#lextalioniss

sometimes, however very rarely, when luciano’s blood runs as hot as his does right now he’s well aware enough to know he needs exactly what a foul-tempered toddler needs: a timeout. he doesn’t stick around to listen to whatever tongue lashing or backhanding salvatore has to offer for embarrassing him or, just as likely, for embarrassing vera. he doesn’t care about that; it’s bruno’s fault any of it happened. showing up here, tonight, thinking he’d be welcomed as if he hadn’t turned his back on them all because he’d decided he was better than the rest of his siblings or whatever bullshit he believes about himself.

luciano carves a warpath through his childhood home, dripping blood and sending partygoers scurrying out of his way, until he’s made it outside. at least it would be a warpath if anyone was brave enough to try and stop him. none are; he can’t blame them. a stolen drink, snatched from a gape-mouthed guest, gets downed quickly before the glass is tossed aside to shatter in the darkness. the night air, heavy even in late september with humidity, feels suffocating. it only furthers his foul mood until he rounds the corner of the mansion and, finally alone with no one left around, he can let out the rest of the fury denied by salvatore’s earlier intervention.

the only thing that can withstand luciano vincelli’s fury is the brickwork of the house. he lays into it with heavy fists, punching until he’s both winded and a lance of white hot pain shoots up his whole forearm. “fuck!” luciano grips his wrist, flexes his fingers, swears so loud he almost drowns out the sound of someone approaching. “fuck-” he turns and the off part of snarled fuck off dies on his tongue when he sees erik standing there.

“fuck.”

“Erik!” 

Luciano is not the only person at this party that Nalini has unfinished business with, and unfortunately for Erik, she has far less to fear for confronting him in public. There is a lot of similarities between her relationship with the two men. They met in the same place, at the same time, they became close in hell on earth, they had reconnected when she made her way to New Orleans, and then, he had abandoned her, seemingly doing his best to stay far away from wherever Nalini was over the last year. The timing of his and Luciano’s silence could not be a coincidence. 

She grabs his arm, tugging him into an alcove in the corridor he’s attempting to pass her in. She should be angry, but she isn’t. Instead, her face betrays her hurt, and it’s etched into her every feature. Now she’s in front of him, she doesn’t quite know what to say, but it’s all too much for her. Tears start to spill from her eyes, rolling freely down her cheeks. 

“Erik…” she repeats, her voice wavering with uncertainty. She knows what she wants to ask, but has no idea how to broach the topic with him. “What’s going on? Where have you been all this time?”

“Erik!” 

It hasn’t been the easiest of nights for Nalini, but you wouldn’t know that to look at her now. All traces of insecurity have been wiped from her expression - what remains there now is a beaming, smiling glow, her wide eyes shining and proud as she looks upon him. 

She hadn’t known what to expect when her set ended, and Vera Vincelli herself had taken to the microphone with an important announcement. In truth, she doesn’t really know what such an announcement means. She would have to be a fool not to understand the power and influence the Vincelli’s wielded in New Orleans, how deep their organisation ran, but she tried to keep that at arms length. It didn’t suit her view of the world, and so, she didn’t think about it. 

“Congratulations!” She wanted to be the first one to say it, even though she was sure that others would have already, if her suspicions on how big a deal this truly was were to be confirmed. She holds up the bottle of champagne she had snatched on the way over to him, pressing it into his hands. “Here, you should do the honours.” 

She’s happy for him, she is, but there’s still something on her mind, something that has her smiling lips pouting and eyes narrowing a little. It’s a playful gesture, but there’s a touch of true indignation to it all the same. “Why didn’t you tell me? We could have had our own celebration. Away from all of this,” she gestures around the packed room. “Still. I guess we can do that another time.”