THE FUCKING QUEEN

Unlucky was oddly the correct word Camille would use too. Or, his death had been intentional, timed perfectly with the receding waters. “Caging…I’m not sure how someone so young couldn’t benefit from some protection. What with the life the President leads…maybe he didn’t want them swept up in it too soon, still maintain some of their innocence.” Although now Camille too wasn’t so sure that was wise–Gwyn hadn’t wanted any part of the Mob, she’d made that very clear, and Gio tagged along with her. But now…didn’t it make sense for Gwyn to rise and help her father out?

Given the topic, Camille placed the cigarette box and lighter back into the depths of her purse, hating for the smell to ruin Ravenna’s designer exterior, though clearly the woman could afford it. “The look in her eyes definitely wasn’t any sort of trace of hope…they were so angry and darkened, when usually they’re so kind and bright.” Camille’s own had changed back then, but hers hadn’t always been like Gwyn’s–shiny, hopeful, admirable. “I’m worried about her.”

“Don’t be so naive, Camille, it’s beneath even you. At least, in this line of work.” Ravenna instructed. Perhaps like a mother to them, without the emotional value that would go into coddling those who were too intact with whatever it is their heart sang was the right thing to do. She expected more from the brunette in front of her, would ensure more came from her, too. That thought filtered through Ravenna’s mind. She daren’t usher it—not when Dominic had plans.

“It sounds like she is coming into her own,” She beckoned that her own guards open the door, as Ravenna slipped an arm, hooked through the brunette’s to usher her back inside the now open space. “It sounds like what she needed was a fire lit—do you think we become what we’re meant to be by chance? One day we wake up and we’re suddenly what we’re meant?” Ravenna’s own vendetta against her mother, killing the woman for the final time spoke to the situation. “If she’s angry, it’s nothing more than a tantrum. I wouldn’t think on it. Not when you’ve more important things to do.”

Important things like aligning her with Dominic. Ravenna thought. “Now—assure me I won’t have to worry about you stressing too much over things like this. You can be assured that I will see to it to take care of Gwyn.”

Mitch raised his brow at the well done comment. If he didn’t know any better he would think she was just putting on a show. Of course something he learned about this family was none of them really cared about each other unless something was in it for them, so it was the same with Ravenna. Mitch turned from the woman and looked back at the crowd finding the head of his boss as it sat faced towards the coffin that held his youngest child. “I’m here to do my job. And right now that’s whatever he asks me to do.” He said as he motioned his coffee in the direction of the man in question. “If he wants me to play bodyguard to his daughter then I guess that’s my job.” he said as he shrugged. 

It was a waste, surely. Playing guard to a child who didn’t deserve this life. Ravenna, of course, knew who did. She did. Hues bore something akin to sympathy as she looked over at the girl, wild mane somehow controlled for once, a somber look from them all. Didn’t they have a chance? “Yes, well...” Ravenna turned her attention from the somber blonde to the man in front of her. “And what if I ask you differently, will you do so?”

It was something to be admired, Ravenna’s commanding presence, Camille herself jealous of how the woman could draw all eyes on her when she entered a room. Everything Camille longed to be, had some influence herself, but not nearly as vast as Ravenna’s. Perhaps she could learn a thing or two from the other. Maybe there were some secrets Ravenna could find useful. The question was—just how much could Camille trust her?

Mouth opened and fell back shut with the woman’s words, but stubbornness and that need prompted her to continue on with smoking. “Last one,” She said before placing the filter in her lips, igniting, and steadying herself. Last one depending on just how stressful life would be after this wake. “So young…” It was all anyone could seem to say—so young. Gio and the others. Taken before their time. “I could lie and say they’re fine, but you’re family. They’re unraveled, Ravenna. Gwyn is…I’ve never seen such a look in her eyes. And the President has practically withdrawn into himself and won’t let his daughter out of his sight.”

A small hum sounded from the blonde as she looked to her guards, a silent dismissal to them, watching the retreat. Camille’s concern proved loyalty—and she acknowledged it as a source of importance. To a point—things would have to change soon enough—She thought, keeping her expression void of any darkened passings. Almost like a mother consoling a broken child, as she nodded, approaching the brunette. One arm slung around her shoulders, painted lips curved into a soft smile. “Giovanni was unlucky—“ She surprisingly meant those words. “But my cousin should know long ago that caging one of our own does nothing to benefit the person.” 

She shook her head disapprovingly to the thought. It was a shame, in the sense—he wasn’t going to learn his lesson on real power less someone teach him. A curse upon his reality, that Ravenna was there now. “A look?” She asked curious. “Don’t suggest there’s hope for the girl—“ The disgust was clear in her tone—a woman who didn’t step up to her duty was barely a woman in Ravenna’s eyes. They all had a job in the Cosa Nostra—choices were only for the top.

Surprisingly, or maybe it was stupidly, Ravenna’s response didn’t set off any alarms or raise any red flags. For all he knew, she could be leading him to the lions den and he was blindly following her without so much as a question. By nature, he’s on the defensive but Ravenna was one of the few people Dominic believed he could trust no matter what.

The door is clicked shut behind them, Dominic’s interest peaking as the woman walked further inside. Her words lingered it the air before the inevitable bomb dropped – the truth – and the sole purpose of this conversation revealed itself. 

Instinct had Dominic, glancing to his left, right and over his shoulder – wondering if this was some sort of ambush but doubt that, despite blood, Ravenna would choose now to come to the defense of her cousin. Lying doesn’t even cross his mind, neither does fighting considering how nonchalantly the subject was broached. 

Arms folding across his broad chest, The Bodyguard simply nods his head before verbally confirming Ravenna’s suspicions. “Well, either you know me too well or someone needs their tongue cut out for talking too fuckin’ much.” He uttered, leaning against the nearby wall. “I’ve dedicated most of my life to this family and I’m sick to my fuckin’ stomach watching him throw it all away.” Dominic began to explain. “He’s getting lazy, he’s weak. You know it, I know it, we all know it – and if  something doesn’t change, he’s going to fuck up and make us lose everything we worked for – everything we built.” There’s a pause, Dominic feeling himself tense up. “If you’re pissed about what you heard, one of the Carlo’s would’ve stuck a bullet in my head by now. So, I’m assuming you either know I’m right or intrigued by what I’m trying to do about it.”

Ravenna had a soft spot for the likes of everything Dominic was. She’d made it known to those within the Cosa Nostra, upon impending appearances within the city, to regain control and redeem whatever semblance of respect they could salvage from Bianchi’s carelessness—that she was to do it. Save those who could be saved. Bolster and inspire those who might’ve lost their way. And leaders—she knew who, if not her, could manage it. But for the boy she considered a son for so long to do it himself—now there was a surprising twist.

She watched him look over his shoulder, her head falling slightly to one side as she stared on with a bored expression. “Dominic—“ Ravenna whispered, a slight shake of her head, as hands folded before her. She could’ve been a politician once-upon-a-time. Her well-nature habits to bestow arrogance mingled with calamity was rare for anyone. “Do you really think I would attack you? So carelessly at the funeral of my second cousin?” She paused. “You should know me better than that, mi amore. I don’t pick favourites because they’re handsome. I do it because they’ll keep me winning.”

“You’re smart—but I have eyes everywhere, and ears everywhere else.” She shrugged her shoulders, a slightly arrogant grin against her lips. “The perks of being me, I suppose.” The notion to who might’ve ratted was a lowly associate—to one of her own henchmen. Silly boy, she thought to the man. “Well, I did have his eyes plucked from his head. No one told me you could die from the horrors of torture.” She knew very fucking well how bad who own vendetta for revenge and betrayal could become. “And you’re right—many of them wanted to blindly kill you. But you’re too important to the things I want, and now you are untouchable to them.” Isn’t that nice.

Her approach was commanding, as she stood nearest him, a hand lifted to cup his cheek. He had it—he had the potential to do it. Guidance would be what he needed—and the bendable ears of those who stood before him, an attempt to stop him. “You and I both know you’re right about my cousin.” She concluded his assumption with her admittance. “And you are the only one here I would trust to take him out, but you must be careful. Loyalists in this mob and the Cosa Nostra will argue it—unless you let me help you. In exchange for something.”

There was always something in it for her. “I’ll give you what you need—you need bodies to blame when he dies, or anyone else, so be it. I have an endless supply. You need money to bribe people, my love it’s yours. But you do not kill any other members of the mob without warning me first. Giovanni may’ve been useless, but it could’ve been trained out of him to not be a fucking lump like his father—“ The words spat venomously at the idea of her cousin still in power.

“You kill my cousin—take the throne for yourself, and restack the deck. But—“ Ravenna stepped back, space enough, pivoted on the spot in sky-high heels. “You make me your Godfather, and I’ll ensure your freedom to do as you please. You and I can burn every last member of that trash Mafia to the ground.”

He stepped forward, taking the lighter with a polite nod to the woman and her entourage, eyes fixed to the flame that’d sparked automatically as he cupped his hand to keep it lit. Keeping his mind clear was proving difficult, but it was better than facing his problems head-on. Smoking was a vice he desperately needed to rid himself of. Breathing correctly had become somewhat of an obstacle. Letting his hand fall and the lighter back to the man’s possession, he nodded a subtle thanks, taking a sharp breath through clenched teeth.

“Better than vaping,” he noted disdainfully.

She watched the henchman assist the man, before casting a glare for him to step back. Never away—Ravenna wasn’t stupid. “We’ve all done it in our youth, once upon a time.” Ravenna spoke simply, hands folded before her. “How is it you knew the deceased?” She asked, head falling to one side, a curious look to her expression.

Mitch stared at the woman. He knew who she was, he had read her file and got familiar with everything she had done. Shrugging his shoulders at her comment he sighed and looked over to the family. “It’s the right thing to do. A child died, we should be here to honor him.” Taking her hand in his, Mitch kept the same face on that he had on since he arrived at the funeral. Blank. “Mitch. I tend to fly under the radar until im needed.” He said. It was true, he did what was asked and kept his head down. The perfect little soldier. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Ravenna.” 

“Well done—“ Ravenna should’ve been an actress. Poised for a stage, never planning to share it with others. She supposed this was the same, feigning the same sympathy—tending to her cousin and members most bothered by the sudden shake up within the walls of their own. She might’ve been family, expended from her own Gang to supervise the doings of Atlanta—but there was an inkling to be here more than home, in Manhattan. “You’re too right, the poor boy—“ She clicked her tongue. “I’m sure soon enough it will be solved—and the perpetrator will be brought to justice.” She stared a little longer at Mitch, the only intention to make him squirm more than anything else. “I’m sure.” Her curt answer met his compliment, lips turning up slightly in a smile. “Now, Mitch, I do hope you take it upon yourself to look after my cousin and his daughter—now that they are all we have left.”

Even in spite of her best efforts, after years of dedicated practice, Bianca’s never mastered the art of crying on command. It’s a fickle skill that comes and goes. Today, it eludes her and so she keeps her head bowed, to hide the dry eyes and play at respect. Another body buried. Who fucking cares. 

In her purse she feels her phone vibrate and her hand twitches with the effort it takes to suppress the urge to check it. At anyone else’s wake, she’d have answered without hesitation but Giovanni was family and while she couldn’t say she cared about him she could say that she cared about family. 

The arm that winds distracts her long enough to make her forget her phone. Her spine straightens with her mother at her side. “Giovanni deserves something more dignified than that; don’t you think?” She evades the question, turning that characteristically empty-eyed expression to her mother. Idly, eye drawn to things that shine she watches as her mother’s earrings glint dazzlingly under the light. “It’s so sad.” Dully. 

A mother could so rarely be impressed by their reincarnate child. Had someone asked Ravenna’s mother, she would’ve dutifully said that her darling Ravenna was ever as perfect as the day she met her. In the air of a disclosed truth, with nothing to lose? She was a waste. Ravenna had failed her family, allowing her brother to bear the mask of Presidency within another while she gallivanted, did as she pleased, and amounted to nothing. It was what others liked to believe about the woman.

They were wrong. Mistaken, unfortunate souls who hadn’t had the swift might of her ripping out their hearts, metaphorical, and ironically, literal.

As they stood side by side, Ravenna’s hopes for Bianca were not that she succeed in her mother’s footsteps—but that she make her own unquestioned path. Even if soon enough, things were to change. “Perhaps,” She folded her hands before her. “But could you suggest the same for his father, mi amore?” Ravenna couldn’t even extend such a generosity. “Things will be changing soon enough.”