#bless no

bless i love a new babysitter thing where obi-wan really truly does check like. five times with anakin to make sure it's ok. like

obi-wan: alright today is the new babysitter's first day, i interviewed her and took detailed notes because you were at class and couldn't be there

anakin: :)

obi-wan: and korkie seems to like her and she's young and about to go to college but the local community college for a few years so she'll be in Coruscant with us.

anakin: :)

obi-wan: and she knows CPR and has already memorized both of our phone numbers in case something goes wrong, plus she does know how to cook some of Korkie's favorite meals.

anakin: :)

obi-wan: alright that's her at the door i'm going to let her in so she can have breakfast with us and then drive korkie to school.

ahsoka: hey! nice to meet you! my name's ahsoka, you're anakin, right?

This wasn’t even close to how he’d imagined his evening going.

Playing nice with the French was, rather notoriously, one of his least favorite pastimes. So, being crammed into a room of people who had been violently stealing chunks of the Forza family’s business since establishing themselves on the East Coast would have ended up very differently if it hadn’t been for her. Alessia Auditore wanted civility. And what she wanted, she got. No exceptions.

This might have been pushing ‘civility’ a little further than she’d meant, however.

The tension during their last conversation had been palpable, but the idea of ending up in a hotel room with Odile St. Pierre, instead of playing nice with the French figures his boss had in mind, still seemed a little absurd. 

Not that he was complaining.

One of the many perks of opening night was the complimentary suites. It seemed members of staff were traversing the entire building, handing out key cards to random party guests so they could try out the hotel rooms for free. For a moment, he’d considered handing his off to his brother; if only to save himself from the looks he and Lucrezia had been giving each other all night. But then his eyes had found her in the crowd, and that thought flew out of the window about as fast as his self-restraint.

It didn’t surprise him in the slightest that she was practically surrounded by her very own fan club. Dante had almost felt sorry for her date until he remembered that the dickhead was probably French, and that made the idea of enticing her away even more satisfying.

He made sure she was looking. He held up the card with a look far too innocent for his intentions.

The rest was a highly entertaining blur.

In fact, they’d barely made it through the door before he’d relieved her of her dress.

With her lips against his neck, and hands expertly working to remove his tie, he’d been so utterly distracted that he’d neglected to hear his phone ringing in his breast pocket. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the woman in his arms. Dante couldn’t help but grunt in impatience as she pulled away from him and fished it out in curiosity. He didn’t stop her.

“What do we have here?” Odile cooed, still notably short of breath. She failed to halt a laugh. “Oooh, Luisa.”

Of course it fucking was.

A conscious effort was required to suppress a frustrated sigh. Was it possible for a name to kill the mood?

Somewhere between the relentless grip of the legs at his waist, and the pressure of his body pinning her against the wall, he’d managed to free a hand just long enough to take back the phone she’d turned in his direction. Satan’s own caller ID greeted him. Dante was fairly certain that if he’d hit ‘end call’ any faster, he’d have broken the damn screen.

Without a hesitation, he tossed it in the general direction of the bed.

Luisa would wait. He couldn’t.

“I’m sure it was incredibly important,” the man began, words weighing heavy with sarcasm. If he hadn’t been so distracted by the hands now unbuttoning his shirt, he might have attempted wit. “But unfortunately, I’m otherwise occupied.”

“That’s too bad...”

As her lips found his once more—thoughts of his ex-wife cast aside soon after—he couldn’t help but hope that it was the last coherent thing either of them said for a while.

He hadn’t been disappointed.

They’d spent more time out of the bed than in it, but when they’d finally settled down amongst the sheets—intent on making the most of the champagne that came included—the buzzing of his phone against the floor finally proved itself too much of an annoyance to ignore.

“I’m half expecting her to burst in here any minute if you don’t answer that.”

Dante let his head fall back against the pillow, running a hand over his face in exasperation as Odile crawled over him, and out of the bed.

“Take the phone call, Romeo,” she mocked, rolling her eyes. “I’ll be in the next room when you’re done. We’d be doing the hotel test drive a terrible disservice if we didn’t try out the shower, too...”

He’d almost stopped searching for the phone there and then.

“Do you plan on leaving this room at some point, or?”

“Eventually,” she’d called back over her bare shoulder, smirking to herself. “Aurélie might have me killed, otherwise.”

Dante didn’t know what he’d done to deserve it, but God had clearly fucking blessed him tonight.

It wasn’t until her slender form had finally sauntered out of view that he’d located the object he was about ready to launch out of the window if it buzzed one more time.

The missed calls from Luisa were to be expected.

Her text reading: ‘I’m at Pavilion. We need to talk. Please let me apologize.’ slightly less so.

Eight missed calls from Joey, on the other hand? That was more than enough to stir some concern. In a fraction of a second, Dante’s mind had reverted to work mode, and an unsettling feeling found a home in the pit of his stomach. Joey had seen him disappear with Odile in the first place. The only reason he’d have even thought about interrupting his friend is if something was wrong.

And then the feeling materialized in the worst possible way.

A sound in the distance pierced his thoughts.

For a moment, he wondered whether Odile had dropped something in the shower. But it continued. Sporadic. Increasingly loud. It was something so akin to gunfire, he was sure his heart had stopped at the realization.

“What on earth is that noise?”

When she’d appeared in the doorway, Odile’s expression screamed a thousand words, and not one of them was good.

“I don’t know...” But he suspected. Making his way across the room, he pulled open the door to the balcony. Terrified screams flooded in with the brisk night air, and as the gunshots started up once more, he noted that they were so loud, they may as well have been right outside of the window.

Maybe they were...

As quickly as he’d opened it, it was slammed shut, and the Italian began to redress.

“You stay here,” he said, tone frighteningly calm. “The bathroom has no windows. It’ll be safer in there.”

“Wait, wha—” she stuttered, gripping her towel so hard he could see the whites of her knuckles from across the room. She started toward her dress, shaking her head defiantly. “Are you kidding? That’s my family down there. I need to go. I’m coming with you.”

“To do what?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not staying here!”

As he gathered the last of his belongings, he could sense the Frenchwoman about to protest again. Before she could muster up the words, however, he’d place a hand either side of her face, and silenced her with a final kiss. The action itself was almost apologetic. Dante didn’t like to abandon people amidst possibly dangerous confusion—regardless of who they were—but he had witnessed more than enough moments like these in Launceston to realize it was probably safer to leave her behind.

“Call someone you trust. Find out what’s going on, and leave when you know it’s safe,” he said softly, finally letting her go. “Please stay here until then.”  

Dante didn’t wait for a response.

Perhaps, had he not been in such a rush to get to the elevator, he would have noticed the company in the corridor. The very same woman who had handed out the hotel keys was now holding a gun, watching as her entourage began systematically sweeping through the rooms they’d filled with unsuspecting guests...

This time, when his phone screen lit up, it surprised him to see Lucrezia’s name, instead.

“What’s going on? Who’s shooting?”

“Why the fuck haven’t you been answering, Dante? Where are you?!” The Italian had shouted so loudly, he’d almost had to move the phone away from his ear.

“I’m on the way down to the lobby now. Where are you?”

“The ballroom. Security got a couple of shots off on a mad man who took to St. Clair with a knife,” she began, “but that’s not why I’m calling you.” Because she hated them as much as he did. “They’re rounding people up. Are you with Alessia? We don’t know where she is.”

They were six words that could induce a heart attack.

“What do you mean, ‘we don’t know where she is?’” For the first time since hearing the initial gunshots, his steely exterior faltered. It wasn’t with fear or guilt. It was anger. There had been more than enough of them to keep an eye on their damn boss, and somehow they’d manage to lose one of the most important people in the building? “How the fuck did you lose your sister?”

“Watch your mou—”

To Hell with her fucking scolding at a time like this. He interrupted without a second thought. “The shots I heard weren’t a few fired from security, Lucrezia. This was like an army of AKs.”

“What? Where? What are you talking about?!” Now it was Lucrezia’s voice that was wavering.

Something was very fucking wrong, here.