Latest Posts by small-fortunes - Page 7

He hushed her again, gently, lovingly. Entirely unmoved by the blood as it dripped in a perfect narrow crimson river along the inside of her inner thighs. He heard her, asking for Ares and nodded yes automatically to her request but made no move to leave the bathroom to fetch his guard. Rather, he stood transfixed, watching, mesmerized by the stark contrast of the deep, near wine-red blood against her pale skin. He couldn't help himself. Entirely unable to look away or order his thoughts into something coherent. His heart pounding in his throat, a flash of memories, inexplicable and almost inhuman hungers filled him. It was the blood... The blood, it did something to him. Obsessed him, captured and contained his attention. It was insane the way it almost called to him. Like her skin. The woman he loved. Red and white.

And he acknowledged it, her pain, her whimpering, she looked to be in agony, doubled over and aching from the inside. Tears stinging her eyes, her concern for what she considered a gross mess against the pale tiles that he thought was.... Beautiful. Just beautiful. 

He couldn't stop himself, he came to her, driven like a man possessed and took her into his gentle embrace. He kissed her lips, warm, tender. 

"Shhh, shhh, shhh.... Don't cry bella mia, don't fret. It's okay, everything's okay, baby girl. Everything is perfect. More than perfect. Shhh.... There's nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed of. This is nothing gross or profane. This is natural, human, female, beautiful. You are beautiful. Even as you hurt. Even as you bleed.... " He broke off a moment, the backs of his fingers caressed her soft cheek and jaw adoringly. He smiled at her warmly, entranced by the intimacy of the moment. From the brass towel ring upon the wall, he pulled free a plush evergreen coloured hand towel and ran it under warm water in the black marble sink before gently, slowly coming to his knees before her and resting his lips against her thigh. He breathed her in, slowly, tenderly wiping at the steadying steam of blood as it caressed her left ankle. Serving her. It possessed him. His need to care for her, ease her suffering. So he wiped at her gently, freeing her skin from the blood as it came away upon the dark towel. And he whispered to her, "A woman's cycle is sacred. It marks the end and the beginning of life. The purest, the most profound. The temple of your body sacrifices life in blood. Dal sangue siamo nati. Dal sangue moriamo. Un violento atto di bellezza ...." (From blood we are born. From blood we die. A violent act of beauty....) Gently, further along, her calf and thigh, he followed the flow of her bleeding with the warm, moist towel.

"There is nothing that can come from your body that will ever disgust or revolt me, Lalienna. I want you exactly as you are. Whole. Pure. Mine. Entirely and without question. Every drop of you. Like wine. Through blood, sweat and tears I accept you. In agony and rapture, I accept you. I will leave your side because you have asked me to. I respect your compulsion for privacy and the hand of another woman to care for you. I will bring you Ares if you desire it, but know this..." He quieted, on his knees before her, looking up into her piercing eyes with his own that burned in the flames of passion for his lover and he said,

"I adore you. Love you. Need you completely. It consumes me, this love of you. You needn't suffer, amore mio, there are medications readily and legally available to settle your pain." He smirked, enjoying himself. Deeply enjoying himself as he wiped gently at her thighs. He'd seen many beautiful women menstruate before. He'd gone so far as to study their physical biology because their reproductive systems fascinated him. Like an art work. He couldn't look away. It was the blood.

It's scent: warm, metallic tang. Some of the women he'd whored with in his past had begged him for release, that in climax their discomfort lowered. And he'd complied all too willingly. Wanting to take them in his mouth, to taste them. Iron and pleasure as it mingled with the heat of their passion. The blood as it stained his skin. Against his groin and thighs, along the length of his shaft and at his fingers and hands. He wanted it. Took a deep, depraved, secret pleasure from loving her during the nights of her cycle. He'd often heard his guards boast and snicker amongst themselves as they chattered intimately sharing their opinions about loving a woman in this condition. He smirked to himself and declined to take part in the conversation though they prodded him. It was personal. Very private. But be beamed, deep inside when he learned that his private fetish was also spoken of with reverence and erotic tension between his men. They all seemed to approve, hunger darkly for their own women. Thinking it intimate and beautiful. They tried to pry it from him, get him to share his opinion but be never said a word in spite of their teasing. Perhaps he didn't have to. They could tell from the twinkle in his eyes that he too thought a woman menstruating was stunning. Humbling. He felt validated by their knowing smiles and wolfish smirks. He turned the conversation quickly back to business to focus them away from his desires. Though many of them knew in some detail, the depth and scope of his sexual profile.

Many of them shared his lusts and dark fetishes. Thinking that the kiss of leather, iron shackles and black velvet rope to be exotic. Freeing. They enjoyed it. Flaunting their predatory dominance until they captured the flower of their desire.. and pinned her to a bed or wall. Coaxing her pleasures, demanding her submission. Dehumanizing her in her moment of need until the mindless, instinctive drive for orgasm consumed her entirely and she begged.. Begged with their hands around their throats whilst they bled themselves within her. And gained that secret look in their eyes that only a woman dominated could attain. Few of them admitted to the glories of being entirely submissive to her command. Or in fact his. For he had witnessed his men love other men. Fleeting, passionate adventures between missions in Venice and Florence. Something about the city made them...switch mentalities. Become romantic and gentle. They were perfectly impossible to control or command when this mood came upon them. They much rather settle scores over dinner and wine, with intimidating conversations and veiled multi-layered threats. And then disperse amongst the crowds. To villas and hotels, underground parties, private galas. They would not return for days at a time as they sought to take their lovers. Often refusing to answer their summons until at last, he scolded them hotly to be mindful of melting business with pleasure.

His men... his women.

Lalienna... God he adored her like this. Warm, pained and aching under his hands, he on his knees before her... bleeding as she was but... God... so beautiful. He could not... did not resist himself. Rather, he came forward on his knees and pressed his lips to her lower belly, feeling the tension of the muscle contract. She instinctively seemed to pull back, but he reached for her tenderly and took hold of her hips, rocking her forward ever so slightly. His kiss marking a warm, wet trail of glistening heat that ghosted over her flesh until at last... His lips met the flower of her maidenhood. And she gasped, discomforted or aroused he was not sure.

"Papi..." The tender name, came out a gasping, breathy groan... Was he exciting her? He was excited. He could feel it. His body hardening between his thighs... Lower... he sank his kiss a little lower, separating her petals against his tongue, finding the warmth of her pulsing nerves... her hand on his head, fingers in his curls... he purred moaning against her...wanting her...

"Papi...please...please stop. I can't... not like this... Please... I need Ares... Will you get her for me? Por favor?" Her eyes were pained and somewhat uncomfortable when her gaze met his. Oh, but he thought it beautiful. Alright, he nodded, with a smile, pulling away. Giving her room to breathe. Nipping at her thigh as he rose from his knees and licking at the blood that collected on his lips. His eyes slipping closed as he enjoyed the dark moment of euphoria that washed over him and made him... sigh. He was in love. The moment was so romantic. He embraced her warmly one more time, chiding himself being so cloying. He knew she'd had enough of his attention and needed her space amongst the hands of another woman. Folding the bloodied hand towel over his forearm and fixing her with a disarming wink, he nodded his assent.

"Alright amante. I've teased you long enough. I'll go get her immediately. Relax. Stay calm and treat yourself gently over the next few days. You'll need to eat, and sleep, and do nothing that does not please you. That includes cleaning. We have lots of pretty maids, you'll meet them all in time. Clever, gentle, kind-hearted girls, just like you that are all too happy to serve. And love. Let them take care of the linen and your clothes. They will wash them and all will be as new again. I lived under the same roof as Gianna for years, the needs of a woman in her cycle do not escape me, amore. Ares will tell you. I'll send her up with drugs. When you're ready, come join us downstairs in the morning room. We enjoy having breakfast together before we start our day. You would honour me, and my family if you would grace our table. We will wait for you. Ciao bella."

 A roguish smile... a kiss blown to the air... and he left taking the blood soiled towel with him. In moments he dressed himself semi respectably in casual clothes and linen house slippers. With a contented strut, he made his way rapidly down the hall, some six rooms away until he came to Ares' door and knocked, thrice. Sharply. That was their signal to announce he meant to enter her room urgently. He waited... and three knocks were returned from within. That was her reply to say she was ready to receive him. He entered on quiet footfalls, the room was dark still for the curtains were drawn and the blinds were down to shut out the morning light. From the bed, Ares moved, turned on her brass reading lamp and greeted him, smiling and stretching with feline grace. Ares, was not the tidiest of the guards. Her clothing lay about the sofa and occasion chair, half unpacked from her flight case. Her weapons haphazardly laying upon her reading table. Comics, books and her video games ordered into neat piles that only she understood. He thought it charming, the way she smiled at him, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes before her hands began to talk.

'What's up, boss?' Her fingers asked.

"Buongiorno, Ares. I need you to be quick, quiet and discreet, yes?"

'Sure.' She signed, raising her brow with a question. Instantly interested.

"Lalienna woke this morning to her period. She's suffering heavily and bleeding intensely. She's practically doubled over in pain. She's asked you attend her personally. She's in the ensuite bath in my bedroom. Perhaps you can give her some of the pain killers you take to get the edge off. We can send a maid to the chemist for more. Anything she asks for or needs, help her."

Ares face dropped in concern, her brows furrowing together sharply.

'Has she taken anything so far?'

"Sì, a vile of pills she had on her. Perhaps paracetamol or similar. They had an unusual colouring. She may need something stronger. Don't let her clean anything in her condition. Just help her as she needs it and when she can, bring her downstairs for breakfast. She'll be tired. The plane ride made her sick and she complained of being unwell last night."

Ares was already out of bed and making for the door on rapid footsteps. She made to push past him but thought better of it and stopped to sign a question,

'Did you guys fuck last night?'

Something in the warmth of his eyes cooled slightly. Her expression direct and probing. Her hands brooked no argument. Her body language stiff. He struggled, between being offended at her daring and affronted by her boldness.

'Did you?' She pushed him again, rapid gesture. Something like anger flooding her eyes. He found it disarming. Amusing.

"No." He said at last, watching her back as he followed her with his eyes down the hall.

'What's it to her?' He thought to himself. Nevermind. Towel in his hand, he left her room, shutting the door behind him and making his way down the corridor and onto the landing where he whistled as he took to the stairs. A passing maid greeted him with a bobbing curtsy

"Buongiorno Signor D'Antonio,"

"Good morning, Paola." He returned. The girl's cheeks flushed. Her lashes hiding her contentment at having been addressed by name.

"Would you take this to the laundry for me, please? Make sure it's washed in cold water and doesn't stain. And when you're done, attend my bedroom and see that the bed linen is changed and washed in cold water as well."

"Certo Signore." (Of course Sir.) Was the girls' only reply. For she had served the D'Antonio estate for some three years now and was well accustomed to not ask the master questions, but attend his requests instantly and be prepared to handle blood as hygienically and discreetly as possible. Usually whilst wearing thin, latex service gloves.  She took the towel from her master's hand and smiled tenderly before dashing away to attend her task.

In the distance, the bell towers rang out the morning hour. Santino counted their tolling as he made his way to the breakfast room. Hoping his dancer would recover and join him shortly. He wanted to eat with her. But for now, he wanted coffee.

 |||

 Across the seas, in London, sitting in her apartments in the palaces of The White Tower, sat Judeth Clayton. Her tea untouched. Her phone beside her. She'd not slept after hanging up with her Spanish flower the night before. The girl had comforted and fallen asleep, but she was haunted, partially dressed, her hair in a cascade down her back as she stared into the middle distance blankly. Almost daydreaming. She had done her best to mask the shock from her voice. Comforting her daughter in her hour of need. And churning in agitation as her Black Guards changed shifts silently to watch her. A pair. Always a pair. One male, one female. They spoke when spoken to and never once had their back turned to her. Now the new guards took the places the others had occupied moments before and stood at attention. To study her. She watched them...Her insides roiling. Lalienna had aborted an unwanted child. So soon. She had not listened all those months ago when she attended the Continental and told her to seek protection, birth control. Anything. How were they so careless? The girls were fully educated in health, wellbeing, sexual biology, reproduction. They knew... they knew what would happen if they laid with a man and took his seed into their bodies. That once or twice they may escape but repeatedly allowing themselves to be loved would surely, in their vitality and fertility leave them to become pregnant.

She was seething. Silently. At Santino D'Antonio. Bastard. Vile, fucking bastard. So soon. He'd not even proposed marriage and already he had her with child. Unwanted. Her suffering now would be tremendous. What on earth would the ancient and decrepit Mama Frita had said and done to the girl to have helped her through the abortion? She prayed vehemently that the girl would not suffer.

 Of course, these things happened before. The girls would escape the tower under cover of darkness, the Elite Guard themselves would take to loving their consorts and decline pregnancy. It was rare. But abortion for an unwanted child was done. It was just. Right. These women were not fit to be mothers. To breed more pain and suffering upon this world and be manipulated and forced into surrendering them to the syndicate in an endless cycle of violence and bloodshed. Herself included. She was so young then. So crushed and submitting to birthing an heir to betroth to Athena's daughter. She yielded a son, after Gregory's death. Her boy... Philip. Had she have known what torments would await him in his young life... she might have drowned him after all.. She shook her head. Pushing away from the pain. Her guards stirred and her attention was captured. She smirked at them.

"Don't you get bored? Watching a woman think?" She asked the nameless pair. Pawns. Athena's black dogs. They regarded her coolly and said nothing.

"There must be a thousand more fulfilling things to do in your wretched lives than follow me like flies to rotting meat. How much is he paying you, hm? How much... does Karth pay you to watch me wherever I go, whatever I do?"

Again, the pair would not answer. They merely stood firm in their pressed black uniforms. Weapons under their coats. Handcuffs and batons and tasers and other implements of bringing about her submission if she retaliated. It was not worth the fight. She remembered what this was for. To protect her son. From finding his mother being a morphine addict. God, the urge for a hit took her now, more than ever. Her mouth was dry and her eyes felt as though they were grated with sand for every time she blinked.

In time she rose from her chair and was followed to the bathhouse where she showered, dried and changed her clothes. She brushed out and re-pinned her hair. Applied her makeup, painted her lips. Tired, vacant eyes stared back at her from the mirror. She thought of her daughter.

Then turned and announced to her guard that she would attend her routine. She would meet Philip for morning prayers in the chapel before breaking her fast in the mess hall with the other women and then attending Doctor Tanis for her injection. Then she would attend the Queen in council. Seek her next mission. Much like the last she expected. Stupid, aggressive acts of border skirmishes with the French and Irish gangs that lived on borrowed time and cold patience. Athena would tolerate little resistance if any to her conditions.

There was work to be done. And she hated every moment of it. But now... this instance... she hated Santino D'Antonio more than anyone else that lived on God's earth.

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.

John Wick.The man.The myth.The legend.

Cerberus DeMentriento

Protector of Lalienna

Lover of snuggles

Mess maker

Trouble enthusiast

Cute motherfucker

King of the Camorra (don’t tell Lorenzo)

Leader of the Italian high guard

Hectors BEST friend (don’t be angry that he chewed your shoe...it means he likes you)

Lalienna’s baby (hurt on hair on his cute little head and you’re fucked...call your priest, your brother, your lawyer and write up your last words)

Professional napper

Gold medalist swimmer

Best beggar (you can’t not give him food when he looks at you with those puppy dog eyes!!)

The things we do for love....

It didn't take the Camorra High Guard long to arrive in Rome Airport. The flight was booked first class courtesy of the Iris Twins who made the arrangements swiftly and efficiently as was their custom. Sable had trained them well. Two and a half hours later they touched down clearing the runway and being given priority access through express security and customs clearance. Thank God he'd arranged to have Lalienna's international passport processed quickly. Otherwise it would have made the trip through security cumbersome. Not that he cared. Money talks. His money practically screamed the national anthem. Security and Customs Officers made haste to let the Camorra High Guard pass unmolested. Their reputation proceeded them. But the security staff were curious at seeing a new face amongst the men and woman that made the line up of his usual crew. The Prince of Rome wasn't interested in conversation. He was dressed in Versace, dripped in gold bracelets, rings and watch and for an explanation he merely took Lalienna's hand in his own, and kissed her knuckles in front of them. Security staff and their sharp eyes took stock of the ring of the Camorra that graced the young woman's finger. They stopped asking questions immediately; and made sure the High Guard were escorted by airport security to their luxury Italian cars and permitted to leave the international terminal completely unhindered thereafter.

They were saluted when he returned to his mansion. Hector had made the call to the D'Antonio Estate manager to advise that they had returned from their extended stay in London and would now take their usual residence with Mr. D'Antonio in his expansive and extremely luxurious home.

The D'Antonio Estate was nothing short of purely spectacular. It sat on just over twenty thousand square feet of land, was four stories tall, sported sixteen bedrooms, fourteen full sized bathrooms and was furnished in a classical contemporary style. Sporting a grand entrance that flowed into a regal pair of stair cases connecting different floors that had an overall enchanting atmosphere. The living areas were bright, beautiful and airy. The kitchen was massive and dripped in luxury and the dining area overlooked spectacular manicured terrence gardens that could be seen from the sweeping balconies. Study rooms, library, spa and gym. Weapons room, office, service rooms and guest rooms. The breathtaking Italian villa overlooking Calandrelli was one of the most fashionable and sought-after elite estates in the entire city. And  it had been built and owned by the Camorra for almost forty years. It was a gift that Lorenzo imparted on his son, not more than ten minutes drive from his palace where he kept residence with Gianna. Needing impendence and self acquirement, Santino was given the estate as a gift on his eightieth birthday. The estate also featured a live-in chef, an allotment of twelve maids and one butler who doubled as the estate manager. A tender hearted and gentle old man that had served the Camorra for almost as long as Santino had been alive. His name was Panchelli and he instantly fell in love with Lalienna the moment he laid eyes on her!

"Oh signore D'Antonio, hai trovato un diamante! Un diamante completo e puro in Inghilterra! Guardala! Che angelo! I cieli stessi canteranno lodi della sua bellezza! Vieni, signore, subito, prepara subito la stanza migliore per Miss DeMentriento!" (Oh Sir D'Antonio, you have found a diamond! A complete and pure diamond in England! Look at her! What an angel! The heavens themselves will sing praises of her beauty! Come, ladies, immediately, prepare the finest room for Miss DeMentriento at once!)

The old Italian butler clapped his hands briskly and instantly a team of white and blue uniformed women stripped Lalienna of her bags and belongings, taking them from Tony's hands and descended up the stairs in a flutter of happy chirping, singing praises that the master of the house had returned at last and brought back with him the finest new jewel the Camorra has ever seen!

Gianna had filled them in, in her brother's absence, that the Prince of Rome was returning with a new High Guard to compliment Lorenzo's impressive line up of militant power. Lorenzo approved without much preamble. If Gianna had clapped eyes on the girl and believed what she saw and was told, that was good enough for the aging Italian Crime King. He was content to know that his son was finally showing a little initiative and stopping all his hideous whoring. The stains of Marissa Conti would never wash free of the halls of his palace. It was Gianna that stopped Lorenzo ultimately from planning his own son's execution. Though why for, Lorenzo still wasn't entirely certain.

He would bide his time and see how this new flower to his garden of thorns would comport herself under the care of his High Guard.

The Italian Silk Mafia. That is what they were known as on the streets of Italy. And everyone knew them by name and sight. They were professionals. Civilised. Refined. Products of the new renaissance. He hoped for her sake that the ex-Iron Fortuna initiate would live up to his expectations. And tame his wayward son.

Back in his mansion, Santino and his crew were already making themselves at home. They all had their own private rooms in the estate and needed no permission to attend them. They had lived in this mansion for years at a time and were fully accustomed to its spectacular beauty.  Santino was gracious and extremely inviting. He demanded the team not ever stand on ceremony or ask permission of anything. The house was theirs as much as it was his and he insisted on nothing if not their complete and absolute enjoyment at all times. If they were hungry, they knew where the kitchen, pantry and larder were. The chef prepared three solid meals a day for both Camorra staff and domestic servants and even the servants were permitted to do as they pleased when they pleased...within reason of course. They had their own private wing of the house where the maids retreated after daily duties. They rose at 5AM and retired at 8PM Monday to Saturday. And they were always given Sunday's off duty and permitted to host their own families and friends in the estate so long as they did not interfere with their working arrangements or leisure activities of Mr. D'Antonio or his High Guard.

They always wore uniform in blue and white to clearly mark them as domestic assistants. They proudly wore brass name badges emblazoned with the Camorra family crest. The maids were a variety of ages. Some as young as 17. They were not wealthy women by any stretch of the imagination. Their backgrounds were mostly completely impoverished and wretched which was why Santino petitioned them into the care of his estate. So they would not starve on the streets. When they were not attending to their domestic duties of cleaning and washing and running the household, they were given hours upon hours of spectacular education. All paid for by Santino in hopes of the girls growing up to be safe and happy. Marrying into money, hopefully, where they would be kept in luxury and retire from the life of servitude he gave them. Though it was not a difficult or dangerous life. Rome was a beautiful city with thousands of years worth of history, culture, art and refinements.

They were happy girls! They had food and clothes and jewels and music. Mr. D'Antonio protected them as if they were his daughters. (or so they imagined, for they rather swooned over him and his classical handsome elegance. They knew he came from an old mafia crime family, but they did not ask questions and were just grateful to be given such a fortuitous turn where otherwise their lives would have seen them staving in the gutters or working as whores.)

It was almost 2AM now but the news of the Camorra High Guard's return to the estate drove them all from their beds in a frantic bustle of happy excitement. Santino immediately thanked Panchelli and the girls for their diligence, apologising profusely about the shockingly late hour of their arrival and insisting they all return to their beds and have tomorrow off in celebration for his return. Panchelli tried to argue that he lived and breathed to serve his master, and Santino acknowledged the man's passionate imploring but absolutely insisted he returns to his rooms and rest. For Santino and the guards were fully independent and self-sufficient men and women who knew very well how to run a household without a team of domestic staff. They could cook and clean and make beds for themselves. They didn't need help. If anything, their work in London had left the team entirely drained and now that they were home again they were grateful to just be left in peace to unpack their belongings in their private bedrooms and retire to their own decompressing pleasures.

Panchelli, seeing that this was definitely true, apologised a thousand times, kissed Santino and Lalienna and each of the other guards in turn before calling off his maids and retiring again to the servants quarters to rest.

Santino was immediately better. Happy, boisterous! The demons that had tormented him of the past few months in London had completely vanished. Now he was absorbed with excitement as new invigorated focus because he had his dancer, his Spanish flower here in his home in Rome and he could hardly believe his good fortune! This was real! Really real! It was incredible! He was overjoyed. He welcomed her to his estate, personally showed her to her rooms, he stayed with her happily letting her unpack and make herself at home.

He brought her wine and cheeses and bread and salami. He showered her with praises, with romance and love and adoration and everything was as if this whole horrific mess had never happened to begin with.

The guards all retreated contentedly to their own amusements in the mansion. Ares sought to play her videogames. Tony and Curtis drank and played cards until they were tired and went to bed. Hector smoked and read a book on the balcony. Christov and Marcus decided to hit the spa bath to unwind as it looked over the glittering Italian city.

They were home. Finally home.

No one had died. No one had been mutilated or abused beyond recognition.

Well... none save for Lalienna, who wore Santino's initial upon her neck. Where once a love bite had been.

And the only death was the loss of her child. But only Hector and Christov knew the truth about that. To the rest of the guard, it appeared as though the young woman was merely recovering from the pained aftershock that came from a difficult argument with her lover over one night's indiscretion.

They prayed amongst themselves that Lalienna would never do it again. For they knew, deep down that for all their bluster and fiery words... Santino was still their employer and if he rose his hand and put a hit out on her lover, they would be forced to obey. He signed off their pay checks every month and made sure they were kept in immaculate luxury. As much as Santino gave, he would take away. They were still organized criminals. They were still assassins, hit men, gang members. They had clout, they had reputation, power and money. But they still had a city to run. There were still weapons trading, whore houses, drug rings and war offerings that had to take place in the background. Blood for blood. And eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. Rome paid their coffers for protection. Against family feuds, home invasions, theft and property destruction. They still made deals to rough people up. To confront and intimidate. To protect their boarders and keep the streets safe from other gangs that might get a little antsy about who really had the bigger pair of balls around here.

But none of that mattered right now.

For at last, before the sunrise, Santino brought Lalienna back to his master bedroom. And it was nothing like the luxury that he had imported for him in the Continental London. It was better. More opulent. It spoke of power and refinement and was entirely masculine and extremely tastefully elegant. His linen was still two thousand thread count luxury Egyptian cotton... in black. Because he loved the contrast of pale skin on ebony linen.

And he was still passionate and romantic and adoring to a fault. Sensual. Erotic. He wanted her. He wanted to taste her, touch her. But he was afraid. She was afraid. They had had their first-ever really big disagreement in their short relationship. So much had happened so quickly. He had rushed things. He had moved too fast. He scared the girl. Like he had on that first Wednesday evening when his lust took control and he had bled and mounted her there on that hotel room dining table. That almost killed him that night.

And now, having almost lost his mind in grief and anger over her fleeting, drunk affair... He vowed to himself. Never again.

He spoke to her for hours. Apologising, telling her his thoughts and feelings as they lay in bed together. Naked, because he needed to touch her skin even though he didn't dare to make love to her in this condition. He told her how sorry he was for the ten-thousandth time that morning. And explained and justified himself out of shame and guilt. That he was angry at the White Women still for having cast her out. That he went wild knowing that she would pick one of those creatures to love her whilst he was away. He begged her... begged her. If she ever grew restless or bored again and needed any sort of sexual release... That she calls him. In his grief, he even went so far as to say he preferred she make love to Ares, whom he loved and trusted completely, than some stranger off the streets or some woman from The White Tower.

"Never again amore mio... please... You will put me in my grave if you do it. I am still a young man my love, only 31 but I tell you, what we've been through together this past month has aged me easily at least twenty years. I feel so old inside. So ready to meet my maker. I shouldn't feel this way. You shouldn't feel this way. I don't want to be the cause of your suffering, Lalienna. From the moment I set eyes on you, I knew deep in my soul that you needed to be loved, nurtured, protected. Hector, Christov, Marcus, Curtis, Tony, Ares... all of them had scathing words for me and a thousand admonishments about how poorly I treated you. How you suffered and bled and cried. And I was wrong for shutting you out, shutting you down the way I did. I was suffering. I pray, think about it from my perspective: How would you have felt if you were thousands of kilometres away from home, working to make a life for me outside of England and then you find out, by accident, through a photo that your boyfriend was home fucking another woman in your bed? Would you not lose your mind in grief? Would you not fire and rage and want to kill her and me too where I stand? You would mi amore. You would, bella mia. You would and you would and there's no two-ways about it. I know you, Lalienna. I know your heart. Your mind. I know we've not been going steady long but I trust you. I would give my life to protect you if that's what it took. All your family now would. Without questions. Because we are family and...." He wanted to say it... to propose.

No... instead, he got out of the bed and cleared the distance to his dressing table where the black box that held the keys to Lalienna's new house and car in Vienna rested.

He came back and gave it to her. It was not a diamond engagement ring, but he got down on one knee all the same.

"This is what I was working on for you whilst I was away." He said at last... She didn't seem to be able to comprehend the magnitude of the gifts he was giving her. He insisted they were of no consequence, no value. What he was trying to give her...more than anything... was freedom. Freedom from suffering. Freedom from the Underworld. The Table. The servitude. The enslavement. But he would not free her heart. No matter what she said he stood firm on the idea that she belonged to him.

So he gave her the keys to the house and car in their velvet-lined box. And he showed her the papers, the photos on his phone. He told her about how the people in Vienna were friends that would love and protect her just in case she needed to get away and leave the life from the criminal underworld behind. She would never be free of the Table. Never be free of him. But she could start a life outside of London now. She could be independent and powerful and not need to depend on the White Women or Judeth ever again.

The moment he said Judeth's name she grew sad again. Her happiness diminished.

"Papi.... I can't leave my black swan behind.... My mother... She's the only one I've ever known that cared for me the way Rosalina never did. The way Marquis never did. You saw him. He didn't want me. He never wanted me.... I've never been wanted for anything..." She started to cry again. Tears and tears and tears and screams of anguish and he held her through it all. He weathered the storms of her grief and stayed firm as her anchor, choking back his own tears because he could not bear to see her suffering so raw... so exposed.

"Family amore mio. We can't choose them. They choose us. We can't escape them any more than we can try to push away the skies or burn the seas. But you can rest now darling, baby girl. You have me. And I will never leave you no matter how irrational and insane I get. Just... kiss me... tell me you want me... Slap me if you need to... shoot me with a pistol, cut me with a blade... I don't care what you do to me, Lalienna but I beg you, don't stop loving me. I don't think I can exist in this world without you."

He kissed her again. And it was magnificent. Erotic. Their shared suffering and joy, swinging emotions like a pendulum between them served as the most potent aphrodisiac to his frayed nerves. He wanted to make love to her. He begged her gently,

"Please...amore mio...I've been so lost without you. I need to feel you... I need to be inside you to know I'm real...I want this intimacy between us. More than flesh and blood. I want your heart... I need your soul to temper me. I admit it. I wronged you. And when you are strong again I will take to you to the finest laser clinician in all of Rome and I will have that horrible scar on your neck removed forever. Because we don't need reminders of our sins. We need to heal together. Heal me... Let me be inside you...." He was begging... the tears came and he could not stop them he was so raw and broken down.

He didn't know the truth. Of course not. Hector didn't say a word, Christov neither. He didn't know he had just lost a child.

But if he did.... he probably would have died with it.

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.

Oh, she was such a pretty girl! Darling Devina. That is what all the initiates called her. And when she announced that her willing suitor would propose to take her hand in marriage, the entire Tower was in an uproar of joy. The Queen was in good spirits. The engagement party alone would be extremely grand, held in the main hall. Because that was where all the engagement parties for the ladies were held. And on that night they would be permitted to sit at the right hand of the Queen. A place of high honour. Because a bride to be was still a bride and she earned her place at Athena’s side. She was showered with blessings, a dowery valued in the absolute hundreds of thousands. Dresses, jewels, cars, shoes and cosmetics. The ladies were wanting of nothing under Athena’s care. Cruel and cold as the old Queen was, she was not entirely heartless. She still mourned the passing of her own husband. Tuberculosis of the lungs took him. A dreadful disease. He suffered for years at her side until at last, he begged Athena’s final mercy. It was said she poisoned him in his sleep and lay with his cool body for a whole day and night before she would relent to have him interred. 

But Devina Dentent. Well, she was a special flower. Master Karth’s pride and joy. She had been Lalienna’s best friend. Karth knew this. And he was always sympathetic to her when she choked on her tears in the training yards and fought with the maids. Because she didn’t want Lalienna’s old bed touched, or remade, or moved. She missed her friend. Her sister in arms... Her one-time fleeting girlish lover. Now she was a married woman. She’d tasted her first man and she wasn’t disappointed. Perhaps, a little overwhelmed. Perhaps, a little underwhelmed. She wasn’t sure what to expect. But he was kind-hearted and gentle for a husband and he respected that Devina was a White Woman of the Tower of London. She had not been selected as an Elite Associate under the hands of the Thirteen Hand Maids to the Queen.  And she did request an audience with the Lady Judeth Clayton to ask if perhaps she might be worthy of a traineeship under her sponsor. Master Karth, however, declined the request before Judeth could speak. She was on twenty-four-hour continuous surveillance it seemed. And he would not let Lady Clayton out of his sight for as long as he could help it whilst in the palace. And whilst he worked, the Hand Maid was escorted by Black Guard in pairs. Always in pairs. They watched the White Woman eat, sleep, relieve herself and bathe. And if she attempted to request permission of the guards to let her approach and speak with Judeth directly, they immediately sent her away. 

“But I don’t understand!? Why won’t you at least let me talk to her? There is no harm in this, surely? I am no danger to you my faithful Black Guard. Please... Sir... Madam... Let me speak with Lady Judeth, you may stay on and listen to every word I say.”

“We’re sorry Miss. Devina. We have our orders. Mistress Clayton is under palace lockdown. She has no conversations with any of the initiates or lower White Women until Master Karth himself proclaims it agreeable.”

“But, this is ridiculous! I just want to be given the chance to speak with her. I want to train beneath her like Lalienna once did. How can I ask her formally if you won’t let me? Am I to petition the Queen directly for the honour?”

“No, Miss. Devina. You will petition no one. You will either return to your studies, attend your training or quit the Tower to attend your husband directly. But we will not permit you to address Lady Clayton. These are Master Karth’s orders. They are final. We speak for the Queen. You will desist your demands at once.”

“But... this watch you have her under... how long for?” Devina demanded, exasperated and getting nowhere fast.

“As long as it takes.” The Black Guard replied.

“Well then at least, I beg you tell me why it is you are so diligent in your duties of her. Is she ill? Has she committed a great offence that you will not trust her with a moment’s privacy alone?”

“Death Watch.” They answered. They saluted. They marched away, Taking Judeth Clayton with them.

Later that night, at dinner, Devina sought to attend the teacher’s quarters in hopes of petitioning Master Karth for more answers. He was surrounded by his friends and colleagues, discussing protocols, politics, combat sequences and modern warfare as was his custom with the rest of the respected educators that made up their academic staff.

“Master Karth! Master Karth, I beg you, a moment of your time if you please.”

“Always a moment if not many more for my precious initiates. Come Devina, you look worried. What’s happened, has your new husband caused you concern? Do you need me to refresh you on self-defence against grabby males?”

“No Sir, not at all. Only, it’s about Mistress Clayton.”

“Ah. Another topic perhaps Devina my darlin’ Mistress Clayton isn’t exactly in the best of categories across the palace right now.”

She would not relent. She blurted the question.

“What does it mean, that the Black Guard said Judeth Clayton of the Thirteen Hand Maids is on Death Watch, Master Karth! Answer me honestly now, I cannot sleep at night since Lalienna was banished, you will do this for me and let me rest.”

Karth grew pensive. The looks of his colleagues were piteous. Judeth was always the cause of great scandal in the palace.

“Death Watch means... “ He started reluctantly. “That... Mistress Clayton has gotten so ill of the heart and mind since our Lalienna was removed... that she’s now a danger to herself. And if we don’t monitor her 24 hours of the day and night... she may do herself irreversible harm.”

“Suicide?! Mistress Clayton?! Unthinkable! No! No! Please, anything but that. She is so gentle and kind spoken with us girls. She’s warmer than any of the other Hand Maids. You must help her Master Karth, you must have Doctor Tanis put her in his hospital wards. You cannot leave her to keep working under Her Majesty whilst she is so disturbed. Oh Master Karth, it is cruel! Cruel!

“I know it is, my darling. But Her Grace, Athena will not have her Hand Maids be idle whilst the French are plotting against us from Paris. You know this love, you know this. So please, I assure you Lady Clayton needs to keep busy and her work is the balm that soothes her restless mind. She is under continuous guard and will remain so until I see fit to release her from it. Now go on Devina, return to your friends downstairs. Give your husband my fondest regards and take extreme care of yourself. For me. In a fortnight you have an important mission to attend with the Lady Rosa and her Elite Associate, Franchesca. We need you in your best form. You understand. Now rest easy darlin’ girl. No more questions about our Judeth. She’ll be right, I promise you.”

‘If I can keep her off the morphine.’ He thought to himself. He disliked lying to the girls. It left a bad taste in his mouth. But he did what needed to be done to protect them. Most of them had suffered greatly even though they were so young. Fatherless bastards. Almost all of them. Give or take. Everything from begger girls off the streets, whores and reformed drug addicts to Duchesses and genuine royalty from across the globe. They were all sourced and poached and brought before Athena. And trained. As young as they could be gotten. They’d been weaponized and trained. To be killers. To be ruthless. To be espionage agents, saboteurs, ravagers. To be breeding machines. To birth girls...girls...girls.... More and more, in an endless cycle to swell the numbers. Because Athena was a Goddess. She demanded the sacrifice. Blood and Flesh for The High Table.

And they were servants. Always her loyal servants on bended knee. Fearful to look the old Queen in the eye.

So when at last she escaped the militant watch of The White Tower. She attended The Continental and escaped her husband's adoring embrace. She sought out the famous Iris Twins. Because aside from Sir Sable, it was said these identical French blonde ladies held the keys to the city. The keys to all of London. And they did not refuse her. They protected her passage with the sleight of hand technique of seasoned and impossibly well-trained magicians. They let her gain access to private rooms, unused by other guests. Hush, now, hush. Don't say a word. Our little secret. There she met her Lalienna again. And adored her anew. Kissed her, hugged her. She looked well. Loved, cared for. Her dresses were extremely expensive, her shoes... my goodness she had so many to choose from. Many were open-toed. She had been told that her Italian suitor, Mr Santino D'Antonio was a very particular and fussy man that had some exceptional sexual proclivities that involved the adoration of her feet. She did not deny him his pleasures for she enjoyed to see the Prince of Rome attend her on his knees to personally buckle the dainty strap of leather at her ankle.

That all sounded exceptionally erotic, she thought. And their old loves flared again. The excitement of young girls, barely 21 years of age. Living such exciting lives of intrigue and destruction. They made love the way the used to. Kissing and caressing and forcing each other to decadent orgasm just as they had in the bathhouse and sleeping quarters of the girls in the Tower. It was sinful and delicious. And entirely naughty and very troublesome if their males would find out. But Devina didn't care that deeply for her new husband just yet. Yes, he was handsome and rich and treated her kindly. But they were new together. And Devina hadn't quite learned what it meant to love a man intimately yet. Even if she had already accepted him inside her body. That was neither here nor there. She kissed Lalienna passionately and escaped their private rooms. The Iris Twins were fast and efficient. They had her returned to her husband's hands without him ever having missed her, to begin with.

They were clever twin ladies. But they did what their Master told them to do. Sir Sable was a man of dizzying power with sensual eyes and calculating glances.

Perhaps that was the way of the world, after all.

All good women were made in the shadows of powerful men.

Were they really though?

"Fuck... daddy!"

Mmh.

Yeah.

He liked that.

That felt good.

The way she rubbed herself against him. Touched him, kissed him. It was erotic. Hot. He knew deep down he shouldn't touch her. This was the bosses' girl. But she was so... Hungry? Yeah, she made him hard. He caught himself staring. Those heels, those legs, those hips, that ass. Damn. Boss is a lucky man. He wanted a piece of that action. But Nah man. His brothers elbowed his ribs. Shook there heads. Look but don't touch they said. Okay. So he tried to not satisfy himself remembering the night he watched his boss eat that pussy down the length of a scope.

That made him cum hard. Way harder than was prudent. And he'd gotten hot with his boss before. Been a daddy then too. The Prince came home, pissed off, hurt after a bad fight in the streets. So he got him cleaned up, got him a drink. Lit him a smoke. Rubbed him down like a lathering horse. Right there, between his legs. Great big Italian cock. Felt good in his hands. Both boys got... Experimental. Good night. Really good night. He was on guard duties a lot more after that. But this!? The bosses' dancer. Yeah, he made her dance. Deep. Against his tongue. Made her watch as he sucked her deep into his mouth and roll under pleasure. He didn't make her beg. Just focused on getting her there. Three times.

Mmh. Now he understood what Tino tasted in her. Sweet. Lusty. He liked performing for her. And yeah, he even had a tattoo on the underside of his cock in a calligraphic script that read the words ' Until it hurts'. He liked cumming for her. Moaning and grinding his hips. He almost asked her to get on. He was a big boy but he knew she'd adjust. Girls always did. He wanted to know what she felt like on the inside. But he didn't ask. Touching himself under her eyes was enough. He loved being her attack dog. In the morning. No regrets. He cleaned her up. Fed and kissed her. Sent her back to her Papi. ‘Cos Tino was a stud. He deserved to be tapping that. He'll, he almost did. But he made her promise. No calls, no texts. No marks on her body. Just a knock on his door. Late. After work. Glass of wine. Good meal. He'd go hungry just to eat her. Fuck. He was addicted to this rush.

"Wanna touch it, baby?" His body. Her fingers over the words. He wanted to purr for her.

Until it hurts.

{[ @lalienna-dementriento @f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat   || You aren’t the only one that did a thing. I did it too. And we are taking this too far. Right to the end of the line. It’s sinfully delicious, the mess this Camorra crew are capable of getting themselves into when it comes to love. ]}

Daddy. Not Papi

@laserglassspider - @f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat // I uh...did a thing...and uhm...yeah.

———

“I can’t sleep. Hector is with someone...Ares is with Santino...tony and Marcus and I aren’t that close. Can I-“

She didn’t even have to finish. Christov let his door swing open completely, allowing her entrance. She thanked him softly, stepping past him. She left her shoes neatly by the door, noticing now that her coworker wore only loose fitted pants. She had never seen all of his tattoos. Her eyes trailed down his chest, the bear on his abdomen baring it’s fangs at her. She smiled slightly, making her way around him to his back. He stayed still, allowing her to check him out. Like a cat stalking something. Or a wolf. Seeing if he was a friend or foe.

“I was your last choice? Ouch.” His hand went to his check in mock hurt. His voice was husked from sleep, the gravel of his tone making her stomach flip. She laughed slightly, backing off from him, distracting her eyes by taking in his rooms.

“No, I just...didn’t want to annoy you or bother you. You may have company.” She suggested with a dark tone, a smirk on her lips. She never saw the women he was with. He was discrete. Shuffled them in and out quickly. Never staying overnight. She didn’t know what his type was. He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Just missed them.” He teased. “Come on, babygirl. You know you can always come to me, right? How long have you been up?” It was past four am. She debated just getting ready for the day. Still, she wore shorts and a thin strapped tank top, eyes tired and dark under her eyes.

“I haven’t gone to sleep yet...” she admitted.

“God, woman! Let’s go. Bed. Now.” He pointed, directing her to his bedroom. His tone threw her off, swallowing thickly as a slight arousal washed over her. No, no. She was tired and missing her papi. Her papi... she missed him. So so much. That was all. She wasn’t fighting a slight shaking of her thighs as he commanded her...

She obeyed his commands, biting her lip. The bed was messed as he had been sleeping. A half finished wine glass sat atop the bedside table. She looked to him, a suggestive smile, cheeky. He took care of his women.

“Long day.” He corrected. “Earlier was a joke. There were no guests over tonight beside you. You may rest easy knowing the sheets are virgin of a woman’s touch.

She blushed, turning her head. She crawled onto the mattress, the crisp white sheets smelling of him. He took residence on the other side, yawning deeply.

“Sorry to wake you. Thank you.” She met his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Get some sleep. I’ll protect you.” His eyes shimmered with something...she couldn’t place what it was. Her eyes traveled down his ink, awed at the dark marks. A smile appeared on his face, laying on his back so she could see better.

“Wanna touch em?”

“Can I?” She asked, slightly afraid to. He nodded, amusement on his features.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.im you’re attack dog, babygirl. Promise I don’t bite...that hard.”

“I do.” She mumbled without much thought, smiling sheepishly as she realized what she said. She avoided his dark gaze, instead looking at his shoulder. She reached out, running her fingers down his arm, tracing a head of a cobra. It’s tongue was frozen on its lower lip, fangs tearing up at her. He seemed to have a whole zoo on his arm. A flower bloomed on his forearm. On his elbow was a spider web.

“Do they have meanings?” She asked like a bewildered child. She was entranced by their beauty, the sexiness. She liked the pain when she was given her coat of arms. It was erotic and sensual. She fed from it. Did he like the pain as well?

“Some. A lot are drunken night when I was younger.” Christov answered, blinking slowly, wanting to capture this moment forever. Goosebumps rose where her fingers landed. She brushed over his strong hands, veins prominent. She nearly moaned, imagining his grip around her throat. Tattoos everywhere, even on his fingers.

“What’s...this one from?” She pointed to a bird on his wrist, pulling his hand closer to her to examine it.

“That was in Vienna. Maybe three years ago. I saw a bird while on the job and I liked it. I got the guy to draw it pretty exact.”

She met his eyes, nodding slightly.

“Pretty. Or...whatever you’re supposed to call men’s tattoos. Handsome?” She asked herself, laughing. “It’s sexy.” She decided finally. Next she went to his neck, tracing tentacles along his skin. Some type of octopus. They went all along his neck, to the back of it and spreading to his shoulders. She grunted slightly, motioning for him to turn. He did, lying now on his stomach. She straddled his back, licking her lips.

“This okay?” She asked. He chuckled. She could feel him underneath her...

“Yeah, baby.” God, his voice...

She prayed he couldn’t feel her arousal through her shorts, hating herself for feeling this way. She wasn’t his. He wasn’t hers. They worked together. Co workers. He acted as her protector... like a brother. But she didn’t want him as a brother right now... his boss was her boyfriend. Yet, she stayed as she was, moving up his back, scratching her nails gently back down. He sighed, eyes shutting as he relaxed. The day had worn him out. Running errands for his boss like a slave all day even though he was in another country. Leaving his Spanish flower alone...unattended....horny...it was almost as though he was asking for her to get fucked. Maybe that’s why he took ares. Because he knew they were frisky. He probably didn’t think that Lalienna would try anything with his other men. Hector was an obvious no. They were close siblings. Hector was her brother by association. It would be weird. She never thought of him that way. She didn’t really notice Christov either...she knew he was handsome. Sexy. But she hadn’t become aroused by him. Not until tonight. Tattoos...his tattoos against his flesh. The way his muscles contracted and expanded as he moved. Breathed. She was a mess.

Lalienna didn’t know what came over her. Whether she was possessed or simply went insane, but she bent down and kissed the back of his neck, tracing the ink with her finger. That was fine. It was a chaste kiss...but she didn’t stop there. Oh no... she kept going.

Her tongue then traced the tentacle under his hairline, clawing at his shoulder slightly. Maybe that was a bit risqué...but it could be fine. If she had stopped....

Kissing to the crook of his neck, hands roaming his back... she bared her fangs like the snake on his arm, sinking her teeth into the flesh above his shoulder blade. And she had moaned, rolling her hips involuntary against him. His eyes opened, moving his neck to allow better access for her lips. She was given permission, not denied this pleasure. Her lips ghosted his ear, whispering darkly.

“You’re my attack dog? Then attack.” Her sultry tone, her lips against his skin, her hands, her hips grinding against him drove him insane. He was quick to move, her falling against the mattress barely having enough time to react as he pinned her down, holding her chin. Those eyes. Boring into her, ripping her heart out, lighting a fire inside of her flower. She burned with passion and arousal, biting her lip suggestively, writhing underneath him slightly.

‘Do something....please.’ She eyed him. He growled huskily; it drove her mad, arching her back off the mattress to feel him...his erection. She shivered in delight knowing he was enjoying this as much as she was.

“You’re not my papi. But you can be my daddy for the night.” She whispered in his ear, tugging on his lobe as she brought her head back against the sheets. Another growl.

Papi was passionate. It was personal. An emotional name she had given Santino. Her caregiver.

Daddy held no meaning. Simply someone she wanted in the moment. Christov had been called daddy many times before by many women. He held that aura. He was powerful, strong, a daddy. He enjoyed it. It was a turn on. Maybe a fetish. And now...this young Spanish maiden was begging for him.

“Santino would kill me. And you...you know this, babygirl.” He said in a semi defeated tone. She shrugged, giggling.

“Yes, if we fucked.”

His eyebrow raised, catching her hint. Sex...what was the textbook definition? A male penetrating a female with his manhood... so...that meant that head and oral weren’t sex by definition...

That also meant that when his thumb found her erect nipple from under her shirt that...it wasn’t sex. It was fine. And, when but at her neck, that it was okay. She pushed him slightly though, shaking her head.

“No marks. No hickeys. Okay?” She grabbed his face, narrowing her eyes.

“Yes ma’am.” He answered, dipping his lower half of his body against hers. Her legs spread for him, wrapping around his waist. She rolled her eyes, laughing.

“You’re older than me, daddy.” She watched as his eyes darkened, lust washing over him. She smiled, nipping at his lower lip. She found the waistband of his pants, palming his arousal through the fabric. He groaned hotly, attacking her lips as he pushed her flat against the mattress. His hand snakes up her shirt, squeezing her breast over her bra. She thanked her past self for dressing in purple lace tonight. He was careful as his lips trailed down her body to her stomach to not mark her. She watched with intense curiosity as his tattooed hands ran up her thighs, up her shorts. She whimpered, shivering in ecstasy. She throbbed against his touch.

“Daddy...Christov...”

she had said his name before, sure. When’s he greeted him or wanted his attention. But never like this...the breathy pleasurable sigh. Like a prayer fleeting from her lips. He craved it.

She pushed herself up in her elbows, pulling him into a passionate kiss, her tongue dancing with his.

“Lay down.” She whispered hurriedly, lifting the tank top from her body, placing it to the side. She resisted the urge to fold it, shaking herself from the thought. She’d be fine.... no, she wouldn’t. She folded it, shimmying out of her shorts as well and folding them, returning to her dark lover of tonight. She adored his ink, kissing up his arms while she straddled his abdomen, his hands on her hips and pushing his groin up against her ass. The thin fabric of his pants and her underwear did little to interrupt grinding his manhood along her skin. She gasped, gripping his shoulders, biting her lip to suppress a moan.

“I want to hear you, princess.”

“We’re going to get a noise complaint, daddy. Besides, do you really think it’s a good idea to be loud when tony is not five doors down?” She now moved between his legs, but not before he pushed her down against his chest, grabbing her barely covered butt, bringing her heat hard against him. She moaned then, hiding her face in his chest as she sighed and groaned, nipping at his flesh in a frenzy.

“Fuck, daddy....”

her eyes traveled up to his as she kissed just above the fabric, licking her lips in anticipation. She wanted to taste him. Intended to. But he was faster, flipping them once more, tsking.

“No, baby. You’re the one who can’t sleep. Let me wear you out.” A dirty smirk on his lips. He dipped his head to lick up her flower above the fabric teasingly.

“Daddy!” She whined, gripping the sheets. He chuckled against her, nose rubbing against her bundle of nerves. Finally he ripped the fabric from her body, tearing the fibers. She gasped, panting in need. His tongue lapped at her opening, demanding her eyes. He would fuck her with his tongue and make her keep eye contact. Again and again he sucked, licked, teasing her with his mouth. Anytime she shut her eyes or moved them from his gaze, he would stop, waiting for her attention once more. She hated him for this, but quickly learned to keep contact, needing his attention on her needy core. She came hard against his tongue, nearly screaming his name along with a string of Spanish curses, gripping his hair. All while looking into those eyes. Christov licked her clean like a dog devouring a meal, moaning softly against her flower. She tried to protest against him continuing, wanting to repay him. He simply shushed her with a gentle nibble against her clit. That shut her up quickly, falling apart quickly after. She came three times before passing out from exhaustion, mumbling a Thanks as christov tucked her in, kissing her forehead. He held a sly grin on his lips, stroking himself slowly till he got off, the memory of her moans and taste still on his tongue being enough to send him over the edge. He fell back against the mattress, and Lalienna curled herself into him, sleeping soundly.

“All you gotta do is ask, babygirl. I’ll take care of you.” He mumbled into her hair, eyes becoming heavy as he too fell into a slumber.

Good Dog.

“And the dog, does he have a name?”

“No.”

Five days now he'd been home at the Continental London and for those five days Hector and Christov did nothing but protect his dancer like wolves. Refusing him access to her. In any way, shape or form. He begged them, pleaded they let him attend her. He had so much he needed to say. His two months of diligent hard work had finally paid off. The papers accepted, her duel European Visa acquired alongside international residency and secure passage to at least four different safe houses that were level territory with the Camorra. Her alliances secured with nothing more than a photograph. The banks had approved his land purchase as well. He'd acquired her a modest villa by the waterfront  not entirely too far from Schönbrunn Palace in the capital. A Porsche Panamera in stunning hot rod red parked in her private driveway. He took photos lovingly on his phone and set the new house and car keys into a velvet lined black box with a card that read: 'So you may live in love and peace. Santino' He wanted to give it to her desperately but they just wouldn't leave him alone with her for a minute. Ares, Curtis and Marcus were always at her side when Chris and Hector weren't.

They guarded her in shifts, snapping and barking at him like dogs if he so much as looked at her in a way that they often misinterpreted as predatory. He'd snapped at them under the pressure. Retaliating wildly when they would not approve access to her rooms. He was causing a scene, they told him. Being disgraceful. Disrespectful. He argued with the crew bitterly.

"She's my fucking lover!" He screamed at Hector in bitter rage, threatening him. "Have you forgotten who signs your pay checks, bastardo?!" (bastard?!)  Well, that didn't go down well in the slightest. Furious, Hector punched him square in the mouth. The blow so well timed and powerful he'd not even seen it coming. He remembered then why he had chosen Hector as his second in command. But that didn't stop him pulling his pistol free and levelling it at his Guard's head. Hector, in a wild fury, took hold the muzzle of the gun and shoved it directly into his forehead, holding it steady and cursing in Italian. Demanding Santino make good on his threat ad pull the trigger. Daring him to do so. To see what would really happen. Did he have the balls? Here? Now?

"Go on, you fucking cunt! You lack the courage of your conviction! Dickless cur! Pull the trigger, pull it! Pull the fucking trigger Santino, blow my brains out if you think you have it in you! I'll die where I stand but you... I'll see you rot in Hell!"

Santino's finger squeezed the trigger... another millimetre and he'd end this man's suffering forever. Until Sable appeared flanked by hotel security in the hallway and demanding the two men desist their argument immediately and drop their weapons at once.

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PAIR!?!" Sable exploded. Rare. Extremely rare. Sable was always so refined, so in control of his emotions. Seeing him loose his cool like this was haunting.

"A dozen noise and disturbance complaints from this floor, I come to investigate and this is what I find?! The Prince of Rome and his Commander at gun point in the halls of my house?! Are you insane?!"

"This doesn't concern you. Return to your desk." Santino had replied in a fury. Completely forgetting himself or where he was. Now it was Sable that attacked, knocking the pistol clear out of his hand with a deadly precision of movement. He disarmed the Italian prince and threw the weapon at his security guard who caught it mid-air and unloaded the magazine in an instant. Impossible the way they moved. Trained almost from birth it seemed. There were dangerous men in England. Dangerous men in London. But Sable... he reminded Santino and Hector both of who was God in this hotel. And it was certainly him. Sir Jeremy would hear of this disruption of harmony to his house. And he would come down on them both like the hand of God. In vengeance. But that was secondary to what was to come first. They were not polite about it either.

 Both Hector and Santino were arrested and separated by Sable's security detail, stripped of weapons entirely and marched in different directions. Downstairs they were taken. Almost the same route down to the subterranean car parks. Basement level. The boiler rooms. A huge stone chamber that was bare of anything save concrete and iron and the machinery that kept the hotel air conditioning and water systems functional. They seemed to stretch on forever. Twice Santino asked where they were taking him, straining against the cold metal of his handcuffs. And twice they met him with silence. Terror began to sink its fetid claws into the panicked beating of his reckless heart. Would he run? Would it make it worse if he did?

They threw him face first into a rough hewn holding cell with no light, dank air and imposing terror. The shadows played tricks with his eyes. There, in the corners of the cell were shadows that moved. Too many arms... to many eyes... Monsters..

Terrified, the Italian threw himself at the cell bars, screaming and pleading Sable let him free. But no one came to his cries. They left him there, alone, in the dark, handcuffed with the moving shadows of creatures unknown and his own thoughts to torment him into believing he was seeing demons and hearing voices that were otherworldly manifestations of death and torment.

 No light... no sound... Just fear.... fear.... and Lalienna.... Oh his dancer! His Spaniard. His Mistress. He screamed her name into the shadows and they dispersed to reveal.... Sable.

What?! Impossible!!! He'd gone with the other security staff to lock away Hector... how was he here with him this in cell? Wait?! In the cell? Then how would they get out?!

What?! Nothing made sense.

"Signore Sable... please.... please.. I'm going mad... I can't be here anymore, my dancer.. My Lalienna...have mercy on me, let me go to her. I will do anything you say, anything. Just let me out of this fucking cage... LET ME OUT!!!"

"I warned you...Prince of Rome. That the cost of your sins would see to your ruin." Whispered Sable. Black suit. Gloved hands. Those eyes... like the pits of Hell themselves reflecting the screams of a hundred thousand fallen souls at once. And he would be another victim to join them shortly.

Santino pleaded, "Signore Sable, please, have mercy on me. Yes, I did wrong, I pulled a gun in your house, I was mad in my rage but you have to believe me, I wouldn't have killed him.. My Commander! My Guard! Hector... Where have you taken him?! Tell me! Do with me what you will but release Hector, he is innocent of any crime, it was me! I admit it! I did it all... I cut her... I held her down, I lost control. I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He fell to his knees and with it came his grief stricken tears like rain. He'd snapped completely. Babbling, cursing, wretched in his panic. He vomited under the sheer force of the terror that took him.  He thought he would die in this cell. Without ever seeing her again. His men... Ares... Hector, Christov, Curtis, Tony, Marcus... Lalienna...

Those voices... in his head. Lorzeno shunning him, his sister Gianna, turning away. Marissa... That look in her eyes. Haunted. The light gone forever... Like Judeth... Because he'd raped her. He'd taken her against her will.... he'd abused and raped her and killed their child. Blood on his hands. Her blood. She left him... But he'd forever torn out the semblance of her soul.

"Are you ready to repent, Mr. D'Antonio?" Asked Sable calmly, dulcet baritone. Black suit, black gloves, standing outside the bars of the cell door.

Outside? Santino turned in tear-soaked panic. Then if Sable was outside, where was the man he was talking to in the cell?

Nothing there... Shadows and darkness and nothing more.

"How'd you do it?!" Santino asked, throwing himself at the bars.

"Do what exactly, Mr. D'Antonio?"

"Don't play fucking games with me Sable... you were standing in this cell with me a moment ago. Right there! How did you get out without me seeing you?"

Sable was silent, his features changed. Pity infused his hard blue eyes as he looked the half mad Italian man over.

"Mr. D'Antonio.... You watched me leave your side to incarcerate your guard. It's not possible for me to be in two places at once. Although it would certainly improve my efficiently for running this hotel."

Santino's eyes grew wide. Horror filling him. He spun on his heel, his eyes searching the darkness. Sable was right... he was alone. There was no one there... Had he imagined it? But it was real! The concierge had been standing in that cell with him as surely as he lived and breathed this very moment.

"Mr D'Antonio... listen to me. Your guard was good enough to explain your position. You've had a very difficult few months it seems. You're over worked, injured, exhausted and defeated by demons latched to you by the betrayal of a lover. If you want to survive this, I suggest you admit defeat first and make good your apologies. Now, I'm going to let you out of that cage. And you're going to come with me back upstairs. You will join me at the reception desk and you will sign a formal warning notice for wilful intent to execute business on hotel grounds with a loaded weapon. As no harm was done, and your guard has confessed of your troubles, I will be lenient with you and revoke my original intention which was to report your behaviour to management and have our services suspended until further notice. You should be grateful of my mercy, sir. It is not every day one is given the opportunity to teach humility to the Prince of Rome. Alas, I have. And would do so again with extreme prejudice if that is what it takes to disarm you."  

He was freed from his prison soon thereafter. Leaving the shadows of the underground behind. He ascended again to the light and did exactly as he was told. Without question. With extreme hesitation. Sable cleared his throat. A warning. Still he would not sign the paper. He couldn't read the words. He became overwhelmed that this document was in fact his death warrant.

"Sign it, Mr.D'Antonio."  Those eyes... like the pits of hell.

"I want Lalienna..." He pleaded. His voice breaking. The tears would not come though his eyes burned.

"And you will have her again, of that I have no doubt. Now, sign the Warning Letter so we may put this wretched episode behind us quickly, sir. I have business to attend and cannot stand here entertaining your insecurities all day. Do I make myself clear?"

He gave in. He signed.

"Papi?" That voice! He turned and there she was. Flanked by Hector and Chistov, Marcus, Tony and Curtis. Ares too, hugging he girl. His girl. His dancer. His Spanish flower.

He looked to the men, wordless. The tears falling at last. Begging though he didn't say a word that they let him touch her, go to her... fall at his knees for her. Hector nodded.

And that was all he needed. He rushed her, taking her in his arms and breaking down.  He cried with her. Incomprehensible in his anguish. A million terrors and fears flooding through him that he struggled to convey. Two months of torture, separation, madness. Destroyed... By the severance between them.

And she chased it all away with a kiss. And that kiss. It seemed to last forever. An eternity. It stretched on and on and on. Lightening him. Calming him, soothing him. Her skin, her scent, her touch, her taste. His lungs burning, he wouldn't come for air, he'd let her drown him. He wanted to die... Here. Now. It didn't matter how so long as she held him in her arms.

 "I love you, Papi... I've missed you. I was sacred you'd still be angry with me. That you wouldn't come back."

"Non ti lascerò mai più amore mio." (I'll never leave you again my love." He insisted. Holding her to him for dear life.

It was over. The torment. The torture. His anger. His rage. His madness. It was all over.

He turned, to find Sable... But he wasn't there.

"Did you see him?" He asked, cold with shock.

"Who Papi? What are you talking about?"

"Sable! Did you see Sable?!" He was addressing his men now. Praying that they said something that sounded like reason.

"Mr. Sable retired an hour ago, Mr. D'Antonio." He swung around again to see the owner of that voice. A pair of them. Identical twins. The Iris Twins.

"We're here though Sir. And if there's anything you need of us-"

"Paper! Warning Letter. I signed a warning letter, where is it?" He snapped in panic.

"Warning Letter, Sir?" Said Chervonne with a raise of her brow.

"Whatever are you talking about?" Chimed Chantelle, clearly concerned that something was amiss.

 "Boss..." He turned again, clutching the dancer to him. His men flanked him and he winced and retreated from Hector who looked upon him with concern in his eyes.

"You look terrible boss... I think... you should go upstairs... Both of you. Spend a little alone time together. You need each other now."

"Papi? Are you okay? You look sick. I'm worried about you."

"It's okay, amore mio. It's alright. I'm... tired that's all. Tired. Yes... But, Lalienna, I want you to go with Ares upstairs and pack your belongings. Everything we bought together. Everything you own. Tony, help her with her luggage. All of you go, empty your rooms. Pack your belongings and get ready to take the next flight back to Rome."

"Rome? What? Why? Right now?!" Asked Hector, clearly confused.

"Yes, right now. All of you. Pay your checks to the ladies and prepare your passports. We're going home."

"But Papi, it's so late. Are you sure you don't want to just sleep with me first, then we can go in the morning together?"

"No, amore mio. Right now. We're leaving right now. We can sleep on the plane. But we're going home. I'm taking you with me. All of us. I've had enough of this city , this country. I can't stand it a second longer. We're leaving. Back to my mansion. We're going to Rome."

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.

Bleed like me.

Keanu Reeves’ filmography: John Wick (2014)

“Daddy’s TRYING to WORK! Puttanas! Can’t you bitches keep it down!? I’m in the middle of something important and you dykes are constantly causing me so much trouble!” - Santino - Reluctant Godfather to two very frisky young women. One he’s trying to fuck, the other whose only ever fucked him over. That’s right Ares. I’m looking at you, bitch.

----

Ares was thrilled! She had a new friend. A new girlfriend. Alright, Lalienna was strictly the boss's' girlfriend, but what he didn’t need to know... well, he didn’t need to know.

God these guys were such a pain in the ass. Always on her tail between jobs. She wanted to let loose in the club. Reign was the BOMB! Like seriously! This was the best club she’d been to since she partied in Rome. And Tino let her party a lot. And when he didn’t, she faked a period and got the night off... and partied all the same.

 Now she was pulling the same kind of bullshit behind his back. Well sort of. Everyone kinda already knew about it. Tony, Christov, Hector... stuck up prick... Marcus... Curtis. Yeah, even the boss knew. Tino knew.. right? He did, totally did, didn't he?

 "Boss... you have to put a lead on your girls... muzzles or something.... Chastity belts maybe" Said Hector, wiping his hands in the kitchen whilst his employer was busy working on reconciliation reports for collateral damages against The White Women. The figures were high... Athena would not be pleased. He knew he shouldn't have pulled out the grenade launcher this time.

"Hm? What are you talking about, amico? I'm trying to work here, can't you see I'm busy? "

"Yeah boss, I know you're busy but it's the girls. Lali... Ares... They're in deep together. Too deep. I think they're fucking."

 Santino stopped typing. Took off his reading glasses and fixed his commander with a withering glare.

"Corri di nuovo oltre." (Run that past me again.) It wasn't a question. It was a statement. Hector didn't like it when Santino made statements. It made him nervous. And it meant there would be bloodshed. He changed gears...

"I think, Ares is romancing your lover. Lalienna."

That glare got darker. He stalled completely.

"Nevermind, forget I said anything."

 Tino slammed his books shut and threw his reading glasses across the desk, pacing the room on rapid steps. Feeling his pockets.

There it was, his phone. It was under his coat on the sofa.

He picked it up, opened the messaging app and picked up his conversation with Ares.

'Vanguard. Front and centre. Right now. Bring Lalienna.'

They were in the pool together, topless, drinking French champagne and kissing each other passionately. It was Lali that noticed her friend's phone lighting up first. She fixed her girl lover with another heated kiss before mounting the stairs out of the pool to pick up the flashing phone. Ares was too busy watching her girlfriend's ass. Alright, it wasn't her girlfriend. It was her boss's' girlfriend. But she seriously didn't fucking care. She'd eaten that pussy. And it was delicious.

"Um... babe.... I think we're in trouble."  Lali looked worried, having read the message. Ares didn't hesitate. She put down her glass and was out of the pool and grabbing her phone in a flash.

'I'm fucked.' She signed. Quick, dirty gesture. Lali was picking up sign language fast. But she could work out most of the swearing from Ares' expression, the way she mouthed the words or her extremely suggestive hands. Oh those hands... they made her wanna cum.... The way Ares laid with her and rubbed her off.... Until they got off together.

 This wasn't going to be pretty. Ares draped Lali's form in her bathrobe before putting on her own. Both girls made their way upstairs. To room 768. Santino's apartments. As they were about to knock on the door, Hector was just exiting and fixed them both with a disapproving glare.

"I'll be back... to pick up the bodies."

 "ARES! LALIENNA! IN HERE... RIGHT NOW!"  That was Santino. Thick Italian accent. Oh shit. They were in for it now. He never raised his voice. Not... unless he was really pissed off.

The girls held hands and shuddered as the hotel door was shut and locked behind them. They were in the dragon's den.

When they both padded into his office, they were forced to immediately put thier heads down under the heat of his glare.

He was standing now. White shirt, partly unbuttoned. Sleeves rolled up. Angry, flashing eyes.

"Ares." He began. The young woman snapped to attention beside her friend. "What have I fucking told you? Are you hard of hearing as well as mute? Puttana?! What part of stop causing scandal in my family didn't you understand the first time?"

 'Look I can explain-' She signed quickly.  Tino wouldn't have it. He cut her off.

"The only thing you can explain is why it is that the rest of my guards are under the impression that I'm a cornuto! (cuckold) Figlio di puttana!" (Son of a bitch!) He came at her now, closing the space between them at an alarming rate.

"So I'm going to ask you once. Nicely. Are you fucking my girlfriend?"

"Papi...Ares isn't-"

"Shut up, I'll get to you in a minute." Tino cut off Lalienna too. That meant he meant business. And he wasn't in the mood to fuck around or mince words.

'Boss... we're... just friends.' She punctuated that last word diligently. 'Really, there's nothing going on aside from what you already saw and what you already know.'

"Answer me, Ares. Are you having penetrative sex with Lalienna."

"Papi!"

"God help me bella, one more word from you and you're gonna be shitting teeth for a week, capisce?"

 Lalienna dropped her struggle. She wouldn't win this battle with him like this. She kinda wished she'd given him head this morning after all. It might have eased his nerves a bit.

'Look... Boss... It's just flirting, really. We kiss, cuddle, sleep together. Touch a little. I'm not jacking her with a dildo or anything, really.' Her hands stilled. She wanted to though. She really kinda wanted to. She took the slap to the face instead. And it hurt. Really hurt. Why did it hurt so much? Tears stung her eyes as she rubbed her cheek and glared at her employer. Her boss. Why did it feel like he was a pimp sometimes? He rounded on her girlfriend. Because yeah, Lalienna was her girlfriend.

 "Okay... you start talking now. No bullshit. You just watched me clear the dust off her face, don't think you won't get it either, amante, because you will. Talk."

 "Papi... we haven't gotten that far outta hand, honest."

"Do you want to?"

"Papi!!!" She whined, clearly straining and squeezing Ares' hand. In support, in apology.

"Answer me."

"No! Papi... nothing inside me. I promise." Ares tensed. That was a lie. She'd finger and tongue fucked Lali only the night before. She kept her face down. Used the excuse to rub at her smarting cheek. That was gonna bruise later for sure.

"You keep this up, Lalienna... you keep embarrassing me in front of my men.. word gets back to Rome, to Gianna about what you girls are doing... I'll excommunicate you both. Personally. Sable won't be able to stop me throwing you bitches face first into on-coming traffic. And pray, you're hit by something heavy. Because if you survive, I'll come after you. Feeling me?"

 "Si Papi. I get it. We're sorry. We'll behave. Honest."

 "And you?" He pushed at Ares' shoulder, roughly. Sending the girl off balance. "You're older than her. You should be her guide, her big sister. Not leading her down the path of depravity and ruin. It looks bad on me, it looks bad on you. It looks bad on the family. I've told you before. There are certain lines you don't cross. This is one of them, Ares. I mean it. Lalienna's not your toy. You don't use her. You protect her."

 'But you can use her, right?' Ares' eyes bored into him. Angry. Hurting. She snapped her hand away from Lali's grasp. Clearly not in the mood to be pushed around anymore.

"I'm not using her, Vanguard. I'm in love with her. There's a difference. Lalienna's my willing lover. We have an arrangement. An agreement. An understanding."

 'What you have, is slaves... that's all we've ever been to you. You snap your fingers, and we come running to wipe your ass because you're too scared of your big sister shutting your ass down. Well listen to me, faggot: I'm tired of you telling me what I can and can't do with my life. I'm tired of being told who I can and can't love just because you're afraid. I'm worth more than that! I'm not your slave.' She was crying now. The tears fell from her lashes and stung her eyes.

 "I never said you were, Ares. You're taking this too far. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I'm not trying to control your life, but I need you to understand we have rules in this world. Rules in the Camorra."

 'You just wanna be in bed with everyone and you're jealous and nasty when you don't get your fucking way.'

 "Ares... take the night off. Actually, take the rest of the week. You're not fit for duty like this. You need to come down. And if you don't. you need to go home. Not to your rooms upstairs. I mean back to Rome. With Gianna. Where she can control your raging emotions because clearly, I'm failing here."

 'You're a real cunt sometimes, you know that?'

"Ares! Papi, she's sorry, she didn't mean that. Really, you've scared her. She'll behave. We both will."

 "Get out of my sight. Both of you. I've had enough. Vai a fanculo." (Go fuck yourselves.)

 Humiliated, Ares grabbed Lali's hand and tugged the girl roughly out of the office. They ran together. Down the hall, through the living room, to the door where they paused and almost knocked Curtis over. They separated a moment and dashed past him, streaking down the hall and into the elevator before the doors shut. Ares had not once let go of her girlfriend's hand. And when the doors closed and the lift began its decent back to the pool room, she turned to Lalienna and kissed her again. Hard... on the mouth. Forcing her back against the elevator wall.

To mark her territory.

Even if it wasn't hers. It felt wrong. And so, so right... It felt good. She'd take a tongue lashing and beating for this girl any day of the week. It was worth it.

She understood why Tino wanted her as his lover. She was special. Her kind of special. And she didn't feel that way about just anyone.

But she'd be careful next time. They'd have to be more chaste. More private. More discreet. They had to avoid suspicion. They were going to get caught otherwise. And Ares really didn't want to live a life in Rome without Lali at her side.

She was her friend. Her new sister in arms. Her sometimes... lots of times...naughty lover.

IM CACKLING. @lalienna-dementriento I’m outing you on your thirst! 😂😂

THIS IS WHY MOM *santino* DOESNT FUCKING LOVE YOU.

It hurt to leave her...

Her body in his arms. He cried tears into her hair, needing her touch. Feeling somewhat whole again because she refused to let go of him as much as he refused to let go of her. They were fated together. Bound by destinies than entwined. He couldn't resist her if he tried.

Why did he fight with her so desperately? Why did he separate himself when he needed her like the air he breathed? How long had he slept alone in his bed, his hand feeling for the warmth of her body that wasn't there. Wouldn't come.

And a thousand times he thought to himself; 'I should go see her. I should tell her I'm sorry. For hurting her. For cutting her.'

He thought it yes, but then he thought of the sin. The betrayal. That woman... Devina... He could have done it if he wanted to. Put a contract on her head. A million pounds sterling for the first man in England that executed Devina Dentent. And her fucking husband. She'd committed two fold adultery. Once against her husband. And once against his Mistress. And she was his Mistress still. He toyed with the idea of making her his fiancé. Gianna had told him to, soon after her initiation To make an honest woman of Lalienna. What if he had? What if he's proposed on his knee to her, given her the ring, begged her hand in marriage just a few weeks sooner? Would she still have betrayed him?

He didn't want to know.

He just didn't want to know.

It was best to keep things in the shallow end. Because he'd never quite learned how to swim.

And he saw the smoke when he left that morning before this mess ever came to pass. When he kissed her as he rose from their bed and sighed his love in her ear.

Something deep in him begged him to turn around. Leave the airport. Go back and get her. He was rushing things with the Austrians. This could wait couldn't it? He'd not even taken her home to Rome yet. Why was he so obsessed with securing her international passage across the border lines of different countries?

Because he wanted to establish a safe haven for her. There was no Continental in Vienna. Not yet.  But he wanted her secure in a safe country. Where she could escape the world. Her own villa, her own car. She wanted a dog. He liked dogs, he wanted her to have one. He wanted to personally go to the shelter and pick a tender pup that she could raise and love. Because she was a child still. And children needed puppies. Something to look after and grow with. To learn responsibility and love and loyalty.

Loyalty.

She had it in droves... But she drank... She got bored. An old friend from the Tower. An old lover, in spite of his best intentions, for the sake of playing nice as a guest to Athena's land. He hated those women for what they'd done to her. He hated her father. He hated her mother. He hated everything and everyone around her right now, including his High Guard that protected her like savage, snapping dogs. Because that's what he'd trained them to do. That's what Gianna wanted. That's what Lorenzo demanded.

He hated leaving her.

He promised as Christov picked up his fallen coat and bags, that he would come back. That he'd make this right. Again.

He'd fucked it up gloriously.

He always managed to fuck it up and there she was with her tender eyes and powerful embrace telling him it was alright. Because it was flesh for flesh. Blood for blood. He never did call that contract open on Devina.

He knew deep down he never would because a woman that she bedded obviously meant something, even if it was in one drunken fit of passion.

He couldn't understand it though. He'd never done these sorts of things. Cheating on lovers. It was against his ethics. Even in all his whoring, he didn't cheat of them if he was in a serious relationship. If it wasn't working, he broke it off clean and spent the night in another woman's bed. That's why he stayed single. Unattached. Evading his father's demands he marry and clean up his life and stop acting like a spoilt brat. And fucking woman like a whore. He was a disgrace.

 But Marissa changed him. For the better he thought. He wanted to marry her too. He actually bought Marissa the ring. He gave it to her.. in front of Gianna, in front of Lorenzo. Down on one knee he looked Marissa in the eye and begged her hand in marriage. To prove a point to himself more than anything. That he could do this. He could survive without a hundred flowers so long as he had one that would control him. And he craved that. To be controlled.

It didn't turn out the way he wanted it to.

None of this turned out the way he wanted it.

 So he bowed his head, shook Hector's hand and wiped at his tears, flustered and feeling extremely insignificant. Entirely small. He needed a drink. He needed to lay down a few hours. He needed to be with Lalienna and just hold her to him.

Why did the world make so much sense in the cold light of the day?

Why did it hurt so much when Christov pulled him away?

"Come on, Tino... You need to give the lady some space. You heard her, she's forgiven you. It's over now. You're both going to be okay. But you have a flight to catch. You worked hard last month trying to secure her papers, if you don't get her residency tied up you're going to piss all that hard work away. "

 He left the Continental under a single Guard. He couldn't face the others anymore. Ares, Hector, Marcus, Curtis, Tony. He felt as if he was the brunt of some big joke and no one was going to make any moves to let him in on it. He got this feeling, as Hector had said Lalienna wasn't permitted to drink... that something was going on outside his knowledge. They were professionals after all. Discreet. They knew things. And they knew how to keep him out of the loop.

He was quiet most of the drive up to the London Air Port.

"Thank you." He conceded at last.  

"Oh yeah? What for?" Chistov asked, not turning to face him. Keeping his eyes on the road.

"For helping me see the light. After so long. I was beginning to lose sense of myself."

"You never could see the forest from the trees, Tino. That's why you have a family like us. Many pairs of eyes decipher the puzzle one cannot see."

"Wise words, my friend." Santino returned. Settling back into his seat and lighting a smoke. Blowing the plume out the car window.

"I'm not sorry though. For what I said to you. About you being a pig sometimes. With girls. Why'd you cut her man? I mean really? What did you think you'd get out of it? Watching her cry? Watching her bleed? Fuck...man, seriously. I mean... What if she was carrying your baby? Would you have still fucked her up like that?"

 Santino leaned back into his seat. Covering his face with his hands. Dragging on his cigarette nervously as if the harder he smoked it the faster the answers would come.  

"No... I don't think so... I'm not that deranged. I-I don't know, please, Chris, stop pushing me. I can't take anymore. You and the crew have been at me like this for years."

"Marssia?"

"Yes, fucking Marissa! I'm sorry... I'm sorry. I told you I meant it, I'm sorry. I told her I was sorry. She still walked out on me, there was nothing more I could do to stop her. She didn't want the ring, she threw it in my face. God! Won't you ever let me live that chapter of my fucking life down?" Santino begged. The tears he was choking back on started to threaten again.

Christov was quiet for a moment. They were in the Air Port car park now, in the International Terminal. He was moments away from pulling up at the drop-off rank. He spoke again though, as they slowed in the traffic. Giving other cars way.

"She left you.. because you broke your own promise, Tino. You didn't use your head. You didn't apply the breaks even though you knew you should have. You can't do that to girls, amigo mio. You just can't. That wasn't safe, sane or consensual. You tied her up. You cut the pads off her fingers, off her toes. You whipped her like she was cattle in a field. You bled her, tortured her. Then you raped her. Even when she told you she was carrying your baby... She would have given her life if it meant to please you. She let you do those wicked things to her willingly. Because you got dark... you got depraved. She lost the child because of you, Tino. It wasn't the blood, it wasn't the sex, the knives, the whippings. It was you. She couldn't stand a world where someone as violent and twisted as that would actually be a father."

"There's no proof the baby was mine. That night, I caught her with another man in my bed. I was going to marry her.... I was going to marry her.... and she was fucking another guy. FUCK!!" He couldn't breathe. His vision was blurring. He felt the bile rise to the back of his throat and swallowed thickly. Ashamed of himself. He thought he'd buried these emotions and memories under concrete four years ago. Why was Christov tormenting him like this?

 "It was your baby dude... The other guy... Before we killed him. He confessed... To everything. That he was having a tryst with her, yes. But he always wore protection. He never came inside her. But you did... She miscarried the child after the beating you gave her. It was only six weeks old but it was still a baby, Tino. Your baby. Isn't that what all guys want eventually? To be fathers?"

 "No." He said at last. Getting out of the car as they pulled up to the curb. He picked up his coat and leather bags from the boot. He looked Chris over one last time. He was going to Vienna alone. He didn't need a guard with him. There was no danger. He was a danger to himself more than anything else.

"You saw that man today... Marquis... That man was her Lalienna's father. He wasn't ready to take responsibility for his daughter. He left her in the hands of a drunken addict so he wouldn't have to believe the child was real. Maybe he had his reasons for walking out on them. Even if they were degenerate and selfish. Everything in this life happens for a reason. I wasn't ready for marriage. I wasn't ready for children. I wasn't ready for Marissa Conti. Marissa Conti wasn't ready for me. But times have changed, Christov.... I've changed. I've come further than you give me credit for. I took responsibility for my actions today."

"Because we backed you into a corner, Tino. Otherwise you would have dragged this stalemate out and until she was driven insane. And would have sat back and enjoyed it. Because that's the kind of man you are today."

"You're wrong, Chris. I won't accept it. This half informed judgment you're piling upon me. Don't make a mountain out of a molehill. Lalienna betrayed me with another woman. That's the fact here. She got drunk, she knew the consequences, and rather than call me and tell me she was in the mood... she took her friend to my bed... and fucked her. And she wouldn't have told me about it either if it wasn't for the photos she'd sent me where I saw the bite marks on her neck. If I didn't come home... If I didn't punish her the way I did... She would have kept doing it, behind my back. Even if I did buy her that ring. And first it's a girl from the Tower. Then it's another old friend with history.... Then it's John fucking Wick. And where would that leave me? On the side-lines, with a wife that's an adulteress. Following her lusts like I used to. I bled Lalienna because I saw myself reflected in her eyes. I cut my initial into her throat to remind myself I was wrong. Even though I was insane with rage. And I'll remember my sin now every time I kiss her neck. That I wasn't the first one to love her. I won't be the last."

 "You really love her, eh?" Chris asked quietly.

"Yeah. I love her. But I'm not ready to be a father either. Not until I have time to work myself out." Santino admitted. Defeated, broken down.

 "Then get your shit done fast... come back. Pick her up and take her to Rome. That's where she needs to be now. Away from these distractions. Away from temptations and indiscretions. She did what she did because she's afraid of losing you. Your her Papi now. So act like it. If you can't be a father, at least be a man." Chrisov admonished.

 "I'm trying." Was all he said. He turned away. With his coat and his bags. He entered the international terminal and waited in the lounge until the next flight could take him back to Vienna. Where he had every intention of buying Lalienna a house... and a car. Where she had a new alliance with people that would protect her if she ever decided to walk out on him. Because he wouldn't...couldn't repeat the trauma of Marissa Conti.

He understood then, what Marquis had said... to his own daughter 21 years later.

That he wasn't ready to be a father.

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.

Judgement XX

The Adjudicator

“Actiones Secundum Fidei”

‘According Faith Actions’

 --------------------------------{}>---{}>

She makes no apologies.

The card is thrown.

The Table has Spoken.

Do what you must.

Mouthpiece of the Gods.

Weighs your Sins.

Perfect Justice.

I was wrong.

I sinned against you.

I've always known I was beneath you.

Your dog.

You've always cut me, down to the bone.

And I've never been strong enough to fight you off.

Even if I told myself otherwise.

Stop it. Stop hurting me.

I've got no soul to sell.

I gave you the last piece.

It's killing me.

Losing you like this.

Help me get away from myself.

You bring me closer to God.

{Don't make me sleep alone.}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————

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

The Keys to Our Rooms

Sable knew the truth. He was the first to review the security footage and show it to Jeremy. The Prince of Rome was hitting on the girl in Room 509. Her meal that night had been paid for by his cheque. One less to the bill for Mistress Clayton care of The Tower of London Miss DeMentriento had fine taste. Her plate was expensive. Seafood always was. Mr. D'Antonio was seemingly made of money. Powerful Italian. And spending it on luxurious food for a pretty lady as a means of impressing her was always on his charter. That was the way of things at The Continental London. Sable was busy reconciling the day's trading takings in order to process his paperwork for the bank. It was his business to know these things. What the guests ordered in the dining room. How many times they requested room service, laundry fees, parking charges, weapons acquirements, medical services, adult entertainment, night club access, private dancers, high class escorts. Accounts Payable, Administration. Everything went through his computers, through his records, though his ledgers, through his books.

And these room keys he handed his guests: They had a chip in them that unlocked doors the world never knew existed. Just like those gold coins that formed a silent currency in exchange for services rendered. Blood Money. Body Removal. Blood Money.

It became common knowledge, soon thereafter; that Mr. D'Antonio had proposed possible Camorra employment to Miss. DeMentriento. That was an exciting proposition for someone so young and so displaced from the world. The White Women, their new female initiates were bought and sold, traded like livestock. They were livestock. Expendable. Their purpose was to fight, breed, kill and die. But not here. Not in his house. Not in Jeremy's house. This hotel was a neutral ground.  House rules were simple. 'No Business Allowed' And their motto: 'An Oasis of Calm and Civility' Those were the words of The Continental London. The exact same as New York City, Rome, Barcelona, Morocco and Sydney. No matter where in the world you went. If you were part of the Gold Class Standard. Seven Stars of immaculate class and infinite style... If you wanted the Continental Experience. Then you paid the price. And you put your weapons away. And you did exactly as you were told. In exchange you got a luxurious room, as many meals as you could desire, a magnificent bar, gardens and hire cars. You got safety, security, peace of mind. You had bell hops, valets, maids, waiters, personal assistants, state of the art technology and the greatest underground entertainment anywhere in the world. It all came for a price. You wanted that gold card? You wanted the high rolling luxury? Black suits, diamonds and gold? Then yes, you paid in Blood Money.

Now only prime staff knew the truth. Sir Jeremy, the Owner/Manager. The Iris twins, reception officers and night club hostesses. And he... the Concierge. Sable.

He could gather from the records and security footage that he'd reviewed; extra footage that the High Guard exchanged for coin... exactly what was going on between the guests in Room 768 and Room 509. Mr. D'Antonio had taken a new employee to the D'Antonio Family. A new member for the Camorra High Guard. Everyone was very happy that Miss. DeMentriento, a complete underworld unknown; was secured into such a powerful house name. It would do her good. But Sable knew the truth. As did the Iris Twins. As did Sir Jeremy. That the Italian Prince was hitting on the girl in Room 509.

God he was bitter. Blood boiling, red anger. Ares had texted him as he was sorting his bags, ready to leave, take his car to the air port. Unfinished business in Vienna. He left on a "family medical emergency" but they wouldn't hold her papers forever. It had been three weeks now, he had to go back. Even if he did want to slap her face. he pulled out his phone and read the message: 'Boss... you're being a fuck. Her real dad is here. The bastard that left her and her mother to die. He's actually come right into the hotel and he's downstairs with her now. Hector and Chris are guarding. But she's fucked over. And she's aching for you. You gotta let this go, Tino. It's not fair.'

He texted her back. He shouldn't have. But he'd finally had enough of her constant digging. Her and his entire Guard. He couldn't free himself from any of them. Christov, Marcus, Tony, Hector, Curtis.... Ares just added to the fire. So he gave in. Jabbing at his screen. His eyes stinging with unshed tears. And his shoulder burned where he'd be shot last week. Grazed by a bullet because he'd been careless on the field thinking of her in the middle of a hit job in Whitechapel that didn't go down according to plan. She was doing this to him. Making him lose focus. Lose control. 'She fucked another woman.' He pressed Send. Threw the phone on the bed and went to get his jacket out of the wardrobe. His arms had just slipped through when his phone went off again. He picked it up...Though he didn't want to. Unlocked the screen. And read Ares' reply. 'Marissa Conti Mark 2. Your call Boss.'

That cut him. He turned and with a roar he threw the phone into his bedroom mirror with such force the glass exploded in the antique gilded frame sending shards smashing out into all directions. The sound of glass cracking and giving way to impact. Like his heart was. Like his torn soul. Chaos... pain and chaos... Her father was here? Her biological father?   Really? He checked his holster. Four magazines, his beloved Baretta 92S, loaded and ready to go off. He flicked his thumb over the safety, releasing it. Fuck hotel rules. Fuck this stranger in his head. In his heart. He wanted to kill her. That's why he took to the streets and got reckless. Coming home shot up and bleeding over Sable's counter. "Rough night, Mr. D'Antonio?" The concierge asked. "Sempre duro, ultimamente." (Always rough, lately.) He'd answered.

He left the room behind. In the ruins of a broken mirror. His phone on the ground... the words appearing on the spiderweb of cracked glass that made up his broken screen. 'Marissa Conti Mark 2. Your call Boss.'

Ares sent the whole crew an SOS text. 'Guys... I think Tino's coming downstairs. He's going to be pissed off at us, big time. I just learned why he's been so salty this month. Lali's fucked another girl! No wonder! Guys, I mentioned Marissa again... I'm fucked right?'

Curtis responded. Marcus responded. 'We'll make your funeral arrangements babe. What colour you want your casket?' 'I'll go get a priest. Last Rites in Latin. Riposa in pace, Ares Vanguard.'

Sir Sable greeted the Italian crime boss with a bow of his head. "Good afternoon, Mr. D'Antonio. Your car is awaiting collection out front. Is there anything else I can do to ease you into your flight?" Santino's eyes were hard. He'd lost his smile a month ago and walked like a man ready for war. "Mr. DeMentriento, Lalienna's father is here?" "In the drawing rooms, Sir. With Miss DeMentriento. And she appears extremely distressed." "How much to make you lift house rules?" The question was fired as a bullet. He came at the counter now and looked Sable dead in the eyes. The two men glared daggers at each other. Sable was furious. Murder? In his house?! Unthinkable! "Can you really afford Excommunication, Mr. D'Antonio?" A growl, through gritted teeth. Sable reared like a wolf. He asked without flinching. He meant it. He'd make the call to Jeremy. "Can you? Prince of Rome?"

He won. Santino backed away. A smile that didn't reach his eyes played about his features. "No." He stepped away from the counter. Away from Sable whose hand was on the phone. And he stalked the lobby. Ares appeared from the gardens. And Marcus from the stairwell. The pair flanked him. Silent. They were tense. Tight. Militant. Marching two paces behind the Italian prince. The doors of the drawing room were opened back for the trio. There she was.... This was the first time he'd laid eyes on her in a month. And there was a man beside her... in front of her. Talking. Chistov eyed down his employer. Anger and pity upon his face. Fucking Ares.... she'd told them everything, hadn't she? Did they read the text? Did they now know the truth? Why he was angry?

Hector was appeared now, tense and aggravated. He’d gotten the text. He read everything. Christov signed to him: ‘Dude, you were supposed to hold him up? Distraction!’

Hector replied with quick hands: ‘Bad timing. This could get ugly. Watch for his guns. Protect Lali.’

"Lalienna. Santino stopped his march just inside the room. Waiting  for her to turn. To face him. He wanted to see the damage. The ruins he'd dragged her through. Was that her father? That man right there? He breathed in... a shuddering breath. Breathed out. Stepped forward. Extended his hand. This was his lover's father. He'd pay his respects. Even if he did want to put a bullet in his fucking brain. "Signore.... I'm your daughter's intended. Santino D'Antonio, how do you do?"

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.

Only The Finest Will Reign

Welcome to ‘Reign’ - Underworld of Sin. 

House Rules Apply. 

Guns at the Door.

Along with your Inhibitions. 

And your blood money bullshit. 

We’re not interested in your dramas. Your grudges, your family feuds are mute. You come here to party. Heels, Designer Dresses... And your Finest Suit. We want you dripping in Diamonds. We want you dripping in Gold. Right here’s where we want you. Get a drink, get bought, get sold. 

Ladies on the dance floor. Burlesque and poles. Gents grab those girls, back to back, grind ‘em souls.

We come here to dance. Drop our guns and sing. We come here to party. Forget everything. 

‘Coz the streets are dirty. The bullets and bombs.  

But when we come to party. We’re writing new Psalms.

ONLY THE FINEST WILL ‘REIGN’

The Camorra High Guard

Pride of Italy. 

Royalty of Rome. 

Criminal Landmarks. 

It starts and ends here. Even though we are visitors to England. Guests of London. Allies of Iron Fortuna. Under the Table, for Lorenzo D’Antonio. Under the Table, for Gianna D’Antonio. Under the Table far beneath Athena, The White Women, The Tower of London. We are your allies. We stand together. We believe in the power of Family. Because blood will always be thicker than water. We believe in an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. We have guns, blades, dogs and money. We’re the first and last Gangsters you want rolling up to your house. Late at night, we’re in the alleyways, in the streets. In your houses, in your car parks. We own our cities and we’re about to own yours. Our brothels, nightclubs and dockyards. And you can say you don’t need us. But we’re still waiting on your protection money. Because we are both Death and Taxes. Checks and Balances. Crime and Punishment. Rules and Consequences. 

Pay up or shut up mother fucker. Yeah, we did. We fucked over your wife, your sister and your mother. We enjoyed it. We’d do it again for fun. While you’re watching. So salute. Step out of that car. Hands up. Stand and Deliver. 

We do this for Italy. We do this for Rome. 

You say we can’t, but you stop us you won’t. 

We are the Camorra High Guard. 

We are the Italian Silk Mafia. 

Game on, bitches. Play on.

When you love till it hurts....

"You must travel dark hallways to get there. And it is a place of sin. The Red Door stands as the gateway to abandon. And you'll do anything if they let you in." ~ Sable

{| @lalienna-dementriento @f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat |}

John Wick. Excommunicado. In effect 6:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time.

~I do hope that Mr. Wick finds his way to safety.

He knew the rules, he broke them.He killed a man on company grounds, Charon.

~Do you expect him to make it out?

14 million dollar bounty on his head and every interested party in the city wants a piece of it, I'd say the odds are about even.

I bled. I cried. I apologized.

Now forgive me.

————

There’s something sinister and cruel about making someone wait. They know what’s coming. They know the storm is on its way. But when...thats the real trouble. When will it come? When. When. When. When?! But that was your plan, wasn’t it? She marked me, so you marked me worse. You made me wait... to think about my sins. You asked me if it was worth it. If she was worth it.

No. Never. Because I fucking want you. Only you. And I’d choose you again and again. I’d tear my heart out for you. I’d break my own bones, my ankles and dance for you. I would bring you the moon if you asked for it. I’d break myself if it’d mean you’d be okay. So here I sit with my sin. And I wait. And wait. And wait...wondering when.

Yes, I made her wait. I shut her out. Shut her down. And it killed me to do it. I shouldn't have marked her. I shouldn't have theatened her. But I was suffering, bleeding out. She didn't see it. The way she held me under. Drowning me.

Have mercy lover. I won't survive you like this. There's a piece of the painting that's been slashed away forever. Why did it have to be the wings?

Medusa Risen: Indiscretions 

“This was the noise that started it all. And it must have been good at the time, under the haze of black fingernails and red wine. Girls are Angels. When they fuck its glorious. When they love its to the moon and back. No reservation. No regrets. Just passion. And I get that, really I do. But it’s The White Women that are the problem here. They cast her out. Threw her to the Dogs. Athena disowned her for her indiscretions. Even if she didn’t know at the time that she’d been proposed in arranged marriage. The Director cast her out too. Because she’d allowed her son, her Jardani, her Baba Yaga to deflower her. To give over her first time because it was love. But was it really? When a man gives himself inside a woman, the cost is high. He’s bleeding himself dry. Loosing part of his soul to give in to her pleasures and needs. And a man will do it again and again and again, self destructive, completely possessed. It’s an addiction, sex. It’s dark, it’s dangerous. And you want it, crave it 24/7 once you’ve had your first taste of the fruit. No wonder they cast Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden. Wouldn’t you bite the apple too? Wouldn’t you also bleed a little for an indiscretion?”  ~ S. D’Antonio

“Santino...he’s going to kill me right?” Her voice was hoarse from screaming, raw with passion. Lalienna bit her lip, turning to her ex sister.

“Yes...and then me.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, hiding a smile. “God, he’s going to kill me. He’s jealous. Jealous jealous jealous. He hates when a man even so much as looks at me...” she laughed, shaking her head, falling back on the mattress.

“Hmmm...I suppose not telling him is out of the question?” Devina turned on her stomach, kicking her feet distractedly. Lalienna nodded.

“No, I could never lie to him. Plus, he’d be able to tell. He’s smart. And I’d smell like another. He’s picky about the perfume I wear.” She smiled, thinking of her lover. So far away...where was it he said he went to? Rome? Austria? She couldn’t recall. Somewhere far and annoyingly distant. She was so bored. And then she saw her sister from the tower...and they drank...and then she snapped out of her daze after cumming. To be fair, it wasn’t as good as when she was with her dark Italian, but it wasn’t bad. “What about your husband? Hmm?” Lalienna prodded, turning the attention to devina as she stood, finding a large shirt to slip over herself. She threw devina one as well, stretching.

“He doesn’t pay attention to me like that. He won’t notice.” She rolled her eyes, standing as well. “I’m hungry.”

“I’ll order room service. It-“ She was cut off by her phone ringing. She already knew who it was. He was the only one to use that cellphone. She swallowed. “Don’t make a sound.” She warned, grabbing it and answering it. “Papi!” She smiled, falling on the mattress.

“Hello, bella. How are you, amore mio?” His accent sounded throughout her ears bringing a heated sensation to her core once more. She sighed. It had been too long.

“Missing you.” She replies simply, playing with a necklace he had gotten her a while ago distractedly. “How is your business?” Her tone sounded more annoyed than she intended. He chuckled deeply, making her sigh.

“It’s good, my bella. I’ll be home shortly. We will have a nice romantic dinner.”

She groaned, rolling her eyes. “I don’t want food, papi. I want you.” Another chuckle. He was killing her.

“I know, darling. I miss you deeply...” he sounded distracted. She hoped he was as disturbed as she was. If not, he was about to be. She looked to where devina was. She had gone to the bathroom.

“I miss you deep inside of me.” She smirked as he gasped, shocked. It was her turn to laugh, biting her lip. “I just want to feel you. I want your touch. I want your moans as you thrust into me, calling me your good girl...” she paused. She was no longer a good girl. He was going to be pissed. So so angry. “Papi, please come home soon...” she finished her thought, whining.

“A few more days, bella. I’ll be home soon...fuck, you drive me insane. You have me all worked up now...” he growled. She smirked and laughed.

“I can help with that, papi. All you have to do is ask.” She enjoyed this. She was going to pay for it later...but she’d enjoy the hell out of it now. There was a pause on the other line. She waited patiently, humming softly, teasingly.

“Please, Lalienna. I need to see you. My angel...my goddess. Mistress.”

“Give me a few minutes, papi.” She hung up, throwing her shirt off and setting it to the side. With the right angles, she sent herself to her sugar daddy, waiting for his response.

A minute passed. And then another. Ten minutes. He hadn’t responded. She was getting nervous. Then he called. Angry.

“What the fuck is on your neck?” He snapped. No hello. She cursed herself, not realizing what she had done.

“I-papi...please-“

“Lalienna, answer me.” Was his strict reply. She sighed, shifting to sit.

“I missed you. So much, papi-“

“So that gives you the right to fuck some other man?” He snarled. She shrunk into herself, shaking her head.

“No no. It wasn’t...it wasn’t another man, Santino. I swear. I swear. It was my ex sister in arms from the tower... we- we ran into each other. We drank...fuck, I’m sorry papi. I’m so so so sorry.”

There’s was silence. Only the sound of his breathing could be heard. “Say something, Santino. Please...”

“We’ll talk about this when I get back.”

The phone disconnected. She let out a cry, eyes wide. The way he said talk implied there would be no talking involved... well, maybe her on her knees, begging. Begging for forgiveness. To her master. Her god. Her daddy. A beating. Maybe a bit of blood and that would satisfy him. He’d forgive her... then fuck her until she couldn’t walk, showing her who she belonged to...who could really make her cum and scream. She shivered at the thought, her flower throbbing. She’d be screaming his name. She’d be writhing under him.

And she’d take it. And she’d love every minute of it. Because she was a good girl.... his good girl.

————

@laserglassspider // 😇 @f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat

“You thought your could tear off my wings by using your tears to bring me home? Is that what you thought? Really?” - S. D’Antonio 

Medusa Risen: Severance 

She'd betrayed him.

It was all he could think about. There he was, in Vienna, Austria, working for her. To build her reputation, to secure her alliances with people outside of England and Italy for which she might be able to expand herself and come into her own. And this was how she repaid him? He'd worked so hard these past two months, securing papers, documents, passports, licenses. The people he'd had to talk to. The meetings he'd had to attend. The lies he'd had to tell. It was all so tenuous. So dangerous. It could all have come apart so easily. But those people, they trusted him. He was of the Camorra, after all. His reputation proceeded him wherever he went. Such was the power of the D'Antonio family. His father Lorenzo D'Antonio Camorra sat at the eighth seat of The High Table for Italy. A Crime Lord, like no other. Hundreds of years of Mafia tradition passed down from family to family. And now it all rested on his shoulders. Alright, not his shoulders directly. That was currently his sister's burden. Gianna D'Antonio was acting Queen Regent under her father Lorenzo. She spoke on his behalf because their father trusted his daughter's judgments on his affairs across the globe implicitly. Because Lorenzo was only one man after all. He could not do everything himself. It wasn't possible. Yes he had men, yes he had money, yes he had power. But who better to run his affairs for him when he needed to rest than his own flesh and blood? His children, the two siblings, Gianna and Santino. They were good children. Obedient. They understood the ways of the world. One day, they would overshadow him. He would back down in the Winter of his grateful retirement and watch his daughter rise to take the Italian throne on his behalf. His legacy would be secure. He was not a young man anymore and this life... the Camorra, his Mafia... well. It took a toll on you. He'd lost his wife Marcella some many years ago. When his children were so fragile. So young. She walked out on him, broken down. Distraught. The light gone from her eyes. After almost thirty years of marriage. She just left. The wedding ring on the dining room table. No note. No nothing. Just gone. He was a single parent now. Yes, he had money, he had power, he had family, he had friends. He was a Crime Lord. He owned Rome. He owned Italy. But he had a broken heart. And a man with a broken heart is not a good father to young children. At least, not in this life.

He was looking forward to stepping down. In the Winter of his retirement. Yes. His legacy would be secure. He'd managed it. He'd raised his children right. Gianna was a prodigy. Purely exceptional, the way she comported herself. The achievements she'd completed. Her brother... Santino... Well... He was young still. You're not at real man until you reach thirty-five. He wasn't thirty-five yet. He was barely thirty-one. He'd only honestly tried to give a damn about the Camorra in the last five years. And he'd fucked it up horrifically. Mistakes get made. That's to be expected. We're only human, after all. But honestly. Why couldn't he be more like this sister? More dedicated? More confident? At least a little more fucking discreet would be appreciated. Santino's whoring was legendary. He'd brought so much shame and dishonour upon the D'Antonio family with his loose morals and lack of common decency. More like a lack of common sense. That issue two years ago, with Marissa Conti had been the final straw. He either get help and clean up his fucking act; or he'd personally kick down his bedroom door and smother him in his sleep. Even if it was his son. He'd brought him into this world. Marcella D'Antonio had almost died at his labor. Well, he'd return the favor and take him directly back out of it again. If that's what it took, so be it. Lorenzo D'Antonio Camorra was not a man to be trifled with. He honoured his family. He honoured his blood. But honour sometimes ran thicker than blood and definitely thinker than water. Santino knew this. He knew it with every fiber of his being. So he chafed, and burned and brooded and was bitter and resentful and hateful to the world around him. Typical Italian. But he cooled off. He thought it through. His sister helped him clean up the ruins of his life. His punishment for the 'Marissa Conti Debacle' had been paid for in blood, sweat and tears. It took him two years of his life to rise from the ashes of that ruin. Two years was too long to lose your mind over a woman. So he swore to himself, once it was over. That he'd never go down the path again. And it never really was over, because nor his father, his sister nor his colleagues whom he thought of as family and friends would never...NEVER, let him live it down. They would remind him of it constantly. Every time he went out. Every time he stayed in. Every time he took a call, or went to a bar or was trying to read or study or work. They looked at him. With eyes that said, 'We know what you did to Marissa Conti, Santino. And if you ever pull that kind of bullshit again, we swear to God, we'll fucking end you ourselves.'

He wasn't going to argue with that logic. He liked living, even if it was painful the majority of the time. He found love and beauty in everything. In everyone. Anything was possible. Everything was possible. So long as you were alive, all wrongs could be righted. Nothing however, can help you or the world if you're dead. And dead was where Santino D'Antonio did not want to be for a very, very long time. So he cleaned up. Just like he promised. He grew a little tact and better diplomacy. He straightened his back bone. He started comporting himself as less of a disgrace and more of a hero, risen from the ashes of torment and suffering. He was a romantic after all. And a man. And a man in this world needs a woman to love. At least, in his world, he needed a woman to love. So soon after meeting her, he'd been fantasying, day dreaming. Visions in his mind's eye playing on repeat. When he heard certain songs, ate certain foods. Everywhere he went, everything he saw and did reminded him of her. His Dancer. His Mistress.

Gianna had said to him, privately, face to face when they met in London, shortly after Lalienna's initiation into the Camorra employ, “Se arriva il momento che ti rendi conto che la ami davvero, allora non dovresti aspettare. Fai di lei una donna onesta. Prendila come tua moglie. Ti farebbe bene." (If the time comes that you realize you really love her, then you shouldn't wait. Make an honest woman out of her. Take her as your wife. It would do you good.) Oh he obsessed over that fantasy. He knew, it had only been two months of dating her seriously. Of showering her with gifts and love and affection. It was cathartic, what she made him feel. It was precious, sacred. It made him feel whole. Pure. New again. It was love. Yes. He was a man in love and he could not deny his intended was Lalienna.

So can you imagine, how it hurt him when he received that text? Those photos? He was alone in his hotel room, upon the bed. Tired, but he couldn't sleep without wishing her goodnight or calling to say good morning. She was so beautiful. And what she did for his libido was biblical. He'd done a lot of whoring in his young years. He'd been in and out of the petals of many women, lovers, prostitutes, orgies and one night stands, by the dozens, hundreds maybe. Who keeps count of these things? Only an idiot keeps count. You don't count love or passion no matter how you spend it. He certainly didn't. But Lalienna was different. The moment he saw her in the foyer of The Continental. She wasn't wearing anything particularly interesting. Just jeans and a t-shirt. She had a single bag and no attendants. No guards. No nothing. But he'd seen her eyes. They were the eyes of a child that had been ripped from their mother's grasp. And he knew what that was like. When his own mother, Marcella walked out on Lorenzo. So he was intrigued. What makes a pretty girl like that, walk into a place like this? Wearing such plain clothes too. Her lip appeared puffy and split. She certainly didn't look like she had any money. But looks can be deceiving. He knew this. He'd played that game before just to get what he wanted. When he wanted it. He was good at it. He usually won. So he'd sent his best man to tail her. To learn of her movements. To see if something slipped. "No contact. Just shadow." That had been his instruction. If only he knew what he was dealing with! If only! She'd sent his best man back to him with a dislocated shoulder and a very sorry story to tell. 'Little bitch!' His thoughts had raged. 'I'll kill her for this. I'll fucking break her scrawny neck.'   She was lucky. She was staying two floors beneath him in The Continental. And that was difficult to do without money or skill. So if you didn't have either of those, you were either a civilian, which he doubted after what his best man had told him; or you were sponsored by a powerful family. What his man told him started to make sense. She moved like a dancer. She had an attack that was practised military elegance. She didn't hesitate and she didn't falter. She was a little machine of war. And she was apparently un-owned. For now.

That was her. Lalienna DeMentriento, staring back suggestively with sinful angles that made him stroke himself as he gazed on the photos she'd sent to his phone. Fuck... She was good. Too good. She always made him cum. Even if he didn't think he wanted to. Even if he didn't think he could. She tore it out of him, one way or another. He was tired from a full day of travel and back to back business. He'd not even had the chance to eat properly. He'd not slept for more than two or three hours in at least three days. But that didn't matter, he was doing it for the girl in these pictures. Her voice alone was enough to take the edge off any trial he was going through. She released him in ways he couldn't express in human language. She was doing it again. Sending these pictures. Look at those curves! That body! Those breasts, hips and thighs. That neck... that neck.... that..... What's that on her neck? He released his cock from his hand and sat upright on the bed, zooming into the photo. And he saw it. That mark. Just above her collar bone. Her consequences as she had once called them. He remembered every touch, kiss and bite he'd ever given her. He memorised them with such clarity it was haunting. He knew... He fucking knew that wasn't his. So who? Who? Was it Wick again? The fucking little whore. Was Wick back, riding his lover like a horse in his own bed whilst he was away, working?! Is that what this was?!

He was sick. Physically. He literally revolted and vomited a mixture of coffee, wine and pasta directly onto the bed. He was paralyzed in shock. What mess he was making! He forced himself to get up, to run to the bathroom. His head in the toilet bowl without ceremony, he emptied the contents of his stomach with violent retching that left his insides burning and raw. Tears stung his eyes. He tried to tell himself it was the illness that shocked him. But he was lying to himself. In truth it was the betrayal. And it wasn't new to him. This had happened before when he was younger. He'd left lovers because they committed adultery outside of his consent and outside of his knowledge. He didn't need that. He was proud and jealous and ultimately, for all his whoring, he realized that he was actually quite loyal and rather monogamous. If nothing else he was a man of his word. And he would be honest if he wanted another. He wouldn't break her heart. He'd let her down gently with flowers and gifts. Then he'd tell her it was over. That he was sorry. He could not continue this way. It was not fair on her, not fair on him. He was sorry, he knew it was painful. But it wasn't the last time they'd fall in love. They were young. There was always hope. There would always be another. Sometimes the break ups went well. Other times, not so much. He'd always end up in tears no matter how strong he acted. Because it hurt when you were leaving someone. Or when someone was leaving you. It hurt to be betrayed. It was hurting him. And he was crying about it. There, in a hotel bathroom in Vienna, Austria. With his head in a toilet where'd he'd vomited the majority of his dinner after seeing a love bite on the neck of a woman he wanted to propose marriage to. Even if it had only been two months. He was trying to keep it cool. He was trying to take it slow. But he was Italian. Passionate. Excitable. Highly strung. And he was crying.

It took him ten minutes or more to clean himself up. To brush his teeth and wash his face. To have the maids replace his soiled bed linen. He paid them extra for his disgrace, pushing the tips personally into their hands and thanking them profusely. He was sorry they had to see him like that. Poor women were worried for him. They said he looked pale and asked if he wanted them to call a doctor. "No, thank you. I'm just tired and it's been a rough day. I've not been feeling well, but if I sleep I should be better. Thank you ladies. You may leave when you're ready. Again, thank you." He'd said to them. The moment he was alone again, he called her. She answered. Excited. She thought they would continue their long distance game, over the phone with sexy words until they both released themselves with sighs and moans of sheer pleasure. Phone sex was exotic. It was dangerous and dirty and felt so good. He'd enjoyed it once upon a time. This time, he didn't give her so much as a chance to answer. He'd slammed her with his anger. If she were in the room with him he might have picked her up and slammed her against a wall. Until her head cracked against it. He wanted to. God he wanted to. He'd never hit a woman inside or outside of combat. It was.... poor manners. Bad etiquette. Even if they were warriors. And many of them were. But there were things you didn't do to a woman if you were a man. A real man. And that meant you kept your hands to yourself, even if you felt like breaking her neck. You walked out, had a smoke. If you were really pissed off, you had two. But you put your hands in your pockets. Where they belonged. There were ways of dealing with wayward lovers. He had ways.

She was learning them. Slowly. The art of sadomasochism. The art of bondage, domination, submission. Slowly, slowly. He was showing her. Teaching her. Blood play, knife play... edge play, impact play. It was all dangerous. It was all landmine field ready to explode in their face. But his scenes were always consensual. They were always controlled rigidly. Even if it appeared that they were wild and chaotic in his dark lust. It was always calculated down to the last breath. He'd fucked it up once in the early days of their relationship. It had cost him and her too much. They were apart for a full twenty-four hours after and he thought he was going insane. He thought she'd walk out on him forever. Just like fucking Marissa Conti did. Well she didn't. Lalienna came back. She made promises and she kept them, because that was the kind of girl she was. But she apologized profusely on the phone. She rushed a haphazard explanation of some woman from Athena's Tower of London. Said it was an ex-sister. He'd already told her repeatedly he had no regard for these women. That they had cast her out. And whilst he was grateful to have her in his hands now... he fucking hated them with a blinding passion. So she had betrayed him. And she knew he was pissed off. Really pissed off. He told her they would talk about it when he got back.

Now he'd punish her. He stopped taking her calls. He sent them all to voice mail and deleted the text messages. He didn't reply to her emails. She didn't deserve a reply. And she was fast blowing up his inbox. Delete. Delete. Delete. 'Fuck you bitch. Fuck you.' Was all he could think of. Now that he thought about it; What was the point of this trip to Austria anyway? For her? After she does this? Alright, at least he was wrong, it wasn't Wick. And yes, he thought lesbian sex was hot. But... why did it have to be some bitch from the Tower? After what he told her he'd thought of them. They had thrown her out. Out of her home. Out of her mind. And she would still go to bed with one of them!? Unthinkable! It was killing him. Killing him. He booked the next flight straight back to England. Express. No stopovers. He paid extra for First Class. Because he needed the space. He was in a foul mood. He didn't want people around him. No,  you fucking retarded Custom's Official, I don't have anything to declare. What's in this box? Mind your own business, cocksucker. Or I'll make sure you find out. He wasn't in the mood for people. He rented a car from the airport and drove himself back to The Continental London. His High Guard took one look at his face and knew the storm was coming. Something had gone wrong. "Boss? You uh... want us to shake someone down for you?" That was Hector. He was a good man. Still recovering from a dislocated shoulder that his bitch, Lalienna had given him two months earlier. "No. You and the team take the night off. It's just Lalienna and I. We have... an issue, we need to discuss. It's private. Personal. You understand. See to it I'm not disturbed. No one in, no one out. You know the drill." "Si Signore, we know what to do. What's in the box? It's beautiful." "It's a gift for her." He replied. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. Hector stopped asking questions. He shook his employer's hand and commed the team. They had a night off. Time for them to go party. At last. The boss is home and he's got stuff to do with his lady. They won't be needed.

He went up to his room. Hesitated for a second in the elevator, looking at the number to level five where she lived and almost wanting to press the button. Almost. He didn't. Level seven. That's where he was going. Room '768'. That was his room. His apartments. He wanted to be alone. He couldn't trust himself in this mood. Everything hurt. He was so distraught. So angry. So bitter. She really stuck the knife in with this tryst of hers. It was really unforgivable. He'd make her scream. He'd make her sorry. All those dark fantasies. All those twisted dreams he had as he walked down the hall to unlock his hotel room door with his gold room key card. So can you imagine his shock, when she was sitting there, on his red leather chesterfield lounge. Looking like a nervous wreck. What a brat. Disgraceful. She knew she was gonna get it. Daddy was pissed off. Really pissed off. She knew it. She took one look at his eyes and began to whimper. She started to apologize in English, Italian, Spanish. He crossed the threshold and slammed the door with such force the room shook. He dropped the carved timber box angrily on the gilded hall side table. She shut up. And sat down. She bowed her head. He turned away. Taking off his overcoat. His blazer, tugging free his tie, taking out the diamond and gold tie pin angrily. She'd bought it for him. Why did he wear it? He pulled it free and threw it at her now. It almost struck her face. But he had good aim. He wouldn't dare hit her face with anything. He'd never forgive himself if he did. But it wizzed past and struck the leather of the lounge, bouncing back onto the cushions before rolling to the floor. She picked it up on instinct. So OCD. She couldn't stand mess or chaos. He didn't really give a fuck. He paid people to look after his chaos. So he didn't have to. It was one of the few things in his fucking life that he had control over. He thought he could control Lalienna. He was wrong. Apparently. He took off his waist coat, his cuff links. Draped the items haphazardly upon the back of a dining chair and across the table where they didn't belong and he did it on purpose to watch her squirm with anxiety. A sadistic game he played with her sometimes, when he realized that something in her mind was a little unhinged. He could deal with cleanliness obsessive compulsive disorder. Hell, everyone had a little control freak in them. He did too. Just not one that wanted to get on his hands and knees and scrub a bathroom floor till it sparkled. Not that he hadn't done it before. He did. He was forced to because a real man knows how to clean and cook and keep a house. Lorenzo did it by himself without the help of hired hands. He was a good father. He cooked and fed and cleaned after his house and children after Marcella left. To prove a point. That his life would not fall apart without her. That he had his shit together even if she did not.

He loved his father's wilfulness. He'd inherited it genetically. And right now, he was about to pull rank on this bitch. Short of turning her back into a pedestrian and having Sable kick her face first out of the hotel on his command. Because that was the kind of bullshit he was capable of. He returned to the table where the thin timber box that he carried had been thrown minutes earlier. "Papi.... please... I can't stand it anymore. You said you would talk to me. Please... I'm begging you, don't shut me out like this, talk to me!" She was crying. She was distraught. She knew she'd done wrong.

"You want me to fucking talk to you? Putana!" Uh oh. Here it comes. The storm. The inside of that elegant carved timber box held a dark secret. An Italian hand crafted 10.25" flat guard flick knife. These.... these were personal. These were his favourite weapons of threat and intimidation. And he knew he shouldn't do this to her. He knew it was wrong. He remembered, what happened, the first time they went into a 'Scene' she wasn't prepared for and he took a blade to her nipple and cut her open and fed off her blood whilst he fucked her on the dining table. It was a nightmare. It didn't work out well. They both got sick. He wanted to kill himself with the shame he felt. But he didn't. He had hope she'd come back. He'd make it right. They could come together again. And they did. It was hard. Painful. He gave her that same knife he'd used on her that night as a symbol of penance. In hopes that she might one day find the will or desire to turn it against him in a 'Scene' she would dominate and inflict. He'd deserve it. He got off on hard S and M. That... and his foot fetishes which were... massive. To say the least. She didn't do it though. He never saw that knife again. So he'd bought another one that caught his eye in Vienna. And this was it. Beautiful hand crafted. Perfectly balanced. Black handle. 4.5 millimetre carbon steel bayonet blade. Solid brass liners, push button and slide safety. It was a work of art. It cost him a fortune. He haggled and got the price down to what he considered reasonable. Then he knocked the merchant down even lower because he was the Camorra prince and he always got what he wanted. It was in his hand now, blade unleashed, he was walking toward her. And she started screaming. On instinct. He came at her in a blaze of motion. His hand over her mouth. Hot breath against his palm. He mounted her hips and locked her down to the lounge beneath his weight. He forced her head back against the leather sending her body jolting sharply. Beneath his fingers she grunted. Her eyes were large, wild in panic. He wanted to laugh at her. All her training! All her combat arts and war skills and she didn't have the balls to pull him off her in a Judo take down? Really? That's what he was paying her for? To be a piece of pretty pussy and little else? Would she disgrace him so much?! Obviously. She was crying now. Going into shock as he berated her. "Silence, bella mia... you keep screaming like that and we'll get a noise complaint warning. And you've seen how Mister Sable handles those, don't you?" She nodded her head once. Sharply. "You're going to be good, yes? You're going to listen to me, and stop your ranting and your yelling and you're going to behave, yes?" Another nod, breathing hard against his hand. His eyes bore into hers. He wanted to... wanted to tear out her soul. She kissed his palm even as he held her mouth. A sign of her submission. To assure him she was sorry and would keep quiet. He pulled away his hand, letting her breathe. He'd marked her face. Pale with his finger marks for a moment before the blood came rushing back to flush her cheek. He wanted to apologise. He didn't.

"You remember this, don't you?" He waved the blade before her eyes. Enjoying the way she visibly recoiled in terror. "Yeah... well... That was then. This is now. And I promise you darling girl, what's going on right here is not a 'Scene'. We're not about to make love. Or fuck or kiss or anything you've been deluding yourself into believing we're going to do to make amends. You once told me you could fuck a thanks. Yeah? Well I've had you fuck a sorry as well. And it was weak. Almost as weak and pathetic as you are right now."

Oh! He was a monster to her! The blade was in his hand, but he was whipping her raw with his words. And he was enjoying it. Like foreplay. He was going to fuck her up, alright. "No safe word for what happens next." He growled. Thick Italian accent. His voice deep, resonating with power and fury. His eyes burned into her. "Papi please. I'm sorry, it's not what you think." "When did I tell you you could fucking talk, eh?" He grabbed her throat, forcing the airwaves to constrict against his fingers. She choked out a sobbing wail like an animal being beaten. He was furious with her. So hurt. So furious! "If she was here right now, Lalienna, with you, I swear on my mother's life I'd end her and make you clean up the blood. That's how angry I am with you right now. Look at this, what's this here? Hmm? She marked you?" The blade's tip drove a wicked furrow into the skin above her collarbone beneath the love bite that was still healing. The redness gone but there was a feint hint of bruising from sharp teeth and fierce sucking. It drove him almost out of his mind to see it in person. It was... almost as bad as having walked in on her during the act its self.   "I'm sorry bella mia," He said to her then. His eyes softening. The blade slicing into her tender flesh and beginning to lift away the skin so she bled. He was so fast and so precise with his blade work she didn't even feel it at first. "This is for your own good. I've told you before, you don't belong to those wretched women anymore. You're my property now. And you've been tainted. So I'm going to fix it so it never happens again. See this skin here? Where she marked you? Sit still. Don't fucking move. I'm about to cut it clean off. I hope you're hungry. Because this is the last thing you're going to eat. For days."

Blood started to flow. She screamed now. Screamed in earnest terror. And he wanted to do it. He would have finished cutting a whole portion off her body and forcing the bloody skin into her mouth and making her chew and chew and swallow. Because he was suffering. He wanted her to feel his pain. He wanted to break her down the way she was breaking him down. But he didn't. She started to struggle, wildly against him, bucking his weight off her lap. She was powerful, even with his hand around her throat. She was disobeying. And she was screaming and crying in horror. In agony. He forced her down. Like the hand of God himself, he held her down. By the throat. Like she was a vapid serpent. And he reversed the blade. And he stuck the love bite above her healing, once broken collarbones. Her consequences. He slashed the mark in three quick strokes. He should have slowed down. Really made her suffer. He should have dragged the blade across her skin. But he was merciful. And he'd given her his word that he wouldn't do this without her consent. But she'd betrayed his trust. So he slashed the bite mark with three quick strokes. And it would scar. Because she was struggling. But it would scar to the shape of an 'S'. For 'Santino'. Because she had hurt him. He was suffering. He loved her and she betrayed him with another.

He flicked the blade closed. Pulled on the safety latch and released her throat. He dismounted her hips and backed away. Leaving her there. To bleed. To cry. To scream. That she was sorry. Sorry. Sorry. "I thought you understood the rules, though they were unspoken, when you gave your vow and body to me. That you would give yourself to no one else. Just because I'm not home. Even if I am. Clearly, you don't understand your place in all this after all, amore. I thought it was enough when I loved you, to mark your body from within with my passion. You lied to me. You betrayed me with another. You're bleeding now but when the scar heals you'll see. Now I've marked you in such a way as you'll never forget who you belong to ever again. Now do me a favor. Stop your fucking whining, get your shit out of my bedroom... and get the fuck out of my apartments. I'll tell you when I'm ready to see you again. Until then, you're finished with me. You can report to Hector for duties. If I catch you in my rooms without my permission, I'll throw you out the balcony, amore, do you understand me?"

She was whimpering. Blood was soaking her black lace. They were shallow cuts. Jagged, yes, but they would heal. She'd get over it. She had once before. Love was a game of give and take after all. He wasn't in the mood to give her anything else right now. Because she was killing him slowly. Because it hurt too much. This severance between them.

|{ @lalienna-dementriento @f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat }|

“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. 

One likes to think there’s something in it, that old platitude amor vincit omnia. But if I’ve learned one thing in my short sad life, it is that that particular platitude is a lie. Love doesn’t conquer everything. And whoever thinks it does is a fool.

What If We Cultivated Our Ugliness? Or: The Monstrous Beauty of Medusa

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