—𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰

The idea of having liquor on a lone boat surrounded by the suffering and pain seemed relatively harmless. Though if he was going to be stuck on the boat, he would do it alone. Cole worked better in solitude. It made things a lot less messy when he decides to up and leave. Cole’s eyes bore into hers unsure of what to say. He knew the troubles on his mind wouldn’t quiet down no matter how hard he tried. He had accepted it a long time ago, and now all he can do is carrying that weight. “I can say the same back to you.” Cole nudged his head towards her nearly empty glass, “You want another? It’s on me.” He gruffed out already trying to grab the bartenders attention for her. “Not in this world. They’ll find you and bring you back in. No one is gone for long.” Cole was halfway through his coffee.  “Do you think your family would throw you under if you ever tried to leave?” 

-

It was strange how candid she could be with the capo, more so than she had been with her own siblings. Some things were simply impossible to say to family: fears, reservations, her lack of grief towards her father. Somehow, Leyla could believe that there would be a lack of judgement against her honesty. Hopefully it wouldn’t bite her in the ass. “You’re an angel of alcohol, thank you kindly.” Leyla nodded with a small smile, eyes flickering towards the bartender. As she listened to him speak, she couldn’t help but hum in agreement. He was right. No one was gone for long, such was the nature of this business. The question only remained whether you’d be in a body bag or knocking on death’s door when you were found. Live by the gun, die by it too.

“Yes... they should.” She replied without hesitation, the Bianchi far to familiar with the code that ruled their organization. “This oath, whether taken or born into, is binding for life... everything we do must always be for the good for the family.” If that meant stealing from your father, if that meant killing your cousin, then so be it. There were no such thing as refusals for made men... as they took their initiation, they were baptized again, with loyalty playing the role of God. “And with what I know, if I ever tried to leave, that would put everyone in danger... they would have no choice but to do what needs to be done to eliminate that threat, blood or not...” Could Viola or Angelo do it? They wouldn’t have a choice. Leyla swallowed hard at the thought, forcing herself to focus on the bitterness of the refreshed drink. “Fucking hell, we’re really just a pair of cheerful drinkers, aren’t we?” A chuckle escaped her lips. 

it had been no coincidence that the sister-in-laws had been in brooklyn at the same time. while they were only related by marriage, elena considered leyla to be a close confidante. they had both been outsiders to the family after all. the woman had gotten wind that leyla would be in this part of town. wanting to go unnoticed from her security guards and angelo, she slipped out of her home under the demise of picking up groceries. it had taken her close to an hour, but she was able to track her down to an enclosed bus stop. 

“i’d say you look like hell, but i’m sure that doesn’t come as much of a surprise to you.” looking over the other woman she continued, “you know what i had to do to shake my security detail off me for a goddamn hour to find you?” 

-

When Leyla had turned eighteen, she’d all but ran away to Brooklyn. All the empty years trying to gain her father’s favor resulted in nothing... no position, no meaningful relationship, no understanding. In uprooting, she refused any Bianchi handout she didn’t earn, getting a dodgy job as a mechanic to pay for her 600 sq foot box. It was the first time in her life she’d been on her own... but god, she needed to find herself and how she could fit into this whole mess. Retreating back to Brooklyn after the disastrous funeral was dangerous, but it was less suffocating than the prying eyes in safe houses and Bianchi penthouses... She couldn’t hide her surprise upon seeing Elena. Moreso, seeing Elena alone. If anything happened to her, it would break Angelo. " A little blood and a black eye is apart of my look, El.” The brunette responded, pulling her sister under the hood of the bus stop.

“I feel like I’m supposed to tell you off for doing that but...  that’d make me one hell of a hypocrite...” Leyla pursed her lips, her hand mindlessly checking if her gun was still strapped to her belt. The touch of steel calmed some of her nerves, but not all of them. “Where did you lose them?”

Eyes are about to roll at Leyla’s outburst when she’s pulled into a hug, all retorts lost in that moment as arms wrap around the other. It was nice to be shown affection from one of her family members, it usually went something like disapproving looks and snide remarks. “ What are you trying to say hm ? “ She teases as she pulls away from the embrace, shuffling closer to the shelter that hung overhead as her brows raise at the comments. “ Heaven forbid some of the Bianchi’s have class. Though I digress, I just so happened to be out for a run. A figure to maintain and all. “ Striking a pose that could only be suitable for Vogue whilst the lies tumble out of mouth. It was partly true, she did care about her physical appearance a little too much though the real reason she was out in the cold was attempts to run her never ending thoughts into oblivion, not that it ever really worked. Often ending up running for several hours around the city, or at least walking when it got too much. Unlike the others she’d refused security, pure stubbornness or a distaste for how things were run perhaps. “ You’ve grown up well then ma cherie, no man nor woman is ever worth ruining a good outfit in the rain, or catching a cold. “

-

“Class...” Leyla couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose, shrugging with a grin. “Yeah the whole running thing... not my kind of cardio.” Ever the family tomboy, the mechanic like getting her hands dirty in the boxing rings some of soldiers ran... not to mention, that kind of workout usually paid well if she landed the right hit. Could you say the same about hot yoga?   “I have, I don’t even bike with training wheels anymore... you’ve missed a lot.” Six years was a long time, especially in the Bianchi’s underworld. Every day that Gregory was alive, they seemed to grow in power. There were the boiler rooms for Wall Street, the other racketeering schemes, the hits... blood money came in by the thousands as a king became a God. For Leyla, the girl she used to be then was younger and brighter eyed, her skin not as hard as it was now. She had still been trying to mean something to her father... How different it was, their kingdom crumbling to ash.  “Come on, there’s this shit hole of a bar a block away but it’s better than a bus stop.” Getting out of the rain and someone dry was good, more so considering who they were. Their last name made both of the women pretty little targets for Mancinis. Especially since too many people were looking to exterminate the Bianchi any chance they got. 

Cole raised a brow. He was pleasantly impressed by how easily she spoke her mind. Of course, everyone had to ask her that. Frankly, most of them probably didn’t gave a shit if she was actually okay or not. Cole was in the vast majority. He grinned over the rim of his coffee cup. “I’m doing horrible the worst I’ve been in years.” Cole spoke matter-of-factly. It was his lame attempt at a joke on how much no one truly gave a shit about how someone truly felt. 

-

“Yeah?” Opal eyes looked in his direction, ever curious as she mirrored his grin. Their world- this family- was always full of misery. The kind that weighed down shoulders, each Atlas carrying their own globe of grief. Yet they all had no choice but to push forward... there was no way out of the Bianchi unless it was in a bodybag. Fingers curled around her glass before she spoke. “Looks like we’re in the same boat... but at least the boats got liquor, right?” With a swift movement of her hand, it wasn’t long until her drink was bridging on empty. “From one ‘my-life-is-falling-apart’ person to another, I’m hoping whatever’s on your mind starts quieting down a bit.” That was all Leyla could hope for, right? “And if not... I guess they’re always the option to fake your death and start fresh.”

Cole had felt bad for the Bianchi’s it wasn’t easy losing a family member. He was there to make sure the family didn’t collapse. Cole swore this would be the last time he worked for any family. He would probably try to retire and live out his days in the most mundane way possible. It was either that or countlessly making amends for the blood he shed. He held his drink up, “Saluti,” He  mumbled. Cole sipped at the Dark and Stormy drink he had before going back to his coffee. “It’s been a tough few weeks for your whole family.” He pointed out, “How are you holding up?”

.

“Şerefe.” The Turkish left her lips with ease, Leyla letting the liquor warm her body before she placed the glass back down on the bar. Ever since her father’s death and the attack, sleepless nights were something she’d gotten used to. Not out of grief or mourning (no, Gregory had happily made sure their relationship was nonexistent), but maybe in the fear of the unknown. Little inklings of uncertainty plagued her thoughts with what if’s. “Tough? Now whatever do you mean by that?” Sarcasm colored each word. With her head resting on her hand, Leyla closed her eyes. “You know what, I think I’ve heard people ask me that question about a million times in the past two weeks?” She nodded. “Um... I’m peachy, Cole. Absolutely peachy.” Chocolate hues flickered open, looking at him. “How about this, how are you holding up?” 

Ever since being back in New York Selene had felt suffocated, the concrete and glass bones of the city towering over her, the burning stares of those who hated her family didn’t help the feeling of being overwhelmed either. It was nights like these when the feeling became to bubble up to the surface that she found herself lacing running shoes and setting out. She could run for hours aimlessly, in attempts to clear her head and shake the slimy feeling from her body. Rounding corner as feet pounded pavement her relative fell into line of sight, a brow quirking at her newfound wound. Skidding to a halt she removes wireless earphones, pocketing them as she faces Leyla. “ Feel like explaining why you’re out here freezing your ass off ? God please don’t tell me it’s one of those sad Bumble meetups ? “

~

Just as Leyla mindlessly studied the bus schedule, a voice in the dark made her jump.Selene?  “There’s no way-” A closer look confirmed the woman’s identity, the tension in her shoulders dipping ever so slightly. So many years had passed without Selene in the fold... Chocolate eyes looked her up and down as a smile pulled at her lips. “Oh my god, Usain Bolt? In Brooklyn? I love your work!”  In between the scandalous tabloids and disappearance, most of the family detested the wildcard that was Selene... yet Leyla didn’t consider herself among that bunch. While she suffered in Gregory’s shadow, the older Bianchi pointed a perfectly manicured middle finger to their ideals and expectations. That was something Leyla could respect. Sopping wet, she couldn’t help but pull the other woman into a hug. “Isn’t this dirty hipster part of the city not really up your alley?” She smirked before stuffing her hands back in her pockets. “And to answer your question, there’s no bumble date that would ever be worth standing out here in a downpour for...” 

Where: Brooklyn | A Bus Stop

When: Post Funeral | A Rainy Evening

Despite living her entire life in the port city, Leyla’s fatal flaw was trusting the weather channel and the promise of no rain. Of course it decided to downpour the moment her feet hit the pavement. Winter in New York was a fickle thing, one second it painted an icy wonderland and the next Spring was sprouting. With the shimmering lights of Brooklyn leading the way, she found refuge in an empty bus stop. “Fucking hell...” She let out a sigh as she caught her reflection staring back at her in a puddle. There was the black eye that she was still nursing, the flicker of annoyance tensing her jaws before Leyla looked out onto the street. If she had lucky stars, the past few weeks had proven that they were shrouded in darkness. This was but the cherry to a sundae of shit. Leyla leaned back against the plastic shell of the stop, hands stuffed into her pockets. It was starting to get late...

Cole face was stoic, it barely ever had any emotions. Mostly because the emotions somehow shriveled up and died inside him. At least he still had his head about him. If you overlooked the lack of sleep and possible trauma that hasn’t somehow hit him like a freight train. Cole saddled the barstool like a another thing to conquer. He raised his hand to beckon the bartender over. “Yeah, can I get a coffee with sambuca in it.” Cole looked over at the person sitting next to him. Mostly checking out the drink they had, “and uh whatever they have.” Cole paused for a moment realizing he had no clue what it was. “What are you having?” He questioned. 

....

Ever since the funeral, since the very gates of hell broke loose, Leyla had been on edge. The once trusted soldiers and capos had turned into potential suspects, their home had been riddled with bullets, alliances were stabbed in the back. Day by day, it felt like a heel was pressing down on the Bianchi's necks... and god did she feel lightheaded. Leyla had managed to find a small piece of eden in rum and a quiet weekday bar. Don’t drink, get plenty of rest. That was what the doctor said when she finally saw them, four pretty stitches adorning her forehead... Cole almost caught her by surprise when she heard his voice.  So she wasn’t the only one losing sleep. “A bad decision.” She nodded, raising her glass in his direction. “Dark and Stormy- spiced rum, a little ginger beer... figured it fit the mood given the last few weeks.”

♠

Anyone who saw them right now would not believe the divide that was between the sisters and yet, some part of Viola knew that once things cleared, that everyone was safe and the battleground established, Leyla and I would not easily find themselves in a place that was as loving as this moment could be. “I’m okay.” The embrace was grounding her, the woman being able to attest to everyone she cared about, that her family was safe. Angelo and Deran were at the estate and now she had found Leyla, in one piece. “Are you hurt badly?” she said as she pulled away, eyes scanning the other, seeing the blood. A quick nod of her head was given before she spoke. “Angelo is safe. Everyone is. You were not in the safe room with us and security couldn’t say if you were safe.” Someone had to look out for her and Viola had stepped in without even thinking, effortsly, the older sister looking for her own.

“I’d like to see them try.” The words were bitter and harsh, but not directed at her sister. Anyone trying to cross her right now would have to put up a good fight. “You’re not safe either La. We both need to hide right now.” That was what can out of a huge chunk of one’s life, Leyla not thinking she mattered as much as her siblings. Her last name made her as much a target as the others. Viola looked around to see where they were exactly, running through the safe places they had all through the city. “There’s one not far. Dad set it up only for his kids, no one outside of me and Angelo knows about it.” The words were made to reassure her sister as much as herself. Whoever was infiltrating their organization wouldn’t know about the place. No where was as secure as that for now. “Can you walk a bit? You can lean on me.” The words had many meanings in that moment, Viola implying that Leyla could physically lean on her as well as emotionally. In that instant, nothing could have separated her from Leyla.

---

“I... I’m fine, I’m...” She didn’t quite know what the wound was like, but given her lightheadness and the crimson stain forming on her suit, it must’ve been a pretty slash. “Fine.” Leyla repeated one more time, briefly wincing as she turned her head to look at Viola. This was the Bianchi reckoning. It’d always been in the cards, a knife hung over their heads with each rung of power they climbed. Their closest allies had played the long game of betrayal- through every dinner, birthday party... Those inside their organization had done the same...they were too close to losing everything. “I saw you go, I called after you but everyone was screaming....” Leyla had been stuck in the fray, yelling after Viola and Angelo to no avail over the chaos. Forced to fend for herself, she’d grabbed a gun and burst into the New York night... alone. And forgotten. At least that was what she believed until her sister found her. Against all the odds, there they were, finally together. “Angelo, Deran, Elena...” The news lifted a weight off her chest. “Fuck.” She breathed out.

“Aim and pull, right?” During Gregory’s reign, no one would dare to target a Bianchi. Their home was holy ground, their blood as untouchable as Achilles... stained red and clinging to each other, their fall from grace was far from over. As Viola spoke once more, Leyla kept her grip firm on her sister, refusing to let go. Despite all the horrible things they’d said to each other, she’d put herself at risk to find Leyla... it was a white flag in their war. “Then that’s the place, so as long as we disappear from everyone else’s radar.” Pulling herself up, Leyla was almost surprised when her legs threatened to buckle. Her fingers clung to Viola, forcing her muscles to cooperate with a tentative step. “Yeah just... I’ll hold onto you... Vi-” Once more, the nickname left her lips without a second thought. “Thank you.” The pain. The hatred. The poison. It didn’t matter in this moment. 

Exchanging pleasantries and shaking hands had Angelo pretty busy. And not in a way that he liked. It was hard to keep track of who was in the estate. As someone who prided himself in being aware of his surroundings, he felt a little out of touch right now with who was hanging near him. As his sister started speaking, he furrowed his brows, “Not specifically, no,” He admitted, though he was more paying attention the people whom he didn’t recognize in the room. “Why? Are they doin’ something?” 

-----

Not specifically. Leyla kept her eyes trained on the older Alvarez sister as she bit the inside of her cheek. Most the US was divided between the powerful families, with the Bianchi easily controlling the northeast region, their presence was expected. But the Alvarez? They’d called the southern hemisphere home, what business could possibly drag them this far up north? “No... I mean, not that I’ve seen.” She let out a small breathe, turning her face to Angelo. “Maybe I’m just being paranoid... but...” Leyla didn’t want to finished her sentence. The timing was simply too convenient, or at least that was what she thought. “God, I don’t know who to fucking trust Ang.”

Although Ayaz spoke English as if it was his native language, Turkish was Ayaz’s mother tongue and it was the one he turned to when he was the most angry and upset. The Karadag family moved to New York when he was twelve and upheld their Turkish culture whilst in the new city. Ayaz’s mother became best friends instantly with Leyla’s, resulting in the close friendship formed between himself and the woman he was standing with.  “No one did…you know how I like to make an entrance. It would have been disappointing to not see the look of surprise on your face right now.” Ayaz shrugged, he had never had a habit of telling people where he would go. There were many times when Ayaz would slip off the face of the earth and come a few weeks later as if nothing had happened. This was one of those situations. He didn’t want to talk about his time in prison, he had to keep all of that to himself for the time being. “I know.” he nodded at her comment. “I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon so you’ve got me now Leyla.”  “Iyi misin?” He asked her, it was a basic question but he wasn’t sure if anyone had genuinely asked her if she was okay or if they asked out of politeness. “Senin için yapabileceğim bir şey var mı?” Again a basic question to ask if there was anything he could do for her but Ayaz wanted to ask her regardless. 

--

“Yeah I do... could’ve used a bit more glitter and some exotic dancers but I guess that’s a little out of touch for a funeral.” The smallest smile crept onto Leyla’s lips as she looked him over. She’d spent countless hours looking into the case details, trying to find any answers as to how they got caught. Was it betrayal? Intentional? A simple mistake? Ayaz Karadag was one of their own... and yet the Bianchi had let him take the fall as if it was nothing. The weeks he lost would cruelly never been given back or repaid. Nor would a newfound criminal reputation be easily to lose. The brunette crossed her arms over her chest, nodding softly.  “Good, I don’t want to have to miss you again."

At the words, Leyla couldn’t help but sigh. Despite it being her father’s funeral, she couldn’t shake off the impending nothingness that hung over her head. There was no grief, no sadness that she could call her own. Just a piss poor anger that bubbled under her veins- how dare the old man croak and leave them with no plan. “Bize hiç aldırış etmeyen bu insanlara gülümsemekten ve teşekkür etmekten çok yoruldum.” She replied, the honesty shrouded in their native tongue.

“ Beni sarhoş eder misin?”

♠

Gregory was just like his father, a piece of shit. If something could take her out of the numbness she was feeling, it was these words. When Alfonso started to speak, Viola was barely listening, convinced it would only be another person saying empty words about her father’s passing. Her head snap up as soon as the words were out of his mouth and while she was not among those who gasped, daggers were coming out of her eyes. And as he keep going, it only got worse. Half of her was ready to put it to dementia, after all, the man was pushing 90, but when guns appeared, she knew this was real. Before she knew it, her bodyguards were taking her away and she had half a mind of screaming and kicking to get back out there. “What the fuck is that,” she shouted as she paced the safe room they had been taken into. As they hear from their people, Viola kept waiting for one name to come up. “Where is Leyla? Why haven’t you gotten her?” The underboss was close to one of the bodyguards, faulting him for her missing sister. 

As the minutes ticked by, and they could her to commotion going on in the room they were in not long before, Viola did what she used to do best, slip by her bodyguard unnoticed. Things with her sister were complicated but she would be damned if she lost another family member that quickly. Viola took a gun as she got out and a quick scam of the room, unnoticed, told her that Leyla wasn’t in there. Somehow, she doubted that her sister hid inside the house, the place probably being one of the last welcoming place to Leyla, all thanks to Viola. Instead so followed her instinct and rushed into the alleys near their family home. It wasn’t until she finaly saw her that she realized she had barely been breathing. “La, it’s me,” she said, putting her hands in the air to give her sister a moment to calm down. A small step was taken toward her sister but it wasn’t enough and she rushed to her. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” she repeated as she took her sister in her arms, tears streaming down her cheeks. It wasn’t for Leyla that she keep on repeating these words, it was for herself.

--

All it would take was a finger on the trigger, barrel aimed at the approaching figure until she was stopped by a voice. “Vi?!” It couldn’t be- Leyla had to be imagining things... yet the warm embrace that wrapped around her and the familiar perfume was too real to ignore. Viola was alive. And she was here. Almost instantly, Leyla melted into her older sister’s arms, with years of resentment seeming utterly small when their world was catching fire. “Fuck, are you okay, are you hurt?” While Leyla was a Bianchi, the target on her back had always been notably smaller than Viola’s... and now with the betrayal of the Mancini, both Angelo and Vi had an astronomical price on their head. The message was clear- the era of Gregory Bianchi was coming to its bloody end.. and there would be no room for the royal family in the new future.

With the dizzying smell of iron permeating her senses, Leyla gently pulled away to get a good look at Viola. “Angelo- is he alive?” It was strange to say the words, her voice strained at the thought of losing her brother. However, with the tables turned, everything was a real possibility. It took the echo of police sirens for Leyla to come to her senses- the alley was still out in the open, almost begging for a Alvarez thug to show up. “You- you can’t be out here, they’ll try to kill you if they see you-” A hand smudged the stream of blood coloring her face. “Are there any safe houses we can trust?” With the betrayal breaking every sense of faith that she had in the members of their organization- sans anyone with their last name- spaces of refuge seemed to be dwindling. “

The only way Viola got any sleep lately was to knock some Ambien. Sleep had always eluded her, her father fond of the same stories about her first year, when the only way she would fall asleep was if they were driving around. Then, and only then, could she be placed in her crib and despite the chauffeurs and staffs that could well do such a task, Gregory always insisted on doing it when he was home. It was a moment of quiet with his daughter, a moment where the fire burning inside of her, one that got out in high energy and frequent laughters, was put out. Only a sleeping little girl could be seen and it had been something that marvelled him. Stories like that would never be heard by her father again. 

Viola was walking back to her room, hair still damp from the shower she took as a mean to chase the grogginess of the sleeping pills away, coffee in her hand. There was a moment of puzzlement in her eyes as she took in Leyla, unused of seeing her sister around, her brain not being fully functional yet. “Yeah,” she mumbled before taking some of the hot and bitter coffee. “Don’t really have a choice, only a couple of hours before…” There was no need to say before what, it was probably all they could think about. There was a moment of Viola chewing on the inside of her cheeks as she thought about the last time they spoke and the fight they had. I’m sorry never came easily to her and when it involved Leyla, it was simply too little too late. “I haven’t but the maid probably took it downstairs to steam it so there’s no wrinkles.” There was half a beat before she spoked again. “I can go ask if you want.”

---

“A couple hours.” The repeated words sounded foreign in her lips, as if they were hollow... because truly? They were. She could experience a taste of grief towards her father though it was mostly comprised of anger. The same simmering rage that she’d held in her bones towards a man who never gave her the light of day. However, Viola... Viola was thrown into an endless ocean. She’d been the apple of his eyes, the relationship she had with Gregory always made Leyla jealous. And now? She was given all of that loss with nowhere to put it down. For a moment, that familiar guilt rose in Leyla’s chest. Especially given their last conversation... Maybe for one day... Leyla’s lips were pursed before she nodded. “She probably did... Uh yeah, I’d appreciate that- in fact, I’ll go down with you?” It was strange how uncomfortable she was with the entire situation. Then again, it had been a minute since she felt anything towards her sister besides resentment. Blame it on the black clad day they were going to have...

‘I got the mayor to draft up some permits to keep the news crews away...” A police escort. Armed guards. There would still be a few leeches who made it through their lines, but at least the Bianchi could enjoy a feigned sense of privacy. “They don’t deserve any front page photos of us.” Leyla muttered, her eyes trained on her sister. From being thick as thieves to strangers, their fall from grace couldn’t have been harder. Yet Leyla found herself still gravitating towards her side in the misplaced hope that things could change. Her pride had always forced her from extending the olive branch, a scarred heart finding it hard to heal years of hurt. But seeing her like this... “Did you sleep at all?”