Small-fortunes - Small Fortunes

                 Know Your Roots

                                              Temperance

Everybody needs somebody.

Everybody needs someone.

Everyone will need somebody.

You're not the only one.

Part One.

Across the oceans, as the sun had set on a wet English afternoon, Judeth Clayton had arrived by private car and been deposited upon the street at the doors of The Continental London. She wore a magnificent floor-length ebony evening gown designed and hand made in Persia with flowing caped sleeves. Her dark hair was pinned in elegant coils and waves about her head. From her ears, she wore singular white pearls, a set that complimented their matching necklace as it adorned her décolleté. Upon her feet, she wore spectacular black Christian Louboutin heels whose timeless red soles were Judeth's absolute trademark. The picture of refinement. The car door was held open for her exit and as she was escorted along the red carpet that led to the hotel doors that were also held by doorman for her arrival. She was flanked by two guards. A man and woman in immaculate black suits. They were inescapable and silent. And they watched the Hand Maid like a hawk. Before leaving the White Tower of London, they had searched the contents of her evening clutch, checking her phone for unsolicited messages and calls. Rifling through her belongings where they displaced her lipstick, pen, tampons and other inconsequential trifles that were typical of a woman's evening purse. Her belongings were insignificant to their interest. What they searched for were pills, hyperaemic needles, and morphine vials. For that was the source of their employment in this mission.

Master Karth Piaf had made it clear that they were to ensure the woman was at no time left unattended or be remotely permitted to interact with, engage or otherwise fraternise with anyone or anything that even remotely looked like they were capable or allowing her to indulge even in the illusion of narcotic use. The pair that served her now were one of two sets of four total guards from Athena's security detail that were assigned to monitor the Hand Maid day and night without fail. They worked in 12 hour shifts between them, rotating at 6AM and 6PM respectively. Their tireless routine was not once interrupted. They had attended to this uneventful and tedious duty without fail or incident every day for the past two months. Karth paid them a generous four digit wage and a single gold coin for every shift they completed where they could report back that Judeth had not evaded their notice or succum to her visceral urge to inject herself. Yes, it was a mindlessly boring task watching the 38 year old woman day in and day out attend to a monotonous routine. But they did not mind entirely for it kept them from the field of battle and off the streets. They were breifed that if questioned as to why they kept up this peerless duty, that the lady was on "death watch". Athena forbade her Hand Maids the luxury of suicide and Judeth's mental health had deteriorated greatly under the strain of high-functioning depression since Lalienna's banishment from the Iron Fortuna Syndicate. The misinformation was readily accepted. The four rotating guards were paid to keep the true meaning of their duty absolute secret on pain of death. They were hand selected by Karth Piaf for their loyal and unshakable qualities amongst hundreds of possible candidates from Athena's Black Guard. They knew what Karth was capable of. Iron Fortuna was revered and feared for its brutal human torture techniques. They weren't about to rock the boat.

Thus, when their search of Judeth's purse revealed nothing that they considered incriminating; they handed it back with a wordless nod. She snatched the designer clutch with abject fury. Her patience was running short with this ridiculous facade. Karth had kept to his word. She was never given a moment's privacy. Not to eat, sleep, work, pray, study, bathe or relieve herself. She had done everything Karth had demanded of her, handing over her list of street and professional drug dealers across the city of London. Her rooms were searched daily. Her phones, laptops, email accounts, text messages and files were scrutinised without mercy. Twice daily she attended Doctor Tanis's treatment rooms to have herself injected painfully with detoxification substances that were administered to reduce her borderline biblical morphine withdrawals. To the rest of the world she appeared outwardly normal. In so much as her removed and cold exterior could facilitate. She only ever showed any semblance of sincere human emotion when in the presence of her son, Philip, who adored and embraced his mother, singing her praises and demanding her attention as he revealed all he'd learned in his school rooms. Those moments of matriarchal tenderness were short lived as the boy was removed from her presence to attend his studies and she forced to attend endless council meetings with the Queen and her advisor's facilitators, debtors and underlings. Athena had denied her permission to return to the field on any further espionage missions until Karth and Doctor Tanis cleared her of being a danger to herself. A concept she found repugnant and laughable.

Alas, she was forced to submit to Karth's will, for he held her son a captive pawn over her, threatening to reveal her addiction if she relapsed. His goal was clear and unquestionable. He'd hide the sin of her drug addiction from the world at any cost, but in turn she would get clean. Karth was never a man that made idle threats. She'd tasted his tortuous wrath more than once. Even if his intentions were pure, it was clear that he and the deceased Gregory Piaf had very much been brothers. Both of the men were disposed to monstrous acts of sinister violence against women.

Judeth was left without a choice. He meant well for her. She knew this. But she didn't expect this surveillance mission to prolong more than a month before he'd get tired of his little game, acknowledge her good behaviour and return her freedom. As the weeks rolled on in London, she realized she had been sorely mistaken. And wondered to herself, how much longer he'd keep this bullshit up for?

Alas, she was escorted by these guards into the familiar glittering warmth of the hotel. It's lobby fireplaces crackled happily to keep out London's Autumn chill and a dozen or more patrons looked on admirably at the statuesque woman and her security detail. Wondering as to who she was and why she appeared so important. Judeth kept her eyes forward and walked the length of lobbys red carpet with elegant strides approaching the grand marble desk and being met by the tender smiles of the Iris twins that beamed at her happily. It was almost 8 o'clock.

"Welcome back, Lady Clayton!"  Began Chantelle

"To The Continental London!" Finished Chervonne.

"Sir Sable is expecting you in the dining room." The blonde ladies trilled together. In perfect pitched unison. The words spoken in stereo.  They were still positively feline in their elegant mannerism and reminded Judeth very much of a pair of sleek Siamese cats. Their deep blue eyes alluring and twinkling with promised mischief. 

Completely beautiful. Judeth offered the ladies a disarming smile and nodded politely before turning off to the right and following the marble floor to the famous hotel dining room. Still flanked by her guards that walked three paces behind her at all times and would not deviate no matter what.

Closed off from the other diners, Judeth was led by the attending maître d'hôtel to the exclusive and private dining quarters of the hotel concierge. The prestigious and decadent 'Table Twenty One' was a positively royal affair with a floral centerpiece adorned with white tiger lilies, tulips, carnations and roses; bordered by a sterling silver candelabra that bathed the white linen, its luxury china and sparkling cutlery in the glow of four candles. Together this complimented the low light of the dimmed chandelier above them. The dining chairs were overstuffed French provincial elegance. Two black and white uniformed waiters in white gloves stood to discreet attention in the corner of the room with their silver meal carts and exotic culinary delights freshly prepared and covered over by silver serving domes. All of this was positively majestic in terms of elegance and refinement. But none of the grandeur of the private dining room held a candle compared to the man that stood at the head of the table and stalked his way around it to stand at proud attention in a faultless silver-grey three-piece dinner suit. That was The Continental London's concierge, Jermey's personal retainer and confidant. The gentleman was known to the London criminal underworld as Sable.

He was breath-taking to behold. His chestnut brunette hair combed delicately away from his statuesque features.  His eyes were the deepest blue and his beard and mustache were the picture of masculine elegance.  The scent of his cologne arrested her senses. Exotic dark spices, rich Italian leather, mid notes of Winter rose and top notes of sandalwood.  Her breath caught in her throat. He was everything a classical male Adonis could captivate. He didn't say a word, but his eyes filled with a sincere and intimate joy as they took in her regal beauty. She was as glorious and arresting to him as she thought him to be of her. He came forward on elegant strides and she met him, raising her right hand and presenting her emerald and gold ring. His lips found the stone, sighing quietly as he bent his head in reverence to the arresting woman before him. He dared... his lips found her knuckles, she did not retract her hand as his kiss rested warmly atop her bare skin. He heard her sigh... inaudible, she suppressed a shudder but he noted the intake of breath as her breasts heaved beneath the plunging neckline of her gown. It was all she could do not to swoon in his presence. He was purely glorious and entirely disarming. And when at last he rose and smiled at her it was with tenderness and complete sincerity. He'd not seen her face since the day he had delivered the blood oath marker she had requested to burden Lalienna with at the Tower. He noted, her eyes appeared colder. Her beauty sharper... tempered into a super models near otherworldly, exiguous charm. There were shadows and dark secrets, endless suffering under the veil of her sea green eyes. Her cosmetics had been applied by a master's practiced hands. But that did not detract from what he saw reflected just beneath the woman's determined veneer. Hunger... sufferance... He'd seen it at the Tower. He'd seen it build in her over the years for every time she entered the hotel and sought safe harbor in his walls. In his private rooms.  She was, detached... disconnected from the world around her. Something about her demeanor always suggested she was both looking at you and through you at the same time. Reading between the lines, off the page... into your soul. The cracks were starting to come through. He'd been one of her morphine suppliers for extended periods of time after battles and altercations. He'd injected her personally. Directly into the vein and watched her chase the dragon. He'd received her message two months ago that said she wished to make a reservation for M. Holt. That was a coded arrangement of words exclusively understood by them alone. It meant her addiction had been uncovered. The repercussions would be devastating. He destroyed any evidence of her supply that linked back to him. He did it instantly to protect her. But he knew what would come its place would be devasting.

He greeted her warmly, tender tone from his silken tongue. And did not fail to note the guards at her back. Two. One male, one female. Hired muscle with a mission. Athena's security detail. The Black Guard. Elite pawns, but pawns none the less. Expendable. He'd not tolerate them in his presence infringing on his privacy with this woman in his own hotel. They had to go.

" Alex Rothman and Margaret Styl, am I correct?" He addressed the pair sharply.

"Aye, that be us, Sir Sable. A good evening to you." Replied the man named Alex. Margaret nodded in wordless approval. Sable continued,

"And tell me, Sir, Madam, what brings you to our fine hotel this evening?" Pointless question. He knew exactly what was going on. But he wanted a confession.

"We have orders from Master Piaf senior to keep Mistress Clayton under twenty-four hour surveillance, Sir. Under no circumstances is she to leave our sight. Thus we escort her to your fine company this evening. We beg of you, dine and enjoy yourselves. We will be as silent and inconspicuous as flies on the wall. You needn't concern yourself with our attendance. We are merely here to monitor the Lady's behaviors and ensure she does not deteriorate." Answered Alex Rothman in fluid, Welsh accent. His companion Margaret nodded in approval.

"I see." Sable returned, nodding his head curtly. He smiled at Judeth politely, almost apologetically and returned his attention to Alex Rothman.

"And tell me, Mr. Rothman... how has your wife been keeping? I'm given to understand the dear lady birthed your...what was it... second child this May, if I'm not very much mistaken?"

He'd chosen his words carefully... and watched, entertained as the colour drained from Margaret Styl's face. She fought to maintain composure. This... this had been news to her. She shot Alex a withering glance. Alex... began to sweat at his brow.

"I...I... Uh... that is..yes... Yes Sir Sable, she is well. T-thank you for asking, Sir..."

"And, tell me... Has she become privy to your evening affairs with Miss Styl at your side there?" Sable pressed... ruthless. Like a blade. Margaret looked infuriated. Positively sick to the stomach.

"You never mentioned you had a wife, Mr. Rothman." She snapped at last, her brows arching high.

"No Miss. Styl, I wouldn't concern yourself. I dare say there are a great deal many things in this profession of ours that Mr. Rothman is likely to keep from you if it means you'll continue to warm his bed on the cold and lonely evenings of the coming Winter. I dare say you do it far better than Mrs. Rothman ever could, encumbered as she is with two baby boys."

Sable's words fell like a revelation upon Margaret's lap.

"You fucking bastard!" She erupted, turning slap Alex fair upon the mouth. Rothman took the blow with stunned ignorance, turning his head back to register the shock.

"Margo... please... you need to let me explain." Alex stammered out

"Why use words Mr. Rothman? I have a perfectly good video of your indiscretions that I'm certain Miss. Styl would be all too pleased to witness." Sable drawled dispassionately. His eyes twinkling in sadistic amusement. They were like insects to him these creatures, these lowly guards.

"And I will show her.... even if she has to be tied down to the chair.... For you see Miss.  Styl, you are not the only woman whom Mr. Rothman makes good his affections with. Our video surveillance shows many private visitations to and from The Red Door with... frequent abandon."

"Sable, you fucking bastard! You're going to ruin me, man!" Alex snapped.

"Nonsense Mr. Rothman, you've rather already done that for yourself. I merely had the opportunity to witness your fall from grace. And your repeated rutting of Miss. Styl in our hotel car park. You really should lock your doors, Mr. Rothman. It's a rough crowd out there, in the dark."

Now Margaret was whimpering, her eyes flooding with tears, her hand flew to her mouth in abject horror as she looked the man at her side over and shook her head no. The words died in her throat.

"What the fuck do you want from me Sable? What's it gonna cost me to keep you fuckin' quiet about this?" Rothman was distraught. Furious in his anger, he paced forward and Judeth stepped out of the way, disinterested in being caught in the crossfire of this argument.

Sable smiled however. And it was the smile of a shark that knew he had his prey on its dying breath.

"How much is Master Piaf paying you to guard Judeth Clayton?" He asked.

"Two thousand Pounds a week, a gold coin per shift for every time we report no incident for her." He bit out vehemently.

"I'll double it. " Sable replied. "I'll give you four thousand Pounds and two hundred gold coins. Plus, I'll destroy the videos of you and Margaret fucking in my hotel if you turn on your heel, and attend the bar for the duration of Judeth's stay in my company. Whatever menial task Karth has put you up for, I can assure you I'm more than a thousand times equal to. Now... take Miss. Styl with you and buy the poor woman a drink. She looks as though she may either spit fire or suffer nervous collapse. Do not leave the hotel grounds. You may collect Lady Clayton when I decide to release her back into your hands for return to The Tower, when and only when I see fit. Do I make myself clear?"

Alex was beside himself, Margaret was openly weeping in infuriated shame. He glared poison daggers at the hotel concierge but relented, dragging his colleague and lover out of the private dining room.  The maître d' shut the door behind them.

Finally, Judeth and Sable were left alone.

His attention returned to the White Woman who rested her hands on the back of her dining chair and looked at him with an intensely satisfied smile.

"Well played, Sir Sable... Well played indeed." Invigorated, Sable helped the lady into her chair before rounding the table and taking his own. The moment they were seated the waiters came forward to immediately grace the table with wine and their dinner plates. Sable thanked and dismissed the wait staff. The moment the door closed... Judeth realized, she and Sable were finally safe...and completely and entirely alone.

"It's been a very long time since I laid eyes on you last, Lady Clayton. I propose a toast to our eventful reunion. " Said Sable, raising his red wineglass in invitation.

Judeth met it with own, a clink of approval as the glasses kissed before both came away and deposited their blood red contents into the lips of their respective holders. The toast complete. The glasses were set down.

Sable and Judeth talked. Over dinner. Three courses, two wines, sparkling Italian mineral water and finally, dessert and coffee.

Sable leaned forward with his brass lighter igniting the lady's cigarette before attending his own. They were comfortable in each other's company. In conversation and in silence. They were old friends. Very old friends. With history. Deep history. Dark history. Intimate history. They knew things about each other they weren't certain they understood about themselves. It was stimulating, enlightening exchanging wits, ideas, ideologies, theories, hopes, dreams and desires with one another. The way only solid companions with a similar wavelength and rich mentality could encapsulate and platonically adore one another. For those two hours, over that sumptuous French dinner, Judeth and Sable danced with words. Complimented each other. Finished one another's sentences. They were both very much alive... and Judeth... for once...she was very much present. In the moment. Fully focused. Everything in sharp detail and attentive comparison. She came alive. Truly. Fully. And it was not the wine. It was not the detoxant that protected her internal organs from catastrophic failure. It was him. Sable. His presence, his very existence was doing this for her. Drawing her, like thread through a weaver's table and building her into a tapestry of rich ornamentation. She didn't need artificial stimulants to get this high. She was alive and had a living breathing son. That was enough for her. In this moment. He was enough for her. More than enough.

So he took his chance. Now that she was in bloom. A flower whose petals were opened before him.

He came to her, words like the wings of a passing butterfly.

"Judeth.... Darling... What are we to do about your Lalienna?"

She exhaled the smoke she held from her lips, the plume billowed into the air and disappeared floating away. He watched her shudder and immediately regretted his decision. He didn't want to watch her fade.

"I don't want him to have her, Sable. I don't want anyone to have her. Save for you and Jeremy. You're the only people in this entire fucking world that I dare trust with my life. And hers."

"You know this time would come though, surely? A blossoming young woman like Lalienna was always going to draw attention. Unwanted or otherwise. We could only ever host her as our ward indefinitely."

"She didn't last a single night, Sable. Not one... The moment she walked through your doors, that bastard D'Antonio and his gang of Italian street thugs had their claws in her. They're vultures, the Camorra. Animals."

"They're steadfast, Judeth. If nothing else, they're loyal to the crown. Loyal to us. They believe in family, solidarity to the death. They'll protect her."

"He fucked her."

"Santino?"

"Who else?"

Sable nodded. He knew the truth. He'd seen the video. It was almost as though he'd filmed it himself. He wouldn't let Judeth know what he knew though. He sighed heavily. Refilling her wine glass and then refilling his own. This was their second bottle of the night. He felt they'd need more for what was likely to come.

"I think, you need to let go a little, darling. And stop playing the wounded martyr all the time. It doesn't suit you."

"Don't insult my intelligence, Sable, I'm not in the mood for your cuts at my tarnished humility. There's nothing martyr-like about grieving the loss of a daughter, in marriage, separation, adoptive or otherwise. "

"That's not what I meant and you know it. But if you're going to force my hand-"

"I'm always interested in forcing your hand," She returned sharply,

"Then.. listen to me when I tell you, you've done the right thing. Having Lorenzo draw up this contract for her probation was a masterstroke. Very clever indeed. But it's not going to last. Lalienna is peerless if she was trained to be a faction of what you're like. He's never going to let her go. And sooner or later you're going to have to admit defeat, Judeth. This is outside of your control. You need to accept that and stop letting it eat you alive. The moment you make peace with this realization is the moment you stop taking to the needle to silence the demons in your head. "

His words seemed to cut at her. He didn't mean to. He was the last person in the world that wanted to watch her bleed.

"Judeth... Darling... You can't go on like this. Destroying yourself. Over things you can't control. Things you'll never control. There's hope while you breathe, while you live. But what you're doing... You're not living... You're barely existing. You've lost control. Of everything. Including yourself."

Silence between them. Judeth smoked... and watched his eyes. Warm... delicate, sincere. Those eyes saw through her. Into her. She was aching.

"So what do you propose?" She asked at last.

"Come back to me. Here... right now. Leave the dead in their graves where they belong with the ghosts and the ashes... But come to me. Like you once used to."

"Don't... do this to me, Sable... I can't."

"You can."

"I won't."

"You will."

"Sable, for God's sake have mercy... My husband's just been killed."

"You never loved him, Judeth. You took his hand in marriage because he promised you shelter he didn't have. He promised you a daughter and retirement from servitude to Athena... But he only ever had his own interests in mind. You know this."

"I know."

"It's not too late to break free." He pressed her, drawing his chair closer now, around the table so he could sit with his knees to either side of her thighs. Close... So she could drown in his presence. He was overwhelming her. Intoxicating her. And he was being cruel about watching her suffocate.

"Athena won't ever let me go... Not until Philip is married to her daughter."

"In what? Ten years time from now? When he's twenty four and you're a hollow husk of subdued madness screaming against the chains of your enslavement? Fuck that! Fuck them, Athena included. Judeth... come to me. I want you. I've always wanted you. You should have never married Gregory, he was a demon to you."

"Sable, please... I didn't have a choice. I had my duty."

"Fuck your duty. You had me and you know I could be twice the man he ever was. He raped you, Judeth... You married him, lost his daughters in torrents of blood and he still fucking raped you. Repeatedly. And you let him do it to y-"

His words shocked into silence, for Judeth threw her wine in his face, horrified... then rose and pitched the glass with such force it sliced through the air like an arrow and exploded into a hundred shards as it impacted against the back of the dining room wall.

"Don't.... do this to me.... Sable.... please.... Please... I'm begging you." The tears came. Slipping over her waterline. He watched them track a path across her cheeks and disappear away onto the floor. He dropped his eyes and wiped at his face with her linen napkin. Irritated. Red wine stained Italian silk. He'd have to take his clothes to the laundry as quickly as possible to ensure the damage would not be irreversible. This outfit had been hand-tailored and cost a fortune in imported luxury fabrics.

He met her eyes again. His heart was breaking in his chest. The light had gone from her eyes... He'd had it there. For a moment. He'd seen it. Ignited like fire. Pure. Beautiful. She was so alive. And now... crushed in her fury. In her depravity. In her loss and suffering. She was empty again. Hollow. A reflection of what a woman could have been. Would have been... If only her ex-husband had not treated her so badly. She might have survived her traumas. Like this. She wasn't surviving. She was dead.

So then what attracted him to her so powerfully.... if not his ravenous desire for necrophilia?

He got to his feet. And launched for her. His hand at her throat, she gasped, frantic as he pinched at her airwaves for a moment then spun her around, forcing her hips to butt against the dinner table. Trapping her between the timber and his body. And she flung out her arms, meaning to dislodge him, but he was faster and had drunk less wine. He caught her upper arms and pinned them back against his chest with one arm, the other, with its free hand took her throat again and brought her head back forcing it to rest against his shoulder. And he felt it... The rush of power take him. Flood his veins. Soak his mind. Drive his libido with something sadistic, twisted. His hot breath in her ear. She was tense... ready to react. To respond on basic instinct because she was a fighter, a warrior. And he knew it. He knew she could have come up with at least a dozen different ways to break out of his grip right now and break his arms, his face and his ribcage if she wanted to. But she didn't. She didn't. She let him hold her... subdue her like this. Dominate and control her. She shivered against him. Feeling the heat of his manhood as it pressed into her rear. Feeling her restraint fail her. Too much suffering... Too much red wine. He was weakening her... Overpowering her with every passing moment.

"Stop fighting..." He whispered, against her earlobe. "Give in to me..."

She tensed... struggled. He held her tighter... Watching. The way her breasts rose and fell against her gown... Intoxicated by the surge of power that radiated out of her skin. His lust was ascending. For her flesh... for her blood.

"What do you want from me, Sable?"

"One night...." He breathed. "In my bed."

"I can't... Please.... Don't make me do this."

"One night... Judeth... Just come with me... Taste it... Against your tongue... Against your skin. One night is all it takes to remind you,  you're still human. You're still alive. That his memory won't be the tombstone that marks your departure from this wretched world."

"It won't be me... You'll be taking." She breathed the words. Barely an echo. Her lips moved but her body was betraying her. She was losing the will to resist him. He was kissing her now. Her skin sparked where his lips touched her. He wanted her. Needed her to submit entirely. To give in. To give way. To let him in. Not just inside her body... inside her head. Even if he had to make her bleed. Under the kiss of his whip. Straining against the bonds of his black velvet rope and insatiable passion. He'd have her this night. He'd tasted her blood before... And he wanted more.

"Beg for me...." He breathed... Lacing the edges of his teeth to her shoulder edge of her neck, just before the junction of her shoulder. She shuddered against him. A roll of electric current exploded like fireworks against her spine. She sucked in the air... But he was drowning her.

"I can't... do this.... Sable... Please... please..." She weakened against him entirely, it took every ounce of strength she had. She said the words he needed to hear in that moment.

"I'm begging you... Sable Ducourt... Release me."

That was enough. It was all he needed. She wasn't ready. And he wasn't about to rape her the way Gregory had. He loved her. Had done so for years. Suffering in silence. She wouldn't let him save her. Even though he begged her to. She wouldn't let him save her now either. He let her go. Stepped away. She deserved her freedom. Precious flower. Black swan. Dark Angel.

She turned to face him.

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Until she came forward of her own will. Surrounded him in her embrace. She yielded her lips to his.

She was alive still.

Very much so.

In the depths of that kiss.

She was drowning him now.

And he was letting her drag him under.

Tears formed in her jade eyes, lip quivering slightly. She held back a sob, taking a breath.

“You…you never wanted me?” It felt as though her heart was breaking. Literally. The strings of her cardiac muscles were snapping, leaving her in the worst pain she’s ever felt… and she’s felt a lot of shit. She’s been through the worst, through hell. But this…this was worse. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her lungs wouldn’t produce the oxygen needed to stay alive. God, make it stop. Stop it! She couldn’t handle it. She clutched her heart, squeezing the fabric of her shirt in her fists. Her eyes broke. They relayed how she felt. So so so so ruined. So torn. So…worthless. Thrown away.

————

@f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat // here is your angst. Do with it what you will. ;) have fun, my angel of sadness.

Nancy Fouts

Magic and Gardens

Photographed Winter/Spring 2019 at The Grounds, Alexander. The Paddock, Surry Hills and Central Station, Sydney, Australia.

Queen of Hearts

Of Snakes

Of Stones

I'll take my penence out on your bones

You'll learn to love me

Give it time

Sink the dagger

You'll be mine

|{ @lalienna-dementriento }|

Black Arts

“Have you really thought this through? I mean, really chewed it down to the bone? You dip so much as a pinky back into this pool and you’ll find that something very nasty will reach out and drag you back in.”

Be seeing you, Mr. Wick.

I need you, John.

I need you like a drug.

I need you even though you’re hurting me.

How I do refuse you when you look at me like that?

How do we stop destroying each other?

When I can’t say no.

No, to you.

This wasn't right. She wouldn't look at him in the eyes. She whimpered, coming down to her knees. And for once he didn't stop her reverence. Though it wasn't necessary. They were family, after all. Yes, he was their employer and in front of others it was important that the people understood without a shadow of doubt that he was the one in power here. That these were his men and women. His High Guard. He said jump, they asked how fucking high and liked it. Or he'd terminate their employment. Terminate their lives. The latter an empty threat. He wouldn't dare. He wasn't a savage like the Russians or the Chinese. He was an Italian man. And the Italians were men of honour. He had a reputation to uphold after all. His family name was at stake. He still lived very much under the Table. Under Gianna, under Lorenzo. Where shit actually gets done. He watched the man named Marquis. Looking from him to his apparently unwanted  bastard daughter. And it ripped his heart apart. The way they definitely looked similar. Biologically similar. About the eyes... the nose... She was much finer in her features, smaller frame, compact and powerful, even if she was a whimpering mess in Hector's loving arms. Ares did tell him she was taking pills. Some sort of herbal remedy to steady her nerves. She looked terrible. A nervous wreck. That scar on her neck... where he'd cut his initial into her flesh for her hateful indiscretion, it wasn't healing properly. Just like her broken collarbones. My god! This man said he didn't want her. He wasn't ready to be her father.. and now he had his own children. That tiny little girl. What was she? Seven? Eight? She looked like her father. Marquis left without so much as acknowledging him. Hector raged in fury. Christov and Ares and Curtis... they all bristled... pissed off. Wanting blood for making their sister in arms cry like this. He stepped aside and this man named Marquis passed him. "Figlio di puttana." (Son of a bitch.) Said Santino as he passed his shoulder. Loud enough that he knew clearly, that he was being addressed, even if Marquis did not understand Italian. It didn't matter. "Boss...." That was Christov again, tattooed hand on his shoulder. Tense... his pale eyes that he made paler by wearing those white blue contacts that gave the impression that he was a wolf in snow were unsettling. But they didn't hide the truth from Santino. He knew what was going on here. He shrugged himself away from Chris' hand. "Apetta un minuto." (Wait a minute.) Was his reply. He knew he had a plane to catch. That he was already forty minutes behind schedule. He'd have to make alternate arrangements at the airport. At this rate he'd as good as missed his first class service to Vienna. He didn't care. He'd catch a connecting service and accept the stop over. He'd settle for business class if he had to. Travel always made him tired anyway. But nothing made him as tired as this game they were playing. For...how long? Three weeks? A month? Six weeks? She was crying in Hector's arms. He held her through it all. The temper tantrum, the rage.   Ares signed to him now, 'Please Tino... She's dying slowly. Every day. And it's your fault. You keep this up and she's going to walk out on you. On us. And we're not gonna stop her. You're not gonna stop her. Because we will stop you. We have to. We're family. These are the rules. Your rules. Can you just apologize, please?'

Tony joined them now, catching the tail end of her quick gestures. Yes. He'd seen the text as well. God.. that's what this was all about?! Their boss took off on a business trip, she got bored and hooked up with some girl. Who cares?! Big deal. So hook-ups and break ups happen all the time. They'd all done it. They'd all had flings, two-timed other girls, other guys. Except maybe Hector. He had better morals than all of them put together. And now he was glaring daggers at Santino while he held his dancer and kissed her head and shushed her gently.

All five of them left his side.... left him standing there. Alone. Abandoned him. His family turned their back on him. They made it clear where their allegiances lay. They'd had enough of his angst-ridden bullshit. The entire Camorra High Guard went to stand in a line beside Lalienna. Hector, Ares, Christov, Marcus, Tony, Curtis. They stood beside her. Protecting her. From him. Hector spoke first. His heart was breaking. He'd had enough of this. "Santino D'Antonio. You have been my employer for almost ten years. I have stood beside you. Assembled your men and women. We have fought, bled and cried on the battle field. And in each other's arms. I've tasted your lips. Your blood. Your tears. I've tasted your suffering and your joy. I was there when you fell from grace. I was there to stop your father and sister killing you over what you did, when you did it to Marissa Conti. But I'm telling you right now... you fucking Italian cock-sucking prick...  That I won't stand by a minute longer and let you keep torturing this poor girl over an indiscretion."

"We know, boss." Said Curtis. "We all know now, exactly what happened. And why you're so pissed off with her. Now it makes sense... where that mark on her neck came from."

"You're a pig sometimes, motherfucker." That was Christov. Imposing in his tattoos. Angry. "You didn't want her to go hook up with some other bitch from a past life, well you should have taken her with you to Vienna. Rather than being such a hard ass and leaving her here." "I left her behind to protect her. She's not ready for the world." Santino snapped. "Shut the fuck up, dickhead. We're the one's doing the talking now. Not you." Christov fired back.

"Who do you think you are anyway?" Marcus added in aggravated questioning. "Prince of Rome? Really? You.... When you act like such a piece of shit? Didn't we tell you we'd cut off your balls if you hurt her? You're lucky we let it go on for so long, fuck face. We could have called Gianna any time and had your fucking ass reamed... And you know she'll tear you a new one. Just like she did for Miss. Conti. And that took you two years of cock sucking your daddy before he let you back out of your filthy cage, you cunt."

"I'll have you all killed for this..." Santino whispered, breathless.... Impossible....his own men were turning against him. This was mutiny! Dereliction of duty. Blackmail. Would they really call Gianna? "We'd like to see you try, Prince of Rome. Come on... let's take it outside. You wanna mutilate a girl, because you're a real man? Well we're real men too. Hell, Ares has a bigger pair of balls than you do right about now. Ain't you, baby girl?" Said Tony bitterly.

'You're out numbered, boss. Time to fold 'em. You've lost this hand. And we're not sorry. You're a good man sometimes, but this time... we have to take you down. And we don't need guns, knives or money for it. We're in your head. Under your skin. You let us in. Like vampires. You knew we'd always turn against you if it meant we had to protect one of our own. We're the Camorra High Guard. Lalienna is our solider as much as she's our sister. You don't fuck with the Italians. Santino. You don't fuck with us. Now say you're sorry.' Ares signed in passionate sweeps of her hands.

"Say you're sorry!" All five of them demanded at once. Like dogs... They had a bone in their mouths and they refused to let go.

"Don't make us tell you again." Said Hector. His eyes were pleading. He knew the truth. That Lalienna was pregnant with Santino's child. That she'd lose the baby if he kept tormenting her like this. Santino himself didn't know yet. It was up to the dancer to tell him. Only if she wanted to. If she didn't make arrangements to abort the baby first. Because it was still too soon in the affair. Santino had only started dating her seriously about two months ago. And he hadn't made the moves to buy that engagement ring he was looking at in the Crown Jewelers of London.

It worked. Their fire. Their fury. It was his fault after all. He'd trained them to be like this. To protect their own. They were Italian after all. They had different surnames, different backgrounds, different nationalities. Sure. But they were all raised and grown in Italy. And you don't fuck with the Camorra. His Camorra. He was supposed to be the Prince of Rome. Under Gianna. Under Lorezno

The Prince broke down.... The tears he'd been holding back all morning finally fell like rivers. Over his waterline... against his cheeks. Hitting his shoes... His shaking hands. Sable's words playing over in his head as well. No... he couldn't afford the cost of excommunication. He couldn't afford anything right now. He'd never been so poor in his entire life. Nothing mattered. The clothes, the cars, the money, the jewels. He felt empty. Empty without her. He cried bitterly. The tears fell like rivers.... And he came at her then. Dropping his bags, his overcoat flying off his shoulders as she rushed her and took the dancer in his arms and cried... and cried... and cried.... "I'm sorry.... Lalienna..... Please.... forgive me... I'm begging you... I'm so fucking sorry....I can't.... I'm not living like this any more... I'm dying without you. You're killing me.... Save me... There's nothing left.... I've no soul left to sell because I gave the last piece to you.....Please.... Please.....Lalienna.... Perdonami." (Forgive me.)  

Tears formed in her jade eyes, lip quivering slightly. She held back a sob, taking a breath.

“You…you never wanted me?” It felt as though her heart was breaking. Literally. The strings of her cardiac muscles were snapping, leaving her in the worst pain she’s ever felt… and she’s felt a lot of shit. She’s been through the worst, through hell. But this…this was worse. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her lungs wouldn’t produce the oxygen needed to stay alive. God, make it stop. Stop it! She couldn’t handle it. She clutched her heart, squeezing the fabric of her shirt in her fists. Her eyes broke. They relayed how she felt. So so so so ruined. So torn. So…worthless. Thrown away.

————

@f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat // here is your angst. Do with it what you will. ;) have fun, my angel of sadness.

By Guillaume Menuel #starwars #thedarkside #theempire #darthmaul #maul #apprentice #sith #fanmade #fanart #MoonsithIG https://www.instagram.com/p/BsRKfBGA_mK/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=m70b9m2tsdx5

Part Two

It wasn't right.

His thoughts screamed it. Even though his body rejected his mind's reasoning. Even though she was overwhelming him with her touch. Leaving him aching, raw. There was something... something about her. He couldn't put his finger on it. It was slipping. It just wasn't right.

And he adored the way she kissed him. Deep, hungry. Chasing his tongue. Cheeky minx. He purred against her lips. Sighing, giving over. Laughing happily against the kiss. His thoughts again interfered, he should have  been ashamed of himself. Tainting her passion when his kiss had just been shared amongst the nerve undulating high of cocaine and inside Christov's mouth. He should have at least brushed his teeth to spare her tasting the remnants of the other man's saliva. That was... illicit. Dirty. He wondered about how she felt, witnessing that scene downstairs. It had been intense. Fuelled by aggravation that started extremely sincere, but when he realized the absolute ridiculous nature of the insult he spat, whatever he was angry about just.. disappeared into the ether. And he was unable to keep a straight face. Nor could Christov. That was wrong. Really wrong. She shouldn't have been subjected to that. Here he was a mere month prior lecturing her, snapping like a dog against her about her indiscretion and infidelity with another woman and he had committed virtually the same sin directly in front of her.

Was she too high to realize what was going on?

He wondered if he'd have to explain himself in time.

He couldn't believe it. This is really what consumed his thoughts even as his lover was lacing her tongue against his throat. Lower.. along his chest. His hands found her back, her silken hair...

"Yeah... yeah that's it baby... more...Uh... yes..." She had him. His nipple in her mouth. Fuck.... fuck he loved it when she did that. He arched off the bed, desperate for contact. His body raging between his thighs. The ache in his manhood becoming blinding. All encompassing. It had been ages since he fucked a woman while high on coke. He loved doing it. Every sensation just heightened a thousand fold. She was edging him beautifully. He was whimpering mess of red desire beneath her lips.

Christov flooded his thoughts again. They'd both been high that night in Singapore. Deep in the underground where they shouldn't have been. They'd escaped by the skin of their teeth. And those possessing drugs of any kind were sentenced to almost imidiate execution without trial. The nation had little respect for foreigners and aliens bringing their filthy narcotics into their clean land. They had both been bleeding. Christov was a dog. He'd begun by wiping the blood from Tino's lips first with his fingers, apologizing for not having served better. Then with his kiss. What came over the two men in that backstreet industrial alleyway was inexplicable. They tore at each other's clothes. Pushed each other against the slightly greasy brickwork and kissed. Not the cordial, respectful, chaste kisses of brothers. No. This had gotten deeper. Darker. They confessed things to each other without saying a word. Just with their eyes. That they wanted to fuck. To break the rules. Because there were some lines that you didn't cross in the Camorra. That honor and family was the most sanctimonious. You just didn't do it. Confused business with pleasured. Blurred the line between colleagues and lovers.

But they did... They did.

That line was crossed.

And they both got off on it with reckless abandon.

They'd never say a word. They'd take this secret to their graves. No one would have to know. But they did. Even though they never said a word to the rest of the guard, they seemed to intrinsically figure it out for themselves. And they weren't angry about it. Why? Because he was their employer, maybe. Because they were wearing his money and riding on his coat tails? Perhaps. Because they were Italian and bisexuality was as normal as the air you breathed. Also a strong possibility. Because they reasoned that his heart wasn't in it entirely. Because his primary focus had always been on women. True. True.

Whatever it was, they relaxed about him. And in the privacy of his estate he relaxed the rules on them as well. He'd know for a while that Curtis and Tony were going likely going steady. Even though they never talked about it and sought to take women as their partners. Mostly for show. Because it was better if Lorenzo didn't have to think too hard about what his High Guard was really like.

He'd been married for almost thirty years. He wouldn't understand anyway. Not without explosive repercussions. They didn't need that.

So Christov never let it go. That one night in Singapore. When they were strung out on cocaine and drunk on fear and pain and pressure. Running from their enemies, running from the law. Running from themselves.

They accepted each other a lot more readily than they should have. But it had felt good.

Ridiculous. He pushed the thoughts of the other man away. Lalienna was working his skin. Descending his abs and stripping him of his will to fight her. Her kisses were hot, burning. He could hear himself begging. But he sounded as though it was coming from somewhere else in the room. It was the coke. He wasn't fighting the high. He was rolling with it. He wanted it... His cock in her mouth... Those deep, decadent strokes. Fuck it. He'd bend her over the bed and take her from behind. He was wild with the desire to see his body covered in her blood. It was a fantasy. A filthy illusion that suggested he'd taken her virginity. She was bleeding for him. She always bled for him.

The scar... healing at her throat that alluded to his initial. He pulled her hair back just so he could see the 'S'. Hear her whimper.

"You high right now, baby?" He needed to know... She didn't feel right. She didn't look or sound right all night since she came downstairs.

"Lali... Tesoro, sei alto?" (Treasure, are you high?) She lapped at his groin, teasing him with her tongue before looking up at him from her knees. Her eyes unfocused. She looked pale. Weakening. She wasn't there. And he knew what that was liked. He'd fucked strung out whores before that made offers to do things that were inhumane just so long as they got enough cash to make it for the next hit.

"Mm? Sort of Papi... painkillers." He nodded shifting back from her. Teasing her. She giggled at his resistance. His gentle fingertips caressed her jaw.

"Do you feel good right now?" He whispered hotly. Praying for an answer.

"Sure... sure I'm okay, Papi... really... Just, let me love you. I've been so bad-"

"You haven't, amore, you've been human. That's no sin."

"I don't deserve-"

"Yes you do... You do angel, you deserve my love. Don't contest it. Now, get up... Up... off your knees. I've changed my mind about what I want."

She hesitated. It was visible and direct and stiff. Unable to hide herself. He tensed. Leaning back against the bed. His fingers working the zip to his fly.

"Non dovremmo farlo quando sei in questa condizione." (We shouldn't do this when you're in this condition.) He swung his legs around her, got off the bed. Fuck... Everything hurt. He'd denied himself her touch for a month. They'd barely been afforded a moment's privacy together and now that they had the perfect opportunity his fucking conscience got in the way.

She huffed angrily. Dejected. He never refused her. This was a first. She wasn't accustomed to his lack of submission. She'd been good at making him fold to her will. Making him submit. Making him cum. And he wanted to. Now more than ever, but he couldn't. This wasn't right.

"Papi, come on... don't be like that... Come back to bed. I wanna make your feel good."

"And I want you to... more than anything, bella mia... but this.. I can't. You're a mess. Have you seen yourself in a mirror?"

"You're fucking high, Papi... " She laughed at him, indignant in disbelief. She was on her feet and following him around the room.

"Have you looked at yourself? You don't look crash hot either."

"Don't deflect on me, Lalienna.. we're talking about you here."

"Words... too hard.. Just.. feel." She was touching him, his bare chest. His arms. He was weak for her. He wanted her. He raked his hands through his hair and pulled away though it killed him to do it.

"Why aren't you eating?"

"Wha?"

"I said, why aren't you eating, Lalienna? Hmm? I know you haven't touched a plate in over 24 hours. Ares told me you keep refusing food. We've talked about this, we're not going down this road. I've been there, done that. Bulimia, eating disorders. You're not going there, amore. I won't let you."

"It's not like that, Papi... I just.. get into moods, 'kay? I don't feel like food right now."

"But will you?"

"I'm gaining weight... it's gross.." She was rambling, dejected. Her eyes unfocused.

"In your imagination, maybe. Not on your body. Have you seen yourself? You're a walking supermodel, baby girl. You've practically got the body of a prepubescent boy were it not for your hips and breasts. You and Ares could be confused for each other, from behind."

She pushed at him, hard. Knocking him off balance so that he landed on the ottoman at the foot of the bed.

"You're killing the mood, Papi... this isn't sexy anymore."

"No, it isn't. But you are. Even if you're fucked up. I still want you. Need you. I wanna do things to you that I've been holding back for too long. Gentle... loving. Nothing hard. Nothing dangerous, nothing that pulls you out of your comfort zone."

She purred his name. Sinking back to her knees between his legs. And he opened them for her. Inviting her. He took her hand then, and pressed it right atop his pulsing heat. Hard for her still as it strained against his grey trousers.

"Feel that? Hmm? That there.. baby girl... It's all for you. I'm yours. Every inch belongs to your heart and soul and body."

"Papi's big." She giggled, mischievous eyes. Hungry... but not.. Something still wasn't right. So he pushed her.

"Lali... what's going on? Between us? Right now?" Her eyes changed in response. She pushed away. He knew it. He fucking knew it.

"Cosa non mi stai dicendo?" (What aren't you telling me?)

"I don't know what I want anymore! I'm scared okay? I'm scared of us.. of you! I'm scared of myself." Tears, her eyes filled and began to drain for the second time that night. He hated this. Seeing her cry like this. It was killing him.

He got up, lifting her from her knees and then arranging her in his arms. He plucked her bodily off the floor. She weighed little that was of any consequence. And she didn't resist him. So he carried her back to the bed and laid her down gently. Taking off his shirt that she wore beautifully. Wanting to take off her underwear. But she whimpered and refused him. He didn't care if she bled through the sheets. He had a mattress protector anyway.  Everything was washable. But she didn't want her lace removed. So he respected that and left her a moment to strip himself naked. His clothes joining hers on the floor... No, he thought better of it. He didn't want her to suffer. So he picked them up. Shook them out and hung them neatly on the back of his dressing chair before striding back to take residence atop the bed with her.

He was tired after all. And the building urge for release was stripping him of his will to think clearly. It didn't matter. He'd be happy to deny himself now that he had her. She'd love him when she was better. They had all the time in the world together. She was his Mistress now. They'd make this up to each other.

He told her so as he covered them over under the rich sheets and elegant black quilt. He hugged her to him. Listened to her, for moments as she cried in his arms. Burying her face against his neck. His shoulder wet with her tears. He shushed her lovingly. Gently. His tender hands at her back. Caressing circles on her skin.

"It's okay...baby girl... It's okay... It's like the phase of the moon... the tides of the sea. Today you'll feel impossible. Run down... Worn out. Tomorrow... it will pass. It will always pass. We don't have to rush things anymore. You're safe now that you're with me. I won't.... I fuck this up for us. We're both not at our best right now. It's been a long week and its only just begun. Sleep, baby. Just sleep. Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow when you wake I'll have a new gift for you. A surprise. Something that will make you forget about everything you're going through. Everything you've suffered. Sleep. Heal. Sleep."

God... he thought to himself. She was an angel. He'd torn off her wings when he forced himself within her. Again when he cut her. And she was bleeding out the moment he laid eyes on her. Now she was bleeding again and he could almost taste it. No wonder he was offending her. He almost wanted to attend the bathroom, to shower and brush his teeth and make himself presentable for her. But, her weight was heavy against him. The bed was soft and sleep was calling . Like a siren.

He closed his eyes a moment.

"I love you, Lalienna...."

He drifted on that empty ocean.

He wasn't alone this time.

She was beside him.