Small-fortunes - Small Fortunes

Judeth Clayton: Blood & Gold

Thirteen Beside the Queen.

And now she’s a broken mask in the Halls of Hell.

The Gods themselves will hold you down.

One last shot, two souls to sell.

Betrayed the cause for Love.

Rose to take the Throne.

Burned them all in revolution.

Fallen back to stone.

{[ @f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat - @lalienna-dementriento - Proudly Introducing Judeth Clayton of John Wick || Blood & Gold ]}

Nancy Fouts

“Everything you ever did to me. when you did it. Cut like a knife. More than any bullet wound, Lalienna. I would have saved you from the world. But you didn’t trust me enough, did you? It was never enough. You needed more. Nothing seemed to satisfy you. So I can’t force your hand. I’ll get up, get dressed and leave.  But you will remember this hour. This night. You will remember me. I’ll see you ‘round.” - J. Wick. Tower of London. 

Why these colours? because)))

It was just as well the knocks had come.

Santino had just put down the phone from speaking with his father. And it was just as he expected. Judeth had wasted no time in contacting the Italian Crime Lord of The High Table and making the steaks clear. Lorenzo listened to the White Woman intently and finally, after considering the woman's proposition just and fair, and with his extensive knowledge of his son's unreliable history with women whom he attended to on a romantic level; was satisfied. Lalienna's three month Camorra probationary contract would be written and signed by the following business day. A copy would be forwarded to Julius, owner/manager of The Continental Rome and another dispatched to his franchise colleague Jeremy, owner/manager of The Continental London.  Together the men would acknowledge that Lalienna DeMentriento was still very much an elite independent mercenary contractor whose primary employer was still none other than Judeth Clayton. Hand Maid of The White Tower of London. Separate to Athena. Separate to the Iron Fortuna Syndicate. But still, very much owned and operated by Judeth for the next three months. Lorenzo however made it clear. In the event of catastrophic collateral damage or conflict of interest against the Spanish or the French, Lalienna's execution would be uncontestable. Her body returned to Judeth as a casualty of war. The Camorra would not accept the responsibility for failure but would be the cause of her termination.  Judeth's faith in Lalienna's abilities ran deeply.

She had fostered the girl with the other Tower initiates for five years in total and trained with her for two. Any act of insubordination or insincerity had been very much crushed out of her. Duty, honour, allegiance and servitude had been at the forefront of her education since the day of her arrival. The girls had been made to watch their first human execution at the age of fourteen. Athena herself had taken the head of a wayward infiltrator and presented it in horror to the gasping, feinting young women. Holding it aloft as a spoil of war and speaking out clear and loud:  That she had no need for prisoners. And would not tolerate deviation. She was Death. And Death would come with vengeance. That real power came from the action of those that took the blade in their own hands to complete the execution. Only cowards and bastards would allow the death of a human being to be subsidized by another.  Were they going to grow up as cowards? Were they going to grow up as bastards though many of them were? Or would they be strong? Would they look their victim in the eye and take responsibility for claiming their immortal souls? The choice was there's entirely. Meanwhile, she was Queen. And her actions spoke louder than any words ever would.

The girls were traumatized for years later. But they understood. They comprehended the scope of their work. They understood their Queen. Loved her. Served her. Obeyed her. Because she was Death. She was Destruction. She controlled the four horsemen of the apocalypse. If she would say so, the ground would give way beneath her enemies and suck them all into the abyss.

For this reason the young women were awed. For this reason the young women realized they were not in the presence of a mere aging mortal woman. Athena had ascended from the very depths of the Underworld to reign supreme amongst men. Perhaps she was the Archangel Lucifer in flesh incarnate. And her Thirteen Hand Maids served as the succubus demons of her demonic bidding.

Lalienna knew, none was darker and more tainted of those than perhaps Judeth Clayton. The whispers from the palace were heard. She was known as Judeth The Betrayer. To the rest of the Tower, she was inhuman. A high functioning sociopath, completely and mechanically capable of smashing Athena's enemies in a tidal wave of her wrath and fury. They never saw her coming. She was a shadow in the darkness. A ghost of the imagination. Never directly involved in open combat, death or murder. A manipulator, ravager, saboteur.... They called her 'The Woman'. Her marks never learned her name. Her face was forgotten. She was a master of blending into the crowd. Being anonymous. Because that is how Athena trained them. They needed no narcissism, no titles. They were revered exclusively by their order in The Tower alone.  London knew the tattoos. The coat of arms was a gang symbol that was feared.

They were not as flashy and proud as the Camorra of Italy or the Imperial Dragons of Japan or the Ruska Roma of Russia. No. They were Iron Fortuna. They were English. And the English had a job to do. And they didn't fuck around.

She had proved it to him when he spoke to his father and his father told him, this was going to be the arrangement whether he liked it or not. Because the White Woman of Iron Fortuna were an asset. An ally power. Their sheer numbers and force of prominence in the Underworld bolstered the Italian pride of the Camorra. And he would not let a little shit (he referred to his son in this instance) fuck it up by deciding that Lalienna was incompatible with his sexual preferences. She was power piece. A knight on the chessboard that had come dressed in white. They would foster her, and care for her, and train her as one of their own. And if Santino set so much as a hair out of line with her, she would immediately be taken as a maid of honour by Gianna. And again, Lorenzo reminded his son that he had no say in that. Not after the rape and murder scandal of Marissa Conti. In fact, Lorenzo seconded Judeth's opinion. She had every right to call him a peasant in prince's clothing. Because his attitudes were still extremely immature and his failures outstripped his good deeds ten to one. They were bad odds. And Lorenzo wasn't interested in booking against bad odds.

"Se non vuoi essere trattato come un contadino, non comportarti come tale." (If you don't want to be treated as a peasant then don't act like one.)

These were Lorenzo's final words as he disconnected the call.

Santino D'Antonio was bested. Fucked off. Furious and feeling the pang of impotent rage flood through him. To want to struggle against these family bonds and be shackled by their gold chains harder than he ever had before.

'Fanculo la mia vita!' (Fuck my life!) He thought to himself as he swung open his office door. Hector stood proud, grinning from ear to ear. Eyes twinkling. Cigarette hanging from his lips and laptop in hand.

"Can I show you something, Signore?"

"Certo." (Of course.) Santino replied. Stepping aside and allowing his Guard Commander to enter his office. The door was shut behind them.

The laptop was set on the glass coffee table next to Santino's half-consumed cappuccino. The guard settled into the sofa and gestured for his boss to take residence beside him.

It was done.

"Look at this dog, Tino... Tell me what you think?!" Santino put on his reading glasses and assessed the screen. Indeed, it was a beautifully proportioned Rottweiler puppy. By his cursory glance of the photograph on screen, he made the informed decision that the animal was likely purebred, expensive and ridiculously cute. He'd make a good guard dog to someone very special.

"I think you're showing me a photo of a dog that will become the love of someone's life."

"Lalienna's life." Hector pronounced. He didn't even think about it, he just blurted the words out.

"Scusami?" (Excuse me?)  Santino returned, a raise of his brow as he pulled off his glasses. That was the second time that day he had to repeat himself. He was starting to lose his patience with people telling him what do to in his own house. Hector took his employer's tone to heart and backpedaled immediately with a contextual back-story.

"Boss, listen... Lalienna. She's not well, you know? She hasn't been well for a very long time. When we found her, she was messed up, kicked out of her syndicate. She got caught up with you-"

"Think carefully about what you're saying, Hector."

"Let me finish, Tino, fuck... No disrespect boss, but come on. See it from the girl's viewpoint. She's into you less than a month, she has a passing indiscretion with some girl, you ignore her ass, drive her insane and cut her up... Jesus man, she's barely twenty-one. An assassin? Really? That's no life for some pretty girl like that."

He wanted to say more. To mention the pregnancy. The abortion she was going through right now. He'd assumed she wasn't well by the sickly look on her face when they touched down in Rome. He wasn't surprised to learn that Santino had not had his way with her. Nor was he surprised when the girls did not present themselves at table to eat. None of the guards were. Lalienna's secret would stay with him to his final breath. He would not betray her confidence. He was serious in his proposal. That if Santino would not accept her children, he would. He would step in on the role of father and husband. He'd beg Santino's pardon, perform whatever task was desired of him, but he too would find a way to escape the table if it meant he would rear Lalienna's bastard children. He was ostracized in his youth for coming from a broken home with another father. He would not let a child in his knowledge, on his watch suffer the same fate. His honour depended on it.  But not at this hour it seemed. Lalienna had stepped up to the plate that most women would dread to witness. She had gone through with the abortion. And it was imperative he save her sanity. He didn't care about the cost.

He had watched her deteriorate under Airoldi's manipulation. She did not falterer on the field, she came back strong and unblemished. But she was dying on the inside. Dying because Santino would not love her. And he couldn't stand by and let that go uncontested.

"So you're telling me you want to give her a dog?" Tino asked after a moment's pause.

'Thank God!' Hector thought to himself.  That could have gone much worse. Tino's temper when corrected was explosive. Like a hand grenade with the pin pulled loose. It only took seconds for him to set off and pull down everything within his reach. But this was dangerous too. The calm before the storm. For he knew that Santino was also keeping himself pure. He's commitment to Lalienna had been true and honest and he'd not been whoring in Austria, though he could have done if he wanted to. His blind fury, the violence against the young dancer served as a testament to his fidelity. Santino was loyal when in a relationship if nothing else. Hector was hoping to use guilt against him if it meant the Prince of Rome would consent to the purchase of the puppy for Lalienna.

"She's a child still, boss, c'mon. She needs focus. Something to inject her love into that isn't just honour, family and duty."

"And I'm not enough?" Tino began to bristle.

"You're always enough Signore, c'mon. Don't even talk like that. You see her, the way she looks at you. Pines for you. You're her Papi. You don't know what you put her through whilst you were in Vienna. You didn't see the damage, the tears, the tantrums, the way she stopped eating after you fucked her up. You pushed her away in your fury and gave her to me. So we picked up the fucking pieces and I'm telling you there were thousands. Ares didn't sleep for days and nights drying that girls' tears. They flowed like rivers and they flowed because of you. Christov missed work, stayed back from field just to make sure she wouldn't do something stupid like slit her own wrists in shame... If that's not love, amigo, I don't know what fucking is."

That seemed to have the effect he wanted. Santino leaned forward on the sofa, raking his fingers through his hair and resting his elbows on his knees before returning his watery eyes to the screen. He took no pleasure from his employer's private suffering. He didn't mean to sink that blade so deep. But it was absolutely necessary. He twisted it because he was sadistic. And sadism was a card that he knew Santino responded too extremely well. The Prince of Rome had a gentle heart. And it bled when you used the right words. It bled even worse when you used the word 'love'.

"It's a nice looking dog..." Santino consented at last. "Big paws though... big head. He'll be huge. It's a pity they cut off its tail. They shouldn't mutilate the animals like that."

"They do it because it makes them look tougher. A lot of these dogs earn a lot of money in show and in dogfighting pits." Hector replied, heartened that this was going somewhere positive. He pulled a cigarette case out of his coat pocket and lit up, offering the smoke to Santino who, without ceremony, took it directly out of his lips, placed it against his own and dragged down deep.

The intimacy of the action stirred something in Hector he couldn't explain. Santino had a ferocious allure to him. And it worked just as well on men as it did on women. He pulled a second cigarette from his case and lit up again, taking this one for himself.

"It's not like we don't have room. Dogs are good for people. Lower the blood pressure. Keep you focused. Teach you loyalty, responsibility, humility. They stop being animals and start becoming family. Lalienna has no family man. Dead mother, dad that don't want her. She's displaced. Got nothing, got us, sure. But I think she needs something that's purely her own. Someone to care for that understands the world without the bullshit of business we're in."

The two men smoked in silence. The weight of Hector's words sinking deep between them. And Hector couldn't help but think to himself,

'I wonder how long he can go without a fuck?' That was... unexpected. Out of no-where. It's just that the moment Tino had touched back down in London from Austria and finally gave his apology, the couple were afforded no time to bond together. They wouldn't let him near her. Because of the pregnancy, yes. And what's more. Because he didn't deserve to get off with such a helpless and beautiful girl.  Ares had confirmed that the couple may well have slept together last night, but sex had been entirely off the cards. That meant, by his reckoning, that Santino had not had any form of sexual release inside a woman for well over a month. Masturbation didn't count. Guys jacked off to manage mood more than because release felt good. It was a byproduct of the overall effect. Unless they were gunning for a partner, they worked better on an empty tank. Otherwise, testosterone took over and the majority of their decisions were governed exclusively by the hardness of their cocks. That's why they fought so brilliantly when they were unloaded. They were clear. They knew where they stood. But pent up... aching...It was easy to cloud judgment with unrequited desires.

Hector was a dominant sadist. A man of command because he had so many hidden blades that he used when he wanted to twist people to their knees.

Sex was one of them. And he wasn't afraid to use it.

So he did.

He closed the space between them on the sofa and slid his hand against Santino's upper thigh. Enjoying the feel of the expensive fabric that made up his gray pinstriped trousers. It wasn't anything. It was just a friendly gesture of intimate brotherhood. It wasn't romantic. It wasn't erotic. But the light changed in Santino's eyes. To the Prince of Rome... the touch was purely sensual. Hector purred.

"I think... you should surprise her. Buy her the puppy. Watch her thrive. Watch her bloom. You'll forever be basking in the light of her unfettered adoration because you presented her with a living breathing gift of a lifetime. Unique and pure as the stars. Tino... Lalienna needs this dog." He squeezed his fingers against the younger man's thigh and watched. Watched as Santino's lips opened just a fraction of a millimeter more than was prudent. His fingers tremored as he held the cigarette partway to his lips. It was inaudible, but he heard it all the same. The way Santino held back a sigh. Ravenous... hungry.

His eyes darkened in lust... he looked back to the laptop monitor. The adorable little black pup with its soulful eyes and precious floppy ears sat like a beacon of purity. He liked dogs. He liked Lalienna more. He wanted to make her happy. His home was certainly big enough. This was a good idea. A puppy... A baby... Girls like babies... they liked puppies more...

"Call the breeder. Tell them not to sell that pup. I want him. No matter what the cost. Tell him we'll be there tomorrow morning." His eyes flashed, he rose from the sofa and handed Hector his phone.

The Camorra Commander grinned the grin of the victorious. He'd won this game. He took the phone and made the call with a heart bursting with pride. The breeder screened Hector vigorously before talking business. He was not interested in releasing a pup of this quality to anyone that wasn't already experienced in raising and looking after dogs. Hector was more than ample in pacifying the man. For he had lived with and trained dogs for security firms since he was sixteen. He knew exactly what to do with a little buddle of fur. He gushed over the phone about the baby dog. His voice becoming an octave higher as was the way when he spoke adoringly to animals or children. The owner was satisfied and named a price. Two thousand Euro, no negotiations. The animal was a pure breed and the mother and father were show stud and bitch that had won multiple awards.

Tino nodded his approval. Two thousand Euro was nothing compared to Lalienna's perpetual happiness. He'd already blown well over two million Euro on her house, car, paperwork, bribes, clothes, jewels, perfume, cosmetics and shoes. That was before even paying her a salary. He didn't give a fuck about money. He'd never run out. Not in his lifetime. Not if he could help it. He hadn't attended four years at Rome's premier university to study business management, leadership, and international commerce for no reason.  Plus... his father bankrolled him pretty well. It was a sound arrangement.

 After the call, Hector and Santino began scheming. Planning. Giggling amongst themselves like schoolboys. This was incredible! They were going to present the puppy in a little carrier cage, wrapped in a bright blue satin ribbon with a massive bow. They'd sneak into her room, get one of the others to pull her away and distract her. Then they would set a tiny little puppy bed with a tray for food and water at the foot of her room. They would get leads and collars and baby blankets that were woolen and soft. Lots of chew toys because puppies teethed and it was a good habit to get them to chew toys rather than their owner's shoes and clothes.

Toilet training would be easy enough. Rottweiler's were easy to train with scented hormone drops and puppy pads. There would be accidents, but if they isolated the pup to a smaller portion of the house until he grew accustomed to walking downstairs and requesting to be let out to relieve himself in the garden, they could control the scope of the mistake. None of the crew were squeamish or disgusted when it came to something as innocent as puppy poop or wee. Gods, they had killed grown men and watched the corpse flush its bowels in the aftermath of death because that was what happened to a human being once they passed. Anything a puppy could deliver would be angelic by comparison.

They doubted very much Lalienna would revolt either. Though Santino reminded Hector that Lalienna was terribly OCD about cleanliness, neatness and order. Hector confirmed this knowledge. For once Lalienna, disorientated by her grief, had entered his rooms at the hotel in London and cleaned them for him from top to bottom. Clearly putting the maids out of work.

He thought it was charming but entirely unnecessary. He tried very hard to dissuade the girl, but she barked at him and sent him scuttling out of the rooms like a displaced crab.

The boys went on a tangent from there as Santino explained,

"I can't tell you how many times we're caught up in the heat of passion, stripping off each other's clothes in a frantic bid to get into bed... when she stops part way and folds her clothes... and mine.. neatly..."

Hector cackled, doubled over in laughter, tears in his eyes as he held his stomach.

"And here I am with this massive fucking hard on.... handing her the coat hangers...." Tino continued.

"Oh!!! Oh fuck, boss! That's too funny... ow ow ow.... Oh...my sides... You're killing me!"

"I'm killing you?!" Santino shouted, gesturing wildly with his hands. "Have you ever tried to fold some pants with an erection so large it could invade Greece?"

Then men were in tears, fits of laughter that shook their chests and burned their sides. God it felt good to just laugh and laugh and laugh. The commotion drew attention for Ares and Tony appeared at the office door with a quick knock before letting themselves in.

"Hey there!" Tony began brightly, looking dashing in his half-buttoned dress shirt that showed off his bare, muscled and bronzed chest. "What's the commotion about?"

'We could hear you laughing from upstairs. What's so funny?'

"Tino's dick." Hector choked out... falling back against the sofa.

'What? He pulled it out and showed you? Don't tell me he's got one of those micropenis things...' Ares signed, extremely amused by the comment.

Crude, in his laughter, Santino made the classic Italian grab for his groin rubbing it over his pants. The gesture was both an insult and sexual innuendo that made Ares flip her boss off. Tony chuckled and put his arm around the young woman.

"Not even close babe. I've had the pleasure of pissing next to him in the men's room and I can assure you, he's studding easy six thick Italian inches. Flaccid."

Ares eyes widened in disbelief. She had suspected that Santino was well endowed because that was the genetic standard for most European males of the region. Then again, as she was quite small in her frame, anything over five inches on a man intimidated her a little more than she felt comfortable admitting. Mostly to herself. Hence her preference of making love to women. They were a little gentler in the bedroom. And it didn't hurt so much with a well-lubed strap on... or those sensuous lips... She was suddenly blushing and embarrassed. As though she had walked in on something that was very personal. She'd.... keep that information in her mind stored for later. Lalienna was a brave girl if she could take being pounded by all of that.

"Guys! Listen up!" Santino began. "Come tomorrow morning, we're getting Lalienna a puppy dog of her own. The D'Antonio Estate will welcome a furry companion amongst its ranks. "

"Oh my goodness! Really?! A puppy?!" Tony gushed, striding forward to see the pictures Hector showed him on the laptop. Ares was immediately distracted from her dirty thoughts and began to jump up and down excitedly.

'Oh my god! I'm going to tell her right now!' She gestured happily.

"No! Ares, no! It's a secret. A surprise. Don't tell her anything. Just take her into town tomorrow. Show her the sights. Take her for lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe, keep her busy and distracted. Keep her as sober and straight as possible and bring her back to the house before sunset. Don't let on that you know anything about it. Don't say a fuckin' word or we'll kill you and feed you to the birds, feelin' me?" Hector demanded.

"Can we let the others in on the surprise though?" Tony asked, his eyes twinkling in mirth. Completely swept away in the excitement.

"Of course, but make sure they don't let anything slip either. Ensure Panchelli and the maids know too. The whole house can know what's going on except Lalienna. " Santino sang happily. The crew hugged and kissed each other in joy then took a moment to compose themselves before leaving Santino's office and forcing the spring out of their step. They wouldn't let the secret slip. They each separated to different parts of the mansion and passed on the news in the style of Chinese whispers.

Panchelli was overjoyed by the idea for he too was raised with greyhound racing pups as a young boy and considered the affections of a dog to be remarkably good for a young lady's health.

Likewise, he convened the maids in the servant's common room and filled them in. That a new puppy would take residence in the D'Antonio Estate. The girls were beside themselves. They squeaked and bounced about and clapped excitedly in joy. Oh, they were so happy with this news! They swore on their hearts, mothers, and lives they would keep the knowledge absolutely secret and vowed to kill each other if they found the promise would be broken. But they were all fine, friendly girls that were nothing if not discreet and dutiful.  Keeping a secret was a maid's number one professional calling. Panchelli rested assured. All would be well. Extremely well.

|||

Later that evening, after dinner had been consumed and the crew had moved to the drawing-room to smoke, play music, gamble and drink coffee; Ares had sought to bring her best friend downstairs to join them.

Poor Lalienna, still somewhat stoned off too many of Mama Frita's pills and still refusing to eat anything despite Ares very persuasive coaxing, complained that she didn't feel up to being surrounded by so many men that weren't her Papi. She was in turmoil and had cried many more times that evening after Christov had delivered her gently back to her rooms. Ares took over to cheer the girl with kisses and caresses that were mostly unwelcomed. Ares was at a loss to satisfy the girl. She held her lovingly instead, stopped being playful and cheeky and made sure she wasn't bleeding through her clothes. She wasn't, thankfully. Lalienna had asked for a tampon to staunch the flow of her bleeding but Ares corrected her angrily and thrust a pad between her friend's legs instead.

'You shouldn't have anything in your body right now blocking the flow. You want to get this over with as quickly and painlessly as possible so you can move on with your life, babe. Really. Just trust me... Use a pad. Alright?' She wrote into her phone, making sure the dancer read it, then kissed Lalienna's forehead. Together the two ladies shared a moment of intimacy that was reserved exclusively for women.  Inside, Ares' heart was singing. Because she knew the secret joy that they were going to bestow on her friend would be only hours away. And she prayed that Lali would respond well to holding a baby dog in her arms.

Christov came to their rooms then, knocking quietly on the door and begging entrance. Two knocks. Which was code for: 'It's not urgent, but can I come in?'

Ares returned the two knocks on her coffee table. Code for: 'The room's clear, you can enter'

The imposing and devilishly handsome tattooed man, dressed in tight torn black jeans, Gucci loafers and an equally tight 'v' neck t-shirt that was cut low and revealed the octopus at his throat and chest, swaggered into the room with a whiskey glass in hand and a playboy smile. Ares loved him when he dressed casually. He wore a black and white paisley printed bandanna and looked every bit the rock star bad boy of every girl's masturbatory wet dreams.

"So ladies..." He began by way of introduction. "The boys and I are downstairs, chillin', hangin' out. And we were wondering... if you girls would like to come downstairs and blow off a little steam with us? No pressure, if you ain't up for it. But... It's been a rough week. So... now that we're home.. and done with dinner... we thought maybe a little music... a little booze... Marcus is racking up a couple of prime lines from Colombia..." He raised his brow, flashing his most devilishly disarming smile. And god it was good. He was a rock god... Those tattoos made him dirty delicious. He was beaming. He knew a secret and caught the look in Lali's eyes. So he strutted forward into the room. Ran his fingers under Ares' chin, making the girl look up and purr darkly. She reached beside her and squeezed Lali's hand for comfort and support.

Chris drew his attention to the dancer and squatted down low before her.

"Babe... I've got some new ink from the U.S downstairs... and my machine... Umm... " He licked his lower lip suggestively stripping her of her clothes with his eyes. Yes, she'd lost a child but still, she was human, female, alive... pulsing with beauty. And he'd comforted her in the past month or more. It was further and deeper than they cared to admit. But their reasoning was sound. Santino didn't have to know. Chris was the keeper of two precious secrets. He slipped his hands over the dancer's knees and squeezed gently, massaging her flesh.

"I think you should come down... It's about time you feel the kiss of an Italian needle." His smile darkened. He was predatory. Tattooing his family was... erotic. Ritualistic. He was lusting. Hard. He wanted the dancer's skin under his hands. He wanted to mark her forever. But not like Santino did, not with at blade against her throat. That was barbaric and monstrous. He was an attack dog... not a savage.

"C'mon girls... Come downstairs. We want you to party with us. Lali... babygirl... Papi's waiting for you. Don't worry, he's in a good mood. We might have gotten him a little high already." He smirked, winking that bad boy wink of his. He rose then and swaggered back toward the door.

"C'mon baby... Daddy wants to make you feel good."

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.

Meanwhile, within the private confines of his office, Santino leaned into his window frame watching a flock of doves in the garden below as they bathed happily in the stone fountain, chirping to themselves in the afternoon sunlight. He was immensely glad to be home at last. He enjoyed international travel even if the different time zones tired him. Regardless, he found nervous reserves of excitable energy the moment the plane landed, to go out, breathe foreign air. Explore. He'd been to every corner of the globe he could attend, maxing out his passport twice before he was even twenty-eight. No sooner did he land in one city than he wanted to strip it of its beauty and riches and take flight to another. The food, the music, the women, history, art, architecture. They all enthralled him, captivated and enlightened him. His favourite was always travelling across Asia. Singapore, Thailand, Malaysia, China, Japan. So much history, it made him dizzy. The temples fascinated him. The monks and their chanting, their combat. The way they could meditate for hours on end, removing their souls from the living world yet remaining present, focused. Incredible.

Yet, no matter where in the world he went, there was never any place like Rome. His homeland. His birth nation. Here is where he belonged. Where he felt freer and safer than any destination ever before. He would jet set off for months on end, restless, hungry for more... but Rome called him back. A lover to her breasts. He sank into her tender embrace. Here... in his estate, surrounded by his loved ones. This was where he needed to be. He loved London too, the empire humbled him, its vastness outstripping anything Italy was capable of producing in terms of sheer geometric land mass. The people were so unified, so patriotic and good-natured. A little rigid perhaps. Still very Victorian in their behaviours. The class divisions were clear amongst the people. The rich were rich, the poor were poor. A steady stream of middle-class citizens kept the nation rolling on the backs of hypocrisy and terminal bloodshed.

When he attended the Continental, he had no intention of staying any longer than it took to present his face to Athena with his High Guard. A token offering of respect. There were issues with minor gang members and lower Camorra mafia teams that ran a money-laundering racketeering ring along the red light district. Athena had written to him personally, inviting his attention. Inviting... Huh! He scoffed at that. She diplomatically demanded the Prince of Rome present himself in her nation to remind his men of the stringent rules of arranged compliance for their trade in her city... or they would meet with significant family losses. He was at a loss. Gianna gave the list of names a cursory glance and decided immediately that the work was beneath her. Her brother would dispatch on her behalf. She didn't waste her time with two-bit pistol-toting wannabe thugs. That was his job. And he resented her for it.

"Jon Marco è un tuo problema, Gianna, perché devo sempre fare il tuo lavoro sporco?" (Jon Marco is your problem, Gianna, why do I always have to do your dirty work?)

He'd argued with her.

"Perché mi devi, fratellino. Ti ho salvato la vita, mantieni l'ordine lungo la ragnatela. E smettila di darmi problemi. Ne ho abbastanza del tuo piagnisteo. Lavora, per una volta! Fuori dalla vagina di una donna." (Because you owe me, little brother. I saved your life, you keep order along the spiderweb. And stop giving me a hard time about it. I've had enough of your whining. Work, for once! Outside of a woman's vagina.)

Oh Gianna! She infuriated him beyond belief sometimes. That look of tense fury in her eyes, the way she looked down upon him, almost in faux pity. He'd warned her before that wouldn't think twice about slapping that narcissistic look off her face. He hated her puffed up, over-importance. Ever since their mother had left she had assumed the role of lady of the house. And Lorenzo had tolerated it. Allowing the bitch to push her weight around as though she owned the place. God! He argued with their father bitterly, swearing to the Gods that he would not spend another night under the same roof as her. And he didn't have to. For the moment he turned eighteen his father had bestowed this estate upon him with a look of relief.

What was that for? Was he so impossible to live with? It wasn't his fault, it was theirs! Gianna's mainly. He got on well with father. But that bitch sister of his... God!

Well, no matter. He shook the memory away and freed his phone from his trouser pocket, thumbing the screen absently and opening his banking app. He sought to review his statements for the last two months. What he was doing was stalling. He hadn't wanted to front to conversation with Judeth Clayton. That White Woman was... unnatural. Detached. Disassociated from the world around her. She lacked warmth, humility, presence. She was beautiful, yes, some eight or nine years his senior, but already the cracks in her beauty began to show. Those eyes... They haunted him. He found himself remembering them at the oddest occasions and with the memory came a crawling discomfort in his chest. The English were too militant. Too rigid. There was something never quite right about them. Some sort of dark discipline that permeated their presence and stripped the air of its joy. He didn't want to face the call. The berating he knew he was in for. The whole affair in the Continental with Sable and Hector and Lalienna had unhinged a portion f his sanity, leaving him feeling disconnected and powerless. He couldn't accept it. At least here, in Rome he was lord of his own means once more. He needn't fear the oppression of another ruler. He could manage his father. He could manage Gianna. Everything seemed a hundred times more manageable now.

Sort of.

He was unaccustomed to being made to wait or having his summons ignored. It offended him that Lalienna did not present herself at his table for breakfast. She'd not attended lunch either. Nor had Ares. He would make allowances and swallow his displeasure for now. The girl meant no offense and he sympathised with her plight at being transplanted so wilfully across whole countries to please him. She would need time to adjust. Gather herself. They both needed time to heal. To his heart, healing began in the intimate embrace of her body. He'd enjoyed her vigour, her rejuvenating sensuality and nearly unquenchable thirst for heated, passionate love making. He never rejected her advances, relishing in her need to explore his physical terrain, testing the skin to see what would give way beneath her fingers. He rarely rejected her advances, even if he was tired or distracted or otherwise mentally engaged. She seemed to always find a way of dominating his will, to bring him back to her body. He bled himself to love her. But the trip to Austria had been a veiled blessing. In a way, he needed the solitude and distance to ground himself. He'd felt it coming on multiple occasions that in each session of passionate embraces, he was losing something of himself in light of relinquishing it to her needs. She was draining him of his spirit. Through his cock, it seemed.

Until her affair left him cold. Then it had all changed. He was no longer warm and yielding. Rather, he'd pushed her way entirely. Abandoning her to her private demons.

What a nightmare. He didn't think he'd ever be able to look upon London the same way again. That city had brought with it demons and nightmares he was not prepared to endure. And prayed he'd never have to again.

Something wasn't right. Among his men. Among Christov and Hector and Ares. They...they were distracted. Preoccupied at the table. They looked to each other and the rest as if they were in the midst of uncovering something great and he was not part of the unveiling. He couldn't put his finger on it. Perhaps it was just tiredness. Lalienna had not attended his needs for days. Then again, he wasn't the same young man he was at twenty-one. His ravening after sex was better controlled. He relaxed knowing he had a Mistress to attend him when and if he desired it. And she was explosive in his bed. But not recently.

He pushed the thought away and with it, righted himself from the window frame, clearing the room and seating himself heavily into his sofa. He closed his banking app and pulled up his contacts, scrolling until Judeth's surname appeared on screen. He connected the call... and waited.

Within three rings the woman answered in alarmingly clear Italian.

"Buon pomeriggio signor D'Antonio." (Good afternoon Mr. D'Antonio)

"Grazie, signora Clayton. Confido che il giorno ti abbia trattato gentilmente?" (Thank you, Lady Clayton. I trust the day has treated you kindly?)

"As well as can be expected. I thank you for your concern." She returned in English. Her Italian was clear and well elocuted, but her English... that accent made him feel things. She was positively delicious to listen to on the phone. He would enjoy this exchange after all. He remembered the power rush he'd gotten off meeting her face to face. The battle of wills between them. The game... It felt good, so long as he was winning. But he couldn't win her. Not for all his charm and swagger, he couldn't win her. So he'd try now. On the phone. The way he did Lalienna whilst he was nations away.  He licked his lower lip, leaning back into the tobacco coloured leather of his sofa and purring, almost sensually into the phone in his richly accented English.

"Lalienna tells me there is conversation pending between us. I called to push it into traction. How can I be of service, Lady Clayton?"

A heartbeat passed between them on the line. He'd chosen his words carefully. She was thinking. Her reaction was like a whip to the shoulder blades.

"You can start by telling me on whose authority you sought to transplant my daughter from English soil to Roman territory, Mr. D'Antonio."

Ouch! The sting. She was so direct. So... aggressive. So completely out of her depth. He liked it. He had her off balance. Which card would he play? How would the tarot fall?

He decided to take her with swords. That seemed the most prudent. The English understood power. Now he would show her his.

"My own authority. " He began, meeting her with a direct thrust. "Your daughter is now my employee, Lady Clayton. The Camorra has absorbed her assets, expenses and losses the moment she pledged her allegiance to my sister, Queen Regent, Gianna. Are you suggesting, we did not make it perfectly clear that she is our property now? She serves a new King , White Woman. Our King. And he is Roman."

God he was sharp. He spat the honorific almost as if it was distasteful. And it was. He had no love for the Tower, Athena or her Iron Fortuna syndicate. Their arrangement was purely statutory as far as he was concerned. A formality. He owed the English crown nothing.

She was silent for moments. Likely bleeding out slowly. But she returned to conversation presently and her tone betrayed no weakness.

"The Camorra has,  in recent memory, been an organization born and bred on the honour of family and its traditions, Sir. As such, I merely enquire as to why you have affronted me with the discourtesy of removing my daughter from the hands of her English Masters without, at bare minimum, a simple phone call to pre-empt me of your intentions to take her with you? Am I to believe I class so lowly; that I was not worthy of your attention? "

Bold move... She retaliated with veiled flattery and the hidden threat of a knife blade. He was stimulated. She was worthy even as she hinted on debasing herself.

"No! Perish the thought!" He assured her. "I admit, I was remiss in not calling to ask for your pardon. Even if I do not feel I had to." There it was, his fire. He threw it in her face and continued. "But I understand family more intimately than you would know, Signora. And I respect that I have caused you anxiety. I assure you, Lalienna is healthy and safe and will come to no harm in Rome under my care. The time has come that we complete her initiation under Lorenzo D'Antonio. Your Queen relinquished her on a political loophole. We merely caught her in the undertow. Her English "masters", as you call them, are as inconsequential to her wellbeing as are her ties to Iron Fortuna. " He meant to tell her that included her. But he held his tongue. He'd said enough. He would not allow this woman to dictate the terms of the agreement to him. What he did with the disowned was his business alone. He'd not justify himself to anyway save his father and sister and even then it was not without heavy resistance.

"I'm afraid her disassociation from my syndicate is not that simple, Mr D'Antonio.  There's still the matter of her hotel membership that needs to be settled."

"I personally take responsibility for her on-going maintenance. I will request Signore Jeremy dispatch her accounts to Signore Julius here in Rome."

"I decline your request, Mr. D'Antonio. Her residency in London's accounts department will stay exactly where they are."

"Scusami?" (Excuse me?) He straightened off the lounge now, raising his brow.

"I said, no, Mr. D'Antonio. I refuse to allow the Camorra Miss DeMentriento's retrenchment of financial maintenance until we formalize a grace period to establish her commission of service to Italy."

"Woah woah woah," He snapped, rising to his feet and pacing toward his fireplace. "There's nothing retrenched about her situation! She had promised herself to my family on her own word-"

"Three months." Judeth insisted, cutting him off cold. "Three months of probationary service and if you find she is unable to meet the needs of the Camorra based on her criteria, then you are to return her to independent service to The Continental London where she is to live and work unmolested and free of your entrapment, do I make myself clear, Mr. D'Antonio?"

The words stung like a slap to the face. He had no intention of enrolling Lalienna's service to his family with any probationary period let alone giving her back to Jermey and Sable if she failed her purpose... alive. He'd sooner break her neck himself than allow her to walk free with any knowledge that could be used against his family. This woman was insane! He told her so.

"Sei fuori di testa, signora!" (You're out of your damn mind, lady!)

"Don't you dare take that tone with me, Prince of Rome." The words like ice as they left her lips. "You don't get to fuck my daughter and then assume you have imperial ownership of her person just because you spilled your seed in her belly."

"Che cosa!?" (What?!) He snapped... completely beside himself. He couldn't believe what she was saying.

"You heard me, you degenerate slave trader. Lalienna's clearly a child. Barely able to wipe her own arse yet. Do you honestly think I'll allow you to chew her up and spit her out like some inconvenient whore? You, are the one who's out of his mind, Santino.  I may not have birthed her, but I spilled blood in her name well before you ever came to the English scene to pluck her from the wild. As far as I'm concerned, she's still an independent contractor on loan from London and will remain so for three months. I will ensure Lorenzo D'Antonio himself is aware of this arrangement and it will remain so, without breech of protocol or God help me I'll fly down there and stick something sharp in you, capisci, pasanio?" (understand, peasant?)

With that, Judeth disconnected the phone and returned it to her coat pocket, flicking up the collar against the Autumn wind. She'd had absolutely all she could stand of that idiot Italian and his self-proposing mind games. He sickened her. She was furious. Completely indignant of entire affair. No sooner did she begin her march across the quadrangle under the escort of her personal guard, than her phone rang again. Irritated she noted the name and answered. It was Sable this time.

"Clayton."

"Good afternoon Mistress Clayton. The Continental extends its compliments and wishes to invite you as its guest to join us for dinner this evening." Still seething from her attack on the Roman Prince, she bristled and responded far too sharply.

"With whom?"

"Me..." Came the reply. Velvet-like. Seductive. "I want you to join my private table for dinner Judeth. I want to talk to you about Lalienna's account."

"It's been paid for, Sable. You know this."

"Judeth... we're not talking about money here. We're talking about contractual obligations. For ten weeks we provided a service to your ward and I second that her bill has been settled. With interest. That's not the point. The point is... Twenty-four hours ago, your ward left English soil under the employ of the Italian mafia who are not known for leaving behind loose ends. I need to know if we're to transfer her paperwork to Rome or not. And considering how delicate this matter is to you, I thought it best you join me for supper first. A little wine perhaps."

When a pause was extended, he lowered his voice and continued. "Dessert."

"Sable...." She breathed the name, a heavy sigh. "Come to dinner, Mistress Clayton. Tonight. Table Twenty-One. Eight o'clock sharp. And wear a dress."

"...Fuck...."

"Dessert. Don't keep me waiting." Mmh. That felt good. He'd enjoyed that call. Sable wore a self satisfied smile as he put down the reception phone. He enjoyed Judeth's company. More than he should, he admitted. But it was good to hear her voice falter under pressure.

"Ladies, take over the desk will you. I'm going out for a little while."

"Ooh Sir!" The twins chimed in, all too happy to relieve the handsome gentlemen of his post.

"While that cat's away..." Sang Chantelle

"The mice....shall.....play...." Chervonne completed. Purring the line with suggestive undertone.

Sable stood proud, adjusting his leather gloves as he fixed the girls with a predatory glare.

"Don't wait up."

He turned on his heel and stalked away.

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 Yaroslav Lotsmanov #starwars #thedarkside #sith #darthmaul #maul #apprentice #fanmade #fanart #MoonsithIG https://www.instagram.com/p/BrI8_D2H4L-/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=2okdrpuqoqs8

John Wick || Blood of the Raven King

Act Two || Scene Two || Concurrence

Bobby woke with a start!

A loud thump in her room caused her to bolt upright with a panicked shout atop her bed. Her blurred eyes took seconds to adjust to the low light of the room and even as her sleep blurred vision clarified, the unfamiliar surrounds did nothing to lessen her anxiety. If anything, she cast her sight about the furniture, unsettled, displaced. Slowly, recollection dawned upon her. No, this was not her dorm room in Oxford, nor was it her old bedroom in Essex. The wallpaper was too elegant and the cornice moldings were too ornate. This was not even her bed.

No, it took a few long moments to pull herself together but given time she realized this was her Uncle's hotel and she was once more a guest to his rooms. This was not England, but the United States of America. The digital clock on the bedside table read 2:34pm. And that thump that she swore came from within the room was certainly her doing. In her sleep she must have thrashed about and swung her arm out, knocking the brass bedside lamp clear off its table. It lay upon the carpet beside the bed with its pale lampshade askew.  She could not remember when it was that she had gone back to sleep after her frenzied writing earlier that morning. Only that she found herself extremely tired afterwards and laid down for what she promised herself would only be a half hour. The sound of the rain so soothing and the hotel so impeccably quiet it seemed. So much for that! 

Swinging her legs free of the bed linen, Bobby bent to set the lamp back upright and found her phone flashing face down on the carpet. The lamp cable had also knocked it free when it came crashing down. 

Sliding her thumb along the slick glass screen, she noted a half dozen messages from her friends Connie and Nate. All which followed the same pattern. 

'Bobby?! Are you awake!? Charon tells us you're fighting jetlag and we don't believe him.' That was Connie at 9:17am.

'Ahoy Bobbette! We're coming to The Continental at midday for lunch and your elusive company. Make yourself decent. Or not, you know I'm kinky.' Read the message from Nate at 11:12am. 

'Bobby! New York doesn't sleep and nor should you, idle princess. We demand your company, and a glass of lemonade, to douse you with.' Connie at 12:15pm. 

'Shall we send Mario round with a plunger? Did you fall in again or have you discovered Narnia?' Wrote Nate at 1 o'clock.

Bobby could not help but chuckle at her friends and their teasing. 

'Heaven forefend Roberta Kent! It's 1:30pm! If you're in bed with a man, throw him out at once and come downstairs! Your Uncle is making eyes at me and I'm feeling conflicted. If you're not down within the hour I'm coming up to get you!' Wrote Connie. And no sooner did she read the last word than she jolted sharply, for there came a powerful knocking at her room door. Connie's clear British accented voice could be heard from the other side. 

"Bobby? Bobby, it's Connie, won't you let me in?"

"Yes, yes I'm coming! Give me a moment!" Called Bobby rushing from the bedroom and out into the lounge. 

In moments she was at the door, unlatching the locks and pulling it open to reveal her friend, colleague and confidante, Constance Blakehurst in a chic deep blue pencil dress and black patent leather heels. Her mane of shoulder length blonde hair had been curled into elegant waves and her ice blue eyes assessed her friend in her pajamas although it was well past two in the afternoon, with gracious good humor. 

"Good Heavens, Bobby Kent! Have you any idea what time it is? Do not for an instant tell me you were still abed this hour?"

"Well...I, uh-"

"Read your messages? Yes, I know, your phone's in your hand and still in one piece which is miraculous considering Nate and I blew it up every hour since this morning. Well? Are you going to let me in so I can greet you properly or are we going to continue this conversation in the hallway?"

"Oh, Connie! It's so good to see you again! I missed you dreadfully!" Said Bobby brightly, stepping aside and letting her friend enter before shutting the door behind her. The two women exchanged an excited school girl's hug that was complimented by many cheek kisses and hair caresses. 

"And I you, to be sure! And Nate hasn't shut up about you since you emailed to say you were coming back to New York! You should hear him darling, every thirty seconds he repeats your name. He's positively beside himself in joy. You really should change your mind and date him already!" 

"Connie! Won't you give up the match maker game?! I've told you before, Nate and I are just good friends." 

"Then can I assume that along with the destruction of your walking cane, you've regained the confidence for other prospects?" 

"No! Honestly, I'm not looking." 

"And even if you were they'd abandon your room in screams of terror if they saw you in that choice not sleepwear!"

This drove a flush of colour to Bobby's cheeks and peel of laughter to follow.

"What's wrong with these pajamas? You were the one that bought them for me to begin with!"

"That was four years ago, Bobby darling. I'm surprised you've not worn holes in them by now, you wear them so often."

"Well, you should be honored that I treasure your gifts so intently and make such good use out of them."

"And I am!" Exclaimed Connie, taking her friend's hands adoringly in her own and beaming in pride.

"Oh, even with your hair a mess and your those old PJs, you're still a picture of loveliness! Go on, give us your runway swagger, sweetheart! Everyone's been absolutely raving about how the magnificent Roberta Kent has gone from wheelchair bound with partial spinal paralysis to walking unassisted on heels! You should hear your Uncle rave about you!"

Bobby complied to her friend's request turning a graceful pirouette on the ball of her foot and then taking to strolling a lap about the living room, circling the coffee table twice in a figure eight before coming back to stand before Connie with a graceful bow. Well! Connie was beside herself in pride. She applauded loudly, cat-calling in the most unladylike fashion and rushed her friend to smother her in a multitude of kisses. The two girls were in fits of laughter.

"Oh Connie! Don't, you're smudging your lipstick, I'm sure of it."

"Don't be silly darling, that's what kiss proof is for! Oh my God! Two years and nine months to the day and I never thought when I saw you in that hospital, that I'd ever watch you walk without assistance again. Oh my sweet God! It's a miracle, I swear it."

"Shh, Connie, sweetheart, don't cry now. There's truly nothing miraculous about it. Honestly. I just got lucky that they didn't damage something irreparable. The rest was all science and dedication."

"And you're truly not in pain at all?" Asked Connie sniffing and wiping at her nose for she could not stem the flow of happy tears.

"No, thank goodness. I mean, not like I used to be. It comes and goes intermittently and I'm more sensitive in the cold. And I'm stiff in the mornings getting up and moving about but once I get going for the day I'm right as rain." Bobby replied, pulling a tissue free of its box on the side table and seeking to wipe at her friend's eyes.

"Oh, Bobby! I'm so happy for you! Truly! You wait till Nate sees you walking. It's all he could talk about the entire trip from Ireland."

Again the girls crushed each other in another warm embrace.

"Well, I'll be more than happy to show him my walk in person. I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting, honestly. It was a long journey over and you'd think I'd be used to travel by now. This stupid injury has slowed me down somewhat. But never mind that, you look stunning, honestly! Did you tint your hair? It appears a lighter blonde than before."

"I did, you charming girl, do you like it?" Connie beamed, caressing her tresses.

"Oh most certainly! It sets off your eyes! And that dress! It looks so expensive!"

"Vivienne Westwood my darling, only the best to walk about in such a swanky hotel." Now it was Connie's turn to spin a circle allowing her companion to admire her fully.

"Startling! Honestly!" Bobby exclaimed. "Hey, is it true what you said in the text? About Uncle Winston?"

"Coming on to me? No of course not, silly girl. I was just trying to get you downstairs sooner. He's as charming as ever. He ages so regally in his silk cravats. Honestly, what a perfect gentlemen he is. I can't believe he never married."

"Well, you could always propose yourself as willing."

"Roberta!" Connie cried, "He's like, what? Thirty years my senior?!"

"Don't let him hear you say that! I made a casual reference to it last night over dinner and he fixed me with the most wounded pout."

"I'll bet he did! Now come on, girl, out of these bedclothes at once and into that bathroom. We need to have you presentable inside of fifteen minutes or the boys are likely to drink themselves to death waiting for us. And I've a million things to tell you, but first, please tell me you were good enough to pack a few decent dresses. I'll kill you if you're going about a classy place as this dressed in nothing but your tactical gear."

"What's wrong with jeans?" Bobby complained with an amused quirk of her lips.

"Are they designer labeled?" Connie asked with an arch of her brow and her hand on her hip.

"What if they come from Target?"

"Then your obituary will say you were strangled by cheap, poorly made denim."

The girls shrieked with laughter and sure enough, Connie rushed her friend back into the bedroom.

As good friends do, Connie helped pick a pretty blue and white dress with laced sleeves and shapely contours out of Bobby's wardrobe. She was greatly relieved that her companion had the foresight to bring an array of casual and formal day and evening wear that was certainly not cheap, poorly made denim and simple t-shirts. Within twenty minutes Bobby was washed, brushed, made up and dressed, looking every bit the alluring young woman Connie remembered her to be before her tragedy had befallen her. And all throughout her toilette, the girls exchanged vivid chatter and gossip. For they spoke frequently on the phone, via Skype and even exchanged letters and post cards whilst on their travels around the world; but nothing compared to being in the same physical room with each other. Connie kept tearing up and wiping at her eyes, having to readjust her eyeliner and hair before finally taking her friend by the arm and guiding her out the door.

On the way down the hall and into the elevator, Bobby turned the conversation round to the dream she'd had the night before and had written about extensively in her dream diary that morning. Connie was accustomed to listening to and attempting to decode Bobby's dreams over the years. Both ladies had taken on a particular interest in the intermittently reoccurring nature of the dream wherein Bobby found herself walking a suspended bridge that seemed to have no ending in sight. Connie had noted that the dreams seemed to occur more so in times of duress. Especially, it seemed, after Bobby had reported to having had a panic attack. They appeared to be the aftermath of symptoms associated with post traumatic stress as a repercussion of her trauma for which Connie was exceptionally sympathetic towards. Naturally, Connie questioned her friend about her general health and made a mental note of her assumptions. That Bobby had just undergone her longest flight across the globe since her recovery in years and was attending her Uncle's domain whom had a disinherited hand in the events that had befallen her friend's ill fate. This, she reasoned, was likely the cause of the dream's resurfacing.

What Bobby had not gotten around to explaining was that this time the man she'd seen on the bridge in her dream had taken on distinct and ominous features. What's more, she'd not had the opportunity to express that she had been overtaken by some inexplicable dizzy spell that was seemingly detracted by the black dressed couple on the stairs that she had met the night before. Or that the gentlemen in question shared the face of the man in her dream. That for the first time ever, she felt positive she was making some sort of connection to something, somewhere. Only she had absolutely no idea what or where. But that couple was haunting. She'd almost forgotten about them in Connie's company. At last, when they exited the elevator and meant to cross the lobby's ground floor to attend the dining room, Bobby could not help but stop and stare at the staircase, alarming her friend.

"Bobby? Is everything alright dear? You look positively pale. Are you going to be ill?"

Bobby shook her head slowly. The stair case was being attended by bellhops and hotel guests that came up and down in orderly lines about their business.

"No, not at all. I just... I'm being silly. Let's go, we've wasted enough time already and I'm sure Nate and Uncle will be put out." Taking a deep breath, Bobby smiled and took her friend's arm warmly.

As they passed the reception desk and its moderate line of patrons, Charon and his neatly dressed lady assistant were busy attending to their bookings. Even so, Bobby called to the Concierge over the sweet melody of classical music and guest chatter. The dark gentlemen in his pristine suit looked up from his monitor and fixed Bobby and her friend with a gentle smile and a polite incline of his head in acknowledgement before returning to his work, booking in his latest client.

"My goodness! Are they always so busy?" Connie asked as they made their way to the dining room doors.

"I imagine so. I've never known it any other way. But it does quiet down at night." Bobby responded.

"Welcome back, ladies." Said the maître d'hôtel, gesturing the two friends within. "The manager and your companion has been awaiting your company."

"Thank you so much, that's very kind of you." Bobby replied, smiling at the young man with his sparkling hazel eyes and exotic features. Generally, Winston was renowned for housing much the same staff in his hotel. His turn-over was infrequent at best. But this gentleman who was the same fellow that hosted front of house at dinner last night seemed to be a fairly recent addition as far as Bobby could recall. All the same, he was gracious and neatly uniformed, gesturing the two ladies into the dining room where a number of tables were filled with other guests enjoying their afternoon repast.

"Oh my goodness! There she is!" Called Nate, rising to his feet and rushing a beeline toward Bobby. Winston too was on his feet, beaming in his tan sports coat as his niece was once again reunited with her two friends. The two men had been chatting amicably while the girls were upstairs. Winston was such a sharp witted and well spoken gent, that conversation came easily between the two men. They had much to discuss and much in common with regards to Bobby's fortuitous good health. They were each enjoying a glass of rich French cognac before Nate spied the ladies being led in.

"Well, hot damn, lil' mama! Look at you! Walking!"

"Shh, Nate, not so loud, you'll embarrass her!" Connie urged, squeezing her friend's arm.

"No more than she should be, surely!" Nate replied brightly, hugging Bobby tightly and kissing her cheeks. "Oh, but you look wonderful, babe, for real! How are you feeling? No more walking cane! I can't believe it. I'm so proud of you! Hard road, eh?"

"Well, it wasn't easy, I tell you. But look! I'm in heels and everything!" Bobby beamed, looking down at her dainty black point-toed shoes. Nate nodded appreciatively and turned to give each lady one of his arms to escort them back to the manager's table.

"You certainly are darling, but were it up to me, heels or not, you'd never walk unescorted. Now, come on, your Uncle was sharing the most riveting tales of his guests with me."

The trio crossed the floor happily rejoining Winston who came forward to kiss his blushing niece on her cheeks.

"Welcome back, sleeping beauty. Why, we thought you'd never join us." Winston greeted.

"I did warn I was tired, and your beds are remarkably comfortable." Bobby returned warmly, reaching to take her Uncle in an embrace. Nate meanwhile sought to help Connie into her seat whilst Bobby whispered against her Uncle's ear. "I'm sorry about last night, Uncle. Will you forgive me?"

"For what? Having an opinion? Perish the thought. It's all been forgotten darling girl, now sit with me and your friends a while and have something to eat." The elder gentleman whispered back, breaking away to give his niece yet another kiss upon her cheek before helping her into her seat.

"And here we have her, our lady of the hour, Bobby Kent. In the flesh." Winston introduced to the table as he took his seat. Connie and Nate could do nothing if not smile appricitively. They'd been waiting for their friend's company a good long while and were delighted to have her in their grasp once more.

"Waiter," Winston called, getting the attention of a passing gent in this spotless white apron, "a bottle of wine for the table if you please. The '97 Pinot Gris from South Australia I think, considering the occasion." The waited bowed his head at the order politely before dispatching to the bar.

Bobby put her hand on her Uncle's arm, raising her brows in alarm.

"But Uncle, it's so early in the day."

"What? It's past two o'clock, my girl. Did you have pressing plans that required your express sobriety?" Winston replied with a laugh.

"No, I suppose not." Bobby returned, shifting in her seat and feeling very suddenly like a child being permitted to sit at the big people's table. She must have blushed for Nate and Connie both took each of her hands adoringly and laughed.

Between them, the four set to amicable and lively conversation. Their meal was served in relatively short order. Both Connie and Nate were in awe of the expansive seasonal selection of platters and delicacies, heaping great praise upon Winston, whom directed it all back to his international team of passionate and creative chefs whom took it upon themselves to curate a spectacular rotating menu that was always fresh and complimenting of the season. Outside the New York storm seemed to have passed and finally the wet weather had given way to the first rays of afternoon sunshine that cleared away the dreary grayness and picked the colours from the leaves in the garden window.

Winston was delighted to hang back in conversation, watching as his niece and her friends brought a constant smile and a ring of bright laughter to her lips. She looked happy. Happier than she had been in a very long time. And his heart ached for her. He had left New York and stayed on with her in Essex for a long as business would permit during her recovery. What he saw of the young woman disturbed him entirely. In spite of her tan, she grew pale and sickly even after being discharged from the hospital. Her eyes took on a vacant gleam and she spent much of the day and night crying bitterly in his arms. She had become a struggle to feed and only took the smallest amount of food with the highest amount of persuasion until at last he'd returned her to the doctor to have additional medication added to her roster. Something to open up her apatite, for she had lost weight whilst in the coma and was not doing her health any favors by continuing to refuse food.

He'd slept close by in the guest room beside her own in the country manor house. And it was often that he lay, by lamp light, reading into the night and listening out. Bobby would cry into the night, weeping in pain or at the demons that plagued her mind. Often she would wake to screams of nightmares and he would rush back into her room, laying with her whilst she wept and whispered gentle placations in her ear. That she would be alright. That he was there and he would not leave her. That she would grow strong again. That she needed faith and time to heal her. That he was so sorry for her suffering. She'd sleep fitfully in his arms and he would eventually sleep beside her. His heart broken. Terrible things should not happen to good people. But they did. And he ached within, for he was at fault.

When he could no longer stay away from the hotel because business demanded his attention, it was Connie and Nate that returned to Essex and took to living with Bobby permanently adding new life and colour into the old house. They bought books and films and music and study with them. They bought wine and laughter and encouragement that lead the young lady to eat and take to her recovery with vengeance. He was satisfied, she would be well given time. These two dear friends provided more to her than he could. And so Winston withdrew with a promise to come and visit again regularly. To write and call often. That when she was better, he'd arrange to have her visit and stay at his hotel. That Charon would be delighted to see her in person. Charon was so tender, after shifts he would call in and ask for her. Bobby would weep at his kindness, thanking him for his attention that he would wave away. He insisted, they were family now. And he had just as much a vested interest in her recovery as did her Uncle.

What a remarkable difference two years and nine months made to a person.

Now Bobby ate her plates clean happily. She laughed and joked with her friends. Her blue eyes gleaming, her skin and hair lustrous. She'd gained weight again. Her features filled out away from that cadaverous expression she had previously worn. She was on her second glass of wine and was keen to take on cake and coffee much to the cheers of the table. On a few occasions Winston excused himself from the table to take calls and confirm requests from his darker professional patrons. Contracts were opened. Contracts were closed. Names were rubbed off the boards. New names were added. The High Table, as it seemed, were bent on tying off loose ends. And his phone was a constant stream of information that added to the current of order and chaos. He checked in on Charon at the desk who was finally getting a reprieve from the stream of visitors that had attended in the morning.

"Take a break, old friend. Stephanie, take over for Charon, won't you? Have five p.m. hand over competed once your done with next week's reservations."

"Yes, sir. Immediately." Answered the pristinely dressed brunette who was the Concierge's booking assistant. Charon was grateful of the break and thanked his employer graciously.

"Is Bobby well?" He asked after her.

"Oh, splendid!" Winston replied. "Enjoying a long lunch with her friends. Hasn't said a word about her research yet, bless her heart."

"She did say, last night, that she was sorry for a disagreement with you at dinner." Said Charon quietly as the two men made their way through the lobby and back to the dining room.

"I was partly at fault for it. We've made amends now. It's just this talk of the Raven King and he's resurfacing has her obsessed. It seems our associate at the Bowery has some definitive lines of information he's been feeding her. If you don't mind, we'll go pay him a visit later, just before dinner say?"

"Certainly, sir." Charon replied. His features becoming drawn sharply. He'd read all of Bobby's letters and had noted her references to their "mutual friend" with interest.

Now however, the two men returned to the manager's table, the trio of friends were laughing and sharing an amicable exchange but were quick to rise as Winston and Charon approached.

"Charon! Finally! You work far too hard out there!" Bobby exclaimed, rising from her seat and coming forward to hug the dark gentleman tenderly.

"Of course. The weekends are always exceptionally busy."

"Charon will join us on during his break, I trust this is agreeable?" Asked Winston of the table.

Much to the good hearted cheers and calls of "of course" and "by all means".  Nate rose to shake Charon's hand heartily and Connie also rose to press a polite kiss to the elegant gentleman's cheek.

The observant waiters who noted Winton's re-entrance to the dining room with Charon at his side and were quick to set an additional place at the table, taking the Concierge's order for a strong cappuccino and a slice of chocolate torte.

"These desserts are so decadent!" Connie exclaimed, "Are they also made in house?"

"Daily, by our French pâtissie." Charon replied proudly.

"And tell me, Charon, is it some pretty, available blonde girl that's currently looking for a willing suitor?" Nate teased with a twinkle in his eyes.

"He's forty-six, married for eight years and has a two small children, putting him directly out of your range." Charon replied curtly, his lips curling in jest. The table took to laugh as Nate smacked his hand upon it with mock disappointment and a cry of,

"Damn! Bested again!"

Now the table settled with seconds for coffee, tea and sweets, accompanied by Charon's masterful knowledge of city, took to conversing rapidly about all of New York's finest sights and sounds. It seemed the friends were keen on taking Bobby out and away from her expansive research and allowing her the opportunity to simply have fun. Bobby immediately chimed that she wished to visit New York's Public Library for she had heard they had very particular books in the stacks that were available for limited reading sessions that she was absolutely bent on viewing. Nate and Connie both groaned insisting they instead attend an array of vibrant bars and night clubs. Teasing her about finding a boyfriend before spinsterhood set in.

"Connie!" Bobby cried, giggling and blushing profusely.

"Well, it's true, isn't it, Nate? Tell her! I mean, look around you, there are so many charming gentleman in his very hotel. Isn't it true, Winton? I dare say you're conspiring to have only the most elegant men and women stay on. There's not a badly dressed man about."

"She's got a point there, Bobby, I'm starting to feel dreadfully deficient." Nate agreed, sipping at his coffee cup.

"Oh, you're both impossible. See what I have to deal with, gentleman? See how they try to twist and pervert me?" Bobby complained to Charon and Winston whom looked at each other knowingly with deep smiles.

"So go on," Nate pressed, "For the sake of the girls, because none of them will look at me with a yard pole, which of these guests of yours are eligible bachelors?"

The ladies giggled profusely and Winston and Charon set to give each other yet another knowing glance.

"Well, which one takes your fancy?" Winston asked with a raise of his brow, sipping at his coffee cup.

"How about that gentleman over there in the sports coat on table seventeen?" Connie began inclining her head and whispering conspiratorially.

Amused, Charon sought to play the game.

"That is Mr. David Macavoy. He's thirty-six and said to have a sweetheart who works as a dental hygienist and is currently dating her employer. Just as well. Mr. Macavoy keeps a string of causal mistresses as he travels to and from stock broker's offices securing stocks and trades."

This made the table "ooh" and "ahh". Bobby simply rolled her eyes.

"The torn adulterant businessman is not my forte."

"Then what about the fellow leaning on the bar?" Connie laughed raising her brow in his general direction to a smart dressed young man in a tweed coat that had the air of a dandy and was drinking a nip of scotch whilst checking his phone.

"One of our frequent, fly in, fly outs from Italy." Charon explained. "Antonino Borguesso, son of wine importer for Borguesso Limited. He's waiting on his companion as we speak."

Winston chuckled to himself at this admission, shaking his head knowingly. For shortly thereafter, Mr. Borguesso's companion came through the balcony doors at the far end of the dining room, having finished his cigarette and returned to Antonino at the bar. The two men embraced warmly and kissed.

Nate fell into a fit of laughter, reclining back into his chair.

"Rotten luck, Connie, your radar's right broken, love. Give it up!" Connie pouted huffing at her friend whilst Bobby simply rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Her radar's not the only thing that's broken." Bobby admitted.

"Oh, Ha! Ha! Laugh it up why don't you!" Connie returned sarcastically, ignoring the laughs of the table and casting her eyes about the dining room for other prospective suitors.

It was at that moment, just as the clock stuck four in the afternoon that a very particular gentleman wearing a dark Italian suit and tie, his coat unbuttoned, and his long dark hair framing his face; came strolling into the dining room casually. He was tall and classically handsome. His beard and moustache impeccably groomed. He had dark eyes and an easy smile as he nodded to the maître d'hôtel who gladly waved him toward the bar.

More than one of the guests in the dining room looked up from their meals or conversations, fixing the gentleman with polite glances that seemed to boarder on knowing familiarity. Connie could not help but look him up and down and audibly gasp as she elbowed Bobby's ribs and inclined her head in his direction.

"Bobby! Bobby, shut up a minute and look at him."

"Ouch! What? Who?"

"Him, at the bar. Be discreet, it's like the whole room's watching him. God, he's handsome!"

Bobby followed her friend's gaze, for she was caught in conversation with her Uncle and did not see the gentleman arrive. Now however she watched him ease himself with effortless grace against the bar some three stools away from Mr. Borguesso and his lover. He leaned in quietly and ordered a drink of the bar tender who smiled and set to serve him.

Bobby swallowed thickly watching him... And the world... slowed down.

It was as though time it's self was reluctant to move forward. Every moment seemed to hang in suspended animation, dilated in space and time. Hanging like a droplet of water to a flower petal and clinging to the edge... Unwilling to let go.

That ringing in her head cascaded forth once more to the beating of her pulsing heart. Growing in volume so as the sounds of the dining room around her became muted and inconsequential. The clink of silverware against porcelain. The chatter of the guests, the sounds of the staff as they set down plates or spoke instructions to each other in hushed voices.

The air seemed to grow colder, for her skin edged with goose bumps against her arms and across the back of her neck.

It was him.

It was certainly him.

The same gentleman she had met on the stairs last night escorting that beautiful woman in her dark dress and opera gloves.

That face... that was the face of the man on the bridge in her dream.

This ringing in her head... As if she were underwater and all sound was now coming back to surface. She closed her eyes a moment and gently shook her head before asking,

"Uncle... who is that gentleman at the bar?"

Winston followed his niece's line of sight and exchanged a quick glance with Charon. Both men lost their gracious smiles. Winston hesitated to answer but his niece pressed him.

"Uncle Winston? Please, his name at least?"

The tone of the table seemed to grow darker. Now Connie and Nate read the changing vibes and stilled in their seats.

"That... my dear girl... Is Mr. Johnathan Wick. Retired ex-military man for the U.S. Marines once stationed in Hawaii. Widowed, recently, to our great regret. He was once one of The Continental's most exquisite professional retainers. Unfortunately, poor circumstance and bad choices have inadvertently lead him back to my doors. Our professional relationship is rocky, to say the least. I would highly advise against crossing his path. Some men, are best left to their own devices. Mr. Wick is just such a man."

"He's too mature anyway, Bobby, you need the attentions of a younger man." Connie whispered to her friend regretfully. Bobby however, ignored her friend's misguided assumptions and pressed on.

"I saw him last night as I was going up to my rooms. He was escorting a lady with him down the stairs. Who is she, Uncle Winston?"

With a deep sigh, Winston answered, draining his coffee cup first before rejoining,

"That was the Lady Judeth Clayton. Marchioness of Exeter and head of one of England's most powerful families."

"Royalty? Here?" Bobby asked, aghast. Whilst she was no royalist, she could not recall the Clayton family name having such a distinguished title in recent British history.

"My hotel caters to many of rank and title, dear girl. You know this."

Bobby nodded to this admission. Her Uncle had more than once admitted to accommodating traveling Barons or Dukes. Now Bobby wondered how many of these established men and women of title were as corrupt as the governments for which they served. She pressed on,

"They seemed very close to each other. I only met them for a moment before attending the lift."

"Mmmh. Afraid so." Winston replied. "Mr. Wick serves as Lady Clayton's royal consort. Engaged in her personal service, under protection of her family name."

"Consort? Does this mean they're romantically attached?"

"The title implies similar connotations, I would imagine. Yes."

"I see."

"Right out of your league, love," Said Nate apologetically, patting Bobby gently upon her shoulder. The contact seemed to bring her back into the present moment. Connie nudged her knee with her own under the table cloth. A polite reminder to look away for she must have been staring, transfixed.

Even so, all she could think of in that moment was the irrepressible urge to look into his eyes once more.

'Look at me.... Look at me...' Whispered her thoughts.

Mr. Wick however, did not turn to face her. Rather, he settled himself comfortably against the bar, thanking the bartender who served his bourbon over ice. He gave the rest of the dining room his back, as if disinterested in their existence and content to be left alone. Lady Clayton was not at his side. And his gentle terrier was upstairs in the penthouse napping comfortably upon a lounge in the rays of late afternoon sunlight that shone through the balcony windows.

"Bobby? Bobby, are you listening to a word I'm saying?" Asked Connie, leaning forward to take her friend's hand which she fixed with a gentle squeeze.

"Yes...sorry... I was miles away for a moment there. What were we saying?"

"We were saying, we were about to excuse ourselves for the afternoon, my darling. An infinite pleasure as it is to languish with you, business unfortunately needs our attention." Said Winston affably, rising from his seat, Charon at his side.

"It was a delight to see you again, Mr. Savoy, Miss Blakehurst." Said Charon, shaking hands with each of the friends in turn and taking Bobby's hand in his own, smiling at her tenderly before fixing a kiss to her knuckles.

"Thank you for joining us, Charon. Your company has made the day even greater." Now Bobby turned to her Uncle who also said his goodbyes of Connie and Nate and came forward to hug his niece warmly.

"Thank you, Uncle, once more. For everything." She whispered against his ear.

"You're welcome, sweetheart. Always." He held her there in his embrace a moment. Breathing in the flowery, fresh scent of her classic perfume. And wanting to give her a stern warning which he held in check, for he saw the way his niece's eyes lingered, unfocused upon Mr. Wick. A gaze for which he did not approve. His heart hammered in his chest in nervous anxiety. If only the timing had been better. If only his niece would not have set eyes on him. But what could he do? Large as the hotel was, he could not sequester a member of The High Table nor her esteemed consort to their rooms indefinitely. And so he pulled away, saying his final goodbyes for the day and inviting the trio to return on his treat for dinner at The Continental that evening. He regretted, he'd not be joining them that night as he had other affairs for which he must attend, but he hoped whole-heartedly that they would enjoy themselves entirely on his account. That hospitality was his greatest pleasure in life and seeing them reunited in good health filled his heart with good cheer.

"Oh, and Charon, before I forget." Said Bobby, as the Manager and Concierge made to walk away.

"Yes?" Asked Charon with a smile, turning to face the young woman once more.

"I don't mean to make a fuss, it's certainly nothing of any pressing importance, only, I couldn't help but notice this morning that my dressing table mirror seems to be broken. There's a large crack that I was sure wasn't there yesterday. Unless it was, and I'm very much mistaken. But I'm concerned with the way the mirror seems to be splintering, that the glass might give way from the frame entirely and smash all over the carpet. Could you, perhaps?"

"Of course." Said Charon, nodding earnestly. "I will arrange to have a pair of servicemen attend your room within the hour and have the mirror replaced while you're out. Is this acceptable?"

"Yes, more than anything, thank you. Please, ask them to take care. The glass appears to be cracked strangely, as if it was forced outwards from its backboard. I fear any movement may make it come away badly. I wouldn't want anyone hurt on my account."

"We'll take that into consideration when we tender our report." Winston replied, Charon also nodded in assent. The two gentlemen said the final goodbyes and retreated from the dining room, leaving the trio of friends behind.

No sooner, did they make the grand lobby once more than Winston's gentle smile dissipated into an expression of aggravated tension.

"I want every glass mirror in her room, ornamental or otherwise replaced immediately with iron backed plastic imitation. We're not taking any chances." Winston commanded in a low murmur that only his friend could hear.

"She said the mirror appeared to be forced outwards. I'll go investigate at once."

"And be quick about it! If she's challenging her energies as a conduit seer, then it's only a matter of time before her very presence starts to bring forth occupants whose relations we can do without."

"And Mr. Wick?" Charon asked quietly, his own features tight as he scanned the patrons sitting about the fireplace or attending their friends and family. Winston sighed heavily, taking his phone from his coat pocket and readying to make a call.

"It appears that die has already been cast. We've no choice now than to enter damage control."

"I understand." The Concierge acknowledged.

"When you're done with your inspection, Charon, bring a car round to the front. We're going to pay the Bowery a little visit."

"As you wish, Sir." Charon replied.

Thusly, the two men separated to attend their duties. Their minds clouded in warring concern.

The Continental, it seemed, would not remain the oasis of calm and civility they had hoped to foster indefinitely for much longer.

Within the dining room, Connie and Nate had reseated themselves and sought to chatter vibrantly with suggestions of places the trio might go together that very evening for drinks and entertainment. Bobby however, continued to cast sideways glances at the gentleman at the bar, much to her friends amusement.

"Bobby Kent... Since Mr. Wick's arrival you've been as attentive as a goldfish." Connie teased. "Look at you, you're positively smitten."

"It's not like that at all. It's... the dream I told you about earlier." Bobby replied, waving away her friend's inappropriate suggestion.

"What's this?" Nate questioned, coming close with a raise of his brow.

"Bobby's endless bridge dream seems to have come to the forefront again as of last night." Connie explained.

"There's just something about him. I can't shake the feeling that I've seen him somewhere before."

"And have you?" Nate asked quietly, setting aside his wine glass.

"I... I don't know. I can't be sure. But... In the dream I had last night, I could have sworn... It was his face. For the first time in what seems like forever, the man at the foot of the bridge in the distance had a face I could see clearly and a voice. And I heard it clear as a bell, as clearly as I hear you two speaking with me right now."

"Bobby..." Connie whispered, taking her friend's chin in her fingers and gently redirecting her eyes away from Mr. Wick's turned back.

"Bobby listen to me, darling. What are the chances of you being wrong, hmm? These dreams of yours. They seem to resurface under times of stress. Now, think about it clearly for a moment. You've traveled out of the United Kingdom for the first time in years. You've done nothing but bury yourself in research and the mind has a way of playing tricks on us. Loneliness and longing can-"

"I'm neither lonely, nor longing for anything aside from the answers for which the world around us is too blind to perceive, Constance Blakehurst." Bobby snapped sharply, cutting her friend's conversation off cold. Connie pursed her lips and lowered her eyes.

"I'm telling you, there's a connection that is definitely coming to surface and its closer than anything we've ever known before." She lowered her voice, leaning closer toward the centre of the table.

"I have a feeling, deep intuition, that screams that the Raven King is closer to the physical plane than we have ever known him to be in at last half century. Now, you swore to me, when I set down this path that you would both stand at my side, come what may and you would assist me in bringing to bare the magic for which our mortal nature has long since suppressed from human knowledge. Now, I know, I've been wheelchair bound and out of my mind with madness these past two years, I was there. It happened to me. I've not forgotten. And I'm not likely to anytime soon. But you saw it yourself that day what came out of that mirror when we enacted the Rite of Exquiro."

"We, know Bobby. We all saw it." Nate murmured "And we're as with you today as we were back then. But, the Rite.. it's not reliable, there are too many pieces missing, lost in translation. We may have bungled it, for all we know."

"Our mutual friend, says he has the answers we seek. That I'm to wait here at The Continental until he sends word for my arrival." Bobby returned.

"And when will that be?" Connie asked, her brows furrowed together as she sought to shake the memory of the creature in the mirror away.

"I don't know." Bobby admitted at last. "But what I do know... is that I should take this clear opportunity to make my acquaintance with that gentleman at the bar."

"Wait! Bobby... You heard your Uncle, love. He clearly said that bloke is not someone you want to tangle with. I mean, look around you. These people. Well dressed and finely mannered as they all seem on the surface, they're like hand-grenades. Just waiting for an opportunity to go off at any moment. We don't know what they're capable of. And after what happened to you...." He let the thought trail heavily between them.

"This is consecrated neutral ground, Nate." Bobby replied sagely,  "My Uncle has assured me that the laws that govern the people in this premises are irrefutable mandates. Their very lives might be made forfeit if they so much as consider attending to their business within these walls."

"So what happens when you go outside?" Connie asked, searching her friend's eyes deeply.

"What happens to anyone that goes outside?" Bobby returned. "We leave ourselves to the hands of the Fates. To the Wheel of Karma. To the laws that govern man in ethical and moral code. We cross our 'T's and dot our 'I's and do our best to live out our days without provoking the wrath of the gods and weather the force of nature as only humanity can. Our days have always been numbered and death does not discriminate. It waits. Patiently, at our shoulders with an ever-draining hourglass. Just watching for the right moment."

"Then you are surely familiar, that if ever a gatekeeper to the fates and all their ill temptations ever existed, this very establishment and your Uncle are it. I'd take his word, if I were you." Nate intoned, his smile vanished. His dark eyes flashing in worry.

"But you're not me." Bobby replied, rising to her feet and straightening her dress. "You can't be. So you'll stand by and watch, whilst I go have a conversation with the fates and see where they lead me. Because I swear it to you, I've seen this man before. And I can't pinpoint how or where. But I'm going to find out, with or without you."

Silence fell upon the table as Connie and Nate exchanged tense glances. They both nodded, reluctantly and watched as Bobby Kent excused herself and walked away.

Many of the guests that had partaken of meals earlier had since paid their cheques and excused themselves to other pursuits, leaving the dining room a great deal quieter than it had been but an hour prior. In fact, Mr. Borguesso and his companion had also departed the bar and sought to seat themselves in a quiet corner to take their drinks and talk amongst themselves. This left Mr. Wick as the last remaining attendant seated at the bar, sipping at his drink and idly casting his glance over his mobile phone.

Bobby considered the timing fortuitous, yet realized with every advancing step closer to the dark dressed gentleman, that she was decidedly under-prepared for the conversation she hoped to undertake or the means by which she would establish the exchange. None the less, she had made up her mind in the passing half hour, and turning back now no longer seemed an option.

And so, with a deep breath and a quiet step, Bobby sought to attend the empty stool beside the gentleman, but did not presume to sit down. Instead, with a quiet voice, feeling the eyes of her companions at her back, she sought to engage him in conversation directly.

"Excuse me, Mr. Wick?" She began gently. The dark gentleman set down his glass slowly, turning his attention away from his phone on the bar. He regarded the younger woman with docile, warm eyes.

"Yes?" His voice quiet, deep. He sought her eyes with his own. And the moment seemed to again still the air around her. Heartbeats passed between them until at last Bobby answered in almost a whisper.

"Forgive me... for intruding on your privacy. I don't mean to disturb you, only... I know... This is going to sound completely absurd but, we did meet, briefly last night on the staircase as I was entering the elevator."

"We did." The gentleman replied, quietly once more. His expression unreadable. "And you were wearing quite a beautiful rose coloured evening dress." He continued, turning now in his stool to face the young woman more completely.

The compliment brought a smile to Bobby's lips.

"Thank you, you're too kind, sir. And you were a escorting perhaps one of the most exquisitely beautiful ladies I have ever set eyes on. She really is quite remarkable. I'm sorry I did not get the opportunity to greet you properly then... And you'll forgive my boldness, but... Seeing you again now, I... I can't help but feel as though we've perhaps met somewhere before."

Silence passed between them for long moments as the weight of this admission hung in the air. Bobby searched the gentleman's eyes, ensnared by the way in which the light seemed to be drawn into them, like pools without reflection. The colour of deepest ochre. He seemed to be thinking. Weighing her words for long moments. Grateful of her compliment for his companion. For she was a rare beauty, that much was true.

At last he replied, his tone as measured and quiet as ever.

"No. I'm sorry, I don't think we have." He said. But his eyes... His eyes continued to draw her.

"Are you sure?" She breathed, almost without thinking, she took a step closer. Stepping it seemed, directly into his shadow.

"I never forget a face." He replied. "And I wouldn't forget one such as yours."  

"Would you forget a name?" She pressed.

"No."

To this she nodded, slowly. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat.

"Then perhaps, I should introduce myself. My name is Bobby Kent. I am... or was... An English cartographer and travel journalist. Up until a few years ago when I was met with an.... accident." She hesitated, swallowing thickly.

"I take a different line of work now. Research, academics mostly. You'll forgive the forwardness of my address, only, I asked my Uncle for your name. Silly as it sounds, I could have sworn we'd met in the recent past. I'm sorry I appear to have been mistaken and disturbed your peace." Here, she put out her hand.

"I'm Winston's niece." She concluded.

The gentleman, with his dark eyes leaned forward very slightly and sought to take the young woman's hand in his own. His grip was warm, firm. And sent a shockwave of energy riveting through her veins and up the length of her spine. The air around them grew cold... still.

"John Wick." The gentleman said.

The mystery unfolds slowly, like a flower unfurling its petals in the night. Who is The Raven King and what dark secrets does Winston and The Continental hide from the world around Bobby and her friends? Mr. Wick has finally been brought to the forefront. And you dare not look away. Be mindful, when you step into the shadow of a damned. Can you hear the beating of a butterfly’s wings?

Join us next week to for the third and final scene in Act Two - Blood of the Raven King.

Write us to have your name tagged in the reader’s list below and never miss a chapter.

Act One || Scene One & Two

Act  One || Scene Three

Act Two || Scene One

{[ @rubydian @lalienna-dementriento @rubydart @f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat @cynic-spirit @jardanijovonovichs @overheardatthecontinental @sapphowinter ]}

Oh god yes, hello. You're wonderful! If this is appropriate for a prompt request: There's a violent world of unseen fae all around us, and in the center of it is John Wick. There was no reason for him to fly away from there, until he found one.

This is an interesting concept. I will develop the idea and commit it's organic evolution to digital paper, Ruby. I request you satisfy my visual neurons by providing me with compelling high resolution art work straight to my private inbox, please and thank you in advance. Now, I warn you Wick fans, this concept is a little alternative universe on crack, but I will try to really encapsulate folklore, ancient history, art and violence on page. If the audience approves, I will continue world building. If not, it will be relegated to a one shot shot story. No matter what, I'm inspired! Let's do this everyone!

Be seeing you on the other side, Mr. Wick. ❣️

"He found himself wondering if he'd been set up for this fall..... It wasn't supposed to end like this."