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