d i s t r u z i o n e ;

“Not all of us are watching our figure.” Some of us were graced with good luck. Valentina thought, her mother’s genetics more favourable than she considered. In times like these, they could be considered her Olympics. “What about a deep fried mars bar?” Pausing, as she scanned. “Deep fried chocolate?” To that she pulled a face. “How would they—?”

“You think I want to?” He cocked an eyebrow, glancing down at his physique. Part of him had been prideful in what he’d accomplished in these last few years, but to let loose and indulge was a huge gamble on his part. He couldn’t possibly--- wait. “Did you say deep-fried mars bar? Oh, I’m definitely gettin’ one of those.”

“Deep fried butter sticks?” Valentina asked, the obvious disgust written in her voice, as she mulled her options on the small printed flyer she held, while sitting on the bench near the beer tent. A silent pause, as she looked at the person next to her. “Should I get one?” She whispered.

“If you get one of those, I’m officially renouncing our ties,” he deadpanned, despite finding subtle humour in it. It’d been a millenia since Roman visited something like this. He was always holed up in his house, working on new plans for the company as well as juggling the cartel. To finally take a breather; to relax, to actually have some fun--- it was refreshing. “If you do, get me one, too.”

𝓡𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓖𝓊𝑒𝓇𝓇𝒶.   —

“Maybe,” Jack quipped, as hues settled on the CEO of KG Industries. A world amassed to fortune, as though Jack wasn’t aware. “Aren’t you—Roman Guerra?” He asked, wondering where his fucking Oscar was for this performance. “What the fuck would you do in some kinda back-water town like this? Don’t tell me it’s the ambiance.”

“The one and only,” he sighed. Thoughts ran rampant through his head but he kept his composure. There were a few subtleties he picked up on, but now it was a process of elimination. “Visiting family,” he noted vaguely. “Believe me, I wouldn’t be here for nothin’.”

“Interesting.” Reina said after a moment of visualizing Liam doing the same. “Sounds extremely time consuming.” And a thorough amount of planning. She liked to think she’d known Liam well enough to have noticed if he’d been going to that great of lengths to fake his death. “Closed casket, of course.” There had been one. “Maldives are a nice touch. Sounds like you could do this tomorrow if you wanted to.”

“You don’t keep up with the news much, do you?” He countered rhetorically. “Few years ago, I actually did it. Got life in prison. Got out after six months for good behaviour,” he smiled cockily. No, not at all. He’d actually caused more riots than he cared to admit but money was a powerful thing. Being one of Forbe’s top billionaires (turned trillionaire), it wasn’t hard throwing cash around. “Faking your death is easy. It’s the getting out of it that’s complicated.”

Finishing her drink in one long sip, another was presented in front of her. She’d had a few, her way of coping. If Reina directly asked, maybe she’d have her answer. Instead, she pretended like she didn’t care, but if asked, she didn’t care. And here she was asking her thoughts out loud, posing it as a topic for drunken conversation. “If you could fake your death one day, how would you do it–and why?” 

“I’d start by inviting over someone who trusts me, blow their brains all over the counter tops and then get a stand-in--- like a doppelganger--- to take my place. Shoot themselves in the head so it looks like a murder-suicide. Pay off the police and the forensics team. It’ll be closed casket, too, because of the whole---” he gestured to the immediate area around his head. “Run off with the insurance and live a comfortable life in the Maldives.”

Valentina’s lips formed a small ‘o’ to Roman’s confession, as she made the moment stall, before leaning forward. “Is that because I know how to make an Americano or my personality?” She asked, soft spoken, a little worried, but her tone mingled with a hint of humor, as she beamed. “Well, thank you. I like you too—you don’t seem as terrifying as you let on, you know.” But it might’ve been his preference for her as she was. “Well… it’s not as easy said as it is done but… thanks. Sometimes it gets really lonely when you think you don’t have anyone.” Or those who were there were intended on dragging her right back into the firing zone.

“Can’t it be both?” He retorted, narrowing his eyes. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he leaned back into his seat. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that. Could get lynched by morning,” he half-joked. He let her comment sink in. He didn’t need the lecture on being lonely. He could’ve written the book on that. “It’s going to be like that ‘til it ends in blood, baby girl. No way we’re gettin’ out of this alive. Just appreciate every day like it’s your last.” He stood after a moment, taking his empty cup with him. “Have faith. That’s all we got. Have a good rest of your day, Valentina.”

Sweet words were a particular kind of poison. When a formula worked—when it put a king in your bed and a crown of diamonds upon your head—you didn’t experiment with the recipe too much. In the world men foolishly believed belonged to them, femininity could never be overlooked. Elisabeth’s would’ve been her downfall, had she not turned it into a weapon: soft purring, fitted dresses, that signature southern belle charm. Harmless flirting here and there. Yet there was a line no man except Vittorio had ever crossed: a line no other man—or woman—would ever be allowed to disrupt.

Roman had stepped on it, but really, it shouldn’t have surprised her. Wasn’t this what she appreciated about him the most? That kindred, lucid boldness.

His was amusing. Hers had paid off. The confirmation was right there, lingering on her tender skin: Roman Guerra could, to a certain extent, be trusted.

“You’ve answered your own question,” she told him, matter-of-factly. “Because Logan Legend brutally murdered the Mayor. Because I like him.” A little shrug. There was some potential there. Why waste it on the Castros? “And because I was bored. Besides”—eyelashes fluttered, the grin grew wider—“now he owes me. I want—”

“Fuckin’ bastards.”

Elisabeth turned on her heel, lips staying parted for a moment. Crap.

“You motherfuckin’ bastards,” repeated Seran Brenek as he stumbled out of the fire escape and onto the cracked pavement. Still half-slurring his words, but his glare a sharp, pointed knife. Mammoth-sized paws gripped the doorway so tight the wood squeaked. It sounded like an animal being strangled.

“Seran,” said Elisabeth carefully. A hand raised to clutch her necklace. He’d followed them here. Which meant he’d heard enough.

“How long?“ He spat, ever the drama queen. “How long have you been working with this worm?“

Worm. She glanced sideways at Roman, suppressing a chuckle, then back at the Stones’ Vice President. Fingers traced the edges of the silver heart, once, twice. Think think think. “Seran, you’re bein’ ridicilous.“ Her voice was soft, almost playful. Too playful, actually. This isn’t funny. Focus. “You got it all wrong.“

Seran’s beetle eyes narrowed in disgust. “Raphael trusted you, Elisabeth.“

Yes, well, Raphael is dumber than a five pound sack of stupid. “Come on, we should talk about this.“ She moved towards him, but a sudden glimpse of silver in the shadows made her halt.

His axe.

Worm? He reiterated to himself, a subtle smirk forming on the cusp of knowing lips.

If he wasn’t mistaken, this was the same man that aided a worm of their own. Daisy had told him everything from the unintentional allegiances to the downright dirty plays. She’d warned him of Emilia’s inevitable betrayal. Saying she had a look in her eyes that had been reminiscent of a cougar lying in wait of her dinner. He should have listened. He would’ve avoided jail time had he taken care of her sooner.

His emerald hues bore whiskey brown as he moved to stand in front of Elisabeth. He knew she was more than capable to handling this herself to some degree, but Roman’s specialty was raw, mindless violence. He had endured broken bones and bullet wounds to take down some of his opponents. Mentally blocking the pain that would’ve brought him to his knees had he not learned to numb himself completely.

“The same Seran that helped Emilia, I gather,” his voice growled low, like fresh gravel. He approached, politely removing his suit jacket, handing it over to Lis with a polite smile. Returning his gaze to the man, a flicker of a familiar shadow put him at ease. He began by rolling up his sleeves, taking his sweet-ass time as he was careful not to wrinkle the fine fabric. Loosening his tie, he advanced and watched as Seran swung that axe high.

Grabbing the axe by the blade, Julian tutted as he ripped it out of his grasp in one fluid movement. Anger had been written on the poor fellow’s face but it’d hardly fazed JJ. His foot connected with the side of his knee at the same time, the sickening snap almost echoing throughout and before Seran could spit out his first vulgar sentence, Roman stuffed his tie into his mouth. Muffled cries could be heard but Roman wanted to hear them in all its glory. Soak in the bloodcurdling screams— but this was still rather public. They were out in the open. Still, Emilia had betrayed him and collected his head. It was only fair he do the same with her saviour. 

“Should’ve kept your nose out of it, rat,” he hissed, delivering his first punch. Another. His hits were timed, calculative but fierce. Reckless in their wake. Blood matted his knuckles, painting over the tattoos adorning the top of his hand. He wanted to see the inside of this man’s head. 

Julian stood back to watch, lighting up a cigarette. A respective gesture to showcase he was well aware of his position. Roman was fully capable of handling this himself. Julian was just there to make sure the other didn’t have the chance to overpower him.

Roman stumbled back, ragged breaths coming through in near wheezes before he cocked his head towards JJ, a wordless command. The twin nodded, glancing sidelong to the man’s limp form fall to the ground, barely managing to catch himself. JJ rejoined his side, passing the axe to Roman who’d simply taken it before offering it to Elisabeth.

“Batter up, beautiful,” he breathed out a soft chuckle.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that.”

Just wait till I finish my coffee, she could’ve added. She would’ve too, had she been playing this game with any other man.

But there was something about Roman that made her do whatever that feral, dauntless girl who rode wild horses and colored her lips with poisonous berries demanded.

Or was free the word she was looking for? Maybe. She’d been strangling her far too long.

Elisabeth stood up. He mirrored her. “Thanks for the drink, Mr. Guerra. It was lovely to see you again.” With a polite smile, disingenuous through and through, she leaned in to greet him the good old Italian way. Nothing to see there, just two rivals pretending not to want to claw each other’s face off. But then, as her cheek brushed against his, unexpectedly soft, she whispered: “There’s a small backyard behind the storage room.” Cue the other cheek. “Leave through the fire escape. Right by the kitchen.“

The place had gotten ever more crowded. She tucked her silk shawl into the handbag, adjusting it on her shoulder. Martha shot her a dimwit look from the table in the corner. Ravenna, mouthed Elisabeth, before heading out the front door.

The bodyguards followed, watchful and silent. Just as one of them signaled for the limo, she feigned a frown.

"Darn, I forgot my shawl. Don’t move.”

When she was certain they were too engrossed in their crude jokes, she slipped between the entrance and the old oak.

Ah, yes, just as she’d remembered it. The size of a broom closet, stacked with torn boxes, colorless grass that almost reached her calves. Roman was already there, waiting under a single hollow tree.

Elisabeth balled the ends of her sleeves up in her palms, pulling them down over her hands. There was no sunlight there in the back, only ghosts and whispers. “Impatient, are we?” she teased, head tilting to the side. A quick glance behind, then she stepped closer. “Logan Legend was released this morning.” Her face split into a self-satisfied grin. “I bailed him out.”

Roman trailed thoughtfully towards their agreed rendezvous, caught up in some form of self-imposed high. A brief exchange but--- powerful. It was enough to stray his thoughts from the bountiful worries plaguing his mind. She had the unintentional ability to rid his stress but would he ever acknowledge it? Over his dead body.

“Frequently,” he assured, watching her with such a calculating intensity. Roman had been wrong before. Brought to his knees in mock worship to serve the wrong agenda. Idolize the wrong person. Humiliating to say the least. So he watched, waited. His hands were back on her hips, pulling her closer as they slipped further back, caressing the small of her back. For a moment, he considered slipping away. Keeping her at a safe distance--- but there was hunger in his movements. She’d been teasing this far too long. 

For a single, unabashed moment, he let his head fall to her shoulder, breathing her in. She drove him mad. Was that any secret? His lips trailed against her soft skin, brushing feather-light against the crook of her neck as he branched upwards, just below her jaw. Another gentle kiss, shy in it’s wake.

The words left her mouth and he nodded after a short beat. A glimmer of a smile as he pulled back. Another moment to absorb the information. That little secret she’d been dangling in front of his face for much longer than he cared to acknowledge now out in the open. 

“Logan Legend,” he repeated the name, letting it slip over the curvature of his tongue. Tasting it. Familiarizing it. “The guy who brutally murdered the Mayor?” A furrow of his brows. He liked Logan. They met and connected instantly--- but that wasn’t the point here. The point was clinging to the tip of Elisabeth Rinaldi’s tongue. He wanted to taste it. Understand it. “Why?”

What was that? Power that people craved, needed like it was air. Where was her own line, did she linger with them, in a mess of people they wanted to be. All hungry, all wanting a trophy that didn’t exist. She sighed, settling into her seat. “My family,” She scoffed. “I know, you don’t need to tell me that.” But being screwed was only so fun if you wanted it, in a humorous sense, as she shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I’m clearly fairing out pretty good so far,” Lie. “I mean… I didn’t have a choice. Compromise myself or the future that was planned for me. Maybe it’ll change. Maybe I’m an idiot.” Valentina had to learn that on her own.

“I like you, Val,” he responded shortly. “You’re one of the few people I can actually stand to talk to without feeling like I wanna rip my eyes out.” Besides Lis, but that was partially biased. “I want to help you but complications are--- complicated. You know that, I know that. You fight hard for what you got, sweetheart because regardless of what we got going on behind the scenes where our ‘families’ are nipping at each other’s throats; I believe in you. Idiot or not.”

“You’d think, huh?” Jack nodded. Bunch’a fuckin’ pussies in this town try hiding it more than finding a solution. He thought sourly. “I read a few of the headlines, I thought someone was fuckin’ with me, if I’m being honest.” A sip of his beer, as he set it down. “So that’s it, then? I just stumbled across a–god, I hate suggestin’ this–murder town?”

“Certainly seems that way,” he agreed, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his chair. “Larger cities are known for their mortality count, but when you hear of a small town committing these atrocities, it’s almost like it’s for shock-value.” He shook his head. “Shocking,” he reiterated. “That’s the only word that comes to mind. Understatement of the year?”

“No,” Valentina snorted under her breath, arms crossed. Being out casted from the cartel was not easy. “Once you’re in, it’s easier to stay in. I should know—I am out casted from this world.” She bore the name, the riches and entitlement that came to it, but Valentina was comically powerless. She held no stepping ground, no mode to move or run—she was stuck. Right here. “Besides, I thought a person like you enjoyed power? There’s none of that on this side of the line…”

“I run most of America from my home office, sweetheart. I have all the power I could ever want--- but it’s dangerous playing these games with people like--- your family, for instance. The Stone’s. Even the Reyes’. They don’t care who they’re running down in the process of what they do. At least I’m conflicted,” he sighed. Not a blatant lie. Of course, The Black Rabbit could’ve been seen as otherwise, but he preferred to keep that at arm’s length. “Guess either way, you’re screwed, right?”

Jack was no fool, the man was recognizable from his organization—but his ties to Jack’s purpose for his presence in Lakewood was what drove him to turn his attention to the man. “Is that so?” He feigned. “Just moved here for work, makes it easier travelling to the border every day.” Jack quipped. “So—that bad here, huh?” Like he didn’t know.

“Hell of a place to move nowadays,” he scoffed, thinking back to all the current disasters. “The Mayor was murdered and they’ve only now found the killer. Town of nine-thousand, you’d think they would’ve done a faster, more efficient job.”

Valentina tilted her head to the side. “How come they don’t want to get along?” She found herself ushering, knowing if someone in her own family was there, heard, it would be chaos. She was certain her aunt would throw something sharp and injury-prone at her head. “I mean—this town is only so big before we’re all wiped out.” Valentina lived a complex of turning her nose to the crimes but reaping the benefits. Was she really any better, less tainted than those with their hands right in the cookie jar?

“Beats me, kid,” he sighed, downing the rest of his coffee in response. It was hard to pinpoint why there was no white flags. Perhaps all the leaders had been too headstrong for that. Roman was cautious. Intelligent. He would raise a white flag if that’s what it took to keep his head. He couldn’t vouch for the other three or their crews. “Sometimes I wish I could just drop everything and leave. Forget this place ever existed. It’s easier being an outcast, isn’t it?”

Hearing his answer to Emilia’s death, Hayden kept a straight face. Her gut telling her that Roman probably had something to do with it, but the undercover cop wasn’t going to ask. If Roman wanted to tell her–he would. “Hmm, such a shame.” Sarcasm resided in her voice. Like I said it was no secret that the two blondes ever got along. 

“Who is to be your next bodyguard and do I get along with them?” Hayden questioned before amusing to him. “I gotta know if I will have the urge to punch them or not.” Or dream of killing them, she thought. 

“Actually,” Roman began, taking a longer sip from the glass he’d been handed. “You’ve always been my best and brightest worker bee, Hay,” he remarked genuinely. “It would only make sense to promote you, right?” A glimmer of a small smile appeared. “It’s a lot of responsibility and you gotta be prepared to do whatever the fuck I ask you. Think you’re up for it?”