it out. "I'm afraid your first mission for me would require some of you letting Dion see you. How are you certain Dion would be at Club Eden?"

"We are," Devil answered.

I nodded, thoughts filtering through my head before finally letting out the less obnoxious one. "Then that's where he's stationing for his stay this time. In politics, there's what I call extreme pettiness. You should be petty if you want to take the bag and the title. Dion is foolish, probably the only man with power who surrounds himself with incompetent soldiers because he is ignorant."

"That I can agree on." Dog said.

"Our people would need direct intel on him and the entire Pablo syndicate," Angelo said. "We want to see and hear everything, from their business meetings to past and present associations and collaborations, legal and illegal; everything. We need a chain, and we need them not to notice until we are done with them. This means an invisible non-existing server they would never be able to trace back to Marino. Can your team arrange that?" Angelo asked.

"It's possible," Upper said, looking at Dog. "Right?"

Dog's gaze settled on Zahra, and I looked back in her direction to find her deep in thought before she looked up. "It is possible. But our method is to not be seen. I'm finding it hard to understand what you meant by Dion seeing some of us?"

My tongue poked at the inside of my cheek as I thought about her question and the answer to give. When I found it, I sat up. "Dion will see you, but he doesn't need to know whom he sees. He's only going to see what we want him to. This case is delicate; we must sway Dion's attention from his conscious to deal with his subconscious. I would assume your team is well-versed in creating narratives."

"We are." Milk said. "In fact, I have an idea." She grinned.

"Good." I pointedly dangled my index finger at her. "That is what I like to hear, hm? Progress, proactive thinking, it keeps people alive."

Zahra's frown was back. "What the fuck is that—"

"So," Devil sat up, blocking Zahra from my view, eyes locking with mine without blinking. "You want to get into Pablo's affairs; that can be arranged. We'll relay the information to Angelo when we've devised a plan. But the sooner we plan, the sooner we are assured we can pull it off without mistakes. Permission to leave?"

I bit my tongue hard, only drawing back when I tasted blood. "Permission granted," I said, and he began to stand before I added, "For everyone but you."

He winced, closing his eyes and letting out a sharp breath before sitting back down and turning to a confused Zahra and an even more confused crew. "It's okay, guys; I'll catch up."

"What's going on?" Zahra whispered to him, the concern in her voice reflecting on her face.

"It's okay, go. I'll catch up."

She glanced at me, the frown still on her face.

"Z, I'll explain later—just for now, leave; I promise I'll come back alive."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," I said, not hiding the fact that I was listening in, eying the two of them.

Zahra's scowl was permanent as she got up, signaling to the others too.

I watched them all file out before looking over at Casmiro and Angelo, raising a brow of inquiry at them.

Casmiro frowned. "Us too?"

"Yes, Casmiro."

His eyes shifted between Devil and me before he asked. "Is everything good?"

"Everything is perfect," I answered.

"Okay," Casmiro said, nodding to Angelo as they both walked to the door before Casmiro turned back to me. "Hey if he tries—"

"If he tries to stab me in the neck, I'll cry for help; now leave." My knee was bouncing rapidly underneath the table.

Rolling his eyes, he and Angelo walked out, closing the door behind them.

I allowed a minute of silence before I decided to speak up. "This was—"

The door bust open, revealing Dog breathing like he had just raced back. "Fuck—sorry—I forgot to ask Devil something important." He let out a breath. "Why the fuck is that hallway so damn long?"

"What is it?" Devil asked, concern in his voice as Dog came closer.

"Uh—the sandwich, the one you didn't finish, can I—"

"Not on your fucking life."

I frowned in confusion. Was this code for something? Or were they really talking about sandwiches?

"Fucking chill. It's probably cold now—"

"It's for later, you fucking idiot; I didn't ask you to choke yours down your damn throat because you're never satisfied with food."

"So, I ran all the way here for nothing? Come on, Devil."

"If I get back, and my damn sandwich is missing, I'm gonna make you pay."

Dog sighed. "Whatever," his gaze met mine. "Sorry for the interruption, but do me a favor by making him sweat, whatever it is you're gonna fucking do to him—when I mean sweat, I don't mean that oven shit you did to Zahra I—"

"Dog, just go," Devil said with a sigh.

"Fine," he backed up. "See you—at—yeah, whatever." And then he was out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

I closed my eyes, letting out a long-controlled breath before speaking. "What the fuck have you gotten yourself into, Elia."

__

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_______

ELIO
_______

I found out my father was having an affair when I was eight.

And when I was nine, I saw my half-brother for the first time. Father had named him Elia; he had been so tiny, fragile, and innocent. I used to be angry that my father had forgotten his vow to my mother. I knew he lacked common morals, but I'd always respected that even though he didn't show it, he loved my mother—well, until the day I saw him kissing a dark-haired woman in his car.

My father told me that no matter what I did, I couldn't tell my mother, my sister, or my brother that we had another blood relative, and I did keep quiet. Although I felt guilty whenever my father would take me to see Elia, I felt guilty that my family didn't get to meet him to see how precious he was. I felt guilty for denying Elia the opportunity to see them.

I vowed that one day, one day I would let my father get out of my head, and I would make sure everyone knew about Elia; I swore that I'd give Elia a chance to know my family; but that was until my father decided he didn't want anything to do with Elia nor his mother after he had found out Elia's mother let a delicate information slip, and the next solution he could come up with was to get rid of them.

I was fifteen, and Elia was just six when we watched my father and his mother lash each other with words, a scenario that led to a bullet right between her eyes. It took me a good two minutes to remember Elia wasn't supposed to see that, but before I could shield his eyes from his mother's lifeless body, he'd seen it all. But I still held him, and my grip tightened when my father turned his furious and sick gaze to us, pointing the gun in Elia's direction.

"Step away, Elio." My father had said, his voice molded with vengeance and determination. "I don't want you stained with the sinner's blood."

I remember swallowing. I remember how the gun resting at the back of my pants burned at my skin. I wanted to shoot him—to kill my father—the urge was strong, but I knew I couldn't do it. I'd never killed anyone; I didn't have the guts to do it.

"Move, Elio." He said with an impatience that had me blurting out the first word I could think of.

"I'll do it."

My father had raised his brow in confusion and question. "Repeat that."

I gulped down, my stare firm and determined. "I will kill him myself. No one sells out Marino and lives. The sinner doesn't exist if your bullet ends up in them."

My father lowered his gun and slowly walked over to me, placing his hand on my shoulder; I was baffled at how I could compose myself without jumping out of my skin.

He looked me in the eye as he said. "I renounce Elia as my flesh and blood. When you kill him, you kill the last of his bloodline."

I gave a single firm nod. "I am proud of you, Elio. Make sure I see the proof."

"I will."

"Good, I'll handle the problem his cunt of a mother caused. Make sure the child dies tonight."

"I will, sir."

He nodded, patted my shoulder, and looked at Elia in disgust. His gaze was hard enough that I visibly flinched, and then he was gone.

I had released a breath, my ears ringing in alarm because I knew I wouldn't do it—but I was still going to make my first kill today.

After I did it, after I had found someone who would take the place of my little brother, after I had puked my guts out when the body dropped lifelessly on the ground, I knew who I was—I was a sinner, and I didn't deserve to live. Then again, my father made me do it; therefore, He'd be the last person I kill.

"Good to see you too, Elio." Devil's voice brought me out of my head.

I opened my eyes again and finally looked at him. I'd kept tabs on him, even though he didn't know, and while I'd refrained from reaching out due to avoiding a compromise in my goals, I still felt that hollowed sinking feeling in my chest.

Unable to bear the sight of him, I shot to my feet, stepping away from the table, my hand going to rub my head. "How long—how long have you been in Italy?" I asked him, my voice leveled.

"Does it matter? I'm here now." his voice was unconcerned, unbothered, as I heard his chair shift, signaling that he was getting up from his.

I turned sharply to find him standing there, no expression on his face, with both hands shoved into his pockets.

"Answer the fucking question, Elia."

"I go by Devil now." he snapped back.

I felt that coil in my stomach again, and if I didn't know better, I'd have pegged the feeling as anger. Hell, I'll peg it as anger because I needed a name to express how I felt.

"Okay, Devil. How long have you been in Italy?"

He squared his jaw. "Thirteen years."

"Thirteen—" I deflated, looking at him with disbelief. "Thirteen years, Elia? How do I not know this?"

He shrugged. "According to your intel, I'm probably on my way from work in Los Angeles. You're not the only smart person in the room, Elio."

I shook my head. "You think this is smart?" I walked sharply over to him, stopping until I stood right before him. He stood taller, fear flashing in his eyes as he inched backward. It was a small flinch, but I felt the effect of it slam down my chest. "You think I will hurt you?"

"I don't know what to think. I don't know you."

"Elia-"

"It's Devil." He gritted out.

"Devil...you are not supposed to be here. Los Angeles was perfect for you. Why would you want to be here? You could have it all, a normal life, sound mind, a clear record—"

"I don't have any records; I'm basically a nobody. You made sure of that."

"To protect you, El—Devil. I did it all to protect you from this. And you—a common thief? Stealing from me? Tu Hermano?  I would give you whatever it was in a heartbeat if you wanted anything. Why did you have to pull up this so-called gang?To rob from me, your family?" Your brother?

"You are not my family. As far as I'm concerned, that so-called gang is my family. They would never abandon or erase me to make things more convenient for them."

I hissed. "None of this will last, Devil. What you see today will be nothing but dust beneath your feet tomorrow. I never abandoned you, ok? I protected you from me, from this, from my father. You're my only flesh and blood; I do not desire for you to walk the path I have walked, Devil. You deserve all that is good, all that is clean and pure. A clean life. Not this." I shook my head in indignation. "I never wanted this for you."

"You don't get to want things for me, Elio. I'm not some dumb kid anymore. The last time I saw you physically, I was ten fucking years old. You were my brother, the only person I knew, the only person I loved, my only family—and all I asked—all I asked was for you not to let me go, and you fucking promised me you wouldn't send me away. You gave me your word. And then I slept and woke up in Los Angeles—"

"Devil—"

"You don't get to fucking talk about family when you abandoned me, Elio. When you won't even tell anyone that I am your blood. When you're ashamed of me." He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. "I used to make excuses for you, you know? I used to think maybe he did it because he was scared of his father; maybe he did it because my life would have been in danger. But then I heard the news—about the fire—Lorenzo and Mariana."

Pain slapped me unexpectedly because I knew what he would say next.

"How you fucking burnt them alive...and stabbed the mother you claimed to love. Then I realized maybe you are just like him—worse than him—and then I beat myself up every day for believing what could have been lies because the person I knew would never do anything like that. But then again, he would also never break his promise to me, but he did." 

After he said that, the silence stretched between us.

It was a long, tension-filled one, but after a while, I nodded while taking steps away from him.

When I turned, I stretched my neck muscles from left to right, regaining my composure and allowing a calm settle within me.

I welcomed the familiar calmness with a bold embrace even though its outcome had never yielded any good result.

I proceeded to go and pour myself a drink and then leaned an elbow on the table, drink in hand, as I watched him.

"You're angry."

"No shit, fucking sherlock."

I nodded again. "What do you want me to do about it?"

He frowned. "What?"

"You want me to apologize for abandoning you, hm? You want me to hug you and tell you how much you mean to me? To beg you to go back to Los Angeles, live your best life and stay away from crime?"

He didn't respond, but his eyes flared.

"By all means, Devil. Carry on with your thieving addiction and the little minions you consider family. But remember that I own you now—not as a brother—but as a man who stole from my family. You want to separate yourself from me, tell me you don't know me—fine, I have no problem with that because, honestly, it gives me one less thing to worry about."

"I'm good with that." He bit out.

Taking a sip from my glass, I began walking to him again, this time getting in his face. He didn't flinch.

"I am glad you are good with it. Do you know why?"

His nostrils flare. "Why."

"Because I wouldn't have to think of you before I put a bullet in the head of one of your fucking family—when I kill them right in front of your eyes, slowly—very fucking slowly because I would desire for you to hear them scream while their lives slip away from their eyes, and then after I've done that," I inched closer to him, directing my mouth to his ear. "I'll point a gun to your fucking head and do what I should have done years ago. I'm sure your cunt of a mother would appreciate it."

And then I was shoved so hard that the glass fell from my hand, shattering to the ground, the groan of anger from Devil was the only warning I got before he pounced on me, and we both toppled to the ground.

His grip on my shirt was not too hard that I couldn't push him off, but hard enough to know that this was precisely what he needed.

So, when his fists connected with my face, I let it. I let him hit me repeatedly, and when he yelled, 'fight back!' I seized to protect myself from him; I allowed him to damage the little he could; I let him pour out his anger because I needed him to—only then would he be able to see reason.

So, I let him take what he wanted from me.

Only a few seconds later did the sound of the door busting open reach my ears, and then Devil was being hurled from above me.

About a dozen men were inside our space; Casmiro raised his gun to Devil's head, a second away from shooting.

"Don't you fucking dare!" my voice boomed around the space, gaining confused looks from everyone around me except Devil.

I got to my feet like a madman; my heart was racing so hard in my chest that I felt my whole body vibrate with anger and—and fear. Suddenly I was fifteen years old again, and there was a gun pointed at Elia.

Quickly, I held his wrist, pulling him behind me so I stood right before Casmiro's gun.

Immediately, Casmiro lowered his gun, and so did the other men around him.

"Anyone who touches a hair on his head will not live to see the second after. That's a fucking promise."

My breathing was harsh, and the panic inside me was uncurling. Fifteen-year-old Elio was back in my body, and the image of my father was as clear as day in my head, his gun—Elia's small frame—the tangy smell of blood coming from his dead mother.

Devil roughly shrugged his hand away from my hold and bolted from the office without a second glance our way, and I tried to calm my breathing—I tried to count in my head like I used to do all those years—but I suddenly forgot how to count, I forgot numbers—I forgot everything. My name, where I am, who I am—everything—my brain was completely empty.

"Elio, what the fuck just happened? How can you let him go—"

"Out." My voice was clipped, short, strange, and unfamiliar.

"What—"

"Get the fuck out—everyone, get the fuck out. Now."

The person who had spoken gave an angry muffled complaint before I heard footsteps retreating, followed by the sound of the door closing and then...silence.

I sank to my knees, unable to stand any longer. My hands shook fervently, and my breathing was drawing up short.

I pressed my eyes together, willing myself to remember how to count again—but I couldn't—I felt like a stranger in my own body, and I craved a sense of self-familiarity than I craved air at this moment.

When I opened my eyes, it came in contact with the first familiar thing my brain could register.

I sighed in relief as I dragged my body toward a corner of the office and picked up the triangle-shaped shard of glass.

__

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_______

ZAHRA
_______

"IT'S ALMOST as if they stocked this place up because they knew I would stay here," Dog said, bringing out the wrapped meat from the freezer as Milk helped slice out the vegetables while Upper and I sorted out new intel about Dion Juan Pablo that might aid our mission.

Dog dropped the meat on the table, raising it a little and slapping the bottom of the wrap sexually, and then he met my gaze with a silly wink.

"You're gross," I told him.

"You love it." he grinned, finally letting the meat go and rubbing his palms together as he proceeded to carry on with his cooking.

"He's changed three bodyguards in the last two months," Upper said, adjusting his glasses as he clicked open another file on the laptop's screen.

I proceeded to jot down that information.

Our belongings had been brought to us the day before, not everything, but enough. I missed our studio apartment; things were more familiar there, even though it had been smaller and less spacious.

"I thought the Marino's were business associates with the Pablo's. I'm unclear why the Marino's would want to breach personal intel on them." Upper said.

"A betrayal? We can't put it past these families. There is no such thing as trust amongst them." Milk answered.

"On a scale of one to ten, what are our chances of actually pulling this off?" Dog asked.

"A ten. It's not the hardest job we've ever done." I said.

"But it's the only job where we'd be seen for the first time."

"Elio didn't say we couldn't go with a disguise?" Milk voiced.

"Oooou," Dog bumped Milk's shoulder. "So, he's Elio now, huh."

Milk blinked innocently at him. "What do you mean?"

"You wanna fucking stand here and tell me you didn't see him full-on checking you out? Please."

"It's no surprise. Milk's a man magnet." Upper said, his attention still entirely on his laptop.

Milk scoffed. "The only man who I've ever been attracted to isn't attracted to my whole gender." She pointedly shot a look at Upper, who was already chuckling.

"Apologies, my fair lady, but I like dick." Upper responded, looking up from the laptop, with a double take toward the house's entrance. His brows drew down in a concerned frown, and I followed his gaze to find Devil walking towards us. His stance was firm, features tight, frown hard, and knuckles...a little bruised.

Silence fell upon us as he walked behind, past Upper and me, and then around the kitchen counter to the fridge. Wordlessly. He opened it, grabbed a beer bottle, uncapped it with his teeth, and took a big gulp out of it before his frantic eyes searched the dining table until they zeroed in on the covered plate where his sandwich lay beneath. He uncovered it and picked up his sandwich, shoving it into his mouth as he walked out of the kitchen without acknowledging any of us.

"Something's up." Milk's voice came out in a whisper.

"He looks angry." Dog pointed out.

"Didn't he stay back to talk to Elio? Does anyone know what that was about?" Upper asked, gaze shifting between Milk, Dog, and me.

I shook my head, getting off the stool the moment Upper did. "I'll check," we said simultaneously, and I paused, frowning in confusion at him.

Milk and Dog also stared at him with the same expression.

Upper blinked at us before sitting back down, clearing his throat, and adjusting his glasses. "I was—I was only curious. You know me. Sticking my nose in everybody's bloody business is my forte."

"No, it's not." Milk called him out.

He blinked, unable to mask his fluster. "Well—I'm making it my forte now." he looked around the kitchen before his eyes settled on Milk. "Why...are you...wearing that pink shirt? Why didn't you wear another color? See, that's me being in your business—"

"Just stop, dude." Dog said with a chuckle to make light of the issue.

"I'll go check on him," I said, ignoring Upper and his—weird—weirdness as I made my way to the room he shared with Devil.

The door was wide open, and he was sitting at the edge of his bed, head downcast, with the beer in his hand, settled on a tight grip.

I knocked gently, and he raised his head, haunted eyes locking with mine. "I don't wanna talk."

I sighed. "It's unfair to tell me that when you look like you want to talk, Devil."

He looked away, his gaze settling on the wall as if he was trying to burn a hole through it.

I walked into the room cautiously, sitting beside him.

I wasn't the best at this, I'd never once strived to be the best at talking down any of them or offering my shoulder or words of support, but for the first time in forever, I wanted to be that person who knew just what to say.

I let out a shaky breath. "What happened?"

"Can't talk about it," he answered, an edge to his voice.

I shifted slightly. "Did he...make another bargain? Threaten us? If it's about—"

"It's not about you or STREET. Just forget it; I can't talk about it, Z."

I was confused. What could they have talked about? What could Elio have said to Devil to get him in this mood? Devil was always laid back; his features never outrightly indicated that he was hurt or confused about something. He was either angry or happy, or too focused. This was new...the most guarded I'd ever seen him.

Could it be...

"Wait—did he tell you shit about who you are? Because in that meeting, it seemed like they knew us—like they dug deep into our background and probably knew stuff we don't even know about ourselves. Is that what this is about?"

He closed his eyes, letting out a slow, steady breath, almost like he was trying to calm himself. "No, Zahra."

"Then what the hell happened? Why do you look like you're stopping yourself from punching something?"

"Drop it, Z. I said I didn't want to talk about it." his voice was heavy yet sharp.

I frowned. "You can't expect me to just ignore—"

He turned sharply to me. "You know, just because we fuck from time to time doesn't mean you get to push when I clearly don't want to talk about something."

I backed up at the bite in his voice, ignoring how his words poked the wrong nerve, before speaking again. "I care, Devil; that's why I'm here."

"Then don't fucking care. I didn't ask for it; we don't have that kind of relationship, so what the fuck is this?"

His gaze searched mine, silently pleading for me to stop trying to get through to him, to turn around like I usually do. To pretend that I cared but won't do anything about it because it would complicate things.

"Okay," I said softly, getting to my feet.

His Jaw clenched as he watched me with glassy eyes.

I brushed my hair away from my face. "When you feel better, join us for dinner; we're overlooking some details about Dion. Um...just—feel better because we need your head in the game."

I would have stayed, but—he was right. We didn't share that kind of relationship. Apparently, it ended with, "Are you all right." And "Fine." When it came to us.

When he didn't respond, I moved for the door, but his hand gripped my wrist, stopping me before I could walk past him. I turned to see him drop the beer bottle on the ground before pulling me to his lap, pushing my hair from my face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out like that. I just—"

"I know—"

"No—it's not as if I don't want to talk about it...I do; I really fucking want to tell you everything—to tell someone—it's just—he won't let me. I'm not allowed to; I've never been allowed to."

I was even more confused but knew not to push it, so I just nodded and asked, "Is this thing—bad? Like, does it put you in any sort of danger?"

He shook his head. "No." then he chuckled sadly before releasing a sigh. "I think it's the only reason we are still breathing."

"Is it...personal?"

He squared his jaw before nodding.

"Does it answer why you somehow know every nook and cranny of this whole compound?"

He hesitated before nodding again.

"Did you punch him?" I asked.

"Several times, yes."

I smiled sadly at him, wrapping my good arm around him in a hug. "Good," I whispered, and he held me tighter, and I buried my head in the crook of his neck, breathing him in.

He didn't have to tell me, but it was pretty obvious—either they were very close friends or...they were family.

There was only one way to confirm this, and it made me look forward to when it was dark again.

"This won't...complicate things, would it? between us?" He asked.

I chuckled, raising my head to meet his gaze, my knuckle coming to graze his cheek. "I don't know why we're so scared of that. I mean, I care about you, and you care about me. This crew, we care about each other, and though we have other stuff going on, it shouldn't stop us from showing support when we're down."

He nodded.

I brushed his hair back. "Before we started this, we were trying to be friends, and then when we started, we were best friends." I released a breath. "I know how things like this work, how feelings could get mixed up, how we could ruin our friendship...but I just don't see it happening with us, do you?"

His lips curled in a smile. "No. You're my best friend, Zahra. I don't want to lose this too. Maybe that's why I don't want to blur the line. I need you."

I leaned in to press a kiss on his cheek. "I'm here; I'll always be here for you. I might not know the right thing to say, but I can listen, and I can hold you, and you can cry if that's what you want; I'd never tell anyone."

"But then you'd have something to hold against me."

I laughed, shaking my head. "I have to get you in line one way or another, Devil."

His forehead rested on mine as he closed his eyes, breathed, and swallowed. "You already have me in line."

***

Escaping the soldiers assigned to watch our building was the easy part. The hardest part was climbing up the stairs to the roof, where I had spotted Elio from Upper's illegal access to the Marino security cameras. Because whom the hell in their right mind would build a place as high as this, without an elevator or even a fucking stair railing for people who have fucking anxiety!

The moment I passed through the roof door, I let out a breath of relief, willing my heart to return to its normal rhythm as my eyes traveled the space between where I stood and where Elio leaned against the bricked railing of the roof, his back to me.

He was dressed in all black, with what looked like a thick black sweatshirt with black pants.

The door to the rooftop closed behind me with a loud bang, but he didn't flinch, nor did he turn to me.

I could be holding a gun now; I could literally shoot him right in the head...I could kill the boss of the Marino empire, and I would get away with it.

He was unguarded, entirely open for any attack at any angle.

But I didn't come here to kill him. That was for later. I only wanted to confirm my suspicions.

The air was cold up here, and I let a shiver run through me as I walked to stand two feet away beside him.

He still didn't turn to me, so I took that opportunity to study his demeanor. I watched as he blew thick white smoke from the cigar between his fingers out of his mouth, the white streak flying away with the wind, thinning as it danced into the dark depth of the night.

"Some would say it's foolish for a man like you to leave himself vulnerable." I broke the silence as I let my eyes roam over his face. He had a cut on his chin; a bruise was underneath his eye and the corner of his mouth.

Slightly, ever so slightly, without so much as moving his head, he turned his gaze to me; his eyes were—squinty, hooded, exposed. I knew I wasn't tall, but how he looked at me made me feel like a grain of rice atop his shoe. His head was held high, but his eyes—peering down at me from the side, scanning me from toe to head, I couldn't help but take another step away instinctively.

He looked away, shaking his head as if he didn't have the physical or emotional capacity to entertain my presence.

There was something tense about the vibe he gave off; it made me want to leave him alone to continue his brooding, but when have I ever left shit alone?

My eyes noted Elio's dark hair, the same shade as Devil's, his full brows, the same curve as Devil's, and that nose, straight and perfect, maybe a little more perfect than Devil's. There was a distinct resemblance, one I hadn't noticed before because I had no reason to try to find a resemblance.

But it was apparent; they were family—brothers maybe...half-brothers because Devil's eyes were a dark brown while Elio's were a smoky dark grey that held an intensity capable of drawing you into their depth.

He loudly cleared his throat, startling me.

"Your staring makes me very uncomfortable, and I am two seconds away from throwing you off this roof." He turned to me now, resting an elbow on the bricked railing, his brows drawn down in confusion. "How the fuck did you even get up here?"

"The same way I stole from men like you without being caught."

His eyes scanned me again; the look in them was heavy, making it difficult for me to decipher what really was going through his head.

"You abandoned him, didn't you?" I blurted out, hoping to get a reaction out of him. His stare was blank.

"He told you."

"I figured it out. It was either an estranged friendship, exes with bad blood, or sibling abandonment. And seeing the distinct resemblance between you two, it wasn't hard to guess."

His face remained blank, eyes raising an inch to my hair and then back to my eyes. He brought the cigar to his lips again, taking a long drag, which he never let out, but as he spoke, I could see whiffs of smoke escaping his mouth. "Meddling in my private affairs will only get you killed faster than I initially plan to. I'd suggest you forget everything you think you know and focus on why you're here."

"You hurt him; it's not something I can forget; he's my best friend and family—"

"You fuck your family?"

"And you abandon yours?" I shot back, unblinking.

It was only a step, just one step, and he was towering over me, eyes hard. "I didn't abandon him; I was protecting him."

"There's a fat line between abandoning someone and protecting them. I don't know why you wanted to protect him, but you could have done that and still kept in touch; maybe then you both would welcome each other with a hug rather than a punch."

Something flashed in his eyes, and he backed up a step, shaking his head as he turned again, his elbows resting on the brick railing as he brought the cigar stick to his lips again.

It might be the wind, or maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me, but there was a slight tremor in his hands as he pointedly looked ahead into the distance.

He took another drag after hesitating for about five seconds.

"Can I?" I motioned to the cigar, and his gaze fell on me again before shifting to the cigar and then back to me.

He shook his head. "No. It is bad for you."

"Says the guy storing it inside his lungs instead of letting it out. It's bad for you too."

He looked away from me again before muttering. "That's the point."

I frowned, wondering what the hell he meant by that.

He wordlessly dropped the cigar beside him, not putting it out as he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them back, his jaw clenching and unclenching. "How is he? Still angry?" the concern in his voice told me it wouldn't be wise to taunt him.

I didn't know Elio; I only knew of him. The whiplash I was getting from his behavior now was pretty concerning. The man I'd heard of wasn't capable of feeling; the man I feared wouldn't look so confused and—dare I say—lost.

This has been a weird day—hell, this has been a weird week.

"I wouldn't say angry," I said, placing my good elbow on the brick railing too. "More like—sad. Hurt. Confused."

Elio nodded but kept quiet.

He clasped his hands together like he was in deep thought.

I stood there, wondering what the hell this was and why he hadn't attempted to throw me off the roof or even told me to leave him alone. But then again, I wouldn't because no matter how badly I wanted to stab him with a knife for shooting me, he looked even more disturbed than Devil.

And well—though it might be a terrible thought, he was vulnerable, and to break a man like Elio Marino, his weak spot was something I needed to know.

I smiled to myself.

Devil.

__

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_______

ELIO
_______

I HAD been living in an illusion and should have known better. I was nothing like my father. My wrongdoings weren't automatically erased by the power I had. My mistakes weren't overlooked because of my last name. I couldn't get away with my carelessness because others around me were willing to point it out.

I couldn't say I didn't care about the truth—maybe I thought I didn't care, perhaps no one had been brave enough to face me and call me out on my ignorance. But no matter how hard I wanted to pretend or be as terrible as my father had been, I couldn't erase my conscience or the truth.

I'd abandoned him. I didn't think about how my actions would have affected him. I was just too blinded by revenge; I was too gone in this grand finale—I'd hoped he wouldn't care. Perhaps he would find his own life and wouldn't even shed a tear when everything was said and done.

But I was wrong. He cared. He fucking cared, and it was a big problem.

Elia wasn't supposed to love me or hate me. How the fuck do I get the guarantee that I could proceed with my plans without hurting the person I'd spent almost all my life protecting.

The Little one shifted beside me, and I remembered I wasn't alone. I remembered she had been the one to call me out on my ignorance.

It irritated me, but she was always right. Her adequateness was probably why I didn't bother to shield or deny anything because the look in those dark, stubborn eyes told me there was no point.

I'd have to kill her for it, her and anyone she'd unfortunately tell.

"It wasn't my intention," I said into the silence between us. "All I wanted was to protect him from all of this. But then he met you and started to steal. And now he's here."

"Devil was the way he was before he met me. Hell, he was worse. STREET tamed him, tamed his anger, and you should be grateful for that."

I allowed my gaze to settle on her again; her hair was blowing all over her face due to the light wind—so unkempt—but I couldn't look away. My fingers itched to fix it. Clean it. Clean her.

"Do you have a hairband?" I asked before I could hold my tongue.

She raised a brow, clearly caught off guard by my question. "What?"

"A hair—hold on." I stood upright, digging my hand into my pants pocket, pulling out my packet of cigars, and removing the black band I'd wrapped around it.

The small band had been around a small book whose hardcover had been pulling off. I unconsciously wrapped the band around my cigar packet when I'd glued it back. "Come here," I said, covering the band around my fingers and moving them in a gesture for her to step forward, ready to solve her mess.

"Why the—" she started to protest but cut off when I walked towards her instead. I made sure I was too close for comfort.

She looked up at me with wide big brownish eyes, her lashes scattered about without care, her nose and cheeks dusted with light freckles that suited her skin tone. She had the face of a little girl. Innocent and sharp at the same time.

I ignored the heat between our bodies as I began to smooth her hair away from her face; I tucked both sides behind her ears. Slowly, her brows eased from the frown of confusion they'd been in.

I slightly tilted my head to the side as my fingers disappeared into her hair.

I was wrong.

Earlier at that meeting, I thought her hair was unhealthy, light—but fuck me—it had a fullness that had me bury my fingers further.

It was soft, wavy, and—surprisingly, smelt divine, like—vanilla or amber; I couldn't decipher it.

"What are you doing?" her voice was coated in shock and uncertainty.

"Caring for your hair," my gaze fell to hers briefly before drawing back to her hair, "since you're too lazy to do it yourself."

I pulled her hair up in one swoop, curling the band to keep it in place.

"It is important to care for your hair. To care for it like it's a child; because, like children, your hair is clueless on how to take care of itself." I said, successfully tying her hair in a small ponytail, as far high as the short length could go, and then I stepped back, accessing my work and nodding. "Good."

She blinked at me, giving me a very familiar look. One I usually received from people after saying or doing something that didn't fit their assumptions of me.

I returned to leaning on the railing, watching her swallow as she shook her head.

"You're...very...weird."

I shrugged. "I know. In order to avoid situations like this in the future, ensure you're well-arranged before you talk to me. I can't control the urge to fix things. And I do not care if I offend you by my actions."

"Pinchazo pretencioso," she muttered under her breath. Pretentious prick

I blinked in clear surprise, "¿Tú hablas español?" hiding the excitement in my voice was impossible. You speak Spanish?

She shot me a sweet but taunting smile. "Sí. ¿por qué?" yes, why?

I raised my brows, nodding because I was genuinely impressed; her Spanish was clean, smooth, and accented. "Where did you learn?" I asked in Spanish.

"None of your business." She responded in Spanish too.

The look that flashed through her eyes told me it was none of my business because she was probably ashamed of how she had learned. I would have pressed some more if I cared, but I didn't, so I dropped it.

I couldn't deal with English right now, so I pushed the conversation to Spanish.

"What kind of relationship do you share with Devil?" I asked.

She eyed me carefully, probably wondering why I continued the conversation instead of having her locked away for interrupting my peace. She was right to wonder because I was wondering the same thing. I didn't like her or the vibes she gave off. she was the opposite of a person I'd want to spend my time with. Nothing was captivating about her or her presence, she could offer me nothing, yet she was still here.

"He's my best friend, a partner in crime, and a gang member."

I frowned. "That cannot be right. You two have—you have another relationship."

She raised a brow. "What makes you think that?"

"I might be sick in the head, but I'm not blind. Aside from the thieving addiction you both share with the other members of your gang, I know you and Devil are something more."

"So, what if we are? What's it to you?" there was a defensive tone to her voice as she pinned me with a hard glare.

I couldn't stop my eyes from taking her in from head to toe and back to her head. "He's my blood. It concerns me the kind of woman he chooses to get intimate with."

She scoffed, letting out a humorless laugh. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

I paused, trying to find what was wrong with her physically; when I couldn't find anything, I shook my head and said. "Everything is wrong with you. You're a bad influence on him. You and the others."

Her glare hardened, and she took two steps towards me, the wind blowing the seductive smell of her hair to my face as she somehow managed an intimidating stance. "Talk shit about me all you want, but leave the others out."

"The others are also to blame for who my brother is today."

Her lips curved into a small snare. "Maybe you need to grow up and realize that Devil is not a kid but an adult who can very well choose the kind of people he wants to fuck with."

I shoved both my hands into my pocket, standing at my full height and basking in how she remained firm before me, almost like she could take me if challenged to.

Looking around the vast expanse, I took a step closer to her, and she took one back. I sniffed slightly, my head turning back to her as I leaned down, my gaze meeting hers square on. Her warm breath fanned my face as I spoke. "Or...I could kill you," I switched back to English, "and the others, and then make Devil do whatever the fuck I want. Because I fucking can, and because it would give me nothing but joy to see him far away from you, criminals."

She watched me in confusion for a few seconds before she laughed. She fucking laughed at my face, and I leaned away from her.

"Not only are you fucking weird, but you're also funny."

"You think that was me trying to be funny."

"Yes. You call us criminals? Have you met yourself? What we do is steal to fucking survive. But you, you kill people for power, betray family for status, you don't give two shits about how your actions affect the lives of people around you. People call you the wicked; for fuck sake, you hurt innocent people just because they're related to those who offend you. You think that's not criminal?"

I allowed her words sink in, and I took another step back. "What I do is not criminal. It's worse. I should die for it. I will die for it eventually. But Devil is the sweetest fucking kid I've ever known...this life, this world that I live in, he doesn't deserve to live it. I have done...things just to make sure he doesn't get to live it, to give him what I never had. To give him peace, happiness, love, and fucking normalcy."

She shook her head, her eyes searching mine, silently asking why I couldn't see the actual problem between Devil and me.

"Haven't you ever considered that he doesn't want that? Why are you projecting your idea of a normal happy life onto him? He's not you, Elio. He's Devil; he's his own person."

"You do not understand," I said. "I lived this life, I'm currently living it, and I don't want him to experience what I have. Hell, I don't give a shit about you, and I still think there are better ways you can survive. You're young; you could find decent work, go to school, live a life where you don't have to watch your shoulders every damn second."

Indignation brought her brows down to a frown. "You think I don't want that? The same way you got into this business without a fucking choice is the same way I found STREET. You don't know what it's like out there, the fucking horrors I've been through." Her voice shook. "Forgive me if I can't stomach the thought of being around normal people who would judge me because of my mental and physical scars."

Annoyed, I massaged my head. "You're missing the point, Sport."

"No, Dad, I'm not."

I cringed, irritation crawling up my spine. "What the—"

"Just because your father put a gun in your hand when you were just a little boy doesn't mean you try to push your opinion into someone else's life."

I kept quiet.

"If you want to build a relationship with your brother, try not to be controlling and be more accepting. If you're clueless on how to start with that, maybe begin by actually telling people that you're both related because if you don't know, that shit hurts him more than you abandoning him."

She turned to leave, taking a few steps away from me before pausing and walking back to me, this time with venom in her eyes and a firmness to her steps that had me backing up. "And don't you ever, in your fucking life, call me Sport, or any other fucking derogatory nicknames, because I'll be backing that shit up with daddy jokes that'll make you feel like ants are crawling up your fucking ass. Don't test me." Then she was off; I watched her disappear out the roof door, the silence encasing me again.

I blinked.

The shock had my mouth dry, with my gaze still trained on the door she had disappeared through.

I shook my head before looking away from the door and reaching for my cigar pack. I got one stick out and shoved it between my lips—pausing shortly after to look at the roof door again.

I scoffed in amusement, shaking my head yet again. 

__

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_______

ZAHRA
_______

THEY REMOVED the sling two weeks later and wrapped my shoulder with a small bandage. The pain had subsided a little, and the wound was healing but showed signs of scarring. This was one of the times I thanked my body for its fast-healing ability.

On my back laid so many scars I'd talked my head into forgetting.

It was better to shove that part of my life to the darkest corners of my mind until I genuinely couldn't remember how exactly I got them.

The first time Devil saw them, he asked me what had happened, and I told him I couldn't remember. To his better knowledge, half of my past had been wiped from my memory because of how traumatic they were.

I didn't get nightmares anymore; my nights were always dreamless, and I was grateful for that. It only solidified my answers to where I got my scars.

I didn't remember.

I did.

But I didn't. I can't remember it and can't afford to trigger it.

The bullet wound would most definitely scar, and I was pissed because I'd have to get even. No one puts a scar on me and lives to tell the fucking story about it.

Every single scar on my back had been paid for.

In blood.

First, I had to make sure Elio meant nothing to Devil. But I doubted it. Our conversation two weeks ago was proof that he cared about the bastard, and somehow, the bastard happened to care about Devil too.

I couldn't afford to ruin my friendship with Devil, so with this, I would have to tread carefully and approach him gently because he was the only leverage I had against Elio.

They were all in the living room. Pizza boxes opened on the table while they strategized. I had changed into one of Devil's shirts and a short. My hair was still slightly wet and unbrushed as I settled on one of the single couches.

Milk was sprawled on the ground, reading a magazine about disguise stories; weird, but okay. Dog was also on the floor, checking all the equipment Angelo had provided upon his requests. Upper was on his laptop, his brows furrowed in concentration, and Devil was on his phone beside him, probably mastering the layout of Club Eden.

"Wow, who would have thought there would come a day when we'd be all so serious about a mission?" I mused, stretching to get a slice of pizza, taking a bite from it, and moaning at the taste.

"Wrong, Upper's on porn hub." Dog said without looking up.

"Rot in the burning furnace of hell, Dog," Upper responded while Devil took a small peek at Upper's screen before returning his attention to his phone. "I'm checking if my eyes inside Club Eden are still intact, It's past one hour, and I'm still not getting life feeds."

"You think there was a mistake with the wiring?" I asked.

Upper glanced at me with a glare. "I never make mistakes." His concentration went back to the screen again.

"Maybe you should take a break. You've been glaring at the screen for five hours now." Devil suggested, his eyes still on his phone.

"I don't remember asking for your opinion." Upper didn't lift his head.

"I don't remember giving a fuck about you not asking for it," Devil responded.

"Maybe mind your bloody business."

"Maybe don't be a fucking dick."

Silence.

The pizza was paused midway to my mouth; Dog and Milk's attention trained slowly on Upper and Devil, who were still focused on the task they seemed too focused on.

Dog looked at me and mouthed. "What the fuck?"

"I don't know." I mouthed back.

Milk sighed loudly. "I think we all need a break. We've been too focused on planning because this is our first job after the last one, which landed us here. We're on edge."

"No shit," Dog said, stopping his task and stretching his muscles.

Devil scooted away from Upper, "You guys know we can leave, right? Like we could literally slip out, and no one would notice. The security around us is weak. We can take them. We still have some money saved up, it might not take us around the world, but it's enough to get us new identities and tickets out of Italy."

I sat up. "If we leave, then we say goodbye to this opportunity."

Dog frowned. "What fucking opportunity? Devil's right; we don't have to go through with this shit."

"Yeah, we don't, but our options for leaving should be reserved until we're actually in danger and we have no choice but to take flight." 

"So, you want to what? Steal from Marino?" Upper asked, his attention finally leaving the laptop.

"Yes. We take back what they took from us. We stole that money. It's ours, and we won't leave without it. Listen, guys, we can turn this around."

"Babe, I understand you," Milk said, weary in her eyes, "But there's a limit to how brave I can be. I know when to raise my flag in defeat."

"Oh, we're far from being defeated, Milk. We have so much more leverage than you think."

"What are you talking about?" Devil asked, the frown back to his face.

"Elio Marino isn't as untouchable as he paints himself out to be. There's got to be a weak link somewhere. His first mistake was keeping us alive."

"That sounds like a fucking blessing to me." Dog countered.

"I didn't mean it like that. What I meant is that He kept us alive because he needs us. That means, as much as he wants to put a bullet through our heads, he has to wait until we are useless to him."

Devil eyed me suspiciously.

I knew I sounded so assured as if I knew something they didn't.

Devil's connection to Elio, and our connection to Devil, was the only thing keeping us alive.

We were Devil's family, and if Elio touched any of us, he'd lose the only family he had left. We're pretty much set to wreak havoc as long as Devil was by our side.

"Everyone and everything is replaceable to Marino; don't be fooled," Devil said.

"I doubt that," I said, my eyes searching his. "Look at us; we're treated like guests instead of prisoners. I mean, we're eating fucking pizza. We have access to our phones and the internet. What hostage eats pizza and accesses the internet? That should tell you something."

"Yeah, or maybe he's got a fucking pet crocodile, and he's treating us good because his crocodile loves fresh, well-fed happy meat. And by meat, I mean us." Dog said.

Milk lightly slapped his arm. "This is not a movie. Who has a crocodile for a pet?"

Devil chuckled. "You'd be surprised."

"All right, fine," Upper dropped the laptop in the space between him and Devil. "Say we decide not to make a run for it; how do you suppose we get our money back?"

I curved my lips into a languid side smile.

***

The loud music from Elio's casino was the relief my whole body needed, and from the look on the faces of my beloveds, it was exactly what they needed too.

"This better be a good idea," Devil muttered beside me.

"Do you smell that?" I asked him, and he frowned, sniffing the air.

"Weed?"

"No. It's the smell of a great idea."

"Nah," Dog said. "I just smell another bullet coming; this time, I don't think he'll miss."

"Don't be such a drama king." Milk said. "I think we should all get very drunk and steal some money."

"No stealing," Upper chided her, but in his eyes, swarm mischief. "We're gonna cheat ourselves some dollars. These fuckers won't know what hit them."

I grinned, feeling the rise of excitement in my stomach. "This, guys...is our zone. Let's make as much money as we can. And maybe we might be lucky enough for it to end in a huge casino fight."

Dog threw his arm around my shoulder, careful not to hurt my wound. "I'm a zombie slut for that genius brain of yours."

"Hm, talk dirty to me." I leaned into him as we began walking amongst the crowd who didn't pay heed to us. Not yet. Soon they'd notice.

"You guys are gonna get me killed one day," Devil said.

"At least you'd die knowing you bagged a lot of money from the people who are meant to be untouchable." Milk responded.

"How long do you think they'd realize the soldiers assigned to watch us are no longer watching us," Dog asked.

"An hour or two before they realize the loop," Upper said. "Should supply us enough time to cause some trouble."

"That is if we don't get reported to the boss himself, seeing as we are simply walking into his turf like his guests. Awesome." Devil said.

"Live a little," Upper muttered.

We stopped in the middle of the casino and club or whatever they called this sin bin, and Dog distributed some cash he'd stolen from the wallets of every soldier we'd encountered before reaching the casino. "The goal. Use these to win big."

"I'll hit the tables," Upper said, going in the east direction.

"I call Roulette my specialty." Milk said, already heading in that direction

"I'll be at the poker tables," Devil said without much enthusiasm.

Dog and I looked at each other. "Blackjack?"

I smiled and nodded. "Blackjack."

***

An hour later, we had more than fifty eyes on us. We were winning, we were loud, and we were drunk as fuck.

The exhilarating feeling of winning and getting so many people angry never gets old.

We had bagged so much money and almost caused a massive fight in the casino, but it was settled no thanks to Devil, who was drunk but still the soberest one.

I still had a sense of my surrounding and could still walk on my own two feet, but I felt very light, it seemed as though so many knots had loosened in my body, and for the first time in weeks, I felt...free.

Devil had captured my attention about thirty minutes ago. We had been noticed. And there was a lot of secret whispering amongst some of the soldiers, and I was sure someone had gone to inform the bosses of the chaos we were creating.

I started to doubt myself when nothing was done about it and when nobody came down to collect us.

Two hours flew by, and we were still winning; Milk was already worn out, and we could already sense that it was our cue to leave.

It still bugged me that no one came to collect us or question our winning tactics. It was almost as if they didn't care because, at the end of the day, they'd take the money away from us.

"We should go," Dog said, Milk appearing by his side as Upper joined Devil and me.

"Yeah, we did good." I praised

"We might do even better tomorrow." Milk said.

Upper held the bags of money we had collectively won for the night.

Devil looked around. "I think it's pretty weird—"

Silence slowly stretched through the expanse of the club, cutting Devil off.

People's attention automatically shifted to the roller-coaster stairs. Devil was the first to look there.

"Shit," he muttered. "He came down himself."

I turned to find Elio leisurely descending the stairs, his all-black outfit in place. Angelo and Casmiro came behind him, with Casmiro holding a black briefcase in hand.

My back straightened as they walked directly toward us. I was nearly sober just by the sight of him.

The intensity of his presence doused the room of whatever fire that had got people going before. Some faces around us paled as he stopped before the guys and me.

The DJ had even lowered the volume of the music.

I could sense fear in the air, but I knew none of it was coming from me. Maybe it was the alcohol or the fact that I had pictured a thousand ways I could deal with him, but I found myself looking him in the eye.

The strong pull of challenge in those dark grey eyes seemed to look even deeper tonight.

"Fine evening...STREET. My people tell me you have made big wins tonight." Elio spoke first, his face expressionless while his voice faked wonder.

"It's a really lucky night," I answered.

"Isn't that just fabulous." He stated. "I am pleased to see that you are all enjoying your freedom in my compound. It must feel like a vacation for you,"

"You have no idea," I responded.

Devil stepped forward. "We don't want any trouble; we just wanted a break from—"

"It's okay." I cut him off. "He knows we don't want trouble; he's only commending us for how lucky we were tonight, right?" I threw the question at Elio, and his left brow twitched, but he nodded.

"Indeed. It's truly outstanding, this thing called luck."

I laughed in mock wonder, like this was a casual conversation we had all the time. "I know, right?"

Elio's brows shot up in agreement. "Yes, in fact, I was so inspired by this luck of yours that I decided, why not come down to see if I can interest you in a small game of chess, nothing serious."

I watched him as I locked my jaw, his grey eyes shining in a challenge. I wanted to quench that shine so bad my whole body itched for it.

We didn't break eye contact for about a minute, and I knew he dared me to say no. He wanted to teach me a lesson.

I knew that look so fucking well.

Tilting my head a bit to the side, I asked. "What's the catch?"

He signaled with his hand to Casmiro, who stepped forward with a frown of disinterest as he opened the briefcase. I almost doubled over at the sight of the clean stacked bundle of dollar notes, arranged perfectly in a mouthwatering way.

Fucking greed.

Elio straightened, "We play five rounds. Three of five winner takes your earnings for the night and the briefcase."

It took a lot of willpower to drag my eyes from the money back to his.

It was risky; we could lose all we earned tonight if I agreed.

"And if I don't agree?"

His jaw clenched, and he took a step closer to me, burying both hands into his pockets as he gave me that degrading look again, where it seemed like I was only a speck of dust on his shoe.

"Allow me to reiterate, Sport. You do not have a choice in this proposal."

"Fuck." Dog cursed under his breath.

I stepped closer to Elio, looking up at him with determination.

"If that's the case, allow me to add a new catch."

"What would that be?"

"A chance to renegotiate the terms of me and my people's service to you."

He thought about it for only a few seconds before nodding. "Okay. I would also like to add a catch."

"I'm listening."

"I get to tie you up, shoot your good shoulder and knee caps, and then throw you off that roof. In simpler words, I kill you."

I didn't flinch.

Devil shook his head. "Zahra don't—"

"Deal."

Elio's eyes searched mine, and I briefly saw surprise in them before it was masked with indifference.

He exited my personal space, and I let my breathing flow freely.

Straightening his suit, Elio outstretched his hand in the direction behind me. "Let's play, Sport."

__

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_______

ELIO
_______

THE SILENCE around us was deafening.

It was a complete contradistinction to how my mind had been for the past two weeks.

Beyond ridiculous was the perfect definition to give to my actions. The chess, the bargain.

It was out of character, and if the glare Casmiro was giving me served any indication, it was that I was slowly losing it, and it was showing.

I don't do this.

I don't stoop to such levels to grant myself an opportunity to kill someone.

Never once have I sat amid so many people trying to prove to myself and this amateur that she couldn't intimidate or undermine me.

Her little warning at the rooftop had started taking effect the following day. I realized there was anger inside me over the fact that she had successfully gotten the last word.

It was a petty feeling.

It was immature.

It shouldn't matter. Nothing except my end goal should matter.

Maybe that was the reason I was pissed. She sneaked right underneath my skin. She compelled a wave of unnecessary anger from me, and the distaste of that feeling was far from appreciated.

And she had no right to mess with my focus the way she did. The little stunt she pulled with my brother and the rest of these street people; stealing from me, cheating in my casino, gambling with thievery. It was egregious.

I was irritated by it. They had no shame. No fear for their lives.

Did she tell them? Do they know they're alive because my brother cared for them? Do they think him a fucking leverage over me?

Were they using him to get to me?

The whole build-up had led to this very moment, with her sitting across from me, the chess board between us, Casmiro and Angelo by my side, while her gang members stood by hers.

They didn't like this.

It was evident in how they eyed my opponent, the Chessboard, and me.

An aura of uncertainty lingered in the air around us, and studying the look on her face, they would most likely lose every penny they had stolen tonight.

Her stubborn eyes lifted from the chess board, and our gazes locked. She didn't look away, and neither did I.

It was fucking unnerving how she portrayed the stance of being in control. Jaw set, eyes hard and calculating. It made me curious to know how she had groomed herself into doing it.

I had gone out of my way, trying to look into her background...to fish out information about her life after the move to Italy, but there was none. I understood she had been sold, which meant narrowing the search toward sex traffickers and the private institution for child trafficking. But no one had heard of this girl. Her name was in the system. Zahra Faizan. Her place of birth. Her face. Her Mother's name and background. Father unknown. It wasn't suspicious because her mother had been a womb donor, and her last name was chosen.

She was a discombobulating mystery.

I do not like mysteries.

She looked away first, her focus settling on the board as we began.

All eyes watched us.

And I watched her.

Her long fingers hovered on the board, and her confidence dwindled. A few seconds into it, her face finally hinted at what and how she was feeling. Her brows were drawn down in a frown, almost as if she was unsure of the first move to make. When she made it...

I relaxed.

She was an idiot.

I found her eyes on me when I looked up.

In Spanish, I spoke while making my move. "If you didn't know how to play, why did you agree to my terms?"

"I have never been known to back down from a challenge." She responded in Spanish before looking down and making another dumb move.

I shook my head, already mapping out my first win with my next move. "How did you survive this far with such low thinking capacity?"

Move after move; she was losing.

A smile curved at the side of her lips. "I have been told countless times how amazing I am. I think that quality serves as the charm of my essence."

"I'm afraid I don't see it." I responded, switching to English as I made my next move and said, "Checkmate."

She sucked in a breath, sitting up as she watched the board.

Dog leaned into Zahra's side. "You should fucking quit this."

She was quiet, studying the board before answering him without looking away, "Didn't you hear? I have no choice. Not only is our money on the line, but my life is too."

We started the second round, and it was the same thing. She made lousy moves, throwing herself off. I would have suggested she did it all on purpose if I didn't know better.

"At least make an effort to pretend like you know what you're doing," I said back to Spanish.

Her brows came down in a frown. "Stop talking." She responded in the dialect without looking up.

She made her move, opening the ground floor for me to win the second round.

"You realize if you lose this, you're dying, right?"

Her fist clenched and unclenched. "You made that very clear."

I should have known she was all talk. There was no challenge here.

After three more moves, I called Checkmate, and the look on her face was the definition of unsettled.

"Let me take her place," Devil said, already seeing that the odds weren't in her favor. "Same terms."

I would have laughed if it wasn't physically tasking.

"No."

"It's clearly a rip-off; she doesn't know how to play the game—"

I shot him a glare. "Not another word from you. Stay out of this."

"This is fucking—"

"It's okay," She cut in. "I can handle this."

Upper shook his head slowly, "You're losing, love. Embarrassingly."

She looked back at the board as I arranged it. "We still have three winning rounds. There's still hope. I love my kneecaps too much to risk them." She said, her smile taunting.

I was irritated by the unseriousness in her voice. The fucking control.

We started the next round. Her first move was a fucking foul; I almost felt sorry for her.

This would mark the most terrible chess opponent I'd ever had. Her confidence should be giving her a good dose of embarrassment now. I wasn't in her shoes, but I knew I would have called it quit at this point, with all the eyes watching us.

But she kept going, and I kept killing her off, one by one. With my eyes closed, I could take a hundred to none wins from her.

I shook my head when she made a move that elicited groans from the people behind her.

As we made a move after move, I knew there was no way she was winning this.

She was an insult to the game of—

"Checkmate."

My thoughts seized, and I stopped short, allowing my mind to replay her move as my eyes studied the board.

When I caught my mistake, my jaw clenched.

Angelo whistled.

"Donde esta tu mente?" Where's your mind? She asked me, her voice leveled.

When I raised my head, I caught her gaze, shimmering with a smugness that pulled out a glare from me.

Her smile widened.

I sat up. "Next round."

I reset the board again, and we started.

Her demeanor changed completely, making my ability to read her next move non-existent.

The tension around us escalated by the second, and. Move after move, my anger flared. I became utterly uneasy, releasing the hold of my tie around my neck.

"You are too open." She said in Spanish, her voice concentrated.

My gaze shifted across the board, and I thought hard before making my next move. She couldn't see her win. It was covered. Only a professional would spot it.

If she made the wrong move now, I would win the round without me having to move anything.

Her brows fell in a frown, taking the bait. She let a breath fall through, and then she made her move.

My eyes snapped up the moment she raised her eyes from the board.

She smiled before saying, "Checkmate."

"Fucking diabolical," Upper said, releasing a breath he seemed to have been holding.

She relaxed back. "This is fun?" a grin split across her lips, and Devil scoffed in amusement. "I'm having so much fun," she continued, ignoring the look on my face. "Last round, Dad?"

-

After the last round, I shot to my feet as Casmiro handed the briefcase to the hollering demons.

She won.

Not for one second did her eyes leave mine.

I cleared my throat. "Come with me; let's see about that renegotiating you discussed."

She stood up, dusting whatever the hell she was wearing. "Gladly."

"I'll come with," Devil said.

"No." I pinned him with a stern look. "She'll come alone."

Devil frowned, a warning in his eyes that had me grunting another addition to my statement.

"She'll return alive," I said with a twinge of disinterest, but when he didn't budge, I almost groaned when I added. "Unharmed."

His features relaxed as he looked at the girl, who didn't seem fazed by our exchange. The others were too busy salivating over the content in the briefcase to notice anything.

"It's fine," she told him. "I can take care of myself."

"You're sure?" he asked her, undeniable concern shining in his eyes. "I can take care of it if you—"

"I'm sure, Devil. I can handle him."

"And I can still hear you," I said.

She shot a sweet smile my way, her lips pouting a little. "I know, Dad."

My insides curled, and I looked away when I realized I wasn't looking but staring. "Angelo, escort her up," I said, walking away with Casmiro.

"Why the fuck did she call you...Dad?"

I suppressed a sigh, craving the damaging comfort of my cigar. "Because I called her Sport...twice."

__

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I'm suffering from a concussion after a home accident last night. While editing this, I felt very confused, and the massive headache wasn't helping. I hope this update doesn't come out weird. I'll probably retouch it when my head feels much better.

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Enjoy the update ;)

_______

ZAHRA
_______

HE WAS alone when Angelo opened the door to the room we'd discussed Dion Juan Pablo. It was the same as the first time I was here; way too clean with everything in place.

When the door closed behind me without so much of a good luck from Angelo, I turned my attention to Elio, who was placing down what looked like an expensive bottle of red wine along sides two wine glasses.

He brought out a small white cloth, cleaning the glass with extra care.

I noticed he had discarded his suit and tie, and his black shirt was rolled up to his elbows, revealing the tattoos on his left hand again, but unlike the first time, there was a small bandage wrapped around the inner part of his forearm. He'd probably sustained an injury between the meeting day and now.

Whatever caused it, I hoped it hurt like a bitch.

He glanced toward me the moment I started making my way to him.

"Don't touch anything; just come forward." He said, then looked away, still carefully cleaning the glasses.

"What's with the audio description," I asked, standing opposite him, with the mini bar counter separating us. "I was already coming without touching anything."

Either he didn't understand my statement's double meaning, or he decided to ignore me, but his face showed no hint of discomfort.

"No one can tell with people like you," He said, face void of emotion. "You think they're going to go one direction, and they end up going the other."

I eyed him, noting how he didn't look up to meet my eyes. He was entirely focused on the very unnecessary cleaning he was doing.

Taking a sit on one of the bar stools, I watched him.

His eyelashes weren't all that full, but they were thick, very arranged, and pretty long for a man who was supposed to be wicked.

My gaze flicked to his lips; it had that rich, attractive fullness that had my stare lingering for a little too long. His face was—perfect, completely scarless—asides from the fading cut he had sustained with Devil's beating weeks ago. My gaze ran down to his neck, spotting a glimpse of the tattoo there. I wanted to know—

"You're staring again," he said without looking up.

I placed my hand underneath my chin, still looking at him. "You're a hot guy with a pretty face. I can't help myself."

His attention snapped from the glass to me, dark grey eyes showing apparent surprise. I batted my lashes, giving him a sweet smile. He looked away again, dropping the glass, clearing his throat, and picking up the second glass.

"Do you get off from annoying people around you?" He asked.

"No, but I could totally get off on that face of yours."

His cleaning seized, and our eyes locked again.

"Stop." He warned, lips curling in what looked like discomfort.

Perfect.

I got more comfortable on the stool. "You've been cleaning the glass for minutes now. Do you have OCD?"

He looked down at the glass again, cleaning delicately, while his rings clinked on the frame from time to time.

"No."

"Then pour the fucking wine, and let's talk business."

He steadied both glasses in one hand while he used the other to wipe the counter slowly and delicately before dropping both glasses on it, then neatly folded the cloth and tucked it away like he would have hurt it if he hadn't folded it.

Fucking weirdo.

He poured wine into both glasses, shifting one toward me.

Reaching behind him, he pulled out a gun, and my eyes followed as he carefully placed it on the counter before grabbing his drink and twirling it softly as he walked around the counter to stand right next to me, with a three-feet distance between us.

He leveled me with his stern gaze, which quickly flickered to my messy hair and my face again. "I'll consider renegotiating your case only when I know whom I'm negotiating with."

He had looked me up. Didn't find anything of use. It was probably why he wanted to know what everyone else didn't.

"That wasn't our deal."

He took a sip from his glass. "Did we make one? I don't remember signing any document or agreeing to anything legally with you; I think you must be confused; you did have a lot to drink tonight."

I took a step closer to him. "You fucking bastard, I should have known your word meant nothing."

"I never said it did."

"Then what am I fucking doing here?" I hissed, turning to leave, but he grabbed my wrist, pulling me back. I tried to wrench my hand free, but his grip was firm.

"I didn't dismiss you."

I shot him a glare which soon turned into that sweet smile that made him uncomfortable. "Oh, sorry, Principal Marino, I didn't know I had to ask for your permission before getting the fuck out of your face."

He let me go instantly.

"I told you I would reconsider your case." He said.

"Yeah, I heard that part, but it came with a little clause I don't think I want to fulfill."

"So, you'd rather subject yourself and your friends to me for the rest of your lives than tell me who you are?"

"You already know who I am. I'm Zahra, a very expensive thief who fucks your brother; what else do you wanna know?"

He dropped the glass on the counter and shoved one hand into his pants pocket; the other rested on the counter as he drummed with his fingers. "What happened after you got sold."

I flinched at the word 'sold,' He noticed it but didn't say anything.

"I can't remember."

"Lies."

"They're not lies." I snapped.

"From one liar to another, it's best not to evade my question with a lie. I'll spot it."

I reached for my glass of wine, brought it to my lips, and downed it to the last drop before dropping it back on the counter next to his.

The silence stretched as he waited for me to speak.

I crossed my arm against my chest. "What would you do if I don't wish to disclose my life's journey?"

"I'll kill you for wasting my time."

"You promised Devil you wouldn't hurt me."

"I promised I'd never leave him, and I did. An hour later."

I watched him, and he watched me.

My gaze flickered to the gun on the counter, and he mirrored my action.

Our eyes locked again.

He read my mind, and I read him, and then we were both rushing to get the gun, but I was faster. I grabbed the gun steady on my grip, removed the safety, aimed it at him, and then pulled the trigger.

He was fast, though, because before the shot faded, he swung at my wrist, knocking the gun from my hand as it clattered away into the distance. He gripped my arm and twisted it. I couldn't stop the painful scream that escaped me as a sharp pain shot right through my wounded shoulder.

He took that opportunity to grab my second hand, twisting it and swiftly flicking our position. My back to his front as he shoved me against the counter, the wood digging tightly to my ribs.

Before I fully turned, I caught a glimpse of blood on his left arm, his dress shirt was torn, and a flicker of satisfaction flowed through me because the bullet grazed him just like I intended.

I tried to struggle, but the wound on my shoulder burned with pain.

"Let go of me." I gritted, feeling his back press against mine. He had me pinned between his body and the fucking counter.

"That was an idiotic move, Sport."

I pushed back, ignoring the pain. "Let me fucking go."

"Careful, if you keep fighting me, It'll only take one push to break all your ribs."

My body locked when my brain realized I could no longer control the situation.

I thrashed and pushed back, trying to squirm free of him, the stitches on my shoulder tearing open. "Let me go!" I screamed it, but it only tightened his grip on my wrist.

I couldn't move, couldn't escape; there was no opening, no space to breathe, no escape.

No escape.

Panic set in, and my breathing quickened. "Let go of me, Elio!" My voice shook.

I was winded, entirely out of it. I threw my head back, hoping to hit him, but somehow, I missed, or maybe I threw my head to the side; I didn't fucking know.

All I knew was that I had no control. I was trapped. And there was no escape.

"Leave me alone! Let me go!"

He released his hold but didn't let me go. "Calm down." He snapped, his voice very close to my ear.

My chest heaved, "Get away from me, or I swear to God—"

"Calm down," He repeated, his voice softening, but he still held me, and alarm bells rang in my head.

"Let me go first."

"Not until you remember how to fucking breathe."

"Fuck you!" I heaved, collected air into my lungs, realizing I wasn't entirely pressed to the counter anymore.

"Okay, but calm down first."

My pulse was still racing, and I was still trying to regain control of my ringing ears.

"Are you calm?" He asked.

"No."

It took two minutes until I could think properly and hear clearly again.

I drew in a breath and released it with my response. "I'm calm now. Let me go."

He did, and I wasted no time turning and swinging at his face. My fist slammed into his stupid fucking perfect nose, and I was disappointed that I didn't hear a crack, but I must have torn something because he swore, cradling his nose on reflex while stumbling back as blood poured from his nostrils.

Good.

I held my shoulder, the pain making my knees weak.

He hissed, swiftly wiping the blood with irritation bringing down his brows. "You throw a good punch; I'll give you that."

My eyes shifted to the bullet graze on his arm before looking at him again. "I aim to please. I'll also ensure I don't miss the next time I shoot you."

"Your aim is pitiful. I'm not worried."

I scoffed out a humorless laugh. "I never fucking miss. The only reason you're alive is because Devil fucking cares if you're breathing."

"Amazing, because that's the only reason you and your little choir group remain breathing too."

"Yeah, you can try to kill me; I promise you won't succeed."

"You're so certain."

"Oh yes, I am," I took a step back. "I was shoved in a room with twenty horny armed men, and I was the only one who came out breathing. My luck doesn't end with gambling."

His face hardened. "Who the fuck are you?"

A smile curved at the side of my lips. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Then I turned, opened the door, and walked out.

He didn't stop me.

I walked straight ahead, hearing the door close behind me as I rounded the corner.

I spotted Casmiro pacing back and forth, and I didn't stop as he looked up, complete shock and horror in his eyes.

He'd heard the gunshot and probably thought it meant I was dead.

My smile widened as I brushed passed him. "Hey Cassie, you might wanna check on your boss." I threw over my shoulder without stopping.

"Shit," he cursed before I heard his footsteps rushing toward the room I had just left.

"Amateurs," I muttered, but the smile on my lips followed me through my walk back to the Casino.

__

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Thank you for the love you've shown this story so far! Don't forget to comment as you read, I love feedback, It's the juice of my creativity, the Romeo to my Juliet, the Devil to my Zahra--I mean, Elio to my--Fuck.

Just--Enjoy this surprise update!
_______

ELIO
_______

THE FACT that she put up a fight wasn't even surprising.

Her stealth and the absence of hesitation when she raised the gun and pulled the trigger was the thing that threw me off.

It showed me that it wasn't the first time she had held a gun or shot at someone, and her statement before she left, had my mind bordering on curiosity.

Zahra Faizan isn't politics, so why am I curious about her?

Why had she occupied more space than politics in my mind? Why am I having an inner monologue about a woman? Not just any woman; the one who should die for even pointing a gun at me.

"I don't care to know," I voiced as the needle pierced my skin, with Angelo stitching up the grazing from my own fucking bullet. She didn't know how close she was to razing my whole plan. If that bullet had killed me, my soul would have never known peace. "I'm killing the short one."

Angelo's gaze flicked to me. "We had a deal with them; we can't exactly go back on our word."

"I can."

He sighed. "For the thousandth time, we shouldn't ever go back on our words."

"I relieved you of your duty years ago. I don't need your advice, Angelo."

He shook his head, sticking the needle in again. "I will still offer it as long as I'm here, Marino."

I looked at him. "Then leave."

He scoffed. "And give you the chance and space to off yourself? Yeah, No. Not going to happen on my watch."

This time, when he pressed the sharp edge of the needle to my skin, I flinched.

Angelo made me very uncomfortable. It never used to be that way before he—saved me—he usually just did his job and managed his affairs with his men and the tech team, which he had taken upon himself to handle. He was the only other person who understood how politics worked, and he would have been fun to talk to if he didn't watch me like a hawk every time we were in the same space.

It didn't help that he was probably the only one who didn't believe I had an ounce of wickedness inside of me. Because he knew—he knew what truth lay beneath the rumors that made me who I am.

It was downright unsettling.

"I've given you a good opportunity for a life outside this business; why won't you just take it and get out of my way," I said with a frown this time.

He met my eyes. "Because this is my life, and you have no control over what I choose to do with it."

"That's why you came to stitch me up instead of calling our medic."

"Yes. If our people find out you were shot by a woman, who is supposed to be your hostage, they will kill her and question your leadership. We can't have that now, can we?"

"I want her dead."

"Okay, that can be arranged. After they do what they're here for. As much as their presence brings chaos, we need access to the Pablos. They're the best bet we got."

Right, Dion Juan Pablo...the ticket to the beginning of my goal. I needed to remember that STREET was a means to an end. I couldn't let Zahra get to me.

Silence followed after he said that. He put in the last stitch, applied a minty ointment, and covered up the wound.

I broke the silence when he pulled back to couple the first aid together.

"You thought I did it to myself, didn't you? That's why you came running."

With his back to me, I noted how his whole form tensed up, but he didn't respond. He just proceeded with arranging the first aid.

"You should stop worrying about that," I spoke, picking up the well-folded shirt beside me and slipping it on. "It's never going to happen again. I'm over it. I'm fine. I've got too much to live for, and it was only a mere slip-up. A mistake. You shouldn't use that as an excuse to remain in this business."

He let out a sharp breath before turning to me, pinning me with a pained expression that he tried to mask but couldn't. "You know I lost my sister to suicide, right?"

I watched him as I buttoned up my shirt. "Yes, I'm well informed about that."

He nodded. "Before she finally succeeded, I'd saved her; I think—three, four times. It was never fun. It was traumatizing, and I still have nightmares featuring scenarios of the many ways I could have saved her if I had been there on time."

I blinked at him, unsure if I should mention how proud I was of his sister or apologize and do the 'I am sorry for your loss thing.'

"What does that have to do with me?" I asked instead.

"Your excuse and your 'I'm fine' is something I've heard before; the rise and fall of your voice showed the false reassurance you just tried to give me. I'm not a fool, Marino."

I shook my head. "You're a fool for wanting to remain here with me, Angelo. I'm not worth it. You should go live your life."

"No...No, you should live your life. Leave the four walls of this—this cursed library—leave the freaking books with their fake words and fake lies woven to twist your mind into a fucking web of unrealistic scenarios and fucking socialize. Talk to real people. Go to real places. And for once in your fucking life, don't be a mastermind." He breathed, watching me as if pleading for his words to sink in.

The silence stretched for a few seconds before I responded.

"No thanks."

His shoulders sagged. "At least see a doctor. A fucking therapist."

I got up from the stool and walked to the nearest shelf. "You see these books, Angelo. They're the only therapy I need. Whenever I read them, it's like my sister's here, reading them to me."

"But she's not." Something like pity glazed over his words. It didn't faze me.

"Mariana loved reading books. She'd spend so much money on the little books she could get without our father knowing. He never liked them. Thought they were silly. My mother never objected to his reasoning. She never objected to many of his twisted thoughts and actions. It was probably her only flaw. Asides from that, mother was perfect." I said, picking up a book from the shelf.

"I always teased Mariana because she loved filling her head up with these romance books. As you called them fake scenarios, I did that too. And she would glare at me so fiercely I'd wish I could laugh or smile at her, but I couldn't. Because he was always watching. My father was a sick fucker. But I still loved him."

"Marino—"

"When Mariana died, I created this little library. I bought every single book she had ever wanted to read." I brought the spine of the book to my view. "And engraved her name to the spine of these hardcovers. I swore to myself that I'd read it all on her behalf." My thumb finger grazed the spine before I placed it back on the shelf and turned to Angelo.

"I don't have time to socialize, to make friends, and talk to real people. I'd rather spend every free time reading words Mariana would have loved to read. So yes, you have nothing to worry about; I am not dying until I read every single thing on this shelf. I will have slip-ups. I will make mistakes," I raised my sleeve to my forearm, pointing to the bandaged wound. "I'll hurt myself because for me," I pressed my palm against my chest. "that's my normal. That's my life and the way it is. I'm not spiraling; it's just me. It's normal for me."

Angelo looked short for words. "It's not normal to want to hurt yourself, Elio. Or to give yourself a death date...or a fucking timeline. It's—you need help, at least—get it for the books you might not be able to read if you slip, make a mistake, and never come back from it."

"That won't happen."

"It almost did. And if it weren't for me, you'd be dead."

"It won't happen again,"

"That's what my sister said the first time she attempted it. And it happened again, and again, and again until she didn't live to give me the same excuse."

I'm not his sister.

"Listen," he said. "I don't want to pretend to know what goes through that head of yours. I don't even want to imagine how it must have felt to have everyone who's ever heard your name believe you're some killer. But I want you to know I understand what it feels like to be too late. The guilt. The pain. The grief you can't bring yourself to feel. You were too late, and I know how your father twisted the whole shit in his favor. But you got to know that none of it was your fault."

"I don't need your advice, Angelo. I am not your sister."

"I know—"

"I'm not talking about this anymore."

"You have to come to terms with—"

"I am done talking about this."

Almost as if the universe listened, Casmiro walked into the room with a scowl, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it carelessly on the board table. "The amount of money lost today is fucking unforgivable. This street people have no control." He said, helping himself to a drink at the bar.

I walked to the board table, picked up his jacket, and hung it on the clothes valet.

"Have you tightened the security?" Angelo asked him.

"Yes. Those motherfuckers knocked them clean, locked them up, and stole from them. They didn't deserve that briefcase."

As much as I agreed with him, I couldn't help but say, "She won." I walked to the bar area, gesturing for him to pour me a drink.

He got two extra glasses, filling them up for Angelo and me.

"She fooled me." I picked up the glass and drank.

Casmiro shook his head. "I don't trust her."

Angelo hummed in agreement. "She's stubborn. I know her kind. Always searching for ways to mess with people for their gain." Angelo said. "What I don't understand is how she almost killed our Boss."

They both watched me, waiting for me to tell them how I had let that happen.

I shrug. "She was faster than me."

"She shot you," Angelo said. "Not everyone would have the guts even to pick up a gun where you are; talk more of shooting, grazing, and punching you in the nose."

I wouldn't lie; it stroked my ego in the wrong way.

My tongue poked at the inside of my mouth. "She's the one we need to watch. We know nothing about her, and I have an inkling that the little we know is—staged; it's what we're meant to see when we look her up."

Casmiro sighed. "They're useful, but they're trouble."

I twirled the glass in my hand. "We need them."

Angelo nodded in agreement. "They're most definitely going to keep surprising us. I wouldn't put it past them to want to try and double-cross us. Even though they'd never achieve that."

I took in a breath. "Here's what we can do. Their security would have to be assigned shifts to avoid any familiarity. We keep a close eye on them. No cameras. Physical watch only. No one touches any of them. No matter what."

"We could take one of them. An example to keep the rest in check." Casmiro suggested.

"No."

"How do we control them, then? You lost the Chess game, giving them the right to return to the casino."

"Let them."

Casmiro glared. "What exactly do these people have on you, E?"

"Don't question me."

"It's hard not to."

I shook my head. "Is it that you are blind, or you've just decided to block your sense of reasoning for the night? Angelo, please explain to this inarticulate brother of mine why we can't make an example with one of them?"

Angelo dropped his glass. "Because they complement each other, hurt one, hurt them all."

"So, what the fuck do we do about them? We can't let their intrusion at the Casino go. I have double my task tomorrow thanks to them. People were angry; bets were lost. The casino was chaos after they left."

"It will be handled."

"How?"

"I'll offer them a favor," I told him.

Casmiro groaned. "They do not deserve favors from us; they are common criminals, for god sake, Elio."

"No, they are far from being common criminals. They're a team." My finger circled the rim of the glass. "And what's the best way to break a team?"

They didn't respond, waiting for me to supply the answer.

"You show them how better they could be if they stand alone." I watched Casmiro and Angelo let my word settle in, and then I snapped my finger. "And just like that, they'd turn on each other, one by one, until there's no such thing as STREET." Until Devil had no reason to stay.

"What are we gonna do about the Devil one? He's also clear from the system," Casmiro asked.

"Leave him."

"He attacked you the other day—"

"Leave. Him."

Casmiro eyed me the same way Angelo was looking at me. They were curious. They had every right to be. And I should tell them, I should tell them about Elia and how important he was to me. I wanted to tell them. But I couldn't. Not now.

I would be risking a lot if I announced it. I'd be risking Elia's life, which was not my desire.

With a sigh, Casmiro downed his drink. "What about the one that shot you? You can't tell me we're doing nothing about that."

I brought the glass to my lips and took a small sip because I was no longer in the mood to drink.

I dropped the glass back on the counter, fishing for my pack of cigars. When I found it, I took a stick out, placed it between my lips, and flicked on my lighter to light the edge of the stick.

"Elio—"

"Leave her to me." I brought the stick from my mouth, blowing out the smoke. "I'll take care of her."

__

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_______

ZAHRA
_______

DEVIL WAS quiet as he helped me redo the stitch on my shoulder. His form was tense, his jaw was clenched, and his brows were drawn down in a frown. I didn't want to imagine what he was going through. Seeing me hurt after his brother had promised he wouldn't hurt me must be a reminder that Elio's promises meant nothing.

I would have loved to relate to his feelings, but blood-relative relationships had always been a miss with me. I didn't understand why sharing blood with another person meant your loyalties lie with them.

"I'm okay, you know," I told him as he cut the thread, proceeding to get out new bandages.

Devil didn't say anything; he just kept on cleaning me up.

"Everything that happened tonight happened because I let it. You know that, right?"

He didn't look at me or respond as he unwrapped the bandage.

I sighed, placing my palm on his thigh. "Hey,"

He paused.

"What is it? Talk to me." I said quietly, trying to catch his gaze until he succumbed and looked at me.

"He could have killed you," he said. "I can't believe I trusted him with you—"

"I'm fine—"

"No, you're not. You have bruises on your wrists. You tore open your wound, which he was initially responsible for. He lied. And I—" he stopped, letting out a shaky breath.

It was quiet for almost a minute until I broke it.

"You're angry at yourself," I pointed out. "At the fact that you believed him when he said he wouldn't hurt me." I wondered if I should add or keep the next part to myself. But he looked like he needed to talk to someone, and what was the point in hiding the fact that I knew they were related? "You're angry that you believed him despite how it turned out the last time. How he abandoned you."

Devil flinched, his eyes widening in shock as he watched me. "How did you—"

"I figured it out, and he confirmed it to me."

He blinked at me. "He—he told you we were related?"

"More like I hinted it, and he didn't deny, just leaned into it, like there was no point hiding it."

Devil's shoulder relaxed a bit. "Now I know what you meant by leverage." He eyed me. "You plan to hold me at gunpoint demanding all the money we stole from him?"

"If that's what you want, we can go for it."

He shook his head, looking away. "Like he would even care." He muttered under his breath.

"Oh, trust me, he would. Everyone thinks Elio Marino is incapable of love just because they don't know you exist, but I can assure you, if there's anything that man loves more than power and being a fucking psychopath and killer, it's you. You come first to him above all else."

"And how would you know that?"

"I saw it."

"You saw wrong. When we spoke the other day, he washed his hands clean off me. He told me he would kill me. He said some fucked up shit that keeps playing in my head non-stop, and I—I want to hate him, you know? I want nothing more but to see him dead for everything he's done, to me, to his family, to innocent people who were related to people who offended him. I want to see him suffer, but at the same time, I don't." he swallowed. "And I don't know if that makes me every bit as bad as he is."

"No." I scooted closer to him, my fingers diving into his hair as I massaged gently. "You're not a bad person. We can't choose our family, Devil. We can't choose whom we love, and we shouldn't hate ourselves for it."

He nodded. "I don't know what to do," he confessed. "Despite everything he's done...I still—I still want a relationship with him. Because believe it or not, that man leading this whole thing used to be the greatest person I know. He was...he was good. Too fucking good."

"That's very hard to believe," I admitted.

He chuckled. "I know. When I look at him now, I just—I see a stranger; I see someone else, like the person I know, is long since dead, and this is just a very wicked ghost of him. But the day we talked, I thought I saw a flicker of what he used to be, but I'm not sure after tonight."

"But you still want to try?" I asked.

"Yes," he confirmed. "Not for this version of him, no. For the one, I remember as a kid. The one who would protect me and tell me how loved I was, the one whom I shared dreams with, you know. The one who hid me because his fucking dad wanted me dead. Elio, he's—God, he's been through so much. I don't even know if he remembers now that he's in charge of...everything."

"What do you mean?"

"He was all over the place. Being groomed to become like Ricardo, caring for me, his mother, and his siblings. Sometimes he'd come to me, beaten and bruised, he never told me how he got them, but I knew they were from his father. He never liked to talk about it and the things he'd done." Devil looked far away as he spoke. "I remember how sunken his eyes always were, dark and tired like—like he never slept.

One day I asked him why he always looked like a Zombie, and he said he was a zombie because zombies didn't sleep. I remember laughing because I didn't really understand. He would smile at me, but it never really did reach his eyes, almost like—it took everything in him to move that muscle.

One night, he rushed in, gave me food, and apologized because he had to leave. He said his mother had been sick. It was the first time he'd been honest about literally anything that had to do with his family. He always talked about them, but only the good parts.

The next day when he came by, I asked him if his mother had a cold or the flu, and he said he wished that were the case. he looked sad and defeated. I hugged him because he looked like he needed it. And then he cried. He cried so hard and held me like I was the only thing keeping him together. Then he fell asleep for hours. I thought he was dead. He looked so...different, peaceful.

That was the first time I ever saw him cry, and it was also the last. At that moment, I badly wanted to protect him from what made him cry. I hated it. The tears. It hurt me. I wished he never went back to his father. I hoped he stayed with me because—each time he went out and came back...something new was always missing.

With each visit, something died. At first, it was his smile, then his affection, and then—basically everything."

Devil let out a breath, looking at me again. "I know it might not be worth it, but I want to try. For that boy who cried as I held him, the one who needed nothing but company and good sleep." He breathed out a small laugh.

"Well fuck." I said.

"What." He stated in question.

"I can't kill him now."

He flicked my forehead, and I scrunched up my nose.

"Like you could hurt a fly." He said, proceeding to finish bandaging my shoulder.

"Yeah, like I could," I said

A comfortable silence fell between us until I broke it. "For what it's worth, I think he's still there. The brother you once knew."

"How are you sure?"

"As I said, I saw it."

The banging on the door stopped Devil from responding to that as Dog's voice yelled out. "Yo! dumb fucks, round up your fucking; we got to count the money!" His footsteps retreated.

I laughed. "I'll kill him one day,"

His hand came to caress my chin, smiling at me. "And I'll hold your purse and heels while you do it."

***

IT HAD been a week since the Casino incident.

Our security had doubled since then; although they didn't intrude, they just watched. I'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for actions to be taken about the Casino stunt we pulled, but he surprisingly left us alone.

It seemed as though Devil was already leveraged without a gun pointed at his head.

Upper's gaze flickered to me as I joined the rest of them in the living room. He had a whiteboard already littered with information and planning, picture stickers, and sticky notes that would aid us in visualizing our surroundings before actually going there. A thin drumstick was on his left hand, and I didn't even want to ask how he got it.

"Lovely of you to finally grace us with your presence," Upper said, looking away as he stood beside the board. At the same time, I found a space next to Devil, opposite Milk, whose eyes scanned the board as if trying to take it all into memory, and Dog, who divided his attention between Upper and the laptop in front of him, our comms right beside it.

"All right, so we move tomorrow, and the plan is quite simple as we have devised over the past couple of days," Upper said, pointing at a space in the whiteboard, a miniature van drawing. "This is Dog,"

"The guy in the chair." He muttered, not looking up.

"Yes, he'll be our eyes and ears, the mission's omniscient body. The van contains three computers showing live feeds from all corners of Club Eden."

I nodded in attention.

Upper continued. "The other day Devil and I went there, we installed cameras in all wings of the building, tracking devices on anything that could be lifted and carried away, and also chips that can enable us to listen in on conversations that might aid us, or deliver important information we might need."

"Are the Marinos tracking our activities? Should in case we could snag up some info for ourselves?" Milk asked.

"They're tracking everything; Dog might be our guy in the chair, but a good number of guys in chairs are backing him up. This is important to them." Upper said.

"So, we have no gain at all in this?" She asked again.

"No," Upper confirmed.

"Awesome," Milk muttered with a frown.

"Way forward," I said.

Upper pointed to the club entrance, at two stick drawings with spaghetti hair, "This is Milk and Zahra. Your entry is through the front. We already obtained VIP tickets so the bouncer would swipe you in without questions or the unnecessary ID checking."

"How did we get VIP tickets?" I asked.

"Milk has a brother who's a new bartender in the bar. He's popular, handsome, and can sneak in to collect VIP tickets. Illegally."

"And this brother of mine is?" Milk asked.

Upper's cane moved to the drawing of what looked like a stick table, with a stick person behind it holding a glass. "Devil is your brother; although he won't be there when you and Milk walk in, he'd be opening the kitchen vent for me, and you'll have another bartender tending to you. He's normal people. I think Patrick was his name if I'm correct. A man whore for boobs, easily distracted. He's eyed four women who have been later called to join Dion, so the odds are in our favor there."

"And what's that?" Devil pointed to the two stick figures in a corner, entering another room.

"That's you and me; I'm leaving the kitchen after drinking too much and stealing food. I'm on the verge of throwing up and causing a small scene, but you're dragging me out through the back, where people think you're going to throw me into a dumpster or something, and if my timing is right, it would be about the same time Dion is getting distracted by Milk's beauty and charm, to notice the unusual chaos."

"So, there's a back door around the back door?" Dog asked.

"Yes," Upper's stick trailed from him, and Devil's stick figures to a line trailing up what looked like stairs. "Inside the back room, there are two doors, one leading outside the club and the other leading upstairs to the VIP rooms, it's used as a quick escape route for these men in case there's an attack and they can't leave through the elevators."

"Got it," Dog said.

"So, Devil and I will go up these stairs quietly. Dion bought the whole rooms, and most of his boys are stationed there."

"How do you get past them," I asked.

"Our guy in the chair." His stick went back to the Van. "There will be six guards stationed in front of each door; we would need to get rid of them to enter their tech room. So, our guy in the chair is to hack their comm devices and tell them that a stranger is coming up the elevator unauthorized; it's enough to raise their guard and divert their attention to the threat they can see while the coast is clear,

Devil waits for me while I find a janitor's closet, get into a vent, and head straight to the tech room with a mask to cover my nose from the fogless sleeping gas, which lasts about 30 minutes, so we're going to have to be quick if we don't want to get seen. When the guards are out like a light, I enter the room and unlock the door for Devil, who closes it behind him, and it's like nothing ever changed."

"And in a situation where we exceed 30 minutes in the room?" Devil asked.

"You knock them out before they can open their eyes and realize what's happening."

"That sounds like a plan." Dog said.

"So," I said, "back to the stranger in the elevator, that's me, right?"

"Adequate," Upper said, pointing the drumstick to what looked like an elevator with six stick figures pointing guns at it. "They're going to see a cute, freckled face, confused woman who looked terrified to see six guns pointed at her. Your name will be Fernanda Valez; she was a guest there before Dion. Your excuse, you wanted to retrieve a small locket you thought you lost weeks ago, and you used the opportunity since you were back in town to visit where you stayed last, or some shit lie, and then you're probably going to stall by making them uncomfortable. You're very good with that."

I rolled my eyes.

"Great," Upper said, "Back to Milk and Dion. Milk, you're an essential part of this whole thing. Dion always carries his phone with him, and his phone holds all his passwords and time counts for access to the Pablos server wall of documents, business passes, illegal dealings, and everything the Marinos need. We can't exactly ask him to give us time access, so you'll be given a device; the moment you get close to him, the device automatically gives me access to their servers. You might need to keep talking to him until we get all we need."

"Doable." She said.

"Once all that is set, and Devil and I got what we need, we communicate through our comms. Zahra rounds up. Milk keeps talking to Dion for maybe 30 minutes tops, Devil goes back to bartending, I go to Dog at the Van, and Zahra goes back to clubbing. We circle back here at 10."

"Okay," I said, dissecting everything in my head, looking for flaws and mistakes. "Milk and I walk in together, right? How is a sophisticated guest walking in with a bartender's sister?"

"You walk in as friends, all giggling and girly stuff. Devil resumed work with a duffel bag holding change of clothes for himself, except there's one for you too. The duffel bag will be dropped in the third stall of the bathroom; the moment Milk is gone, you head there, change, and get into character."

"Change from...my usual self or..."

Milk sat up. "Not your usual self; we're going as Valentina and Isabella."

"Who the fuck are they?" I asked.

Milk smirked. "My personal touch of made-up disguised characters."

I frowned. "I do not like the sound of that." 

__

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_______

ZAHRA
_______

"NO. NEVER. I'm not wearing that." I grimaced, shaking my head as if my life depended on it because fucking hell it did. I had agreed to the ginger wig, even though we had argued for almost twenty minutes over it, but that above mid-thigh red dress she held has got to go.

Milk's gaze turned very convincing as she stepped closer to me. "To show off your legs, Zahra. You have gorgeous legs."

My smile was adorable and very fake as I responded, "Thank you, but no. You're the one Dion is going to look at, not me. You're the pretty girl in the room; therefore, I don't need to put in so much effort."

"You do, Z. Don't sell yourself short. Besides, we have to make you not look like—you. A complete makeover."

I leveled her with a tired look, giving up because I knew she would never let me get out of this with a flannel shirt and worn-out jeans. "This has always been your dream, hasn't it"

Milk's smile was languid as it grew on her face. "No, my dream has always been to live the Amer—"

"American dream, I get it. Just hurry up."

Milk's eyes lit up with excitement as she touched my cheek. "Now, now, Z, we don't rush perfection."

We had 5 hours to prepare for the mission. Some of us were supposed to be seen, but we could be seen with a convincing disguise.

The Pablo's territory was two states away from the Marino's, and by this time of the year, Dion was set to come here for business purposes; he had a home here too, but ever since he lost his dog, he would spend almost a month at a predetermined hotel, one that was very close to a club. We'd found that Dion called it his MVFW (Mini vacation from work week).

His so-called vacation entailed drowning in his supply of cocaine and burying his cock in a willing vagina. It was disgusting, but then again, men like him were all disgusting. The things they did in the dark, the people they hurt and killed, the women they disrespected—

I blocked my mind from going down that lane. This was the problem with getting too comfortable and confident to show skin. It took me back to times when I couldn't stand the sight of myself in mirrors. I hated this, hated that this mission wasn't even something we wanted to do of our own free will, and I hated Elio Marino for existing.

Ever since that day I shot him, I hadn't seen him. I'd seen Casmiro twice and Angelo a lot because we had to keep him in the loop with what we had in mind for the Dion mission, and he was there to provide us with whatever we needed to plan efficiently.

I willed myself to focus on the bigger picture here. Every little opportunity to work for the Marino's was another step closer to figuring out where exactly to hit them from.

Who would have thought their weak link would be Elio Marino himself?

If I held Devil at gunpoint, I wondered what the boss would give to take him out of that position.

It even sucked more because I couldn't cause more physical damage than I had already caused. It would most likely hurt Devil more than it hurt Elio.

It was so sick because Devil was the only reason Elio and me remained completely quiet. He was like a standing block between what could have happened if he didn't give a shit about us.

An hour later, I was coming out of the dressing room, a frown on my caked-up face, as I walked to stand in front of the mirror.

"Did it fi—holy fucking grail." Milk trailed off, stopping midway from the walk-in closet. From her reflection, I could see her eyes widen to slits, staring at me.

The red dress hugged my body, leaving a few teasing bits to the imagination. My cleavage was in full display, exposing some of the scattered freckles around it.

And yes, Milk was right...I did have pretty legs. They were scarless, perfect like I was a woman who had never seen all she'd seen and experienced.

The wig fit perfectly with the whole look, and the makeup wasn't too extra.

In all, I would say I looked...sexy. The only difference between that time and now is that I looked sexy for me and not for those...fuckers.

"Wow—just wow. I love this—I love you. Marry me now."

I gave her a strange look in the mirror. "Isn't it too much?"

"Are you kidding?" she rushed to stand behind me, holding my shoulders. "You're perfect!"

"I look like a—person," I said, running my hand down my waist. "Like I'm somebody worth knowing."

Milk's smile softened as she rested her chin on my shoulder, her hands sliding down to my arms. "You always look like that, Zahra. I don't know what you've been through because we all left our past behind and decided not to talk about it, and it's not like I am dying with curiosity to know how you got those scars on your back...I don't wanna know or anything...."

I laughed, leaning on her. "Right,"

She chuckled, her eyes twinkling from her reflection as she stroked the wig and continued. "But what I know for certain is that the first time I saw you, I wanted to know you—to be your friend. To make you smile because you never did."

My insides warmed. "You made me smile."

"I did...more like, made you laugh at me...but yeah, same thing." She grinned.

We stared at our reflection silently before I broke the silence. "I love you, Milk," I told her genuinely, my hand covering hers on my arm.

She pressed a quick kiss to my cheek. "I love you too, Zahra. Now let's go get Dog's reaction."

When we reached the living room, Upper and Devil were looking over the laptop screen, with Upper pointing and explaining whatever Devil needed an explanation for while Dog geared up.

It was still early, but Valentina and Isabella were visiting other clubs too, so starting the night early was their plan.

Upper was the first to notice our presence. His eyes widened, "Bloody hell."

Devil looked up with a frown that slipped off his face as he took me in, eyes lingering and sweeping from my feet to my head like he was looking at a stranger. "You dressed u—"

A sudden burst of laughter from Dog cut him off, followed by a somewhat loud click from a camera.

I turned to Dog with a glare as the photo printed out immediately from the camera.

Dog shook the picture a few times, laughing his head off. "This is fucking gold; I'm framing this."

"Frame it, and I swear to God, you'll be the next person I kill."

"Oh, posh...hell knows when I'll ever get to witness this again. I can reprint for you guys if you want; we should all have copies of this version of Zahra."

I groaned, rushing to attack him, but Devil quickly shot up from the couch beside Upper to stand between us. "You can kill him later; if you do it now, you might...." there was a twitch in his cheek, almost like he was trying so hard not to laugh, and I directed my glare at him. "Might...ruin your makeup." He and Dog laughed, high-fiving each other at my expense.

Upper chuckled, shaking his head as he closed the laptop. "Folks, don't be arseholes, makeups don't get ruined like that. I'm more concerned for the nail polish; it's so...so...pretty."

They all burst out laughing like this was the funniest encounter they'd had all week. It was good to see them laugh, but that didn't stop me from wanting to shove my heel through their heads.

"You all are man-babies, and I worry for your mental health," I muttered.

Milk groaned in annoyance. "I hate you guys, come on, Z, let's go."

I rolled my eyes as the boys kept joking around while we prepared for the night.

***

Milk and I stumbled into Club Eden, laughing and chuckling as we had just left another club to see what was happening in this one. Acting wasn't my strong suit, but it was easy to fall into character with Milk by my side. She was a natural, and I could already see eyes following our movements as we found our way to the bar, talking about things that had never happened to us.

The eyes that followed us were of different men, and I smiled to myself because that was all Milk's doing. She didn't even have to try. She didn't have to throw suggestive smiles, she just had to be herself, and men would start crawling to her. It was a beneficial gift.

"I see you." Dog's voice resounded in our ears, where the invisible comm rested.

"Do you see them?" I asked with a grin.

"Yup, on your six. He's getting fucked up." Dog said.

"Right how we want him," Milk said as we reached the bar, smiling at the bartender. "Hi there," her voice went down a pitch.

"Cringe."  Upper's voice filtered through.

Milk kept her gaze on the bartender as she spoke. "Can we get something sweet and strong?" She asked the man, who couldn't get his eyes off the swell of her cleavage as he nodded wordlessly. "Thank you, what's your name?"

"Pat—Patrick. But people call me Pat."

She eyed him with an appreciative look. "Can't wait to taste what you mix up for us, Patrick."

"Gag," Dog said this time.

"Y-yes, coming right up."

Her smile widened, but her teeth clamped on her bottom lip, stopping the curve of her lips midway, as she turned to me with a wink.

I scoffed out a laugh, spotting Devil disappearing into the kitchen from the corner of my eyes. "Is it me you're trying to seduce, or Pat."

Milk's gaze settled on my face slowly, her eyes searching mine before her attention dropped to my lips. "Could be both," she said, her tongue discreetly sliding down her bottom lip as she made eye contact again, a slow seductive smile curling at her lips.

I swear my heart skipped a beat, and I forgot how to swallow. All amusement of the situation seized, and I was attuned to her. She stepped closer to me, and my heart thumped. Anticipating. Her body heat kissed mine in a slow caress, and I forgot the mission.

Suddenly her usual smile broke through, and she tapped my cheek, chuckling, "Snap out of it; I'm messing with you." she stepped back.

I forced out a nervous chuckle. Somehow, she just played with my mind. "I'm still convinced your past is made up of you going to some kind of off-the-shore women's school where they teach you guys how to seduce men...and women."

"Like fucking sirens," Dog said, and I could hear the honk of a car and voices at his end.

My brows drew down in confusion; why did it seem like he was outside?

"Where the fuck are you, Dog?" Devil beat me to ask.

"Went to get some hot dogs...there was this food truck not far from me. I couldn't resist the aroma."

"So, who's watching the bloody trailer, filled with computer systems showing fucking live feed from a club down the freaking street!" Upper yelled.

"I locked it, Jesus, calm the fuck down. I didn't go far."

"Who is watching our backs, you fucking idiot? Go back now." I said with gritted teeth, forcing a smile on my face.

"Not without that hotdog." Dog said.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you if this whole thing goes to shit," Devil said.

"Relax, it's my turn to order now—hey beautiful, can I get three hot dogs to go, and uh...hmm...let me see...."

I shook my head, and Milk sighed.

"Hmmm..."

"I swear to God, Dog—"

"One coke, please, and thank you."

There was shuffling in the background, and the person he was talking to said, 'there you go,'

"Thanks, sweetheart. Is that Onedirection wristband?"

"Yeah," the person responded, no doubt with a shy smile.

"That's rad; I was a huge fan. I find every Onedirection fan sexy. You know, there was a time I thought I could audition and join them because people tell me I sound like an angel."

"You don't say,"

"Hm-uhm. In fact, take my card, in case you wanna listen to my voice sometime, you can call me."

"Oh, of course...Derek."

"Will be waiting to hear from you,"

We all waited, holding our breaths as we heard some scuffling, footsteps, and a few street noises before the sound of a door resounded.

"Okay, I'm in."

I exhaled, and Milk returned to Patrick smiling as he dropped two shots before us. She thanked him before returning to me, handing me one of the shots.

I threw it down my throat without asking what it was.

It burned, but it was perfect, and I nodded at how fruity it tasted. It had a little bit of bitterness, but not too much.

"I love this," I said, smiling at Patrick... "Can I get four more of this?"

He nodded with a smile my way.

"What's your stat, Upper?"

"We're in position."

"Dog?" Milk inquired.

"Six guards. They're about to leave; give me a sec. Zahra, Incoming."

I frowned, "Wha—"

A hand snaked around my waist, and I faked a flinch as the person whispered in my ear. "My boss wants to have a word."

My frown deepened, and my gaze snapped to Milk's surprised one.

"What the fuck?" Devil cursed surprise in his voice.

"Your boss? Me?" I asked to be sure.

"Yes, follow me."

"Talk about a change of fucking plans. Zahra, you know what to do, Milk; remain in position until I tell you to move," Dog said, and I suppressed a groan.

The last thing I wanted to do was to act as the willing vagina for Dion's fucking cock. I silently prayed for patience because if that motherfucker puts his mouth on me, I'll fucking stab him.

Milk nodded to me, and I followed the man.

"Upper, Devil, you're clear." Dog informed.

"The elevators?" Upper asked.

"Zahra can't fuck it up; I need Milk's eyes on her. Leave the elevator part to me; I'll handle it." Dog said.

"What do you mean you'll handle it," Devil asked.

"Just trust me,"

The man led me up some stairs, and I spotted Dion and some of his men.

They were seated on a long red curved-edged couch, women around them.

With his salt and pepper hair, Dion sat crossed leg with a crooked smile directed at me. I knew he was in his early 50s, but he looked very fit, and yeah—very high.

"Come here, doll." He said, tapping his lap.

"I've got eyes on you, do whatever he says." Dog said.

"Okay, Z, I need you close to his phone," Upper said.

"Don't see it as a big deal. It's not. He'll touch you, but he won't rush. Smile." Milk encouraged.

I let out a breath, allowing a small, timid smile to slip onto my lips as I complied, sitting on his lap.

"Ah, you are pretty, like a fine flower."

"Run your fingers through his hair, and thank him." Milk said.

My jaw clenched, but I did as instructed, leaning more into him and sliding my finger into his oily hair. "Thank you,"

"Hm," his rough hand squeezed my upper thigh, and I wanted to gag as unwanted flashes plagued my mind.

I'm too fucking sober for this.

Almost like the older man heard my thoughts, he brought his stubbled face to my neck, nose breathing me in as he pressed a kiss to my flesh, "Would you like to loosen up, baby?"

"Say you're fine." Milk said, but I did the complete opposite.

"Sure, what do you have?"

"Stall him; I'm in, and we have just twenty percent left. It slowed for some reason, but you can stall him." Upper said.

"Oh, I have magic, baby," Dion said, reaching inside his suit jacket. He brought out a small packet of white pills and shuffled out one. "Open up."

"Don't swallow it," Devil warned.

I leaned forward, allowing him to put the pill in my mouth.

"Ten percent."

Dion pressed rough kisses down my neck, rough stubble scratching my skin, while his hand caressed my waist before slipping between my thighs. I felt the press of his hard cock on my leg, and my skin crawled.

"Five percent."

I can't do this sober—I can't- his other hand moved to my breast, and he squeezed as his tongue licked my neck, sucking on a hickey.

Fuck this.

I swallowed the pill.

__

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_______
ELIO
_______

WITH TWO bags of late-night greasy food in my left hand, I filtered through the bundle of keys on my right, inserting the correct one and twisting until I heard a click.

As always, I looked left and right down the hallway and then at the security cameras before pushing the door open, entering the room, and kicking the door close behind me.

I was at a washed-up motel a few miles out of town, away from protection and my last name.

The first time I came here, I thought it would serve as a breath of fresh air, but it didn't. The situation didn't baffle me because the man sitting on a rocking chair facing the window was Ricardo Marino—the former boss of the Marino empire and my father.

"You opened the windows again. Were you missing the outside world?" I asked, shrugging off my suit jacket before dumping the keys on the single small shelf by the side of the door.

He didn't respond.

I kicked off my shoes, stretching my neck from left to right before walking to stand beside him. The wind that blew in from the netted window was chilling, and it made me let out a breath. "I see why. It's peaceful out there."

"Hm." He muttered.

I moved to sit at the window sill, outstretching one of the food bags to him, which he eagerly collected. "Slow down; you haven't eaten in a day; I can't afford you choking yourself to death—as much as I'd love to see it."

Taking out the cheap burger I had gotten for myself; I studied the starved man in front of me. His pale skin, chapped lips, and red-rimmed eyes. He looked so much older than his age. The wrinkles on his face and the sagging of his skin had worsened. He looked like a dead man with life. It was irritating, but it pleased me.

Despite my warning about him rushing his food, he still gobbled it, and I shook my head at him, watching with pity as I took a bite from my burger.

He had stopped threatening me years ago, stopped glaring at me, and contained his snide remarks about how much of a mentally ill person I was compared to my mother. He had stopped cursing at me too. Now he just complied. Knowing if he didn't misbehave, I might come sooner than expected, with food and my company.

When I swallowed, I let my tongue run over my bottom lip. "Not long now, father. Everything is coming to plan. It would have been sooner, but there was a bit of a holdup."

Dread smeared his face, and a whimper escaped him.

"I know, it's infuriating," I said with a sigh of distress. "Elia showed up with this band of thieves."

My father's eyes widened a little.

I nodded. "Right? The foolish boy has been in Italy for years, committing petty crimes just for the fun of it. I wouldn't say he did it because he was hungry and needed the money." I took another bite from the burger, chewing and swallowing before speaking again.

"All the legal funds of the Marino empire will be going to his name. I had his entire life planned for him. He was settled, and all that remained was Casmiro and Angelo because they had worked so hard to be left with nothing. But then—Elia showed up; I can't burn it all with him in it. It makes all these years of planning useless."

My father whined. It was scratchy and irritating to hear when he spoke. "Just—kill me."

I sighed. "Have you heard a word I've been saying, old man? I can't do it yet—I kill you, and I kill me too, and I can't die until I am sure everyone else won't be affected by it. I need to make sure Elia is happy and away—far, far, away from Italy. When that is done, you and I, we're going to have a lot of fun." I told him, taking another bite from the unhealthy burger in my grip.

"You—you need help, Elio—please get help." He said, his eyes drained as he looked at me with pity, shaking his head slowly like he actually cared.

When I swallowed the chunk, I had taken a bite off; My head provided me the mental image of me wrapping my hands around his throat, squeezing until I killed his body and his fucking soul because it didn't deserve to be judged, it deserved to rot as his flesh would.

Instead of putting my thoughts into action, I nodded. "You should have told my mother to get help. She needed it more. Who knows, we wouldn't be here, and you wouldn't have to watch everything our predecessors have worked so hard for—"

"Kill me, boy." He jerked from the rocking chair. "I don't want to see it—I refuse to see you destroy my name—our legacy—just kill me and be done with it, isn't that what you want?"

I dropped my half-eaten burger, observing him, before taking my eyes away and looking out the netted windows, seeing the light droplets of rain showering down and the cars swooshing by, headlights shining and dimming as the cars swept by.

"You don't even know me," I said, but it was so low I barely heard myself. "You did this to me, and you don't even know me. That's not fair. I'm fucked up because of you, and you still don't know what I want."

Silence stretched, and I swallowed.

Since I took over Marino from him, I'd worked my head off to bring our name to insanely incredible heights. We were legal; we were in the political spotlight. We were gigantic, made for life. The family's inner business ran smoothly. No complications and no hiccups.

"I don't just want to kill you, father. I want to make you suffer. I want to drive you mad, and I want to see you weep when you watch it all burn. You're so lucky because I'll be standing by your side, holding your hand. At least you'll have me as a company. The sinner you created. The best fucking poetic justice. Mother would be proud of me."

He closed his eyes, whimpering.

I looked back at him. "Would you be proud of me?"

He opened his eyes, offering me a blank look; now tired of me, I was guessing. I sighed. "You're no fun these days. You tire too quickly. Are you ill?"

He kept quiet.

I frowned. "Speak, or the next time you'd see me will be weeks from this one."

He sighed. "What—do you want me to—say?"

"Tell me you're proud of me."

Silence stretched, and his eyes filled with pity and something else I refused to cling to. "I am proud of you," he said.

I breathed, holding my head high as relief flooded through me. "Thank you, Papà."

I looked out the window again, picked up my burger, and shoved it into the brown bag to throw away later. "This gang Elia brought about will allow me to cover more ground. First, I want to start with Pablo. He holds big grudges. They will attack us. Run down a few of our operations based on the leak I will give. Our capos would probably think it is an act of war from the Pablos. They will want to retaliate, and it will bring about chaos. I can't wait to revel in it."

My father shook his head. "You can't ruin decades of alignment with the Pablos, Elio. Y—you can't do this to the family."

His face was tight, and it was the look he gave whenever he wanted to speak to me in Italian, but he had long since learned his lesson. The first time he did it, I cut him; the second time, I stabbed him; and the third, I beat him up. The fourth time, I registered that touching the man only gave me anxiety, so I stopped and decided to starve him instead.

Since then, he has only used English.

"I can do it to the family. I want to do it. I crave destruction. I crave to see the look on your face when it happens. The one thing—the only thing you have ever cared about, falling to pieces all around you. Ah...the bliss that would bring."

"Just kill me." the man whimpered again, looking on the verge of tears, and I wanted to smile. I so badly wanted my lips to curve up in a smile, but that invisible force kept my lips firm, denying me that relief.

It reminded me that though I had control over my father, his actions in the past still had complete control over my mind; there was still an inkling of fear when I looked at his face, a small piece of want for his approval in everything I did.

It only fueled my determination to finish what I had started.

And I would...soon.

***

Angelo approached me at the gazebo just by the poolside; his stance held a straight form that told me I was about to be given bad news. I refilled my whisky glass, taking my eyes off him as I dropped the bottle on the small table that held three lit scented candles, my cigar box and lighter, and a book.

The last thing I needed was any sort of disturbance. I took my me time very seriously, and Angelo might just be at the receiving end of however my response would come out. Depending on whatever it was, he wanted to tell me.

"Hey. Looked for you earlier. Where did you go?"

"Monitoring my movements now?" I asked him, taking out a cigar and lighting it.

"You left the compound without security." He stated displeasure in his eyes.

I took a long drag from the cigar, blowing it out with the stick resting between my fingers as I picked up the whiskey glass with the same hand and picked up my book with the other before allowing my gaze to settle on him. "And what business do you have with that? Hm? Can't I leave my own home without soldiers tailing me like flies to shit?"

"Where did you go?" he asked, eying me suspiciously.

I gave him a look of surprise. "Where did I—" I paused, shaking my head. "I went to a motel to see my dead father; what else would you like to know? The food I ate on the way? Greasy, unhealthy burger. Would you like to know if I stopped by the side of the road to piss and refuel my car?"

Angelo sighed, clearly not believing a word I said. Elio Marino would never eat greasy roadside food. He would never be as foolish to drive alone; he would never stop by a shady gas station to refuel his car; there was no way he could see his father because Ricardo Marino had been dead for years.

"I am only asking because you shouldn't just leave like that—at least let someone know your whereabouts, and it's not a must you have soldiers tailing you; they can stand back and only come to you when you need help." Angelo sighed. "Also, if you would just get a fucking phone, so maybe I can call next time you choose to disappear."

"No."

He cursed under his breath. "You need a phone—"

"No. I carry too much with me. There is no space for a phone."

"Marino—"

I furrowed my brows in mock confusion. "I feel like I'm being repetitive. I feel this sense of déjà vu—like—like we have had this conversation before, and my response was exactly the same as the one I'm giving you. Do you feel it too?"

Angelo dropped his head, a small chuckle leaving him. "No phone...got it."

"Excellent. Anything else?"

He stood straighter. "Yes," He cleared his throat. "STREET returned from the mission an hour ago."

"Indeed? Wait, that was today?"

"Yes," Angelo answered, his features suddenly tight.

"I take it we have what we need, then," I stated in question, taking a sip from the glass before dropping it back on the table, losing interest.

"Yes, we do."

I raised a brow. "But..." I inquired.

"There was a little deviation from their original plan, and they—"

"Who died?" I asked, hoping it seemed I cared as I took a lung full of the smoke, leaving it in my body for a few seconds before letting it out. "One of the STREET people?"

"No," Angelo said.

"One of Dion's people?"

Angelo cleared his throat again. "No. Dion Juan Pablo is the one who's...dead."

I paused and frowned, and my gaze sharpened on him. "I beg your pardon?"

"She said it was a form of self-defense, he tried to rape her, so she protected herself."

"Which girl? The pretty one with the beverage name?"

Angelo shook his head.

I raised both my brows, nodding. "Ah, the short one." I mused aloud and sat up, dropping my book and pressing the cigar into the ashtray. "Finally..."

"Nobody knows they did it."

"It doesn't matter. Their mission was to steal. Not to kill. There is no excuse for carelessness. Have her brought here."

"Marino, she was almost abused—"

"Have her brought to me. Where is Casmiro?"

"Handling it. Pablo himself will be seeking answers. Casmiro is making sure those answers don't lead back to us."

It will. Unfortunately.

"If it does lead back to us. A betrayal of this kind is unforgivable. This will most definitely give me a decent amount of inconvenience. Somebody has to pay for it."

"She was a victim."

"I was a victim; you were a victim. Did the world go easy on us? No. They lack discipline. She, in particular, needs a reality check. I am happy to deliver it."

"Dion was—"

"Have some soldiers bring her here, Do not let other members interrupt. Especially Devil. And tell Casmiro to meet me at my home lounge in an hour." I said, getting my gun and checking the bullet casing, before swiftly cocking the weapon and flicking back on the safety.

"What do you plan to do?" Angelo asked, eying the gun in my hand.

My thumb rubbed against the surface of the gun as I responded. "Kill a sinner and everyone they share blood with. It has been a while."

__

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HELLO, THIS IS A NEW REVISION OF THIS CHAPTER, A LOT HAS BEEN REMOVED TO MAKE IT MORE READABLE, BUT MIGHT BE INCLUDED IN THE PUBLISHED VERSION OF THIS STORY.

BEFORE YOU READ, PLEASE NOTE THE TRIGGER WARNING.

(Language, sex trafficking, mention of pedophilia. graphic description of violence, mentions of child abuse, and emotional manipulation.)

Please proceed with caution.

This chapter is not trying to glorify any of the acts mentioned above. Some people really go through these things, and sometimes it's hard to talk or read about. I want to remind us that this is purely fiction, and I'm in no way in support of any of these things and I wish I had some kind of superpower to hunt down these guys and #@$*¥#$@%¥# to them!

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_______

ZAHRA
_______

I WASN'T born like the other kids were.

At least, I thought I was until I realized the things happening to me didn't happen to normal kids.

From age 5-12, I lived with two adults—no, it wasn't foster care; it was worse than that. From the little I remember, and from what I know now, the gruesome things they made me and the other children staying with us do, were not something children should have been doing.

But it made them money; older men and younger men alike would pay thousands of dollars to have their way with us...no penetration, just gratification, terrible, terrible things we had to do with our hands and mouths.

Anytime I close my eyes, and force myself to remember, I could still see that little girl, standing beside her handler, dreading to ask him that budding question...

***

The living room always smelled like detergent, and the couches were worn out, the lights always dim, like they needed change, but I was little, if I pointed any of these things out, they would never listen to me, so like always, I kept quiet and asked Mr. Handler why we had to do these things, why we get beaten every time we make a mistake as fearful as biting, and he told me that they paid good money for me, and the pain wouldn't last as long. He said that one day I might start to like it.

He was wrong. I always disliked it. It felt...bad. But I didn't want to get hit, so I always did what Mr. Handler said. He was the only parent I knew. Mr. Handler and Miss Grace cared for me and my brothers and sisters. Sometimes, when all our visitors were gone, they would buy us ice cream and candies, and we would watch cartoons.

It used to be one of my best nights.

Until Mr. Handler woke me up after a night of ice cream and candies, they used to celebrate my 12-year-old birthday.

He took me to his room and closed the door. My heart was beating so fast because I thought I had done something wrong. Mr. Handler never lets anyone in his room; Mr. Handler is good.

He knelt in front of me to look me in the eye. His rough hands came to stroke my cheek and then my neck. I noticed his eyes were blue and red-rimmed, and his breath smelled of alcohol.

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked him. Mr. Handler wasn't like the older men; he had just turned twenty years old and was the kindest person I had ever met.

"Yes, Amore Mio, you did something very bad."

I looked down, biting my trembling bottom lip. "I'm sorry, sir."

His blue eyes watched me, and he dropped his gaze. "Fuck," he muttered. "I watched my father carry you in his arms when you were four. I feel sick for wanting you."

I remained quiet, and he looked at me again. "I don't want to do this, but why must you be so fucking beautiful. That face," his fingertips brushed my cheeks feverishly. "That mouth," his thumb brushed my bottom lip. "I know I'm not supposed to touch you, but I want to fuck that pretty little mouth of yours. I want to push my cock past your full lips. I want to come all over those fucking freckles on your cheeks. My Zahra."

This time, fear gripped me. Mr. Handler didn't look good. He looked like he wanted to eat me.

When I took a step back, Mr. Handler grabbed my arm and pulled me back to him, and then he put his mouth on mine and forced his tongue in. I tried squirming out of his hold, but his grip was firm.

He broke away. "Don't fight me, Amore Mio. I won't hurt you. I will make you feel so good. I will stop other men from fucking that mouth. You will only be mine. You don't know how hard it is for me, watching those fuckers use you. I killed one of them. Remember the one that bit you? I slit his throat. For you."

I felt tears bubble in my throat, but I didn't let them fall.

He buried his head in my neck and started kissing me there. "I'm obsessed with you," he mumbled. "I want to fuck you,"

His words made me feel scared and weird. But I let him touch me because he said he wouldn't hurt me. I let him carry me to his bed. I felt a tear fall from the corner of my eyes. I knew Mr. Handler wouldn't hurt me. Even though I knew that, I still wanted him to leave me alone.

I tried pushing him off me, but I was too scared and small; I didn't want Mr. Handler to hate me.

So, I just cried, hoping someone would hear, and someone did hear. Miss Grace pushed open the door and shouted.

"Martino! What are you doing?" the horror on her face and voice had Mr. Handler jumping off me.

Miss Grace pulled my nightdress down and carried me hastily from the bed, hugging me to her body. "What the fuck are you doing?" she screamed at Mr. Handler.

"I was drunk—I'm sorry. Fuck." Mr. Handler said with wide eyes and tried to reach for me. "I'm sorry, Amore Mio."

"Get fucking sober, you bastard," Miss Grace said to him before pulling me out of the room.

The next day, Miss Grace was packing a bag for me, and I asked her where we were going, and she said I was going to new handlers.

It was then that I realized Mr. Handler wasn't the only handler in the world. There were many houses with children like me; it was a business. It wasn't good. It was illegal.

When Miss Grace went to grab her bag, Mr. Handler showed up. He couldn't look me in the eye but still went on both knees in front of me, his head down. "I'm sorry, Amore Mio. I shouldn't have done that to you," he said.

"Will I see you again?" was what I could say, and he raised his head in surprise.

"No. But I will find you," he said, holding my small hand to his warm one. "I will take you out of this; for now, I can't do much; I have to wait until you're older. Listen. When you are 14, your new handler will take you away. And you will be given to someone else, your—your job will be more intense than this—I wish I could have prepped you for it, but I fucked it up...I'm sorry."

"When will you find me?"

He stroked my cheek, pressing his lips to my forehead. "My Zahra," he whispered. "When you're 16, I will come to get you. I promise."

I nodded.

"Wait for me, Amore Mio."

Miss Grace pulled me away from Mr. Handler—Martino. And I was taken to another house with different brothers and sisters.

When I was 14, I and some other kids who were also 14 were taken somewhere else.

This place was terrible, and we were prepped for penetration. There weren't many older men, some of them were young, and they smoked a lot.

The first time I was penetrated hurt so much that I cried and bled. Our madam only gave me two days to recover, and then, the next time, it still hurt but wasn't as painful as the first.

In this place, I found out I had no mother or father. There was an underground operation for sperm and womb donors, where kids were being produced. I lost all hope because I knew this was why I was born. So like the other kids, I stopped asking questions and did as asked.

It happened until I was 15 years old, and then I was sent somewhere else. Our madam said I had been bought for a massive amount of money and had a new private owner.

The first time I saw my private owner, he put a bullet through another man's head.

I was kept in a small room in the big house, and almost every night, my new owner would come in and use me. He was always rough and sometimes slapped me when I wouldn't comply. Sometimes he would force me to swallow a pill so that I would want him too; I hated it. I hated how my body felt after he gave me the drug, and I hated that I would need him to make my body feel much better. I hated him so much. But I endured.

A year passed, and I turned 16.

The next day after my birthday, I heard gunshots, men shouting, and things blowing up. I was so scared that I backed myself into the corner of the room.

My door burst open, and I jumped at how loud it was, burying my head to myself as I pulled my knees up to my chest.

The footstep rushed toward me, and my body shivered in fear. But the footstep slowed, and I could tell the person was kneeling before me.

"Amore Mio?"

I froze.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I looked up, my tear-filled eyes settling on that familiar face.

"My Zahra," he said breathlessly before gathering me into his arms, hugging me so tight. I cried into the crook of his neck, holding on to him for dear life. "I'm so sorry, Amore Mio. I'm so sorry it took me this long to find you; you're safe now."

He held me to him, and I couldn't even look at the dead bodies around me. His men were all around too, and the shootings were still happening. He had done this; he had killed so many people for me.

He really does love me.

His home was quite far away, tucked inside a vast compound he seemed to control. People parted ways for us as we walked in.

Before I could even get cleaned up, he called for a meeting, holding me by his side as he said in Italian.

"This one is mine, the same respect you show me; you are to show it to her. Protect her with your life just as you would protect me. Any harm come to her, and I will burn anything and everything any of you care about, and I will make sure you only die when the last bit of your flesh has been burnt. Am I clear?"

They all responded with small bows of respect, and he nodded, dismissing them.

"Where are we?" I asked him.

"Our home, in Sicily."

"Our...home?"

"Yes. I have spent years building it for us to rule together. My father tried to stop it, but now even he cowers before me, and now, you share the same power, My Zahra."

I didn't respond but leaned more into him as he led me to his bedroom. I let him strip me off my clothes and carry me to the bath as he wordlessly washed my body, and I helped him wash his.

When we were done, he gave me one of his shirts, and I put it on before sitting in front of his dressing mirror and staring at my thin face in the mirror. My wet waist-length hair made me look like a character out of a horror movie. So unnatural.

Martino brought a hair dryer and started drying it, and I held his hand. "No,"

"What do you want, Amore Mio."

My face remained expressionless as he held my long hair in his hands. "Can you cut it?"

He frowned. "Why? It's gorgeous. Unnaturally long but beautiful." He said.

"I don't want it anymore, please."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Okay," he said, fishing for a scissor. Then he placed it against my hair, still at a long length.

"No...higher."

He raised the scissor until they reached my jaw level; I raised my hand, stopping him. "There's fine."

He started to cut, and I closed my eyes. As he cut, I willed myself to forget every horror I'd faced until now. I shoved and shoved and shoved until I began to feel numb to the pain.

He whispered in my ear when he finished cutting and drying my hair. "Open your eyes,"

Slowly, my eyes fluttered open, and my reflection stared back at me. I stared for a few seconds before my hand raised to touch the tip.

And for the first time since my last Ice cream and candy night, a smile curved on my lips.

"I like it," I said with a scratchy voice. "I like it a lot."

***

I didn't like Dion's lips on me.

But that goddamn pill he gave me was messing with my head, and I was laughing and chuckling like I was on the brink of madness. Dion was also chuckling too, high on whatever he had given me.

It was only like five minutes ago that he had whispered in my ear, telling us to go somewhere private.

I nodded like an idiot and let him pull me with him, we got into an elevator, and somewhere at the back of my mind, I heard a voice.

"Zahra, what the fuck are you doing? Leave him now. Take an excuse that you want to use the bathroom, and I'll come to get you."

I was dazed with everything around me, and when the elevator closed, Dion held my face in his hands and crashed his lips to mine in a kiss, pulling my waist to the bulge in his pants; I giggled when he dropped his head to lick and kiss my neck.

"Devil, Zahra's in trouble."

"Just helped Upper out of the club; I'm on to her now."

The elevator dinged open, Dion led me out, and we stumbled down the hallway. One of the guards in front of a door opened it for us, and Dion led me inside, closing the door behind me as he pushed me to it, his body pressing against mine, erection hard against my stomach while he kissed me.

"Zahra, I've lost visuals of you. Are you okay?"

Dion fisted my hair, pulling my head back while he sucked on my neck.

"Hmm," I moaned. "Slow down, tiger."

"How can I? You're so hot; I wanna fuck you."

"You will; patience is a virtue," I whispered breathlessly, and he let go of my hair.

I smiled at him when he looked at me.

"Get on the bed, Dion. Get naked."

Dion scrambled off me, turning to take off his clothes hurriedly.

"Remind me to drug you more often because you sound like a fucking horny teenager. He's almost twice your age, Zahra." Dog's voice reached my ear, the recognition of the voice shocking me for a second.

"Oh, hi, Dog," I whispered with a smile watching as Dion's naked body rushed to the bed, his cock hard and ready.

"Oh, now she fucking answers—"

"Bye, Dog."

"Wai—"

I discreetly took the comm from my ear, threw it to the ground, and stepped on it till I felt it break underneath my heels.

"Come over here, princess."

I walked to the foot of the bed with a smile, my tongue grazing my bottom lip.

He had his hand around his shaft, stroking it.

I titled my head, watching him. For a man his age, he still had some muscles on him.

"Come on, baby,"

My hand went to undo the zipper of my dress, and then I slipped it down my body, leaving the red lace panties and bra on display.

Dion groaned. "So fucking sexy. How did I get lucky?"

You didn't.

I grinned, faking shyness as I bit my bottom lip to stop the grin from spreading.

"Do you have a knife?" I asked him, and he frowned, still stroking his length.

"A knife? What for?"

"I was thinking... I could...cut off my bra, tie you up with it, then cut off my panties and gag you with it while I ride your cock. Red would look so good on your wrist."

"Top drawer to the left," Dion said like a happy dog waiting to be fed by his master.

I moved to the drawer he gestured to and smiled to myself, spotting the knife there. It was small and handy. Just perfect.

I made my way back to the foot of the bed before I climbed on slowly, crawling up his naked body and pressing myself down to his hard cock.

"Ah," he grunted, his jaw clenching. He rocked his hips, trying to dry hump me through my red lace panties.

"Shhh, patience."

"Ride me—fuck—I'm so hard right now."

"Poor thing, you wanna see something interesting before we start?"

He nodded hurriedly.

I raised my knife-free hand to the wig and pulled it off with the small wig cap I wore underneath it, whipping my short hair left and right, my fingers brushing through the small waves of it.

I felt Dion's cock soften almost immediately, looking at me with wide eyes, the recognition shining like a bright light in those dimmed, intoxicated pupils.

"Oh fuck..." he muttered in defeat.

"You recognize me?"

Fear flashed through those eyes, and I smiled.

"Of course you do, Juan," I said, dragging the knife down to his chin from his cheek. "What?" I shot him a taunting smile, "You don't wanna fuck me anymore?"

His chest heaved.

"Look, Zahra, I paid off Martino; I have nothing owed to you."

"You don't?"

"Just let me go; if you kill me, Pablo will—"

"Do nothing; you know he'll do nothing, Juan. Even if he wanted to, Martino or I would be the last person he thinks of."

"What do you want from me?"

"Your life." I smiled. "Remember the last time we saw each other? I told you I would dig a knife down your throat." I dragged the knife to his throat. "What was it you called me? Martino's whore?"

"Martino cut off my fucking finger for that, isn't that payment enough?"

"How about the little girl you killed? Isa. You fucked her—raped her, and killed her. This was before the incident with Martino. Do you remember? Your words were, 'throw her body in a fucking river somewhere; she didn't even make me come' She was a fucking child."

"That was—"

I raised the knife and plunged it right into the base of his throat. I gritted my teeth, twisting the knife as I felt his leg kick weakly behind me, eyes wide in death as he choked in the gurgle of his blood, his bloodied tongue sticking out as all his green veins rose to supply blood to the spot I had stabbed him.

I twisted the knife again, watching his life slip out of him until his struggle stopped.

I heaved a sharp breath, letting go of the weapon as I threw my head back, and pressed my eyes tightly together. "Shit," I gritted out.

Quickly I got off him, rushed to the bathroom, and washed the blood from my hands. I ran back into the room, picked up my dress, and slipped it back on before finding the small cap and the wig, arranging them on my head.

The door pushed open brutally, and I gasped, turning to see a fast-breathing Devil. "Zah—" he stopped short as his gaze shifted to Dion's body on the bed.

His wide eyes shifted to me and then to Dion; he rushed into the room, and before he shut the door, I spotted unconscious bodies on the ground.

"What the fuck happened?" he whispered in a yell, raking both hands through his hair. "How the—why the—"

My body shook, and I hugged myself, "He tried to hurt me, I—I was trying to defend myself, and I—I don't know what happened—I was—I was wasted—I wasn't thinking—I didn't know—"

"Hey, hey," Devil rushed to me, wrapping his hands around my body. "I'm sorry, it's okay; I'm glad you're okay. Fast thinking is always important." He assured, breaking away from me before rushing to Dion's body and pulling the knife from his throat. "We gotta get outta here." He said.

He held my wrist. "Come on."

Before we left, I picked the ruined comm device from the ground and glanced at Dion's lifeless body.

My lips curved to the side.

__

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_______

ZAHRA
_______

ONE MORE, just one more pretense act, and I could carry on with my day and self-reflect on my actions. No matter how many times I'd done it, there was still that hollow feeling that came after taking a life—the feeling of emptiness and wrongness.

They were terrible men; they deserved it because they hurt a lot of people. But who am I to pass judgment upon them? There was no way to regain the little pieces of myself and the conscience that I lost after I ended a life.

The only thing keeping my head in check was the awareness of right, wrong, necessity, and the limit to how far I took my revenge.

Martino would say there was a lever in every human, one you should always pull when you feel like you're drowning in the emotion that comes with getting justice for the wrongs committed against you. If you didn't pull the lever, you'd sooner forget where it is in your mind, and you'd be no different from the people you want dead.

I tried not to forget that. Each time I took a life, I'd take a moment to myself, try to pull myself back from that dark place, and come back like nothing had ever pulled me there in the first place.

My head was still light from the pill Dion gave me. I'd recognized it on sight and knew I wouldn't get completely out of it with just one. I would have needed at least three for a total blackout.

The two soldiers ordered to bring me to the poolside maintained their distance after I'd urged them to touch me and see what happened. I already knew it was a matter of time before the boss himself asked for me.

Before then, I had been with STREET, and they'd been threading carefully because they thought that was the first time I ended a life. Meanwhile, I didn't feel like talking because the pill made me feel sick and hung over despite not making me so high that I lost all my senses.

I maintained the frown on my face as we reached the poolside, ignoring the dull ache at the side of my head as I spotted two more soldiers standing by the gazebo, and the two that had brought me retreated to stand at a near end.

My gaze shifted to Elio, who stood at the foot of the pool, both hands tucked into his pants, his suit and tie nowhere in sight. And, as always, he looked like someone dressed for a funeral.

I sighed, walking towards him, wishing I had changed into something else. This dress had overstayed its welcome.

Hopefully, this will be quick.

He didn't look away from the pool as I stood beside him. "Thinking of taking a dip?" I asked, "Because I could totally sleep off tonight's chaos and leave you to it." I said, hugging myself.

He didn't respond.

The silence toyed with my head, and I shifted from one foot to another, the cold outside sending chills down my spine.

Impatient, I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it.

"I can't remember the last time I swam." He said, still looking at the large pool, voice raspy. "It's been...years. I think I was still a teenager then." He breathed in and then out. "I feel this little twinge of fear whenever I see this pool. But for some reason, I can't stay away."

I looked at the pool and then at him. "I really don't give a fuck about anything you've just said."

He turned his head in my direction and looked away. After a few seconds, his whole form went still, a frown caused a slight pinch to his brows, and then he looked back at me again.

It was like a confused, delayed double-take. I watched his eyes scan me from head to toe and then slowly back to my head.

I removed the wig because I couldn't stand the heat it gave my head and neck. I wonder how people do it, honestly.

"What in the world are you wearing." He stated in question.

I looked down at myself with a frown and then met his gaze blankly. "Do you not recognize it because it's in a different color? It's a dress, Elio. Like...a cloth? People wear clothes to cover their nakedness? Cause it's clothes?"

"I know what—" he stopped, blinking and shaking his head as if to say, not today. "My reason for asking for you—"

"Finally, let's get this over with."

His jaw locked. "Angelo told me you deviated from tonight's original plan by killing Dion Juan Pablo. He says it's because he almost abused you."

"Yes."

"Indeed? You don't look too shaken up for a person who was almost sexually assaulted."

I scoffed, holding myself tighter, my nails digging into my arm. "Dion tried to rape me, and I defended myself. I didn't mean to kill him, but I guess the knife touched the wrong vein because my good luck sometimes is a curse," my voice shook, and I felt tears rising like bile in my throat.

I breathed out, trying to hold myself together and hold the tears back.

I stood straighter, struggling to get a hold of my emotions, and I continued. "I couldn't exactly push him off me because he was twice my size. So, I did the next best thing I could do. I didn't think—think that he would...die."

Elio's brows drew down in a frown.

"My whole team is worried about me, and I fucking hate it when people walk around me like I'm an eggshell they don't want to crack." I let out a humorless chuckle, looking away from him. "As much as they don't like to admit it, they look up to me. I'm not about to make them see me as some weakling."

Looking back at him, I hardened my features even though I could feel the tears building up in my eyes. "I am shaken up, but I am also angry because I just killed a person, and the last thing I want to do right after is talk to the man who sent us on the goddamn mission in the first place. I just need to get under the damn covers and wait for the nightmares I can already feel coming; so sorry if I'm not a fucking weeping woman, but you don't expect me to cry amid my enemies." I said in one breath.

Elio watched me, his eyes assessing and the frown leaving his face before he spoke, "Why do you even try?"

That stopped my thoughts for a bit, but I didn't break.

"What?" I feigned confusion and disbelief.

"That...was a pathetic attempt at lying. It's the worst you've come up with for as long as I've known you."

"You think...you think I'm—"

"Enough, I see right through it."

I kept the act on for precisely five seconds before I drew on a blank look. "He got what he deserved," I said at last. "He wasn't a good person."

"So, killing him makes you better?"

"Yes."

"I will ignore your delusion and return your attention to what I wanted from this. It wasn't to kill him, but to get access to their system—"

"Which we did."

"You do not cut me off when I'm talking, Zahra."

I had another smart-ass reply right off my tongue, but I held myself back, and he continued.

"Not only were you reckless, but you also put the lives of your companions at risk; you put the life of my only family at risk. And that is something I can't forgive."

"Devil is alive, and everyone else is fine."

"It doesn't answer the what-if question."

"There doesn't have to be a what-if question. Dion was a fucking bastard. I had a score to pick with. I saw an opportunity to pick that score, and I did. No one was hurt, and no one knew it was us. The world is still turning."

"¿Qué puntaje?" He asked. What score?

"Eso es para que yo lo sepa, y para que usted se ocupe de sus asuntos." That is for me to know and for you to mind your business.

He went quiet and turned away from me, facing the pool. "You have no remorse or regret for what you've done."

"I don't see a reason to."

He nodded, and I hated that I couldn't read him right now. Somehow, I had been the open book tonight; he wasn't giving anything away.

I took a step back from him just to be safe.

His throat worked. "My father used to drown me...here, right in this pool." He said, and I frowned, my eyes going to the lonely water before settling back on him. His eyes were trained on the water like he could see it happening.

He took his hand out of his pocket and pointed to the gazebo. "Right over there is where my mother used to stand, watching him drown me." he dropped his hand back down. "I personally think she loved to watch."

I held myself tighter for real this time. Remembering all Devil had told me weeks ago. "Why?" I asked. "Why did your father do that?"

"Because I was stubborn. I lied a lot. Kept things from him. Spoke English to him. Forgot something he told me I shouldn't forget. Did something other than what he wanted." He said, taking his second hand out of his pocket as he began to undo his cufflinks slowly. "He called it baptism. Whenever I did any of those things, he would call me a sinner and bring me here. And I would beg him, pathetically. Thinking maybe this time he'd listen; he'd show mercy and let me off with just a warning. But he never did." He slipped the first cufflink into his pocket, proceeding to undo the second one. "I would shout, but then, he'd dip my head inside the water, cutting me off; I would fight, but he wouldn't let me go; I'd run out of air, and he would keep his hold firm. He did it until I would drown, and then, he'd pump my chest until I woke up." He slid the second cufflinks inside his second pocket and began rolling up his sleeves.

"When he wasn't satisfied with the lesson, he'd do it again. The feeling of fear—of dying—the number of times he made me feel it, had me defying him at every turn. Just so he would bring me here and do it again. Just so I could revel in the dazed look my mother would give us. Just so I could imagine what it would feel like to just—watch."

He turned to me when he finished rolling up his sleeves. "But more than anything, I wanted to know how it felt to be the one doing the drowning. I wanted to be the one pushing my head under the water. I didn't know why at that time, but now I do."

"Because you're a sick fucker who needs serious medical attention?"

"Part of the reasons."

I took another step back, and he took one forward.

"The real reason was the relief of knowing that I would lose consciousness. I found that the better version of myself is when I can't be myself. When I get to escape, even for a few minutes. I still thank my father for giving me that awareness."

I shook my head.

"What did your mother do afterward?"

"She took care of me. And waited eagerly for the next time we'd take another visit to the pool, and soon I started waiting eagerly with her."

"That's fucked up."

"She was sick. It's hard to blame her."

"So, it's genetic," I said, stepping back.

"As I have suspected, yes."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because you're a sinner, like me." He stepped toward me, and I took two back. "In clearer words, Zahra, because you're about to die."

I stood still, and it felt like everything paused around us for a moment.

We watched each other, and he waited for me to make the first move. It was bait. But it meant two things, I either fall for the bait and survive to see another day or put up a fight and die by his hands.

I chose the first option, turned, and bolted down the curved corner of the pool. I should have known there was a problem when the guards didn't make a move to even stop me.

Running from him was stupid, a guaranteed failure, but I still attempted it.

I reached the only exit door and tried to open it, but it didn't budge.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

I looked behind me to see him walking toward me like he had all the time in the world, calm and collected. "No cameras, no rules, no helper...it's just you and me now, Sport."

I looked around me. This was an open area, which was well-fenced with bushes around. There was a building there, but the only way to enter it was through the exit doors and the window.

I rushed to the window and tried to pull it up.

"Locked," Elio's taunting voice reached my ear again.

It was made of glass; if I could punch a hole through and reach the lock—

"You can't break it." His voice rang out as if he was in my head.

I swallowed, feeling sweat bead on my forehead.

The fence.

"It's useless. I'm taller than you are, and even I won't be able to make the jump." His voice was closer.

I turned sharply, and he was closing in on me as I had guessed. I moved to run again, but I didn't go far. He caught me just at the pool's edge; I tried to squirm out of his hold. My elbows pushed but failed mercilessly to make a hit to his stomach.

I dropped my head to sink my teeth into the skin on his forearm and reveled in the bliss that came from his groan of pain. I dipped my teeth further until I tasted blood. He forcefully pulled his hand from my mouth, and his grip loosened.

When I thought I had the running opportunity, his leg swept mine from underneath me, and I fell toward the pool. On reflex, I grabbed his shirt collar as I went down, and we both hit the water with a massive Splash.

For about five seconds, I was underwater, but I waved my arms and legs furiously until my head was above again; I coughed out, my chest heaving as my breathing pushed out in gasps.

We fell on the deepest side of the pool, and fucking hell was It deeper than any pool I'd ever been in.

Elio Surfaced right after me, his hair wet and pressed against his forehead as he angrily brushed it away, gaze furious and dead set on me, keeping himself afloat.

"You don't want to do this," I said with trembling lips, shivering from the cold water.

He swarm towards me, and my attempt to swim back was a total failure. I tried to fight him off again, trying to move my legs to hit him, but I was too slow, and somehow, he was faster, like he had mastered the act of moving stealthily underwater. I moved to hit him with my hand in the open air, but he caught it, his other hand wrapping around my neck.

"You—you really don't want to do this." I stuttered in a shiver.

"Why?" He seethed out, not even shivering as violently as I was, but I could see the goosebumps on his forearm as his grip tightened around my neck, almost cutting my airflow.

My last resort was my leverage.

"Devil—he'll never forgive you."

He blinked at me, amusement shining in his eyes as he said. "Surprise...that's exactly why I'm doing this."

Fuck.

"You piece of shi—" my words were swallowed the moment the water swallowed my head and my entire body.

And I wondered how long I could hold my breath.

__

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The exchange between Zahra and Elio?

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Random Question: What's the first app you open on your phone when you wake up?

see you Friday, xx

(TRIGGER WARNING: Description of drowning/Emotional manipulation)

Thanks for reading, and for your engagement in the last chapter. Do comment as you read, it helps me write faster when I get feedback. Enjoy this update.)

_______
ELIO
_______

IT WAS simple.

I needed STREET. They were skillful. Stringent. Chaotic in the face of danger, but still conceivably effective. But I had never been one to rely on people before making my next move. I was beginning to lean on the idea of them, beginning to get perturbingly dependent on their presence to get things done.

There was the fact that I wanted Elia far away from me, from this country, but the lingering sense of peace seemed to fill me, knowing he was close by. The urge to keep him safe and shield him from danger was like a bow to a violin.

Elia being close by, was messing with things. And him being close to a person who attracted danger like a moth to a flame was even worse than him being closer to me.

I didn't know who she was. But I knew she was someone. Someone who had the guts to kill the second in command of a pernicious family and show no remorse or fear for it.

It was direful.

All my years in this business, I had seen fear. I had looked into the eyes of men twice my age, withering in fear after a betrayal they thought could take me out of power. I had seen fear in the eyes of powerful men after taking the life of someone they weren't supposed to touch, but somehow, that fear had been missing from her eyes. It made her lie very transparent.

It put me on guard. And for something to put me on guard, it simply meant it was a symptomatic sign that I had to cut her off. she was a threat. A threat to my presence, a threat to my brother's life, and eventually, a danger to my insanity.

I detested her formidable presence; I abhorred her negative effect on me. I despised that she even affected me, that she played the strings of my anger until I resulted in a mentally scarring solution to get rid of her.

I never used this pool. Never liked it. It was a trigger, one that bit at my skin and toyed with my head. A vast mass of water scared me. I only used a bathtub to punish myself; otherwise, the shower was the only place I could bear the thought of being underwater. It was where my mom would take me after my father was done with me. She would wash me, sing to me, brush my hair in the privacy of my bedroom, and feed me till I couldn't breathe. It was her idea of an apology, but she didn't know how much I appreciated it. How much I reveled in the care that came after each punishment.

It had been years since I had dwelled in these taunting memories. And now, all because of this—

My grip tightened around her neck, and though it was numb, I still felt the sting of her nails clawing at my fingers, trying to set herself free while she held her breath, her body already giving out to the pull of the water and the lack of oxygen.

If she dies, Devil has no reason to stay here. He'll try to kill me, but he'll fail. I'll hold him hostage and transport his ass back to Los Angeles with tighter security this time. I either let the rest of the chaotic crew go or kill them, depending on my mood.

After everything happens the way I will, I'd handle things myself, my plan goes back into motion, and everything goes back to normal.

No STREET. No Devil. No hiccups in my path.

Zahra's hand moved to my wrist, trying with all her weak might to get my grip to loosen. Her face was scrunched on tight, trying to hold her breath and survive. The sheer determination she gave off was impressive. She'd been trained for this too. It was painfully obvious how long she had lasted, but I knew she was at her breaking point, and this was beginning to get tiresome.

I tightened my grip, and her eyes widened underneath the water, her mouth finally slipping open, taking in the water to her lungs. Her body jerked in my hand, but I held firm.

"There we go," I whispered while her body gave another vibrating jerk. "Don't fight it."

The bubbles slowly stopped, her body jerked again, her grip loosening from my wrist when she gave out to the water, and her eyes flickered shut until there was nothing. No sound of struggling or rippling water; it was just silence.

I heaved a breath and pulled her body out of the water, signaling to one of the soldiers, and he rushed towards me. I grunted, lifting her heavy unconscious body from the pool, the soldier assisting in pulling her out completely, laying her body beside the pool.

I brushed my hair back with both my hands before getting out of the water, drenched and dripping from head to toe, my clothes sticking to me like a second skin.

Blowing out a breath, I signaled to another soldier. "Turn the cameras back on," I said before turning to the other soldier, who had assisted.

"Make it seem like she drowned, and you tried to revive her. Do not exert effort; I want her to stay dead." I said to the soldier, who dutifully went to his knees, pumping her chest with little effort.

With one hand working on the buttons of my shirt, I made my way back to the gazebo, skin biting with irritation with what I had just put myself through, at the unconscious step I had taken towards being exactly like my father had been. My skin had a distinct crawling, and the urge to punish myself pulled strong.

I shook my head as if it would shake the sickening thoughts from my brain.

Coughs and sputters sound breeze through my head, followed by a string of panicked curses.

I halted, a frown dragging down my brows as I slowly turned to put a picture to my thoughts.

She was awake, coughing out water, her hand pressing at her throat, and the soldier staring with surprise.

Anger, burning flaming hot obdurate anger, flooded through my veins in waves. "What part of do not put in any effort, don't you fucking understand, estúpido!"

"I didn't. She just—I—"

I groaned, heading faster for the gazebo, and grabbing a gun, irritated that I couldn't even kill the soldier because I didn't want to hassle over finding the rest of his immediate family.

I walked back towards them. "Step away, and don't make me see you for weeks to come, or else...." I didn't need to finish that statement before he removed himself, rushing away from the pool area, towards the exit, and out of sight.

I stared down at Zahra; her breathing was ragged, and her limbs were weak from her struggle to stay alive. Her eyelids flickered shut and opened in a battle to stay awake.

"You should have just stayed dead," I said, pointing the gun directly at her forehead. "Now I'd have to send people down to Saudi Arabia to find your little womb donor mother and kill her alongside any child she birthed. All because of you."

She shook her head, but it was so sluggish. "I have—no relation—to—to her," she winced, coughing lightly. "Save yourself—the—the extra hassle and just do it."

"You share her blood, and her children share your blood. At least the husband will be spared."

She watched me through half-closed eyes, her lips lifting to the side with a breathy laugh. "Fuck—you."

I removed the safety from the gun, a few seconds away from pulling the trigger, when the exit door burst open. Devil stopped short when he saw the sight in front of him.

I sighed, shaking my head.

"This thing called...luck." Her voice croaked out.

Ignoring me, he rushed towards Zahra, immediately getting to his knees and lifting her body so her back was to his chest. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Peachy," she smiled at him, a whimper leaving her as she tried sitting upright on her own.

"Get away from her, Elia. She's not whom you think she is," I said, still pointing the gun to her head.

Devil raised his head, a fury similar to mine, making his eyes glaze over. "Fuck off,"

"Don't make me repeat it," I said.

He ensured Zahra was okay before getting to his feet, his burning dark eyes dead set on mine. "First off, don't talk to me like I'm a fucking child, and secondly, how the fuck could do this? What the hell did she do to you?"

"She killed without reason—"

"Dion almost hurt her; it was self-defense." He bit back, and I almost pulled the trigger then and there, hating how she manipulated him and had him wrapped around her little finger.

"Elia, she has you fooled, believe me—"

"Believe you? Why the fuck should I believe you?" he yelled, voice raspy. "What reason do I have to believe any fucking word that comes out of your mouth." He shook his head, staring at me like I was a stranger. "You shouldn't have done this—you shouldn't have touched her, you sick bastard."

"Open your eyes, Hermano; you're playing directly to her chords. She confessed to me. She told me she killed him because she had a score to settle with him. I have only ever been honest with you, except when it concerns your safety. Otherwise, I would never directly push you in harm's way, and that is what I would be doing if I let her live. She is bad for you, Elia."

Devil shook his head. "I would take her lies over yours any day, any time. I would take her bad over yours even in fucking death. There is absolutely nothing you could say to change my mind."

I hardened my features, knowing I couldn't be soft on him. It had never worked.

"Do not interfere, Elia."

He stepped closer. "I'm not letting you touch her."

"Okay," I raised the gun, pointing it right at him; the shock in his eyes—had my arms feeling too weak to even hold up the gun, but I held firm. "You either step away, or I kill you first and then kill her right afterward."

Devil's gaze slipped to the gun in my hand and then back to my eyes. "Bullshit," he said.

I tilted my head to the side. "I adore your faith in me, but the last thing you should do is test me, Devil."

"Devil don't—" Zahra's voice pinched out from where she was, at the brink of passing out.

"You can't do it," Devil said.

"You think?" I asked.

"I know," he seethed out. "You're all fucking talk when it comes to me. Weak. Incompetent. A fucking failure."

"I'd watch my mouth if I were you," I warned.

"You could never do it," he continued. "All those years ago, you couldn't do it—"

"Stop talking." The gun shook in my hand.

"Why? Because it's the truth? Because deep down, you're still that weak fucker who got beat around by his dear old dad?"

"Shut up, Elia." My breathing spiked.

"What did it?" He asked.

"Devil stop," Zahra's attempt to stop him was a failure too.

"Tell me, what made you completely flip over? What turned you into him? Was it the thrill you got after murdering your whole family? Did you love your mother's scream while you stabbed her? Or Mariana and Lorenzo's tortured wails while you fucking burned them alive."

I shook my head. "Stop, Elia,"

"Why? Be fucking honest with yourself, Elio; killing me would be your last tipping point, so fucking do it because I know you want to." He stepped closer to me. "I don't know why I didn't see it before, but it's clear now that me being alive is the only delusion you have of being a good person. But you're not. You're the one who needs to open your eyes, Elio. You didn't fucking kill me, but you killed an innocent 6-year-old instead of me. What the fuck is the difference? I'm alive because I'm the only physical trophy for the one good thing you have ever done."

My hand shook again, his words reaching straight right to my heart. "Don't fucking degrade it," I said, my chest burning. "Don't fucking make it sound meaningless!" The yell racked through my whole body, and I threw the gun to God knows where. My eyes watered. "It took everything from me, you ungrateful bastard!" my voice shook. "Everything!"

It was foolish doing this in front of Zahra or the soldiers who lingered by, but I was too riled up, hurt by his words and assumptions of me. 

"It took my whole life from me! That one fucking action, that little kid dying by my fucking bullet, took my whole life from me, and I did it all for you, Elia! All for you! So don't fucking stand here and make my whole life more meaningless than it already is!"

Devil took a step back at my outburst.

"Talk shit about me burning Mariana and Lorenzo alive; talk shit about me stabbing my mother, I'll take it all, but don't you dare question or degrade what I did for you. I'll take it from anyone but not you. Not you, Elia."

A tear slid down his cheek, regret shining in his eyes, but he made no attempt to say anything.

I wiped my face with both my hands, sniffing and shaking my head, hating this weakness with every fiber of my being. "Go...take her away. When she turns out to betray you, don't say I didn't try to warn you." I turned my attention to Zahra, remorse and the same regretful look in her eyes. "And you, stay clear of me because I swear to God, one more fucking problem from you, and this little drowning thing would seem like a fucking walk in the park."

With that, I snapped my fingers to one of the soldiers, and he rushed to me as I made my way toward the exit. "Pick up the gun, drain the pool, and clean it thoroughly. Take my things from the gazebo and bring them to me."

"Yes, Marino."

I stopped. "Everything that happened here stays here."

"The cameras were on, sir; it directly sent feeds to your home lounge, sir."

"Wipe it."

"Sir, Casmiro was in your home lounge, sir."

I gritted my teeth. "That's okay. I trust him. Make sure those two get to their quarters without trouble."

"Yes, Marino."

I walked away without a glance at them. The need to punish myself had vanished—no, it had been sated. The only person I loved hated me; the only person I lived for saw me as everyone else did.

That was the worse punishment I could ever get. It was both physical and emotional, and I held on to it, held on to that feeling like it was the very ice the burn in my chest needed.

I held on to Elia's hate for me. It was all I'd ever wanted anyway; I just never thought it would feel even worse than the thought of dying.

I never thought I would hate it so much.

But then again, I deserved it. What right did I have to complain?

__

Thanks for reading!

What did you think of this chapter?

Elio and Devil's exchange? How do you think they'd come back from this?

Do you think Zahra would come clean to Devil?

ALSO: I saw some comments about when the romance between Elio and Zahra would start. This is a slow burn enemies to lovers guys, and I didn't want to rush the romance. I want to make this a good enemies to lovers where both characters would finally have a good reason to dislike each other, and then slowly, build their relationship along sides character developments from that point. I promise it will be worth it, and I promise it would be soon! wait for it!

Random Question: If you could marry a celebrity, male or female, who would it be? (ZENDAYA FOR ME)

see you Monday xx

_______
ELIO
_______

TAKING OVER the Marino empire had been one of the hardest things I had ever done. It was easy faking my father's death, effortlessly slipping into his shoes and taking over from where he left off. But even with the 'Wicked' persona he had created for me before he 'died,' I had still struggled with our associates and other higher-ups who didn't see me as experienced enough to fill his shoes and run the business smoothly.

I was too young compared to those fifty and above ages.

Even now, though they didn't outrightly complain out of fear of crossing the wicked psychopath, who would likely wipe out their whole existence, there were still murmurs about it. The old ones were still too traditional with their ways, fearing to take things to the next level and strengthen their families.

Old ones like Pablo, who firmly believed in bond and family, detested betrayal and could ruin the reputation of any house if he so much as called a meeting with his little oldies. The 67-year-old man was a grumpy, uninterested traditional leader who still led by old laws and believed in OMERTÀ .

Delusional men.

I was the lawless one, toying with politics and being almost legal. I was the one who betrayed and two-timed. I was reckless because I was young and didn't know actual loss and the love of family.

I agreed. Love from family had been a miss for me. It never lasted. It was taken away, and so was my heart along sides those ashes, my conscience, and the feeling of right or wrong. All I had to do now was protect all I had left, and if having a sit down with Pablo in this very bright and un-sanitized city restaurant would help me accomplish that, then so be it.

I brought my wrist to my view for the sixth time, watching people enter and exit the restaurant. Chatter, soft music in the background, and the smell of coffee and bread lingering in the air.

My knees bounced up and down absentmindedly, impatience curling in my stomach. "So unprofessional. How can a man like him disrespect time?" I complained, and Casmiro merely glanced at me with a slight lift of his shoulders, his eyes glued to the newspaper he was reading.

I sighed, reaching for my cigar packet and my lighter. I lit one up and placed it between my lips, eying Casmiro. "How long will you keep this up, hm?" I asked.

He didn't respond, and I shook my head. It had been three days since I returned home, and he was nowhere to be seen. He had apparently seen the footage; he knew what Devil meant to me but didn't say anything about it.

In fact, he didn't say anything. I hadn't seen much of him. If he had a message to pass across to me, he'd send one of his men to deliver it. I gave him his space and time to process it, but it was apparent he needed more time to wrap it around his head that my father had another son, and he was Devil. And I hid it from everyone, including him.

"We have work to do. We should be in agreement." I said, blowing out the smoke, nodding my head at the blast of the Vanilla flavor from the cigar. I rechecked the pack, reading what the stick was made of. "You should try this; it has a wonderful flavor." I extended it to him.

Slowly, he looked up from the newspaper, a scowl on his face as he watched me with disbelief. "I quit smoking, E. Three fucking years ago."

I dropped the pack immediately. "I remember that."

"Right, you do." He muttered, shaking his head and looking back at the newspaper, completely shielding his face from view.

I sighed, relaxing back on the chair, my fingers drumming on the table, my knees bouncing up and down, and I felt even more restless than I did before.

"After this," I spoke again. "I will be visiting a gallery for an art exhibit. Mayor Artyom Smirnov invited me. He flew in from Russia a week ago and will be returning in two days; he wants to catch up because he thinks me an old friend. There will be lots of political talks and many things you can learn from."

"I'll be busy." He said almost immediately after I finished talking.

"Busy with what?"

"I am overseeing some shipments for petroleum, oil, and gas here in Milan and over at Naples, Sicily, and now, Turin, thanks to the intel STREET retrieved from Dion."

I nodded. "The one with five thousand barrels?"

He shook his head. "That shipment will come six months from this one. They shifted the date due to two added containers."

I frowned. "More barrels?"

Casmiro shrugged. "It's shipment for the Marino Caporegime sovereign society. Could be an illegal shipment of ammo, drugs, or people. It's not our business. We're only aiding. I signed off on it because I didn't want to have to go to their headquarters or bother you with it. It only delayed the shipment by six months."

The MCSS. A tight-knit decades-old society in the body of the Marino empire. They had several associations with different Caporegimes from different families, inside and outside Italy. The society had been created under the supervision of my great-grandfather, and they brought in the second most significant illegal funds from whatever criminalistic business they depended on to keep the association standing.

Although I had a vague idea of this business, I didn't care enough to investigate further. They were sovereign, only in my name. They could do whatever they wanted. I was just supposed to make sure they did it without hurting the family name, which I didn't care about. It was in my right to stop it, but I had no reason to.

They took 30% of the gains, gave the official Marino empire account about 30%, and the remaining 40%, for some reason, went directly to my account, which they had requested for the moment I took over my father's position. Since then, they'd been trying to rope me into their little cult. Every month, I get emails about the proceedings. They kept me in the loop like I was their god, and each email was like a prayer for me to bless and make it come true.

I never gave them the time of day because I had more important things to worry about. I also never spend money unnecessarily, so the billions they send to me every year were primarily useless and never-ending, even after giving away to the charities under the Marino name and those outside the Marino name.

Probably because I never showed up for their annual meetings and anniversary parties, they showed me respect. My father had always attended but kept me out of the spotlight, building my image with them and making them see me as the only leader who could do better than him, creating several assumptions that made them view me as this very intimidating man they had to protect at all cost.

Foolishness in the form of human beings, they were.

"So, which shipment are you going to oversee?" I asked Casmiro, bringing my mind back to the conversation at hand.

"A thousand Oil Barrels are coming from associates in South Africa."

"Oh," it clicked in my head, "My payment for the favor I granted."

Casmiro nodded, concentrating on the newspaper.

The silence dragged on until I spoke again.

"But that was almost four years ago; I didn't ask for a return," I said.

He sighed in exasperation as if my voice annoyed him. "Nobody wants to owe you favors, Marino. The oil barrels were an out from the favor. They managed to gather it as payment."

I nodded, impressed. "Fair enough," I said.

He ruffled the newspaper, indicating he didn't want to talk to me.

"Where in heaven's sake is that old man? I am very compelled to leave. The art exhibit is in two hours."

"Patience," Casmiro groaned.

I pressed the cigar's butt to the ashtray. The silence made me very uncomfortable. It was unlike Casmiro to keep silent when we were in a space together. He always liked asking questions, wanting to engage me in conversations, and knowing what I was thinking.

We even took separate cars to get here. It was unsettling and borderline childish.

This was why I preferred to avoid forming relationships. I should have never agreed to involve him in my matters and become his 'friend' again. We worked better when our childhood shenanigans were only a memory, never to be remembered. But he had begged me to let him in and trust him, and I had been candid with him. It appears he thought my warnings were nothing and that there was no way I could fuck it up.

"You can ask someone to cover the shipment overseeing for you. The exhibit is a medium for you to learn more about how politics work. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"It is. But I have to oversee things myself and report back to you. That's my job." He said, and I didn't miss the bite in his tone.

It was silent again, and my drumming increased. His grip on the newspaper tightened at the noise, and I decided to make the last push.

"What is so exciting in that—" he cut me off by slamming the newspaper on the table, and a few heads turn towards us.

"So this is what you meant by being overbearing and talkative?"

"You agreed to lend your ears."

"Well, would it help if I said I don't feel like talking to you?"

My eyes remained on his. "But you have to."

"I don't."

"Are we bickering?"

He stared at me blankly for a while before confusion contorted his face. "What?"

"That's what friends do, right? They bicker. They fight. They argue, but at the end of the day, they circle back and talk about the issue like mature, level-headed adults."

He squared his jaw. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I sighed. "I need us to work together to get Pablo off our back and turn this whole thing into another one of our favors. That can't happen if you are secretly plotting my murder."

He scoffed, muttering something incoherent under his breath.

"I'm here, aren't I? You have your fast-thinking, problem-solving underboss right where you need him. I don't know why we're having this conversation."

"We are—" I stopped short when I spotted a familiar head of pink hair at one of the tables with a stranger, talking animatedly. "Is there a reason why Milk from STREET is only a few tables away from us?" I asked, and my question brought a frown to Casmiro's face.

He started turning. "What—" he stopped when he spotted her too, confusion lining his brows as he turned back to me and stopped short, his eyes zeroing on the entrance. "Not just Milk,"

I followed his vision, spotting Dog walking into the building with a white tank top showcasing band tattoos on his arms, his jacket tied around his waist, black ripped jeans, and what looked like costly boots. A lit cigarette was between his fingers as he looked around, not once looking at our table before heading to the counter.

I frowned when I saw Devil's figure right outside the building. He was leaning on a sleek white 2014 Chevrolet Impala, wearing a black leather jacket and jeans. And I felt a twinge of pride, seeing him wear my signature color. He was talking to Upper, who was pointing at a building by the side, explaining something to Devil, who just stared at him with boredom or disinterest; I couldn't quite place it.

My eyes swept from them, and I frantically looked around for the short one, but she wasn't inside the building or outside.

"What the fuck is going on with our damn security?" Casmiro asked in wonder, a little anger lingering in his voice.

About to look at Casmiro, I caught a figure approaching from the end of the STREET outside the glass window.

Short hair pushed back by sunglasses, a carefree walking posture, and her mouth chewing gum mercilessly as she walked by. Somehow, she didn't look—short...she was wearing an armless shirt that didn't cover her navel and shorts that were too short and made it seem like she had legs for days.

Her skin was exposed to the sun, tanned, clear, and glowing like she had spent extra hours caring for it before leaving her house. She looked like a foreigner who left her travel crew to shop around for items she could use in decorating her room back in Los Angeles, where she probably lived in a studio apartment with a boyfriend who had gigs at low-rated bars in town. The tote bag she carried played off the role so well.

I blinked, unable to take my eyes off her as she walked past Devil and Upper like they were random strangers. The people in question didn't even glance her way as she entered the restaurant, turning heads.

She took the gum from her mouth and threw it in the waste bin closest to her, and I cringed at the carelessness in her actions.

As Dog had done, she looked around, but this time, her eyes landed directly on our table, a determined smile curling at her lips as she walked towards us.

Any day but today...any fucking day but today.

She reached us. "Oh—"

I got to my feet and encircled my hand around her wrist. Before she could even start the sentence, I was pulling her away.

She yelled over her shoulder. "Hi Cassie, Bye Cassie!"

I pushed past the door to the back room of the restaurant. Having glanced at the layout of the building in the car, I set my pace for the second door on the left, pushed it open, and pushed her inside, her back hitting the wall. 

I locked the door behind me and turned.

She was looking at me with surprise, and that was when I realized the room wasn't exactly as large as the layout shown, but it was big enough to put a 7 feet space between us.

"Wow," she said breathlessly, leaning away from the wall. "Talk about taking me back to high school."

"You never went to high school."

"That's a very keen observation, Dad. Thanks for reminding me that I had a pretty shitty childhood."

"Don't call me that,"

"You called me Sport at the poolside; now we're even unless you call me Sport again; I make no promises—"

I closed the distance between us, my palm slamming on the wall, a space an inch above her head, and her back pressed to the wall on reflex, wide eyes staring up at me. The white light in the storage room popped out the freckles on her cheek. I could smell whatever treatment she used on her hair, and in a swift moment, I was back on that roof with—

Matter at hand.

"Did you forget what I told you the last time we saw each other? If you caused any problems for me, the drowning would seem like a walk in the park?"

"You're the one who dragged me in here like you wanted to fuck my brains out."

That made my thoughts seize. "No, I didn't."

She relaxed, her lips curving in a smile. "We're in some kind of supply closet," she inched higher, obviously standing on her toes as her gaze lowered to my lips, and I mirrored her action like her eyes had controlled mine. "And you're so close; you're towering over me," her teeth clamped on her bottom lip swiftly before releasing it. "Now you can't even stop looking at my lips like you wanna kiss me."

I frowned, growing uncomfortable. I felt the heat between our bodies. Warm and subtle, compelling a version much closer than the heat the small space between us provided.

I locked my gaze back with hers.

When I didn't pull away, the amusement died from her eyes, and this time, when her gaze flickered to my lips, it wasn't deliberate.

I hardened my form and pulled back, keeping as much distance between us as I mentally flicked myself in the head, shoving both hands into my pocket to avoid unintentionally getting them anywhere close to her.

It was almost as if I lost all sense of reasoning when I saw her outside that window because I couldn't remember what I was thinking when I decided to pull her in here with me.

Matter at fucking hand.

"¿Qué quieres?" What do you want?

She cleared her throat, standing straighter. "Ayudarte." She answered. To help you.

I raised a brow. "With what?" I continued in Spanish.

"With Pablo." She said, reaching into the bag and pulling out a brown flat paper bag. "In here are documents proving Dion's illegal dealings behind the knowledge of their whole syndicate. Embezzling, cover-ups, and selling out of close company secrets to competitors." She responded in Spanish, so fucking fluent that it filled something empty in me. I was just as impressed as I had been the first time she had spoken it at long length, but unlike the last time when I didn't care to press on how she learned, I was now inquisitive.

She waved her hand in front of my face, and I blinked, taking my hands from my pocket and collecting the file before taking the papers out and scheming through it. I glanced at her before looking back at the documents and asking. "How did you get this?"

"Some secrets are mine to keep, Elio."

I straightened. "This whole back-and-forth secret thing you have going on is starting to irritate me."

"That sounds like a you problem. Get those papers to Pablo and tell him you found out Dion was a sleazy bastard, and you took care of it because he was about to mess up one of your projects together. He'll thank you and forever be indebted to you because Pablo is traditional like that. Don't ask me how I know."

I eyed her, the need to ask pinched at my insides, but I dropped it. "Why are you giving me this?"

Something shifted in her eyes, and she swallowed.

I sighed. "This isn't for free, is it?"

Her lips thinned as she sucked in a breath and switched back to English. "While I would have loved to give you those papers for free because I caused this mess, and I always fix up my shit. We need your help."

"The audacity you have is incomprehensible."

She looked frustrated now. "I know we were supposed to stay indoors like good little obedient hostages. But this is pretty important."

And I should walk out and ignore how tight her tone had gotten, but instead, I asked. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

"Almost four months ago, we were paid for a job that's supposed to happen today; we lost contact with the client for a long time, and they only just reached out two days ago."

"I thought you work on your terms."

"This case was different."

I frowned. "I'm listening,"

"It's to steal a painting," she fished for a phone in her bag, opened the picture, and showed it to me.  "It's a really weird painting of a twisted chihuahua dog, it's not really the prettiest thing, but—it's something these people want so bad."

I looked away from the picture as she dropped the phone back in the bag. "I'm still not following how I could help you."

"We happen to know that in a few hours, you'll be going to the same exhibit as—"

"Forget it," I started coupling the papers back into the paper bag. "Not happening in this lifetime."

"Oh, come on, this is important."

"And I should care because?"

"Your brother is involved."

I clenched my jaw. Maybe if I had shot him, this form of blackmail wouldn't be relevant.

"You are under my protection; even if you don't steal the—weird—chihuahua painting, they can't reach you if you stay indoors like an obedient little hostage."

Something changed in her demeanor, eyes widening in a plea. "We collected the money, and when we asked to refund. They refused. It's just one job, one stupid painting, and things will go back to normal. It's our fucking reputation on the line. We've never disappointed."

"If you think I give an ounce of care for your reputation, then you have another thing coming."

"I know you don't care, but those documents in your hand could open the door for you. With Pablo."

"I can as well do that on my own."

Her eyes searched mine, and I knew she was trying to find a way to get me to agree. "Okay, fine, do this one thing for me, and I'll answer one question. Anything you wanna know about me, I'll answer truthfully."

Interesting.

I thought carefully about the question.

"How are you related to Martino Conti," I asked.

Her eyes widened as she gasped, taking a stumbling step back. "How—" she stopped; the horror in her eyes told me I had hit the nail on the head with that question, and my curiosity ate at me. Her eyes had shown all the emotions she would have loved to stay hidden, but she took a shaky breath and raised her chin a little, a stance to show courage.

"I used to work for him, but I left." Her voice was solid and firm.

"Why."

"I answered your question." She snapped.

I nodded, dropping the topic. "You understand that many important people will attend the exhibit tonight."

She sighed in relief, her shoulders dropping as the tension slipped out of her, and she stood upright again. She nodded to my statement. "Yes, we had a whole plan to get in and steal the painting after the show, but—Angelo has confiscated a lot of our equipment, and we can't go in blindly with just comm devices and wits, and since I've gathered putting your brother in danger is unforgivable, you're my best shot at this."

"I am not stealing a—chihuahua painting."

"No, you're not, you're just getting one of us in as your plus one and getting us out to deliver to the buyer, and you can go back and merry away with your fellow buddies and talk about the weather."

"This is ridiculous; why not buy the painting?"

"They aren't selling. We tried."

"Who am I taking along?"

She let out a breath of relief. "Anyone of us. Milk is more—"

"The dress code color for women is white. Please look responsible."

She blinked at me. "Oh, I'm not volunteering; I can't be among social gatherings like that."

"Can't?"

"I mean, I can bu—"

"Good, I'll be done here in an hour top, be ready by then; if you're not, I'll leave you." I began to leave, but she held me back by my arm.

"Wai—whoa," she squeezed my arm, and I stood there in confusion. Her eyes flickered to mine and then back to my arm. "You've got—real solid muscles—Do you work out?"

I wrenched my arm free from her hold. "Do you fondle people randomly? Because if you do, you must get that in check before tonight."

"I don't—why are you taking me? We can barely even stand each other as it is."

"I disagree. The last few minutes are proof that we can."

"That's because there are catches to be gained from being civil."

"I don't care about the catches. It appears that after recent events, killing you is more hassle than it's worth."

"I did warn you, and I still want to know why you're taking me with you."

I searched my brain for a concrete answer before standing straighter. "Because I would rather take the muscle-fondling demon I know to the one I don't. There's also the fact that you speak good Spanish, and I'm impressed."

She blinked, trying to weigh if they were good reasons. "Oh, okay then. I'll see you in a few hours."

I gave a nod and walked out of the supply closet, straightening my suit jacket the moment a female chef came out of the room opposite the one I stood in front of.

Zahra walked past me, offering the girl a wink before walking away with a confident sway to her—

Matter at hand.

I averted my gaze back to the girl, her cheeks growing red as she scurried away with imaginations that had never happened.

I took a sharp breath, shook my head at my situation, and returned to Casmiro.

__

Hi, I've been seeing a few comments, about Elio being referred to as the 'wicked' but isn't living up to the title because he shows emotions. so I wanted to clear the air. The first chapter titled 'Elio Marino' was told from an omniscient point of view, and it was there specifically to give you, the readers, the same assumptions everyone has of him. I'm happy to see that it is working the way it should. You assume the character is one thing, and when you read his point of view, you're seeing a person with emotions he refuses to acknowledge.

I know many 'mafia' themed stories out there give you a male lead who never shows emotions, or shows as rawly as Elio does (even though he himself doesn't see it) but this one isn't that way.

Elio only ever shows weakness when it comes to Devil, (for now) and this is because his relationship with him comes with a load of childhood trauma that he never got treated for. No therapist. No medical solution. Nothing.

Why is he referred to as "THE WICKED" Isn't due to his emotions, but his actions.

My characters are meant to make you 'feel' because they are 'realistic' and they don't hide away from emotions that really matter.

And to Elio; I'm sorry, but he is and will always be lenient when it comes to matters with Devil involved. (For now) And if you truly notice, him being with Devil is when an ounce of the kind of person he used to be, comes out.

Our past makes our present, and there's no telling when it will crawl up to bite you where it hurts. if you can't stand Elio being a normal person who actually shows emotions when he feels it's needed, then it's best to either accept it or find your kind of story where the character only cares for the female lead and no one else.

But come on, imagine being loved by someone like Elio. it's unconditional, and I'm so jealous of future Zahra.

Anyway, there is still a lot to come, and a lot of actions and decisions Elio will take that'll make you understand why people actually call him "The Wicked." The title was not given to him inside the knowledge that Devil was in his life, it was given outside of it. All you saw in that last chapter was Elio, without the forced title.

I apologize if his showing emotions toward family don't live up to your expectations, but I can guarantee you that a person without conscience or the awareness of right or wrong is more dangerous than most of the stoic characters you see out there. Elio pre-character development isn't a prince charming, and you're about to find out why in the chapters to come.

Till then, see you.

Hi! Thank you for your engagement on the last chapter! My energy was quite down, and I wasn't in the right head space when I updated, that's probably why you didn't see a surprise update!

Don't forget to vote and comment as you read, it'll help boost my writing juice! Spam me!!! Go FERAL!! GO WILD--okay I'll stop. 

Enjoy the update ;)

_______

ZAHRA
_______

"OKAY, ZAHRA, we've got you in check," Dog said, handing the comm to Devil, who fixed it inside my ear. "Turn on the comm anytime you want to talk to us. The tracking device inside should let us know where exactly you are. Only when it's turned on."

I nodded.

"It should be turned on at all times." Devil reaffirmed. "On no account should we lose contact with you. Your phone should be in your hands all through. If something happens or the comm stops working, that's our next means of communication." He said.

"Got it."

"This is the first time one of us goes on a mission alone, and I don't like it." Milk said from the corner.

"I don't like it either," Upper chorused, shoving both hands into his pocket. "But this is our only chance with getting that painting and those fuckers off our backs."

"Chin up, guys. It will be the last pity job we'll ever run." Dog said. "Zahra, confident enough? After last time—"

I smiled at him and then at all of them staring at me with worry. "Guys, come on. I can do this; I'm perfectly okay, mind and body."

Devil shook his head. "It's not that. It's the person you're going with."

"I can handle him," I assured.

"Like you handled him when he tried to drown you." Dog muttered. "That bastard."

I sighed. "I've survived more than that. Worse than that. I've survived in cases most people weren't lucky enough to survive. Trust me on this, guys. Some kind of higher power is watching over me; I can't die easy."

"I trust you," Milk said, sucking in a breath as her eyes scanned my form from head to toe, "and you look fire in that dress. A smart woman once said, a good dress brings good luck."

"Pretty sure you made that one up," Dog muttered.

"I didn't."

My hand ran down the length of the dress: It was a thin, strapped, white silk dress that stopped mid-thigh. I opted to wear a waist-length straight brunette wig, which was parted in the middle and tied into a low ponytail. It was sleek and classy, making my face pop out, accentuating my cheekbones, and the dark brown lipstick I wore. My makeup was minimal; Milk had hidden my freckles, and paid attention to my eyeliner, which was dark and sharp, giving me a slant-eye look. I looked less like Zahra and more like a sophisticated rich escort.

My heels also made me look taller, and I was mostly ready to go.

"Thank you." I directed at Milk. "But I still hate the fact that we're doing this for such a little amount of money. Do you think we should have demanded more since they want it so badly?"

Devil shook his head. "No, we should be done with them. I don't have a good feeling about it. I mean, they reached out to us months ago, sent the money, and disappeared, and then out of nowhere, they pop up again, wanting it tonight, when we were supposed to have it in our possession for like a week before delivering, just like they planned, but now all of a sudden, they need it...something doesn't sound right about that."

"Maybe they had a change of plans?" Milk said.

"That could be the case, but what about the radio silence all this time." Upper chipped in.

"They didn't wanna contact us for whatever fucking reason. Let's get this over with. Devil's right, it doesn't fucking feel right, and I'm pissed because we would have been paid more if we'd known they wanted it this bad." Dog said.

There was a hard knock on the door, followed by a gruff voice. "Marino's here; get out."

"Watch your fucking tone!" Dog yelled at the soldier outside our door. "Rude fucking motherfuckers." He said, beckoning to Upper to recheck the sound transmitter for my comm device while Milk disappeared into the kitchen to probably grab beers and snacks to keep them alert for the night.

I sucked in a breath, channeling my social spirit, my pretense aura, and my alter ego.

"Hey," Devil held my elbow, gently pulling me towards the door. "You sure you can do this?" he asked quietly.

"I am. I was serious when I said I knew how to handle him. He doesn't scare me."

"I know, but—it still doesn't stop me from worrying, Z. I don't even want you to be in the same space or even-country-with him at this point. I don't trust him with you."

"Then trust me."

"I do," he whispered, fingers running up my arm in a sweet, nerve-awakening brush. "I trust you to come back to me in one piece—" his gaze flickered to my eyes and then back to his fingers on my arm. "Because...when you come back, there's...something I wanna tell you,"

I frowned. "What is it?"

He smiled. "Good, now you gotta come back to me in one piece, so you can hear it."

I smiled, shaking my head at him. "You're a devil."

His hand on my arm moved to hold the side of my face, just below my ear, his fingers rubbing at my neck, as He leaned down to press a kiss to my lips, careful not to ruin my lipstick, before pulling away and speaking with a hoarse voice. "If he tries anything, I give you permission to shoot him."

"Y-yeah, of—" I breathed in, clearing my throat as my response came out squeaky and breathless. "Of course, if that's what you want."

The effect Devil's presence had on me was growing every day, and I wondered if whatever he wanted to tell me entailed us actually putting a label on our relationship—no, no.

I tamped down on the hope bubbling in my chest.

He nodded. "You should get going; we'll start up here." He pulled back.

I turned towards Upper and Dog on the couch, catching Upper's stare on us. His eyes held an emotion that had me frowning slightly. But it disappeared as quickly as I spotted it, and he forced on a carefree smile. "Be safe. We don't have visuals, so the sound of your voice and the voices in your background are the only things we have to get by."

I nodded. "Of course, see you guys soon."

We bid our goodbyes, and I forced away the thoughts that swept through me after that look from Upper.

But it was still there, at the surface, a question I feared the answers to.

Did Upper have feelings for...Devil?

It couldn't be possible, could it?

I shook my head off the thought, walking towards the black car with black tinted windows. As I approached, the driver opened the door for me with a slight bow, and I thanked him with a smile before getting into the car.

Elio was at the other side, holding a black hardcovered book in his hand, his reading glasses on his face, as he flipped the pages and spoke without looking at me. "Good Evening." He greeted politely, bringing a frown to my brows.

"Uh...yeah, evening?" That came out jumbled up.

He looked dangerous, wearing a black trench coat, and a men's turtle neck shirt, with black slacks and shoes. All colorless. His silver watch glinted with the light in the car as we started moving. His rings on tattooed fingers also complimented his wristwatch's twinkles, drawing me to how lithe and well-kempt his fingers were.

I swallowed. "Aren't you hot?" I asked.

"No," he responded but still didn't take his eyes from the book, a frown drawing down his brows slowly as he read.

"I know the air-con is on, but you could at least take off the trench co—"

"What the fuck?!" He yelled suddenly, making me jump as he snapped the book shut, closing his eyes.

My gasp was loud, and my hand had flown to my chest at his sudden outburst; even the car swirled a little out of line before balancing again.

I stared at him with wide eyes. "Why the hell did you yell like that? If you didn't want to remove the trench coat, you could have just said so, Jesus."

He opened his eyes again, sighing. "It's not the trench coat," he was saying as he turned his head to look at me, "It's the book—why are you wearing a nightgown?" his intense grey eyes took me in, gaze lingering on my exposed lap, then my cleavage, before settling back on my face.

"Ha! He called it a nightgown." Dog's voice reached my ear.

"It's not a nightgown; it's a dress—"

"Where's your hair?" Elio asked distaste in his eyes.

"Under the wig? I wanted a disguise because I can't be seen as myself on a job."

I watched his eyes take in my face before he looked away, shaking his head as he muttered, "Ridiculous."

That made anger blossom in the pit of my stomach. "I didn't dress up, seeking your validation."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I specifically asked you to look responsible."

"This isn't responsible enough for you?"

His head turned in my direction again. "No. You look like an unscrupulous escort. You look—fake, not responsible."

"I really want to re-arrange his face. It's like a burning urge. Let us find time to tie him up and fuck up that face like we did to that biker dude a year ago." Dog spoke.

"Ignore him, Zahra; focus on the mission," Devil said.

"He clearly doesn't have eyes," Milk muttered in annoyance.

His gaze shifted to my ear, where Devil had placed the comm, and then he looked back at me. "If you and your little choir group ruin today for me, I will ensure you don't return alive."

"Is that a promise?" I asked with a smile, and he looked away from me, a frown on his face, as he opened his book again and didn't look up once or respond to me until we got to our destination.

***

When we pulled up to the front of the gallery, the door was opened for me by one of the chaperones; I smiled at them, looking up to see paparazzi taking endless pictures. I spotted three more cars pull up behind us, Marino soldiers filing out of each, guarding the perimeters as if the security provided at the gallery was a joke.

"This is a big event," I whispered.

"That was exactly why we decided to go after the show. We don't have that much time since the buyer was specific with it." Devil said.

"10:00 PM Zahra, you need to be at the meeting point by then. Even before then, if possible. There would be fewer people at the docks." Dog voiced.

"Copy that," I responded.

Even with my disguise, I still tried to hide my face from the camera flashes, and when Elio came to stand beside me, now without his reading glasses, giving me his elbow to put my hand through, I smiled up at him, and he looked away, not returning it, as I'd expected.

Come to think of it; I'd never seen this man smile. He was either indifferent or annoyed half the time, and right now, he looked neither indifferent nor annoyed, just blank.

We made our way toward the entrance, where he pulled out a fancy card and handed it to one of the door attendants, who nodded and greeted us before letting us through.

The inside of the building was bright and had the perfect temperature, warm and homely, cold and relaxing. There were people in twos everywhere, men wearing black suits and women wearing white dresses, chatting, drinking expensive wine, staring at sculptures or paintings, snapping pictures of themselves, and laughing like they were having the time of their lives.

I looked up at Elio, a smile curling on my lips. "Isn't it wonderful?"

He looked over at me with a frown. "What."

"Us...being here together. Anyone looking at us right now wouldn't know you tried to drown me in your pool just a few days ago." I laughed, shaking my head.

His intense grey eyes watched me. Completely unnerving because he just stared, with no expression, word exchange, or response; he just looked at me, and when my laugh died down, I cleared my throat, looking away from him. "Weirdo," I muttered.

"Marino?"

"Por favor." Please. He groaned under his breath, a woman rushing towards us with a drink and a dashing grin on her maroon-painted lips. "Grace," he said, a cheer to his voice that didn't reach his eyes or tug a smile to his lips as he detangled my hand from his and turned toward the woman.

She was gorgeous. Her white dress was lacy and looked like the industry's most professional designers designed it. Her curvy voluptuous body hugged the material like it was sewn to her skin. Her eyes were the brightest brown, complimenting her long curly light brown hair, which added to the shine of her delicate brown skin. She would have intimidated the old Zahra, who felt inferior in the presence of other women with a normal childhood and upbringing.

And if I was being honest with myself, there was still a twinge of that feeling, but it was suppressed because my eyes left hers to scan through the paintings hanging on the wall, looking for the twisted chihuahua.

"What a pleasant surprise," Grace voiced again, and I looked back at her. Her accent was the same as Upper's, but a bit older and classier, like she had come from a family of royals.

"Indeed?" Elio said, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles like a gentleman. The need to snort gripped me, but I held firm, watching the exchange.

"I really wish we could have gotten visuals." Milk said. "That voice sounds like it belongs to a beautiful person."

"Yes," the woman blinked in a blush, looking like there were stars in her eyes after Elio dropped her hand. "You never attend these gatherings; it is quite a shock to see you here, I must admit."

Without warning, his arms snaked around my waist, warm and strong as he pulled me to his side, so affectionate, I didn't think I was able to hide my shock in time. "Blame my woman." He said with such fondness, his behavior supplying me a healthy dose of whiplash. "She has longed to attend this event for months; a certain painting caught her eye, and she wanted to see it for herself."

My woman?

Grace's eyes shifted to me, a smile on her face. "Oh, hello." She extended her hand in, which I shook. "I'm Grace Alden, a pleasure to meet you,"

"Layla Rahal, a pleasure to meet you too, Grace," I said, dropping my hand from hers to place on Elio's chest, feeling his muscles tense underneath my palm, but he made no move to show his discomfort.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Grace said, gesturing around. "I've also wanted to see this for months now. I flew in from London three days ago. I tried to get in touch with Marino, but sadly, he was unavailable at that time."

I frowned. "Three days ago? hm..." I looked up at Elio, feigning confusion. "Baby, wasn't that the pool party day?"

His jaw clenched, but he nodded. "I think so," he said, playing along with whatever this was. "I apologize, Grace, we had people over, and many things were going on simultaneously."

"Yes, and I almost drowned." I blurted.

"Oh dear," Grace said, genuine concern on her face. "That must have been terrible. Are you okay?"

"Yes, fortunately, Elio also happened to be in the pool, and he saved me." I looked up at him, our gazes locking.

"I did." His voice dropped deeper. "I would have hated for you to miss all that I have planned for you, Querida." Darling.

My mouth grew dry, almost like the intensity of his gaze sucked every single liquid from my body. The press of my side to his became more prominent in my senses. He was warm against me, and I felt a tantalizing shiver sweep through my body.

His gaze dropped to my cleavage shamelessly, and it felt like someone was blowing softly at my nipples; I felt them press to the material of my dress.

Elio's grip tightened on my waist, gaze briefly raising to my lips before he broke the connection, looking back at Grace, who seemed to have just witnessed something private between Elio and me.

"I am sorry to cut this short, Grace, but we have places to be after this, and I need to say hi to the Mayor; it was a pleasure meeting you again."

"Yes, of course, take care," she said before turning to me and going for a hug.

I moved away from Elio's side to hug her, knowing people like these prefer hugs to handshakes.

"He looks at you like he wants to eat you. Keep him." She whispered to me, and I cringed, knowing the rest of STREET could hear it.

I smiled at her when she pulled away with a wink before walking in the other direction.

"Who was that?" I asked, looking back at Elio and immediately remembering how he had touched me with his eyes. The last person I should feel any sexual attraction to was Elio. Yes, he was sinfully attractive and oozed an unhealthy dose of sex appeal, but there was that pull between us...so damn strong that I was almost positive I wasn't the only one feeling it.

Elio cleared his throat. "A person I know." He stated, answering and, at the same time, not answering. "Go find your painting; I'll find you when I finish with the Mayor."

"We have to get the painting to the buyer by 10 PM and go without security. How do we shake off your soldiers."

His eyes took me in from head to toe, his response delayed by a few seconds before he scanned the area. "Leave that to me; I'll find you before the time. Don't touch anything else." He said before turning and walking away to a group of men at the far end.

"Okay, guys, let's find the chihuahua."

"Am I the only one thinking it?" Milk said.

"Thinking what?" I asked, walking casually while looking around for the painting.

"Is it possible to feel tension without seeing it, like just from sounds and quietness that's a bit static?" Milk said.

"Audio porn?" Dog inquired.

"Yeah, but like, between people who don't like each other—"

"Shut up, Milk. Do you see the painting, Z?" Devil asked.

"Nope, I'll check the other aisle," I said, walking away from Elio's view of me to a different showing area, there were as many people in here as the first aisle, and I looked around, walking down with attentiveness.

"Anything?" Upper asked.

"It's not here either."

"Fuck, you think someone got to it before us?" Dog cursed.

"We're the only ones hunting for it, right?" The wary in Milk's voice didn't escape me.

"The buyer was vague with their email. They didn't exactly give anything away, just that we needed to get it." Upper informed.

"Keep looking," Devil said.

I did keep looking, and I was stopped by two men who tried to flirt with me, but I politely brushed them off.

"It's 9:42, Zahra," Dog said, and I was already at the third and last aisle. I knew quite a lot of time had passed with me searching.

"I think somebody nicked it. It's not in this—"

"Sport."

I turned immediately, seeing Elio approach me, both hands in his pocket. "Let's go."

I frowned. "I haven't found the—"

"Follow me," he brushed past me.

"What the fuck is he doing? You can't leave without that painting." Dog said.

Elio was already walking down the hall to the nearest elevator, his strides long that I found myself walk-running after him. "I can't leave without the painting," I gritted out.

He reached the elevator, pressed a button, and walked in. I groaned, stepping in after him as the doors slid close. He pushed the L button, which I guessed stood for Lot, seeing the car symbol atop it. We started going down.

"We cannot fuck this up; I will lose my shit if we do," Upper said.

"Why are we leaving?"

"It's almost ten, no?"

"Yes, but—" The elevator stopped after a short while and slid open again; he walked out, and I rushed out after him; his hand left his pocket, bringing out a key and pressing a button. A car beeped to life in the distance, and someone leaned away from it quickly, wearing a waitress uniform.

My eyes widened as I took in the sweet ride. "Holy mother of fucking Lambor-huracan-ghini." I whispered.

"You're shitting me." Upper's voice reached my ear.

"Car slut." Devil cursed, but I could hear the amusement in his voice.

"Zahra, please sneak a picture, please—please," Upper begged.

I pulled out my phone, took a quick picture, and sent it to him. His squeal of excitement almost had me deaf.

The car was matte black and sleek. It was so low that it almost kissed the ground. I just knew I was looking at millions of dollars.

The waitress straightened, holding a painting in her hand. "Sir, as you wanted." She extended the painting to Elio when we reached her.

"The painting..." I trailed off, watching him collect the medium-sized frame wrapped in a secure, transparent nylon.

The twisted chihuahua stared at me. Why the fuck would anyone want this? I'd scream bloody fucking Mary if I had to wake up to this hanging on my wall.

The waitress shot a stiff nod to him and then to me before walking towards the elevator.

Elio handed the painting over to me. "Come on; I have places to be," He said, already walking around towards the driver's side, none of his security in sight. I rushed to the passenger's side of the car, entering what smelt and looked like leather heaven.

"Why did you tell me to go find the painting when you already found it?"

He started the engine, and the car roared to life.

He glanced my way. "Your presence was beginning to get insufferable." He said before pulling the car out of the parking spot and driving towards the entrance.

"Ha, ha, very funny."

"No, it's not." He responded, entering the main road.

I blinked at him. "You weren't supposed to respond to that—like it's one of those statements where you just don't respond."

"I wanted to respond because it's my mouth, Querida,"

"No, we're not doing that. Don't call me that."

Still driving, he looked my way, "What. You don't like Sport; you don't like Darling—"

"Darling is fucking cool; I'm all for it, but when you say it, it's like you're mocking me."

"But that's exactly what I'm doing. Mocking you."

"Anyone ever told you, you were an asshole?"

"No."

"You're an asshole."

The car swirled suddenly, tires screeching, and my heart jumped to my throat.

When the car settled again, I was heaving. "Motherfucker! Just because you have a death wish doesn't mean I do too."

He glanced my way, looking very calm as he said. "Seatbelt."

I scoffed, securing my seatbelt and getting ready for this night to be over.

***

Elio drove like he had extra lives, and in order to swallow my fear and hold on to my pride, I didn't utter a word because he got us to the meeting point at exactly 9:59 PM.

I unhooked the seatbelt and wasted no time getting out of the car, a gag rising in my throat at how wobbly my feet felt. I brought out the painting and dropped my bag on the seat, slamming the door. The sight of the boats rocking atop the water by the docks, and the cold breeze, helped suit my urge to throw up. I needed to remove this wig and feel the breeze in my hair.

Elio got out of the car, looking pointedly at the black SUV a few feet away from us. "Your buyer?" he asked with a frown.

"Should be," I answered, looking around us.

It was dark, safe for the dim lamp lights around the boats and the small cabin a few feet away. An unsettling feeling came with the atmosphere, and it made the hair at the back of my neck stand in an alert.

There was no one else here.

"Let's get this over with," I said, going to the SUV.

"Wait, something's not rig—or just walk right into the pending danger. Estúpida." He groaned, but I heard his footsteps fall right behind me.

I reached the SUV but stopped short when I saw the person inside the car. His head was resting on the headrest, eyes wide open in death, with a bullet wound between his eyes.

"Shit, He's dead," I said.

"What the fuck?" Dog's voice rang out in alert.

Elio pushed me aside and approached the body, hand touching his skin. "It's still warm. It just happened." He said.

"Shit, Guys, the mission has been compromised."

"Are you bloody shitting me three times in a row? Somebody fucking jinxed us."

Elio's gaze snapped to a spot behind me at a slight click sound, and he groaned in annoyance. "Great."

He forcefully pulled my body down in sudden alert, and the next thing I heard was multiple strings of bullets firing shots directly at us. 

__

Thanks for reading!

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What did you think of this chapter?

The exchange between Zahra and Elio all together?

Upper's reaction to Devil and Zahra's kissing?  Do you think there's something going on between Upper and Devil behind the scenes?

And that painting?  Do you think there's more to it? 

Ship names, anyone? Cause the sail has just begun.

Random Question: Elio or Zahra, who's likely to win in an argument?

see you Monday or sooner, xx

Hi! Thank you so much for your engagement on the last chapter! You guys seriously threw me away! And Thank you for 300K reads, and all the love you keep showing this story!

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Enjoy the update ;)

_______

ZAHRA
_______

ADRENALINE PUMPED through my veins as Elio and I ducked, running around the car to take immediate cover. The bullets weren't seizing, and as each came, they hit the black SUV that stood as our cover, shattering its windows.

I hissed as the glass sprinkled around us, light and sharp edges, raining without grace, but not enough to cause significant damage—mainly to Elio since he was covered from head to toe, unlike me, whose skin was exposed to any little cut. My breathing was harsh due to how fast my heart was working. "What the fuck is happening?" I gritted out as Elio reached behind him, seeming very calm as he brought out his gun, checking the bullet casing.

"It's an ambush, that's what," Devil said.

"Connection's failing, fuck..." Upper said, his voice a distant static, but I could still pick out its tight edge.

"I still don't get it. An ambush for a painting?" I said, breathless and annoyed. I hated shit like this. Being caught off guard was the most fucking inconvenient thing in the entire universe; it takes away focus and the ability to think fucking straight. Elio shifted beside me, lifting his head a little to—I guess—see who was shooting or how many of them were there.

Another string of bullets came, slapping against the car in sharp thudding noises, one that worried my ear and sent my blood running hot. Elio ducked immediately, cursing while sending a stern glare my way. "They're about 6 of them, maybe more. We have one gun, and I am in no mood to kill anyone tonight."

My eyes widened at him. "Well, if you haven't noticed, they're kind of in the mood to kill us." I gritted.

He looked around before his gaze settled on the Lamborghini a distance away, and then he looked back at the SUV we were shielding ourselves with. "Okay, I'll cover you."

"Wai—"

"On my signal, you'll open this door and check the glove compartment for weapons."

"What—" The side mirror shattered beside my head, and I cursed, ducking further down as I whisper-yelled at him. "What if there aren't any weapons? Got any other smart ideas?"

He grunted, almost as if he couldn't deal with me, and then in urgency, gave me the gun. "Cover me. I'll do it."

"What the fuck—" He was already opening the door as if people weren't shooting at us. "Shit." I got in position; the gun was heavy on my grip as I shot back at them, bullets flying blindly in the direction of the boats, and I caught dark figures ducking. 

As fast as he had raised to open the door, Elio was back beside me, a gun in his hand, which he quickly clicked in place.

"How did you know—" A shot wheezed past my ear, and I groaned, swiftly getting back in position to find the fucker reloading his gun. I set the angle, targeting the side of his head, before pressing the trigger. His body dropped lifelessly to the ground.

With my chest pounding, I retook cover, only to find Elio's eyes on me.

"Some—ahh!" I winced in pain as the comm in my ear sent out a sharp noise that had me rushing to take it out. The device was hot against my hand, and I quickly threw it to the ground, my ear burning. I grazed the spot and brought my shaking fingers to my view, blood staining them. "Motherfucker!"

"We have to get to the car," Elio's voice reached me, and I realized he hadn't been shooting back. "First, we need—"

The sound of tires screeching reached our ears, and I turned to look at the cars; a bunch of black SUVs pulled up roughly without formation, men filing out of them like fucking ants. "Are those your people?"

Elio watched the new change, confusion dragging down his brows. "No,"

One of the men stopped by our ride, checking it carefully before stepping back and shooting at the windows and the tires of the Lamborghini, in other words, killing our means of escape.

The shooting doubled now, no longer aimed at us but at the people who were once shooting at us.

"Throw it in!" somebody yelled, followed by an engine revving.

"Oh shit," I muttered as two SUVs came slamming at the Lamborghini, making it shift forward violently. The SUV riders didn't care about the damage the hit did to their cars when they reversed again before stepping on the gas and colliding into Elio's car; I watched it groan and tumble before falling into the water with a thick splash.

After that, the space between Elio and me went quiet.

I blinked, turning ever so slowly to Elio, who sucked in a deep breath, lips pressed tightly together.

"I am genuinely sorry. I felt that right in my heart. The beauty didn't deserve to go down like that."

He swallowed. "That apology should be addressed to Casmiro if ever we see him again."

"That was his car?" I asked in a wheeze.

"No. That was his baby."

"Shit."

Elio moved past me swiftly, showing me his back as he scanned the area.

A full-on shoot out happening around us, and I knew it wouldn't be long before the new people realized we were actually the ones with the painting.

"Our cover is about to be blown," Elio said.

My chest was heaving, and I gripped the gun tightly. "What the fuck are we gonna do?"

"We have to be quick."

I frowned. "What do you mean by we have to be quick?"

He looked back at me. "We're going to make a run for it."

I searched his eyes for any hint of a joke. There was none. "No, we can't—"

He grabbed my wrist. "Come on, on the count of three—"

"No, wait, we're not—"

"Two."

"We have no fucking cover E—"

Without waiting to count to one, He was on his feet, pulling me along with him as we sprinted down the open area toward the SUVs.

From the corner of my eyes, I saw one of the boats filled with men taking covers and shooting at the other party that had just arrived.

What the fucking hell is happening?

Elio pulled us down again behind one of the SUVs. He blew out a short breath, his eyes doing that sharp movement thing again as he looked around. "Were you shot?" he asked like it was the most regular question to ask a person.

"No, I wasn't, as much as you'd love that." I bit out.

He ignored me. "We're taking one of their cars, they'll probably chase after us, but you have an upstanding aim, so we should be fine."

I pressed my eyelids shut before snapping them back open, trying to steady my breathing. "Fuck...this is messed up. What the fuck is in this painting? They literally brought a whole goddamn army."

"How much were you paid to retrieve it?"

I hesitated, sucking in my pride as I spoke. "Five thousand dollars."

His head snapped towards me sharply. "Five thousand dollars?" he almost yelled.

"I know, it was a moment of weakness; trust me, we regret taking the job."

"Nobody would send this many people to kill for a painting worth 5 thousand dollars." He stated, stern gaze locked on mine.

We stared at each other, my head roaming with thoughts, mind racing, gears shifting.

"Well fuck," I finally spoke, cocking the gun. "Now four parties are gunning for this fucking twisted chihuahua."

This time, Elio frowned. "Four?"

"Yeah, the person who paid us, the people who shot him, the people currently shooting at the people that shot him, and now us, the people who stole it."

Elio shook his head in disbelief. "Greedy fucking thief."

I smirked. "Psycho fucking killer."

He let out a frustrated sigh, "Come on," and then he was moving again; I followed him swiftly.

We quietly cornered through the maze of cars, ducking when we came in line with some of the men standing guards while the others shot at the boat people.

I held tighter to the painting, knowing that whatever it was, it had to be something big. Big enough to wreck this amount of chaos in such a short period.

"Hold," Elio said, stopping, and I froze behind him.

Scoffing, I tsk. "Acting like you were in the army," I muttered.

"I was," he said without looking back. "A year. It was enough to learn that when a superior says hold, you fucking shut your mouth and hold."

I did shut up, stretching my neck to see him eying a car by a near end; a man stood there alert, gun in hand, looking for any unusual movement.

"We're taking that one," Elio said, voice low, calm, and precise.

"Okay, sure, what's the plan? Walking up to him and asking to borrow his car because we have to run away from him?"

Elio's form stilled for about three seconds before he suddenly stood upright, turning to me as his head tilted to the side, eying me from head to toe.

I took a step back. "Whatever you're thinking? It's a bad idea."

"Scream." He commanded.

I frowned. "What?"

"Scream. Now."

"I'm not just gonna fucking—"

His hand wrapped around my throat, and he slammed my body into one of the cars, causing an instinctive shriek from me.

His body pressed to mine, all rugged ridges over the soft curve of my body as he whispered to my face. "Now, was that so fucking hard," his hand gripped my ponytail, pulling off the wig and removing the wig cap. My hair fell free, and then he was gone, disappearing behind cars. It all happened within seconds, and I didn't have time to catch myself or to hear the footsteps before it reached me; the man from the car earlier was standing there, gun in hand, confusion on his face as he stared at me, holding the painting for dear life.

"Um..." I voiced, allowing my voice to take on a vulnerable and shaky edge. "I don't know what's happening, but I was asked to deliver this, and then people were shooting, and now there are too many cars and too many dead people," something shifted behind the man, "and I just wanna go home because I'm so scared," fake crying. "I didn't plan to do this, but my fucking boyfriend said it would be quick, but now it's messed up, one minute I was dressed up for our date together," Fake heave. "and the next, he gives me this ugly painting and tells me his friend Marcus would be here, and then he had a bullet to his head, and then the gunshots and I don't wanna die because I have college and fashion school and my whole future." Fake sob. 

"Miss—" he couldn't complete his statement because Elio was bashing his head in with a—a stone potted plant which shattered on impact. The man falls with a dull thud to the ground.

I blinked, staring at him blankly. "A potted plant, really?" my voice returned to normal.

"Why."

"I don't know, maybe because you have a gun in your hand?"

"I told you I wasn't in the mood to kill anyone tonight." then he bent and searched the man's pocket, got the SUV keys, and walked in its direction silently; I followed behind him as he unlocked the car.

We got in, locking the doors silently. "I don't get you. One minute you're a psychopath who kills innocent people, and the next, you're not?"

His jaw clenched as he turned sharply toward me. "What do you want from me, Zahra? Should I get out of the car and go back to kill him, take his wallet and find his ID card and then hunt down his wife and children and put a bullet through their fucking heads?"

I swallowed, blinking. "The potted plant was more creative."

"Good."

"Can I at least get your phone? I need to let STREET know that I'm still alive."

"I don't have a phone."

I stopped short, blinking at him. "Who doesn't have a phone?"

"Me. Are you slow?"

"How do we contact help?"

"In some situations, you must be all the help you need."

He shoved the key into the ignition, and the moment the engine roared to life, we heard a shout. "Hey! kto ty!" who are you!

I froze. My blood ran cold, and shivers flowed down my spine in weaves as my gaze locked with Elio's.

"Russians?" we said at the same time.

"YA nashel ikh!" I found them!

"Shit! Go, Go, Go, Go!" I practically jumped on the seat as the men fell back from shooting, rushing towards us and firing shots at the car.

Elio stepped on the gas and maneuvered the car out of the maze, hitting some of the other vehicles as we finally got out, cutting into the road with blind speed; the vehicle bounced a bit, swerving from left to right, Elio holding the steering wheel, muscles clenching as he tried to steady the car.

With one hand, he adjusted the rearview mirror, glancing at it. "We have company,"

"Sweet," I exhaled sharply, getting his gun from the console where he had dropped it earlier; I cocked it and then proceeded to set mine too. "Almost out of bullets on this," I said.

"Glove compartment." He said, expertly taking over some cars. One hand working the steering, the other working the gear, focus dead set on the road.

The road, thankfully, was a little bit free; other cars around swept by with speed, not wanting to get in the crossfire of the chase.

I glanced in the side mirror, seeing the cars chasing after us.

I reached for the glove compartment. "Why do you always assume there's something in the glove—oh."

Two packs of bullets and a gun sat there, and I nodded. "Impressive."

"Thank you."

I clicked on the car music.

"What are you doing?"

"A little music; it helps me focus."

"It doesn't help me." he gritted out.

"Your problem."

Familiar music blasted through the speakers, and a smile curled on my lips as I bobbed my head. "The Russian dude knows good music. Hello Cherry Bomb by The Runaways, Oh Dog is going to freak when I—"

He gave a sharp turn, and I held my seat to keep in place, shooting him a glare.

"Motherfucker," I muttered, shaking my head, and taking my weapons with me, all three guns and the bullet packs, before stumbling to the back seat.

"Again, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Shooting through the windows is a bit inconvenient. They're not shooting yet, which means I have the element of surprise. And I have a good aim."

I caught him shaking his head. "Tell me when to duck."

"I might." I taunted, raising the gun to the rear windshield, and fired three shots at it. The cracks invite me to break through, which I do, by hitting the gun to the fragile glass and watching it shatter. The wind whipped at my face immediately, blowing my hair all over my head.

I grinned, reloading the bigger gun, seeing our chasers lose composure for a second.

"Hello, boys," I said, aiming the gun right at the tires, swiftly shooting the nearest car, which swirled to the side with a screech, the driver losing control.

With my other hand, I grabbed the second gun, aiming at their windshields as I blasted bullets at them, and they drove unfocused, turning and slowing down to avoid the attack.

Two cars were tailing each other.

I moved to the side, shot at one of their mirrors, took his attention off the road, and then aimed directly at him with the second gun.

Blood splattered, and the car behind, not anticipating the unconscious turn of the vehicle, slammed into it, and it went tumbling.

"Elio, Left!" Our car turned left and missed the other car's tumble by mere seconds.

The crash was massive, and unfortunately, some innocent cars got involved.

"Are we clear?" Elio yelled, and I grabbed the guns, going back to the seat beside him.

"Yes, cut to the market at the next intersection; it leads to the highway, they'll regroup in no time, but we can shake them off that way."

Elio glanced at me. "You're awfully excited."

"I am."

He shook his head, focusing on the road again. "You're demented."

I nodded with a grin. "I am."

He cut through the intersection, driving a few distances before entering the market. People were out, all right. It was busy, with sounds of chatter and music in the air as people shopped while some got out of the way, seeing our bullet-designed car—speaking of bullets, they ricochet in the air once more.

"Fucking, Russians." Elio cursed.

I reloaded. "Like a fucking bone in the throat," I added, angling myself towards the window, and shot back at them. "Get out of the way!" I yelled to people as Elio stepped on the gas again, knocking out some shops by the road. "Get out of the fucking way!"

It was fucking chaos. My gaze shifted to the side mirror.

"Duck!" I yelled to Elio when bullets came flying into the car from behind.

"Still think breaking the rear windshield was a good idea?" he asked.

"Shut up!" My adrenaline spiked high.

I risked shooting out the window again, getting my aim right as I fired at the car's front tire, missing the first time but getting it right on the second try.

The pursuer's car lost balance, ramming into a store, but another one was on our tail, bypassing the one that lost balance.

The guy was quick, firing three shots at once. Two missed me, and the other would have gotten into my arm had Elio not turned at just about the right time.

"Shit," I cursed, pain sweeping past my arm as I got into the car again, blood oozing from the wound.

Elio's gaze shifted from the rearview to me. "It got you?"

"A graze."

He groaned in frustration. "Can you handle the wheel?"

"Not as good as you."

"Can you handle the fucking wheel, Sport."

"Yeah,"

Quickly, he left control of the car, and we switched positions with mild difficulty, and briefly, just briefly, my mind acknowledged that we—kind of— worked well together.

He worked the guns with ease, entering into his element. Then he paused, staring at the weapon in his hand.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I held the wheel steady, eyes alternating between the market road and him.

He sucked in a deep breath. "Slow down."

"What?"

He looked at me. "Slow down." His voice was calm, too calm.

I slowed down, and he angled his body to the window, completely exposing himself while aiming the gun at our attackers, concentration lining his brows.

One shot.

Two shots

Three shots.

Chaos ensues.

From the review mirror, I caught the cars behind us ramming into each other, and then there was fire; people were screaming, fighting to run away.

Dread painted my stomach, making it dip with a sense of urgency and regret. I stepped on the gas, and our vehicle sped forward, my heart hammering as I tried to get us away before—

Boom!

I flinched at the explosion, and Elio slipped back to the seat, stretching his neck from left to right, looking like he hadn't just—

Wasn't it—wasn't there another way? How many innocent people were caught in that explosion?

The music from the speaker had long since stopped, probably damaged like the car was.

I drove us out of the market, entering an unfamiliar road, the car steady again. Quiet.

I didn't know how long we drove for, but I felt my body calm down from the adrenaline.

I glanced at Elio to see that he still held the gun in a tight grip. His knuckles were white, but he looked ahead with a calm expression.

I concentrated back on the road, letting out a breath.

We reached a highway, and the wind blowing inside the car, calmed my nerves as I drove.

Trees littered the sides of the road, and I was pretty sure we had lost the fuckers.

After what seemed like thirty minutes, the car started slowing down. Its movements were getting jerky like it wanted to fall apart.

Soon after, it slowed to a stop with a jerk. Headlights flickering off, the night enclosing us like a thick black blanket as the engine stopped, and quietness followed.

"Shit."

"I'm guessing your phone is deep inside the water with Casmiro's car?"

"Yup."

"And no one knows where we are?"

"Yup."

He nodded, his head falling back at the headrest as he closed his eyes, adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed and cursed.

"Fuck."

__

Thanks for reading!

What did you think of this chapter?

The little Bonnie and Clyde moment, the chase, the shooting? Tell me!

The painting seems to be worth more than bargained for, do you think we'll find out next chapter?

I did this at the 10 chapters mark and forget to do it at the 20 chapters mark, Tell me what you think of the story so far!

Random Question: Favorite genre of movies to watch?

see you guys, xx

Hi! Thank you so much for your engagement on the last chapter! 

You're seeing this surprise update now because I won't be updating till next week Monday. The reason because I am currently working to round up another project with Wattpad, and I need time to work with my editor. But come next Monday, the updates will resume. 

Also pleaseeeee comment on this chapter! I am dying to know your thoughts, spam me, beautiful people, I'm a comment whore, don't be a silent reader, let's relate, and tell me what you're thinking! it really helps feed my comment-whore soul....(That was weird, but ignore it.)

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Okay guys........

Enjoy the update ;)

_______

ZAHRA
_______

I DIDN'T believe in scary bedtime stories.

No, this isn't because Miss Grace seldom told us these stories before bed. It was mostly because of how fake they seemed to sound and how impossible they mostly were. Being very curious at a young age, I would stand in front of a mirror and chant, 'Bloody Mary' three times, waiting to see if she would appear to take me away.

And sometimes, I would stand by the floor-to-ceiling window in the hallway, waiting for the lady in white to flicker by the roadside. Most times, in the middle of the night, I'll get up from the bed and get on all fours, looking underneath my bed, trying to catch the monster.

But they were always silent.

Maybe they didn't come for children like me. Maybe they reserved their terrors for the children always driving by inside the yellow school bus every morning and afternoon.

I'd stopped asking these questions a long time ago, stopped seeking answers to my wonders because I grew up and knew there was no such thing as animalistic monsters. The real monsters were human beings like me, and they hid in plain sight.

I didn't know why my thoughts had walked down this lane, but there was no doubt that it had to do with the darkness around us, the sound of crickets, and the chill that came with the air of midnight.

Elio was the first to get out of the car, and I followed suit. No other vehicles were passing by, and the road seemed like a dead end from where we stood, so I was guessing we would have to walk a great distance before we found a convenient mobile store or even a motel; while I could stomach the walk, I wouldn't deny that my limbs ached from the stress of everything we've just gone through.

I let out a shaky breath, hugging myself, as I walked around the car to Elio's dark figure at the other side. The moon gave us light, but it still somehow managed to cast shadows over his features.

"Walking or waiting out here for a travel vehicle would be careless. Not when we have the Russians on our tail." Elio stated.

"I thought we lost them."

"We stole their vehicle; it's only a matter of time before they find us. We're calling it a night."

I shifted on my feet. "I'm all for...calling it a night, but there is literally nothing out here for miles, and I don't reckon you have any money with you?"

"We don't need money to start an open camp in the woods."

I almost choked on my saliva. "I beg your pardon?"

"You're not deaf." He said, already walking toward the tall trees that cast shapeless, wary shadows. A shiver ran down my spine.

When he noticed I wasn't following, he stopped, turning to me. "Are you coming?"

I shook my head. "I'm quite good where I am. I'll wait for a car to fly by and hitch a ride."

I could feel his eyes roam up and down my body as He walked back towards me, determination in his strides. He stopped a foot away. "Stay here, and die. Follow me and survive on a maybe; you should be smart enough to know a good choice there."

"The woods aren't exactly safe too."

"They are, for the night. By morning, we'll leave because they'll likely double back when they don't find us at the nearest motel." He informed. "When they're on their way back here, we'll be on our way to the compound."

"The car is literally parked outside the woods." I pointed out.

"Where has your smartness run off to, Sport? The key is in the ignition, the two front tires are lessening by the second, and the car is bent to a very odd angle. It's obvious that it broke down, and the two people previously in it had hitched a ride or walked to the nearest motel because there is obviously a tracker in the vehicle we should be running from."

My brain caught up to what he was insinuating. "Nobody in our position would stay behind instead of running away, okay, smart...But what about the painting?"

"We're leaving it underneath the seat."

"Excuse me?"

"It's not safe to take it along. And we're not stupid enough to leave it behind either."

"What are you saying? What if they check the car? Listen, I risked my damn neck for that painting, and I got a bullet graze which hurts like a bitch because of it. There's no way I'm letting them find it after all the trouble."

"Risks are better than consequences. Carry the painting with you, and lose your only life leverage. On the off chance that we get found out by whomever these people are, they'd kill us and take the painting, but if they find us without the painting, two things. They can kidnap and torture until we deliver updates as to who has it and who doesn't, or we make a bargain. And I have a gut feeling they won't waste time searching the car when we are supposedly with the painting and would never be as foolish as leaving it behind."

"But—"

"We are doing the exact opposite of what anyone should do in our situation. I will not ask you to trust me because it isn't a foolproof plan, but I will ask you to follow my lead on this. I am never wrong."

I gritted my teeth, looking around the lonely area before my attention settled on him again. "Fucking fine. You might take the 'never let them know your next move thing'  to another level, but I admit you have a point."

"I'm glad your brain still works. You had me worried there for a second."

"You don't have to be rude."

"That was not me being rude, merely observant." He said, turning again, and this time I followed him.

"And here I thought you were a man of action and fewer words."

"I am."

"Well, you talk an awful lot when I'm around."

He let a few beats pass before he responded. "That is a new behavior from me. One I'm still trying to understand."

I snickered. "It's okay; I have that effect on people. It's like one of my charms."

Elio released a short, frustrated breath, not saying anything after that.

We walked inside the woods with only the light from the moon to guide our path. I had made a comment about getting lost, but Elio had simply pretended he didn't hear me, walking like someone who knew exactly where he was going. My joints ached, and the pain on my arm from the grazing was numb due to how tired I was. I could feel fatigue catching up to me, but I willed myself to remain alert.

Elio did know exactly where we were going because we reached a clearing in the woods. The space looked like an area where people would drop their camp tents and huddle around a fire.

I shivered slightly due to the cold as we stopped.

"We'll settle here for the night. I'll get some woods and start up a fire." He said, glancing around until his gaze settled on me with a pause. "You're cold."

"If you haven't noticed, it's freezing out here."

"No, it's not. It's what happens when you wear a nightgown out of the house."

"It's not a—" I paused, doubling back with the conversation. "you know what? fuck you; I own what I fucking wear out. Nightgown or a fucking lingerie, it is my choice."

He took me in, something dark passing through his stare. It made the grey in his eyes seem darker as He advanced toward me, like a predator approaching its prey.

I swallowed, standing my ground and raising my chin as he stopped before me. "Look at you, Zahra." His said, voice barely above a whisper, an edge to it that had my stomach sinking; flashbacks of moments before he pushed me into that pool plagued my mind, but I held firm, refusing to let him intimidate me. "Dressed in the most revealing outfit," he continued, "alone in the woods with a man like me, a man who tried to drown you...a man who shot you, a man that wants you dead."

He took one more step, closing whatever distance between us. I sucked in a breath, one that was filled with his scent.

"No one is here; I can do..." his eyes searched my face. "anything I want to. You could scream, and no one would hear you or rescue you. You are wounded, tired, bruised, and weak, entirely at my mercy. I won't try to control what you wear, no. I have no care in the world if you decide to roam the streets naked. All I'm saying—is I have eyes; I see how attractive you are and how you love to flaunt it on occasion, but one thing you should never do, is be careless. And Right now, Zahra, you are. Being here with me this way is the most careless you've been.

You're smart, but you lack wisdom. You know how to protect yourself from people who threaten you, but you do not know how to protect yourself." He said, leaning away from me as he took off his trench coat, wrapping it around my body before his gaze locked with mine, and he spoke. "I could have been anyone else." He stepped away. "Stay here. I'll get woods for a fire."

When he left, I let out a long breath; it was shaky and cold, but I quickly slipped both my hands inside the arms of his trench coat, hugging it to my body; the warmth gave the distinct feeling of how intense it felt to be standing close to him.

As I do with every piece of advice I have ever been given, I held on to his, seeing my mistakes and making sure never to repeat them.

Elio was...confusing. His threats somehow managed to seem like advice, a warning, and a guide at the same time. He had no reason to stick with me at this point, he could have gone on his way, but he was still here, and I doubted it was because he wanted to know what was really in the painting.

I wouldn't delude myself and think he was here because it was kind of the right thing to do. According to past actions, it was safe to say that the man wanted me six feet underground.

The only reason I could think of right now was Devil. He was sticking around because his brother would want that.

I sighed, looking around me, trying to find a stone or wood to sit on. My legs ached, and it didn't help with the fucking heels on my feet, walking atop branches and dead leaves with heels was horror on earth; I wouldn't even wish it upon my worst enemy.

I found a few stones and pieces of bamboo sticks and created a miniature sitting material just before a tree.

I sat down and rested my back against the tree, the roots supporting my sitting material as I tried to get as comfortable as anyone could in a situation like this. I rested my head against the tree, sighed, and closed my eyes.

I didn't know how or when it came, but I knew that at some point, I allowed my body to succumb to sleep, losing consciousness in a sweet zap.

***

The sound of cackles from a fire and the distant howling of what sounded like a wolf had me jerking awake, my brain confused for a moment before I remembered where I was. The smell of burning wood and wet earth lingered in the air, and opposite me sat Elio, gaze steady on the dancing flames.

I relaxed back against the tree, ensuring I didn't make a sound while I moved, not wanting to draw his attention because he seemed very far away from this space, and I couldn't help but watch him.

He didn't have any mask on; That was the first thing I noticed. He didn't wear a blank look or that of indifference...rather, he looked...sad and tired. There were dark circles underneath his eyes, very visible. His hair seemed slightly wet, like he had washed it, and I wondered if a lake was nearby.

I cleared my throat, and he blinked away from whatever daze he had been in, gaze rising from the fire to me.

"How long have I been out for?"

His gaze shifted from me back to the fire. "Four hours." He said. "It's 5 AM now. We'll leave at daylight; you can go back to sleep."

I sat up, stifling a yawn, feeling more refreshed. I didn't know time would go by like that. It didn't even feel as though I slept for that long.

"No," I said, hugging his coat to me and maybe sniffing it a little because it smelled good compared to the smell of wet grass. "I'll keep watch. You should get some sleep."

Without looking at me, he added more wood to the fire. "There's no point. I can't sleep." He spoke. "It's already morning."

"You look tired. You've kept watch all night. Why didn't you wake me?"

"There was no point." He repeated, and I watched him in the silence that followed, wondering if I should let my questions out or keep them to myself, but I was very curious, and the worst he could do was ignore me, right?

I cleared my throat, waiting a few beats before speaking and breaking the silence with a question. "Why did you hesitate?"

His gaze flickered to me, and I took that second to appreciate how pretty his eyes were. His eyelashes made the color even more pronounced, designed to draw you in and keep your attention. When he looked back at the fire, he responded with his own question. "I don't understand your question."

"You hesitated before you caused the explosion. Why?"

His jaw clenched. "I told you. I wasn't in the mood to kill anyone."

I still wasn't getting it, so I pressed. "I don't understand you. You literally kill people all the time."

"I do?" he asked.

"Seriously? You tried to kill me a few days ago."

"I had a reason to. I don't kill people without a valid reason. I don't hurt people I don't know."

I scoffed. "You're fucking delusional. What about the families of the people you killed? Did you know them?"

He went silent, and I thought he wouldn't answer until he...did. "No," he said. "But I know grief. I danced with it. Lived with it. I kill them for their sake. The grief of losing a loved one is... brain-damaging. No one deserves to go through that."

I shook my head. "That is a very twisted reasoning, Elio. You can't just choose to kill innocent people because you think you're saving them."

He nodded. "I know; that's why I don't shoot anyone without a valid reason. If I do shoot, I don't shoot to kill. The healing scar on your shoulder is proof of that. If I need someone dead, I have people around me who can do it. Well—unless I'm in a mood, then, you can guess the rest."

"So...all those people yesterday..."

"It wasn't my intention." He filled in. "I'll pay for it one way or another."

"What does that mean?"

He raised his gaze to me again before looking away, not answering the question.

When silence came again, I had the urge to fill it. I don't know, but I wanted to lighten the atmosphere.

"You know...it's not your fault. I believe in reason. Everything that went down yesterday happened because it was meant to. No matter how bad it was. If we weren't there, somehow a fire would have started, and there would still be an explosion, maybe even worse than the one we caused."

This time, when he looked up, he didn't immediately look away. He just stared at me.

I felt my stomach dip with the feeling that came with his stare, and I sucked in a breath, swallowing to ease my suddenly dry throat.

Elio nodded. "Hm." He let out before looking away, adding wood to the fire.

"Was that a moment?" I asked.

He frowned, side-eying me.

"Did we just have a moment there?" I repeated, keeping my tone light.

"No," he stated.

"That was definitely a moment; I know a moment when I see one—"

"Do you ever shut up?"

"Yes..." I let a soft edge enter my voice, calling his attention. He fully looked at me now, waiting for me to complete my statement. "Only when there's a dick in my mouth."

"Okay," he moved to stand and walk away from me, and a laugh bubbled out of my chest.

"Wait, wait... sit down," I said between laughs. "I was just fucking around. Calm your tits, Dad."

He settled back down, shaking his head. He didn't smile, but he didn't look annoyed either.

"Where's your sense of humor? If STREET were here, they'd get the joke. God, I miss them. They'd make it seem like we were actually camping out for fun and not running from people who want our heads."

He didn't say anything to that.

I rested my hand on my cheek, watching him.

"Do you have friends, Elio?"

I don't know why I asked that...or why I wanted him to talk to me? Probably because I couldn't just stay fucking silent.

Where's the fun in silence?

"I mean, aside from Casmiro...like outside your whole syndicate circle...do you have a group of friends from, like, college? Oh, and you said you were in the army for a year? Did you have friends there?"

His brows drew down as if he was thinking, and then he locked eyes with me briefly before speaking. "Who would have wanted to be friends with a man who murdered his whole family? Besides, friends are another level of weakness. When you have friends, you're open to betrayal, inessential drama—"

"Less loneliness." I cut in. "I could totally be your friend if you stop trying to kill me." and then I backed up. "Why even are you trying to kill me?"

"Many reasons." He answered.

"What—I wasn't the only one who stole from you, yet you singled me out. I don't see you trying to drown Milk, Dog, or Upper, and we've registered the fact that Devil joined STREET of his own free will."

"You created it. If you hadn't—" he stopped, frowned as if he remembered something, and then sighed and completed his statement. "—He would still be here. In Italy."

"Okay, so it's not Devil—"

"You still manipulate him, and you will eventually end up hurting him when he finds out you're not whom you say you are."

"Devil and I aren't in a relationship. He's my best friend, and I know little about him, just like he knows little about me; it's mutual."

"Well, there's the fact that you seem to be too skilled for STREET. You've only caused me headaches since we met, and you have managed to disobey direct orders, undermine me in front of my people, and act like you have once obtained the same role as me."

He wasn't wrong. "That's basically my personality. You want to kill me because of my personality?"

"No."

"Then..."

"You talk too much. You make me talk too much."

"Talking is good, but that's not reason enough to kill me."

"I just don't like you...your presence...it's—for reasons best known to me, I'd prefer you dead. Let's leave it at that."

I tsked, shaking my head.

"Why do you want me dead?" He asked.

I shrugged. "You shot me, left a scar on me. Nobody does that and lives. Because of Devil, I'm lenient. Getting your name on my shit list would only take one action. I hope, for both our sakes, your name never gets on it."

"There it is, that tone. It's why I want you dead."

I laughed, eyeing him before relaxing back on the tree. "Get used to it, Dad. It's not going anywhere."

He didn't respond, and I no longer tried to fill in the silence. I closed my eyes, replaying the whole conversation in my head.

Elio's personality confused me, and I could feel my obsession to fix things tingle, but I reigned it in.

Despite all he had revealed, he was still The Wicked. He still shot me and tried to drown me. He couldn't be trusted.

And yes, I was proven right when I woke up to a bright day, the fire quenched with light smoke erupting from the ashes, and the man in black was nowhere to be found.

I cursed, got to my feet, and called out his name, but I got no response.

He didn't just leave me here, did he?

I looked around and noticed the morning fog dissipating and the sun rising in the distance.

"Motherfucker," I muttered with a grit, shrugging the trench coat off my body in anger and stomping on it. "That bastard."

I turned on my heel the moment something sharp wheezed past me, landing with a soft thud on a tree. I turned sharply, squinting my eyes to see a small red syringe—A sharp pain prickled my neck, and I quickly moved to pull out whatever it was before bringing it to my view—

"Oh, fuck me."

I lost control of my legs and fell straight to the ground. Dizziness, tugging at my eyelids as echoing footsteps reached my ear.

From my blurry vision, I saw them dressed in all black, with masks covering their faces.

One of them bent down and took off their mask...I spotted a grin as he said. "Jal jada," Sleep well.

I might be crazy, and my knowledge of that language might be rough, but that sounded so much like—Korean for...sleep, well?

My vision blackened, getting in and out of focus, but I heard someone else speak.

"Geunyeoleul ango gaja." Carry her; let's go.

It was too late, but it dawned on me that the Russians weren't the only ones hunting for that painting...

What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into here?

And then I felt my body lift from the ground, and I was thrown over a shoulder, the earth, zooming in and out in a stomach-turning way. My tongue was heavy, my body numb, and I finally...finally gave in to the darkness.

__

Thanks for reading!

What did you think of this chapter?

The little 'moment' between Zahra and Elio?

Do you think Zahra and Elio could be friends if they weren't enemies?

Is it just me, or is this twisted chihuahua beginning to get annoying, cause it was so meaningless at first. Cause like--first Russians, now, Koreans? Who's next?

Do you think Elio left her there for real? 

We're approaching zone spice real soon, just endure the drama for a little bit. (Trust me, I'm frustrated too.)

Random thingy: Do you know that 70% of you guys called Zahra SPORT before Elio did? (Refer to the CAUTION chapter where some of you screamed. SPORT!)

see you guys, Monday xx

Thank you for your engagement on the last chapter!

COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT AS YOU READ FOR A SURPRISE WEDNESDAY UPDATE!

Enjoy!

_______
ELIO
_______

CONTROL, UNPREDICTABILITY, and the ability to make decisions for the sake of the greater good have always been my strong suit. It was why I had lasted so long in this business, in this world. I didn't throw temper tantrums; I didn't do things incapable of benefitting me; I didn't go off script. I was always ten steps ahead of a situation.

If there were ever an instance my skills to predict failed me, I'd take two steps back, analyze the situation, and follow the most propitious route even though the consequence might result in agonizing discomfort.

It was one of my father's many lessons drilled into my skull growing up. Those particular lessons were hard to forget. I'd watched my father support several people, make promises and make them believe they could never find a better ally elsewhere. And I had also watched him plant a bullet in the back of their skulls as soon as they turned to leave.

My father was a cunning man. He taught me to be one too, and maybe sometimes I did take it to the extreme, but only when it was necessary. He did tell me to be just like him, but better.

The Marino's were betrayals who couldn't be betrayed, and we made it in such a way that our victims would never know who betrayed them by being the very victim in the situation.

For example. The ugly but priceless chihuahua painting. It didn't look like much, just a square framed blue and grey picture of a chihuahua with too-wide-eyes, a crooked mouth, with her head bent to an odd angle, a head I'd had the pleasure of patting once...many people wouldn't believe it—but that chihuahua, though odd-looking, was one of the sweetest pets that had ever gotten to grace this world.

Arturo Garza, the owner of the chihuahua, a dark-skinned burly man who was so untouchable to the point that he had the pleasure of dying at an old age, had been quite influential during his reign. This man knew everyone who was anyone. He could answer any question with the right incentive—a nutcase on his best days—but I still admired him.

Why? He had been the mastermind of all masterminds. There was also the fact that he was the first man my father had cowered in front of. I was eighteen when we first traveled to Mexico to find him. Then, I didn't know why, but my father had said Arturo was a man never to be crossed; he said he could squash us with just a snap of his finger.

When we got to Arturo's manor, my father had been sweaty and shaky. Though I waited outside, I could hear my father's angry voice, yelling at Arturo, trying to intimidate the man, but the man's response was always leveled, not shaking or losing composure.

My father had opened the door, and I caught a glimpse of Arturo, a cigar between his lips and a small dog in his arms; our gazes connected before the door closed, and my father pulled me out with him.

On the way back, my father had been spinning with anger, and I had just watched him. Feeling some peace from seeing him so unsettled, when he had caught me giving him that look, he had walloped me across the face, asking me what was so amusing.

And I told him nothing. But I knew I had found a weakness; his downfall was atop my palm.

At 26, a few years after I'd taken over Marino, I had taken a trip to Mexico, seeking Arturo.

The man recognized me, and the dog perked up at the sight of my figure, tail wagging from left to right. I had crouched down, patting her. I liked her; she was odd but confident.

She reminded me of what freedom felt like, and I temporally forgot where I was at the moment until Casmiro discreetly kicked me.

I looked up, catching Arturo's interested gaze as he ushered me to his study.

He told me I was the first to look at his dog for over a second. "People are always threatened by things they don't understand." He had said.

He had been right. At that point, he sounded so wise. He made me feel comfortable enough to ask him anything.

I had gone straight to the point. Telling him I needed his help to pull my family's name to the ground. I needed his information on us to do it myself.

Apparently, I had taken him by surprise because he had stared at me like I was from a different space and time.

When he asked me why, I told him I wanted to see that look again—the one my father had worn after exiting his home.

He had a question in his eyes that clearly asked how possible it was to compel a facial expression from someone who was supposed to be dead. He didn't ask it, however. It didn't need to be asked.

Arturo had taken a deep breath and told me he would have loved to help me, but he had his own plan.

I asked him what his plan was, and he told me I would be informed when everyone else was informed.

The moment I received a letter after his death, two years later, I registered the man as a crazy person. But I understood his motives.

His dog had been his only family, and everyone avoided it like the devil's spawn.

What other ways to seek justice for the chihuahua than having people hunt for it like it was their salvation?

So, he had an artist paint her. Created a map. Turned every single one of his assets into gold, Roughly 50 million pieces of solid gold. He gathered dire information he had gotten about five of the most prominent mafioso families and five world presidential bodies, turned them into software copies, and placed them into custom-made flash drives. Then, he duplicated the painting into 100 pieces, Inserted a map to find the gold, and those flash drives, inside the frame of the original artwork, and then he distributed them around the world.

Mysteriously, Arturo and his dog were found dead in the manor, and a few seconds later, the quest was sent out to everyone who was anyone.

This was his way of making people hunger for the painting of his dog; the dog they feared and made fun of, was now the very thing they had to find to get their hands on the gold...and those flash drives.

Although 99% of the people gunning for the painting were there for the gold, only a few like myself needed those flash drives, this was because people who were hunting for the gold, had no clue about the flash drives.

Therefore, whoever found the original painting first, gets the gold, the flash drives, and the key to being as powerful as Arturo was in our world.

The ultimate power. The final key to my puzzle. I'd find it. Let my father know that I had achieved the power to make anyone bend to my will. I would dangle what could have been right in his face.

Then I'd burn it all.

A waste. But I was a psychopath. And psychopaths like me only cared about that final goal—no matter whom I must destroy on the way to get it.

The chase for the painting only made it more... enjoyable.

The moment Zahra mentioned the painting in that supply closet, I hoped she was talking of another chihuahua, even though I knew pretty well it was the same one perilous people were looking for. When she showed me the picture, it took everything in me not to snap her neck right there, kill the rest of STREET, and send Elia far away from the chaos.

But I reigned it in and didn't let anything show by schooling my thoughts and acting with disinterest because I knew the painting that would be showcased was a fake. I had checked even before it was decided to be put out there.

The people who sent them to retrieve it had cheated them. But I would have done the same. There were so many fakes and one original.

Each of these paintings was treated with equal attention and importance.

It was clear how Arturo had achieved all that he desired and more through this ridiculous quest.

The more the paintings were released, the more crafty and dangerous people got in on the quest. A decent example of this was how we were ambushed and how curiosity had made Zahra fight to keep the painting, to get in on whatever it was about.

I knew I was close to finding it. I felt it in my gut.

This was precisely why I couldn't afford any distractions. Zahra Faizan being one of them—no—being the root of the distraction.

She was unsettling. I had changed many plans to accommodate her presence quite a number of times. She killed Dion, which made me strengthen my association with Pablo instead of the opposite.

While I wanted to ruin that association, I knew the death of Dion would garner more chaos than I wanted.

As I said, I loved to be ten steps ahead, but she made me take ten steps back.

That won't do.

I couldn't kill her. But that didn't mean I couldn't let her get herself killed.

Having left the clearing to get the painting and bring a car to get us back to the compound, I genuinely didn't think there would be such a huge turn of events.

She had been asleep when I left, and I couldn't bring myself to wake her. Sleep was a luxury I didn't get to have in abundance. I admired people who could do it without restlessness and the need to make it permanent.

The walk back wasn't too long. I'd stopped at the nearby lake to wash my hands and face, feeling so dirty that my skin itched.

On getting to where the car broke down, I stopped when I saw a white van by the side of the road, a small distance from where I stood.

I shoved both hands into my pocket when I caught movement at the corner of my eye.

Leaning casually on the SUV, I watched about five men in black clothing and masks emerge from the woods towards the van.

One of them held an unconscious Zahra over their shoulder, and the other quickly opened the back of the van where they filed in, dumping her body like a piece of rag.

They spoke in another language. I couldn't hear much from the distance, but I knew it was a language I didn't understand, and neither did I care to.

They locked the back doors, started the engine, and swiftly drove away.

I stood there for a couple of minutes, just watching them disappear down the road.

Well...it's not as if there was anything I could have done?

I leaned off the SUV, grabbed my gun from the console, and shoved it into the back of my pants.

A few minutes later, I was getting in a red open-roof beetle, hitching a ride with a blonde who looked at me like a meal she wanted to taste.

I politely ignored it.

"I gotta admit," she started, her voice sweeping with the wind, blonde hair flying all around, but was tamed by a small scarf. "When I left my house this morning, the last thing I expected was to give someone as unreal as you a ride."

I frowned in genuine confusion. "Unreal?" I asked.

She nodded with a grin. "Yeah...you got pretty eyes, a pretty face, and that body, whoosh." She glanced at me.

I didn't like compliments, they made me uncomfortable, but the least I could do was to be nice, seeing as she was giving me a ride. "Thank you," I responded.

"Damn. How are you hot, with a rough edge that screams walking red flag, and also manage to be cute at the same time."

Should I thank her again?

"You got a girlfriend?" she asked.

"No."

She glanced at my fingers, inhaling a short breath. "A wife then."

"No."

"I like your fingers and the rings." She said, and I turned to look at her. Her teeth hooked on her bottom lip.

I then turned back to look at my fingers, turning them back and front, trying to find what was so special.

The last time I had been with a woman—that was...I tilted my head to the side, my thoughts trailing as I tried to remember when or what she'd looked like...ah yes, she was Chinese; I was on a trip to China a year and a half ago. She told me how much she liked my fingers, it was weird, but I let it pass because, She had been beautiful, but the thing that had drawn me in was her hair. Long, black, and healthy, I was very impressed.

Sex was wonderful, but being with someone whom had you wondering how it would feel to touch them, was more blissful.

I looked back at the blonde. "Thank you; I like rings; they're...a mystery."

She chuckled. "Like you."

"Hm." I eyed her again. "I like your hair."

That startled her a bit, and her cheeks pinked. "That's sweet, thank you."

I nodded, looking away.

"You know you give off the vibe of a serial killer, right?"

I slowly looked back at her. "Do I?"

"Dude, you're hot, dressed in all black, standing by the side of the road at the ass crack of dawn, you've got this mysterious aura, and you talk like you're testing out the words before you say them; you have this odd, calmness to you...it's kind of unsettling."

"Yet, you offered to give me a ride."

She glanced at me, and shrugged. "Maybe I have a death wish."

It was silent for a few beats.

"I'm Mar...I'm Elio." I broke the silence.

She smiled. "I'm Gemma."

"Put your mind at ease, Gemma; I have no reason to kill you. I just needed a ride."

"Glad I could offer it."

She was still chatty as we drove, talking about how she was taking a road trip in three days because her grandmother wanted to experience it before she passed, and then she spoke about her grandmother, who was her only family. She asked me about my family, and I told her I had none.

It wasn't far from the truth.

I was pretty dead to Elia at this point. And my father, well...he was a dead man walking—sitting—rather.

We arrived at a convenience store a few minutes later, and I told her I'd find my way from this point. I wished her and her grandmother well and watched her drive off.

I passed the gas station in front of the store, seeing two cars packed and getting fuel; before I walked into the building, a few people here and there were buying things for the road.

Walking up to the counter, a guy in a beanie with headphones around his neck eyed me wearily. My gaze shifted to the phone in his hand. "Can I use your phone? I need to make a quick call."

He blinked before slowly outstretching the device to me wordlessly.

"Thank you," I said, dialing Casmiro's number. I had just three phone numbers stored in my head. Casmiro's, Angelo's, and the contact in Los Angeles. The one I used to keep tabs on Elia.

He answered the call. "Before you say anything, I want you to know that I will never forgive you for hurting my baby. Destroying her like that." his voice rang through, and I was pleased that he knew off the bat that it was me. He knew I would find a way to contact him.

"Glad to see you had a comfortable night in a comfortable bed, Casmiro. My night was fine, too; I spent it in the woods, very comfortable, sleeping underneath the open sky. I didn't miss my bed, and I was far from danger. Did you have breakfast? Because I didn't, and I've just remembered that I didn't have dinner. How wonderful the last 24 hours have been for the both of us."

He sighed in resignation. "Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Good, I found your artist. Where are you? I'll send people over."

"No need for that. I'll be at the compound shortly; I have somewhere else to visit."

"Where's Zahra?"

My fingers drummed against the counter. "She got kidnapped about an hour ago."

There was a slight pause as if he was trying to detect a joke. "What?"

"Hm. It's none of my business; I'm sure she can handle herself." I flexed my fingers. "Hopefully, she can't and does me a favor by dying. I don't really care. Are you making sure STREET is—"

There was a clash at the other end of the line. I frowned, hearing muffled noises like silent grunts of, 'You can't just barge in—give me my ph'—and then a dull thud.

"Where the fuck are you? I'll come get her myself." Elia's voice rang through, and my blood ran cold.

"Where's Casmiro?"

"We knocked him out. What the fuck, Elio? We lost connection with you both, and we've been locked in all night. No news. And now you say she's kidnapped, and you don't fucking care?" A strained noise left him at my silence. "Just give us a location, and we'll find her and get her ourselves."

I closed my eyes, grounding my teeth together. "I lied to Casmiro. Zahra's safe with me."

There was a small pause. "Does he think we're stupid?" that sounded like Dog. "We heard everything you said to Casper over here, you motherfucker. The idiot had the phone on speaker while we tried to break in."

My gaze shifted to the transparent doors of the store.

"Where is she, Elio."

"With me. She's outside getting fuel; I'm in the store getting a cigar." I said, watching the white van move beside a fuel stand. A masked man in black hastily rushed out to fuel the van.

I knew it was empty now, and he was the only one inside the Van; no one was in the passenger's seat. They'd dropped her off somewhere—at a site or a nearby safe house. Who fucking knows.

I shook my head, closing my eyes as I rubbed the space between my brows.

The luck backing this woman is...

"We'll be back soon. I do not want to see Casmiro hurt. If I do, you'll be sorry." I took the phone from my ear, blocking and deleting the number, before handing it back to the boy, who was now staring at me with wide eyes. "Do you have cigars?"

He shook his head wordlessly.

"What do you have?"

"Cig—cigarettes."

I hated cigarettes.

"How can you not have cigars?" I sighed, rubbing my neck in tiredness. Then I gestured hastily with my hand. "Give me the cigarette."

He rushed to fish for a pack, placing it on the counter.

I picked it up, watching the van as I took out a stick, placing it between my lips while I checked my front pocket for a lighter.

I flicked it on and placed the flame at the end of the stick until it settled, and then I flicked the lighter close, shoving it back in my pocket before sucking in the smoke and blowing it back out.

"Do you believe in luck?" I asked the boy while watching the van.

"Huh?" he squeaked out.

I turned to him again, shoving my hand inside my other pocket and pulling out a small bundle of thousand-dollar notes. I counted out five, placing them on the counter before returning the rest.

"Luck, do you believe in it? Do you think it exists?"

His jaw was dropping at the sight of the money on the counter.

"Um...I guess?" he said.

"Hm," my gaze shifted to his side, and then I pointed to the baseball bat resting in the corner. "Is that yours?"

He quickly looked to the side, nodding. "Yes, sir."

"I need to borrow it. You can get yourself a new one."

He blinked before quickly reaching for the baseball bat and handing it to me. It was strong enough, perfect on my grip.

"Thank—"

"Sir, this money is—even if I got a baseball bat with it and pay for the cigarette, it's still too much, sir."

I blinked at him. "It's for the phone bill too. Also, you need to stock the store with cigars, preferably flavored ones, in case I happen to visit again."

He gulped. "Yes, I—thank you—I will—thank you, sir."

I nodded, exiting the store after grabbing the cigarette packet and shoving it inside my pocket.

I walked towards the guy in the mask as he closed the fuel tank and started going around the van.

"Hey," I called, slipping the cigarette back between my lips.

The moment he turned, I forcefully swung the bat to the side of his head. His body dropped to the ground, passing out on impact.

I twirled the stick, nodding. "Perfect."

Then I got in the van, started the engine, and proceeded to save the girl.

How...inconvenient.

__

Thanks for reading!

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Comment for an extra extra update on Wednesday!

The revelation about the painting?

The revelation about Elio not being with anyone for almost a year and a half?

Random Question: How are you?

see you soon, hopefully, xx

WARNING: (Language & torture)

Gentle Reminder: Elio Marino is referred to as 'The wicked' for a reason, and while we have registered that he can still be saved, it doesn't mean he has registered it too. He has a reputation that he lives up to, so please put that in mind as you read this chapter. Like I said in the CAUTION chapter, there will be character development, but it might take time. (soon, since we've come a long way already)

I apologize in advance.

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Enjoy the update ;)

_______

ZAHRA
_______

"AMORE MIO..."

His gloved hand softly stroked my left cheek, warm and tender. His Hot breath fanned my face, and I shifted uncomfortably, dread tugging at my stomach.

That voice...

"My Zahra..." The side of his face brushed mine, clean-shaven and smooth, his lips hovered above my ear, and he whispered. "Wake up."

My eyes snapped open, pulling my consciousness to my irregular breathing.

I was alone.

I breathed a sigh of relief but stopped short when I caught the ground below me. It took me a few seconds to realize I was hanging from the ceiling. My arms ached, propped up, with my wrists tied to an iron ledge at the top, my heels weren't in sight, and my toes barely touched the ground.

I was still a bit dizzy from whatever drug they'd used on me, but it was not enough to numb the pain from my arm; the bullet grazing from the shooting was leaking blood again. I gritted my teeth, my hooded eyes going around the space. It looked like an empty shed, and I could tell we were well into the afternoon and approaching evening through the light sneaking in from the small window at the end. The walls around me were wooden; I could guess it was some safehouse, probably somewhere out of the city.

I swallowed, throat dry as I tried to relieve the aching from my joints. My toes curled and uncurled in an attempt to touch the ground, even if it was just for a second.

"Fuck..." I groaned, annoyance biting my inside with an intensity that had me feeling more awake and active by the second.

My ribs ached from the strain, and I tried to twist my wrist free, but whoever tied the damn knot knew what they were doing.

Though it ached, I swung myself back and forth three times before lifting my lower body and then my upper one. I only lasted about three seconds before my body dropped in a painful protest.

I ground my teeth together, holding in the sharp pain that shot through the joints in my shoulders at the drop.

I knew I had been hanging here for a while with the pain I was in.

Voices had my head perking up, my breathing hard as the door opened; two men in black walked in, one rolling in a table with what looked like an electrical torture machine.

"Oh, come on, for a chihuahua painting, really?" I asked, my voice tired.

One of the guys approached me while the other rolled the table beside him. The one watching me had a buzzcut and a brutal healed scar slashing from his brow to his cheek. His lips were lifted in a snare.

"Hi?" I voiced, swallowing again.

"You have a mouth on you," I could hear the Korean accent over his English intonation.

"Doesn't everyone have a mouth on them?"

His hand roughly gripped my chin, twirling my face from left to right.

"See something you like?" I asked. "Is it the freckles? It's always my freckles—"

The back of his hand swung, connecting with my cheek in a hard slap. My head whipped to the side at the force of the hit, and I tasted blood on my lips.

I licked it off and mixed it with my spit before turning to the buzzcut motherfucker; he was smirking at me. "Learn to keep that mouth shu—"

I spat on his face before he could complete that statement.

He closed his eyes, pausing a few seconds before slowly digging his hand into his pocket and bringing out a handkerchief, wiping the spit off his face. He opened his eyes again, this time with a glare that had me wondering if he would kill me now.

The other man turned on the machine, clearly pissed at how I'd insulted Buzzcut.

"My boss was right," Buzzcut said, throwing the handkerchief away. "You are her."

I frowned, my thoughts freezing for a second. "Her who?"

"Martino's whore." He said.

My breathing spiked; blood ran hot. "I don't know what you're talking about. Who's that?"

"You want to play dumb?"

"Bitch, I thought I was here for the painting?"

"Oh, you are," he stepped back and picked up the naked plugs from the table, rubbing them together, causing a spark.

My eyes remained on him as he walked back to me. "Hey listen—"

He pressed the naked plugs to both my ribs, and my body shook violently, the electric current flowing through my body. A strangled groan left me, and he drew back the plugs.

My breathing was short, and I felt warm all over, too warm. "Well," my lips trembled. "That's one way to shut me up."

"Martino Conti sent you to find the painting; why?" he asked.

"Who the fuck is Martino Conti—" The plug was back on my ribs, and my body shook again, my teeth pressing together as I tried but failed to suppress my groan. He released me again, and I gasped out.

"This time, I want you to answer me with the truth; I will increase the voltage if you don't."

I let out a shaky breath, my body growing weak with each passing second. This is what happens when you're literally being electrocuted without not having to have eaten anything or drank any water for hours—no strength to withstand torture.

"I was paid five thousand fucking dollars to retrieve the painting for an unknown buyer. If this person is Martino Conti, whoever that is, I don't know them. No names were given when I passed information across to them."

"I know your face. I know you know him. And he sent you. Word is out that he is on a hunt for the painting too. But my boss is curious because Martino Conti doesn't care about gold. So, there must be something else, and we want to know what it is."

What the fuck?

"Gold? There's gold in the painting?" I asked, my surprise rocking some strength back into my body.

"Don't act like you don't know." The man sneered, brushing the naked plugs together.

"I don't know, okay? You don't think I was fucking surprised when I was sent five thousand dollars to retrieve that ugly painting? I thought I hit the jackpot, but now you're talking about gold? I was fucking cheated."

"Nobody gives a fuck if you got cheated. We want to know why Martino Conti wants the painting. What else is there with the gold?"

I sighed, confusion gripping me, but I held firm. "Who the fuck is Martino Conti? Whomever you think I am, you've got the wrong girl."

"Increase the voltage." The man said with a no-nonsense tone.

"I'm fucking serious; I don't know what you're talking abo—grhhhhh." My body shook again; I felt the sharp painful, blood-draining zap from my head to the sole of my feet, my toes curling, the strain on my arm—so fucking unbearable.

He released me again, and my body sagged, my head dropped, and my breathing grew faint.

His hand came underneath my chin, raising my head.

"Talk now, or I kill you," he said.

I smiled, then a chuckle left me, and then a laugh, though weak, still sounded like I was deranged.

I licked my bottom lip. "What do you think, Buzzcut, that you'll shock me a few times, then I'll what—cry and tell you all I know about Martino Conti?"

An unsettled look flashed in his eyes, making my smile widen as I said. "You don't know who you're fucking with. I humbly suggest you go back to your boss and tell him to leave Martino to his business."

"So, you admit you know him."

I didn't respond, and his eyes scanned my body from head to toe. "You admit you're his...whore?"

My jaw clenched as he dropped the plugs, his finger coming to trace my jaw, down to my collarbone, then to my chest.

My hand formed a tight fist above me as I tried to level my breathing. "Get your fucking hands off me." I gritted out

"What does Martino Conti really want with that painting?"

I leveled him with a glare. "I don't know, and even if I do know, I sure as fuck won't tell you."

His fingers trailed down to the swell of my breast, and I jerked away from his touch. "I swear to fucking God, I will chop your fingers off one by one if you don't fucking keep them to yourself."

He laughed. "Making threats when you're tied to my ceiling." Then he looked at the other guy, who had a crooked smile on his face "Michin yeoja." Crazy woman.

"Try me," I said, and both of them stopped laughing, attention back to me.

Buzzcut looked like he was seconds away from snapping my neck. "Millions of gold bars are not enough for Martino Conti to send people out for the painting. You know something. Not just, Martino, my boss suspects other families are on the hunt for it. What we don't know is why. Surely it can't be gold; these people are richer than sin. What else aside from Gold connects with the painting."

I fucking wish I knew.

"As I said, stay the fuck out of Martino's business because if he doesn't hunt you for meddling, I will."

He smirked, and I watched his hand travel down my cleavage, but before he could wander further down, I raised myself again with every single strength I could muster and slammed my knee upside his face.

"Fuck!" He held his nose, bouncing in pain. "You fucking bitch—"

My body dropped, and a whimper of pain escaped me.

A loud clash from outside got their attention. There were shouts and grunts of pain and loud, unending, piercing gunshots.

Buzzcut and the other man exchanged a look at the chaos that seemed to have erupted outside.

My joints curled on tight when the shooting lessened.

"Go check," Buzzcut said to the other man, voice strained while he nursed his nose, and the other guy left his position.

The shooting stopped completely.

I briefly wondered what the hell was happening, but I stopped wondering when the door to the small shed barreled open, a baseball bat swinging right to the face of the other guy who had been approaching it to go check.

The guy went down immediately, disoriented, as Elio swiftly twirled the stick, holding the handle and jamming its end into the man's face. He went out like a light.

And then he looked up, face stained with violent sprinkles of blood that I knew weren't his own, red splatters dotting from face to neck—he was wearing a button-up, which meant he did leave me to change his shirt? The sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, revealing dots of blood on his forearms and the hand that held the baseball stick.

Grey eyes moved from Buzzcut to me. His gaze swept up and down my form, completely expressionless while he stood there, looking like a fucking psychopath who just survived the zombie apocalypse before he settled his gaze on Buzzcut, who looked like he had seen a ghost, and though it was just a breath of a whisper, I heard him say...

"IL MALVAGIO?"

I could spot the moment when fear took over his form; he quickly grabbed the plugs again, increasing the voltage to the highest as he aimed it at me.

So...a death wish, got it.

"Don't come any closer, you—you come close, I fry her." He said.

Elio's gaze fell to me again before drawing to the buzzing naked plugs and then back to Buzzcut.

"Okay," Elio's deep voice rang through as he pressed the head of the baseball stick to the ground between his legs, both hands holding the edge as he spoke. "Go ahead."

"You think I'm bluffing?" Buzzcut said, inching the plugs close to my ribs, eyes sharp. "I will fucking do it."

Elio's expression didn't give anything away. "Was there an invisible stutter to my previous statement?"

Buzzcut swallowed but didn't make a move to do anything.

"Are you going to do it, or should I approach."

My insides tied knots around themself. If Elio had really wanted me dead, he wouldn't be here, but why the fuck is he urging this fucker to fry me?

A few beats passed, with just Elio staring intently at Buzzcut. When nothing was done, Elio nodded, lifting the stick, and started stepping forward, but the moment he did, Buzzcut found his senses again, about to press the naked plugs to my body.

I was one second away from being electrocuted to death, but it seemed as if that one second was enough for Elio to reach behind him, whip out a gun and aim it right at Buzzcut's head, pulling the trigger.

Buzzcuts blood splattered on me, and the plugs clattered with him as he fell to the ground.

He just...killed someone.

Elio dropped the stick, gun still in hand as he approached; somehow, he didn't look at me. Not even once. He just went straight to the machine supplying currents to the plugs and then turned it off; when he did, the silence stretched, and he finally raised his gaze, locking it with mine.

His eyes still weren't giving anything away as he came to stand right in front of me now.

I didn't say anything, and neither did he.

My breathing was embarrassingly loud, while his was controlled.

His eyes swept between mine as he finally spoke. "Well, Sport, how's it hanging?"

I scoffed out a weak laugh. "Wow, how long did it take you to come up with that one? Real original."

"It is?"

"Very."

"I'm glad. The moment I saw you hanging, my brain immediately searched for a befitting response to your condition."

"Really? I'm happy you're finally learning to give a good sass."

"Hm. It seems the negative influence you have on my brother is beginning to rub off on me."

"Maybe we spend too much time together."

"Maybe."

And then silence fell again, his eyes lingering on mine before falling to my cheek and then my lips. "Are you okay?" he asked, lifting his gaze to mine again.

"As okay as a person hanging from a ceiling for hours could be," I said.

"Right."

He came closer to me; his warm, firm body brushed against mine while his arms went around the back of my thighs, a little below my ass; as he lifted me so that I wasn't leaning on my own weight anymore, I suppressed my sigh of relief when he untied the knot on my wrist and placed me back on my feet, which was bare.

I dropped my arms, my body pressed flushed against his, with his arms still around me.

Our gazes locked again. "You can let me go now," I said.

I lost my balance the moment he did, but he snaked his arms around me, pulling me back to his body. "Steady," he said; somehow, his voice had grown soft, or maybe I was just reading too much into the gesture.

I pressed my hand against his chest, feeling his muscles beneath my palm as I pushed slightly. "I can stand on my own; I'm not a damsel in distress."

His eyes roamed my face. "I did just save you."

"I was handling it well on my own."

"You were? It's odd, but I seem to remember untying you a few minutes ago."

"I would have untied it myself, even if you hadn't shown up."

He was still holding me. "A little thank you doesn't hurt, Sport."

"I have nothing to thank you for, Dad," I pushed away from him, standing on my own two feet, ignoring how I felt less warm, being away from his body. "You left me."

"Not exactly. I would have returned for you if you hadn't kidnapped yourself."

I blinked at him. "So, you saw them taking me away."

"I did."

"And you didn't do anything?"

"This is ludicrous and will never happen in the foreseeable future, but would you have stopped them from taking me away if you were the one in my place?"

I couldn't answer because, yeah, he was right.

"There's my answer. Come on, I have somewhere to be, and we need to look at your arm before returning to the compound." He said, walking past me to the Buzzcut guy on the ground.

"Did you shoot anyone outside? The gunshots—"

"They shot themselves while I used them as human shields. Broke a few faces with the baseball bat. The usual."

I frowned when he bent, fishing his pocket for a handkerchief; he covered his hand with it as he searched Buzzcut guy's body until he recovered a wallet and pulled out an ID card, examining it before slipping it into his pocket and throwing the wallet back on Buzzcut's dead body.

"Let's go," Elio said, brushing past me.

I followed behind him. "You didn't take that ID card because you want to—" I stopped short when somebody came rushing through the entrance. The boy was in the same uniform as the other guys, but he had a striking resemblance to Buzzcut, mainly because his hair was also a buzzcut. He didn't look like he was more than 16; he looked...younger.

His frantic eyes swept past Elio and me to Buzzcut's dead body, and he screamed. "abeoji!" Father!

Elio's gaze swept between Buzzcut and the boy.

No...No...

"Elio don't; he's just—"

The shot rang through before I could even complete that statement; the boy's body dropped to the ground with a crumbling thud, blood leaking from the wound on his head.

I stood in shock, my body completely frozen, as Elio slipped the gun back into his pants. "Come on,"

I couldn't move. I couldn't bring myself to. I felt sick to my stomach, wondering what the hell just happened.

Elio stopped, turning to look at me, my gaze still on the boy's body.

What the fuck.

What the fuck.

What the fucking fuck.

A groan left Elio, and I caught his figure approaching from the corner of my eyes as he reached me. "I don't have time for this," he said, grabbing my good arm and pulling me with him.

My head was cloudy, the sound of the gunshot still ringing in my ear, even as Elio reached a black car and opened the door, pushing me inside the passenger's seat, and rounded the car to the driver's side; I stared into nothing.

The car started moving, and as we drew farther and farther, my breathing became sharper.

Once on the familiar highway, I felt myself being unable to breathe properly. My hands were shaking, and thinking was beginning to feel difficult...The torture, the lack of food, the shocks from the naked plugs, and then this...what I just witnessed was unthinkable.

This man had just—he had just killed a kid...he was—I can't—I can't—

"Stop the car,"

"What?"

"Stop the car, now."

"I don't—"

I picked up the gun he'd dropped from the console and pointed it at the side of his head. "Stop the fucking car, or I'll blow your fucking brains out."

He glanced at me, a look of annoyance glazing through his eyes as he navigated the car to the side of the road.

The moment he stopped, I was dropping the gun, getting out of the car, taking a lung full of breath, and pacing back and forth as I filled my lungs, my fingers raking through my hair in frustration.

"Fuck, fuck." I chanted, trying to calm myself.

The sound of the car door opening and closing had me looking up at Elio, who came to stand outside, leaning on the side of the car bonnet in my direction as he watched me before fishing his pocket for a cigarette and a lighter.

He lit it and put everything back in place while he sucked in from the cigarette between his fingers, blowing out the smoke and watching me like he was trying to figure me out. There was no remorse in his form, almost like he hadn't just shot a kid dead.

"You didn't have to kill him," I said, my voice heavy with anger.

"I did."

I was thrown back by how direct he sounded—like—like he was in the right. "What the fuck—he was just a fucking child! He was innocent!"

He brought the cigarette to his lip, sucked it in, and blew it out calmly. "Sins are passed on from a parent to a child as long as they share blood. People need to live much better lives, so when they meet their fate, their families wouldn't have to pay for it."

I took steps closer to him now, poking at his chest. "That. Is fucking. Bullshit! It's bullshit twisted in a way to only make sense to you!"

"I know."

"Yet you still fucking do it!" I yelled in exasperation.

Irritation pulled down his brows. "It had to be done. If they die, anyone who shares blood with them dies too."

"Oh, for the love—says who?!" I yelled.

"Says me!" he yelled suddenly, and I had to step back momentarily. He wasn't one to lose his cool, but he just did. He threw the cigarette to the ground and closed the space I had created, getting into my face. "It is my fucking law, and if you keep running your mouth like this, you and your blood relatives will share the same fucking fate. You know them, or you don't."

"Oh please—"

"Don't be a hypocrite, Zahra. I have seen you kill people without a second thought. You don't think they have family somewhere who would grieve them?"

"That's different!"

"How is it different? Because they're above fucking twenty? A life is a fucking life, no matter how old they are."

My breathing was harsh as I shook my head, looking at him with a newfound hatred. "I hate you; I have never hated anyone as much as I hate you."

"Okay."

"You will rot in hell."

"I know."

"The world will be a much fucking better place without you in it!"

"As I have devised."

I wanted to pull my hair out at how unfeeling his voice was. "You're a fucking murderer! A fucking psychopath and serial fucking killer, a sick unfeeling fucker! A twisted monster! Child murdering bastard—" his hand gripped my throat as he switched our positions and slammed my body against the car.

"And you're beginning to get on my nerves." He seethed out, eyes a deadly mask of anger and something else I didn't even care to put a name to.

I tried to struggle out of his grip, but he held firm.

I ground my teeth together, looking him dead in the eyes. "I will kill you. Mark my fucking words, Elio, you've just made it to my shit list. Watch this fucking face because it would be the last thing you see when you breathe your last."

"I'm honored to have made it to your list, but I already called dibs on killing me. Genuinely sorry to disappoint."

I stayed silent, my eyes searching between his, his words loosening in my head, the meaning clear as fucking day.

"Get off me!" I yelled, pushing at him, and he let me go, stepping away with his eyes still dead set on mine. "You're fucked up," I said, straightening. "I knew you had a few screws loose, but boy, are you messed up in that fucking head of yours."

His jaw clenched as he shoved both his hands into his pocket.

I raked my hair from my face, and his eyes followed the movement.

"You're so gone beyond redemption, and you can't even see it, Elio," I said, shaking my head. "Devil deserves better than having you as the only family left. You don't deserve him."

"Old news." He said, but his brows twitched, eyes hardening, showing how my words had hit him.

Well—good fucking riddance.

"I don't know what you think you're waiting for?" I stepped closer to him. "But you need to hurry the fuck up and get the fuck out of everyone's faces. No one needs your bullshit. Neither do they want you here."

He remained silent for a while before he swallowed and responded. "Okay."

I scoffed, shaking my head in disbelief before walking away from him and back to the car, hoping the boy's soul rested in peace for the terrible way he had died.

__

Thanks for reading!

What did you think of this chapter?

Elio and Zahra's little banter after he saved her?

The argument, was there any way Zahra could have approached the issue without pushing someone who was already on the edge?

Martino Conti is also in search of our little Chihuahua friend, Why do you think that is?

*Don't worry, we're still on Zahra and Elio's case for the next few chapters.*

Random Question: Is there an artist reading this who could draw the Chihuahua painting? 

see you Friday, xx

Thank you for your engagement on the last chapter!

COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT AS YOU READ FOR A SURPRISE SATURDAY UPDATE! (On a maybe! I love comments, and I love the fact that it pushes me to write more, without these surprise updates, we would still be around 19 chapters into this story, so thank you for always pushing my lazy-ass)

Don't forget to comment as you read, and Enjoy!

_______
ELIO
_______

"A MAN like you shouldn't feel."

"Love is only a sentiment, Boy. It is a weakness. Take out your heart and paint it black, a man like you shouldn't love."

"Be ten steps ahead of your enemies and your friends, Boy. Never show remorse. Never show regret. And most importantly, never show weakness."

"Chin up, Soldier; everyone you shoot today will deserve it."

"You're the best out here, Elio." A slap on the shoulder. "Good job, soldier."

"So what? You lost a few men. Get back on your fucking feet! I didn't send you here to make friends."

"Elio, I wish I could help you, but the voices in my head won't let me see your pain, my love."

"If you keep this up, you'll be dead as soon as you take my place. Bold son. Be Bold."

"You kill a father? Make sure you kill everyone he has fathered; you don't do it? They'll come for you."

"You are like your father! You're never here; you're always shadowing him! What about me? What about your mother!"

"I'm scared, Elio."

"Family is only necessary when they're useful."

"I hate you!"

"I need help, Elio; help your mother."

"They were screaming for you; where were you?"

"Open your eyes, Elio! This world is not black and white. It's whatever color you paint it."

"Lock him up until he comes to his senses."

"He's a monster; he murdered his whole family; best not cross him."

"You are not my family."

"What reason do I have to believe any fucking word that comes out of your mouth!"

"Weak. Incompetent. A fucking failure."

"Did you love your mother's scream while you stabbed her? Or Mariana and Lorenzo's tortured wails while you fucking burnt them alive."

"The world will be a much better place without you in it!"

"You're so gone beyond redemption, and you don't even see it, Elio."

"You need to hurry the fuck up and get the fuck out of everyone's faces. No one needs your bullshit. Neither do they want you here..."

Words.

They were simple alignments of letters to form something meaningless or meaningful, depending on how they were used.

You'd think a man like myself would be accustomed to taking things in stride.

But I was impressionable; When it came to compliments, advice, or reprimanding. I couldn't help it. I was built that way.

It was probably abysmal that I had to share this idiosyncrasy with a clinical depression that I never bothered to treat since I was diagnosed years ago. It was the same mental illness my mother had. The same one, my Father, had ignored.

When I got symptoms, I'd hoped to God that I hadn't inherited it, seeing whom she became down the years, growing up...I was scared of what I'd become with the kind of hand I was brought up with.

My childhood wasn't normal. It was replete with abuse, verbal, physical, and emotional abuse.

I'd done things I would never forget or forgive myself for, things I had punished myself for.

But sometimes, the punishment was never enough. Nothing was ever enough.

Angelo would tell me to go for proper treatment, but there was no point in treating myself; I didn't deserve to get better, not after everything I had done in the name of revenge. In the name of care.

Deep down, I knew I was just a sick bastard. I was delusional.

I didn't know consequences. I grew up learning to forget the meaning of that word.

I didn't care for useless emotions because I knew how my life started and how it would end.

There was no point in building relationships or dwelling on something less than its worth.

There was no point to me.

And fuck—have I been stalling this...for what? To make sure Elia was fine?

He hates you, Elio. You fucked up with him. You abandoned him when he probably needed you the most.

Where the fuck were you?

When that fire started, where the fuck were you? When your siblings and your mother shared their last moments, what the fuck were you doing?

Why are you stalling in the name of revenge...on the father who doesn't even give a shit—on some false delusion of a—a poetic justice. Did I even deserve that? The poetic justice?

I'm a fucking joke.

Casmiro had his own life, and Angelo had his own thing to deal with. I was alone with the books most of the time anyway.

A waste of space and valuable oxygen just to fulfill a promise made to a dead sister who probably would have wished for my death if she were alive.

Until Zahra mentioned it about an hour ago, I didn't realize all I was doing was stalling. Because even when it comes to finishing this, I still couldn't do it.

How fucking useless could I get?

I shook my head, gripping the steering wheel tightly, dark thoughts spinning and dancing around my head.

They meant business this time. They were merciless. Uncontainable. I needed to be alone. Not here.

I neared the drug store, itching to get out of the car—away from the woman beside me.

I knew I watched her get kidnapped, and I could have returned to the compound, ignoring Elia's attempts to get her back. I never did anything I didn't want to do. Maybe some part of me knew, one way or another, that I'd go back for her. It was probably why I didn't ask Gemma to drive me back to the city.

From my periphery, Zahra's head rested against the window, but her eyes were trained on me.

I refused to glance over.

I should have known.

I should have known she'd alter my streak from the moment she opened her mouth to talk back at me when we first met. I always stayed away from things that provoked unwarranted emotion.

First, she provoked curiosity in that torture room; anger in the board room; irritation and competitiveness with the chess game, regret on the rooftop, lust in the supply closet and the exhibit, impulsiveness in the car chase, desire, denial, and remorse in the woods...care in that shed...then acceptance and realization by the roadside.

She made me feel useless emotions; somehow, I'd grown comfortable thinking I'd found someone like me. The more unrestricted, open-minded version of me

Seeing her kill without hesitation in that shoot-out, I was...impressed.

Even if I hadn't returned to find her after the amateur kidnapping, I was almost positive she would have found a way out of that position because I would have found a way out.

Somewhere between the supply closet and the shed, I'd thought, maybe I wasn't the only one without morals.

It turns out I was being delusional...Even I was fucked up to someone like her.

"I could totally be your friend if you stop trying to kill me." Her voice echoed in my head.

Guess now that's out of the option.

I pulled into the parking lot by the drug store just out of town, turning off the engine.

"Why are we stopping?" she asked, tiredness coating her voice as she stretched.

"There's a change of clothes in the back seat," I told her, unbuckling my seatbelt without looking her way; even though I could sense her stare at me, it was dark outside now. "By the side of the building, there's a washroom. You can freshen up; I'll get things for you to clean your arm wound; there's a local mobile restaurant near here; since you've not eaten anything all day, we'll stop by."

Her gaze shifted from me to the backseat, probably seeing the folded clothes and the fake chihuahua painting, and then she looked back at me. "When—when did you have time to get the clothes and check the area?"

Leave the car, and ignore—

"Before I reached the shed. I'll be back." I was already opening the door and getting out.

I made my way into the drug store, a mild headache paying a visit to my head as I picked out the little things she'd need to take care of the wound. I knew I was about to scare the person behind the counter due to all the dry blood on me.

Or...I might be scaring the person humming and turning toward the shelf I was in.

I glanced in the voice's direction and frowned, doing a double take at who emerged, attention focused on pulling out a drug from one of the shelves.

"Gemma?" I called.

Blonde head snapped in my direction, her eyes widening as she froze, staring at me. Her gaze took me in from head to toe, surprise, confusion, and caution shining in them, but there was no trace of fear.

"Elio? What a coincidence."

"I don't believe in coincidences. Are you following me?"

She blinked out of the daze she seemed to have been in. "No? My grandma and I decided to hit the road early. I'm refilling her meds...are you following me?"

"No," I stated.

She swallowed. "Is that...blood on you?" she eyed the things in my hand. "Oh my God, are you hurt? Or did you hurt someone, and now you're trying to help them? Are you—are you really some kind of serial killer?" she whispered the last part.

"No."

She nodded. "So...what—what am I looking at here?"

'If I told you it was paint, would you believe me?"

"Nope."

I nodded. "My..." I trailed off, wondering what the hell to refer to Zahra as. I couldn't exactly use hostage, friend, or woman like I'd used in that exhibit to get Grace off my back. So, I went with my generic answer when I didn't want to expatiate. "Someone I know is hurt."

Her lips formed an 'O' as she nodded. The usual alarm bells of warning whenever I needed to be cautious, didn't go off in my head.

This was probably just a coincidence.

"Well...this must be the universe...maybe it wants us to exchange numbers." She said with a chirpy grin.

"I'm covered in blood."

"What does that have to do with numbers?" she said, fishing her purse for a phone as she approached me.

"You're not scared?" I eyed her form.

"If you wanted to kill me, you'd have done it earlier today." She outstretched her phone to me. "Type in your number."

"I don't have a phone."

"Ah...you're one of those types," I watched her search inside her purse for a pen and a piece of paper, and then she quickly scribbled a phone number on it, extending it to me. "There, you can text or call me whenever you get a phone?"

"What if I never get a phone."

"Then, if the universe wills it, we'd see each other again." Wide eyes shone with amusement.

I doubt she'd ever see me after tonight.

I lifted the paper.

She walked backward, a teasing smile on her face. "If you do get that phone, don't be a stranger."

"Okay."

She chuckled, shaking her head and muttering, "So cute," before she turned and disappeared down the aisle, away from view... I memorized the number before slipping the paper into my pocket, continuing my hunt for the last item, which was cotton wool, and then I paid a frightened teenager and exited the store to the building out back.

Walking into it, I trekked the short hallway to the female washroom.

I raised my hand to knock. "Spo—" I stopped, closing my eyes for a second before opening them back up, my knuckle connecting with the door three times. "Zahra, I got the materials for your arm."

"Come in." Her voice was muffled, and I hesitated before twisting the handle, pushing the door open, walking in, and closing it behind me...the moment I raised my head, I paused, unable to stop my eyes from taking her in.

Her hair was wet, and she wore the black sweatpants I had chosen. Her shoulders were naked, and her hand held the black sweatshirt over her chest in an attempt to cover her breast, but I could still see the swell, barely covered underneath her naked arms.

I was staring. Of course, I was staring.

She was the first woman in a year and a half who piqued my interest sexually.

The reason why was still a mystery to me.

I'd been in front of naked women countless times since then, and none of them had been able to compel even a glimpse of strain from my cock.

This was shocking. I found her attractive. I find a lot of women attractive, but Zahra, while not my usual type, managed to challenge me in every way.

I didn't like loud women. She was loud.

I didn't like careless people. She was the definition of careless.

I didn't like people who talked back when they were not supposed to. She talks back—every time.

I didn't like women with short hair. She wore her hair short, though it always smelled excellent, pleasant to the point that I was impressed with the effort she put into it to make it smell—see? My thoughts derailed again.

She was like me—except she held all the characteristics of myself that I habitually hid to keep up the façade that was my whole life.

It was scary. It intimidated me in a way I had never thought probable.

I liked a challenge, but this time it came in the form of a woman I couldn't have. A woman I don't want to have. A woman who had finally told me the one thing everyone was thinking but couldn't say to my face.

The first challenge capable of making me take a 180-degree turn, to retrace my steps, and do what needs to be done.

"I would have asked if you liked what you're seeing, but the last time I asked someone that question, I got a slap to the face." Her voice made me blink, pulling me back from my head—Both my heads.

I approached her, taking my eyes away before placing the items on the counter. "That's all you'll need."

This scourge of a woman wouldn't take her eyes off me, even as I turned to go back outside.

"Elio," she called. I stopped. "Help me."

"I'm assured you know your way around sewing your own wound."

"I do, but not from this angle. I might do more damage than good."

I ticked a muscle in my jaw, pulling on the blankest of blank expression that I could muster in her presence before turning to 'help.'

Without looking at her, I washed my hand clean in the basin, then put on the gloves I had gotten, cleaning the surface area of the cut.

"You won't even look at me," she stated.

I continued my work, ensuring the needles were sterilized properly before connecting them with her skin.

She winced, and I glanced up, catching her stare, which was able to hold mine for about five seconds before I focused on what I was doing again.

It was quiet for a while before she spoke again. "Fine," she snapped, sounding agitated. "Your whole quiet broodiness is making me feel like shit, so I'll be the bigger person and...and try to...and a—apolo—fuck. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that after you told me you wanted to off yourself, I was just tired and pissed because you didn't have to kill the kid, and you showed literally no remorse."

I carefully put the third stitch, remaining quiet.

My silence disturbed her; I could feel it by each passing second her words hung in the air after her forced apology.

"So you're not going to say anything...maybe something along the lines of, you're right, I shouldn't have killed the kid?"

I put in the fourth stitch, trying to block out her voice.

"Listen...I never apologize to people, okay? So, this is kind of a big deal for me, being the bigger person, because I'm petty as fuck."

I placed in the second to last stitch, concentrating.

"Oh, come on, Elio, I'm trying here."

"I have no use for your apology," I stated, my tone flat.

"That's not what you're supposed to say to someone who apologizes to you."

"I have no reason to acknowledge your courtesy."

"Okay, your highness."

The warm ick in my stomach had me losing focus for a second, and she flinched at one wrong movement from me.

My gaze snapped to hers. "Fucking stay still, Sport."

Her lips curved upward, drawing my gaze to them. "I'm perfectly still, Dad." She said, and I looked away, back to her arm.

My blank look was a failure because I couldn't help a frown from drawing my brows together.

Her stare made me uncomfortable, as always. Not that I didn't like it when people looked at me, she just had this—thing where she lured the victim from her stare to reciprocate the action.

It was unnerving.

Her eyes...her freckles...her face. Fucking sinful.

I avoid sins.

Especially the ones woven into the body of a pretty face. I should have just let the man from earlier fry her. Since allowing her to get kidnapped didn't work due to my interference, my mission for tonight should rid me free of her. At least, that's one thing to look forward to.

"For real, today has been a terrible day. I was legit shocked from direct electricity, and then your actions—but with all that, I'm trying to salvage this little partnership we've developed—"

"Don't delude yourself."

"Okay...friendship?"

"We're not friends."

"Frenemies?"

I suppressed a groan. "Not that either."

"Enemies, then?"

"If I considered you an enemy, you'd be dead."

"Okay...what do you consider me—"

"Nothing."

I finished the stitching, dropped the materials by the sink, and removed the gloves.

"Nothing?" she asked, doing that thing with her voice, the one that compelled attention.

I fell for it...again. Pausing before looking back at her.

A taunting smile played on her lips.

She removed the sweatshirt.

I dropped my gaze.

Fuck.

Piercings. Her nipples were pierced. Erect. Pink against full breast.

Was I impressed by it? Yes.

Is there an uncomfortable aching in my tongue and cock? Yes, which I concede is a normal reaction. Do I need this reaction? No. This was useless...this was...temptation.

She pulled the sweatshirt down her head, covering herself and raking her fingers into her wet hair.

I raised my gaze again, catching a smile from her, her stare flickering from my eyes to the strain against my pants. She took two steps closer to me, just enough for me to get the now distinct distracting smell from her hair, enough for me to feel what warmth from her body would have felt like—enough to take me back to that shed, where her body pressed flush against mine.

Elio...your thoughts are not helping.

She tilted her head. "I admire your control, Elio. It makes me wanna...challenge it." then she subtly scrunched her nose to show her pending excitement for challenging my control.

I watched her from underneath my lashes, maintaining a look of indifference.

"I'll wait for you in the car," she said. "I could eat, and then we'll talk about today...don't take too long." And then she reached behind me, purposefully brushing her chest with mine as she grabbed the worn-out dress she had been wearing before heading out of the washroom.

I released a breath, closed my eyes, and moved my neck from left to right, willing for a semblance of control.

It wouldn't matter...

In a few hours, it wouldn't matter.

Focus...those piercings...focus.

I hissed, snapping my eyes back open and glaring at the wall.

"Fucking Witch." 

__

Thanks for reading!

What did you think of this chapter?

Comment for an extra extra update tomorrow!

The exchange between Zahra and Elio?

What do you think Zahra would try to talk to Elio about in the next chapter?

And Gemma, do you think she'll be making another appearance soon? why do you think Elio keeps indulging her?

Random Question: Are you in a relationship? Situationship? it's complicated-ship? Crush-ship? (I'm in an 'it's complicated-ship. Wattpad didn't lie, it could get really complicated with the boy best friend.)

see you soon, hopefully, xx

Your engagement on the last chapter SHOCKED me! I literally didn't have this chapter ready. And since you guys got the comments to one freaking thousand, I was up till the dead of night, writing like an EVIL MASTERMIND! I'm about to hit the bed now, cause I only slept for two hours, hehe, that's the fuel you guys pumped in me, thanks to your comments!

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Enjoy the update ;)

_______

ZAHRA
_______

THE MOMENT he entered the car again, all clean from the blood on him, he made it a point to avoid looking at me. I almost laughed at how adorable I found that action.

I fed off attention and control. In whatever position or situation I found myself in, I always made sure the rein of control remained firm in my grip. Losing it would shove me right back into that scared sixteen-year-old girl—the spineless Zahra who chose the wrong person to hold her hand in the disguise of freedom.

The last time I lost it was the first time I stood face to face with Elio, in that hot room, without a clue where the others were or what the man would do. His reputation wasn't the most promising, and we were all caught off guard.

But I had a talent for cunningly taking back control, sometimes with my words and sometimes with my actions.

But damn hell, flashing him hadn't been my plan to get his attention. A part of me just wanted to see his reaction, and boy, was it priceless. His eyes had been lust, personified.

It excited me.

It shouldn't. It shouldn't because after I left that damn washroom, I felt guilt cloud my senses. What the hell would Devil think if he discovered this new development?

He can't—I can't even broach the topic after he told me he wanted to talk to me about something. He can't know that I just flashed his brother to get a reaction out of him.

And I can't like that reaction. I can't want this man beside me.

But I do want to play with him.

I was itching to tease him till he was at his brink. Not like I wanted to do anything after that, but God, that expression on his face when he walked in and then when he saw me half naked.

The control that had been at the top of my palm. The reaction it had elicited.

After leaving the clutches of those sex traffickers, I'd made all my sexual encounters ride on my terms. We share an equal say. Don't grab. Don't own unless I ask you to. I rarely do. The fear of giving my trust to a man and letting him take me was not something I liked experiencing. But damn it to hell if I didn't—somehow—like the way Elio had arrived at that shed and shot buzzcut, holding me firm to his body afterward.

My pride seemed to have been non-existent.

While I liked to be the one in control most of the time—My gaze shifted from the road ahead to Elio, who had an elbow resting on the window while his tattooed fingers rested on his cheek and his lips, his other hand controlling the steering wheel—I wondered how it would feel to be owned by a man like him.

I wanted to drive him to the edge, make him lose control, let go of the reins, and see what he would do to me.

I had never wanted this...I will probably never go through with it because, well, Devil, but it wouldn't kill to wonder, would it?

Minutes later, Elio pulled up at the mobile restaurant he had talked about. It was small, but a few travel cars were parked around.

"So are we supposed to head in there and just ask for food without paying? You don't look like you have a phone or an ATM card."

He turned off the engine before turning to look at me like he was confused and surprised that I'd asked that question. I just knew in my gut that he was about to respond with an indirect insult. The mock concern in his eyes was a dead giveaway.

"I'm pretty sure we spent hours away from each other, and you seem like a person who has the ability to recall things, like the fact that this was not what I was wearing yesterday; who knows? Maybe after I left you with the Koreans, I went to get clothes for you and myself, and I never told you I didn't have any money on me if I recall correctly." He said all through with a cautious stare, one that made me feel like I was intellectually inept.

"Well, at least you're talking to me."

He blinked at me. Seconds passed before he shook his head, getting out of the car. I got out after him, following behind as he walked towards the restaurant entrance.

I spotted a payphone by the side, making a mental note to ask if it was still in order.

When we entered, the smell of roasted beef and late-night greasy food met with my nostrils, and my stomach grumbled, hunger taking over my mind. There were people in booths here and there, but overall, the building had a cozy, secluded, homely feel. I just knew the food was going to be great too.

"My God, I'm so hungry; it has been like years since I've stayed this long without eating—"

"I'll find a booth." Elio cut in rudely before walking away from me.

I turned to my side to find a girl of about 17, watching Elio walk away; her eyes were wide open in what looked like surprise.

"That is an example of a guy you should avoid," I told her, and she snapped her head towards me.

"Is that your boyfriend?" she asked, her voice eager.

"No, he's not."

"Oh my God, do you think I should get his number? He's so hot."

I blinked at her, wondering if she had heard my remark about staying away from guys like that. She was pretty. Long brown hair curled to form beautiful waves, sharp and bright green eyes that showed how excited she was to have come across someone like Elio. Her clothes and purse told me she was probably a traveler and stayed in a motel nearby. Young. Naïve.

"He doesn't have a phone," I stated.

"Really? That's so mysterious." She chirped.

"Right." I slowly looked away from the crazy girl.

"I'm totally going to say hi!"

I turned back towards her quickly; she was already barreling her way to Elio's booth. He had been wearing a frown, but it disappeared as soon as he saw her approaching.

I watched the interaction carefully. She spoke first, and Elio nodded at whatever question she had asked him. Then almost as if she had taken his response as an opening, she started gushing about something, and he listened attentively like he was interested in whatever she was saying.

Then he seemed to stop and ask her a question, to which she nodded enthusiastically.

Curiosity ate at me, and I wondered why he was acting like he'd known the girl all his life.

Though he didn't smile at her, his facial features were relaxed. It was a look I'd never seen on his face before.

It was kind, approachable, and welcoming.

A huge contrast to the person he was.

After a few more back and forths between them, she reached for a handshake, which he took, and then she waved a bye and left, walking back towards me.

I looked away before Elio could catch my stare.

"If I were 20, I'd definitely tap that." She said as she reached me, resting her elbow on the counter and sighing. "He's so nice too. So dreamy. He complimented my hair. If he looks like that, I wonder what his brother will look like...is your boyfriend hot too?"

"What?"

"That's probably an inappropriate question, sorry. He told me you were seeing his brother."

My brows shot up. "Oh! Yeah...um, kind of...yes."

"Why are you out here with him, though...are you guys like doing the whole..." She leaned in, wiggling her brows. "Forbidden thing?"

What the hell is she talking about?

"Like cheating." She clarified.

"What? No. There's no one to cheat—you know what, I'm just gonna order my food."

"Of course, sorry." She said sheepishly, giving me a small wave and an apologetic smile before she returned to ordering her own food.

Putting behind everything that just happened, I ordered verities of food and sent them to the booth where Elio was before rushing outside to use the pay phone, which I had confirmed was thankfully still in order.

I borrowed a few quarters, assuring them the man dressed in black would cover it.

Entering the phone booth, I placed a call through to Dog's private cell, and he picked up at the third ring.

"Who the fuck is this?"

"Zahra—"

"Zahra, what the fuck! You're not dead?" His voice came with a twinge of relief and mock shock, and then I heard footsteps from the other end. "Guys, she's alive. We can't use her bedroom for the orgy anymo—"

The was a quick scuffle, followed by Dog's protest, and then Devil's voice reached my ear. I relaxed back a little. "Z, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay."

"Where are you?"

"Some restaurant out of town, but I'll be back soon. I was a little hungry."

I heard him sigh. "You had me worried—you had all of us worried."

Guilt weighed heavily on my chest. "Sorry, you know me...getting kidnapped is kinda like my thing. Did you guys find anything about the painting? And why I was fucking abducted by Koreans? And why they were asking me about some...gold?"

There was a mini silence before I heard Milk's voice from a distance saying, "Put it on speaker."

"Where are you calling from?" Upper asked, and I knew from the lagging in his voice and the distant keyboard tapping that he was trying to track the device.

"Some payphone?" I said, confused.

"Hold on." He said, and then there was complete silence, a little bit of static, and then. "Can you hear me?" his voice was clearer.

"Yeah? What's going on?"

"I hacked the device, this is a conversation that we're sure is being listened to, but we're good now."

"Okay? So...I take it you guys know what's going on?"

"Yes," Milk said. "Dog was able to find the location of the person who's been exchanging emails with us for months. We traced them to Australia."

"We were chased by Russians, and I was kidnapped by Koreans. A lot of people want this thing." I said.

"It's fucking, Gold. Fifty fucking million bars, of course, people are gonna kill for it."Dog responded.

"The painting originally belonged to some dead rich dude, Arturo Garza. Feared by most made men." Devil added.

Ah...I see.

"The crazy fucker made a bloody map, placed it in the original frame and made about like a hundred copies of the painting, and sent it out. It's basically a quest for gold, and obviously something else."

"We haven't figured out what that something else is," Devil voiced, "But if bosses of criminal families are also hunting for it, it's gotta be big."

"Probably intel," Milk said. "Ground-breaking intel is the only reason these men would want it."

"The power..." I said, "This is huge. People are getting informed of this quest every day. Forget the intel, and think about how many people out there killing to get their hands on that gold."

"I want to get my hands on the fucking gold." Dog said. "We'll be made for fucking life if we find the original painting."

"I'm guessing the one sitting in our car right now isn't the original one. Do we know how each painting is released?"

"It's spontaneous. Arturo was a mastermind, he wanted this quest to last for a long time, and it's working; everyone is barreling down, following the same patterns. While there's probably a quest twist somewhere, we have to brainstorm, think like him...that's the only way we can win this if we all want the gold, that is." Upper said.

"I want the gold," Milk said. "I love quests! It'll be fun."

"And I want to know what's got these powerful men cowering," I added.

"I'm curious about that too." Devil joined. "We can't talk expressively about this over the phone."

"I'll be on my way as soon as I eat."

"Can you pack something for me too? I'm starving." Dog said.

"You're literally just ate." Milk said.

"Did I?"

I chuckled. "Okay, guys, are we telling Marino?"

"If this painting is as popular amongst criminal masterminds as we've found, then he probably knows about it," Upper said.

Of course, he had no reason to tell me even if he knew. "I'll go now; see you guys soon."

I hung up, immediately making my way back into the building. I walked towards our booth, almost doubling over when I saw the food on the table.

Spaghetti with oil and garlic (Aglio e olio) sauced meat in a full bowl, spicy vegetables that smelled divine, three pieces of tomatoes and onion sauced chicken, and yummy-looking French fries to go with it. I was practically drooling at the sight, wishing I had a phone to take pictures and send to Dog so he'd cry.

I slipped into the booth, rubbing my hands together as I looked over at the man opposite me, whose gaze was trained on the window beside him, arms crossed against his chest, lost in his own world. He didn't even look over when I arrived.

I dug into the food immediately, diving straight for the water first before picking up the fork, rolling the delicious pasta into it, shoving it into my mouth, and moaning at the taste. "God, fuck yes, this is so good."

When he didn't turn my way, I lightly hit his leg from underneath the table, and he turned to me, raising a brow of inquiry. "You've got to try this; it's heavenly. Why didn't you order?"

"I'm not in the mood to eat."

"Do people have to be in a mood before eating?"

"I am not people."

I shoved another fork full of spaghetti into my mouth, speaking with my mouth full. "Did you stop by here to eat something when we were apart?"

"No."

"So, you've not eaten all day?"

"Yes."

I grabbed a sauced chicken, tearing into it like a starved woman, knowing my mouth was as messy as my hands, seeing as Elio's blank stare had quickly turned into that of irritation as he watched me eat.

Who gives a fuck? Not me.

"You're not eating because you're ashamed to eat in front of people, are you? cause that's just pitiful." I said, one of my hands rolling spaghetti into the fork, shoving it into my mouth, while my other hand brought the chicken to my mouth, tearing a bite as I chewed the spaghetti and chicken together, melting at the combination and bouncing on my seat in appreciation.

"You're an animal." He stated.

"Stop flattering me; I might just fall in love with you."

"That was not a compliment." He gritted out.

I swallowed, picking a sauced beef with one of the toothpicks, and yes—it tasted fucking good too. "I have this disorder where every insult I get materializes into compliments in my head; it's like—so rare and incurable."

"There's no such thing."

"Do your research," I said, digging into the vegetables and pasta to find what combination they would form in my mouth. "Oh yes," I threw my head back. "I'm having a literal food orgasm right now."

Elio relaxed in the booth, shaking his head like he was done with me. I smiled inwardly; at least he wasn't looking out the window with that wary expression anymore.

"This place is perfect! They bring tradition into the taste of their food; Dog would love it here. I'll bring him some time to have food orgasms together."

"You lack table manners."

"No. I just love being free, not uptight and proper like you." I grabbed another chicken wing, waving it around him as I said, "I know there's a crazy in there somewhere; you just gotta let loose."

"Like you let yourself lose to the extent of," his gaze flickered to my chest, "Piercing your nipples?"

"There, there, is that what's bothering you, can't get it out of your head? Is it making you hard again? You should have looked away."

"You didn't give me a choice. How did you sit through that? Who put it on you?"

Dropping the bone of the chicken wing, I smiled coyly at him. "A man. A hot, sexy, tatted, and pierced man. He was really good with his hands. His name was Julio."

The man opposite me just shook his head. "Why would you put yourself through that?"

"You got an opinion about my preferences; I don't wanna fucking hear it; my body, my choice."

"I'm not trying to give an opinion. It just looks painful, and I wondered why you would endure it?"

"The pleasure that comes with it is worth it." I smiled, pulling the French fries towards me. "Besides, I was a sex worker, as you probably already know."

He frowned immediately. "They forced it on you?" The edge to his voice had me clarifying.

"Nope, I saw some other girls getting it; I liked it but didn't dare to do it then because I was young. But I did it after I left, one of the best decisions I ever made, and from your expression earlier, I could tell you liked it."

"I didn't."

"Pfft. Right, you didn't." I picked the glace of water, bringing it to my lips as I stared at him from underneath my lashes, ending my statement with, "But your cock did." I drank.

"I'm not talking about this anymore."

I chuckled, dropping the glass. "You raised the issue."

"It was clearly a mistake. You need to work on your conversational skills because, somehow, everything you say has to end in some sexual comment. It's worrying."

"Aww, you're worried about me?"

"No...you make me want to plant a bullet in my skull." He said, turning his head back to the window; his dull demeanor settling in an instant, like every conversation we just had, didn't happen.

I dropped the topic, sitting up and raising a new one. "So, The Koreans were asking for information about some gold. Apparently, there's a lot of gold to be gained by whoever finds the painting...." I said, gouging his expression.

He hesitantly looked away from the window to me, looking indifferent. "Is that so." He stated.

I sighed as I took a tasty seasoned beef into my mouth. "You knew, didn't you?"

He didn't respond.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I had no reason to."

"Seriously? I almost got shot because of a fake painting. That's enough fucking reason to."

"How do you know it's a fake?"

"STREET did some research, and they discovered all about the quest shit, the gold, and Arturo's little chihuahua."

"Congratulations," he said.

"You're so nonchalant about this. It's infuriating,"

"Okay." He mumbled, looking out the window again. He looked like he was physically here, but his mind was elsewhere.

"Can I have the ID card? The one you took from the buzzcut guy?" I asked.

Without looking at me, he lifted himself a little, searching his pocket for the ID card and dropping it on the table.

Just like that.

I cleared my throat. "Thanks. I still don't think there's any need to hunt down the rest of his family."

"Hm." He responded.

Deciding to use Spanish, I asked. "Where's your mind?"

He turned his head towards me, staring for a few seconds, also responding in Spanish. "Everywhere."

I sat up, knowing I was not good at this, but I still had to let him know, one way or another, why I was mad. "Listen, I appreciate that you killed that guy. He would have killed me if you hadn't done it. But the boy—he was still young, and I know your logic is to kill them so they wouldn't have to go through grief, but...you're not only stopping them from grieving...you're stopping them from a future they could have had. A life. Maybe even better than the one we have."

When he didn't reply, I continued. "I know this business comes with a lot of blood on your hands, but sometimes, it's better to have a limit so you don't completely lose yourself. Draw the limit at hurting childing, or hell—any innocent person. You can kill a father, but you don't have to kill the child. Grief is normal. It hurts, but it's normal. You can't stop people from feeling it by killing them. You're only causing more damage to yourself."

"Thank you," he said, shocking me for a second.

"Are you just saying that so I'd stop talking?"

He shook his head. "I understand where you're coming from. You've opened my eyes to many things today."

I blinked blankly at him before frowning. "Right, glad you...yeah. Good talk."

He nodded, looking out the window, locking up his form in a way that told me he didn't want to talk anymore.

I sighed, grabbed the ID card from the table, and continued with my food.

Normally, I'd push with more conversation, but I knew when to stop.

The ride was quieter on our way back, and I felt pretty uncomfortable...he had barely said a word to me after everything I said about the kid. He was locked in his mind, and I wondered what was going through that head.

It wasn't until after he pulled up at a shady motel that I leaned away from the window, looking over at him. "Why are you stopping here?"

He unbuckled his seat belt, and I watched him grab the gun from the console, opening the bullet casing as he said. "You're going to drive back to the compound alone."

I stifled a yawn. "What are you talking about?"

He removed all the bullets, leaving just two inside it before he locked it close again. "You'll drive back to the compound alone," he repeated. "There's something I have to do." He said, finally meeting my confused gaze.

I frowned, looking out the window at the worn-out building, before turning to him again. "What do you have to do here?"

"Nothing you should concern yourself with." He said, expression utterly void of all emotions. "I know you have no reason to help me do this, but; When you get to the compound, please find Casmiro, tell him to go to my bedroom and check the floorboards in my wardrobe. I left something in there for him and Angelo." He said.

Caution and confusion fought for dominance in my head, all the sleepiness slipping from my eyes, my senses at alert. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

He opened his side door, about to leave me there, but paused, "I can't believe you're the one I'm asking to do this...but—tell my brother I'm sorry and that I tried."

"You tried what—"

He was already getting out of the car, closing the door behind him.

I sat alone in the humming vehicle for a few seconds, watching him walk around it towards the motel, wondering what the hell just happened.

Two bullets...obviously he's going to kill someone...He wants me to deliver a message to Casmiro and tell Devil he's sorry?

Two bullets...one for the person he wants to kill... whoever that is, and the other for...

Realization dawned like ice water down my spine, and I was dashing right out of the car after him.

__

Thanks for reading!

What did you think of this chapter?

The exchange between Zahra and Elio, in all parts?

Elio talked to the stranger with kindness, what's your take on his character in regard to how he interacts with strangers after that little exchange?

Also, Zahra is conflicted, If she and Elio were to cross a limit, how do you think Devil would react to this?

Random Question: What's your favorite food? (I am asking this because I got so hungry with that food scene, GOD! I WANT CHICKEN!)

see you guys! xx

HI! THIS IS COMING LATER THAN USUAL, IT'S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU'RE AN INTROVERT AND HAVE TO ENTERTAIN IMPROMPTU VISITORS AND GIVE AWKWARDS SMILES AND PRETEND YOU LIKE THEM UNTIL THEY LEAVE. 

Thank you so much for your engagement in the last chapter! don't forget to comment as you read! As usual,  I will appreciate all kinds of spam for this chapter!

Enjoy the update ;)

_______

ZAHRA
_______

"HEY, MOTHERFUCKER!"

My voice rang out into the night as I rushed after him. He stopped, shoulders slumping, head dropping as he turned towards me with a glare.

I let out short sharp breaths of tiredness, stopping right in front of his imposing figure, straightening my own form with determination even though my limbs begged for the relief that came with lying on a bed and stretching my muscles until I fell asleep.

"If you have a message to pass across to your underboss and brother, you do that shit yourself." I led with that, my eyes taking him in.

"It's just a simple task—"

"Do I look like a suicide note?" I was livid. Angry! I wanted to bash his head in, anything to ease the fucking guilt lingering at the pit of my stomach. "We're gonna get our asses back in that car, and you're gonna drive us to the compound and deliver your fucking message yourself."

He actually looked like he was considering it before shaking his head. "That will be inconvenient."

I threw my hands up and dropped them back in frustration. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Drive back to the compound, and do as you're told,"

"Like hell, I will?" I said, baffled at what was fucking happening. "You're crazy if you think I'll leave you here after your little speech in the car."

With his hand that held the gun, he moved to rub his brows, closing his eyes for a second as he shook his head before opening his eyes and pinning me with a glare that had me stepping back a little.

"Allow me to get this straight," he said. "You told me, just a few hours ago, to hurry up and do what I need to do, and now that I'm trying to do it, you want to stop me—"

"But I already apolo—"

"Shut up."

"I'm not going to leave—"

"Shut up."

"This is fucking insane, Elio! You can't expect me just to let you—"

"Shut up," He took a step closer to me. "Shut up." Another until he was standing right in front of me. "Shut the fuck up, Zahra!" he yelled in my face, and I inched back; his breathing was harsh, and so was mine. "Stop messing with my head. I'm fucking impressionable; words aren't just words for me. They're affirmations. You apologized, thank you for your apology, but it means absolutely fucking nothing to me."

I gulped down, guilt settling within me. I could tell he was so frustrated and on the brink of losing his shit because of how much he was cursing.

"No matter what you say," he continued. "Or how much you apologize; I will never forget every word you said by that roadside. It'll always be in my head. I'll always hear you repeat it over and over again. When I see you, that's all I'll think about; when I hear you speak, it's all I'll hear because that's how my brain works."

"But I didn't mean it. I was just angry because it has been a long fucking day," I sighed. "No matter how much we don't like each other, I would have never said that to you if I had known you would take it seriously."

"Well, this is the situation I find myself in. Don't feel guilty. This was my plan all along; I'm only making it quicker."

I shook my head. "No,"

"Yes."

"No." I countered with a confused frown, stepping away from him. "That's not how tonight's gonna go."

"Go back to the car, Zahra."

I outstretched my hand. "Give me the gun."

His gaze slipped to my hand and back to my face with a stern glare. "Go back. To the car. Zahra." He repeated, a warning in his voice, one filled with so much venom, so much hate and frustration, but I couldn't leave him like this.

"Give me the fucking gun," I said, standing straighter.

He shook his head slowly. "Don't push me, Zahra."

"Just give me the gun, and then we can talk. No matter how much you fucked up with that kid, you didn't deserve what I said."

It took a second. Just one second for his whole demeanor to change. The anger slipped from his eyes, his breathing calmed, and his grey eyes, completely vacant, were watching me in silence. It was like a switch had been turned off inside him, and I grew even more wary.

"Elio?"

"I love it." He said, deep voice flat and unfeeling.

I frowned. "What...what are you talking about now?"

"The fear my presence compels on people." He examines the gun in his hand. "The smell of blood, and death, and suffering, and tears, ah...fuck," he closed his eyes as if he could see and smell all he just listed. "It's like heaven. Chaos, massacres." He opened his eyes. "I crave it like oxygen. I fucking love it, Zahra, killing that kid, it felt so fucking good,"

I locked my jaw. "You're lying."

He scanned my form from head to toe, slowly, tentatively, until his intense vacant gaze locked with mine. Then he moved, closing the space between us enough for me to crane my neck, looking up at him, my breathing unsteady and shaky.

He raised the gun, trailing the barrel's mouth from my forehead, past my brows, down my cheek, and to the surface of my bottom lip, where he stopped, raised his gaze, and then...smiled.

My heart hammered. It wasn't a smile of amusement or happiness, no. It was a smile soaked with retribution, malice, and trickery...but somehow, it still managed to be beautiful.

"One thing you should never do, Zahra, is to make a hero out of me. I have killed men, women, children...people I care for. I have lost count of people who scream my name before I end their lives, I have taken and taken and taken more than I should, and I don't regret any of it. The most beautiful thing is that the business is just a cover-up for how fucked up my head is, for how much I love what I do." He pressed his forehead to mine, closing his eyes as he swallowed and said, "How much I long for it."

My throat worked. "You're just saying that."

A breathy laugh left him. "You don't believe it? I'm not surprised. People love to underestimate me and make assumptions based on my actions. He's kind sometimes; He's calm. He doesn't care; all he wants is power; he's all talk and no actions. Do you want to know why that is? It's because the people who are supposed to confirm the action are either six feet under or fish food. The stories you hear about The Wicked are just a scratch in the surface of what I'm capable of."

He drew back from me, still in my face, as he opened his eyes to look at me, smile draining away. "If you don't want to know, first hand, what I'm truly capable of, how I could ruin you and serve you your worse fear in a silver fucking platter, you'll walk back to that car and drive away from me."

I swallowed, grinding my teeth together as I said. "No."

His jaw locked. "Don't make me kill you, Zahra."

"You've tried a number of times before; it didn't work."

"Don't make me do it."

"I'm not leaving here without you," I told him. "Everything you just said might be true, but I've seen you hold off from shooting and killing people just because you didn't want to hurt the ones related to them. Maybe you're not so far gone."

He shook his head. "Oh no, Zahra, don't be mistaken. I really just wasn't in the mood to kill anyone. I hold off because when I don't, there's no stopping me; I love it too much to stop. That explosion, the chaos we caused, the people who might have died. It drove me to the edge; I was gripping that gun so tight because of how much I loved it and wanted to make sure no one survived it. Make sure I finish the job. If I'm being honest, I don't want to like it, I don't want to do it, because when I do, it's the best feeling in this world...that's how sick I am, Zahra. And that's why you're right. This world would be a much better place without me in it."

"Alright, but give me the gun."

"If I don't go in there and kill my father, Everything you told me in that restaurant will mean nothing to me. If I leave here, back to the compound, alive, I will be worse than I am now. Is that what you want?"

I paused, watching him with confusion. "Your...father?"

"Yes, my father."

I blinked at him. There was no sign of a joke in his eyes. He was completely serious right now. "Your father's dead, Elio."

He remained quiet.

I bit the inside of my cheek, changing my approach and asking him directly without making assumptions from what I'd heard. "Is your father dead?"

"No."

I took in a shaky breath, taking a step back. "You faked his death?"

"Yes."

"He's been here all this time?"

"Yes."

I shook my head, genuinely confused. "Wh—why?"

"Because I want to kill him."

I watched him for a long time, my eyes flickering between his as I said quietly. "I think you need help, Elio."

"I'm well aware."

"So why don't you get help?"

"I don't wish to; I'm undeserving of it. Stop making me talk, and just go."

"Nothing you say will make me leave here without you. I don't care if you're a sick psychopath who doesn't wanna get help; I am not leaving unless you get in the car with me."

Staring at me for a moment too long, He sighed, dropping his head like he was running thoughts through his mind, and then he looked back at me and outstretched the gun towards me.

I collected it from his grip, blowing out a breath of relief. "I know my words might mean nothing right now, but I really didn't mean what I said, and I'm sorry. I really am."

Without responding, he walked past me towards the direction of the car.

I turned, watching him for a few seconds, before sighing, looking back at the motel, and following behind him.

***

In about half an hour, we reached the compound, and Elio pulled over right in front of the quarters where my gang and I were situated.

Still uneasy, I bid him good night and got out of the car, his gun was still with me, and I knew it was useless because I was pretty sure he had more guns in his possession.

Looking around, soldiers were guarding the area here and there, and I walked towards the house.

The sound of the car door opening and closing had me stopping and turning to see Elio approaching me. "I'm not giving you your gun back." I cleared up.

"You can keep it, Sport." He said, standing before me.

"Alright." I nodded, turning to leave, but he grabbed my wrist.

"Wait."

His hold on my wrist was warm, and the feeling somehow managed to creep up my skin in a way that had my heart pumping blood to my body with the main purpose of making me flush.

"What," I stated in question, unable to stop my gaze from flickering to his lips.

Elio mirrored my action but made no move. "You won't tell anyone about my father."

"There's nothing to tell...your father's dead. He's been dead for years; everyone knows that."

He was about to say something when the door to the house pulled open, and Devil rushed out, beeling towards us.

"Devil—" Before I could complete my statement, Devil was yanking Elio's hold from my wrist, shoving him hard on the chest, and landing a blow to his face. Elio stumbled back at the impact. Soldiers rushed towards us, and Elio quickly waved them off.

I quickly intervened when Devil wanted to charge toward his brother again, getting between the two. "That's enough, D. Rein it in." his chest was heaving, a deadly glare aimed directly at Elio, who worked his jaw with his hand, making no move to attack back.

"That was for letting her get kidnapped," Devil said, trying to inch closer to Elio, but I held him back. "Fucking touch her again, and see what I'll do," he finished, grabbing my wrist and pulling me with him towards the house.

I turned briefly, just in time to see Elio, shoving both hands into his pocket, his eyes on the both of us. Something flashed through them, but Devil pulled me inside the house before I could name it, slamming the door shut behind us.

I pulled my hand from his grip, stepping away from him with a glare. "That was so uncalled for. Why the fuck did you hit him?"

"Are you seriously asking me that question?"

"Yes! It's not his fault that I got kidnapped, Devil."

He looked at me with disbelief, eyes running down my body as if just noticing my change of clothes. "But he wanted to leave you there. He would have returned without you if it weren't for me."

"I know, but that's not important anymore because he still came for me; stop being such a controlling jerk; the look doesn't suit you."

"Controlling?"

A shuffle from a corner made us turn to find Upper watching us, leaning on the kitchen entryway. "Oh sweet, Devil," he taunted. "Always trying to control things he doesn't possess."

"Shut the fuck up and mind your own business; this has nothing to do with you,"

Upper scoffed, glancing briefly at me before looking at Devil. "Right, nothing to do with me at all."

I frowned.

"Glad you're not dead, Zahra," Upper said, and then he flipped Devil off before disappearing down the passage, a bedroom door slamming a few seconds after.

I blinked at the direction Upper had gone through before returning my attention to Devil, who had an unreadable expression on his face.

"What the fuck was that about?"

"Nothing." He said.

"I'm not an idiot, Devil. Upper's pissed; Upper is never pissed."

"It's nothing." He snapped.

I shook my head. "I'm just gonna go to bed; I'm too tired for this shit."

"Zahra—"

"Don't follow me," I told him before heading to my bedroom, knowing Milk and Dog would be fast asleep already, we were dead into the morning, and I should probably question why Upper and Devil were still up together. I knew Devil would wait up, but like Dog, Upper liked his sleep, so it was weird.

The moment I fell on the bed, I groaned in tiredness, my grip still on Elio's gun.

I shoved it under the pillow with a tired sigh and passed out after a few seconds.

***

"Make one for me?" I said to Upper as I yawned and stretched, entering the kitchen, with him making coffee. He nodded at my request without looking at me.

"Morning Zahra!" Milk yelled from the living room. "I stopped by your room early, and you were dead asleep, mouth open and all."

"Creep," I muttered.

She chuckled.

Now in a simple tank top and shorts, I sat atop one of the kitchen stools, placing my hand on my cheek as I watched Upper work on the coffee machine, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Second to Dog, Upper was the one I warmed up to after meeting. He was always smiling, observant, and loved talking about things he claimed to know nothing about. Upper wasn't a mystery; he was an open book, an open book that held so many hidden secrets I would have loved to unearth if I didn't have many of my own.

When I'd asked him about his accent years ago, he'd told me it was learned, but I wasn't stupid. If the others believed that shit, I didn't. He was too accurate, too fluent, and effortless for it to be learned from movies and tv shows. Coupling it all down with his posh mannerisms.

He would often act a certain proper way, catch himself doing it, and adjust to being brash.

I never spoke on it or pointed it out; if the others caught it too, they said nothing.

We stayed away from broaching the 'extra personal' in our lives. We kept our past to our past and functioned well with our presence. There was a possibility we would perform better if we knew where we each came from, but none of us were willing or eager to let that information slip.

Even the code names we shared were through the information they provided when we all met. It could be lies, could be true, no one knows. But we still trusted each other, and it was healthy.

I worked my shoulders, trying to free my coiled muscles.

"I have a feeling you're being hostile with me," I said, watching his back tense up, but he continued what he was doing. "You know you can talk to me about anything if I did something wrong or said something that upset you."

He let out a shaky breath, turning with a fresh cup of coffee for me. I collected it, watching him avoid eye contact.

"Upper—"

"It's not you," he said, bright hazel eyes raising to look at me. "You didn't do anything."

"So why are you being weird?"

"I—"

"Baby Zahra." arms hugged me from behind as Dog slammed a kiss to my cheek. "I missed you!"

Oh shit.

I tried to push him off. "Get off me, you clingy beast."

He tightened his hold and whispered harshly in my ear. "Where are my fucking pills."

"Hidden." I gritted.

"I can take that. My fucking pot is what I can't take; I was going crazy last night, you motherfucker." He gritted with a strained smile.

"I told you, you're not getting high without me to monitor you, motherfucker." I gritted with a strained smile too, and Upper eyed us warily.

I tried to squirm myself free.

"You could have at least left a joint, bitch." His grip tightened.

I was choking for air as I gritted. "Again, not getting high without me. You wanna get stoned; we get stoned together; that's how this relationship works, cunt."

"This relationship works how I say it works; a joint wouldn't make me an addict, you fucking snake."

"Your action right now is fucking proof you're on the brink, you fucking dog; maybe I should throw the fucking pills away."

"Do that and die a very miserable death in the Karakoram."

"That's oddly specific."

"I can make it happen—"

"What the fuck are you guys muttering about? You're scaring me." Upper said mug paused halfway to his lips, eyes wide.

Dog released me, slapping my shoulder twice—in a not-so-friendly way. "Just catching up." He said, walking around the kitchen, all through with his eyes on me. When he reached behind Upper, his glare rained, and he slashed a thumb to his throat, a premature gesture of him doing the same to me with a knife.

I rolled my eyes, drinking Upper's fantastic coffee.

When Devil walked in shortly after, Upper took his leave, joining Milk in the living room.

Something was going on between those two. But Devil isn't into men...or is he?

All day, my head was filtering through thoughts, and even as they debriefed me on the painting with information that could be useful and resources we might need, my full attention wasn't on it.

Three things swarmed through my head. Upper and Devil, what could possibly be going on? Is it what I feared? Why do I fear it?

The painting, what could be so important aside from the gold? Why in hell is Martino searching for it? And why didn't he ever mention Arturo Garza to me? If he kept that a secret, what other secrets did he keep from me? How was he even capable of keeping secrets from me? What does it mean?

And finally...Elio.

What really happened to make him that way? A heartless man with a heart, unpredictable to a fucking fault. How many cobwebs were in his wardrobe? His father was alive? This means Elio isn't the only family Devil has.

Angelo had stopped by earlier to get a little debriefing about what the Koreans had asked me, I had kept Martino's name out of it, but the man could tell I was hiding something else. Before he left, I hesitated but asked him about Elio because, if I was honest with myself, I was a little worried about him and how we had left things last night.

It was probably the guilt eating me up at his revelation of how deep my words had cut him.

Angelo had looked at me weirdly, and I wouldn't blame him; it was weird. I shouldn't care.

But I was relieved when he said Elio was doing okay but had left the compound with Casmiro quite early for business. Then he asked why I was asking, and I just shrugged, not giving him an answer, which I was sure made my behavior even more suspicious.

He dropped it, though, and I was glad he did. Hopefully, he doesn't tell Elio I asked. That would be embarrassing.

After a small game of cards with the group, I retired early, still not well-rested from the last few days' events. I wore one of Milk's short satin nightgowns, one of the many that had somehow stumbled into my wardrobe. I could swear the girl was slowly changing my choice of clothing because each time something new was mysteriously added, one of my comfort clothes she had disapproved of would go missing.

I settled in bed, tossing and turning in discomfort.

Sleep always seemed to come easy to me, but I was struggling tonight, and I honestly could not pick a reason why.

Slipping my hand underneath my pillow, I brought Elio's gun to my view, examining it.

My fingers brushed through the mouth of the gun, the same one that had touched my lips the other night. An action that should have made me wary of the impending death that could strike me if a shot was fired, made me bristle with desire.

I hate that I'm attracted to him, hate that his body had a huge part to play in it, but his mind and manners managed to hold a firm part of this attraction too.

My fingers brushed the hilt, and I stopped when I found his initials at the bottom of the gun. E.M.

I chuckled. "Obnoxious fucker."

I slipped the gun back underneath my pillow and turned to my side, closing my eyes and trying to force the sleep.

It didn't come.

I groaned, sitting upright. I could use a pill.

I got out of bed and out of the room.

Milk and Dog were still awake, seeing as I could hear their bickering from the living room.

I went down a small corridor opposite Devil and Upper's room, stopping before the fire extinguisher. I opened the sitting where it was mounted, reaching behind it quietly and grabbing a stash of pills.

"What the bloody hell, Devil. How does that even sound to you?"

I paused at the sound of Upper's agitated voice. Quietly, I closed the glass to the extinguisher and walked towards their bedroom door, leaning to press my ear against it.

"It sounds perfect, Upper. I like her, and we've been doing this for almost a year now, and I want it all with her; I know she does too." He sounded uncertain like he was trying to convince himself that he liked me and that I liked him too.

"Okay, fine, I'm not against it, nor will I ask you not to ask her. But I care about Zahra too, and I won't let you half-ass it with her. You must tell her about us. She deserves to know your reservations before you string her along."

My stomach sank.

Us.

"For God's sake, Upper, there's no us. There never was. I'm fucking straight."

Upper scoffed. "I'm not about to help you define your sexuality, but I can assure you that a straight guy wouldn't exactly give a gay guy a bloody hand job or receive a bloody blow job from a gay guy and then kiss him afterward, just saying."

What the fuck?

"It just happened, Upper. It didn't mean shit to me. You don't mean shit to me; Zahra does. And you—don't give me that fucking look; you came on to me."

Then I heard a gasp from Upper. "I came unto you?" his voice shook. "That's the worst fucking thing you could ever say to me. Listen, it was mutual; you had every right to forfeit the dare and not give me a hand job; if anything, you started it. But you don't see me saying that or accusing you of coming on to me."

Devil sighed. "Upper, I didn't mean it like that—"

"No, you're confused and so fucking toxic and problematic, and you rub it off on everyone who dares to even come close to you. I didn't ask for this shit. I didn't ask you to tell me shit you've never told anyone and make me feel like we were something special when it obviously meant shit to you, just like you said." He sounded so hurt, and I wasn't sure if my heart was aching from the not-so-betrayal or for Upper.

"Upper—"

"And now you're about to use Zahra to what? Fuel your denial? She doesn't deserve that shit."

"That's not what I'm trying to do. I genuinely care about Zahra; I think I'm falling in love with her—"

"You think. You're not sure. You're leading her on, on a maybe...."

Deciding I'd heard enough, I twisted the knob and pushed open the door, startling both of them.

The look on my face probably spelled the fact that I'd overheard part of their conversation due to the horror on Upper's face and the curse Devil muttered.

I couldn't help but feel a sting at the sight of him.

Somewhere along the line, something had blurred. I had gotten too comfortable with him, and I would have shocked myself by saying yes to making things official because it was Devil. He was my best friend and the first guy I'd been with more than once after leaving Martino in Sicily.

Devil and I downplayed what we had almost every time, trying to stay within our limits, but there was something there, which was why I felt a little hurt and betrayed by this new reveal.

"So that's why you both have been acting weird around each other?"

Upper plopped down on the bed, resting his elbow on his knees as he covered his face with his palms, almost as if he couldn't believe this was happening.

"Is anyone gonna answer me?" my voice went a pitch louder, and Upper flinched.

Devil sighed. "It's not what you think, Z."

"Don't even fucking try to twist this, Devil; everything I heard is exactly what I think. It's exactly what this thing is?" I gestured between them.

Devil walked, trying to reach out to me. "Zahra, please..."

I took a step back. "Don't fucking touch me."

From my periphery, I spotted Dog and Milk right outside the room, watching the scene cautiously because this was the first time any meaningful argument would occur between us.

And this was meaningful, all right.

"At least let me explain what this is." He said, fear lingering in his eyes.

"What's there to explain? Look at him! Look at me; look at yourself. Look at the fucking situation we're all in. It's all self-explanatory; there's nothing you can say that would make more sense than this."

"Okay, fine, you're right, but that doesn't change anything... it doesn't change how I feel about you, or—I—fuck." He was so confused. I could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes, the way they flickered between me and a distraught, probably traumatized Upper, almost as if he couldn't tell whom to comfort or make feel better. "I don't even know anymore," he muttered, his voice hurt and defeated.

As a friend, I wanted to hug him, make him explain his feelings, but as a—as a what? We were nothing.

I shook my head, blinking. "I know we didn't put a label and shit, but I thought this—I thought we—" I sighed. "This is so messed up, Devil."

He dropped his head. "I know...I'm sorry."

My gaze shifted to Upper, who had both hands gripping his hair, not once looking up.

"I'm out of here," I muttered, turning on my heel and walking out of the room. I brushed past Dog and Milk, who threw me a sympathetic look that I ignored.

Did they know about it too?

I couldn't even think about that now.

I was almost out of the house when Dog caught up to me. "Hey."

"Not now, Dog."

"I wanted to give you a coat."

I turned to him, forcing on a smile as I collected the coat and slipped it on, pocketing the stash of pills before he could catch a glimpse of them.

"You good?" he asked.

"Not really."

He nodded as if he understood. "Are you gonna go out there and cry?"

I scoffed. "The day I cry over a boy is the day I stab myself in both eyes. I just need a breather."

"Kay, use the kitchen window; there are a few soldiers standing guard outside tonight; it would be difficult to slip out."

I hugged him with a light squeeze. "Behind the fire extinguisher, I hid two joints."

"How do you know that's why I'm helping you?"

I laughed, pulling away before flipping him off and making my way out back.

Somehow, after maneuvering the guards outside the compound, I found myself climbing the killer stairs to the rooftop. The anxiety of falling was still present, and when I finally reached up and passed through the door, I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Ah, motherfucker. What kind of a psychopath is this fucking man?" I winced a whisper to myself, the cold wind from up high easing my muscles as I walked towards the railing, sucking in a deep breath with my hair whipping around my face.

The quietness calmed me, and I replayed the whole event in my head.

It would most definitely be awkward between us all now. But did I even have the right to feel like I was cheated on? We weren't even in a relationship, so...but I thought we were exclusive.

I knew Devil was confused. Despite his denial, I knew he felt something for Upper, but he was scared to lean into it; I knew he felt something for me too, but what he had with Upper was stronger. I knew it; I saw it. And I was partly mad that he treated Upper that way.

None of us deserved this situation we were in, but hell, if the god of situations cared what we do or do not deserve at this—

"If you're,"

"Motherfucker!" My hands flew to my chest, turning to find the owner of the voice.

"...looking to jump, I suggest the left side of the railing. It's steeper. One hit, you'll crack your skull on the cobblestones, death on impact. I've experimented and found that it's more efficient."

My heart was running ten times per second, having almost jumped out of my skin.

Elio was sitting on the ground, his back against the carved stoned roof chair, with a bottle of cheap beer in his grip. He had his attention on me as he asked.

"So, are you jumping, or would you like a push?" 

__

Thanks for reading!

What did you think of this chapter?

Elio listened to Zahra? do you think this is an actual development?

What do you think about the Devil and Upper Revelation? I'm curious!

How do you think Devil, Upper, and Zahra would sort this out, do you think they'll be able to come out of it?

Zahra and Elio again on the next one..............maybe they do spend too much time together .............oh well............

Random Question: Would you consider yourself an introvert?

see you guys Friday! xx

Thank you for your engagement on the last chapter! I appreciate your comments and your patience! Don't forget to comment as you read! I'd really love to know your thoughts on this chapter which totally did not take me three days of glaring at my laptop screen to write! anyway, please help my bent back by spamming me with comments!

Enjoy the update ;)

_______

ZAHRA
_______

"YOU KNOW what? I'll take the push. I would have jumped on my own, but I'm too scared," I responded when my heart returned to its normal position and started doing its job properly.

Elio paused as if trying to see if I was being serious, and when I didn't counter my statement, he breathed out in relief. "Oh, finally." he attempted to stand, but I quickly responded.

"That was a joke! Jesus."

The man groaned in annoyance before he sat back down, looking away from my figure.

"Why are you so eager to kill me?" I chuckled at how his gloomy aura had shined in excitement at the prospect of him getting to push me over the railing.

"It is one of my many fantasies." He surprised me with his response, and I couldn't help the thoughts spinning inside my head.

"Ouuu, fantasies." I pressed my back to the brick railing, my front facing him.

"I didn't sexually connote that."

"Sorry, Dad, my mind already drove me down that route, and now I'm curious to know more about these fantasies you seem to be having."

He shook his head, not responding as he brought the beer bottle to his lips while he took a swig at it, his throat working as he swallowed.

I knew I went out of that house to be alone, but somehow, I was comfortable in his presence. I knew if anyone were to leave, it should be me, seeing as this rooftop seemed to be 'his' place.

"You don't look like a beer kinda guy," I voiced into the silence.

"I also don't look like the suicide kinda guy, but here we are." He said so casually while I flinched at the word, shifting uncomfortably.

"You're so nonchalant about it."

"Hm."

"Why?"

"Can you shut up?"

"What?"

"I don't appreciate the screech in your voice. It doesn't complement my migraine. So I'd appreciate your silence."

I threw my head back and laughed, my chest vibrating from how amused I was by his response. Looking back at him, I caught his eyes on me, intense and a little guarded as his gaze swept up and down my body.

The heat from his stare made me shift on my feet, and my laugh simmered down while I made sure to ignore the faint flutter that came with his attention.

"Don't you have normal clothing?" he asked.

"No," I curved my lips. "It's all silk and satin in my wardrobe." I lied. "I think it's sexy."

"Of course." His gaze lingered on my exposed thighs for a second too long before he looked away.

I chuckled, stopping the sound by hooking my teeth on my bottom lip and leaning away from the railing as I walked towards the bricked chair, eyeing the space beside him and debating for a few beats on if I should sit on the chair or settle beside him on the ground. The ground seemed a better option, and I settled down next to him, leaving just a few inches between our bodies, but I was still close enough to feel how his form grew tense with me sitting close.

I waited for him to complain, but he didn't, so I relaxed further and broke the comfortable silence.

"This is actually a nightgown, by the way. The other one was just a normal dress."

"I didn't ask."

I rested my back against the brick chair, looking up at the dark sky filled with stars. The moon was bright and welcoming, and I couldn't fight the urge to soak it all in as I closed my eyes and took a lung full of air before releasing it in a calm breath and opening my eyes.

I felt Elio's stare, so I turned my head to catch his gaze on me, unwavering. He did not attempt to pretend he hadn't been staring at me, and I did not attempt to look away either.

The grey of his eyes was darker yet softer, like he was in his most relaxed state and had no thought on his mind. The haunted glint I found in them the night before was missing, and I secretly wondered if it was the beer that made him seem so approachable right now. It was similar to the look he'd worn when talking to that girl at the restaurant, but I could still see that his guard was up, ready for anything I might want to throw at him.

Damn. His eyes...they showed a lot when he allowed it.

I hate that I liked it so much. That the lure of his gaze could suck you in without even intending to do so, and that's where I'm at, sucked in.

He didn't look away.

I couldn't look away.

I hated that my heart rate had spiked again.

I hated that the silence was a comfortable one. I hate this. Whatever this is.

His gaze roamed from my eyes to my cheeks, over to my nose, then to my lips.

"You have an impressive face." He spoke.

I frowned in confusion. "Um, what—"

"I like your hair."

I blinked at him, unsure what to say to the weird—compliment.

"Is that a compliment?"

He looked away. "An observation."

"Oh..." I shifted. "Thanks for the observation?"

He nodded, taking another swig of the beer, the remaining contents inside the bottle, a drink away from being empty.

"Why are you here?" I asked him, wondering if he would—

"Couldn't sleep." He answered.

Devil's voice filtered through my head from the time he told me Elio looked like someone who never slept. I was curious to know more about it...about him.

"And you don't have sleeping pills to aid?"

"I do."

"Why don't you just take them?"

He was silent for a second, and I watched his brows draw down in a debating frown like he was unsure if he should continue talking or ignore me.

I wouldn't be surprised if he ignored me. We weren't exactly friends. I mean—I've seen him in a terrible state, and I've talked him out of his head once, and I don't think that side of him is something he showed to people. And I didn't want it to seem like I was prying because I cared.

Yes, I have a hero complex. I like helping people and making sure everyone is okay around me, and I shouldn't care about Elio because he tried to drown me, but—when you survive a shoot-out with someone, you tend to form a survivor's bond with them.

I guess that's what this is...and yeah, the unwanted physical attraction.

"I can't be near those pills. I'm not in the proper state of mind," he answered after the prolonged silence.

"How many people know that you—that you're like this?"

"Suicidal? It's a word; you can say it."

"Yeah, I might be tough as shit, but I'm not insensitive."

"Hm." He hummed, "No one asides Angelo...and now you. If you're thinking of spreading the word, don't bother. No one would believe you."

"I'm not." I injected immediately. "Why doesn't Casmiro know? You both are close, right?"

"I already have Angelo to worry about; therefore, I don't need Cas on my throat too."

"But I know..."

"I don't have to worry about you since you hate me and want me to do it faster."

My stomach dipped. "I d—"

"Why are you here?" he cut me off. "You shouldn't be here; you shouldn't even be out of the house."

I looked away from him. "I couldn't sleep too. I—" I cleared my throat. "Needed a break from...everyone."

"Okay."

I glanced at him. "You're not gonna ask why?"

"I don't care enough to."

Right. So it's just me, then.

The silence stretched between us again, and I broke it with a prying question because, yes, I can't help myself; sue me.

"So your sleeping problems, is it—where's it from? Did something happen to you?"

This time, he turned his head and met my gaze with confusion. "There isn't some grand story behind it if that's what you're thinking," he said. "Christ, you sound like a book character, one of those prying, annoying ones. I have clinical depression, and sleeping disorder is one of the hiccups that come with it."

"Oh..."

"I either sleep too much or don't sleep at all. Often, I find myself not sleeping at all unless I take something and force it," he said. "Tonight is one of those nights when I don't want to force it. Does that answer your question?"

"Not really..."

"Should I interpret it in Spanish?" he asked.

"No, I—" I sighed. "That's not what I meant. I'm just confused because you know what's wrong with you, yet you won't fix it. It doesn't make any sense to me."

"It's good that it doesn't. Because I'm not going to explain. I already told you the other day that I am underserving of it—"

"Says who?" I cut in.

"Says me," he answered. "Now quit prying and being unnecessarily annoying."

I rolled my eyes, fishing for the stash of white pills in my pocket. "If you're trying to wear yourself out, the cheap beer won't do the trick," I said, dangling the stash in the space between us.

He eyed it and then me. "What are you insinuating?"

"You wanna get high?" I asked with a grin.

After a bit of silence, he spoke. "Does my brother do drugs, too?" There was an edge to his voice that had me shaking my head.

"Nope, he doesn't even know. It's just Dog and me; we don't do it often, but sometimes, we get high and smoke joints because life is shit, and you just gotta escape it for a few hours."

"It's not healthy, Sport."

"I'm not a kid, Dad."

"You could get addicted."

"I know my limits."

"It's—"

"Do you wanna get high? Or not?"

He eyed the pills and then me. I watched him struggle with a decision for a few beats before he outstretched his palm toward me.

I grinned, slipping out a pill as I said. "I knew there was a crazy in there somewhere." I placed one in his palm, and he eyed it.

"How strong is it?"

"One won't tip you off the edge, but it's enough to weaken your limbs and make you feel lighter...also, maybe a little...." I watched him put it in his mouth and swallow before I completed my statement. "...horny."

He didn't freak out like I expected.

I popped one in my mouth and swallowed, keeping the rest in the jacket pocket. "It's the kind that dissolves into your bloodstream immediately after taking it, so it takes about a few seconds to kick in. It's really good stuff."

"I hope I don't like it too much."

I scoffed. "It's just one pill."

"I know. I have APD." He said casually.

I paused. That didn't sound good. "What does...APD mean?"

"Addictive personality disorder. It's not intense, but it's there. I get attached to things easily...people too. And when I don't control it, it turns into an addiction. Like books, killing people, cleaning, and...what else? Ah...yes, cigars."

I stared at him, my eyes growing wide in apprehension. "What the fuck, Elio? Why didn't you say anything?"

He looked at me with a raised brow. "I said I hope I don't like it too much."

"How the fuck is that supposed to tell me anything?"

He shrugged like he didn't care as he downed the remaining content in the beer bottle while I sat there, feeling the effect of the drugs and feeling like shit.

"It's like you've made it your personal mission to fill me with guilt at every turn," I said, annoyed.

"I refuse to take responsibility for what you feel; it's—oh," he paused. "I feel it."

My limbs grew weaker, and I felt lighter, but I wasn't feeling the feeling, not after what he had just told me.

"It's...outstanding...wow...what's the name? where'd you get it?" His voice came out raspy as he dropped the empty beer bottle.

"I'm never telling you that...God, it's fucked up; I feel like shit."

"I don't." he released a breath, dropping his head on the brick chair with an open-mouthed sigh before he looked up at the sky. "I feel so light. The stars are dancing; it's beautiful."

I groaned, allowing the pill to take effect by wiping off my annoyance.

"The moon is so large; I think it's smiling. Can you see it?" he asked.

I looked up just in time to see the moon grow large, a soft smile curving at the bottom. It also had eyes that looked down at us with a calmness that made me sigh.

"Yeah, I see it."

And then...it was silent.

A comfortable one that I didn't feel like breaking and I don't know how long we sat there for, but it felt like minutes. Long minutes.

I felt the air grow colder, signaling midnight.

"I finally figured it out." Elio voiced after a while.

"What?"

"Why I talk a lot when I'm around you."

I turned my body to the left so that I was facing him, and my side rested on the chair. My movement, though, felt sluggish. "Yeah? Why's that?"

"We're alike." He spoke. "In many ways. And I'm talkative. I like talking."

"I figured that one out," I said with a chuckle, and I realized we were closer than before; I could smell him now. He had this distinct smell of sweet vanilla spice rum, I guess from his cigars, and then there was a whiff of expensive perfume with a hint of orange blossom, and...there's something else... was it lilies? God, he just smelt terrific, or maybe it's the pill.

"You like talking too." He said. "You talk a lot, and it makes me want to respond. I shouldn't respond because I'm supposed to be a man of few words."

"You are very good at pretending like you are."

"I know. I've been doing it all my life. I like it sometimes...just being quiet."

"Me too," I said, wondering what the point of this conversation was. I didn't really care.

"I like talking to you," he confessed. "I like that you annoy me." his voice came with a hint of a slur.

The faint flutter attacked. "With my screechy voice, as you call it?"

"Hm. I want you dead too. Preferably when you're talking, I'd like to slit your throat and watch you choke on your blood." He spoke. "It's one of my fantasies, too."

I laughed instead of being wary of his confession. It was funny, and the pill made it funnier.

"You hate me that much?"

"Hm."

I watched him for a long time, for some reason, wishing he would look at me.

"Why aren't you like—married? You're old enough to." I said.

"So are you,"

"I'm approaching my mid-twenties. I still have free time, but you're like...twenty-eight—twenty-nine? Or..."

"Fishing for my age, Sport?"

"Curious."

"I'm thirty-three...in about five months, I'll be 34, approaching mid-thirties."

I jerked up, watching him with wide eyes. "No way,"

He turned to look at me. Oh, I know why I wanted him to look at me now, his eyes, God. "What do you mean?" He asked.

I caught myself. "You don't look thirty-three. Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I don't kid."

I scoffed out a laugh. "Jesus, you look younger."

"I don't know if you know this, but thirty-three isn't old."

"Yeah, I know, but—like, I'm just surprised. You're so handsome and young and hot."

He looked away, his body shifting uncomfortably.

"Okay, so, still prying...why don't you have a girlfriend?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I have no interest in trivial things like that."

"Understandable." I said, "So...You've never had a girlfriend?"

"Yes."

"How often do you have sex, then?"

He sucked in a breath. "You have no filter."

"I blame it on the drugs," I said, allowing my tone to grow sensual as I asked. "So...how often?"

I ignored the heat from his body and how we'd drawn closer to each other. The lightness in my head turned heady, and I leaned into that heat.

"Not often." His voice was hoarse.

The pace at which my heart thumped had doubled, but I still pushed. "When was the last time?"

He stopped to think. "A year and a half...maybe more."

"Dude, that's—that's ballsy."

"Intimacy is sacred for me," he said.

"Is that so..." I said softly, raising my hand to trace my index finger down his forearm.

He turned his head to me again, gaze falling on my hand on his arm while his muscles grew tense under my touch.

"So, like," I continued. "You like every woman you fuck?"

He raised his gaze, and our eyes locked. The tip of his pink tongue ran over his bottom lip, and I had the strongest urge to kiss him.

Yes. I'm horny as fuck right now. Pill doing a good job.

"Hm, yes." He responded. "But I don't necessarily like them; I have to like something about them before I fuck them. And It's always a one-time thing. Because of my at—"

"Attachment issues. When was your first time?"

"Seventeen...yours?"

"Same." He knew that was a lie but didn't care enough to call my bluff. "First kiss?"

His eyes searched mine before he swallowed and said, "I don't have one."

I won't deny it; that caught me by surprise. "That's a lie."

"I have no reason to lie."

"But you've been with women—"

"You can fuck someone without kissing them, Zahra."

"And they don't get offended?"

"I don't think they realize it. My cock is all the distraction they need."

My lips curled, and my hand moved from his arm to his thigh. He tensed up even more at my touch, but he didn't ask me to stop, and I didn't. "Would you like to kiss me, Elio?" I asked, breathing through my slightly parted lips, my anticipation growing.

"It's too intimate." He spoke.

"Well, would you like to fuck me then?"

His pupils grew large, lust covering the dark, somber sense his eyes had carried earlier, and I fucking lived for it.

"Absolutely fucking not." He answered.

My gaze flickered to his crotch, spotting his hard-on. "Yeah, but you're so hard it looks painful," I said, pressing my thighs together to ease the fervent need between them.

"That's normal. I'm intoxicated with a pill that gets me high and horny, you're touching my thigh, and we're talking about sex. I'm bound to get hard."

I noticed the change in his breathing, the way he couldn't keep his gaze from falling to my mouth.

I removed my hand from his thigh and slid Dog's jacket off me, aching my back a little. The action had his eyes dropping to my chest, and I was positive he was looking at the outline of my pierced nipples.

What the fuck am I doing?

Blame it on the drug...it's the drugs.

I watched Elio swallow before tentatively raising his gaze to lock with mine. "Zahra—"

I moved. Raised from my position, and straddled his thigh, angling the heat between my legs over his erection. A shivering breath left me when I settled my hands on his shoulders and dropped my throbbing clit against his hard-on, the fabric of my panties and his pants, the only thing stopping skin-to-skin contact.

"Fuck," Elio breathed out, voice edgy and hoarse, and I felt myself grow wetter at the sound.

Our gazes locked, and Elio's big hands covered the space between my hips and waist, holding me in place and stopping me from moving as his chest heaved. "Stop, we can't." Was it possible for someone to sound like sin and lust, because that's exactly how this man sounds, and it was fucking with my mind.

Our warmth was one, bodies connected, heat joined. And I was scorching with need, the need to move, rub my clit against him, create friction, and fucking get off because, damn hell, he felt so good against me. So thick, long, and hard, fuck—I wanted to see him and touch him.

"This is a bad fucking idea, Zahra." He grunted.

"I have a thing for bad ideas."

"My brother he—"

I leaned closer to him, my chest pressing against his, nipples sensitive against his warm chest.

Elio's gaze dropped to my lips as I responded. "Makes it even hotter."

His hips jerked, and I hissed at the spike of pleasure that shot through from that little friction.

One of his hands remained firm on my hips while the other left to cup the side of my face, his fingers curling underneath my ear and the back of my neck, holding me in place, almost like he was stopping me from kissing him.

"I don't want to do this." He rasps.

"I don't want to either," I spoke.

Our breathing was loud, faces only inches apart.

His grip on the back of my neck tightened, and he leaned in.

"My brother's going to kill me." He said breathily against my lips.

"Who's gonna tell him?"

"Fuck..." Breathing through a flare in his nostrils. "You're a bad influence, Zahra."

"So, I've been to—"

Warmth covered my lips; soft, tentative, sweet heat that made my senses tingle in a wave to suck all the air from my lungs. The fast pace my heart had been thumping staggered a millisecond, like a glitch—a glitch caused by the firm press of his lips to mine.

It was embarrassing how fast I melted. Kisses meant nothing to me. But this—fuck—a kiss had never abruptly stolen my breath—no, not stolen, it had sucked it out of me.

Almost like he had been testing the waters, he removed his lips from mine, unsure gaze flickering to mine.

I shamelessly took in oxygen like I was starved for it, the taste from his lips supplying me with a dazed edge.

That's not enough.

I gripped his shirt, pulling his body back to mine, as I joined our lips together again.

My stomach flipped at how plush, warm, and perfect his lips were, and the moment he parted them, I wanted a taste so desperately that I darted my tongue into his mouth, seeking his, which carefully came to brush and curl around mine.

A soft moan left my throat at the same time a groan vibrated from his chest.

Fuck me—kissing this mouth is an addiction waiting to happen.

Our tongues would rub against each other for a bit before it materialized into a kiss that sounded so intimate and exquisite.

He tasted like the beer he had taken, hot, mature, and intoxicating. My senses, asides from the one between my legs, head, and the fiery feeling peppering my skin, were non-existent.

His hand on my waist pulled, urging me to move against him, and I did.

Grinding on his erection and creating hot friction that sent shivers up my spine and compelled goosebumps on my skin.

His hips moved, and I moaned at the added pressure. This was not enough; I wanted to feel him for real.

God, I was so wet, so horny for a man who wanted to slit my fucking throat open. This is sick. I am sick. But fuck it. I don't want to be healthy if this was how sickness felt like.

I rubbed against him, his hand gripping my waist, trying to control my movement, but I wasn't having it.

We broke away from the kiss, and I took a small breath before tilting my head to the other side, connecting our lips again while we dry-humped each other.

Body grinding against body, chasing a high that would take us over and under the edge.

I increased my pace, breaking our kiss and thriving on the feverish breath he let out, lips parted in ecstasy and lust.

His hand lowered to my ass, trying to control my movement.

"My pace." He gritted out, holding firm on the back of my neck.

"No...my pace," I countered.

His hard stare held mine, and I felt a sharp spine-snapping pain on my ass.

He fucking pinched me, and the pain had me soaking wet for him.

"My fucking pace," He repeated, hand back to my waist, stopping my movement.

I gave in.

We went at his pace; he controlled my hips, and my eyes fucking rolled when he grounded his erection into my heat. My nightgown riding up altogether.

I didn't know someone could be good at dry humping. What the fuck is this... "Fuck..." I breathed out, throwing my head back at the sensations hitting me.

He was driving me to the edge, and I'd never wanted to come so bad. I knew the pill could get you horny, yes...but I didn't think it could make you feel this good.

Elio grunted deep in his chest as he cursed, a breathy moan escaping him afterward.

The sound sent tantalizing flutters to my stomach, and I felt myself reaching the edge.

Our heated gazes locked again, and I didn't look away from him, not wanting to miss how beautiful he looked right now, brows pinched, eyes in a daze, lips parted in lust.

At this moment, I wanted more than anything to see how he'd look in the heat of skin-to-skin pleasure. At the edge, about to come.

The thoughts and the pressure of his hard length had my toes curling with foreign sensations, and I was almost fucking there; the buildup was quickly ramping up for release...fuck we were almost—

The roof door pushed open. "Marino, are you out here!"

I scrambled off him instantly, pushing my gown down, my panties soaked and uncomfortable. Annoyance gripped my bones at the interruption that slapped reality back into our faces.

My heart was racing. Unsatisfaction still thumping between my legs, seeking warmth and a little friction I knew would get me off. But thank you fucking orgasm-restricting universe!

Elio adjusted himself, and I tried to calm my breathing as footsteps stopped, and I looked to the side at Angelo, whose form stood frozen upon spotting us.

My breathing refused to be calm, but the man beside me was as calm as a dove. His breathing was back to normal, face void of any indication that we'd both been about to get each other off—what the fuck?

My pulse was still thudding abnormally.

"Uh..." Angelo started. "...am I—am I interrupting something?"

"Ye—"

"No!" I spoke over Elio's voice, shooting him a glare as I staggered to my feet, grabbing the jacket and slipping it back on. "I was just leaving."

Elio's head snapped up to look at me. "What?"

I glanced down at him, catching the displeasure lining his brows, his calm façade shifting.

I swallowed, my heart hammering as I forced a very strained smile at Angelo, before walking quickly toward the roof door.

I stopped halfway through and turned sharply to a still-stunned Angelo, whose eyes were wide and unsure as if he was trying to put two and two together, but the results were impossible.

"He's high on drugs, and it will wear out probably in a few hours," I informed.

"What the—"

"Anything he says, it's a lie. Night Angie."

"Angie?"

I scurried out the door and down the anxiety-rising staircase without waiting to hear what else he would say.

Note to self: Never take Dog's pills near Elio Marino's dwellings. My heart was still crazy—because what the fuck just happened? And how the fuck do we come back from that...Devil—oh shit...

It's the pill. My mind assured.

Even though I felt very fucking sober right now—

It's because of the pill.

Blame it on the pill. 

__

Thanks for reading!

What did you think of this chapter?

Do you hate me for the interruption? Cause I hate me.

How do you think they'll treat the little heat waves when they see each other again? Will they ignore it, or confront it? Who's most likely to ignore it?

I miss being inside Elio's head, I think we'll be seeing his thoughts on the next chapter! would you like that? What would you like to see?

Random Question: what's your romantic fantasy? Keep it light or hot, I'm curious. 

see you, xx

Thank you for your engagement on the last chapter!

COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT AS YOU READ FOR A SURPRISE WEDNESDAY UPDATE!

Enjoy!

_______
ELIO
_______

I HAVE lost my mind.

I always prided myself on my ability to wield control. To pull back when I knew I was breaching a line I shouldn't and couldn't cross. But tonight, my sense of reasoning had drifted into the open sky above me.

The moment my mind decided it was okay to pull down my walls and let that pestilent woman see a side of me I reserved for people who were innocent to things of my world, I knew I was compromised.

Sex was sacred to me because I knew how many men in my field had fallen due to the body of a woman; her smiles and curves, the soft voice that would make a man wonder what exactly she would sound like when he buried himself inside her.

For years, I had deprived myself the intimacy that came with sexual activities.

For precisely three reasons.

One was distraction. I couldn't afford it. The fear of missing out on something important while doing something as measly as fucking a woman was very close to home. I couldn't afford a mistake like that again.

Two; My attachment issues. Becoming attached to a woman who would only want me for what my body had to offer was as useless as the act of fucking itself. I will not delude myself and say that as a new adult, I hadn't longed for the intimacy that came with being in a relationship or the absolution that grew with the bond of marriage.

I was open to it. Close to doing it, in fact.

At twenty-eight, I was swayed by the beauty of Grace Alden, the woman Zahra and I had run into at the exhibit. I was impressed by Her simple nature, the way she seemed to know when it was time to talk and time to listen. She didn't challenge me, didn't question me. She was like her name, graceful. She proved no drama or difficulty when handling her, and she was the perfect candidate for a partner. But then, I realized she was pretty...boring, and I would only be subjecting her to a marriage where death was inevitable for her husband.

I realized that it was useless. So, I dropped the thought. I told her that I was not ready for a serious relationship. Grace had offered to keep satisfying me sexually until I was ready. And this brings me to my third reason.

Respect. Seeing how my father had handled the issue with Elia's mother and how he had disrespected my mother countless times afterward, flaunting the women he practiced infidelity with, I'd vowed never to be like him. To respect women. It was why I was never with the same woman twice.

It was why I could finger-count the very few women I had been with in my whole existence.

Grace being the fourth and second to the last, I'd only been with her once, and I made sure it never happened again because I knew if it did, I'd most definitely enter into a relationship with her because I wasn't about to fuck a woman more than once for the sake of pleasure. It would have to mean something.

I didn't just act out of pure lust. My actions were continuously measured and calculated before even carrying them out.

This was precisely why my mind was spiraling.

I was aware that it wasn't the drug.

On several occasions, I had admitted to being attracted to Zahra because I conceded that it was normal. I was a full-blooded man, always finding myself in the presence of an aggravating attractive woman who was sharp-mouthed and provoked useless emotions from me.

Seeing her walk to that railing, wearing the excuse of a nightgown, which exposed long tormenting legs and smooth thighs that delivered sinful images to my mind's eye, I knew I had to be on guard.

But the minute she sat beside me, opening that mouth to talk to me and ask me questions no one had ever bothered to ask, I just couldn't shut up. I couldn't stop myself from bringing out the Elio Marino, who lived outside his head, and far away from the chaos that was compelled by his last name.

Her presence was hot and cold. Sometimes she drove me to the brink of wanting to actually go through with killing her...and sometimes, like tonight, she pushed me out of my head into a comforting place where I had no reason to hide or pretend I was a well-packaged psychopath.

It scared me.

She scared me.

I should be thanking Angelo for interrupting and stopping me from doing something I wouldn't be able to take back, but I surprised myself by picturing his body mysteriously falling over the railing, with me standing behind it, watching him plummet to his death, for choosing this time to check on me.

And the way she had rushed out, separating herself from me like it would end the world if anyone found out we'd been that close, had me feeling...strange.

I was annoyed, yes.

But I was confused even more than I was annoyed.

I liked kissing her.

I had done it because I momentarily forgot the meaning of control, credit to her hot heat against the strain on my crotch and those pierced hard nipples pressing against my chest. But more than anything, there was an aching I needed to please, one that tugged deep in my stomach, one I had never felt before.

Her lips called to mine, and I wanted a taste, even though I knew it was a cretinous thing to do.

But she had run away from me...why?

Did she hate it?

Did the intoxication of the drug fade from her eyes and show her who exactly kissed her?

Was she appalled by it? by me?

Was she worried about what Devil would think? Fucking hell—what would he think?

He would kill me, for that I'm certain. She was his, and I had just ruined that.

But it was terrific for me; I won't lie.

It was intimate and rapturously addicting, but was I the only one who felt it? Did I do it wrong?

It was inescapable. I knew I would obsess over this until I got an answer. I would waste precious time dissecting the look of irritation and discomfort in her eyes the moment she rushed to her feet.

Grace had tried to kiss me a couple of times; if I had succumbed and kissed her, would she have looked at me the same way, or was this because Zahra hated me?

"I have never hated anyone as much as I hate you!" her voice echoed.

Maybe that's why? But why would she stop me from hurting myself if she hated me? Why would she ask me questions about why I couldn't sleep? Why does she—fuck.

I was threading through a territory I knew I shouldn't cross. All through the day, this woman refused to leave my mind. I'd asked myself similar questions to the ones plaguing my mind now.

Did she care, stopping me from ending it all? Why didn't she get nervous and scared around me? Why didn't she drive away from me? What was she up to today? Did she tell Devil about what happened? Where did she keep my gun? Why did she keep it?

When she'd told me she had to get away from everyone, I had a burning desire to ask, and I would have asked what happened, but I knew I couldn't get invested.

I knew little about her.

I'd found she had some history with some self-made mobster in Sicily, but I didn't know how deep it ran or how she was here in Italy. I knew nothing. I needed to stop wondering and asking questions, but a part of me also knew it was too late.

And if picturing Angelo's death wasn't proof, I don't know what is.

"I most definitely interrupted something, didn't I?" Angelo said, a wary in his voice.

I blinked out of my head, looking up at him. "Every human has two angels, the good one that rests on the right shoulder, and the bad that rests on the left."

Angelo frowned. "I don't..." he trailed off.

"You're the good one. The one always giving advice that I would never follow and popping in when I don't even need you. The one I'd love to squish, but I can't because I happen to like you. How fortunate you and unfortunate for me."

He opened his mouth to say something—closed it, opened it again, before finally closing it.

My lips lifted in irritation as I watched him try to find an excuse.

He cleared his throat, standing straighter, hair rough as if he had just gotten out of bed. "I didn't know you wouldn't be alone, Marino, and—the girl was the last person I expected you to be with—are you fucking her?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I mean—something was happening, the way she rushed—"

"And how is any of that your business?"

"It's not, but it's unlike you. I mean, you did try to drown her before, so...it's just—you don't, you and women—I've never...."

"Go on, Angelo, I've heard you form consecutive sentences before. You can do it."

He sighed. "You're right; it's none of my business. But if you are...involved with her or...want to be, or would soon be? I can ask my people to carry out intensive research on Martino Conti—"

"Leave it to me," I said, getting to my feet, surprisingly without staggering. I felt very sober but still a little light. "No one does any search on her. I doubt you would find anything useful."

Angelo's eyes widened with surprise as he watched me. "My God. You didn't deny it."

"Deny what?"

"That you're involved with her, or would want to be, or would soon be involved with her."

I bend to pick up the empty beer bottle on the ground, straightening before walking to the end of the chair and leaning on it. "Why? Are you interested in her?"

"Of course not."

"In me, then?"

He gave me a blank look.

"What? You are awfully invested in this. I only want to confirm."

"I am not interested in you, Marino."

"Okay, why are you so concerned then."

"Because I am concerned. I don't trust her. I'm usually not this skeptical about people. But—something about that woman ticks me off the wrong way, and I don't want you...." he trailed off.

"Carry on." I urged with my hands.

He sighed. "I've never seen you with anyone, not since Grace. So I know if this thing with Zahra is a thing, then it might be serious for you, and we know little about her to conclude if she is to be trusted."

"No one is to be trusted, Angelo. Besides, as far as the situation is right now, there is nothing between her and me. I appreciate that you care, but I am not a child. If I need relationship advice, I will come to you, but I don't need it."

He nodded. "Alright."

"Good. Now, about that phone. I was hoping to discuss it when it's daytime, but I might as well tell you now. I need one."

He blinked at me like he hadn't heard me well.

"You...you need a phone?"

"Yes. What is wrong with you today? Why are you lagging? Should I be worried?"

"No. I'm just surprised. I've been trying for years to get you to get a phone, but you've always refused, so I'm a little shocked that you want one all of a sudden." He said, and when I didn't respond, he rearranged his previous blabber because he didn't exactly ask a question. "Why do you want a phone all of a sudden?"

"Someone might be expecting my text."

"Someone..."

"Yes," I leaned off the chair, walking past him. "a very kind woman who gave me a ride in her car. She gave me her number and asked me to text her. She's my friend. Her name's Gemma."

"So...a stranger is the reason you're getting a phone after all my efforts over the years?"

"Yes," I said, opening the roof door.

"That doesn't hurt my feelings at all." He said, following after me.

"I'm glad it doesn't."

"That was sarcasm."

"I'm afraid I am under the influence; I can't tell the differences. Minutes ago, the moon was smiling at me." I said, climbing down the stairs.

"I want to push you," he said.

"You'd be doing me a favor."

He groaned.

"Oh, before I forget. Arrange a meeting with STREET when the sun is up. I have a job offer for them."

"Noted."

***

THE CHIHUAHUA painting was lying flat on the board table the next day.

Before the group arrived, I discarded my suit and left just my black button-up with a tie. I had paced the length of the multi-purpose space at the cassino's top solely because I was restless.

Casmiro had begrudgingly asked what the matter was with me, but I couldn't exactly explain to him that my always controlled nerves had broken out in hives because a certain woman had walked away from me after I kissed her. So, I just settled for doing what I do best, lighting up a cigar and ignoring him.

The moment STREET walked in, my pacing stopped as I blew out the smoke I had drawn in, my gaze zeroing in on the entrance as they filed in.

Something was off. They weren't relaxed—none of them.

Milk had an anxious and wary look; Dog looked pissed, Upper looked sick, and Devil wore almost the same look as Zahra, completely blank.

Angelo followed behind them, locking the door as they settled like they had the last time they'd been here.

My gaze briefly locked with Zahra's, but she didn't give anything away. Instead, it looked like she had stared through a transparent wall.

The silence in the room was deafening until Dog broke it.

"Well, that's one ugly dog. It's even uglier in person; how's that possible?" He remarked, eying the painting.

"Angelo said you had an offer for us; we'd like to go straight to the point, please." Devil voiced.

Casmiro glanced at me, and I could read the question in his mind. What the fuck happened to them.

I walked back to the head of the table, took my seat, and exercised my time in accessing the group. I should have asked Zahra why she left the house last night because whatever it is, it's ruining their formation.

I searched inside me for the satisfaction of this new development but couldn't find it, so I chose to ignore it altogether. The matter on ground was more important than their off day.

"I am well aware that you all know about the dealings with the painting. About Arturo Garza's quest." I said into the silence, waiting for any of them to chip in with a response, but there was just...silence.

"That's a shock," Casmiro muttered, relaxing back on his chair beside me, watching the group with a smile of amusement. I knew he loved it—the conflict in their eyes.

"I'll take your silence for a yes," I added. "A lot of men like me are on the hunt for the original painting, and—"

"Why are you on the hunt for it?" Devil asked.

"The gold, why else?"

"Bullshit," Zahra muttered with a scoff, but she didn't look at me. Her jaw was locked, and her index finger circled the table, eyes focused on the painting.

"And why would you insinuate that?" I asked, still looking at her.

I expected her to give me her infamous challenging look, but she didn't even look up once as she said. "Everybody in this room knows that you don't give a shit about the gold. You have triple the amount it promises to fetch, resting in your bank account, Marino."

Marino?

I bottled that.

"Alright, since we're going to be working together—"

Her head shot up, eyes locking with mine. "Working together?"

I held her gaze. "Yes, Zahra. I plan to hire you for a job. You and the rest of your team will help me find the original painting."

Milk's eyes widened as she looked around the group.

The confused look in Zahra's eyes quickly changed into a glare. "I'm sorry to break it to you, but we're already planning to go after it on our own."

Dog scoffed. "I wonder how that's gonna work when no one is talking to anyone. Might as well get out there and get fucking killed." He muttered.

Devil aimed a glare his way. "Maybe shut the fuck up?"

"Me?" Dog sat up. "Oh, you're asking for a fucking punch because you caused this whole motherfucking bullshit."

"Fellas, not here." Upper spoke into the tense silence.

Dog turned to him in his seat. "Don't even get me started on you, you little shithead."

"Don't talk to him like that," Devil warned.

Zahra sat up, turning to Devil with wide eyes as she clapped her hands together once, shooting him a mock appreciative smile. "Wow, you're one to talk about howto talk to him."

Surprisingly, Devil leveled her with a glare. "I wasn't fucking talking to you."

A gasp left Zahra, and she gritted out. "Somebody fucking hold me because I'm about to punch a motherfucker in the face."

"Before you do that," I cut in, blowing out my smoke calmly, pressing the lit cigar to the ashtray beside me, quenching the fire. "I was wondering if maybe we can all return to the matter at hand; that would be splendid."

Silence fell on them, but I could still see withheld anger from Dog, Zahra, and Devil while Milk and Upper sat there in utter discomfort.

"It was getting good," Casmiro said, straightening his suit, leaning on the table, and joining his hands together. "But yes, the matter at hand is important. I don't know what you and your crew were thinking, Zahra, but if I remember correctly, you are under Marino's command, so even if you wanted to hunt for the original on your own, it wouldn't be possible. You answer to us."

"We're not going on a suicide mission unless we know why you want the painting so bad," Zahra said.

I released a breath, weighing my options before coming to a decision. I motioned to Angelo to explain.

"There are very important flash drives kept with the gold," Angelo informed. "These flash drives contain intel regarding someone of the wealthiest men in and out of this business."

Devil perked up. "By information, you mean...."

"Self-destructing."

Dog whistled. "Well, ain't that something."

"What's in it for us?" Zahra asked this time.

"The gold," Angelo responded.

Zahra shook her head. "Oh no, we'll get the gold, I know that. But you're hiring us for this...what do we get out of it?" she directed the question to me, and everyone waited for my response.

There was always a catch with this woman.

Smart.

"Alright." I bit my tongue hard before I let my next words through. "You get your freedom—all of you. If you find the painting, get the gold and the flash drives. You're free."

"Now, that's a fucking deal." Dog spoke up.

Zahra still looked skeptical, like she was thinking it through. After a while, she shook her head. "I say yes, to the freedom, but...I want something more. Apparently, we're not the only ones hunting for this painting. We might be good, but some people have been looking for this thing longer than we have. We might get one-upped; we might lose our lives." She said.

"She has a point," Upper said.

Zahra leveled me with a stern professional look. "One hundred million dollars, and we'll consider helping you find those flash drives."

I frowned. "You already get the gold."

"We're risking our lives on a 'maybe we'll find the original painting and get the gold.' It's not certain. The payment guarantees that even if we don't find the gold, we're not risking our lives for nothing." She turned to her group. "Is that all right with everyone?"

"That's perfect." Milk said.

"I'm game." Dog agreed.

Upper shrugged. "It's better than five thousand dollars."

Devil only shrugged, like he couldn't care less.

"So," Zahra looked back at me. "Do we have a deal, Marino?"

"This is ridiculous." Casmiro's voice was soaked with disbelief. "They're in no position to be cutting deals; we already agree to grant them their freedom; that's quite enough, in my opinion." He said when he realized I was actually thinking about it.

"I agree with Casmiro," Angelo said.

Their freedom was inevitable.

The money was nothing. I won't need it where I'm going. This all is nothing if I find that flash drive. Casmiro doesn't know that.

After a few minutes of pondering, I sat up straighter, clearing my throat. "We have a deal, Zahra."

"Are you fucking kidding me." Casmiro hissed, relaxing back on the chair with a look of annoyance.

Zahra gave a curt nod. "I would like that to be stated in a certified contract to avoid future misinterpretations."

"As you wish."

Casmiro shot me a bewildered look, leaning towards me while he said quietly. "Tell me there's an explanation for this."

"Have you ever known me to do things without reason, Casmiro?"

He shook his head.

"Good. We'll talk in extension later. For now, trust me."

He sneaked a look at Angelo, who shrugged.

"Fine."

I turned my attention back to the group. "From your interactions, I believe there are issues needed to be solved amongst your group. I am not hiring a bunch of children who can't air out their disputes and separate them from their work; I'm hiring the people who stole from me and claimed to be shadows of Italy. You're dismissed in hopes that I'm not making a mistake. When I have a word for you, you'll be informed."

Devil was the first to shoot up from his seat, walking out like the environment was on fire. Dog followed suit with a curse.

"Zahra, will you stay back a minute, please," I said, gesturing to Casmiro and Angelo to excuse us.

The question in Casmiro's eyes was evident, but he didn't question it. Angelo, though, shot me a familiar look, the one he had worn when he told me not to trust her.

But he didn't air out his concerns.

Zahra stood up but did not attempt to leave.

I got to my feet when everyone left, and it was just us two.

"What is this about?" she asked, crossing her arms against her chest. "Do you want to add something to the contract?" she eyed me suspiciously.

I didn't appreciate how she acted like the previous night didn't happen. I can't beat around the bush or ignore things my head refuses to forget.

"It is unrelated to work," I said, walking to her.

When I got close, she raised her chin, locking her jaw—determination in those stubborn eyes.

I leaned on the table before her, a foot distance between us.

Mirroring her actions by crossing my arms, I watched her swallow, her eyes glazing over momentarily.

"Did you tell my brother? Is that why there's animosity between you both."

Mock confusion brought down her brows. "What are you talking about? Tell Devil what?"

Annoyance prickled in me, but I tamped it down. "Do not pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."

"Maybe you just need to be specific."

She stared me down, and I honestly did not want to waste more time on this. "The rooftop, last night."

Mock realization filled her eyes. "Oh, that. What's there to tell? It was nothing."

"I beg to differ. We need to talk about it."

She sighed, dropping her hands. "There's nothing to talk about, Marino—"

"Stop. Stop calling me that." My annoyance and irritation flared as I cut her off.

"It's your name."

"That's not what you call me."

She shrugged. "Well, get used to it, Marino."

I frowned. Not many things throw me off guard, but her attitude right now was answering all the questions that had been taunting my mind.

"What happened?" I asked in Spanish carefully; you might even think there was a genuine softness to my voice—maybe there was.

Zahra's eyes widened, showing that she hadn't expected me to ask. But she collected herself quickly, and I saw how she locked her shoulders, raising her guard.

"Whatever happened is none of your business." She responded in English. "Like I said," she continued. "There is nothing to talk about, and honestly," she let out a humorless laugh that shook at the end. "I'm in a very terrible mood right now, and I can't dissect whatever happened on that rooftop or why the fuck you would want to talk about it but get this, we were high out of our minds, okay? It was a fucked-up night, filled with raging hormones, and we shared a stupid fucking kiss and tried to get each other off until we were interrupted; thank God for that."

It was silent for what seemed like a long minute. I had nothing to say. No—my mouth felt too dry, and I had the strongest urge to drink water.

She shifted on her feet. "So, if you'd excuse me, I'd like to go back to that house and pretend like the people I call family don't exist until I have to work with them again."

I tried to find thoughts, but they were very silent at the moment, so I just nodded, looking away from her and motioning to the door as I said. "Of course."

I had seen rejection. I know it. I know what this is. I wasn't surprised. I am not surprised.

She hesitated to leave for a bit, and when I looked back at her, I caught what seemed like regret in her eyes.

She sighed. "Listen, E—"

"You've cleared up my concerns. You can leave now."

Her throat bobbed up and down, and she let out a shaky breath before nodding. "Okay..." her eyes searched mine for a few seconds before she turned on her heel and left the space, closing the door behind her and subjecting me to silence.

I remained in my position staring at the closed door.

For how long, I had no idea.

But finally, after so long, I had one thought.

No—one affirmation.

I had wasted valuable time asking questions I should have seen the answers to upfront, and I should probably punish myself for how useless the last 10 hours had been and for losing control like that on the rooftop.

But I knew I would also be wasting my time punishing myself, so I'd learn the lesson from this experience instead.

It was a stupid fucking kiss; therefore, it's something I'll never repeat.

Probably for as long as I breathe. 

__

Thanks for reading!

What did you think of this chapter?

Comment for an extra extra update on Wednesday!

Is it safe to say that Elio has a little Zahra addiction?

Zahra more than ignored what happened between them, why do you think she did this? Was it purely because she was in a bad mood, or something else?

What do you think about the deal they struck? Do you think Elio had another motive behind it?

And STREET, they clearly don't have their shit together, what do you think about this?

We crossed the 30 chapters mark for this story, I'd love to know what you think about it so far!

Finally, I just got the first painting of the CHIHUAHUA! it's up on my most recent post on Instagram! GO ON THERE AND SHOW SOME LOVE!

Random Question:  Would you rather be a celebrity or live a random comfortable life where no one knows who you are.

see you soon, hopefully, xx

Hi! Thank you for your engagement on the last chapter! I LOVED your comments!

Don't forget to vote and comment as you read, it really does help me write faster! I honestly can't believe we've crossed 30 chapters already! Thank you! I accept all kinds of spam comments!

Enjoy the update ;)

_______

ZAHRA
_______

EVEN THROUGH my headphones, I could hear the soft knocking on my door, one which I'd been ignoring for almost two minutes now. I pressed my eyelids together tightly, a flimsy attempt to block out my thoughts and center my mind.

I wasn't in a good place. I was too in my head. A lot of thoughts plagued my mind. I didn't know which to focus on. Devil and Upper being involved in some way. Milk knowing about it, Dog suspecting and not saying anything to me. The incident at the rooftop with Elio, which hadn't stopped playing a tune in my head...the warmth of his lips that had me pressing mine together every time to remember how it felt subconsciously.

I couldn't stop thinking about it and him. which was very fucking inconvenient because I didn't need this.

I don't need this.

Because it wasn't just that I was attracted to him, I cared. As much as I love to deny it, I fucking cared. This wasn't predetermined. It just happened, and I hate it, and him.

I'd love to think that it's centered chiefly towards the guilt, but it's not; because I panicked—when he asked me to wait behind, I felt a weird dip in my stomach because I was hoping he wouldn't remember—I didn't want to talk about it. I should have known he would address it because he didn't seem like a man who would shy away from something like this.

Devil was safe. He wasn't like the other men who...who I'd been with; he was pretty normal, but Elio—Elio was exactly like the people I had fought tooth and nail to escape from.

He killed a child, for God's sake, tried to drown me, shot and tortured me.

He's threatened to kill me more times than I can count, and yet, yet I can't help but be drawn to him.

I once suspected that I had a particular problem. A problem that drew me toward people like Elio. A problem I'd only just registered as a problem.

I didn't want to overthink it or give it importance, but the look on his face when I'd written it all off as nothing...

I groaned in annoyance, snapping my eyes back open and staring at the ceiling for a few seconds too long before my gaze traveled to the door.

The knocking continued, and I took off my headphones, sighing.

"It's open," I called out, sitting up as the door pushed open an inch. Upper was peeking in like I would jump off the bed and attack him if he so much as breathed the same air as me.

"What do you want?" I asked him, turning off the music from my new phone.

"I just—" he fumbled. "I wanted to—" he stood upright, swallowing. "Can we talk?" he asked, unable to shield the nervousness in his voice.

I wanted to refuse and ask him to leave me alone, but I nodded, gesturing for him to sit on my bed by patting a space on the edge.

He walked in, closed the door, and settled a few inches away from me on the mattress, his movement cautious as he watched me. "Hey." he started.

"Hey," I responded, raking my fingers through my hair as I relaxed, watching him struggle with what to say next.

His dark brown hair was rough, and circles were underneath his eyes; Even his infamous one pair of ear-ring was missing, and his neck chains were gone too; it was weird seeing him so...bare. He looked so stressed.

"Listen, Zahra, I know...I know my apology would mean shit to you—"

"Actually, I'd take an apology," I told him honestly.

His eyes went wide, even though they were filled with uncertainty. "You're serious?"

I nodded. "You both fucked up, and the least either of you could have done was to actually apologize for treating me like the damn fool in all this."

His lips parted, and he shifted closer to me, eyes pleading. "I promise you; it was not my intention. I swear on my life and everything I hold dear that I never wanted to hurt you with this revelation. The first time it happened, I—I wanted to tell you, but I was scared that this whole thing would happen, and now that it is happening, I feel like a pound of bloody arseholish-shit, and I, I am so sorry, Zahra."

I blinked at him, shocked a little by the sincerity in his words, but what surprised me more was how his accent had gone more profound; he sounded almost elegant, even with the—weird curse word.

I shot him a confused look as I asked. "What the fuck is a pound of bloody arseholish-shit?"

He breathed out a laugh, and I joined with a chuckle.

He looked down, but before he did, I caught the glassy haze in his eyes, and when he sniffed, I shifted closer to him.

"Hey," I called, trying to catch his gaze.

He shook and raised his head, sucking in a shaky breath as he wiped off his tears and forced out a laugh. "Sorry, I know this is not—this is not the bloody Upper version of myself," he swallowed, refusing to meet my gaze as he mumbled. "whomever the fuck that is."

My heart melted there and then, and I couldn't believe I was slightly mad at him.

"Upper—"

"I promise I'm not some crybaby."

"I happen to love crybabies," I said, ruffling his already-ruffled hair. His teary eyes met mine, and he smiled sheepishly at me.

"I'm usually not a mess like this..." he said, looking down again. "it's just—this whole thing has dreaded up awful memories from before, and the last thing I want is to be the reason why a family like ours gets separated. I always fuck things up for people I care about, and my biggest fear is...is doing that to STREET."

I wanted to ask what he was talking about because it seemed to really be bothering him. "You're not fucking up anything."

He shook his head. "No, I am. Look at us. I know it's just been a day, but—we've never gone this long being hostile with each other, and it's all because I couldn't stop myself from feeling."

"No one should ever stop themselves from feeling what they want to feel, Upper. You're one of the best people I know; you couldn't even ruin a family if you tried."

He went silent for a long moment before he swallowed and said, "I could."

"What do you mean?"

"I did it...almost ruined a family...a big one. It's the reason why I'm in this bloody country. Away from everyone that I—" he stopped, the thickness of tears in his voice blocking his next words from coming through.

I rubbed his back. "Hey, I know you. Whatever happened, I'm sure it's not your fault. I'm positive it's not."

He smiled. "I want to believe that. But you should have seen how I was packaged like an abomination. All that happened when they didn't even know my sexuality; imagine how they'd treat me if they knew."

"Upper—"

"I can't stay, Zahra." He blurted, and my hand movement on his back stopped.

"What are you talking about?"

He worried his bottom lip with his teeth. "I can't stay here...with STREET. I—not after what happened; it's too fucking close to home, and I know I shouldn't duck tail and run, but that's how I was able to stop my family from breaking apart the first time."

I dropped my hand, drawing my brows down into a frown. "Upper—"

"I will go after we get the gold, and I'm not saying this because I need the money or anything like that. We started the mission together, and we'll end it together. After that, I'm leaving STREET."

I swallowed, down the lump in my throat. "You don't have to leave, Upper."

"I know, but I want to. I need to."

"Is this because of Devil? Do I need to knock some sense into him?"

He shook his head quickly. "No, no, don't—don't tell him anything. In fact, don't tell anyone anything."

"That's—"

"I'll tell them after we get the gold so it would seem as if I was selfish, and now that we have gold, I want to leave. That narrative suits me."

"No, it doesn't."

"I'll make it suit me."

"Upper." I stopped him. "Is this because you like Devil, and he won't return your feelings? I can talk to him. Maybe he's just conflicted."

He shook his head. "Me and Devil, we're very impossible. I like him, yes. I really do, I more than like him, but it's not going to happen."

I frowned. "How long has this been going on between you two."

He sighed. "Four months before we got here. Not like we were doing it for four months, the dare happened four months ago, and the other stuff just—happened along the line, we didn't generally hook up, just like—three times, and that's it. It was nothing."

"Did you tell him that you liked him?"

He shook his head again. "There's no point. I mean nothing to him. And that's okay. I think he really does love you, Zahra. I confused him. On his behalf, I'm sorry."

"Don't." I held his face in my hands. "None of this is your fault. It happened because it was meant to happen. Do you believe in reason, Upper?"

"I don't know."

"Well, believe in it. Because there's a reason this is happening, and whatever it is, I'm sure it didn't just push you into Devil's path so that you could force yourself out of it. Maybe Devil loves me in his own weird way, but I am certain that he feels more for you than he does me."

"I don't think so."

"I think so. He wouldn't be trying this hard to run away from it if it meant nothing. I'll talk to him—"

"No, please—"

"I'll talk to him. I won't tell him you're planning—planning to leave; a decision I'm hoping you'd change your mind on because you're a part of this, you're the fucking Elegant in STREET. Without that one 'E,' we're incomplete."

He smiled through tear-filled eyes.

"Come here, you crybaby." He melted into me, burying his head in my neck as I held him close.

Eventually, we both settled properly on my bed while he slept off in minutes. I was still holding him, staring up at the ceiling and thinking of ways to convince him to get the thought of leaving out of his mind.

But somewhere along the line, I drifted off to sleep too.

***

Upper was still dead asleep beside me when I woke up, so I slipped off the bed and out of the room. He looked like he hadn't slept a wink the night before, just like me and probably Devil and the rest of us.

Walking down the passageway, I bumped into Milk, who let out a somewhat loud yelp.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Zahra." She blew out a breath, her hand on her chest, as she looked at me with wary. "Hi."

"Hi, have any idea where Devil is?"

"I saw him out back from the kitchen window."

"Thanks." I was about to brush past her but stopped, leveling her with a firm stare. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She blinked. "It wasn't my secret to share—"

"We're supposed to have each other's backs."

"I know, but I was—I was having both Upper and Devil's back by keeping my mouth shut, and I was having your back by bugging them to tell you, or I'd spill, and I didn't want you to be hurt, and I also didn't want them to be hurt too, and it just got so confusing and delicate so fast that I—I'm sorry. I should have said something."

I chuckled, letting out a sigh. "We all suck because I would have also wanted to protect them if you were in my shoes."

"I don't think five people can be best friends. Because when one person has a secret that concerns another person, it's flipping hard to keep it because you're considering everyone's feelings and the fucking pressure is choking."

"I think we're trying. And I think this whole day has been shit."

She let out a loud sigh of relief. "I know! Dog refused to cook, so yes, it has been shit, and now I gotta bake; I guarantee a burnt dinner; sorry in advance."

"I don't care if it's charcoal, I'll eat anything, 'cause I'm starving; I'll come to help soon, just gotta talk to Devil real quick."

"Go easy on him," she said with a smile.

"Okay, Adele. I will." I said, making my way to the backyard.

When I opened the door, I was greeted with the golden hour sunlight and the cool weather that seemed to draw me towards Devil's somber figure, sitting on the back porch as guards walked by here and there, with cars entering and leaving the compound.

I walked over to him, sitting on the space by his side.

I stifled a yawn as I bathed in the sunlight before looking over at him. His skin, the same shade as Elio's, glowed under the light with a natural ease that had me comparing his eyelashes to his brother's. It wasn't as long, but it was thick and had the same shadowing grace.

I could spot some resemblance here and there, but I looked away before said brother started plaguing my mind again.

"You look like a cute vampire under this light." I broke the silence.

He scoffed a chuckle, and I caught him stealing a glance my way. "Why? Do I sparkle?"

I looked at him, "No...you glow."

"Real smooth, Z. A for effort."

"Thank you, I'm glad," I said with a smile, and he turned to look at me with a shadow of a smile.

"Sorry about the board room—I was just pissed, you didn't want to talk to me, and the time you did, you called me out on—Upper." He sighed, looking away and ahead. "I'm sorry about everything. I was—I didn't handle it well; this thing with Upper is...confusing. I don't—I don't know how to separate it from my feelings for you, and I know that's a shitty thing to say in this situation because I don't want either of you to get hurt, and I—"

My hand covered his. "Hey..."

He sucked in a breath, intertwining our fingers before turning to look at me.

"It's fine...I'm not angry anymore."

His eyes searched mine. "No, It's not fine. I am angry. I am angry at myself and my feelings and how badly I fucked up. For hurting you, I wanted—I wanted us to be something Zahra; I love you, I know I do. It's just—"

"It's different when you're with him." I completed.

He swallowed, looking down at our hands together. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." I laughed lightly. "I don't know how I didn't see it. You both spend so much time together, but when we're together, you barely talk to each other. I should have seen it."

"Milk caught on first. It's not her fault she didn't tell you. Upper, and I wanted to tell you—but then I freaked because I feel something for you, and I didn't want to throw that away because being with Upper is so consuming, like—I fight for breath whenever he's near, and it fucking scares me, Zahra. Because it was so sudden, we've known each other for years, and I've never once thought that—I've never once seen him that way, and now it's—now I've fucked it up."

I didn't know love. I thought I did until the person who made me believe I did, explained how he felt when he saw me, and I realized I didn't feel that way; I realized I was scared, not in love.

What Devil just described sounded an awful lot like the words of someone in love...it's crazy.

I want that...someday. A dream, I know but—it isn't bad to dream it now, is it?

"What are you gonna do about it?" I asked.

"Nothing." He said.

"Nothing?"

"I don't know, Z. I still need to work out some things and I—what about this—us."

"I know it's not going to happen, and I'm okay with that. It doesn't change the fact that you're my best friend and that I love you and will always be there for you. Our promises remain the same. You can cry if you want, I'd never tell anyone, you can tell me how bad you can't stop staring at Upper, I'll keep it till I'm six feet under, you'll hold my heels and purse when I finally decide I want to kill Dog—"

"And you'll always have me in line?"

I swallowed back the lump in my throat. "Of course." My voice shook, but I masked it with a smile. "Always."

He wrapped his arms around me, pulling my body to his as he pressed a kiss to my hair.

A comfortable silence settled between us as we watched the sun go down.

"Why did my brother want you to stay back?"

I froze, and he noticed because he was already pulling away from my body, leveling me with a look.

"Nothing." I blurted.

Devil frowned. "Why...are you lying?"

Right, I didn't cover that up nicely. "I'm not; he just wanted to know what was up with everyone."

"Why would he be asking you that?"

I shrugged. "I guess we—we're kind of, like, friends?"

His frown deepened. "Yeah...no."

I laughed it off, backtracking. "I'm joking. He probably wanted to ask you, but you stormed off early, and he knows I know, and well—yeah, nothing serious."

He eyed me. "You'll stay away from him."

"Are you asking or telling?"

"Neither. It's a given. You don't get close to someone like that."

I became surprisingly uncomfortable. "You yourself said he wasn't that bad."

"Yeah, wasn't. That's until he tried to drown you and almost killed you; why are we even debating this?"

I blinked. "We're not. Just—he's your brother, and I thought you wanted to get closer to him."

"Not anymore."

"He cares about you."

"He pointed a gun at me."

"Devil—"

"Why are you defending him, Z."

I hesitated. "I'm not."

He held the side of my face, eyes searching mine. "You will stay away from him, right? We do this one mission, and we're out."

"Yeah."

"Zahra—"

"I will stay away. I have—I have no interest. I promise." I lied.

He let out a sigh of relief. "You scared me with the whole defending him thing. He's not a good guy; he's just very good at making people think he is."

"Mmm."

"Yo, quick team meeting, you shitheads." Dog yelled from the window, and I snorted, glad for his interruption because I was close to getting the air sucked out of me with this damn conversation.

We both joined the rest in the living room. Upper was there, curled beside Milk, who was stroking his hair.

He still looked sleepy, like Dog had dragged him out of my bed.

Upper eyed us with a frown, but I smiled to let him know I said nothing. He visibly relaxed.

When Devil and I settled on a chair next to each other, Dog clapped his hand once, standing in the middle of the room.

"Great, the whole family's here together. We have two options we can go through to clear the air and get our shits together."

"What's the first one?" Upper asked, and I knew it was to indulge him because we already cleared the air.

"I'm stoked that you asked. The first one is to talk, it's very fucking boring, I know, but it might help if we all just—talked in the sense that—we tell each other one thing we've never told each other to rekindle our bond. We don't ask questions; we just tell."

Devil relaxed back on the couch, throwing his arms around my shoulder and pulling me back with him. "And the second one?" he asked.

"We have a sweaty, steamy gangbang that centers very close to a very sweaty orgy. We let out our frustrations by fucking each other's brains out."

"My God, you're such a man-slut." Milk said, her nose scrunched up in disgust.

"That's not a bad idea." Upper spoke up drowsily.

Dog shot his hand in Upper's direction with a grin. "See, Upper gets it."

"Upper is sleep deprived." Devil pointed out.

"Yup," Upper snuggled closer to Milk. "That's bloody right." He yawned.

"I say we give the first option a theme, like the truth behind our names?" Milk suggested.

We all nodded in agreement.

"Okay, so the first option, who's going first?" Dog asked.

"No one asks questions, right?" Devil inquired.

"Yup. No question."

"Elio Marino's my half-brother. He's The Wicked, and I'm the Devil." Devil blurted.

There was silence.

Upper and Milk shared the same wide-eyed look.

Even though I knew, it didn't stop me from freezing beside him, seeing as he had just blurted it out.

Just like that.

"Are you serious?" Upper asked.

"As a heart attack," Devil responded.

"Dude," Milk breathed out.

It turns out Devil was Devil because his brother was The Wicked. Was it a way to feel closer to him, probably?

Dog slowly took a sit on the single-seater couch. "Now that's a fucking foul; how can you expect us not to ask questions, motherfucker."

Devil shrugged. "You made the rules."

"My fucking God," Dog muttered. "I'll go next. Since we're starting with the heavy shit." He squared his shoulders.

We all waited for him to speak, and I braced myself.

"I had a dog named Dog. I mistakenly shot him when I was seven. With my mom's gun. She was a cop."

Silence settled.

It turns out Dog was Dog because he had a dog named Dog.

"That's deep," Upper said, straightening and clasping his hands together.

"I'm sorry," Milk whispered.

"Yeah, thanks." Dog offered a tight smile.

"I'll go next," Upper said. "Kinda glad we're not asking questions because...yeah."

He swallowed. "I...I am a bastard prince."

"I fucking knew this bitch was rich." Dog said with a grin that showed he had been suspecting.

"So you didn't climb up ventilators to get education." Milk mused allowed. "Wow."

Upper shrugged.

Dog slapped his knees. "No wonder he's Upper, cause...."

"Upper class." I completed.

"Got to keep some of it," Upper said.

"Still doesn't make sense," Devil said. "Just saying."

I jabbed him in the ribs.

Upper was Upper because he was indeed better than everyone here. Incredible.

I blew out a breath. "I'll go next."

The room went silent, all eyes on me.

"I—" My throat clogged, and I cleared it. "I put that anklet on myself. To remember who I am. I forget sometimes."

"Oh damn." Dog said.

"Sucks that I lost it," I said with a chuckle.

"You don't need it anymore," Devil said beside me. "We're here to remind you every day who you are."

"I agree," Upper said with a smile, and Milk offered me a reassuring nod.

I guess I'm Zahra because I put an anklet on myself with my name on it so I'd never forget.

"My turn." Milk said with a cautious smile.

We all waited for her to speak, and for a moment, her eyes glazed over like she was remembering what she was about to divulge.

"I found my mother hanging from her bedroom ceiling when I was little. I didn't call for help, didn't leave the house. The guy who delivered milk to us every day was the one who noticed my mother never came to open the door. I survived on Milk while her body grew rotten in her bedroom. On the fourth day, he was concerned, so he came into the house and saw her. Still hanging."

This time, the silence was heavy.

"That's sad." Dog said. "I'm sorry, Milk."

She nodded with an appreciative smile.

"You're strong," I told her. "Literally, every time someone calls you Milk, you have to remember."

She shrugged. "I don't want to forget."

Well, Milk was Milk because she survived on Milk while her mother hung from the ceiling.

I haven't felt closer to every single one of them like I do now. Everything just had...meaning.

A comfortable silence settled, and a smile crept up my lips. "I love you guys. More than anything."

They didn't need to say it back; I saw the response on their faces.

"We should do this more often." Dog said, "Because I'd really love to know how the fuck he's related to Marino." He motioned to Devil.

"And how rich Upper is," Milk added.

"Maybe next time when we fight. For now," I got to my feet. "I'm fucking starving, and I need food."

Upper sighed, holding his stomach. "Me too."

"Come on baby, let's go see what Milk burnt." I reached him and outstretched my hand. He grabbed it, and I hurled him up as we headed to the kitchen.

"I haven't even started yet!" I heard Milk's voice close behind me.

"Nobody can do anything without me." Dog muttered.

"You gotta admit. It was a dick move to deny everyone food." Devil aimed the jab at him.

"I was hoping you guys would settle for the orgy option. All the food we need."

"Get the fuck out." Devil laughed.

I smiled from my position behind the counter.

We're okay.

No.

We're more than okay, better than before we even had the fight.

I knew in my heart that we'll always be okay.

My gaze traveled to Upper's direction to find him bickering with Milk over a tray choice.

I hoped this new development was enough reason for him to want to stay.

__

Thanks for reading!

COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT!

What did you think of this chapter?

The exchange between Upper and Zahra?

The exchange between Zahra and Devil? do you think Zahra should have told him about her development with Elio?

Do you see Elio and Devil reconciling in future?

How did you find the reveals with STREET?

Do you think Devil and Upper will ever be together?

Random Question: Straight romance/gay romance/both (I love reading both, but this year I have leaned towards gay romance more if you follow my Insta, you already know hehe.)

see you Friday XX

PLEASE READ!

(THIS IS A FLASHBACK CHAPTER. AND IT IS NOT GOING TO BE WRITTEN IN ITALICS BECAUSE AS A READER, I DO FIND IT TIRING TO READ IT THAT WAY, THIS CHAPTER IS FROM THE POV OF A 19-YEAR-OLD ELIO. PAY ATTENTION BECAUSE THIS IS AN IMPORTANT CHAPTER AND QUITE A LOT IS GOING TO BE REVEALED.)

( WHY ARE WE GETTING A FULL FLASHBACK CHAPTER? THIS IS ELIO'S BOOK, AND I'D LOVE TO BELIEVE EVERYONE KNOWS THIS IS A DUOLOGY, ZAHRA WILL HAVE HER SPOTLIGHT IN THE SECOND BOOK WHICH WILL BE TITLED ZAHRA FAIZAN. (I MENTIONED THIS IN THE CAUTION CHAPTER) THIS MEANS THE FLASHBACK CHAPTER FOR ZAHRA IN CHAPTER 17, WILL BE THE ONLY ONE YOU'LL GET IN ELIO'S BOOK.)

(I CAN'T SAY IF THERE WOULD BE ANY MORE FLASHBACK CHAPTERS FOR ELIO AFTER THIS BECAUSE THIS STORY IS TELLING ITSELF AT THIS POINT. BUT FOR NOW, THIS IS THE ONLY ONE I HAVE PLANNED)

ANYWAY TW (LANGUAGE, DEPRESSION,SA.)

I ADORE comments so don't forget to comment as you read, and most of all, enjoy!

_______

ELIO
_______

FROM WHAT I wore to how I talked and walked; over to the first time I had sex and tasted alcohol; and down to my first cigar, my father had been the dictator.

I didn't mind. He knew what was best for me. He was my father.

I was his shadow. His merciless soldier. His machine. I was to follow in his footsteps. Never make mistakes. Remember his advice and implement them.

That was me—364 days of my life.

The day of my birth had always been excluded. It was the only day I got to be me, twenty-four privileged hours where I got to live outside of myself. Rearrange my thoughts and my previous experiences if I can...but.

That all changed on my 19th birthday.

My father had forgotten, which meant I ought to have forgotten too. But December 1st had permanently been etched into my memory.

The first thing I did that day was to visit the church in our compound. I was undeserving of it, but I still knelt and prayed for the salvation of my soul.

After that, I left the premises, but unlike the other times, I didn't feel lighter; I felt...heavier. Pushing down the feeling, I went to get food and drinks for Elia. He had no idea it was my birthday; I never once told him; he just knew I stayed longer on this particular day. But unlike the last time, I didn't join him to eat; I just watched. When he asked why, I told him I had no appetite.

He was ten and old enough to pick out my lie, but he didn't ask any further questions.

When I left, I went to a private bar, got myself a beer, sat at a lone booth, and drank on an empty stomach.

It was the first birthday I celebrated with...sadness.

It was a sadness I saw no reason for, but I knew that it came with an odd sense of dread, with the subject matter being the fact that I was about to take on another year of being Elio Marino. Of living in this skin, in this time, in this face, of talking in this voice, wearing these clothes...another circle of ups and downs, of yes sirs and turning blind eyes, another round of living a lie that was my truth.

I was about to do it all over again, and the feeling was downright...draining.

The bar was dim-lit, and the music was tamped down to a low volume. I was on my fourth bottle of beer, my hand on my chin, my eyes a little drowsy, but my ears were sharp, telling me I was still too sober to be drunk.

At the very back of my mind, a distant thought hunted me. For the past four years, precisely the day after I had killed for the first time, with the victim being a six-year-old boy. I had been noticing symptoms. Very close to what it had been like for my Mother; even before then, it was there, but not as intensely as it gripped me after I killed that kid.

I was slowly becoming a shell of myself. But I hid it well; I willed for it to leave, for me to sleep better, for the dark thoughts to let me be...but the more I killed, the more I fell deeper and deeper into that shell, the more my mind failed me, breaking piece by piece.

At least I'd always had December 1st to pull me back out of the shell. My dark thoughts had now tainted my one day of freedom, and I knew there was no coming back from this.

I knew my 19th birthday would mark the day when I felt the heaviest, knowing there was nothing to celebrate. I could only mourn the next year to come. I could only hate the thought of taking in my first breath when I woke up the following day.

My birthdays would now be the worse days of my life. A constant reminder that I was still living.

I shook my head off the thoughts, taking another swig of the beer the moment a blonde haired slid into my booth right opposite me.

"Hi," she said with a dashing grin.

I didn't respond.

"Never seen you around here before...I'm Rosa. You are?"

I remained quiet, just watching her.

Her hair was dark at its root, but the blonde waves were long and shiny. I was impressed by it.

"Not much of a talker, are we." She still maintained her grin, mirroring my actions by putting her hand on her chin, her gaze falling to my fingers, which drummed softly on the table. "You got pretty fingers."

I stopped drumming, balling my fingers into a fist before drawing my hand from the table to tap on my knee instead.

"Come on," she smiled. "Indulge me, don't be rude."

"You're a disturbance," I spoke. "I need my quiet."

That didn't seem to deter her; in fact, her cheeks turned pink. "No...I think you need a relief. I've been watching you. You look—lonely; I can change that."

"Thank you, but no."

"Give me a chance." She leaned closer, airing her cleavage on display. It didn't entice me; the swell of her breast just seemed like skin to me, nothing else. "I can be a good distraction."

17 was the last time I think I had sex. Last and first. I was at one of my father's clubs. He had been celebrating a successful shipment. A huge one that involved 75% of his capos. They were so rowdy, and I was not too fond of the crowd, but I endured as they talked in slurs.

My father put a drink in my hand. It wasn't my first liquor. I'd had light beers with Casmiro occasionally, but nothing this strong.

When I drank it, he pushed another, and then another, and then another, until feeling my toes began to seem like a struggle between life and death.

Everything that happened from that point flashed in glimpses and short clips.

He brought two women over. They barely had any clothing; he was grinning when he motioned them to me, but his face zoomed in and out of focus.

Then I felt hands touching my thigh, disappearing into my shirt to rub against my chest, lips on my neck.

I think I was trying to protest the idea, but my father's voice had climbed on top of my own. "Take him up and show him a good time; he's done well." He raised his glass like he was doing me a huge favor. "Enjoy, Marino."

I remember being led somewhere. And then falling on a soft mattress, I remember one of them trying to kiss me, but I remember stopping her and the chuckle she gave afterward when she whispered in my ear. "No kissing got it."

And then I remember waking up naked, next to two sleeping naked women. The headache afterward, the lipstick marks on my skin, the first minute of panic, and then the long shower I had taken. I hated it. I hated it all.

That night, I stood in front of my father's bedroom door, a gun in my grip, imagining myself entering and emptying my bullets into him.

But I couldn't do it. There wasn't a concrete reason, so I slipped my gun behind me and walked away.

Looking at this girl opposite me, I felt no attraction towards her. But then my gaze flickered back to her hair, how beautiful and effortless she made it look, how my fingers itched to feel the texture of it.

"Okay," I said, slipping my hand into my pocket to pull out my phone, checking to see if there was a text message from Casmiro or my father. There was none, so I just pocketed it back.

About an hour later, I fell beside Rosa on her bed, a sweaty and panting mess; my eyes locked on the ceiling as she chuckled beside me.

"My God," she breathed out. "That was so fucking good, and I don't even know your name." 

I turned my head to catch her gaze but didn't say a word.

"Well, nice to meet you, hot stranger." She said, shifting closer to me, the swell of her breast pressing against my arm, soft, warm, and naked, as she raised her hand to my chest, tracing circles with her fingers. "You're the best I've ever had..."

I schooled my breathing.

She kissed my arm, a smile curving at her lips. "You really don't talk much, huh."

I didn't respond. I just looked away from her, my tongue brushing against my bottom lip as my breathing settled, and silence followed.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked softly. "If you don't or do, it doesn't matter; you can take my number, we can do this aga—"

"Are you usually this careless, Rosa?" I asked her, and I felt her stiffen beside me.

Her circular movement on my chest seized. "What...do you mean?"

"Bringing a stranger to your home, fucking him without even knowing his name? That's risky, Rosa. What if I decide to kill you?"

"Why would you just—decide to kill me?"

I turned my head towards her again, spotting the fear in her eyes. "I might be a killer. I could wrap my hands around your neck now and strangle you till I feel your life slip out of you, and no one would even know it was me. I could pull you by your hair to your kitchen, stab you with a knife until you're dead and bleeding from all corners of your stomach, and no one would know."

My gaze went to her neck. "I could even slit your throat right here and now with one of my rings, and you'd bleed out on your mattress, eyes open in death, skin cold, pale, and empty of a soul," my gaze flickered back to hers.

I felt her heartbeat quicken from the press of her chest to my arm.

"You need to be more careful, Rosa." Raw fear grew heavy in her eyes as I added. "Death can only take a few seconds," I informed.

She shifted away from me slowly. My eyes followed her movement, not once breaking away from her.

Rosa gulped down. "Can you—can you leave?"

I blinked at her, staring blankly. "Sure." I got out of the bed and began to redress.

From my periphery, I caught Rosa dragging the duvet to her chest.

When I finished putting on my clothes and shoes, I looked back at her, and she sunk further into the bed like she wanted to disappear. Her breathing was loud and panicked.

I stood upright again, tilting my head as I watched. "Do you still want my number, Rosa?"

She shook her head. "Please just go."

I nodded. "Thank you. I had a good time. Take care."

I left her apartment, not before grabbing a can of beer from her fridge for the road.

Reaching the compound, my phone buzzed in my pocket, and I fished for it, seeing Marianna's name on the screen with a text message that jolted my stomach.

'SOS'

I rushed into the house. The sound of glass shattering, coupled with screaming and crying, had me running toward my mother's room.

I skidded down the hallway, my heart in my throat as I spotted Marianna holding a crying Lorenzo in her arms, right in front of my mother's room. Marianna was crying too, and I caught the sight of blood on Lorenzo's arm; the 7-year-old had his head buried in my sister's chest.

Marianna looked up, her eyes burning with anger upon seeing me. "Where were you!" she screamed at me. "She fucking hurt him!"

I heard loud mumblings, glass shattering, thuds, and incoherent screams from the closed door.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Go—get up, go stitch him up; I'll be with you both soon."

She shot me a confused look, grey eyes blinking as if she hadn't heard me right. She got to her feet, and Lorenzo refused to look up. He never did. Never looked at me. I was on papà's side, not theirs. Never theirs.

"Soon? You want to go in there? She's mad, Marino! She's gone mad! She hurt Enzo!"

"Please, Marianna, go to your room, lock your door—"

"What if she hurt you? Mamma has gone mad!"

"No, don't say that, she's just—she's fine, she's just going through something."

"I'm not a fucking child, Marino! She's fucking crazy!"

"Maria, please, take Enzo away; I'll handle it."

"But she's—"

"Enzo will bleed out; go help him stitch his wound—"

"What if she—"

"Fucking go! Go to your damn room and lock the fucking door, Marianna!" I bellowed.

She flinched; fear clouded her eyes, a look I'd seen her wear whenever father was around; Enzo's crying grew louder, and he hugged Marianna tighter.

I calmed, reaching for them. "Mari—"

She flinched back in haste. "I hate you!" she yelled shakily, pulling Enzo away with her.

I watched them disappear down the hallway, biting my tongue and silently cursing myself for losing control like that.

I sighed, pulling off my shoe and socks, knowing mamá didn't like it when you entered her room with those.

I pushed open the door, my heart melting the moment I spotted my mother pacing back and forth in haste, biting her fingers as she mumbled; tears were streaming down her face, her feet were bare, and she left blood stains on the ground as she stepped on the glass shatters, almost like she didn't feel the pain.

"Mamá," I whispered as I entered the room. I didn't care about the pain that bit at my foot as I rushed towards her; I didn't care that I was cutting myself; I just knew I had to get to her, to bring her back here. To me. To reality. "Mamá," I called louder this time, stopping before her as she tried to step past me.

I blocked her path, and she moved to my other side, which I blocked again; her eyes were unseeing.

"Mamá, look at me." I tried to catch her gaze.

She shook her head, trying to sidestep me again, but I blocked her path, and then she screamed. Her hands threw slaps and blows at me.

"Get out! Get out, you bastard!"

I tried to catch a hold of her hands as she screamed. "Mamá, it's me. It's Elio, look at me. See me!"

"No! Elio's dead! You killed my baby; you drowned my only child, you bastard! Get out! Get out of my life! Leave me alone!"

"No. Mamá, I'm okay! I'm alive, Elio's here, I'm here!" I caught her hands, and she tried kicking me. "Mamá, please, stop—" her head drove right into my jaw, and I tasted blood on my lip, but I still tried to subdue her.

"Leave me now!"

"No, look at me! I'm here now! I'm here—"

She fought me. I didn't want to hurt her; she was so fragile that I feared I'd bruise her wrist if I tightened my grip.

I loosened my grip, letting her go because I knew she would turn to find the nearest object to hurl at me, and when she did turn, I wrapped my arms around her from behind, holding her tight, locking her back to my chest.

"No!" A scream tore out of her. "Let me go, Ricardo!"

"Mamá, it's Elio; try to listen to my voice, please!" The desperation in my voice rumbled from my chest.

"Fuck off! I will murder you, you son of a bitch! I will fucking kill you for killing my baby!" As she screamed, she forcefully tried to squirm her way away from my hold, but I held firm, even though my head was a bit foggy from the alcohol.

We both staggered on our feet, and I must have stepped on something because I was falling straight to the ground, still holding her.

To shield her head from hitting the bedpost, I swirled us around and took her position. My elbow landed on a shard of glass, and the back of my head connected forcefully with the iron pole.

I saw fucking stars for about two minutes, but I still held her firm, even as she kicked her feet, jabbing her elbows into my stomach.

Sweating with the effort I exercised trying to keep her steady. I tightened my hold around her, her back pressed to my chest as I locked her legs with mine, seizing her movements.

"Please let me go! Don't hurt me!" she cried out in panic.

"I will never hurt you," I told her calmly, feeling warm liquid slide down the back of my neck; I knew it was blood. The sharp pain at the back of my head was almost blinding. "Never, mamá."

"Then let me go, Ricardo."

"It's Elio. I'm Elio. Por favor, come back to me." I rocked her back and forth gently. "Por favor," I whispered.

My grip tightened.

"You killed him. You killed my only child."

I clenched my jaw. "Mamá, you're scaring me. I'm here, goddamn it."

"You killed my Elio."

I dropped my head to the crook of her neck from behind. "I'm alive, Mamá. I'm okay. Listen to my voice."

She calmed as she mumbled. "He's dead."

"No, he's very much alive. He's holding you. You gave birth to him on this day, 19 years ago; you said he smiled at you even if he couldn't see you; you said he refused to let go of your hand. You said you sang him a lullaby in Spanish every night. You said he was priceless."

"Priceless." She whispered.

"Yes." I held her tighter, kissing her hair. "I'm here."

"Here." It was barely above a whisper, and I knew she was passing out.

"I'm never leaving you. Ever." I rocked her back and forth, looking around at the mess in the room, knowing it would freak her out when she woke up.

I stayed that way for five minutes more before laying her on the bed and cleaning proceeding to clean the room. When I was done, I went to her bathroom to grab a kit before cleaning her wounds and tucking her in.

I watched her for a few seconds and then exited the room.

I forgot my shoe, bruises, or comportment as I charged down hallways, aiming for my father's study.

I didn't bother knocking; I just badged in; the fury swirling in my veins was fucking blinding. My chest heaved as I watched the two men sitting opposite him stare up at me with a frown while my father looked at me with disappointment.

"Elio, what is this—"

"Out!" I bellowed at both men seated.

They looked baffled, and my father gasped.

When no one moved, I snared. "If you make me repeat myself, I will make sure the both of you regret ever fucking leaving your homes. Try me."

A second passed before they hastily got to their feet, and from the pinned castle emblem on their suits, I could tell they were one of my father's high-prioritized capos, and I still didn't fucking care.

When they left, my father shot up from his seat.

"You do not disrespect—"

"Quiet!"

His mouth clamped shut; surprise and caution bathed his eyes wide.

"My mother's sick. You will not turn a blind eye to it anymore."

"Elio—"

"It was not a fucking request, father."

I was riding on adrenaline. I couldn't—on an average day, speak to this man like this. But I was done keeping quiet.

"She's getting worse," I said.

"It doesn't matter." He said in Italian.

I gawked. "She hurt Enzo. She hurt me! Don't you fucking see it!" I responded in English because I realized he was trying to take control.

"Your mother is fine! And you will cease to speak to me this way, boy!"

I walked to him, got in his face, gripped his shirt collar, and yelled. "My mother needs help! She needs help, you bastard! Help! It can only get worse! What if she hurts herself? Hm? What do we do then? What the fuck do we do? She dies, then what, hm? Speak, you fucking bastard!"

His eyes searched mine. Twitching. "You sound more like her than yourself."

"What—"

"Are you sure you're feeling all right, son?" He asked in the dialect.

I paused, realizing how my breathing came in short gasps, my gaze flickered to my tight grip on his shirt, and I instantly let him go, stepping back.

"I'm fine."

He shook his head. "No. No. I am not taking any chances. Get some shoes, boy; we're getting a diagnosis."

Fear clamped my gut. "I said I'm fine!"

He shot me a glare. "Do you want me to use force? I will."

There was no countering that, and in a few minutes, we were on our way to the family hospital.

"If we can get Mamá—"

"No talks about your mother." He snapped.

We arrived at the hospital, and the process started; questions were asked. For some reason, brain scans were taken, and in about an hour...the result came. I was diagnosed with clinical depression, alongside some other brain things I'd blocked out because I felt my father froze up, and his eyes had darkened in the way they did when he was looking for quick solutions.

A few minutes later, we were driving back home; the car was silent until he spoke.

"You're joining the army." He announced.

My head snapped to him. "What?"

"You're joining the fucking army."

"Why?" I asked, baffled.

He was wise enough to pull over to the side of the road but left the engine on as he responded. "Didn't you hear the diagnosis? You're crazy, and I'll ensure I work it out of you."

"I'm not crazy."

"You are."

"I'm not fucking crazy!"

"You are!" he yelled back. The vein on his forehead was visible. "Look at you! A fucking disappointment, Despicable and weak like your fucking mother."

I shook my head. "I'm not weak." I gritted out.

"Oh, you are—"

"You don't know what you're saying."

"I know exactly—"

"No!" I shook my head, glaring at him with disbelief, my heart hammering. "No, I carry this fucking family on my back while you fuck and cheat your way through Italy. I am there for your wife and your children; I'm there for you! I'm there for fucking everyone but myself! Why the fuck wouldn't I be depressed!"

He looked at me like I was a stranger. "This. This right here, this despicable behavior, is why you need to get your head rearranged."

"I don't need anything—"

"If I say you need something, then you fucking need it! Do not counter me."

"You're the one who's crazy! If you send me away, who's gonna look after them? Who's gonna hold Mamá when she forgets who she is again or what year this is? You can't do that to them, to me."

"You are joining the army, and you are getting your head on straight."

I shook my head, looking ahead, my breathing ragged as I said. "How can you not see that you're ruining my life."

"I am making you better."

Looking back at him, I ignored the anger in his eyes and focused on his ignorance and fear. "No, papà, you're making me worse."

That seemed to shut him up. He cleared his throat. "I am your father. You are to listen to me, do all I say; I know what's best for you. Leave the family to me; that is not your job. Getting better is your job. You will take my place someday, and I won't have you ruin my name, Elio. You are Marino. No Marino is a sick fuck. The army will remind you of that. Am I clear?"

I rested my back on the leather seat, clenching my jaw hard.

"Am I fucking clear, boy."

"Yes sir."

"Good." And then he started driving again. "You leave the day after tomorrow."

I looked out the window, thinking of the promises I was about to break.

I did it all mechanically.

We reached home, and I was out of the car before he could call me back. I went straight to Marianna's room, unlocking the door with my master key.

She and Enzo were on her bed, fast asleep. A book rested on her chest, almost slipping off.

I walked in, took the book from her body, dropped it beside her, and turned off the reading lamp.

I raised the duvet, covering them before leaning down to kiss both their foreheads. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm so sorry."

I left the room and didn't sleep that night. When morning slowly crawled in, I went to Elia. Told him I was sending him away. He broke my fucking heart, cried, and begged that I shouldn't separate us.

I didn't tell him the reason. It was better if he hated me. Knowing my father had other plans for me in that army, I wouldn't be able to reach out.

I was going to be cut off. I was going to be tortured. This was his play.

Elia held me tight and made me promise I wouldn't leave. I knew he wouldn't drop it; I'd been prepared for that. That was why I suddenly remembered a drink I had gotten for him on my way here; it was why I walked to my car, brought out the chilled juice box, walked back into the safe house, and watched him drink while he told me what his home school teacher had said about whales.

It was why I watched him fall asleep suddenly.

I drove him to the airport and handed him to the people who would take him to Los Angeles. It was why I stood there till the plane took off and disappeared from view.

I crouched down, covered my face with my palms, and let out a guttural yell that made my chest ache throughout my drive home.

I made sure I didn't see Marianna, Lorenzo, or my mother that day.

The next day, I was on my way to the army.

The whole process was a blur in my head.

They shaved my hair into a buzzcut.

Gave me the uniform.

And throughout my stay there, I had very special training asides from the general one.

A year later, my father came to take me home. He was impressed by my progress. He gave me a hug which I didn't return. I didn't even look him in the eye once. The horrors I'd gone through, the things they'd done to me, the dark thoughts multiplying in my head with every second that passed.

The numbness playing in my gut.

I had been right. He had made me worse.

But I knew my lever was back home. Back at the compound, my family.

They were the only reason I was even remotely eager to return to that compound.

My father had taken me straight to the meeting house, we were there for about three hours before I was free, and I raced to my room to change out of the uniform my father had forced me to wear to the meeting with his soldiers.

But the moment I walked out of the room, and the building, all I saw was chaos, soldiers running helter-skelter—barking orders.

"Water...hurry up...they're inside....fire....church... burning...stop the fire...quick!"

The voices filtered in and out of my head.

I will never forget the rage of the massive smoke erupting from that building, the smell of burning wood, and the heat of the fire fanning me from where I stood. I will never forget how my heart dropped to the bottom of my stomach when I realized what was happening.

The fire that had wiped out my mother and my siblings. The fire my mother had started. She had tied up my siblings, bathed them in petrol, and ignored their screams while she bathed herself and the church.

With one flick of a lighter, they were gone. Burnt alive.

And I was too late.

I wasn't here.

I wasn't present.

I watched the footage from the church multiple times right after my father had killed everyone who had witnessed or seen what had really happened so that he could create a narrative in his favor.

I watched and watched repeatedly, letting every single detail of that video sew itself into my head.

Because I would need it.

I would need it for when I burn it all down, with my father and me as the very victims of our own demise.

__

Thanks for reading!

What did you think of this chapter?

Now we know Elio didn't murder his whole family, what are your thoughts on this? did you think he did?

The revelation for why Elio really left Devil? do you think if this were revealed to Devil, it would change anything?

Overall, what are your thoughts on ELIO MARINO? Not the story, HIM.

Random Question: A childhood memory you'd never forget? (My dad came home with tears in his eyes, till today, I don't know the reason, but it's something I will never forget.)

see you Monday, xx

Thank you for your engagement in the last chapter, and for 500k reads! That is insane! I've put my all into this story, and seeing this kind of engagement is beyond amazing!

As you know, Comments serve as my writing fuel, so...

COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT AS YOU READ FOR A SURPRISE WEDNESDAY UPDATE!

I hope you enjoy, and try not to kill Elio.

Carry on!

_______
ELIO
_______

I HAVEN'T used the phone.

It had been three weeks since Angelo got it, and it remained sealed inside the folding carton. I was still staring at it on my table like I was internally confronting the object.

It proved onerous to elucidate why I couldn't open or activate the device. Probably because it had been 14 years since I last used one, and a lot had changed within that time. I mostly didn't have the zeal to own one or set it up.

I was no illiterate to technological devices, but I wouldn't deny that it would sting to ask a smug Angelo or Casmiro for help in understanding how exactly the item worked.

But I knew I would have to break that barrier sooner or later. Aside from sending Gemma a text message, the device was necessary.

It could have been beneficial during the times when Zah—

I shook my head off my train of thought, picked the box from the table, and tucked it safely inside one of my drawers.

Work. Yes, focus on work.

I ignored the emails and went straight to the folders I'd gotten from the governor of Turin; thanks to Pablo's over-trusting personality and his love for loyalty, Marino had gained control over the state affairs in Turin, and with that came a lot of brain work that I'd been putting off due to another project for Milan. I didn't want to confuse both, but I was lagging, losing focus on... essential things.

It was careless.

I can't be careless.

It had been three weeks since that board room meeting, three weeks since I'd last seen STREET, though Angelo ensured I received feedback from their work progress.

A new painting had been released, and they had traveled to Tunisia to fetch it. According to the report, some other group had beaten them to it, but it was later confirmed that the painting was also a fake.

I wasn't surprised.

There was obviously more to it. We were missing something, and my little artist was the key to finding that thing.

Except, according to my people in charge of getting the answers out of him, he wasn't letting up.

This was when I succumbed to taking matters into my own hands, but I had been hesitating. If I interfered, someone would die...and I didn't have time to see through a wipeout, so I put the artist's fate in the hands of professionals who could torture the truth out of him.

That way, nobody dies. And I still get my answer.

I should also probably stop STREET from wasting their time searching for the fakes. But what good would that do me?

I wanted to keep them busy, away from me. I needed to focus.

I needed her away from me.

From my space.

I couldn't afford the distracting feelings that came with my thoughts trailing to her—damn it.

I flipped a page open in the folder, my eyes perusing through the words as I read—correction; I tried to read, to understand the words, and I did understand them, but they made absolutely no sense.

Three weeks.

Three weeks of me trying so hard to school my thoughts, to block out the voice of the witch, to erase the strange feeling of unsatisfaction, and the nonsensical craving I had to hear her speak to me.

To have her ask me questions that would require me to talk to her. To have a conversation where she threw out sarcastic jokes, and I pretended to hate them.

Fucking pathetic.

The woman probably doesn't remember you exist, and if she does remember, what then? She had made her standing clear. And even if she hadn't, even if by an opportune chance she had actually wanted to talk about it, what would happen afterward? Do we explore? I ask her to enter into a relationship with me? I fuck her? —

That is a very nefarious thought, Elio. She is with your brother, for God's sake.

I was getting ahead of myself here. Why would I think of a relationship with someone I still fantasize about killing?

What is wrong with you, Elio?

I don't like this.

This fucking distraction—I banged the folder on the table, the blow from my fist causing a rattle as I shot to my feet, walking around the desk while rubbing my brows and pacing back and forth in the study.

"Focus, Focus." I chanted. "These are all useless thoughts, not beneficial; it's not aiding your goals, it's not important, it's rubbish...she's rubbish, she's nothing, she's a woman, she's just an element made up of skin, bones and a soul, she's only matter, a substance put together with numerous particles that occupy space. Nothing more, she's—"

"E, are you fr—"

I stopped, my head turned toward the door to see that it was opened slightly with Casmiro peeking in, brows drawn down in a frown.

"Were you talking to yourself?" He blatantly asked.

"No."

I shoved both my hands into my pocket, watching him.

Slowly, he walked into the study, eyes going around the space like he was trying to seek out whom I was talking to; when he couldn't find anyone, he looked back at me with a frown, and I kept my expression blank.

"I heard you mumbling something."

"You heard nothing."

"I heard something—"

"What is the reason for your visit? State it and leave. I am busy."

"Talking to yourself?"

"State it. And leave."

He sighed, dropping it. "It's about your artist."

That caught my attention. "Did he speak?"

Casmiro shook his head. "No, I'm beginning to think he's never going to. We need you down there; maybe your presence would change something."

I locked my jaw. "Are you telling me that my professional team is incapable of torturing answers out of a simple artist?"

"They've tried all the methods; the man is half dead as we speak. His fingers have been chopped off; I'm guessing his inability to work has made him incompliant."

"Ah...I see. Poor thing." 

"It has been three weeks, he's wasting our time, and STREET hasn't gotten any new leads for the next painting yet."

"Hm. How unfortunate."

Casmiro glared at me, standing straighter. "Be serious, E. If we go on like this, the artist would be dead before we rope out any answers from him."

"You want me to speak to him."

"Yes. He will talk when you...do your thing."

"My thing?"

"You know...the wicked thing that works for people."

I wanted to laugh, but my expression remained blank as I said. "There is no such thing as the wicked thing, and that's too many 'things' in a sentence."

"You know we also need to be ahead of this th—search for the painting. So, show your face once, so he knows we mean business."

"I'm sure he knows we mean business. The team chopped off his fingers. Cruel. Impressive. But I have work to do. We should be traveling to Turin in a few days for the appointment dinner—"

"We still have time for that. This is important."

I suppressed the urge to groan, doing away with my unseriousness. "I know it is important." I stopped to think, my brain issuing me ugly ideas. "He should be taken to the hot room. Open his wounds, and leave him there for an hour; I'll visit him afterward."

"Okay." He moved towards the door, eying me... "I can leave you alone, right?"

"Hm."

He stood there, staring at me like he needed another confirmation. When the silence dragged on, I sighed, motioning to the door.

"Get the fuck out, Casmiro."

"Right." He cleared his throat. "See you in an hour."

And then he was gone.

I shook my head, returning to my desk drawer to take out the phone box. Without a second thought, I opened it, turned it on, and spent the next few minutes setting it up. Some things took a few minutes for me to get used to, but as I said, I wasn't illiterate when it came to technology, so I quickly mastered it.

I saved Angelo's number, followed by Casmiro and Gemma's, before clicking on the messaging icon next to her name.

The page switched to a blank message space.

I hesitated, knowing it had been almost a month since she had given me her number. I didn't want to give the wrong impression by proceeding to use the number, but she had been kind to me, oblivious of my world—at least with what I assumed, she didn't care if I was covered in blood. It was strange.

But I was inquisitive; it took quite a lot for another human to have me curious. It was effortless with Zahra because I became a completely different person when it came to her. But with Gemma, I simply wondered why she had chosen to ignore my bad and focus on the good she could see, the good I seemed to have. 

Why haven't I forgotten our encounter? What is there?

Why does my gut approve? It was indeed strange.

I am not one to ignore something my mind refuses to forget, and my gut feeling never had once led me astray, so...

Me:

Hello.

Delivered

I stared at the phone screen, wondering briefly if she would respond.

If I had gotten a text like this, I would probably ignore it. If I get a text at all, I will ignore it. Besides, Angelo and Casmiro knew better than to send a text. Upon getting this phone, I informed them they could only call the number for significant emergencies. Not for emergencies.

No texting.

I probably should also get Elia's phone number for significant emergencies, but I knew that was impossible. I still needed a contact in STREET who would be a liable private informant. Maybe the one with the beverage name—the phone vibrated in my grip, and my mind drew back to it, seeing her response.

Gemma(blonde car highway):

Hi?

Who is this?

My fingers drummed on the table as I read the message.

Why am I hesitating? I have no reason to hesitate.

I admit that I subconsciously made sure I cleared things up with Zahra. In fact, I have had three weeks to...think...ah, of course.

I sighed.

The reason I have been stalling to activate the device.

My mind was toying with me. It refused to let thoughts of that little witch go. This wasn't due to the sting of her words; I already found a solution to that.

This was lust, pure carnal lust I had no way of getting rid of.

I have never—no. I held my thoughts; I can't dwell on this. I shouldn't dwell on this because each time I allowed my mind to walk in that direction, I forgot the crucial detail being her involvement with my brother.

She did say they weren't in a relationship. But they were involved.

The act on that rooftop weeks ago goes against every set rule I had in place for myself. It felt even worse knowing I had grown oddly fond of her in a way, a fondness that allowed the feeling of care to creep in.

I knew what I was saying when I told her I liked talking to her. It had been the truth, and yes, my fantasy about slitting her throat open while she spoke had been the truth, too, even though I knew I would never go through with it.

I sometimes hated my inability to lie when it was unnecessary to tell the truth.

My phone vibrated multiple times.

Gemma(blonde car highway):

Uncle Rod?

If it's you again, I told you I'd pay you back; Gran Louisa is my priority now; she still thinks she will die soon.

AND FOR THE LAST TIME.

I DID NOT USE THE MONEY TO GET THE CAR.

Don't believe everything Luigi tells you.

He's out for my life.

I swear I will kill that little shit!

I waited for the next message to pop in, but nothing came after her spamming, so I typed a response.

Me:

Why is Luigi out for your life?

Her message came instantly.

Gemma(blonde car highway):

BECAUSE!!

I'm poor and still manage to do better than him. I even have a car *smirking emoji*

Granted, I stole it from my last relationship. Remember Giacomo? The stripper you disapproved of? Yeah, he owns the car, and he's never getting it back.

Luigi would never be successful enough to get it, so he's out for my life.

Me:

Do you want Luigi dead?

The bubble popped up immediately, but then it disappeared. It did that a couple of times before a response finally came.

Gemma(blonde car highway):

You're not Uncle Rod, are you?

Me:

No.

Gemma(blonde car highway):

Are you Giacomo?

Serial killer guy?

OR FUCKING LUIGI.

I was amused by the capital letters; I could hear her voice yelling the words at me. It reminded me of my sister.

Me:

It's Elio.

The bubble disappeared and appeared several times, and then it disappeared for minutes; I didn't think she would respond until she did.

Gemma(blonde car highway):

You finally got that phone.

I'm just gonna sidestep my embarrassment with everything I typed and pretend I'm the cool blonde who gave you her number at a drugstore.

You can just block me now if your image of me is ruined. I'll accept that.

Me:

I have no intention of blocking you, Gemma.

Gemma(blonde car highway):

Honestly, I would block me.

My eyes filtered to the time above the screen before I typed in my response.

Me:

I have to go. I will pick this up when I return. Luigi sounds like an exciting topic of conversation.

Gemma(blonde car highway):

The little shit is the bane of my existence.

Where do you have to go...

Does this involve torturing your victims?

Me:

Something like that.

Speak soon.

I exited the messaging app, slipped the phone into my pocket, and left the study to the building where the hot room was located a reasonable distance from the house.

***

Casmiro, Angelo, alongside three other soldiers from my torture team, stood inside the room. I didn't acknowledge any of them as I entered. My attention was trained solely on the person I wanted to question.

Even though the heat had been turned off upon my arrival, I became one with the lingering hotness around me. I allowed it to communicate with my skin and my being.

When I stepped forward, every man in the room, including Casmiro and Angelo, straightened while discreetly inching back from my form even though they were already standing a convenient distance.

The artist sat on a mid-back iron chair with his back bending in a way that made him look more uncomfortable; his hands were strapped to each arm of the chair. No fingers.

The smell of burning flesh lingered in the air, and I bottled my irritation, walking closer to the man who was breathing heavily, head cast downwards, clothes bloodied and dirty.

I admired his strong will. Anyone would have killed him at this point, registering that he knew nothing and could give no useful information.

But I brought him here based on a gut feeling. He wasn't leaving until I got my answer.

"Look up," I spoke into the stale air.

His shoulders stopped moving. His breathing ceased for a second before it grew more frantic. His head snapped up, and red-rimmed brown eyes coated in fear stared at me.

"Handling you is already inconvenient, and I wouldn't like to waste even more of my time because I have a conversation to finish in about," I brought my wrist to my view, "thirty minutes. So, I will ask the question, and you will answer me. Not with a lie. Not with a half-truth and not with a dismissal. If you do either of these three things, you will lose more than your fingers."

His chapped lips pressed into a thin line, determination in his eyes.

He was going to do either one of the options I listed.

"What's his first name?" I asked no one in particular without taking my eyes off him.

"Fio," Angelo answered.

"Fio," I repeated, my eyes searching his. "It will be in your best interest to cooperate with me."

"I know nothing, and even if I do, and I do tell you, you will kill me either way. I know who you are."

"It is good that you do. That's why you will not waste my time."

"My response remains the same. Mr. Garza wanted me to paint the damn chihuahua, and I painted the damn chihuahua. The rest were printed fakes."

"Yet, millions of US dollars went into your bank account after you painted the original."

"It was valuable."

I nodded. "It was. I have spoken with Arturo Garza. And just like me, he's a strategic businessman. He wouldn't make you set for life with a huge amount of money for one original painting. Not when each painting has the same intricate stroke of a brush and the distinct smell of dried paint and...pine wood."

He swallowed, panic working its way to his eyes as I continued.

"You disappeared for months. Into a very convenient safe house a few states outside of Mexico; the said safe house was made out of the pine woods surrounding the area. Am I correct?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Strike one. dismissal." I announced, straightening. "The safe house I speak of was registered in Arturo's name. I believe that is where you decided to paint?"

Fio let out a shaky breath. "Yes, Mr. Garza had given me that safe house. He didn't want me in the city while I worked on the original painting—"

"Strike two. Half-truth. You already painted the original. Arturo gave you that safe house so you could paint the duplicates of the original, am I correct?"

He hesitated, shifting slightly on the chair as he shook his head. "No, you are not. The duplicates were printed."

"Strike three. Lies."

He swallowed. "I know fucking nothing, I swear to you. When Mr. Garza gave me that project, my life changed, and I—"

"I will care about your life's achievement when pigs grow wings and litter the sky."

He clamped his mouth shut.

"I warned you about wasting my time. Apparently, you are one of those who get curious to see what I would do next. You might think since your fingers and source of lively hood is gone, there's nothing else we can take."

"I have no family you can hunt down. I have nothing. You might as well kill me."

I watched him for almost a minute, and he squirmed under my stare, discomfort staining his posture.

I brought one hand from my pocket, rubbing my jaw as I looked away from the man to everyone else in the room, watching the scene with curiosity, also wondering what I would do next.

I looked back at the artist. "Last chance, Fio. I insist you tell me what you know about the original painting. What is the tell? What would make finding it easier?"

"Like I said, I know nothing."

The silence grew—one minute.

Two.

Three.

Four...

Well...I warned.

I bent to his level; both my hands covered his wrists on the arm of the chair as I looked him dead in the eye. "Do you want to hear a story, Fio?"

He swallowed, the sound spelling fear.

"About an artist. He was an orphan, drew little sketches of people in the street of Paris, wore rags for clothes, but had a brown hat given to him by a respectable sailor after a wonderful sketch he made of him. The artist was so happy. He wore it daily; even when he went to sleep, he would hug it to his chest, his first achievement."

Fio's eyes grew wide in terror.

"That little hat seemed to have given him so much hope, and then he started sketching for coins. People would stop by in his open corner, dropping coins for a sketch, couples, families, tourists...He felt like he found a standing. It made him save up. He then bought watercolors and brushes and started adding colors to people's clothes in his drawings. He gave them smiles that reached their eyes, even when the smiles didn't."

Fio lips parted, breathing noisily.

"He made so much money, grew up, and traveled to Mexico. He got a part-time job at an antique store. He changed his name from Yves to Fio so that he could blend in. The owner of the antique store never paid him a dime, but the basement beneath the store was spacious and had an aesthetic feel; he loved painting there. Made a couple of thousand dollars through online ordering and delivering."

He shook his head slowly, tears gathering in his eyes.

"Through that means, he met a beautiful woman, Sofia. She was also an artist, but she was more into digital art. They fell madly in love. She had red hair and the most dashing smile he had ever seen. They met physically on a sunny summer morning, and her beauty enchanted him; he couldn't stop smiling at her. She became his muse, and he painted a beautiful portrait of her, which caught the eye of many collectors. Eventually, they got married."

"No," his voice trembled.

"Oh yes, they did."

"No, please," his breathing shuddered, and his tears dropped.

"It was a small wedding. Only four attendees. But it was the most important day of their lives; they would finally live their dreams and grow old together as man and wife."

"This can't be happening." Fio's pained voice forced out.

"Fio got an amazing offer worth millions of dollars about a year later. It was so huge that he got a lovely wine to celebrate this good news. Sofia was his biggest supporter; together, they took a renewed honeymoon to a little wooden house outside Mexico."

"Stop, please..."

"The air was fresher, the smell of pine wood and raw earth, the sheer luxury of peace of freedom. It was the best time of Fio's life. After six months, he finished the job and returned, receiving extra money for his efficiency. Fio was indeed set for life."

"I will tell you all you need to know...just don't finish the story."

I ignored him. "Years later, his wife gets pregnant."

His shoulders shook in tears.

"Unfortunately, she was only six months in when he got kidnapped."

"Ask me any question; I'll give you your answer."

"He was kept in the hands of terrible men, tortured every day, his fingers were chopped off, and he knows he'll probably never be able to hold a brush to paint ever again, so he decided to be stubborn. To take the truth to his grave."

"Jesus Christ, I beg of you. There's a tell, okay! There's a fucking tell in the original painting!"

"He tried to tell the truth when the bad guys told him a story of himself, but it was too late. He shouldn't have been stubborn. The bad guys didn't have time for a story, but he made them tell it anyway. So, they got very annoyed. Irritated...And they brought in his pregnant wife."

The sound of the door opening had him jolting. Soft whimpers and footsteps reached my ear, and I didn't have to look to see the red-haired, pregnant woman by the side, next to probably a stunned Casmiro and Angelo.

I couldn't care less about what they were thinking because my eyes were solely on Fio, whose body started to thrash at the sight of his blindfolded wife.

My hand held firm on his wrist.

"Sofia!" he yelled.

A sob racked out of the woman. "F-Fio?"

"When Fio caught sight of his crying wife, he yelled her name, so loud, so fierce the bad guys felt it right in their guts, and when sweet Sofia responded with a stutter, they wanted to feel pity, but then they remembered they had given Fio a chance to talk, and he didn't."

"For the love of God, she's pregnant; she has nothing to do with this. We have nothing to do with your search; I'm just an ordinary artist who got paid for a fucking job—please—please just let her go." he cried.

"Then Fio tried to bargain and make the bad guys see reason. To let his pregnant wife go, but no one said this was a romance story or a happily ever after...."

"The-there's a little white stroke underneath the eye of the Chihuahua in every fake. It is absent in the original. Mr. Garza sent out 99 of those paintings after I had them delivered. The original—the original was only with me until I painted the first duplicate. I don't know, but I think he hid the original himself; he went on a trip outside of Mexico, I don't know where, but I bet that trip was to find a perfect spot to hide the original. Maybe at a family landmark, I have no fucking idea—but I swear—I swear this is all I know."

"Fio, in a state of panic, told the bad guys all he knew about the painting, and while the bad guys had gotten all they needed from him, they decided to let him go...." I let a pause ring through, and I could feel every breath in the room pause with my last statement. "But then, the bad guys thought, if we let him and his pregnant wife go, what would happen if someone else got to them?"

"No, please," Fio choked out a cry at the same time Sofia let out a sob.

"The bad guys took pity on pregnant Sofia and removed her blindfold so she could see her husband alive one last time." I didn't look to see if the blindfold had come off, but the gasp from Sofia and the loud crying that followed told me they had.

"Fio...amore...p-please, sir—don't hurt him; he hasn't done anything. He hasn't hurt anyone in his life—he hasn't caused any trouble; he's innocent, sir."

"Sofia tried to beg the bad guys, tried to save her husband, but the bad guys knew it wouldn't be possible. If Fio could break so easily, someone else might do even worse, and he'd spill the truth to that someone else, and the bad guys couldn't have that, so they decided...."

I turned my gaze from Fio for the first time, looking at Angelo, whose eyes showed wary, and then Casmiro, who looked uncertain, but remained firm in support of every decision I'd make, no matter how cruel.

I looked back at Fio, whose eyes remained pleadingly on me.

"I beg you, do whatever you want with me, but please let her go, ple—please."

"Fio begged," I raised my hands from his wrists, placing them on both sides of his face. "His eyes, once hopeful for a bright future, his eyes which had shined in happiness after he received that hat on the street of Paris, now flowed with tears, knowing the very thing he loved the most was now the one thing that would put him under."

Sofia's heart-wrenching cry met my ears.

"It was so sad a scene. Too...emotional for the bad guys to spend even a second in the room, knowing how it would all end. They decided to snap the neck of Fio, and they probably should have asked Sofia to look away. Still, the bad guys were so bad that they derived pleasure from the scream the wife gave afterward...they knew they would derive even more pleasure when they bury her 6 feet under...alive with her husband." My eyes searched his as my grip tightened on both sides of his face. "A very tragic end to a beautiful story."

The room went quiet.

"Did you like my story, Fio?"

"No, no...I want to hear more." He rushed out.

I pressed my lips together, shaking my head. "Unfortunately...that was the end."

"Please n—"

I twisted his neck in a sickening snap that resounded around the room, a purge of blood freefalling from his nostrils.

The wailing-like scream from his wife pierced the air, almost making me deaf.

I withdrew my hand from his head, and it fell lifelessly at an odd angle.

And like that. Fio died.

I raised to my full height, turning to see Sofia holding her stomach as she cried, her face scrunched up in pain, her feet wobbly on the ground as her body shook, crying out her husband's name.

Angelo brushed past, beelining for the door, looking like someone who wanted to throw up.

When I looked at Casmiro, his jaw was clenched tight. His eyes weren't on me; they were on Fio.

Of course, they were on Fio. He just witnessed his life from start to finish.

I could have just killed him. I didn't have to make anyone know him before I did. I didn't have to make them care...I didn't have to make Fio re-live his life and see his death before it happened.

I didn't have to make his wife watch.

But I did.

Why?

Because I am sick in the head.

Because I'm The Wicked.

Because I...I liked it.

My hands shook. I balled them into a fist before releasing and shoving them into my pockets.

The cries from Sofia attached themselves to my brain, resounding in echoes.

I stepped closer to her and ground my teeth as I said. "Shut up."

She didn't seem to hear.

"Shut. Up." I repeated, and she snapped upright, pressing her lips together to try and stifle her cry. Her body shook, tears streaming down her face as she held her stomach, body tight with withheld tears, eyes unable to meet mine.

I turned to Casmiro.

"See to it that she's taken care of," I stated, making him look up at me with guarded eyes.

"Taken care of..." something like hope lingered in his voice.

"Six feet under. Alive with her husband."

"No...por favor!" Sofia cried out, hand grasping my arm. "I don't care what you do to me, but let—please! Please let me have my baby first. She's innocent. Please, sir."

My gaze settled on her hand on my arm before I slowly looked back at her. "Get...your hands off me."

She drew back in fear, almost stumbling, but Casmiro held her upright.

Tears streamed down her face as she clapped her palms tightly under her chin in a praying posture. "Let her live, please; she doesn't—she doesn't know anything about the painting; she's not even born yet, sir." Her lips trembled. "When—when she's born—you can take me—kill me, butcher me, I don't—I don't care at all, but just—let her live, sir, please."

My gaze flickered to her stomach, then back to her tear-stricken face.

I dusted where she had touched me on my suit, straightening my composure as my gaze briefly flickered to Casmiro, whose eye wore what resembled a plea.

"...Grief is normal. You can't stop people from feeling it by killing them."

I glanced at the other soldiers in the room before looking back at Sofia.

"...You're stopping them from a future they could have had. A life. Maybe even better than the one we have."

I tried blocking out her voice.

"If I let you have this baby, I will plant a bullet to its skull the minute it comes out of you. Coating you with its brain particles and then bury you alive with your dead husband and baby, do you want that?"

She shook her head furiously, face tight with tears.

"...sometimes it's better to have a limit, so you don't completely lose yourself."

I was suffocating.

I tried to free the hold of the tie around my neck. "Then," my gaze flickered to Casmiro and back to her. "Take the easy way out, Sofia."

Her eyes widened as she looked up at Casmiro, then at me.

The air was suffocating me.

I looked away from the crying woman. "You know what to do, Cas." Then I turned and motioned for the other soldiers. "Clean up the mess."

With that, I was out of the room, taking a lung full of clear oxygen, but it wasn't enough.

Go back in there. Finish the job. Another voice bashed into my mind.

I brushed past men who cleared the way for me when they noticed my sudden movements.

You're making a mistake, boy; she will come back for you. Finish the damn job.

I chased the entrance like I chased death.

Go back now, Marino, yo—

I got out of the building, letting out a gasp of breath. 

Releasing my shaky hands from my pocket, I flexed my fingers, walking towards my house in the compound with a fast-thumping heart.

I looked up when I rounded a corner and halted at the sight before me.

Zahra was there, wearing a cooperate black dress, pacing back and forth, and glaring at the soldiers standing in front of my building.

She did a double-take in my direction, almost doubling over in relief.

"Thank fucking Jesus," she looked back at the guards. "please give me permission to kill these motherfuckers, I've been standing here for almost an hour, and I don't think STREET bought my need-to-relax-head ache-story," she looked back at me. "and I bet one of them is planning to burst into my room to find arranged pillows on the—" she stopped midway, her gaze searching my face as they slowly widened in concern, "What's wrong?" she advanced towards me.

But I met her halfway before she could reach me, taking her hand in mine. "You're coming with me," I said, pulling her towards the direction of my house, right past the guards and into my space.

__

Thanks for reading!

What did you think of this chapter?

Comment for an extra extra update on Wednesday!

What do you think Elio's texting with Gemma would result to? why do you think she's still in the picture?

What did you think about Elio's torture technique with Fio?

Elio let Sofia live, even though he never outrightly said it, do you think this is development?

And Zahra, why do you think she was there? Are we getting a normal conversation about what happened on that rooftop? what are you expecting?

Random Question: Do you like texting or phone calls?

see you soon, hopefully, xx

Thank you for your engagement in the last chapter! Love you guys so much!

I heard a rumor that you guys spammed me with comments in this--that's not working (That was a line from THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY, a really sick TV show!) anyway, don't forget to comment as you read!

Enjoy this update!

_______
ELIO
_______

FOR A woman with a sharp mouth and a bold persona, her hand was small against mine, warm and soft, addicting to touch.

You would think her palm, which I was certain had held a gun one too many times, would be calloused and rough, but it turned out to be the opposite, and I wanted to detach my hand; I wanted to sever that small connection, but I did the complete opposite; my grip tightened, and I led us towards the direction of my room without pause.

What am I doing? Why am I doing this? What was the purpose of taking her with me? My mind could not phantom an answer; all I knew was that she had to undo whatever mutilation she had summoned into my mind.

"Will you fucking slow down?" She gasped out, practically running after me. I didn't care.

An infinitesimal part of my senses was actively trying very hard not to acknowledge the fact that she was in a dress that hugged her body like a second skin; curves I had once noticed were now accentuated to drive home my attraction towards her.

I pulled her past the passageway, down to the last room on the left. I didn't stay in the master bedroom located three doors down on the third floor; I stayed in the guest room on the ground floor. It was the smallest room in the whole building, meant for guests whom you didn't want venturing into the other floors of the building. But it was perfect for me.

I'd never brought anyone here.

Casmiro never came here; if he ever was in the house, his destination was my lounge area and study. Angelo, though, my ever-loving shadow, dropped by once in a while to check if I was still breathing.

Why I was letting Zahra cross this space when I still knew nothing about her was by far the careless thing I'd ever done. But then again, my reasoning became very difficult when it came to her.

I'm either too blinded by anger to see reason, too gone by curiosity to see what lay behind her eyes, too irked by irritation to see past her behavior, or too driven to comprehend the other things I had just mentioned.

She caused this. She will solve it.

I pushed open the door to the room, locked it behind me, and then let go of her hand before finally looking at her.

Wide eyes shone with annoyance and somehow looked brighter than usual. I could tell it had something to do with the dark straight line across her eye—make-up, she was on make-up.

"What is the matter with you?" she asked, looking from me to peer around the space.

"Stay here, and don't move," I told her, making my way to the bathroom while I shrugged off my suit, hanging it carefully before I crossed through the bathroom door, closed it behind me, and headed straight for the sink.

My hands still shook when I opened the mirror compartment and picked up the small bronze bottle filled with pills. I uncapped it, filtered four atop my palm, and threw them into my mouth, swallowing dry.

It was tasteless—or maybe I was just used to it.

I covered the case, keeping it back and closing the hidden cupboard, coming face to face with my reflection.

I held both sides of the sink tight, eyes on my reflection as I began inhaling and exhaling—

Sofia's scream pierced through my head suddenly. I winced in a flinch and pressed my eyelids together before pulling them wide apart, trying to blink my thoughts back in order as I shook my head sharply.

I let her live.

I shouldn't have. If my message through eye contact had been delivered to Casmiro the way I intended, he was looking for a way to ship the woman somewhere I wouldn't ever think to find her.

Unfinished business. I fucking hated it. It made me feel incomplete. And I knew I would suffer for it; I knew the voice would triple in number.

In my dictionary, there was no such thing as right or wrong. There had been once, but my life hadn't been fair, so why should I be fair? Why should I understand something no one had cared to understand when it came to me? Why should I do the right thing?

What exactly is the right thing?

Letting her suffer for the rest of her life, raising a baby alone without a father? Or ending her suffering before it even begins?

Why does it seem like I have just made a colossal mistake?

My breathing wasn't calming, I was getting angrier by the second, my mind was getting sharper, and the pills were doing absolutely nothing.

Useless!

Had Zahra's voice not entered my mind at that very moment—I would have moved on with my day—fuck, had Zahra not entered my life at all, I wouldn't remember what it felt like to be guilty, all these unwanted weak emotions and thoughts wouldn't be singing a fucking elegy in my head.

I wouldn't be a torment to my own self. My skin wouldn't feel like that of a stranger's.

I wouldn't want to peel it off or get out of myself or my body. I wouldn't—

My hand swung, knocking off all the items on the counter; they fell with sharp clashes and shattering.

Jitterily, I exited the bathroom, my gaze finding Zahra's wary ones from where she stood in front of a dressing table.

Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but I was already walking towards her with a glare that I couldn't even hide or morph into indifference.

"Elio—"

Her words ceased when I caged her with my body, backing her against the dressing table with both hands on either side.

I caught the sound of her breath hitching in her throat with a small gasp as she looked up at me, her lips parting while her eyes searched mine, "Whatever you think I've done—"

"Fix this." I cut her off; my breathing was very loud due to how my skin sucked in the warmth from her body.

She blinked, her brows dropping in genuine confusion. "What are you talking about? Fix—fix what?" I hated and loved the concern in her voice.

"Fix this!" my voice shook in withheld anger, and then I said between my teeth, "Fix me."

Her chest heaved, and her frown deepened. "I don't—"

"Don't fucking feign innocence right now, Zahra. You know what you did."

"What did I do?"

I drew in a shaky breath, leaning away from her, from the fucking sweet smell of her hair and skin, from the familiar tightness in my chest that grew from the fondness of seeing her face and hearing her voice.

I brushed my hair back with a sharp painful tug as I looked away from her.

"You have ruined my mind."

"What—"

"Three weeks, Zahra." I looked back at her. "I have not been myself for three weeks, and I don't understand why because, believe it or not, I truly really want to see you dead; I don't like you, Zahra, I don't like you as a person, you have all the qualities that I despise in a woman and a person, you have qualities that mirror who I am, and I don't want to be near it, I don't want to want it, but—you did something to me. Somewhere between that car chase and now, you did something to me; I know it."

"I didn't do anything to you; what are you talking about?"

"You are messing with my head!" I yelled. "I can't—I can't focus on anything; I can't think properly because all I fucking see, think, and breathe is the thought of you for no goddamn reason, so fucking fix it!"

"Elio—"

"I am spiraling, Zahra. For the first time in my life, I am questioning my actions, I am seeking morals I have never once cared for, and it's all because of you. I might have just made a mistake because of your voice in my head, so take it away. Now."

She didn't speak for a long time, like she was trying to assess my situation in her head and come up with a solution.

After a while, she stood straighter. "Okay, breathe—"

"I am fucking breathing."

"I know, I just need you to calm down—"

"I am calm." I snapped, knowing I was a long distance away from calm now.

"What mistake were you talking about?" she asked carefully.

I bit the inside of my mouth, taking three steps backward before I turned and started to pace, trying to center my mind and my thoughts, wondering why every fiber of my being thought it was okay to confide in her or let her see this side to me. We weren't friends, or were we?

"Elio—"

"I let someone live," I dug my thumb finger into the palm of my other hand, trying to stop the shaking as I glanced at her, seeing her confused expression. "She's pregnant, and I ruined her life and let her live. She should be dead."

"Whom are you talking—"

"The artist's wife, Sofia."

"What artist."

"The one who painted the chihuahua, damn it, Zahra, keep up with me."

"I don't know what you're talking about; I'm trying to understand you!" she yelled in frustration. 

My attention drew back to her when she let out a sigh. I watched her eyes grow unfocused before she outstretched her hand toward the bed. "Let's sit and talk." She said in Spanish. "Your pacing is not helping your case."

"It helps me get my thoughts in order," I responded in the dialect.

"Well, sitting helps me sometimes, so we're going to do what I want because I don't think you're in the right state of mind to think." She continued, her tone curling softly around her accent, and I succumbed, settling on the edge of the bed while she took the space beside me.

"So, you didn't hurt her; what would you have gained if you hurt her?"

"Peace."

I could feel her stare on the side of my face as she asked. "Are you certain?"

I dug my thumb even deeper into my palm, but my fingers still shook; the veins on my hand were so visible, and my fingers grew so cold.

"Are you certain that's what you would feel afterward?"

I dropped my brows in a frown. "I don't know."

Zahra's hand covered mine, eradicating the vacant cold and replacing it with a warmth that stopped the shaking instantly. "Elio, did you want to hurt them? The artist and his wife?"

My head turned towards her, and our gazes locked as I answered. "Yes."

"Because you thought you had to?"

"Because I wanted to. I killed her husband right in front of her. And I told him—I warned him not to dismiss my question or supply me with a half-truth and a lie, and he did just that. I didn't want it to come to that, I gave him a chance to survive, but he didn't take it; they never take it."

"Still, you didn't kill her—"

"I wanted to. I wanted her dead; I wanted her buried, I still do, because if it doesn't happen, I will lose my mind."

She removed my thumb from my palm and held my hand. "Why do you think you'll lose your mind?"

"Because I didn't finish the job, Zahra. I always finish the job, no matter how bloody or gruesome; I leave no stone unturned, my word is law, and if I go against it, I lose myself." I said, but it came out monotone, like a pledge.

She frowned. "Are you reciting that from a memory, or do you really mean it?"

I paused.

Her question sank in with a cold shiver tickling my neck and my feet, and for a second, I was out of this room, this space, this time. And I was watching myself, strapped to a chair, my neck against a cold metal; my eyes opened wide to be burned by the sharp blue ray of light that kept zooming in and out of focus, dropping me in a hypnotic state. A state that had me feeling numb in my feet, buried inside a large container of ice.

"Repeat the word, soldier!" My private commander's voice boomed in the echoing room. "I always finish the job..."

My eyes, wide and unseeing, stared above as my mouth, thirsty and dry, forced itself to move, repeating after him. I didn't want to, but my mind wasn't my own anymore; somehow, he managed to control my vocal cords. It was violating, but I couldn't help myself.

"Louder soldier!"

"I always finish the job..."

"Continue," he said like we had done this a thousand times before, and I would know the words.

Surprisingly, I continued talking. "...no matter how bloody or gruesome, I leave no stone unturned, my word is law, and if I go against it, I lose myself."

"Elio."

I blinked. Coming out of my head.

"Did you mean that?" she said, concern and question in her eyes.

Goosebumps littered my skin at that flash of...memory?"

"Elio—"

"I don't know." I shook my head, looking away from her. "Yes, I wanted to do it, but I didn't want to, want to do it because I don't think that's who I am—"

"Who are you?"

My grip tightened around her hand. "I don't know. I am a different person when I'm with Casmiro and Angelo; I am different when I'm with Elia; I am different when I'm with my soldiers and associates; I am different when I'm with normal people outside my world...." I looked at her. "I'm different when I'm with you."

Her eyes widened an inch, and I caught her pupils dilating in reaction to my words.

She had captivating eyes.

I looked down at our hands together, my thumb absentmindedly stroking her knuckles. "There are too many versions of myself that I don't know which part of me is real anymore. I don't know who my name belongs to."

"I think your name belongs to the person before me; trying to find who he is."

"Hm."

My mind flashed to the memory I had somehow seemed to have forgotten. The man questioning me had been in uniform, which means it was from a time in the army. Did I make up that memory, or did it...happen?

"Where's your mind?" She asked, still in Spanish; we hadn't switched to English because this way seemed more comfortable, more effortless.

I met her gaze. "Nowhere," I lied. "Why are you sitting here, willingly talking to me?"

"What?"

"Why do you care—" No...I don't want to make assumptions, so I reworded the question. "Do you care?"

She looked taken off guard by my question, and I watched her draw back from me, subtly taking her hand from mine, leaving it cold. I had the strongest urge to take her hand back, but I didn't want to cross a boundary or scare her away, so I just clasped my hands together instead.

Zahra swallowed, switching to English. "I—I have a hero complex. I think. I'm not a monster; even though I do not like you, I won't leave you when you're clearly going through stuff you need to talk about."

"So...you care?"

"That's not care; that's me. I'll do it for anyone, even if it's a stranger on the fucking street," she looked uncomfortable, tucking her hair behind her ear as she added. "It's who I am."

I said nothing; I just sat there staring at her while she squirmed.

"I mean—you kind of did blame me for your state, and part of why I talked to you was because I didn't like you accusing me for your unstable state of mind."

"Oh, you are a huge part of the reason, Sport."

She opened her mouth to counter my statement but closed it again like she had forgotten what she wanted to say. I took the liberty to continue.

"From the moment you left that board room till now, I've been unable to stop thinking about you."

She sucked in a breath, looking away from me to stare ahead...it was faint, very faint, but I caught the slight reddening in her cheeks before she turned.

"Jesus fucking Christ, why are you so blunt with your feelings." She muttered.

"I'm too old to beat around the bush."

She turned to me with a smug look that almost washed the flush from her cheeks, but I could still see the ghost of them.

"I thought you said thirty-three wasn't old?"

"I meant that I'm not a 16-year-old boy who would deny his feelings because of his pride."

"Well, I have learned that it's better to keep your feelings to yourself, or they will be used against you."

"That begs the question of why I saw you pacing outside my house like seeing me would break the barrier for whatever troubled you. Why did you come to me?"

Her lips thinned, pressed together like she was biting the inside of it.

I wanted to reach forward and use my thumb to stop her from worrying it...but that would make me want to kiss her—I want to kiss her—but unfortunately, that's never going to happen again, so I clasped my hands tighter, banishing the thoughts.

"You really want to know the reason why I'm here?"

"You might as well state it now that you have my attention."

Her gaze flickered between mine, so guarded, so cautious about letting slip what she had wanted to tell me. I wondered what made her this way, locked in herself, beyond reach to anyone who wanted to reach.

"Fine. You—maybe haven't been the—the only one who's been a mess these past weeks. I've been screwing shit up for STREET, and Dog is ready to rip my head apart. A few hours ago, we were at a brunch, and I completely forgot the fake name I had told the guy who was supposed to have information about the next painting, and I had to fake a faint to avoid it. It was a disaster because I can't fake a faint to save my life—" she breathed. "Silver lining is that you were right; I think we need to talk about the—the incident at the rooftop."

"Incident?"

"I don't know, okay? occurrence, situation—"

"You don't think it was a fucked-up night filled with raging hormones? Your words."

"I—" She sighed. "I wasn't in a good mood when I said all that. If we're going to be mutual—or friends or whatever, you should know that I say things I don't mean when I'm in a mood. And that day, I was in a mood."

"In a mood," I repeated.

"Yes, Elio, are you slow?"

I tilted my head, staring at her as I recalled when I'd asked her the same question in that car right before the chase.

I curled my lips into a smile that turned into a small half-laugh as I looked away from her, shaking my head.

It was silent for like three beats before she spoke up. "Did you just—did you just laugh?"

My smile died, and I wore a blank look before turning to look at her again with a frown. "No."

"But I just—" she looked unsure. "I swear—stop fucking with me."

"You are not making any sense," I said with the same stern look.

"I just heard you laugh, and you literally smiled. Not the sick one from the other time; it was charming, do it again."

"You are delusional."

"I am not." She said, uncertainty in her eyes. "God, you're good with this shit. Bipolar asshole."

"I am not bipolar."

"You are; you just don't know it yet."

"I had a diagnosis done. I am not bipolar; you're probably going crazy with all the drugs you take with your friend." I tilted my head slowly, watching her with a mock concerned frown. "Maybe you need a diagnosis. You're hallucinating; I don't want a mentally ill person looking for that painting. You'll drag the others down."

"Damn, you're good," she slapped my arm excitedly. "You're making me think I'mcrazy. How the fuck do you do that? Teach me."

The urge to smile tugged at me, but I bit it back. "You're a case, Zahra."

I missed this.

She laughed. "Okay, back to the issue on ground." She said, angling her body to face mine. "We're both distracted. It's obvious there's something here," she motioned between us. "Something we don't want—"

"How do you know I don't want it?"

"You said you didn't like me—"

"I don't want to but—"

"Great, I don't like you too, but there's obvious physical attraction, and for us to get it out of our systems, I suggest we fuck it out and resume this animosity without compromise."

I jumbled her words in my head, imagining her beneath me, atop me, beside me, sweaty and undone. It was very shameless and odd for my mind to conjure such vivid images but—

"How can you suggest this when you're involved with my brother?"

"That's history. It ended recently..." she frowned before continuing. "Scratch that; it ended a long time ago; I just didn't know it—still, even if it does happen, between us—No one can find out. Devil can never find out; I made him a promise."

I raised a brow at her, moving closer until I could feel her breath on my face. I lowered the tone of my voice like it was a sin for a third party to listen in. "A promise you want to break with a man who has only ever broken promises when it comes to him, some friend you are."

She glared at me, but her tongue trotted out, rubbing against her bottom lip. "I don't want it, okay? But—I feel like if we cross this off, it'll disappear."

"I don't feel the same."

"So you don't want to fuck me?" she asked with a taunting smile.

My eyes roamed her face, down to the swell of her breast caged inside that dress; an image of me taking it off filtered past my brain before I locked eyes with her again. "I do, but I also want to talk to you."

"You want to be friends..." she drawled. "Friends who fuck."

"No. Friends don't do that, but whatever definition you think suits our...one-timecompromise."

Lust stained her eyes. "You're still on my shit list, and I'm still going to kill you."

I nodded, unable to comprehend how I could manage a fucking erection after literally breaking in front of this woman. "If you annoy me, I still won't hesitate to slit your throat."

Her gaze centered on my lips. "Good."

"Good," I responded.

She leaned in, aiming to kiss me, but I drew back. "No."

She frowned. "No?"

"Ground rules."

She rolled her eyes. "Jesus Christ, Elio, it's just sex, and no, I'm not saying we should do it now—" Her gaze dropped to my crotch, where I was sure she spotted my need for her. "unless you want to," she looked back at me. "You're—"

"Not now, but I still want to set ground rules."

She sighed. "Right, fine, let's hear it."

"One: No kissing."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"Two: It only happens once. No more. You don't touch me sexually without my permission."

"Yeah but—"

"Three: You don't forget any of the first two."

"Why no kissing? We kissed on the rooftop, so—."

"For reasons best known to me, I don't want to."

Her gaze dropped to my lips longingly before she shook her head. "Fine." She said half-heartedly.

"Hm. Before then, I'd like you to accompany me to a business dinner in Turin."

"Why?"

"That...I don't know yet; I would like you there."

"And what do I tell STREET?"

"You're a liar; I'm sure you can come up with something. Or you could tell them the truth. You're accompanying a friend you want to kill to a business dinner."

"I don't even know why I'm agreeing to this."

"Makes two of us." I lied.

Her eyes searched mine. "How are you feeling now?"

"Hard, uncomfortable."

"I meant about your...earlier state." She stated cautiously.

"Oh..." I completely forgot about my earlier state, and even with her reminder, I didn't feel the heaviness. "Better."

It was no secret that she had a negative effect on me. Still, the positive effects intrigued me, she brought me back from a raging ten to a calming zero, and I still couldn't remember how our conversation had slowly shifted from a serious discussion to this.

Then again, that was how it was with her.

I lost sense of my mind and surroundings; the feeling was new, and like every new feeling I got, I wanted to explore it.

Hence, why I wanted her with me on my trip to Turin.

And, of course, I wouldn't tell her any of that. She was too guarded, too cautious. I needed to take it slow.

She was right, there was something here, and it wasn't just the physical attraction. It was no news that I was beginning to get addicted to her presence, but that wasn't the only reason I had been a complete mess for the past three weeks; there was something else.

But...What else?

There.

That was the million-dollar question, and I'd do anything to find the answer.

__

NO KISSING? WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?

Thanks for reading!

What did you think of this chapter?

The conversation between Elio and Zahra?

Do you think the ship is sailing, or it has already sailed and Zahra is trying to stop the sail?

The little flashback Elio had, what do you think that is about? Do you think it's a real memory or a made-up one?

We've now confirmed Elio let Sofia live, can this be considered a development?

So...the next chapter...business dinner...Turin...don't wanna spoil but...(clears throat) how bad do you need it?

Random Question: Do ya'all wanna be friends, I can create an IG group where we can all talk...I wanted to create a Discord server, and I'm creating it, but it's not ready yet. let me know what you think! (Drop your IG usernames if you wanna join!)

PS: The next chapter won't come on Friday, I want to take a writing break so I don't burn out. so expect an update on Saturday instead.

see you then, xx

Hi! Thank you for your engagement in the last chapter! I ADORED your comments!

Don't forget to vote and comment as you read, I accept all kinds of spam comments!

Enjoy the update ;)

_______

ZAHRA
_______

"IT DOESN'T make any sense."

I refrained from looking at Devil, who watched me pick up the small black glitter purse I'd snagged from Milk's collection. Something to go with the ankle-length dress I wore with a slit that reached my mid-thigh. Nothing I loved more than free movement, even when wearing a dress.

"Are you totally sure about this?" Upper asked from his leaning position on my bedroom doorway. "What if he wants to take you somewhere it'll be easy to—I don't know—chop your bloody head off?"

I rolled my eyes, letting out a tired sigh. "You guys are like brothers I didn't ask for."

"There's nothing brotherly about this," Devil said, and the edge to his voice made me glance at him, spotting the scowl of disapproval on his face. "I don't like this, Z."

He had been in a shitty mood since I told them about the business dinner I was attending with Elio. While I had expected instant disapproval from all of them, Devil was beginning to get on my fucking nerves with this whole controlling thing he had going on.

Also, maybe there was a small bite of guilt in my stomach every time he reminded me how terrible a person his brother was.

Fine, Elio was bad...but not that bad. He just needs help.

If I presented my narrative about him to Devil, it would raise questions, so I did the next best thing; even though it felt like I was betraying Elio, I agreed with Devil.

I pressed my lips together, checking my reflection one last time before I responded to him. "I don't like it either. But to study your enemy, you've got to get close to them."

"He already gave us a deal." Devil pointed out, uncrossing his arms while leaning away from the wardrobe door. "We signed a contract. We don't need to cross their path any more than we already have. This whole dinner thing makes absolutely no sense. Why did you even agree to it? When did you both talk?"

Thankfully, Milk appeared in the doorway, brushing past Upper with a jewelry box in her hand. "Silver will never betray you; it also goes perfectly with the dress."

"Zahra." Devil's voice called, sharper this time.

I breathed out sharply and pinned him with a frown. "You know him more than anyone, Devil. You know what he's capable of, and you also know he is a man without morals, a man who doesn't honor loyalty. Do you think a piece of paper will guarantee our freedom out of here or the promise of a hundred million dollars which, mind you, they just agreed to give us on a whim? No negotiation? I am going to make sure he sees us as business partners and not pawns on his chessboard."

"That's why you're leaving without any disguise? You want people in his political setting to see you both together? And then what? You accompany him to other business dinners?" Devil interjected.

"I think Zahra's right," Milk said as she helped me put on the earrings and necklace. "It's not exactly safe to go anywhere with Marino, seeing as we don't know his intentions, but don't you think it's stupid to believe that when all this is over, and we find the gold and his flash drives, we'll be free to go? Just like that?"

"It never happens that way in movies," Upper supported, "the bad guys always find a way to fuck the good guys over. It's the bloody rule of heroes and villains. You ought to earn the villain's respect if you ever want them to trust you enough to let you go when all is said and done."

"Thank you, Upper," I said with a sigh of appreciation before my gaze settled on Devil, who still looked very uncomfortable. "It's going to be fine. I have my phone with me; Upper installed a tracking device earlier. If by chance the tracker stops working, I have Dog on speed dial."

Almost as if I summoned him, he popped his head behind Upper. "I'd probably leave you to die. You should really stop calling me first when there's trouble—also, Casper is out front waiting for you—and why the fuck is that purse shining?"

"Glitter, idiot." Milk muttered in annoyance. "You're good to go, Zahra."

"Thanks."

Because I knew Devil was still frowning and fuming with disapproval, I didn't say anything as I exited my room and the house. And, of course, they all followed behind me like ants.

"I swear to God, you guys are embarrassing," I said with a groan and a frown that slipped out of my face the moment I took in the car parked outside the building; Casmiro was leaning against it, a stern frown on his face as he waited.

Adorned in a grey fitted suit, with hair combed to perfection, he screamed dangerous wealth and annoyance. One I was certain came from the fact that I was going on this trip with his Boss, who hadn't come to fetch me himself.

Why did I think he would be the one standing here and not Casmiro?

I brushed the thought of Elio from my head and focused on the car. It was the same Lamborghini I had watched drown over a month ago.

Someone brushed past me, and I didn't have to look to know it was Upper.

"Holy bloody fucking shit, I thought you said it drowned!" Upper threw an accusatory glance at me.

We reached Casmiro, and I eyed the car and then him. "Yeah, it did. Did you get a new one, Cassie?"

Casmiro straightened his suit. "I don't see how that's any of—"

"Oh my God, please, can I touch it? Just one graze." Upper cut in with haste, staring with pleading wide eyes at Casmiro, who eyed him like this was the first time he was seeing him.

"This motherfucking princeling bout to get nuked." Dog snickered, earning an elbow blow from Milk.

I wanted to cut in when Casmiro did the honors by asking, "You like cars?"

"Are you joking, mate? I'm obsessed." He looked from Casmiro to the car. "This is—she's bloody beautiful." He gushed.

There were literal stars in Upper's eyes, and I watched Casmiro's gaze travel up and down the length of his body; it was subtle, but I caught it, and Upper probably did too because he was clearing his throat, taking a step back from the Lamborghini, cheeks turning bright red.

"Sorry," he said nervously. "I lose myself when I'm—when there's a beautiful car around me."

"That's no crime, Arch—Upper. Maybe you can take her for a spin when I get back from the airport."

Upper's jaw dropped. "What—seriously?"

It was slow, but I watched how amusement grew in Casmiro's eyes. I'd only ever seen him frown, so it was pretty strange...to see him lose some of his guard just because Upper wanted to touch his car.

"I admire people who admire cars," Casmiro said. "They are one of human's most phenomenal creations."

"Yes—it's—God, thank you, Casper—I mean, Casmiro."

"You can call me Cas," Casmiro said, his lips lifting to the side in a small decent smile.

Upper blinked at him. "Ye—Cas. Thank you, Cas."

And just like that, the rest of us standing here were background noise, and I took that short period to steal a glance at Devil, whose scowl had dropped as he watched the two of them, chest heaving slightly in what I could tell was withheld anger.

At the sight, I cleared my throat, and Upper flinched.

"We should get going, Cassie."

From my periphery, Devil had already turned, making his way back to the house without a second glance our way. I made a mental note to check on him with a text later in the day.

Milk had to pull Upper away from the side of the car, and Dog left me with a 'make sure to be with your phone at all times.'

A few minutes later, I was heading to the airport beside Casmiro inside the Lamborghini.

His usual frown was now back on his face. I didn't like silence, and I didn't know why the man disliked me. I am very likable, at least; I like to think so.

"So—"

"Don't speak to me; we're almost at the airport; just shut up until we get there, and you get the fuck out of my car." He shunned.

I wanted to leave him be. I did. But I was curious and had a thing for poking angry bears. And right now, Cassie right here was very fucking angry. "You seriously don't have to be so rude."

"I own the right to how I choose to relate with you," he said, his tone hard and unwelcoming.

I shifted with a frown, genuinely curious.

"Why do you dislike me so much?"

"What?"

"You're always rude to me. You look at me like I kicked your dog to death. You don't even know me."

He glanced my way briefly, ignoring me.

"I thought you were this way with everyone in STREET, but you interacted kindly with Upper, so why are you unnecessarily rude."

"It's not unnecessary."

"Really? Pray tell, Cassie, what did I do to you?"

His jaw clenched and unclenched. "I don't trust you."

"Awesome, I don't exactly trust you either, but you don't see me being a raving bitch about it."

His grip tightened on the steering wheel like he wanted nothing more than to reach over, open my side door, and push me out.

"I'm usually not a raving bitch to people I don't know, but I just don't like you, Zahra. I think you're full of shit."

Or I could reach over, open his side door, and push him out.

He stopped at a red light, looking over at me. "I read people, and I'm pretty sure Marino is good at reading people too, but for some fucked up reason, he's blinded when it comes to you."

"Or maybe he's just a kind person who doesn't judge."

"I'm not judging you, Zahra. It's something I see. You have so many layers, so many hides; your eyes are so insincere, even with STREET. I don't trust you because I know you're hiding something. And whatever it is, it has to do with Martino Conti."

I scoffed out a laugh, relaxing. "Seriously?"

"I'm not an idiot. Marino isn't an idiot too. So, I'd advise you to stop whatever shit trap you're trying to make him fall into; he's not a saint. He will figure you out if he hasn't already."

"Oh, Cassie, why are you looking for answers where there's no question? Martino Conti used to be someone I worked for. What if I told you I was one of his housekeepers? I have scrubbed blood off wooden floors and stubborn rugs since I was 16—"

"I would ask you if I had stupid tattooed on my forehead." He said with a glare and turned his attention back to the road when the light turned green again. "Like I said, you are full of shit, and I'm going to figure you out."

I watched him for about a minute before looking ahead. "I wouldn't advise that, Casmiro."

The tension inside the car thickened as my thumb finger absentmindedly stroked my purse.

"The person who said curiosity killed the cat wasn't delusional when he said it."

He glanced at me, and I caught his stare without a smile or a frown. "Stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours."

"Is that a threat?" he asked, looking back at the road.

"I have a job to do, Cassie. Find the gold, find your fucking flash drives, and then get the fuck out of Marino's compound. I despise compromise; that's why I'm giving you a subtle reminder that if you try to compromise my mission, I will not hesitate to retaliate."

"That sounds like a threat." There was a warning in his voice, and I didn't give two shits.

"Take it however you want to. If you have no intention of forming a mutual ground as I have done with Marino, then I am happy to make you my enemy."

"The feeling is very mutual. I won't fall for your bullshit like everyone has, Zahra. I'm on to you, and when I find proof, I'll put you down myself."

I ground my teeth together as I looked ahead, biting my tongue to stop myself from saying anything more, but my mind had already supplied me with an observation I had to look out for.

He is going to be a problem.

***

Angelo collected me the moment Casmiro dropped me off at the airport, and with a subtle nod to each other, the man, who was now on my radar, drove off.

Unlike him, Angelo had greeted me; even though it wasn't warm, it was something.

"Nice dress," He said, leading us to the private plane area, three guards behind us as we walked into an elevator.

"Thanks. Do you think I'm overdressed? Or underdressed. I'm not really used to fancy gatherings without being someone else." I said, adjusting the dress as the Elevator moved down.

Angelo glanced my way, giving me a subtle sweep. "Yeah, you're perfectly dressed. It's a business dinner that would house pompous men and their wives, girlfriend, or mistress."

"Oh...makes me wonder why your boss wanted me there...."

"Does it?" Angelo said, looking ahead. "I thought you shared an intimate relationship with him. The rooftop—"

"What did he say?"

"He didn't have to say anything," Angelo said, voice straight as he looked down at me. "But know that I'm watching you, Zahra. One wrong move against him, and you're out."

"Why the fuck does everyone seem to think I have some grand ulterior motive? Cassie almost chewed my head off in that car. Now you?"

"I have nothing against you, Zahra. All I care about is Marino, he doesn't do things like this, so it only means whatever you both have is serious to him. The other day I caught you leaving his house, I'd like to think whatever you both are doing isn't one-sided from his end. I will haunt you if you hurt him. This is not a threat but a fact."

I swallowed. "I have no intention of hurting him...unless it is completely necessary and I have to protect myself. Then yeah."

"You're in no position to make comments like that; it makes it hard to trust you."

"The last thing anybody should do is trust me, Angie. Besides, it wasn't a comment. Just a fact."

The elevator took that time to slide apart, and I walked out, spotting the plane right ahead, soldiers everywhere.

My heels clicked and echoed on the ground as I walked, and I could also hear Angelo's footsteps behind me.

Eyes were on me, and I wasn't surprised. Apparently, Elio Marino never took dates to events like these, and I was an exception because he loved my company.

Bullshit.

He was up to something.

Or maybe he does like my company?

I hate compromises, and that was one of the main reasons I was putting up with his weird idea of foreplay. I needed to get him out of my system. I hated my want for him. It was fucking things up.

The fact that this wasn't me was the most daunting part.

I'd never outrightly wanted anyone's touch like I wanted Elio's. Devil was convenient, Martino was necessary, and the selected few were mainly by choice.

But Elio... God, he evoked what I could only name as pure desire, and yes, the feeling scared me.

Angelo led me inside the plane, which was minimal, very clean, and private, like an en-suite lounge area, golden lights, and white leather seats. It Smelt divine, had a warm cozy feel to it, and I couldn't stop my eyes from roaming around the space as Angelo led me down a small compartment until he pushed open a door, and I was in an even more private room.

The same design as the other area we had just come through, but the smell was different, familiar. And I soon registered why that was after seeing Elio's figure at the corner, an unlit cigar between his lips, book in hand, wearing a black men's turtle neck and black pants.

He didn't look up, even as Angelo announced my presence and left me alone with him.

I took the liberty to settle in the chair opposite him, appreciating the comfort of the leather and how appetizing the man sitting atop it was.

My God. Elio Marino harbored a consuming aura, which was doing funny things to my stomach and the back of my spine.

"Zahra," he said in greeting, his eyes going over the page.

"Marino," I responded, and he looked up finally.

"Don't call—" he stopped, eyes taking me in quickly before he completed his statement, "Me that."

"Okay, Dad,"

His stare hardened, and he looked back at his book. "Stop." He muttered.

I smiled at him...genuinely. "Any reason your cigar isn't lit?"

"Still figuring out if I should light it."

"Right," my gaze dropped to the table, seeing a black device. "I thought you said you didn't have a phone?"

"It's new." He said, discarding the cigar.

"Oh, what made you get one?" I made conversation because, yes, sue me, he might be infuriating and might end up at the circle of my barrel when push comes to shove, but I liked talking to him too.

Despite what Casmiro and Angelo feel about me getting close to Elio, I knew something was there. If we do away with the inconvenient physical attraction, we could be friends...cordial, at least.

His gaze flickered to me and then to the phone.

I raised a brow at the conflict in his eyes, and then he closed the book, dropping it perfectly beside the phone as he said, "Because almost everyone I know has one."

"Cool...want my number?" I asked.

His eyes took me in again. "What for?"

I shrugged. "I don't know, we could be text buddies since we're like—trying to be friends—"

What is wrong with my speech?

"Thank you, but I have no use for your number."

It was like someone had punched my chest in. "Ouch."

"I meant that politely. If I ever need it, I'll ask for it."

Forcing on a smile, I shifted uncomfortably. "Right," I said, looking out the window by the side, seeing everyone gearing up for the flight to take off.

His response had rattled me. I didn't know why it stung, but it did.

This was a sign. Maybe we were spending too much time together.

I was not supposed to like him or be fond of him. I should have noticed it whenever I had the powering urge to defend Elio whenever Devil said something to contradict what I felt regarding him.

Elio was growing on me. He doesn't need to know, but his name was on the brink of being erased from my shit list.

And this was not because I really wanted to fuck him. No. This had to do with him as a person.

He was right when he said we were alike.

We are.

"I feel like I've said something wrong." He voiced, making me look back at him.

"What?"

"Your guard is up again. Is this because I don't want your phone number?"

I was transparent to this man, and it was dangerous.

"I'm a big girl; I'll get over it," I said with a tight smile I'd wanted to be carefree, but my mood wasn't shifting or lifting.

He sighed, picked up the phone from the table, and got to his feet.

For some unknown reason, my heart skipped a bit.

I often knew how to predict people, but I raised my guard for this man because he was the most unpredictable person I'd ever encountered.

He crossed the space between us and sat beside me, clouding my senses with his cologne. I couldn't think straight for a good minute.

"Here," he outstretched his phone to me. "Put in your number."

I blinked at him. "What?"

"Your number." He repeated.

"I thought you didn't want it?"

"I don't," he stated. "But apparently, that upset you, so if putting your number would make you feel better, then here. We can be—" he clenched his jaw like he didn't want to say it but cleared his throat and completed, "Text buddies."

My eyes searched his and then dropped to the phone.

The normal Zahra would brush it off, raise her chin up and never ever give him her number, but this Zahra, whomever the fuck she was, was collecting his phone and saving her number.

When I was done, I gave him the phone back, and his fingers tapped on the screen for a short moment. I briefly wondered what he was doing until my phone vibrated inside my purse.

I glanced at him, and he gestured with his chin toward the purse on my lap. I took my phone out swiftly and smiled when I saw a message from an unknown number. It was a simple. 'Hello.' With a freaking full stop at the back of it.

"Happy?" he asked, making me look back at him, the color of his eyes holding my breath for a few seconds.

"You are weird," I told him.

"I know." He said, gaze flickering to my hair before his hand moved, and he grazed the tip softly with his fingers, feeling the texture but not overdoing it as if he didn't want to scare me away. "I love what you did with your hair."

I couldn't look away from him. Therefore, it was hard to hide the evidence of the heat that rushed to my cheek. "I—just brushed it."

"It's beautiful."

"What's your angle?" I asked.

His gaze seemed like he was drinking my face in.

"Elio."

"Hm?"

"What's your angle?" I asked in Spanish.

"I have no angle. You look outstanding. I like the dress too, and the purse. We're matching."

What the fuck?

"You wear black every day; I'm sure you match with tons of people in this world who wear black."

He shook his head. "No, it looks different when you wear it."

"Are you flirting with me?"

"I don't flirt. I tell."

"Right."

His attention remained solely on me; while it was unnerving, it felt good.

"So, anything I should prepare for with this dinner?"

"I do not think you need to prepare." His eyes looked between mine. "I have a gut feeling you know precisely what to do at events like these."

"So, you're trusting me based on a gut feeling?"

"Exactly."

There was a challenge in his eyes, and I knew if I tried to deny anything now, he would pick out my lie, so I let it be.

And minutes later, as the plane took off, I wondered briefly if Devil had been right.

Was I walking into a trap?

***

We had gotten to the business dinner quite fashionably late. The event center was large, with different wafts of expensive perfumes in the air. An orchestra band at the far end of the table Elio and I sat.

When we arrived earlier, Elio had headed straight to the governor of Turin, and while I didn't pay attention to the conversation, I could tell the governor held the man on my arm in high regard.

Elio had surprisingly introduced me as his friend, using my name. I didn't mind; I was prepared for this evening.

We'd stopped by other people; introductions were made, and fake but polite laughs and compliments filtered through the air.

I had also been getting looks from women around me. Some were mostly curious, and others judged with their eyes.

Elio might not have noticed or pretended not to, but he held me to his side with pride and asked Angelo to clearly do something because, like us, Angelo was moving around and making conversations. People were pulling him here and there, trying to pick out his knowledge.

About an hour later, an announcement and speech were made. We were settled on a dinner table with the governor, his wife and son, Angelo, a neighboring local mayor, and his family, and some minister with whom I'd forgotten his name, sat with his wife and daughter.

Elio had gone quiet beside me, but conversations passed freely around the table.

Bringing my wine glass to my lips, I looked around the large room where conversations, laughter, and clanking of forks to plates resounded in the air.

My gaze connected with a gruff-looking man at a far-off table; it stayed for two seconds before he looked away. I took a sip of my drink, looking at the table two spaces away from him, two men, one in a maroon suit and the other with a striped black and white one, looked my way before subtly looking away. I swallowed the drink, looking up to the railing where two men stood with drinks in hand, conversing before they glanced my way, and looked away only seconds after.

I brought my attention back to my own table, stopping short when I caught Angelo staring at me. The suspicion in his eyes was so evident that I couldn't help but curl up one side of my lips in a smirk while raising my glass to him before looking away to a tense Elio beside me.

His attention was not on the table, and when I followed his gaze, I found he was staring at a woman who sat at the table next to ours. She was laughing loud at what someone at her table had said.

I frowned.

He was staring intently at her, which made me size her up. She was a gorgeous model figure beauty, with a beautiful smile, long curly light brown hair that somehow reached her back, and soft painted lips that could be considered charming, to say the least.

My frown deepened as I looked back at Elio, whose attention had utterly left the woman to another table.

I followed his gaze, and lo and behold; he was staring at another woman. This one was a platinum blonde, long hair straightened to perfection. She wore a strapless dress. Heart-shaped face and a cupid bow's mouth. Minimal makeup. Really beautiful.

His fingers on the table drummed absentmindedly; my gaze dropped to his knee beside me; it was bouncing rapidly underneath the table.

He seemed so tense.

I looked back at him to see his gaze on yet another woman; this one had auburn hair pulled up in a ponytail, loose strands falling down her face as she smiled at the conversation going around their table.

I wasn't his girlfriend or anything, but fuck if I didn't want to bash his head on the table.

But it was also strange because Elio didn't seem like the kind of man to be this blatantly rude.

Subtly, I shifted my chair near his and placed my hand on his knee. "Hey."

The shaking stopped, and he turned to look at me, grey eyes locking with my bright brown ones.

I ran my hand up his thigh. "Focus on me, will you?"

His gaze dropped to my hand on his thigh, and I noticed how he grew more tense upon my touch.

At that moment, the governor called his attention with a question. He looked away from me and didn't say anything about my hand on his thigh under the table; he just conversed with the governor with complete control in his voice.

My hand rubbed his thigh smoothly, thumb brushing against the inner side, trying to calm his nerves...or...make it worse, because he wasn't getting calm. His body was growing more tense, and I had an inkling feeling that he was hard, though his voice was steady as he spoke.

I almost cursed myself for the idea that crossed my mind, but my brain had stopped transporting reasonable thoughts to my hand as it moved further up his thigh under the table until my finger brushed against his crotch.

My stomach jumped with excitement when I felt his semi-hard-on.

I should stop.

I was going against his rules.

Rules? Pfft. I'd never been one to abide by them, and I sure as hell won't start now.

So instead of stopping, I felt him up, rubbing against his erection which grew harder by the second, thanks to the stimulation coming from my hand.

I could feel the huge outline of him, and I was grateful that his trench coat was long enough to shield any eyes from behind us; even if it wasn't, I was pretty sure we were covered.

The governor asked him another question about something that had to do with a small town in Milan. Elio responded, voice still leveled, all attention on him, including mine.

I marveled at his level of control and decorum. The look on his face didn't give away the fact that he was getting strokes from my hand underneath the table.

He went on to explain some talk that had to do with citizens' data.

My hand skillfully brushed the outline of his cock, squeezing a little as I gave one tight rub.

His breath hitched loudly—in fact—he stopped talking altogether, and our table went silent, waiting for him to continue while wondering what had happened.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his head turned toward me, and he placed me under his very calm stare as he said in Spanish, loud enough for everyone on the table to hear. "Don't start what you can't finish."

My eyes widened in surprise, and I felt my cheeks heat up as he turned back to the governor, who looked between us with amused confusion; it was almost the same look everyone at the table threw at us.

I removed my hand quickly.

Elio continued what he was saying as if he hadn't just stopped the whole conversation to scold me.

I wasn't embarrassed. Fuck, I was turned on. I've never been so turned on like I am right now.

When the conversation shifted from Elio, he stayed for about two minutes before he excused himself to the bathroom, not before sending a pointed glare at me.

I bit the inside of my lip, waited for exactly three minutes after he left, and then I excused myself too, walking down the direction he had gone through.

Was that subtle? No. Did half the table know I was going after him? Yes. Did I give a fuck about what they thought?

Hell.

Fucking.

No.

__

Thanks for reading!

COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT!

What did you think of this chapter?

The exchange between Upper and Casmiro

The exchange between Casmiro and Zahra, do you think Casmiro is on to something?

And Zahra, what do you think of her? Do you think she does have ulterior motives?

Why do you think Elio kept staring at those other women?

And the under-table scene, what were your thoughts? Are we getting MORE in the next chapter?

Random Question: Early bird or night owl?

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Enjoy this update!

_______
ELIO
_______

I WAS thinking with my dick.

I never think with my dick. I never think or use the word 'dick.' It was no consternation that I was gone. Too far gone into whatever fog the feeling that came with Zahra brought to my head, and I could either get rid of it or lean into it.

If I was honest with myself, getting rid of it was next to impossible.

My actions and thoughts around the time I'd set out those rules to Zahra could be considered laughable at this very moment.

I planned to stick to the no-kissing rule because I had no other choice...but the other rule...

Zahra Faizan wasn't a woman you could touch once and be satisfied. The woman was slow poison, sinking and slipping into your veins with an alluring sensation that could turn any active brain to mush.

Unfortunately, I'd fallen victim to this poison.

My control slipped right at that dinner table, and I had done something I'd never thought I'd do in a million years. I'd gotten distracted. Allowed Zahra to touch me, which was the most unprofessional I'd ever been.

I never played with politics or toyed with that side of the business because it was one of the things I looked up to when dusk gave way for dawn to rule.

Right when she entered the plane, my mind had already registered that she'd come in disguise. I never thought she would arrive without one. It took me by surprise. I couldn't help but stare like I'd never seen a beautiful woman.

I was gone from that moment.

Her hair was styled so beautifully. I couldn't erase the image of sinking my fingers into the mild curly waves of them, getting my fill of its fullness and softness, melting into the abyss of how beautiful it smelt, and then pulling until her neck craned and became mine to kiss, lick and suck until I bruised her clear skin. 

The flight had been spent with me fighting a battle with my mind, my brain, and my hand.

But I had to take it slow with her.

I'd confirmed she wasn't with Elia anymore, and while that shouldn't have changed anything, it changed a lot.

My thinking was never this shallow or careless.

I might not know consequences, but when it came to Elia, I was not particularly eager to mess around. He already hated me. The last thing I wanted was to rile him to the state where he'd point a gun at me and eventually pull the trigger because no matter how badly I wanted to live and die on my preferred term, I would never move away from a shot aimed at me by my brother.

He had a free pass to put an end to my life.

But now, there was a problem. If it were anything else, I'd leave it be; but Zahra had woven her webs so thick around the body of my mind. I lost my control and, apparently, my common sense.

I let her touch me.

I wanted her to touch me.

Even though I had made sure to pay less attention to her, stop myself from reaching over and touching her, and look for something else to admire to ease this nefarious addiction, I couldn't help but compare every woman in this event to the woman by my side.

It was infuriatingly inconvenient.

I do not compare women. I had too much respect for them to do that. But I couldn't help my train of thought.

Back at that table, I knew nothing else but the warmth of her hand on my thigh.

That simple touch ignited a fire inside of me. One I couldn't control, one that had made me envision myself pulling her with me to a place where no one would catch a glimpse of her bare skin when I fucked that attitude right back to a place she'd never be able to reach.

These thoughts were very foreign. They had never once grazed my mind when it came to other women.

I thought I was mad, but Zahra Faizan was driving me to the brink of what absolute madness felt like.

Now I'm hard, uncomfortable, and frustrated.

I pushed into the men's washroom. Thankfully it was empty. I just had to calm down, get my head in order, and hope for the erection Zahra had coaxed to calm down.

I walked to the gold and white fancy sinks and shrugged off my coat before placing it on the sink next to the one I was in front of.

I knew exactly what to do to get myself back in control.

The only massive turn-off I could ever get was the sight of myself.

Not the best method, but I needed to start thinking with my head and not my—

The door opened, drawing my attention from the mirror to the last person I needed in my presence right now.

The witch carried a sly smile as she closed the door behind her and leaned on it, both hands behind her in an innocent stance, bottom lip tucked under her teeth.

I clenched my jaw; the sight of her tightened the knot in my chest, and the strain in my pants.

Control.

Control, Marino.

She released her bottom lip, drawing my attention to its flush redness.

"Hi there," she said with a taunting smile, her eyes flickering to my crotch and back to me. "Got anything I could help you with?"

"No. Get out."

Her smile drew up as she leaned away from the door, twirling left and right with hands behind her as she walked towards me.

"You don't really mean that," she said.

"Get out, Zahra; this is the men's washroom," I said, my eyes flickering to the door, knowing anyone could walk in at any second.

"I don't mind." She smiled.

"I mind." I gritted out.

Instead of leaving, she advanced toward me.

Control.

"Leave Zah—"

She pressed her palm flat on my chest.

Her touch charged warmth down my stomach, over to my cock. I wanted her to touch me. But not here...not here.

Her eyes were wide, bright with lust, growing seductive, but the second, embodied with a dark look that made her pupils dilate. I was one hundred percent positive I mirrored the desire on her face, but—

Her hand ran down my chest, down to the hard ridges of my stomach. My muscles tensed against her purposeful exploration.

I swallowed.

"Leave Zahra,"

"No."

Her hand glided up from my stomach to my chest in defiance as she brushed past my shoulders, and then I felt her fingers smooth past the side of my face before burying themselves inside my hair.

I bit back the hum of relief from her soft touch against my scalp.

She was a few inches taller, courtesy of her pretty heels.

She massaged gently, eyes searching between mine. "Let me kiss you." her voice at this moment should be compared to that of a siren song, compelling men to do her bidding.

Control...control.

"No," I said.

Her gaze flickered to my lips as she pressed her body to mine. "But I want to."

"And I want you to leave."

"Do you?" she asked, her fingers tightening their hold on my hair, not too much, just enough to pull me down so that we breathed from the same oxygen space. "Do you really, Elio?"

"Ye—yes."

Her eyes narrowed in amusement. "You don't sound so sure."

A strained noise rumbled from my chest, my control on the verge of slipping. "Why are you doing this?"

Her hold softened on my hair, other hand trailing up my arm with her index finger. "Because, Elio, I want nothing more but to see you lose yourself in pleasure."

"Zahra—"

"I want to please you."

Ah fuck—

She leaned up, bringing her lips to the underside of my ear. I first felt the warm wetness of her tongue before her lips closed around my skin, sucking on a kiss that sent shock waves down to my hard length, still locked inside the strain of my briefs.

I clenched my jaw hard.

"You're so tense," she whispered.

Her hand, which had been trailing up my arm, went back down as it disappeared between us. She rubbed against the bulge against my pants before bringing her gaze to mine, "Let me help you," Her fingers moved up to my belt in an attempt to undo it.

I held the left side of her hip, a move I made to push her away from my body, but I found myself pulling her closer.

"No." I rasped.

"Give in, Elio."

"No."

I let her undo my belt buckle, her eyes still on me as she said. "You're so hard; let me fix it."

"You fucking caused it."

"I merely touched you; you got hard because your body clearly needs the relief," she unzipped me, and I groaned closed-mouthed when she palmed me, her sinful eyes peered up at me. "A relief only I can give."

She carefully rubbed me, and my forehead settled against hers, my breathing feverish. "You undo me, Zahra."

With hooded eyes and wet lips, she swallowed, "Exactly what I aim to do, Elio."

My head filtered away the double meaning of her words, keeping it for later as I pulled back to look at her, the exact moment she looked at me.

"Anybody could walk in," I said.

"Even better. Imagine the governor walking in and getting a show of me sucking your cock?"

That was supposed to turn me off, but I grew rock solid against her touch.

Her eyes widened. "Oh shit, you like that, don't you? The thought of getting caught?" she grinned. "You big whore."

"You little slut."

She chuckled softly, the sound bouncing inside my chest. "Now, now, slut shaming is bad."

"So it's okay when you do it?"

"Are you admitting you're a whore?"

"Zahra," I warned, my breathing mirrored the pace at which my heart worked. "We shouldn't—"

"Come on, don't you fucking love the thrill?"

Frustration stained my feelings red. "Fuck, Sport, this is unethical, it's risky, it's stupid—"

Her hand left inside of my hair as she smirked. "Live a little."

And then she pushed me lightly until my back was against the sink, and she was going down to her knees, separating the slit on her dress for easy settlement; then the little witch smiled up at me underneath her lashes.

Beyond sinful.

She looked back down, anticipation sizzling through me, but I still managed to catch the slight tremor in her fingers as she moved.

I reached down, putting a finger under her chin and lifting it so she could look at me.

"You don't have to."

"I want to." She gulped, shaking her head. "No, I'm dying to." She said, and I let her be.

I felt her fingers on me, and then she let me out of my briefs.

I watched her take in my size, her lips parting as she looked up at me. "How do you have a pretty face and a fucking—" She looked back down at me, and my breathing grew ragged as she held me. "Fuck me, you're—you're huge."

"You don't have to voice it. I am not blind."

I bit my tongue at the sensation of her soft palm trying to encircle me—it made the heat not enough, but at the same time, drove me to the edge.

"Not too late to turn back," I told her.

"You should know by now that I take everything as a challenge." She said breathily, the heat from her mouth bathing my hard length, and I wanted inside that mouth.

I'd never longed for anything more than the wet heat her mouth would provide to my cock.

She stroked me once, and then I caught her pink tongue strut out of her mouth, licking from the base of my length to the tip, which leaked out pre-cum.

When was the last time I had relief or gratified myself sexually—I couldn't remember—but right now, I was a starved man, and I needed that relief she so wanted to give me.

She locked her gaze with mine as she spread the pre-cum against my shaft, seeking easier friction, and then she licked me, taking her time, teasing me.

My mind had shoved the thoughts of being caught to a place where it didn't bother me but made the act even more daring.

Her thumb finger brushed the slit at the head of my cock, and I groaned, my hand smoothing her hair from the side of her face as I held it at the back of her head. I didn't pull. 

"Is this okay?" I asked.

"Anything you do is okay," she said

"I—"

She spat against the head of my cock, and her tongue and hand worked the lubrication around my shaft.

Edging me.

We don't fucking have time for foreplay. "Zah—"

Her mouth covered me.

For a second, I forgot to breathe. My chest stopped heaving until I felt her twirl her tongue around the head of my cock, and take me deeper into her mouth.

A soft, breathy groan rumbled from my chest, and I parted my lips, letting the sound out.

I was throbbing so hard inside the wetness and delicate tightness of her mouth, my head was filled with equally sinful thoughts, like how badly I wanted to grip her hair and take control, fucking her mouth like it was my personal property.

Control.

I grounded my teeth together, holding back. 

Zahra took me deeper, her tongue giving me equal attention as she moved her head, stroking, sucking, and licking at the same goddamn time.

How the fuck is she so good—

I felt her soft grip at my base, and she squeezed lightly, removing her mouth from my cock, and looking up at me from underneath her lashes, lips swollen, eyes glassy with lust as she said. "Fuck my mouth."

Control...

"Be careful what you ask for."

"Do it." she shifted closer to me, eager. "Please."

My grip tightened on her hair, and I tilted her head back to the angle I preferred. I moved my other hand, wrapping it around my length, stroking a few times while I angled the head against her lips.

"Open up for me,"

She moment she let her lips part, I slid into her mouth, filling it up.

I lost control. My crazed habit took over. There was no stopping this now.

My fingers buried themselves into her hair, and I gripped and pulled her head further back.

And then, I fucked her mouth.

Pumping in mercilessly, past the limit she had taken me before. I hit the back of her throat, still didn't bottom out, but the tightness hugging the head of my cock at her gag doubled my need for release.

Her choking and gurgling sound as I tamed her mouth swarmed straight to my head, causing chaos in my chest and bringing hastes to my movement.

"Fuck, Sport," I caught her eyes tearing up at the force with which I used her mouth.

I was close. So, fucking close.

Zahra held both my thighs to steady herself, and I wanted to savor this moment, tape it to my head and never let it leave, but I knew we still had to go out there, and I already made a mess of her hair.

Oh fuck...

I had to take back control but damn it to hell and under—her mouth felt so good wrapped around my cock.

My need for release tightened to the edge.

"Ah—" I breathed out. "Swallow?"

She answered positively with a small throat sound, and I thrust into her mouth a few more times before my movements turned sloppy. One of her hands left my thigh as she wrapped her hand at my base; the short stroke she gave had my release spurting into her mouth and down her throat as she swallowed.

My movement slowed, and I let her lick and suck the aftershocks out of me. I was still semi-hard and hated that we weren't in a more private area.

I wanted to bathe her face with my cum, revel in the fucking sight, for sore eyes I knew she would be. But we couldn't be messy. Not here.

I slipped out of her mouth, letting go of my hold on her hair.

"I want more," she said, her tongue running over her glistening bottom lip as she watched me tuck myself into a decent form again.

"Get up."

She did, wiping the corners of her eyes as she squirmed on her feet, most definitely due to a possible discomfort between her legs.

Her lips looked like I'd fucked the subtleness out of them, it was swollen, pink flushed, fucking kissable, and I wanted to do it, close the distance between us, taste my cum on her tongue—but I couldn't.

I hated that I couldn't.

So I pulled her by her waist, and her body fell against mine.

The piercings from her nipples pressed against my shirt, and my tongue ached to lick them back to softness.

I raised a hand to her hair, brushing the short length as I asked. "Did I hurt you?"

"Not in a bad way," she said.

"Hm. If I were to slip my hand under your panties, would I find you wet for me?"

"Soaking." She whispered.

My semi-hard-on grew harder against her stomach.

"How do you want me to take care of you?"

"Any way you please."

I arranged her hair as it was when she entered the washroom.

"You might not believe it," she said, and I dropped my gaze to hers. "But this was the first time I've let anyone man near my mouth since I was fifteen. Should in case my skills were—"

"You were perfect." I countered immediately because, yes, she was. I'd never been so undone to the point that it affected my breathing. "I thought you said your first time was 17?" I asked, even though I knew it had been a lie.

She looked away from my face to my shoulder. "I lied." She spoke. "I was 14...my first time."

My hand froze on her hair; she noticed and quickly added to her previous statement.

"It was nothing. I barely remember it." she shrugged, but I knew she did remember. Her lie was transparent.

"Hm," I said in response.

Her gaze met mine again. "So...this, no kissing thing. Can we just take it away?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I never go back on my words or my affirmations." I dropped my hand from her hair, trailing the naked skin on her exposed thigh. Unable to keep my hands off.

"But you do," she pointed out. "We just broke one of your rules."

"Which you will pay for." My hand moved.

A giddy look crossed her face. "Ooou, why do I like the sound of—" she gasped when my hand cupped the hot throbbing space between her legs, my touch intense and possessive because it was precisely how I felt.

A glint of pride bloomed in my chest at how soaked and hot she was for me. I wanted nothing more but to make her pay for the interruption she had caused today, for the rules she had made me break.

Just as she had made me lose my damn mind a few minutes ago, I wanted her to lose hers too.

She sucked in her bottom lip to stop the soft hiss that had been about to escape.

"You don't know what you've signed up for, querida."

Her eyes brightened as she released her lip. "I could say the same for you." she smiled. "As you said, we're alike in so many different ways. I want to unearth you as much as you want to do the same with me. It's what makes this fun."

"You shouldn't hoodwink yourself by thinking there is anything fun about this. It is incommodious at best."

"Incommo-what now?"

I took my hand off her, settling both on her waist as I hesitantly pushed her away from me.

"Inconvenient," I stated in much simpler terms.

Grabbing my trench coat, I brushed past her toward the door and slipped it back on, turning to face her.

"And...he's back." She took my previous position, leaning against the sink as wide lustful eyes roamed my body.

I eyed her. "I have a small house downtown. That's where we'll be settling tonight."

Her eyes spoke dirty thoughts as she watched my fingers fasten two buttons in my trench coat.

"Sport."

"Yeah?" her gaze snapped to mine.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Honestly, no. Your fingers are—distracting. Why are they distracting?"

For the love of man, not her too.

By habit, I shoved both hands into the pocket of the coat. "I said I have a small house downtown, and we'll settle there tonight."

"Small house?"

"Yes. Angelo will be at his mother's, and by the morning, we'll be back on a flight to Milan." I informed.

Hopefully, an enclosed space housing the both of us would be enough to get in her head.

Hopefully.

***

"Okay, when you said small, I was thinking like a—smallish fancy house with black and white design and classy shit—" she said.

I could see what she was seeing now; the small living room with three yellow couches, soft beige wallpaper, decorative flowers on the wall, bookshelves lining a small space by the far end of one of the couches, and a soft, comfortable rug that added a homely feel to the house.

There was one kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom, and no passageways. The doors to the bathroom and bedroom were to our left, although the bathroom had another co-joined door inside the bedroom.

The kitchen was visible from where we stood, a small cozy space with a brown marbled counter, one gas cooker, one oven, and one small fridge with picture stickers of my brother and sister, Elia, and my mom.

Some of the pictures were cut out; a face was missing—my face.

"The more I look at it, the more it feels...personal." Zahra voiced.

"It is," I told her, pulling off my coat and turning on more lights.

The room was now bathed in white, brown, and yellow.

I caught the look of discomfort in Zahra's eyes as she turned to look at me. "Elio, why did you bring me here? We could have gone to a hotel or something."

I took off my wristwatch. "It would be illogical to spend money on hotels when I have a house here."

"You're rich."

"Yes, but I am not wasteful."

"It's—" she paused, exasperated and jittery. "Elio, what do you think we're doing here?" she motioned between us.

"What?"

"What do you think this is? You can't bring me to your space...you shouldn't trust me so much."

"I don't trust you."

"Yet you bring me here. To this house that looks like your safe space. I'm pretty sure you've never brought anyone here, so what makes me an exception?"

She was right. No one's been here but me. This house was a delusion. I didn't like flashy or extravagant things. I was born from wealth, but I wanted the most minor things that came with life.

Well, for now...while I'm still inconveniently breathing.

"I don't want anything to get mixed up or blurry, okay? This feels too personal." She spoke.

"I think it's just a house. Why are you overthinking, hm? Is this stringing from guilt because you do not have pure intentions?"

"It's not guilt." She countered...She lied. "I'm just—I'm just not used to this. Maybe I'm overthinking it."

"Or maybe you need a shower and a change of clothes. And food, because you eat like a horse, and the dinner served today was sub-par."

"Hmm," a smile broke out on her face. "Look at you, knowing the right buttons to push."

"Okay."

She laughed, walking around the space. "Are any of your soldiers around?"

"Why? Do you aim to strangle me in my sleep?"

She turned to me, a smile curving at her lips. "Don't give me ideas."

Zahra Faizan was a beautiful disaster. A cunning woman. An entity as discreet and suave as me.

Her only mistake was her utter transparency.

"I'll shower and wear your clothes while you order food. Or cook—can you cook?"

"I don't know."

"Ordering it is, then."

"Hm. The bathroom is the one on the left. Everything you require is easy to find. It's a small space. Nothing is hidden."

"Roger that."

I watched her walk towards the door I had pointed out and disappear behind it.

My eyes still on the door; I dipped my hand into my pocket, brought out my phone, and called Angelo's number.

He picked on the first ring. "Marino."

"Did you find them?"

"Yes."

"And."

"From Sicily. Martino Conti's men."

"Martino Conti," I drawled. "Hm. Dig up all you can. Not about her; her information in the database is rubbish. But Conti. I want to know everything."

"Noted. Are you being careful?"

"Yes, I have condoms, papà."

"That's not—Jesus. I'm just saying be careful around her."

"Hm. Say hi to your mother and Lisa for me. Don't forget the prayer pamphlets; she would feel offended if I don't ask for it."

His mom was religious, and each time Angelo visited, he always returned with pamphlets she had picked out for me. His mother, my mother, and his aunt, Lisa, had been close back in the day. But then my mother's case worsened, and she withdrew from everyone until...

"I'll do that," Angelo's voice reached my ear. "See you tomorrow."

I hung up.

Earlier, I didn't care enough to look into Martino Conti. I was not one to meddle with the growing families. Let's say our level differed in rank. But his name had been mentioned one too many times, and his connection with Zahra evoked a gut feeling I couldn't ignore.

It might not concern me, but it was happening right under my territory.

And that...just won't do.

__

Thanks for reading!

What did you think of this chapter?

The bathroom scene?

We don't really know if Zahra is up to something, but it sees like Elio is on her, how do you think this will play out?

Zahra and Elio spending the night here...one bed, did you see this coming?

Between Zahra and Elio, who do you think will fall first (That is if they're not in deep already)

Elio was the first man Zahra had ever given a blow job after escaping from her nasty past, do you think this is a form of trust from her end?

Random thingy: A few chapters ago I asked you guys to send your IG username to be added to the group chat, and while the group chat has been wild as hell, it can't accommodate everyone, that's why we opened a discord server, for Elio Marino. A good number of you have joined already, and it's pretty freaking amazing, but I won't mind more, so I'll put in a link on my profile bio for those who would like to join the server and get the chance to interact with fellow readers, get scoops about the story, spoilers, story arts, intriguing quizzes and basically make new friends from all around the world, hope to see you there. (This sounds like an ad, haha)

see you Friday, xx

Hi! Thank you for your engagement in the last chapter!

Don't forget to vote and comment as you read, I LOVE comments, so please, adorn me with yours!

Also if you're part of the discord server and the IG group chat, and you participated in yesterday's quiz, say Hi:

I hope you enjoy the update ;)

_______

ZAHRA
_______

ELIO MARINO was wearing white.

Although that wasn't the subject matter here, it was just one interesting fact. The man had been entirely unashamed, walking into the bedroom he knew I was in, wearing nothing but black boxer briefs with wet hair, which he towel-dried right in front of me.

His body—fuck me sideways and back—He was rough, invisible scars covered by ink, taut muscles built from pure hard labor and, well—maybe the gym? But it really didn't look like gym muscles or sex muscles. From every rip in his arms to his defined as fuck stomach, there was something intricate about each flex as he moved.

And that particular thing pushed me into a trance-like state, staring at him, at his defined back muscles when he turned to find new clothes. His broad back and shoulders flexed erotically as he moved to slip strong legs and thigh into black sweatpants.

Another thing that caught my attention was his tattoos. I had always been curious about where the ink flame led, but I found out today, and...

It had me feeling wary.

A well-detailed drawing of burning flames drove up his forearm and shoulders, over to his neck, and then half his chest. I caught something like a church tower and a crucifix sign above—at first, I didn't realize it, but then I noticed the fire was aflame in the church, and when he turned, my stomach dipped.

The Chinese he had ordered had threatened to come back out of my mouth; even the black raspberry I was currently munching on temporarily became unappetizing.

It was the drawing of three faces amidst the flame. Hollow eyes wide with tears streaming down sunken cheeks, mouths wide open in a wail. The three faces seemed floating between the fire—a little boy, a young girl, and a woman.

I was so caught in it that I had to blink my thoughts back in order when he sleds an oversized white sweater on, covering the tattoos.

Then without looking my way, he had gone to the dresser, dried his hair a little bit, and then brushed it down. Seeing him in another color of clothing was—strange; it didn't seem like him, but I wouldn't lie and say that he didn't look good.

Honestly, I would have preferred him without anything. One reason was that he was pleasant to look at, and the other was because I wanted to study the ink on him. I felt like if I kept looking, I'd find something new to give me further insight into the story behind them.

I took my mind off him, glancing at the calm darkness outside the window in the room.

Last I checked the time, it was almost 12:30 AM.

Elio had been reading while I ate the food he had ordered for me, and when he decided to shower, I decided to retire into the room with a bowl of blackberries.

I shifted on the bed, leaning against the headboard, wearing a white shirt with writings on the front. I had found it folded in the dresser, amongst other mundane things that didn't scream the Elio Marino I had gotten used to.

Underneath, I wore one of his boxer briefs, my legs on full display as I ate the black raspberry I had found in the fridge.

I could tell someone had dropped by to clean up the place and stock it up, meaning he had spent time planning this whole thing, but I didn't comment. Commenting on it would make it seem real. It would make me acknowledge that he had put in effort...for me.

I backtracked as he walked towards the bed, phone in hand, before he pulled the duvet to one side, attempting to lie down.

I swallowed the last berry I had taken in, eying his movements as he settled beside me on the bed. "Uh...what are you doing?"

He pushed the duvet further down with his legs. "What do people do on beds?"

"They—"

"Either sleep, fuck, or just relax. The last option is what I'm doing." He said, settling into the pillow, about to use his phone.

"Won't you at least be a gentleman and take the couch?"

He turned to look at me for the first time since he came out of that bathroom. "Why, in all consciousness of the mind, will I take the couch when there's a bed?"

I shifted the bowl of raspberries to myself. "Because I'm on the bed?"

"Oh..." he said, blinking at me while trailing off as if thinking deeply. "I have no problem sharing a bed with you. It is big enough to accommodate two people, but I understand if you have a problem sharing a bed. You can take the couch."

My jaw dropped, and it turned into a small laugh. "I seriously don't understand you. Pick a side. Are you a gentleman or an asshole? Stop confusing me."

He pursed his lips, eyes searching mine before he moved, raising himself to my level, elbow on his side, now facing me fully.

He reached for a raspberry in the bowl, watching me while he put it into his mouth, tongue collecting it first before it disappeared inside his mouth and chewed delicately.

A little thump made itself known between my legs, and I pressed them together and shifted as I looked from his lips to his eyes, quenching the thought of wanting to kiss him.

Not like he would entertain it anyway.

I suppressed the sting.

"I am not an asshole. I am just very straightforward. The sooner you learn the difference between the two, the better." He said, dropping his phone in the tiny space between us.

"Why are you so comfortable sharing a bed with me?" I asked. "Aren't you wary I'd hurt you in your sleep?"

"No."

"Why?"

His shoulders moved. "I won't sleep. So it's useless worrying about a situation I can control."

My gaze flickered between his as I picked another raspberry, watching him while I chewed.

The man didn't take his eyes off me either, and I could tell there were questions within their depths.

But I knew I needed to ask him questions before getting into character.

"I thought you only wore black because you despise other colors?"

"Hm." He nodded. "When I'm in the compound, yes. Outside the compound, I do whatever I desire. I also like to collect items I'll never wear, like the shirt you're wearing. This sweater, though, was a birthday gift from Angelo's mother. I liked it. I kept it. Now I'm wearing it." he said, reaching for another berry.

"When's your birthday?" I asked him, genuinely curious.

"December 1st. When's yours?"

I didn't think he'd ask, but then again, he had been behaving suspiciously since I got on that plane.

"I'm surprised you don't know...since you're supposed to have run a background check on me."

"Hm. We did run one, but now I'm asking. I want you to tell me."

I nodded. "It's January 3rd, according to certificates and documents I've seen; I don't know how true it is."

He watched me.

"What? Did you see a different date when you ran your check?"

He shook his head. "No."

I looked away from him to the bowl. It was quiet for about ten seconds before I broke it.

"Can I ask a question?"

"I thought we were already doing that," Elio responded, still watching me.

He got more comfortable, shifting—closer to me, his chin on his palm as he looked at me, his gaze unnerving. The same one he had on the plane when he looked up for the first time.

Like he was in awe.

No one's ever looked at me like that.

Whenever Martino looked at me, all I saw was controlled obsession, lust, care, and anger.

There was also lust in Elio's stare, but that wasn't really what was shown. It was something else.

He looked at me like I was something shiny and new, something worth looking at. The awe in his eyes didn't exactly spell care, but it gave the definition of wonder and curiosity. Like he wanted to know me, sink into my head, and decipher my thoughts gradually.

He looked at me like I was the only thing in this room that could keep his attention.

Those eyes, intense and beautiful, looked so soft right now. It made me want to confide in him, tell him every secret I'd kept hidden since I could make sense of this world. I knew he wouldn't judge; I knew he would listen.

But I still held back. I was willing to give him my body and nothing else.

"I'm listening, Sport; ask your question."

The space was warm between us, and I could hear him breathing, just as I was sure he heard me.

"I couldn't help but notice your tattoos. Are those your family?"

"Yes." He answered with no subtle blink to show he was lying, no hesitation, no hiding; he just blurted it like he was prepared for my questions.

"Your mom—I thought you stabbed her to death; why was she in the fire."

"Because she was."

I frowned. "I don't understand, didn't you—kill her?"

He didn't respond; he just stared.

I bit my bottom lip, rephrasing my statement and testing a theory I'd suspected about him. He never responded to assumptions. Only questions.

"Did you stab your mother to death?" I asked.

"No."

I pressed more with another question. "Did she burn in that fire?"

"Yes."

I nodded. "Why did you set them on fire?"

No response.

I sighed, realizing I had assumed while asking the question—this man.

"Did you do it? Did you kill your family?"

He swallowed, eyes searching mine as the silence after I'd asked that question lengthened. I knew he wasn't taking his time because he was thinking of a lie. The look in those tormented eyes told me he wouldn't like to continue this topic of conversation. I was about to tell him it was okay until he spoke.

"No. I didn't kill my family." His voice sounded gruffer, deeper, rough.

It sent a pang straight to my chest.

"Then why don't you tell people the truth?"

"No one has ever asked."

I had the strongest urge to shift even closer to him. "So...why do you tell people that you did."

His jaw clenched and unclenched. "I have never told anyone I killed my family, Zahra."

"Why does everyone think—"

"My father. He created the narrative to protect his image and build mine, rumors turned to rumors, and I became—the monster who went wild after a year in the army and killed my family the day I got back just because I'd found out they weren't exactly my family. My mother had been a whore and a cheater who sold out family secrets. So, I burnt them all in a fit of rage, and I'll do it again to anyone who is a threat to our family name." he said.

I didn't know what to say, so I let him continue.

"A very embarrassing narrative, to be honest; my father was never creative. I could have come up with something better. Then again, it seemed to do the trick. I was named The Wicked and reigned in assumptions people make of me. I must admit that it is fun sometimes."

I breathed out, taking the bowl from between us before stretching to keep it on the bedside table. I shifted closer to him.

"Hey," I said softly, and he gave me his attention. "I think it's not too late to start changing the narrative."

He shook his head. "It is too late. The narrative is who I am. It might not be who I am now, right in this moment with you. But the minute I walk back into that compound. It's who I am."

"But that's not fair. To yourself, or the memory of your family."

Something softened in his eyes, his stare grew deeper, more meaningful, and I almost shrank into myself at all the emotions it carried and how he didn't make any move to hide them.

"You believe me," he said, lowering his pitch.

I lowered the pitch of my voice too, keeping our conversation locked between us and nowhere else in the room. "From one liar to another, I think it's pretty easy to spot our truths just as much as our lies, Elio."

"That might be the wisest thing you've ever said since I met you."

I let a small laugh bubble out of my chest. "Come on, I have said wise things...a lot of them, actually."

"Your sexual innuendos?"

I shot him a deadpan stare, struggling not to smile. "Now you're the one bringing sex into the conversation."

"I'm only stating facts."

I smiled. "Well, what can I say? Sexual innuendos come with my whole package."

He raised both his brows. "Oh, you're a package now."

"Hmm-uhm. I know people who would kill to have me stand by their side." I said with a proud smile.

He switched to Spanish. "With you offering them what?"

I loved his accent when he spoke in the dialect. It rolled naturally and deeply off his tongue and throat. It was seductive, even though I was positive he didn't mean for it to be that way.

I responded in the dialect too. "Word of advice, strategic planning, ways on how to get information because it is the most valuable thing you could ever hold against your enemy."

"Is that what you offered to Martino?"

I knew he was going to ask, and I thought I knew the answer I would give, but looking at him now, I didn't know how to lie...so I just went with the first thing that came to mind.

"It wasn't like that, at first...I was just living with him, helping with chores here and there because I'm all things but a freeloader."

"Why were you living with him?"

I swallowed, looking away from his face. "I-I can't really remember much about those times, but...I think he saved me. Um—from some bad guy in the business, and he brought me to Sicily. I was 16. I thought I was finally free from the life I'd had, but—"

"It wasn't freedom." Elio pointed out, and I nodded.

"It wasn't...it was worse."

"Did he hurt you?"

I bit the inside of my lip. "He didn't do anything that I didn't want. At least I thought I wanted it because I thought he—loved me."

I looked at him, expecting to find his eyes judging me, but there was nothing; he just listened.

"But he didn't love you," Elio spoke, gently urging me to divulge more.

"Maybe he did...in his own weird way, but it was unhealthy. I was underage, and he was an adult—and I was stupid to think it was real from my end. Martino was obsessed at best. I started living when I left him."

"When was that."

"I was 18."

"And he just let you go?"

"Yeah," I said, finally looking at him. "He woke up one morning, and since he'd taught me the business and all I know now, I had been with some of his soldiers, and he called me up to his study and told me that I was free to leave if I wanted to."

"Did you want to?"

I shrugged. "At that time, I didn't really know—it took me a month to make the decision to leave. I needed to find myself, you know. He didn't give me any money to fend for myself when I left, and I was stubborn as hell, so I just told myself that I would be able to do it, and well, here I am, in bed with the guy who kidnapped my family and me."

Elio didn't say anything; he just stared, eyes deciphering, cutting down each of my words, looking for loose ends, anything that would signify a lie.

"I have your anklet."

I let out a subtle breath of relief.

"Still?"

"Hm. I thought you might want it back; it seemed like something special. My mother never really threw away important things; she always refers back to them any time she...momentarily forgets herself."

"Did that happen often?"

"It got worse a few weeks before I went to the army."

"Why did you leave?"

"My father. He forced it on me. I respected him too much to say no."

I frowned. "Wait—is this by any chance the reason you left Devil?"

He nodded. "Yes. There would have been no one to take care of him when I left for the army. I couldn't trust anyone, not even Casmiro. So I had to send him away."

"But it was only for a year, right? You could have reached out when you got back."

"I wanted to. I went to Los Angeles a few months after I got back. I watched him from afar for a few days. He was happy, or he seemed happy and normal. I didn't want to ruin that. So, I left and watched him from afar ever since."

"Then tell him this; I'm sure he wouldn't hate you as much as he does now. Devil might be stubborn, but he's understanding, and deep down, I know he cares for you."

"I don't want him to. I can't be there for him. I can't promise to be when I know I might not live past 33."

My frown deepened. "Don't fucking say things like that."

"Does it upset you?"

I shot him a look of disbelief. "Yes, it does."

"Then I'll stop."

"You'll stop thinking it too?"

"I am afraid that is impossible. It's not something I can control."

"Then seek—"

I could tell he suppressed a groan. "I have repeatedly told you why I can't seek help. Repeating myself is not something I am fond of."

"Okay, fine, I'll drop it."

"Thank you, Sport."

"Why do you call me that?" I asked, the curiosity influencing the tone of my voice.

His brows twitched, and his gaze dropped from mine.

Silence fell between us.

"Are you gonna answer or—"

"You challenge me. You're sharp-mouthed; you don't fold easily; you keep me on my toes. You're just as stubborn as me. You're a little thing, yet a big force of nature. You're like my personal kind of sport. Except I don't like to play, I just derive pleasure from watching."

Like the time he had kissed me, the little glitchy stutter attacked my chest to the point that my response was a simple, "Oh."

"Hm." He hummed, eyes still on me, and I wanted to ask him why he was staring, but his phone screen lit up with a vibration and a text sound.

My gaze flickered to it, but I couldn't see the texter.

He looked down at his phone but didn't pick it up. He just brought his attention back to me.

"So tell—" he stopped when his phone blared up again. Three times consecutively. He sighed and then picked it up.

I watched him unlock the device. It was shielded from my view, but I watched how he typed back at whoever texted him.

I frowned again.

Was it Casmiro...

The sound of him sending the text filled the space between us.

It wasn't even up to a second before the sound of a response from the texter came up.

He was typing out another reply.

Elio's face gave nothing away, and it only fueled my curiosity.

The back and forth continued for about a minute before he dropped the phone.

"Cassie?" I asked.

"No."

"Angie?"

"No."

"Who was—"

"I'm curious to know you, Zahra," he cut me off.

My gaze went to the phone again, unable to detach my mind from how he had wholly stopped our conversation to text this person.

If it was Cas...

I could feel his eyes on me when he spoke again. "Tell me, what is it you desire?"

The question had my gaze snapping to his, and I couldn't help but snicker. "Okay, Lucifer Morningstar."

"What is a Lucifer Morningstar?" he asked.

"He's a character from a show—like a TV—never mind." I couldn't deal with explaining it to him; I felt I'd spend hours doing that. "That, though, is a very dangerous question to ask a woman like me."

"I think it's a pretty normal question. Do you plan to be a thief for the rest of your life, or is there something more that you want?"

I parted my lips to answer the question, but nothing came.

Elio waited patiently until I sighed and decided to be honest about myself for the first time tonight. "Honestly, I haven't thought that far yet. Maybe it's because I don't like to dwell on my future when I could just have it all in my present."

"That's careless thinking."

"I never said I was careful." I curled the side of my lips.

A small scoff left him as he raised his hand to my hair, and I stiffened. He stroked gently before tucking it behind my ear; the warm tip of his fingers brushed the skin at the back of my ear and down my neck. I couldn't hide my visible shiver.

"Your actions show how very careless you are, Sport; you don't have to say it in words that you're not." He said, his voice lower than before, gaze dropping to my mouth.

God...I wanted him to break that one rule, close the space between us and just...do it.

Why the fuck am I waiting for him to do it?

Fuck this.

My palm rested flat on his chest, and I was genuinely surprised to feel how fast and hard his heart thumped.

I pushed him flat and settled atop him in a straddle. He didn't stop me when I brought my head to his neck, breathing him in as I kissed his hot skin.

His hands came to hold my waist in a firm grip.

I kissed from his neck to his chin, then up to the corner of his lips, before I pulled away slightly, connecting my gaze with his. His hot breath fanning my face, eyes showing how completely resigned he was to this situation.

He would let me kiss him. I know it.

"I want to break a rule, Elio. I know you want it too."

"I do," he said, swallowing while his heart hammered against my palm. "But I can't." his whisper brushed against my lips.

"Yeah, I know. It's a good thing that I can, then."

Without thinking about what he'd do next, I leaned in to satisfy that ache in my chest and the desire to feel the warmth from a kiss and—

His phone blared up in a ring before I could even press my lips to his.

"Are you fucking kidding me," I muttered through clenched teeth. "Don't answer—"

He was already reaching for the phone, bringing it to his view while I got off him with a glare.

"Who the hell is it?"

"Angelo." He said, watching the phone ring.

I rolled my eyes. "Why am I not surprised."

"It's almost 3 AM. He wouldn't be calling me if it wasn't important." He said, sitting up.

Whoa—did we talk that long into the night? It didn't even seem like an hour.

Elio picked up, placing the phone against his ear. "It better be important." He said.

I couldn't hear what Angelo was saying, but it sure as hell made Elio tense up. However, his face gave nothing away.

"How." He stated in question to Angelo.

Angelo's response came, and it made Elio completely stiffen.

"Is he okay?" he asked.

I bit the inside of my tongue.

Elio shifted away from me, getting off the bed. "When the fuck did this happen?" he said, moving to the dresser while I sat there...just watching.

"Share the location; I'll be there."

Then he hung up, dropped the phone on the flat surface of the dresser, and took off the white sweater hurriedly before quickly fishing out a black one.

I got off the bed. "What happened?"

Elio slipped on the sweater, turning to face me with a frown. "Casmiro was shot."

"What? When?" I asked, putting on a concerned frown.

"About thirty minutes ago. He's here in Turin." His phone vibrated on the table, and he picked it up from the surface, glancing at the screen, and then he started heading toward the door. "Angelo just shared the location to where they are—"

"Let me come with."

He paused, turning to look at me. I spotted the hesitation in his stare.

"I won't get in your way. I just—don't want to be here alone."

His gaze scanned and took me in from toe to head before he spoke. "Change."

"On it."

"I'll wait outside, do not take your time."

"Got it." I was already heading to the dresser when he left the room.

I found another black sweater identical to the one Elio had put on, and I tried to find sweatpants that would fit, but they were all so long and large, so I checked the dresser I'd found that white shirt, having seen a faded jean there while I was snooping earlier. It wasn't Elio's size, which meant it had been one of the things he collected from places he visited.

I slipped that on and found a belt which I tightened around my waist.

I grabbed my phone and left the room.

A few minutes later, Elio and I were driving to the location.

__

Thanks for reading!

COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT!

What did you think of this chapter?

The exchange between Zahra and Elio?

Zahra divulged a little information about Martino. What do you think of this info, do you think she was being completely honest?

Casmiro has been shot? do you have any theories about this?

Random Question: How many books have you read this year so far?

see you Monday XX

Hi! Thank you for your engagement in the last chapter!

This update was supposed to come on Saturday, but I faced a massive burn-out that had me really scared, so I stayed away from my laptop and my phone a little bit. SPAM ME WITH COMMENTS TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER, HEHE!

Oh, and I hope you enjoy the update ;)

_______

ZAHRA
_______

HE WASN'T taken to a hospital, but one of the Marino safe houses in the city.

This safe house was a penthouse in a hotel near Elio's building, and all through the ride here, he hadn't said a word; the man had been deep in silence, buried in his own thoughts. I wanted to assure him that all would be well. I have no idea why I felt the need to talk him out of his head; I didn't give a shit about Casmiro...But I cared about Elio, so I guess that's why.

When we entered the elevator, I glanced at him, noticing his tense shoulders; his face was etched in a frown that made him look unapproachable. He was worried, and even his strong front couldn't hide it.

"I'm sure he's fine since he wasn't hospitalized?"

"Our medic team is here."

"Oh." I voiced as the elevator rode up, the silence tense and deafening. "What was he doing here in Turin, anyway?"

"Business."

"Then why didn't he come with us earlier on the pla—"

"I'm not in the mood to talk, Zahra." he snapped.

I parted my lips to say something but closed them again, shifting on my feet as I looked ahead, grateful that the elevator stopped and slid apart, revealing a large living room.

Elio walked out quickly, and I followed behind him, but my steps faltered for a second when I spotted Upper and Angelo talking with some soldiers by the side; two nurses were checking a file at the far end of the living room. And soldiers were all around the space; there was also a table filled with weapons as if they were preparing to head out once information about the shooters came forward.

"Where is he?" Elio's voice boomed as we approached Upper and Angelo.

Real fear gripped me when my eyes scanned Upper from head to toe, and even when I confirmed that he was okay and the blood on him wasn't his, the fear remained.

He could have died tonight.

"In there," Angelo said. "It's not looking good."

Elio didn't wait to hear anything else, he just disappeared behind the door Angelo had pointed, and when Angelo followed him, not before shooting me a distrusting frown, I pulled Upper by his wrists, away from the other soldiers who kept their eyes on us.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I said in a small voice, almost a whisper.

"Glad to see that's the first thing you care about." He was frowning.

"What? You—where's everyone else?"

"Back in Milan, at the compound, I just informed them about what hap—"

"Why are you here?" I bit at him.

Upper looked tired. There were fading blood stains on his hands and some smudges here and there on his face; his hair looked a mess. "We were together when we got attacked by some really fucking trained people who knew how to use a bloody gun. Casmiro took three bullets, and we barely escaped that building alive."

I eyed him. "Why were you with him? "

Upper eyed me cautiously. "He invited me to come along? When he got back from the airport, we went for a drive, and I was still in the car when he told me he had a company here that dealt with racing and car shit—he asked if I'd like to tag along, and I did—"

"And you didn't think to tell me you were tagging along?" I gritted out.

"It slipped my mind, okay? I figured I would surprise you, and you wouldn't get to be alone on the flight back—but fuck, that isn't important. These people stormed the company un-bloody-announced, and he got shot, and there was so much blood, and I freaked out because they were gunning for him, Zahra, they wanted to kill him. Not me. Or anyone else in that building."

I was furious.

"I don't give a shit about, Casmiro, Upper. You made a fucking mistake tonight, not telling me you would be here; you could have fucking died just by being with him. You don't tag along with people like that."

Upper's eyes widened in disbelief, looking at me like my face belonged to a stranger. "What in bloody hell's name is wrong with you, Zahra? Do you not get it? He might die, and you're here worrying about the measly fact that I didn't shoot you a quick text?"

"Upper—"

"He took a bloody bullet for me, and he's in there fighting for his life because of it; you should be worried about him, not me. I'm fine; he's not. And he's not a fucking bad person, okay? Just because he's in a crime family doesn't mean we automatically wish him dead."

"I get what you're saying, and I'm glad he took that bullet for you—"

"What?"

"You would have died otherwise; spare me if I care about you and not someone I know absolutely nothing about."

"Jesus Christ, Zahra, at least show some sympathy."

I scoffed, relaxing my shoulders as I looked toward the window. "I have no sympathy to give. Not even a tiny drop of care. He probably pissed off some people, made threats here and there, and talked more than he should; that's what these guys do; they run their mouths because they think they have a title that makes them untouchable. But Karma is a bitch, not our problem."

Upper shook his head. "Are you high right now?"

"Completely sober. How many were they, the men."

Still frowning at me, he crossed his arms over his chest. "I couldn't exactly count. We were being chased around the building, and I practically dragged him to a car where I drove and informed Angelo."

My brain worked. "They didn't follow?"

Concern filled his eyes. "No, they didn't...it worries me that they didn't because they were hell-bent on making sure they empty their bullets on him. Whoever sent them must be influential because...what are you doing?"

I rushed to the window, quickly pulling the curtain aside as I looked down.

Three cars were pulling up, all tinted windows. Armed men started filling out, and people rushed in different directions, evading the unknown gunmen.

I closed the curtain and turned. "They followed. They just waited to make sure there was no room for escape."

Upper's eyes widened as he rushed towards me, pulling the curtain.

"Bloody fuck."

"We need to secure the building," I spoke. "Or we're all dead."

The door Elio and Angelo had walked into pulled open, and Angelo stepped out. "Secure the building, shoot to kill on sight. Leave one person for questioning."

Soldiers moved, taking silently on comms, grabbing weapons.

"Hey," I whispered to Upper. "Stay here; on no account should you leave this apartment."

"Where are you going?" he asked, confused.

I didn't answer as I moved to the weapons table, Upper on my tail as I grabbed a handy gun. The weight was perfect on my grip.

"Zahra, I don't think this is a good idea; these people, they know how to work a gun—"

"Awesome, I happen to be perfect at working a gun too."

He shot me a strange look as I clocked the weapon expertly before slipping the gun into the back of my jeans. "Listen, I know you're confused, but there's no time for me to explain why and how I know how to work a gun—"

"That's not it. Ever since you arrived, you've been a completely different person."

"I'm in men's clothing; what the fuck do you expect."

"That's not—"

"Upper, stay here, with Elio and Cas and the doctors, and I will—"

"Do nothing." Elio's voice had my head snapping to the side.

He reached us, his face void of emotion, attention settling on Upper. "I will never be able to repay you for saving Casmiro's life. I owe you."

Upper nodded. "It's alright; he saved mine too."

Elio gave a firm nod before looking at me. "You will banish whatever thought you think you have at this instant; you are not getting in that elevator."

"I'm of no use here. I can help out there."

His eyes hardened. "I don't need help; I have enough people to handle this."

Goddamn, it.

I drew my brows down in a frown, leveling Elio with a glare. "Upper would have died today. Understand? Those fuckers invading this building would have touched one of my own. I want nothing more than to bring down the people responsible for that and—"

"Upper, can you give us a moment?" Elio spoke, cutting me off.

Upper's eyes narrowed between us, confusion and suspicion lacing his accessing stare. His gaze dropped to our chests like he was looking at our outfits before he blinked and shook his head, settling his attention on me, seeking my approval.

"It's fine," I said.

He nodded before hesitantly walking over to Angelo, who was on the phone.

Some of the soldiers were already filing into the elevator.

I felt Elio's hand on my arm as he gently turned my body to face him.

Our gazes locked. "I have to be out there, Elio."

"You sound desperate."

I couldn't have stopped the cut that tugged at my chest at his remark. "What?"

He looked around the room, conflict in his eyes, before he looked back at me. "Why do you want to be out there so badly?"

"To help?"

"You don't care about any of this or Casmiro."

"I care about Upper, and he almost died."

"Yes, but he's alive, and he's fine, so why do you want to get involved in a fight that isn't yours?" his eyes searched mine with confident suspicion. My stomach dipped, and I bit the inside of my lips till I tasted blood. My brain was working so fast.

"I just—"

"Unless it's your fight...."

Another cut. "What?"

"Unless, one way or another, this is your fault."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Be honest with me Zah—"

"You think I'm responsible for this?" I cut him off. "Are you fucking kidding me, Elio?"

He closed his eyes briefly, jaw clenching as he opened them back up. "I won't make an accusation if I had no reason to, Zahra."

"How—when the—why would I want to hurt Casmiro?"

"That is what I am hoping you would answer for me."

I shook my head slowly. "This is insane, so because I want to help, you think that I am involved in this? That I would put Upper in danger just to—Kill your underboss? How the fuck do you think I would have access to men like that? Or-or—kill someone I know nothing about; why would you even have a thought like this?"

He looked as uncomfortable as I felt.

"Zahra, you have given me no reason to trust you but more reason to suspect everything you do."

The air was leaving my lungs. "I can't believe this is happening right now."

"It is. You were so desperate to go out there. Your friend might not see it, but I see it. I see all your lies and all your tells. Every question I asked you tonight, everyresponse you gave was fucking bullshit."

"What?" His words slapped me across the face, making me step back at their sheer bluntness. "They were not."

"Maybe they aren't, but you weren't completely honest with me," he stated confidently. "I went bare for you today," he lowered his voice, looking me right in the eye. "I told you things I never thought I would ever tell anyone; I confided in you and took your advice; I have shown you more of myself than I have ever shown anyone. I don't trust you, but I trusted you with my feelings; all I'm asking...is that you be honest with me for once tonight. Do you have anything to do with Casmiro lying in that room on the brink of death?"

A small, humorless laugh left my throat. "Wow..." I said, almost out of breath. "The first time I actually open up to someone about Martino, and this is what I get—an absurd accusation."

"Don't do that. Don't try to make me doubt myself."

My frown deepened. "You should doubt yourself because your claims are beyond wrong."

"Zahra."

I stepped closer to him, my eyes dead set on his. "You say I wasn't completely honest with you. Yes, I wasn't. That part of my life is hard for me to talk about, and I opened up to you about something I have spent years of my life trying to forget."

His brows drew down in confusion.

"STREET has no fucking idea about Martino. I don't even plan to ever let them know, but you—just like you showed me a part of yourself, I did too. Because I thought maybe as we got to know each other, I might finally have someone I could talk to about this stuff."

"Zahra, I know you weren't sincere."

"Of course, I wasn't sincere; you don't expect me to bring down my walls completely just because you told me you didn't kill your family."

He frowned. "Don't bring my family into this."

"You are the one accusing me of attempting to kill Cas, he might be an asshole, and yes, I might have wanted to push him out of the car on our way to the airport, but I would never just wake up one morning and hire assassins to finish him off."

He sighed. "Zahra—"

"I don't know what you think you see, but remember, you were the one who invited me here. I don't know anyone in Turin, but you and I didn't even know Casmiro would be here. Upper never told me shit; you can ask him if that's what you're thinking. I don't know who those men are."

He looked away from me, eyes moving around; I mirrored his action to see some sights on us, including Uppers. There was a frown etched on his brows.

I looked away at the same time Elio's gaze locked with mine. "I am giving you one pass, Zahra. Come clean, and I promise I won't hurt you. I won't let anyone harm a hair on your head. I need to know—"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Elio, you were with me throughout—I can't even believe you're falsely accusing me without any proof—"

"My gut is all the proof I need."

I blinked at him. "You're pinning this on me because of a gut feeling?"

"Yes."

I locked my jaw, a breathy scoff leaving my chest as I stepped back from him. "Well, you're wrong. You couldn't even be more wrong—and we don't have time for this. I'm going down there."

He straightened. "No, you're not. For your protection."

"You know more than anyone here that I can fend for myself. And maybe when I shoot a man or two, you will be convinced I have nothing to do with this." I turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm almost immediately.

"Zahra—"

A ground-shaking explosion shocked the building, and screams and loud gunshots quickly followed the sound.

I looked back at him, my gaze flickering to his grip on my arm and then his heated eyes. "Are you gonna let me go? or are we waiting for the next explosion to take us all under?" I asked.

Elio cursed, letting go of me, grabbing a weapon from the table, and gesturing to the elevator. "Stay by my side always."

"Why? So you can see if I'm giving the shooters eye signals?"

"We'll talk about this later."

"Fuck you."

***

I had something to prove.

So I didn't exactly stay by his side, always.

At first, we were a little outnumbered. But backups had rushed into the evacuated building, and Angelo had pulled Elio to some of the new soldiers who were now working towards securing the perimeters of the building.

At the little distraction, I'd taken that opportunity to chase down two of the shooters I'd spotted taking the stairs to get to the emergency elevator, seeing as Marino's people secured the main elevator.

It was foolish to disappear alone with these guys scattered around the building.

But I saw an opportunity to end this, and I took it.

I spotted both guys coming off the stairs and approaching the elevator. Their backs to me.

I had an advantage because while the guns outstretched in their hands moved this way and that as if someone would pop out and jump them, I held a gun in each hand, aiming one barrel to the calf of the guy on the left, and pointed the other to the top shoulder of the guy on the right, I calculated my next moves in my head. Then I pulled the triggers as I ran towards them, my feet slamming into the calf of the guy on the left.

He went down immediately with a loud grunt, turning sharply to shoot at the same time the other one collected himself, holding his wounded shoulder as he snapped back, aiming the gun at me, but I already had my gun aimed at him.

He shot the same time I pulled the trigger, but I had anticipated his move and ducked as my bullet rammed into his hand, his gun falling the moment my feet swung, knocking the gun from the guy whose calf I had shot.

It all happened in an adrenaline rush as I quickly kicked the guns far away from their reach, standing where I could face them, my weapons aimed directly at them.

The one whose hand I'd shot bared his teeth in a groan, about to charge forward.

"I would hold off if I were you." I kept my guns aimed at them, looking up around the top corners of the hallway and then back at them. They made no further move to attack. "Who sent you?"

They were alert, faces hard in pain.

"We are not here for you." one of them said with a thick Italian accent.

"Obviously, but you almost killed my friend, so here's how we're going to do it." my grip tightened on the gun. "I will kill one of you and hand the other to Marino's people. Who is willing to die? Discuss amongst yourself; make it snappy."

"Go to hell," The one whose shoulder I had shot spat at me.

"Nice choice."

I moved my hand, aimed my gun at the guy I had shot in the calf, and pulled the trigger.

His body dropped to the ground as footsteps rushed up the stairs.

"Zahra!" Elio's voice rang into the space, and he appeared seconds after with men who had their guns ready.

He rushed to me. "What part of staying by my side, don't you fucking understand?" he gritted.

"I brought you your man for questioning; you can ask him if he's seen me before."

"Right, because you didn't spend enough time disarming and killing one of them. Many words could have been exchanged."

My heart dropped. "Are you—"

"Shut up." He said before turning to his men. "Clean this up," he ordered before gesturing to the other man. "Take this one in. Inform Angelo that I'll contact him."

Elio took the guns from me, handing them to one of his guys, and then he grabbed my hand and pulled me back down the stairs with him.

"Let go of me." I tried to wrench my hand off his hold, but he held firm as he pulled me out of the building and towards the parking lot where he had left the car earlier.

He opened the door and finally let go of me. "Get in."

"No."

"Get the fuck in the car, Zahra, or I'll force you into it."

I grounded my teeth, glaring at his unwavering stare. I knew he would do it, so I got into the car and bottled my pride with a huff.

He slammed the door beside me and rounded the car. My eyes followed his movements as he entered; he looked at me while he started the engine and then looked away when he drove out of the parking lot to the private road thirty minutes away from the main road, I'm guessing to avoid any of our lingering attackers.

I looked out the window, the anger in my stomach spiking at intervals. The frown I had worn before entering the car didn't let up. I needed to let it out, yell, bash his head against the steering wheel.

"I shouldn't have told you anything about myself. If I'd known, you'd treat me like this afterward."

"Don't play the victim."

I snapped my head to him. "I am the victim! I'm the one getting accused of attempting to kill your underboss. If anything, he was the one who threatened to kill me before dropping me at that airport."

"Casmiro would never threaten you unless he had a good reason to. You knew he was on to you, so you ordered the hit."

"What the fuck? You're delusional, Elio—for someone who should be running a whole fucking criminal family, you are so fucking shortsighted."

"Am I?"

"Yes. Now I see why your father sent you to the army; you needed to get your fucking crazy head in check."

He glanced at me, a fire in his eyes like none I'd ever seen before. He looked away, swiveled the car to the side of the private road, stopped the engine, and turned to me. "What the fuck did you just say to me?"

I shoved my middle finger in his face and quickly exited the car, slamming the door harder than he had slammed it before as I walked down the road.

I would get a ride to the airport and fly back to Milan if I had to.

Seconds later, I heard the door of the car opening and closing, but I didn't turn back, even as I heard footsteps behind me.

He caught up quickly, a strong hand encircling my arm, pulling me back and swinging me around to face him. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

"If you don't let me go, I swear to God; I'll hit you."

He didn't respond to my threat but dragged me back, and I tried to free my hand. "I'm warning you, Elio."

When he got us back in front of the car, he let me go.

"You don't—"

I swung a blow at him, but he quickly shifted his head, catching my wrist and pushing me away like a bug in his face.

The action only made me more furious, and I charged for

him, hoping to land a kick to his stomach, a blow, or a slap, but fucking hell, he wasn't playing either; he avoided every one of my attempts with hard pushes that resulted in only fueling my anger.

On my last attempt to get my fist to the side of his face, he grabbed my wrist, pulled me to his body, and twirled us around forcefully, slamming my body to the side of the car.

A sharp pain exploded at my side, but my adrenaline dulled it.

He pinned me with his body, one knee between my legs, the other successfully caging us.

My breathing was just as ragged as his.

My gaze flickered to his parted lips, where he breathed from.

"Get off me or I'll—"

"Or you'll what?" He brought his face closer to mine, drawing his knee up till I felt it against my throbbing core. The friction made my hips jerk forward.

I hated the small sound that left my lips at that very moment.

I wanted to gut him; I really wanted to make him bleed, but why the fuck was I so turned on instead?

Why could I feel his hardness pressing against my stomach like this was as painful for him as it was for me?

"Tell me, what will you do?" he whispered against my lips.

"I'll—" fuck me, I couldn't remember how to form words, or—I did remember how to form words, just not the one my anger or brain wanted to say, my body and the desire wracking havoc between my legs were the demons behind the words that left my mouth next. "I need you." I gripped the front of his sweater in my fist. "Now. Please."

A strangled noise left his throat. "I hate your effect on me; I want to kill you for it."

"Unfortunately, we are both suffering from the same illness."

His heated grey eyes burned fiercely into mine, and he pulled back. I missed the pressure his knee supplied between my legs until he opened the car's back door. "Get in."

Excitement and anger sizzled through me as I rushed to the backseat, and he followed closely behind before slamming the door shut beside him. "Take off—just take off—"

He didn't have to tell me twice; I was already unbuckling my belt with fast shaky anticipating fingers. I removed it when he removed his sweatpants but left his shirt on.

I didn't like the hindrance of clothes, so my sweater came off next when I took my jeans and panties off. I wasn't wearing anything underneath, so my breast sprang free, and his eyes were glued to them.

"On me." he breathed.

A smirk curled at my lips as I wasted no time getting on his lap, his back to the door, with me straddling his lap, bare breasts in his face.

He buried his head in my neck, hand going into the depth of my hair, fisting as he sucked kisses down my neck while I rubbed my throbbing pussy against him.

Feverish hot lips peppered kisses down to my collarbone.

His other hand squeezed my ass before his palm drew up my back; the warmth from the smoothness of his touch set my body ablaze. My stomach tightened.

I could tell he felt some of my scars, and his touch, though they lingered to feel and explore, didn't stop his lips from moving down to my left breast. My nipples hardened, ached, and tingled as his tongue flickered up and down the pierced bud before his mouth closed around one pierced nipple.

"Oh, my fuck," I breathed out in a moan; the heat from his mouth and the wetness of his tongue twirling and sucking my nipple had my legs squeezing against both sides of his thigh. The sensation was mind-numbing. I breathed out the words that left me. "I don't like condoms; I'm clean and on strict pills. Are you clean?"

"Yes," he mumbled before returning to his licking and sucking.

"Fuck me, please," I begged.

He took his mouth off me. "Your begging is pathetic."

My own hand went to his hair and pulled so I could look into those pretty eyes. "Revel in it now because you won't hear me beg for it again."

"Lies, like the rest you've been telling tonight." He lifted himself and pulled down his briefs a little, his hard cock springing free, long, thick, and fucking veiny; the thought of him inside me scared and excited me at the same time.

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

I went to touch him, but he swatted my hand away while his went between my legs, rubbing me as if to gather my wetness and coat his fingers with them; but his hot, warm touch sent my stomach tightening immediately, my clit throbbed like it needed just one stroke to let go.

Elio removed his fingers and brought them to his lips; a very pink tongue came out, curling around his fingers as he licked my wetness, closed his eyes, and hummed in appreciation. "Hm, exotic."

Yes. I will never get this man out of my system.

"Better than any you've tasted?"

"You're my first. I don't like a mess, but I'll take yours any day."

My breath hitched at his words.

His hand left my hair and gripped my waist, lifting me slightly. "You see that? That was me being honest. You might want to learn a lesson or two from it."

"For the thousandth fucking time," I supplied breathlessly, feeling the tip of his cock at my entrance. "I am not lying to you."

He glared. "My gut tells me you are."

My grip tightened on his hair as I gritted out. "Your gut is fucked in the head, and it's making your inhumane lie detector malfunahfuck!" The feel of his thrust made me scream my lungs out at the pain and the pleasure that followed. He hit my G-spot on impact, and a blinding pleasure spiked deep within me; my eyes rolled back to my head as a wave of orgasm fevered through my body. I writhed atop him, toes curling.

My walls hugged him tightly, and he let out a breathy moan-groan thing; I wasn't sure I heard correctly because he steadied my body, pulling out and thrusting deep again, hitting me where I most craved him.

My body had turned to the softest of jelly atop him, and my palm slapped against the window above his head to get a balance on myself as he fucked me into a mess of moans, my breasts bouncing at the force of his malicious fucking.

Each of his thrusts sent shuddering shivers that had me writhing—it was too much—he was too much, and I was so fucking full I couldn't breathe properly.

I didn't care that I was probably gripping his hair so tight; the sound of his hips slapping against my ass with each thrust he gave had me on the brink of another sweet release. It filled the hot car, our breathing loud and so fucking intimate. Deep in my chest, I felt the effect of each breath I took and released.

"Everything you said tonight told me—nothing," he said between breaths.

This man went even deeper with each thrust.

"Fuck—" I hissed. "No matter what I say—you'd never believe me."

"Then give me something." He grounded out, voice heavy with lust and pleasure. "Anything." He breathed. "Anything to ease my doubt. Just one truth."

"Mmm—Elio—fuck," I whined in a moan.

He didn't let up, didn't slow down, his grunts so deep and hot did something enrapturing to my stomach; I wanted to hear it all day, every fucking day.

I rode him as he thrust into me, deepening the intense warmth he ignited all over me.

My clit strung tight into a painful bud, my stomach tightened in knots, and I felt my release at the edge.

"Zahra," he moaned my name, hot breath fanning against the skin on my collarbone.

The sound of my name on his lips had my thighs trembling and clenching tightly to his, my release rising to the peak as it shattered me completely. "Elio, o...ohfffuck." I cried.

With one hard thrust, he stilled inside me, and I felt the warmth of his release coat my walls. The feeling made me shudder as we came down from the high together. My hand slipped from the window, leaving a draggy imprint as I relaxed against him, my head on his shoulder; the thick smell of sex and sweat lingered around our space.

My grip loosened from his hair as I caressed it softly, an attempt to ease whatever pain I might have caused.

Our breathing slowly calmed together in sequence.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Hmyeah." I voiced, lifting myself, my gaze connecting with his dazed but hard, confused ones.

I leaned my head down, my lips just a few inches away from his; I moved to kiss him.

He moved his head away. "Good, get off me."

I laughed tauntingly, hiding the discomfort of his rejection and hating that it even affected me. This man meant nothing to me.

"Why?" I moved against him, and he hissed. "The best sex you ever had?"

"Get off." his voice hardened, and I got the message loud and clear.

Rolling my eyes, I eased myself off him, a little pain pinching between my legs as his cock slipped out of me.

I didn't look at him as I quickly got myself back to being decent. My chest felt heavy at the sudden awkward quiet between us. It had to be the first awkward silence we'd ever shared.

I glanced at him. He was pulling his sweat pants back on just when I dragged the sweater down my head, right after slipping the belt back into the hoops of the jeans I wore.

His hand moved to the handle.

"Wait—" I said immediately, making him stop, his head still turned away. "You're being weird because you think I really hurt Casmiro."

His throat worked before he turned to look at me. "Didn't you?"

I smoothed both sides of my hair from my face, tucking them behind my ears. "Listen...I know you think I'm lying because you believe there isn't any honest bone in my body. Sometimes I think so too." I said, not taking my eyes from his still confused ones. "I have lied and cheated my way through life to the point that being dishonest became my default. So I understand why you can't trust me. But I need you to give me the benefit of the doubt. Don't look at my eyes or my expression; hear my words. I didn't fucking hurt Cassie. I didn't. I don't know who did. I promise you."

He was silent for a few beats, just staring at me like his head was struggling to come to some kind of conclusion, but after a few tense seconds, he nodded.

"Okay."

I drew my brows down, tilting my head slightly to catch his gaze. "Okay?"

"Hm." He breathed out. "I believe you."

Gulping down and breathing out, I nodded. "Thank you," I said, rubbing my sweaty palms to my jeans. "If you need help finding who did this, I'm on board."

"Hm." He didn't take his eyes off me.

"Right. We should—head out."

When he said nothing, I shifted to leave through the other side, but his hand encircled my wrist, tugging me back and stopping me from leaving.

I looked down at his hand and then at him. "What."

"I want to break a rule."

My chest grew heavier than it had been before. "Which one?"

"The one that says this only has to happen once. I will not be able to follow that rule, Zahra."

I drew in a breath to try to calm the sudden increase in pace my heart had carried.

"Would you want that?" He asked.

I swallowed, wetting my throat, which had suddenly gone dry. "I've never been opposed to it as long as it stays between us," I said. "No one can find out."

He didn't see say anything.

"Would you want that?" I asked this time.

He hesitated. "I've never done anything like this before."

"I know," I said.

His gazes moved around my face, and I just knew he was thinking too hard about it, weighing consequences, advantages, and disadvantages...but after a short minute. He nodded. "Okay. I'm not opposed to that either...for now."

I nodded, suppressing a smile as I responded.

"For now." 

__

Thanks for reading!

What did you think of this chapter?

Do you think Elio's gut was right, and Zahra was really responsible?

The car scene?

Zahra and Elio have successfully entered a no one can know compromise, any guesses on who would pick up on their little secret first?

Who missed our beloved Chihuahua? oh...and Gemma......

Random Question: Who is your book boyfriend/book girlfriend?

see you  XX