Boss

Hello and welcome to my second blog.

In here the boys from Night Raven College will get a new twist as Mafia members. Ruthless commanders of their dark empires, spiteful bussinessmen with elegant tuxedos and sharp knives in their sleeves. True gentlemen in the bright sun...until they're not.

𝙷𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝙴𝚝𝚒𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 - ✠ a small set of rules to ensure a peaceful and enjoyable stay for everyone.

𝙿𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝙴𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎 - ✠ Which side are you loyal to?

✠rosᥱhᥱᥲrt fᥲmιᥣყ ||| ✠kιᥒgsᥴhoᥣᥲr fᥲmιᥣყ ||| ✠ᥲshrᥱᥒgotto fᥲmιᥣყ ||| ✠ᥲᥣ-ᥲsιm fᥲmιᥣყ ||| ✠shoᥒᥱhᥱιt fᥲmιᥣყ ||| ✠shroυd fᥲmιᥣყ ||| ✠drᥲᥴoᥒιᥲ fᥲmιᥣყ

𝙱𝚘𝚜𝚜' 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙰𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 - ✠ Curious to know what happens when no one is looking?

✠mort's troυbᥣιᥒg tᥱᥲ ρᥲrtყ

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠 - ✠ a set of weekly question to get to know the tastes of your favourite member ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴜꜱ: ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇᴅ

𝙽𝚎𝚠 𝙰𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 - ʙᴀʟʟʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴄʜᴀᴛᴛᴇʀꜱ - ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴏʟʟᴀʙ

𝚆𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎?

✠ The Creator's Den

✠ The Bunny Boy Club (under construction)

𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎 -

Since we are officially entered pride season we thought we could give you a litte peek about the characters you got to meet outside and during the interviews.

(The list will be updated when more characters will be introduced)

Boss is Aro/Ace—little to none attraction towards anyone, at best other people makes for amusing pawns in their eyes.

Ruth & Ruby are Bisexual—Ruby tends to swing both ways, both genders are attractive in her eyes, while Ruth tends to lean bit more on the female side.

Heishen is Aromantic—she still does feel romantic attraction (even if it is the size of a marble) but claims to “not have time for that brain-dumbing bullshit”. Rook still isn't stopping from pursuing her.

Maria Serafina is Lesbian—your flabbers are gasted, I know. Who would've thought, right? But, shhh, a certain Dove dosen't need to know that yet.

Madame Galatea is Straight ally—sorry (not sorry) to dissapoint you gay people but this amazon of a woman has one gender preference and it is man. She still supports non-straight people, after all love doesn't have barriers like gender.

Mrs. Moon is Bisexual—odd, right? Especially if you stop to think she has a husband and to-be-born child with said husband. But yeah, if Jack would've been a woman she would've married him anyway.

Patricia is Pansexual—Kalim's sunshine, self-proclaimed auntie of her best friend's baby, she would love you even if you identified as a worm.

Reagan is Asexual—all things considered I guess it's a bit of a given her sex drive is non-existent at best. Malleus doesn't complain about it one bit, if he can hold Reagan's hand he's more than happy.

Happy Pride Month Interviews

✠ If you reached this point consider leaving a like, comment and reblog. Thank you so much for your support.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this new summer event where you, dear and loyal interviewers are the protagonists. Are you ready to meet the ballroom guests?

✠ the event will start and end on 5th to September 13th

✠ if you would like to be a participant of this event send a message off anon / comment and Boss’ PR office would send you a reply

✠ any type of reader (female, male, gender neutral) is welcome, as well as OCs

✠ VIP seats (taglist) will be open as soon as the event starts for anyone who wants to be notified for new fics

✠ NSFW and dark content is allowed as long as it’s properly tagged, minors are not encouraged to interact with those

✠ this event is meant to be fun and an enjoyable creative experience for everyone. Hate is not tolerated and you will be blocked

𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙨 𝙏𝙖𝙗 —

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙤𝙨𝙨 𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙚—

𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣—

𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙢𝙤𝙠𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙘𝙞𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚—

𝙙𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝—

𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙗𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙩—

𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙖 𝙜𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙨𝙠𝙮—

𝙨𝙪𝙗𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙮—

𝙥𝙖𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙯𝙯𝙞—

𝙛𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙮 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨 & 𝙛𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙮 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙨— @echosofmortality · [Jade Leech/The Butler × Oc]

𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙤𝙤𝙚𝙙— @kimdourden · [Leona Kingscholar/The King × Oc]

𝙣𝙚𝙤𝙣 𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙠 & 𝙨𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙙—

𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙩— @echosofmortality · [Ruggie Bucchie/Hitman × Oc]

𝙙𝙖𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙡—

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠 𝙤𝙛 𝙖𝙧𝙩—

So... I have many to talk about with you all, Interviewers.

First and foremost, happy (very late) birthday to this blog. A year has already passed and I cannot belive this side gig of mine reached and grabbed so many people under the roof of love for mafia men. I truly don't have words to say how grateful and happy I am for all your support.

The second thing I would like to announce is that I'm working on a few intersting projects, such as:

multi chapter fics

Lemon Soda Country Summer (Azul × OC)

Albus Amor (Ryuunosuke Akutagawa × OC)

Grim Crimson Tales (an original work created and written by me)

(and I might do more beacuse I'm crazy and I love to write new stories. I swear to God I have so much stuff in my drive...)

All of these will be posted on my main blog, AO3 and Wattpad for all to enjoy

a summer event for the Twisted Mafia AU fans

I can't give you any spoilers for this, you'll have to wait until May to find what's that about.

And finally, the main dish. The one thing I finally found the courage to do after years of second guessing myself...

*takes a deep breath*

I'm writing my first own book

That's right. Yours truly is writing a novel. I don't know how long it'll take but, damn straight, I'll give you guys updates and sneak peeks and once I'll find a way to publish it I hope you guys will read it.

I'll continue managing this blog too, don't even think for a second this is a goodbye, but I'll be a little slower with posts.

Thanks again for all your support, questions, comments and love.

"Amaris let's talk about this-" One of the janitor rooms in Boss's Parlor shut behind our favorite reporter as she left a certain officer handcuffed to some pipes and his engagement ring left just a few feet out of his reach in the little black box. Her answer was clear. No.

Sometimes a man needed clear boundaries, and she was drawing them boldly today after his latest attempt.

A seventh proposal a few days ago had given the officer some audacity to try to control her. Make her bend to him like a siren's song to a sailor. She wasn't stupid, nor did she want his attention. She never had, yet she still found herself here. Men really needed to stop wanting what they couldn't have. It would solve so many problems.

He'd confessed to receiving letters from Dahlia the past month, promises of sharing her if the officer could manage to cage her in. She'd rather commit homicide.

Wiping her lip she winced at the pain, he'd bitten her. Not hard, she'd had far worse. But it stung to have any semblance of trust or safety in the officer crushed. So many broken promises...

"I see you have forgotten how to manage a client Stripes. Though the handcuffing is tasteful. Good to see you remember something." And just like that, bone-chilling disgust traveled up her spine as her deep eyes flicked to the smirking serpent that had slithered into her supposed-to-be-happy afternoon.

Great, just great. Dahlia was showing her his pieces, moving them into play. Finally.

"Uncle." She greeted, hand still on the doorknob behind her as Bellamy called for her to let him out once more. She'd left the light on and had been kind enough to not shackle him to the hot water pipe, yet he still had the gall to complain after kissing her uninvited.

"Last time I checked good girls didn't lock their betters in rooms." Leather loafers creaked as they came toe to toe with thick black tights craddled in matte ebony heels.

"No man is better than another."

Sharp amethyst eyes glint, a pearlescent smile, saccharine in nature, bearing teeth in glee. "Still so hopeful. And here I had hoped you'd have learned to accept reality."

She wanted to wipe that smirk—that ever-present smile that followed her on every man's face that thought he was better than her— off his face. Tongue poised to stab she falters in speech as he grasps her jaw, instead glaring bullet holes through his head.

"You need to behave Stripes. You've made several benefactors very angry with your snooping and putting the police on our trail." The thick French accent doesn't announce escalation, even with the tone meant to threaten. Beauty was a dangerous thing. "Throw the court case, lie, I don't care, but you will do so. Understand me pet?"

"Brûler en enfer*." She hisses out and he laughs face brushing by her ear as he lets her jaw go, grasping her hand instead as she moved to escape.

"So stubborn you are, you think your Dove can protect you? Where is she? Off attending to her own desires again, she really is a fickle friend to you hmm? Leaving you all alone to play with men who don't give a damn about you." He jabs, poking at walls she already knew were fragile. Blind hope in a world that always proved her wrong and left her alone.

"You think I need a protector? All I need is five seconds to turn a heel into a shank and sink it into your neck." Ah yes, that temper. At least she was using it productivly. Dad would be proud.

"And get blood all over this expensive carpet? Show everyone how monsterous you really are? Please do Stripes. I have longed to bend you over again and see those pretty designs you hide. Have they spread?" His eyes trace along her jet leather skirt that cut at her thighs. "I'm quite curi-"

A crack fired through the air akin to a shot from a gun. "Je ne suis plus ton animal exotique à baiser*." Amaris breathes, stepping forward in his shock, gaining ground as he cupped his cheek, a deep red print forming beneath his hand as he favored it. "Nor will I stand and let you speak to me in such a manner. Your days are numbered. Take my advice," She corrals him back towards the path to the exit, a purr in her tone as her sapphire eyes flash. "Take your wife and flee the country because I will not hesitate next time I hear or see you or your name. That is the only mercy you, and your pit of vipers, will ever get from me. Tell Dahlia hello and thank you for the acid roses."

The man she had endured three years of, longer really if she counted the extended reach he'd held on her collared throat, spit at her feet. "Que la mort et tous ses démons vous suivent.*"

"Ce n'est pas pour rien que je m'appelle la Mortalité.* Wanna test why?" The French tongue was a symphony of melodious, clean perfection. To anyone who didn't know the language, it would be akin to hearing compliments, when in fact, those who knew the tongue were well aware that Amaris and the serpent had all but drawn blood.

She watched him go, followed his retreat as a cat would injured prey—all the way out of the parlor doors— heartbeat in her ears as he disappeared into a dark car. "Fucking hell I can't catch a break." She leans against the door frame, black cable knit stretched over her arms as they framed beneath her chest.

"Who are we cursing? I want in." A familiar young males voice made a shy smile come to her lips as her earrings danced at her neck.

"A nobody who crawls on his belly." She turned from the glass doors to greet her pickpocket, a hand going to her hair to check if it had fallen in her tussel.

"Well damn, uh, you have some lipstick..." He tapped his chin and side of mouth, golden eyes worried as she covered her lips, neck flushing in shame at her situation. "Where's Bellamy?"

"In time out." She mumbles behind a hand as he walks with her to the ladies' room. "Here's the keys." She sets the small metal ring of shiny silver in his hand before disappearing inside the bathroom to freshen up.

After several seconds of being stumped on how she'd managed that since Bellamy was much bigger than her, he gently knocks on the bathroom door, swallowing. His rudy orange-red tail with black and white stripes twitching in nerves. "Hey boss, where did you handcuff him?"

------

"Afternoon gentlemen, ladies, Boss," A perfect red lip tilted up in a delighted smile greeted the Mafia, no sign of the earlier discrepancies. "Its good to be back."

Head raised, she looked radiant, eyes bright and focused ready to take on her latest task. Head journalist suited her well it seemed. "I hope you all had a good Valentine's Day. My best wishes to the couples." She grins before turning to the family she'd come to find sewn into her life.

Popping a hip, she waves to Jack with a few French tipped fingers as she spun her pen. "Welcome back Lone Wolf. Sorry to have missed your return." Her eyes flick to The King and Ruggie, relaxed in her assessment of them. Checking in like the observer she was with that knowing smile.

She wasn't stupid, but she felt it, all giddy seeing him there. By him she meant the Hitman. Distance did make the heart grow fonder in her case. And he had all but lit a match for her to patiently guard while he figured his feelings out. She'd wait for him, after all she did say she wasn't planning on letting him get away that summer.

"My questions are to The Kingscholar Family as always. I hope you three can keep up this week, me surprendre*?" Amaris teased fondly, those eyes lit with sparks as the language rolls off her tongue. "Question one, say you let your partner initiate; is touch, words or perhaps another method going to entice you to indulge them in seducing you successfully?" She let her accent linger, shaping her words for once instead of bringing her voice back to the normal lilt it had in English.

She looked down at her notes momentarily deciding just what she wished to say next, apparently there were choices. "Second, one thing you wish your partner, lover, hopeful desire to know, to set them at ease? Further your favorite thing about them to date."

Satisfied with the previous questions she ponders, tapping her lip with her pen which makes her brow twitch in discomfort. Right, injured, ow. "Lastly, one for whoever feels brave enough. We often hear from the reporters and bloggers, the interviewers, so I like to add questions that give you the chance to add to the conversation besides just answering a question. Is there something you wish me to know, something you've always wanted to tell me? If so, here's your chance to tell me what's on your mind."

She takes her seat, pink Dove nowhere in sight on the week she was supposed to be there, but a familiar red head of hair with Bengal ears sat in the crowd texting near his boss, watching and learning as he took notes and rolled his eyes at the mushy questions.

Language detected: French

Brûler en enfer. - Burn in hell .

Je ne suis plus ton animal exotique à baiser. - I'm no longer your exotic pet to fuck.

Que la mort et tous ses démons vous suivent. - May death and all its demons pursue you.

Ce n'est pas pour rien que je m'appelle la Mortalité. - It's not for nothing that I'm called Mortality.

Me surprendre? - Surprise me?

[Let's rumble Boss 🔥😎]

The parlor was buzzing that evening, especially Ruth and Ruby seemed to struggle to hold back their giggles for some reason. Their mismatched orbs eyed you the same way a clique of popular queen bees would’ve.

Boss nodded their head in a polite greeting, returning to scribble on a piece of paper like they did the previous week.

Leona tilted his head, unimpressed, yet his eyes scanned you from head to toe as if to make sure you were really there.

Jack returned your greeting with a respectful bow of his head, like a samurai in front of a fellow warrior.

Ruggie perked up at hearing your voice, spine straightening and irises growing in size like a cat with their favourite person.

A round of oh’s rose from the crowd like a wave in a stadium; many men’s faces, from different families, ranged from lovely cupid pinks to deep cherry reds at that question. Riddle almost choked on his tea, Azul nervously adjusted his glasses, Kalim started fanning his cheeks with his hand…

It seemed like your question caused a massive Pavlovian response of sorts.

A grin spread on Leona’s face, amused. “Bold,” he said, rolling each syllable on the tongue. “Very bold.”

The head of the Kingscholar family took the word first—an event rarer than snow in August. 

“I’d say the banter, the playful tug-of-war over who should hold the reins. It’s the tension hidden between words full of bite, skin bristling with desire and muscles aching for the other to make the first move. The eyes that burn with fierce defiance yet flaming passion. There’s nothing better than that feeling.”

Many started squirming in their seats—women feeling that tingle in their stomachs due to the very detailed answer, and men equally flustered by the boldness of such a public reply.

Even Ruggie and Jack stared at their boss with mouths agape and eyes wide.

“Wow…just, wow…” muttered Ruggie, astonished.

Silence stretched awkwardly, paused only by a few coughs amidst the quietness.

“Well, would you look at that…” spoke Ruggie, breaking the silence, “It took just one sentence and we recreated the same embarrassment of a nun at a nudist convention.”

The parlor erupted with giggles and laughter—a thing, you noticed, Ruggie was unmatched in causing.    

“My answer’s probably touch or a look. Words have double meanings, ulterior context hidden in between syllables…hence they can deceive. Some poet said eyes are the window of the soul, those can’t lie, much like the body can’t in specific situations. I know it’s a bit cynical of a thought but, hey, in a world where everything and everyone can stab a knife to your back it is always better knowing what message the body is sending.” he paused briefly, baby blues dulling with a hint of sadness. “It’s always better knowing if the other person is sure…if they are okay with just the scraps, that is.”

Your heart ached at his words. Did he really just compare himself to scraps? 

The attention shifted to Jack, eyes lost somewhere in reminiscence. As he realized more than an entire crowd of people was staring at him, waiting for an answer, he did his best morphing his expression into a poker face—an unconvincing one thanks to his deep blush.

“You can say it just takes…one look,” he muttered.

The second question came to him with ease.

“I wish I could say I can protect her, to make her at ease, but I know that’s just wishful thinking, an empty promise,” he said with a serious tone. “What I truly wish her to know is that I will be there for her whenever I’m needed; in spirit, in body or in memory it doesn’t matter, my presence would always linger, for my soul and heart is bound with hers.”

Many female interviewers sighed dreamily. Oh, how much they would’ve paid to be his wife for just a day…

With the corner of your eye you saw the most unstable of the Leech twins gagging and making quiet retching sounds, his other twin threatening to slap him with a firm hand raised.  

“That’s like…sickly sweet, man. Like, you’ve been run over by a truckload of sugar.” commented Ruggie, “But, yeah, the feeling’s kinda the same…maybe less cheesy-put-it.”

Leona shrugged, neither disagreeing nor agreeing, not giving an answer either.

“Though, the favourite thing about ‘em? — chimed in the blond again — There’s no wrong answer, to be fair. If you like the person you like all of ‘em. But if I gotta pick…maybe the indomitable personality? Not to shame those who like the damsel in distress, that needs to flutter her lashes to have a man to her feet, degustibus*, right? I mean, there’s something undeniably attractive to a woman that can be both classy and capable of throwing a punch square across the face and make a few teeth fly, ya’ get it?”    

Jack nodded along, probably because his own partner was the one that fitted the definition to a T.

“I’d rather throw in the mix determination,” said Leona. “A woman with a stubborn head and a burning desire to see a cause through to the end is admirable, truly.”

It seemed like the men from the Kingscholar family had a type in common.

The third question was met with silence. The three of them either pondering a correct way to phrase or just didn’t feel like opening their closets to show you their skeletons.

“If you don’t mind, I would like to answer that one.”

Boss had their hand raised, like a scholar, and a placid look on their pale visage. Their black eyes creaked open ever so slightly, studying you from beneath dark lashes.

“I would like to tell you, Miss Brighton, that you are much more interesting than what you paint yourself as. Never I ever had so much entertainment in my parlor in so long. Had to admit the officer cuffed to the boiler’s pipes is such a funny scene to behold.”

Behind their seat Ruth and Ruby did their very best to keep themselves straight with stifling laughter.

A shiver ran up your spine.

How much did they witness?

How much did they hear?

“I have eyes everywhere Miss Brighton, but you knew so already. What I wish to tell you is valid for everyone in this room: you are my guests, you’re here because I permit your presence in my very own home.”. The whole room suddenly seemed colder than before as Boss gifted the audience an eloquent, as it was chilling, smile.

“Trespassers are not welcome. Intruding in my own territory has a price. Threatening my guests even more. But no worries, I’ll make sure the incident won’t repeat itself.”

Pocket Glossary: [ Degustibus = To each their taste ]

Language detected: Latin

✠ If you have arrived at this point consider supporting me with a kofi. Leave a like, comment and reblog. Thank you so much for the support

The only real relief I've felt for the last several days.

Since the messages got worse anyway.

I flip through my note book, double checking my notes again as well as more local news clippings. Nothing new. Still the same "pranks". A few people from the families had been hospitalized. Some worse than others. But at the moment it didn't seem like permanent removal was the goal.

Moving on to my questions, double checking and triple checking to make certain they seem decent, yet thought provoking enough to ask. My eyes burn from a lack of good sleep and I close them for a moment or two to ease the sting.

"Interesting place for a nap."

Opening my eyes I see Miss Kitty, flanked by Garm and Widow. I try to give the usual warm smile, but it must be strained enough for them to notice.

"Although it's looking like you could use one," she continues, her voice a bit softer, tinged with concern as she takes a seat across from me, the other two moving to stand behind either of us as a buffer to the rest of the guests.

A sigh is all I can manage since denial feels like it'd take way too much energy, especially when the evidence against me is so blatantly obvious.

"Is um .... is everything ok? Talk to me, fam." Her hand rests on mine I had sitting on the table, giving a reassuring squeeze. I feel that relief again, though briefly.

I glance back at my note book and her eyes follow, "ah." She's been mostly keeping up, asking me about the growing situation as I moniter it. Maybe so I can have someone to talk to. Maybe to see if her and her boys can find some way to take advantage of the situation. I'd like to think it's the former.

"Yeah. Same chaos. Same calling card. Same targets." I flip through a few pages before pinching the bridge of my nose.

A door opens a ways away, one I'd been waiting for. I grab three small envelopes, signal her to wait a moment, and walk over to the man that just exited. He's not one of the attendants, so much as he's one on the ones responsible for setting up the palor.

Her brow quirks in confusion as she watches me hand him the envelopes, speak with him briefly, to which he nods and we part ways, the gentleman heading into the parlor.

A quiet sigh leaves me as I retake my seat, eyes closed. Well, at least thats done. I feel fur brush my hand and I open my eyes to see her swatting her tail at me, giving me a pointed look, urging me to explain.

"Oh. About that, it's nothing serious. Just wanting to clear the air on something."

Her eyes narrow as she looks from me, then down to my questions. Realization dawns on her and she groans, "girly pop, please don't tell me you still feel bad about the way the questions went last week. Look, I'm sure it wasn't perceived in any way, shape, or form."

"Maybe to you."

She studies me for a moment before asking, "asking a repeat question happens. Misphrasing a question is no big deal either. The first is forgotten quickly, the second you can correct the next time, which you can today."

My eyes meet her's, as if to say 'theres the third issue too. The more pressing one. The full reason I'm feeling uneasy. That one, damn, question.'

"And as has been established, uncomfotable questions will always end up popping up from time to time. Anyone in their position is used to it. I don't know why your beating yourself up for-" "because I'm being congradulated for it and heckled if I don't accept the praise." "I'm sorry, the fuck?"

A beat or two, deep breath in, deep breath out. "The troll. They're still popping up. It's got to be one person responding. It's just, to particular to be otherwise. They ..... sent me a long message congratulating me on 'striking a nerve' and 'making Taipan squirm'... You know me. I avoid certain things. Poking and prodding, sure. But theres a limit. And crossing it feels bad enough, let alone the rookie mistakes to go with it. But then being praised for doing it? ..... No thanks."

"Jeeze ...," her hand gives another gentle squeeze.

"Sadly, it seems the troll doesn't like me rejecting their praise. I'm getting spam messages, emails, requests for pms. All spewing mockery and hate. Normally it wouldn't bother me, this job requires a thick skin after all... If the messages weren't getting downright vile. And ..... unnerving. It's got me .... paranoid. I guess."

My last few words getting quieter as talking seems to have taken some of my energy. Things are silent for a moment, besides the sounds of other guests milling about and chatting.

Then, "hey. You're not in this alone. We got you."

Looking between her and the other two, I can tell she means it, and that they agree with her.

"And I get it. Why you wanna appologize, kinda. Your a very considerate person. I'm happy this job hasn't taken your empathy from you. And, though I think it's not a big deal, I won't judge. I hope it eases your mind and makes your intentions clear. I do gotta say though, anyone thinking you're trying to start stuff or be crude is either blind, deaf, or dumb."

That gets a chuckle from me, and a genuine smile for the first time this evening. "Thank you. Really."

"Hey, you know me. Can't be lettin anyone mess with anyone I care about."

The parlor doors open a few moments later, drawing everyone's attention.

We file in, same seating as before. Scanning the interviewees area I notice three specific chairs with the small envelopes, one each, on them. One stressor off my chest.

Checking out the other seats, I start to notice a few others with small letters too. If I had to guess, fan mail of sorts.

It takes a few moments more than usual for them to join us. Miss Kitty offers to let me rest my head on her shoulder, that she'll wake me when they show up. I entertain the idea briefly for a moment before turning it down. I'd rather try to keep up a professional air if I can and being out cold when the they arrive, doesn't strike me as that.

When they start to fill in, I glance over my questions once more, my nerves easing further as things seem to be, thankfully, going as I'd hoped.

If at any point during the seating, the letters are read, I pretend not to notice, glancing back through more clippings, wanting to seem like everything is as usual, casual and at ease. Although, possibly glancing up and making eye contact may occur, to which Ive reminded myself to nod politely before going back to note checking.

The letters in question, reading as follows:

I've written this to try and set something right, however minor or majorly I've erred. To put it more bluntly, I would like to apologize.

It doesn't take a skilled journalist to notice when something that's been asked has a negative reaction. I try to pride myself on not dredging into topic that the person I'm questioning would not feel to comfortable answering just to get a story.

Ironic given the settings of these interviews and whatever occupations of the interviewees may be. Infact a small amount of discomfort is almost expected, depending on the topic.

But the other week ... that wasn't what I'd been expecting. And it didn't sit right with me.

So as odd as it seems, as ironic as this is, the empathetic side of me wanted to at least apologize for the taboo subject of one of my questions last week. Any unfavorable reactions was never my intent.

I apologize. Truly. I don't ask for anything by saying this besides the hope that the question didn't leave a bitter taste in your mouth or tarnish my reputation towards you in these interviews. Given everything thats been publisized lately, the last thing I wanted to add was more stress of any sort.

Hoping you have a lovely day,

Lady Looking Glass

Questioning begins, nothing amiss, no ensuing drama, besides whatever fuss is caused by the questions that is. Until once more, my turn.

I'm not sure how, but I manage a bit of an energy boost to hopefully help things flow like normal, "good afternoon, gentlemen, Boss. I wanted to start by saying thank you once again for another invite to such an informative occasion."

"It should come as no surprise at this point that my questions will be for The King, Nightshade, and Taipan. What can I say, the readers adore you."

A soft chuckle from a few around me as I continue, "My first question is a repeat from my last visit, the reason being that I'd not been very clear that it'd been meant for all three of you, not just Taipan. And so, to The King and Nightshade, have you ever considered role play? If so, what would be, or is, your go-to scenario? It can be lewd or wholesome."

A bit of murmuring, a few giggles. Seems the other didn't mind it being asked again.

"For my next question, this will be for all three of you. We all tend to dream big or fantastical as a kid. When you were a kid, was there something you wanted to do later in life either as a job or a hobby? No answer is too crazy."

A few more murmurs, a bit more of a buzz going around before it settles and I continue, "my last question is once again, for all three of you, gentlemen. We can gain inspiration or be influenced by any number of things in the media. Was there ever a moment that something in some form of media, be it a book, a movie, a play, or any other form, left a lasting impression on you or affected your way of thinking? If so what was it, and how and why did it do so?"

A few ohs and whispered guessing follows. Heres hoping the answers would be as interwsting as the subjects answering them.

Vil closed his letter with grace. “Apology accepted, though not needed.” he said with that elegant smile of his. “Being touchy on some sort of topics is only natural, for someone who’s not used to the spotlight. The moment we sit here, in this parlor, it’s like a game of tell-not- show. Your questions don’t do any harm to us and neither our answers do to you. It’s all fun and games in the end…well, for me at least.” 

Both Jamil and Leona burned the man with a glare but didn’t add anything to the fire already sparked.

Leona took the word first, grinning playfully. “You’re safe this time, erycine,” he commented with a head tilt towards Jamil. “I did consider it a couple of times, but it needs the right people to be enjoyable. Simple hookups won’t do, and first-timers might be too rigid or scared to go all the way in. Paying a call girl for certain activities isn’t ideal either—they bill you quite salty these days.” 

The small joke he made raised a few chuckles from the male audience.

“I’d say my go-to would probably be the secretary/boss scenario. It’s classic, doesn’t involve weird age gaps that could get one potentially arrested, and the power dynamic can swing both ways if one would want to spice things up a bit.” 

“It was to be expected that an egomaniacal caveman like you would prefer settings from an R-rated B-movie,” commented Vil, face scrunching in displeasure.

“You lack originality and real class. My answer includes two types of roleplay, both can be either carnal or not. The mysterious elegant masquerade, anonymity allows to become entirely different people, flirting and seducing as if meeting for the first time; and the Dance Instructor, providing close guidance on rhythm, positioning, and the importance of feeling the music.”   

Leona scoffed at the blond’s answers, letting a whispered ‘pathetic’ to slip past his lips, unheard by most.

The second question made them ponder on it longer than usual.

This time Vil answered first. “I could say the dream little me had, has already become reality. Like my father I yearned to be in the spotlight, be on covers and products that sell for entire salaries. Like all dreams it required sacrifice and time and effort. I’d say I accomplished that.”

“Little girly pop always dreamed of being a plastic barbie doll: fake. Just like the beauty standards it engraved and demolished so many little girls.” spat Leona with a grin shifting more toward cruelty than jest.

“And what was yours, mangy stray? Being the absolute king of brainless monkeys that play in the mud all day?”

“Being the head of the family was not a dream, it was a certainty. I knew I would be sitting on that chair one way…or the other.” replied Leona, leaving purposely an ominous pause in between his words. “What I dreamed of as a child was to be a bursar. Silly, I know. But you can’t grow a plant if the soil is devastated by pests and drought. You need to work on the soil first if you want to harvest something edible.”

Lilac and emerald clashed, burning the other with glares and studied glances. This evening more than others they seemed to be at loggerheads, for some reason.

Jamil was the one to speak last. His eyes had that tinge of sadness, like he was remembering something he couldn’t grasp anymore.

“I wanted to be an artist. You know, painting, sculptures…giving life to something with my own hands. But those kinds of things are expensive and time-consuming. Not worth it in the long run.” he answered, his voice so quiet and laced with something grievous, that your heart squeezed for a moment.

“Last one I’d like not answering it, if you don’t mind.” he said again, referring to your last question. “It’s not a touchy subject, it’s just…very personal. But if you want something still, yes, it did shape the way I think and it’s pretty recent too.”

A warm half-smile lifted the side of his lips, a gesture that made a few women in the public swoon as it was so natural yet rare for the young man.

“The Usual Suspects.” said both Leona and Vil in perfect sync—thing they seemed disgusted about once they realized it.

“I love that movie. Truly a directorial masterpiece,” spoke Boss, chiming in uninvited in the conversation. “A mastermind criminal that not only masterfully deceives and terminates the people who wronged him, but also manipulates an entire police station with improvisation and details that are almost minuscule at first glance. A superb master of deception.”

The silence provoked by Boss’ unprompted response left the audience in a stunned silence, enough for them to speak again.

“The veiled concept of "appearances can be deceiving," translated into the classic moral that the worst criminal can hide in whoever you least expect, even a slightly silly-looking cripple.” Boss giggled mirthfully. “Oh, my apologies. I didn’t mean to steal your spotlight, gentlemen.”

“No need,” replied Leona. “You perfectly conveyed what, I believe, we were both thinking.”

“Indeed.” added Vil, eyeing the black clothed person with furrowed brows.

You suspected they were, much like you and all the crowd of journalists, a bit creeped out by Boss and their sudden vocalization of their favourite movie.

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Are you curios to know who are the mysterious figures capable of capturing the hearts of our indomitable mafia men? Well, here's the stories of how they met...

𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚗 𝙶𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚑𝚎𝚛 / 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚊

ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪꜰɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰɪʟᴇꜱ

The Calendula & The Dragon

𝙾𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝙵𝚕𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚖 / 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛

ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪꜰɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰɪʟᴇꜱ [To be Found]

𝚁𝚞𝚋𝚢 𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗 / 𝚁𝚎𝚍 𝙰𝚍𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚕

ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪꜰɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰɪʟᴇꜱ [To be found]

𝙲𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚂𝚎𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚛 / 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚡

ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪꜰɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰɪʟᴇꜱ [To be Found]

𝙷𝚎𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙻𝚒𝚗𝚐 / 𝙴𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚒𝚐𝚎𝚛

ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪꜰɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰɪʟᴇꜱ [To be Found]

𝙿𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚜𝚘𝚗 / 𝙶𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜

ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪꜰɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰɪʟᴇꜱ [To be Found]

𝚁𝚎𝚗è𝚎 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 / 𝚅𝚒𝚡𝚎𝚗

ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪꜰɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰɪʟᴇꜱ [To be Found]

𝚀𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚗 𝚂𝚑𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚍 / 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙽𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎

ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪꜰɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰɪʟᴇꜱ [To be Found]

𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚊 𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 / 𝙿𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚜 𝚁𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚎

ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪꜰɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰɪʟᴇꜱ [To be Found]

𝙰𝚒𝚛𝚊 𝙷𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗 / 𝙼𝚛𝚜.𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚗

ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪꜰɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰɪʟᴇꜱ [To be Found]

𝚁𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚢𝚐𝚑 𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚗 / 𝙳𝚘𝚎

ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪꜰɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰɪʟᴇꜱ [To be Found]

𝚂𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚊 𝙼𝚊𝚡𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 / 𝙻𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝙰𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚎

ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪꜰɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰɪʟᴇꜱ [To be Found]

𝙼𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚔𝚊 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚑 / 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎

ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪꜰɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰɪʟᴇꜱ [To be Found]

𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚘𝚗 / 𝙱𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚞𝚙é𝚎

ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪꜰɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰɪʟᴇꜱ [To be Found]

Synopsis: Ever wondered how Malleus got so fond of Reagan much to call her his “Precious Calendula”? The story you're about to read takes the couple back two months after their fatidical encounter.

“She still hasn’t said a thing?” asked Malleus to the young nurse. He removed the glasses sitting atop his nose, exposing deep and concerning eyebags, “Not even a peep, I’m afraid. — he said, eyes fixed on his falling apart shoes — I honestly don’t blame her, poor thing, she must’ve been scared to death.”

Jasper green eyes met the mafia boss, too young perhaps to have such heavy duty on his shoulders, the nurse thought; greyish brows curved down slightly as he gave the young man a few recommendations. “I understand that you want to find out what happened and fix everything the way you guys do it, but don’t stress her for now. These kinds of things require time to heal.”

“I know so very well. — Malleus replied — I’ve been there after all…”

The young head of the Draconia family bid his goodbye to the nurse as he remained unmovable a few feet away from the infirmary door; a door that separated him from the young girl he found naked, trembling and scared in a container that was supposed to have weapons in it. He knew somehow that this wasn’t Leona’s doing—too much of a crude prank, so beneath him and the beliefs he had. 

But what made his blood boil was that Leona knew something, it was clear from the way he studied each bruise on that poor girl’s body like he was cataloging them, but treated the matter like no one else but him had anything to do with it.

Malleus still remembered that night like it happened yesterday, his blood boiling the same way as it did that night when the young Kingscholar dismissed him with so much as a poorly repressed insult to his ability to manage covert operations.

***

“Do I really not have a say in this?” Malleus spelled calmly yet his eyes burned vivid with anger, “After all, the one who stole the contents of tonight’s negotiation must’ve surely known they were meant for me. This means they were not only after you, Kingscholar, but after me also.”

“Your reasoning is flawless. — Leona admitted without even looking at him — However, you forget that the cargo belonged to me in the first place, that fact that they were part of a negotiation between me and you is irrelevant. It is me and my family that the bastard dared to steal from, so no, you have no say about this.”

“Perhaps the concept of alliance escapes you, Leona, but as far as I’m concerned, this story involves both of us. So I reserve the right to weigh in on the matter.” replied Malleus, tone shifting to a more dangerous note. 

“I know very well what alliance means, Malleus, and I regret to inform you that between our families there’s none. No weapons were delivered and no negotiations nor contracts were made, hence there’s no alliance and no right from you to butt in my affairs like you’re entitled to them.” was Leona’s response, his tone also gradually lowering to a more annoyed and irate one. 

Malleus opened his mouth to reply only for the other boss to cut him off, the words he spoke sent shivers down his spine.

“While I’m at it, I’m also taking the girl in my custody.”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me. She saw the one who did all of this and any kind of information on this case is priceless, so I’m taking her.”

Malleus glanced at the girl in question. She was utterly terrified, trembling on bruised legs and eyeing all the men present like they could jump her at any opportunity. She wrapped her thin frame with the oversized coat Lilia always wore and that The General lent her to cover her bareness with; a few of the female rookies circled her like a human shield, their eyes murderous at Leona’s words. 

Honestly speaking, if they were to initiate a bloodshed Malleus would’ve let them; Leona’s household was certainly not one to treat women like doormats, on the contrary, they elevated them to the level of a lieutenant by meritocracy. However, Malleus had no intention of leaving that defenseless girl in the beast’s lair; only God knew what they would do to her if she decided not to speak.

“If the matter is settled then—”

Malleus stood right in front of Leona, eyes closed in two slits and the irises a seething shade of peridot that spelled fury; the pale lips closed in a tight line, spine and shoulders squared like he was ready to take any blow thrown at him.

“You are taking her nowhere,” he spelled, his velvety tone hiding the wrath of a predator defending its cubs. “This poor child is scared. Her body bruised and her psych traumatized. The last thing she’d want is to be thrown in the den of the beasts with absolutely no certainty of seeing the sun of another day.”

Leona stepped forward, almost an inch from Malleus’ face.

“You know damn well I’m no barbarian. Women are not treated as objects in my household, not in the past nor ever.”

“Yet you’re spiteful enough to make a child enroll in your ranks once they’ve become too close acquainted with the darkest side of our work lines.”

Malleus’ words hit the nail straight on the head. He knew many of the household had not much of a choice—it was a simple yet cruel choice: either you enlist, or you die, or you go back to living a life of poverty and hardship until you kick the bucket like a stray mutt. 

Leona’s lip twitched. Perhaps he was biting back the urge to smirk. 

“Take a good look at the kid and tell me she wouldn’t be able to hold a gun or a knife under the right motivations.”

Malleus’ face contorted in an expression of pure boiling rage, the words he hissed coming straight from his heart.

“You disgust me.”

“The feeling’s mutual, lizard.”

***

Truth be told It was a real miracle that the situation ended there, instead of degenerating into a gang war.

Malleus stopped reminiscing about that faithful night, which now happened two months ago. His heart cried in anguish upon learning what had become of that poor girl’s, Reagan, family. The poor thing must’ve been blaming herself for everything that went down. 

He knew the feeling far too well.

He knocked softly a couple of times, even though he knew he would not receive an answer, opened the door and peeked his head in the small infirmary room.

Sure, as the sun follows the storm, there she was, sitting straight in her bed, hands on her lap; she was intently watching what remained of the garden of the Draconia family’s villa—once verdant, now a den of weeds and nature left in its wild state.

Her eyes were what hit him first. A shade of blue so pure it reminded him of a cloudless summer sky, still so bright despite all that happened to her.

“Good morning. Sorry to bother you while you gaze at my garden, but may I sit next to you?” he asked, still politely on the threshold. 

Reagan remained quiet for some time, studying him, like Malleus grew used to during these months, before she nodded for him to come inside.

“Your wounds seemed to be healing well. I’m glad,” he said after what felt like hours as the silence stretched between them. Reagan nodded again in recognition. 

“Perhaps, now that you have more strength, you would like to go for a stroll, stretch your legs. That should be good for also improving your appetite. Maybe I should ask the cook to add some supplements or vitamins to your meals—”

“Are you a mafia boss or a charity case?”

The small, quiet voice took Malleus by surprise. Reagan was looking at him with this expression of confusion and suspicion—deep in those eyes Malleus also saw the small spark of expectation, like she wanted to believe he was a good person but still lacked the proof.

“I’m just someone who understands how painful it is to lose everyone you care about.” he replied softly. 

“How can you? You have power and money and influence. You have people that obey your every command and share your ideals. You have a home and people who have your back.”

“Because I’ve built it for myself after everything I knew before got blown away like a house of cards.” Malleus answered, letting himself open his heart to share the pain with someone who also lost everything. “My mother and father fought tooth and nail, until their very last breath, only for me to survive, a child who could barely stand on his own legs and couldn’t stop crying for every little thing that scared him. I was thrown headfirst into a world I didn’t understand or learned how to navigate in, while sorrow and guilt ate me alive for decades. All that you see now is because I was stubborn enough to keep living even after I lost everything.”

He still dreamed of that night—no, those were not dreams but nightmares; he still woke up in the middle of the night, sweat beading his skin and his breath short, staring frantically into the darkness as if the shadows of the past could still grab him and mark his skin with indelible signs. Even as an adult, even when his family’s enemies were long slain, Malleus still couldn’t get rid of those shackles but only live alongside them.

Reagan was now looking at him with recognition, like she found someone whose pain matched hers.

“The two things can’t be compared…” she muttered.

“Pain is not meant for competing with one another. — he said matter-of-factly but never losing the softness of his tone — Pain is meant for us to come together, share the journey of healing and growth. It’s meant to remember that we are still alive and that we have no choice but to keep living. Keep walking forward and build ourselves stronger than before.”

“I believe…you have a future as a philosopher,” Reagan said, a small smile blooming on her lips after so long of having faced sadness, regret and guilt. That smile tugged at the chords of Malleus’ soul for some odd reason he couldn’t explain to himself.

“I’ve been told.” replied Malleus, the same smile on his pale lips.

“I don’t suppose you got to work on the back garden yet. Busy rebuilding other things I presume.”

“Well, I don’t have much of a green thumb like my father used to have, and I haven’t given it the proper attention in a long time.” Malleus glanced at her, those baby blues looking at him like she wanted desperately to say something. “But if you’re willing to give a hand I certainly won’t refuse some help.”

Reagan seemed to beam. “I…I can…? Really?”

Malleus nodded slowly. His heart squeezing in relief in seeing her coming out of her shell, standing back up proudly like a flower his dad used to tell him about.

“Could I plant some flowers too?”

“Why, of course. Do you have some preferences?”

“I’d like some Calendulas, please.”

***

“Well, that is certainly something one don’t get to see often,” commented Lilia, observing a peculiar scene from the inside of the Draconia’s villa. He watched with keen eyes as his young master tended to the long forgotten garden along with their young guest. 

“It’s certainly heartening to see her walking without a wheelchair,” agreed Silver. “She was making so little progress I was afraid the damage was much more worrying.”.

“Perennial flowers are much more stubborn and resilient than what you think. I’m sure that girl is no exception.” said Lilia, holding back an amused giggle as he saw the girl in question playfully smear some soil on Malleus’ nose—a gesture the latter reciprocated.

“I’m surprised Leona didn’t insist on taking her with him. He seemed to know more than what he openly told us.” murmured Silver.

“He probably figured out who the culprit was by himself and decided the girl was much more trouble than what she was worth.”

“Or he thought she had no real use for his household, besides information…”

“...or serve as bait.” concluded Lilia coldly. Silver pursed his lips—Leona was capable of such thing if he could apprehend the perpetrator efficiently.

“There’s still no info on her other relatives?” the young man with silverish hair asked.

“Her family roots originated from the old country, in Ireland, but unfortunately I still wasn’t able to find any living ones or non-geriatric to take care of her properly.” answered Lilia matter-of-factly. “Don’t make that face, she can see us,” the General reminded his subordinate, who wore an expression of bitter guilt. “I’m not happy keeping her here either; it’s not her world, she’d only suffer the more she’ll be exposed to it. However, there’s no other place willing to take her in, not to mention that, that criminal might still be looking for her. Having her under our protection is the best thing.”

“I’m not so sure about that…” 

“We are not robbing her of her life. — so declared Lilia from the height of his venerable age — We are preserving what’s left of it, so she can stand back on her own feet. Plus, Malleus seems very fond of her for some reason, and she too appears to be more comfortable around him.”

Silver remained quiet, starting to follow his mentor who was heading to the garden. “Sebek might not take this too well…” he muttered, already hearing the fellow rookie’s screams echoing inside his brain.

“We’ll introduce them gradually.”

“I can already hear him scream, appalled and offended if Malleus-sama might get too attached to that girl.”

“They say if they’re flowers they will bloom.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“I am an adult, Father.”

“Then you’ll figure it out when it’s time.”

“Getting a non-cryptic answer out of you is still an odyssey-worthy endeavour as always I see…”

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*Photo not included for privacy reasons*

𝙽𝚊𝚖𝚎: Reagan Gallagher [ name means "little king" and last name means "foreign warrior" in Irish ]

𝙰𝚐𝚎: 19 (nineteen) years old

𝙱𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚍𝚊𝚢: 19th February

𝚂𝚒𝚐𝚗: Pisces

𝙷𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝: 1.67 cm (EU). 5'5 feet (USA).

𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎: AB+

𝙷𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚛: Dark blond/Chestnut brown

𝙴𝚢𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚛: Sky blue

𝙾𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚜: Irish

𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘 -

Second daughter of Fiona and Liam Gallagher, Reagan is quite the smart and lively young lady. Her parents were specifically a housewife, dedicated to raise and care for their three children, and security guard, both immigrated from Ireland after getting married.

Reagan attended Santa Severa Girls' High School (located in the suburbs bordering the (Redacted) family's territory) with her older sister Maeve. According to a modeling agency, the latter had received a connection to work on the (Redacted) family's new cosmetics line before the tragedy described in the newspapers occurred.

Police reports states that during the night of (Redacted) at presumambly 10.15 someone breaked in the Gallagher household. No money nor other valuable objects result stolen. The corpses of mother, father and eldest daughter have been discovered in the late afternoon by a neighbor. The state of the bodies is gruesome yet calculated, police believes the crime was premeditated. The motivations remain unclear. Both mother and eldest daughter have signs of (Redacted). Currently both Reagan and the youngest child, Corwin Gallagher, age 8, are still reported missing.

On a professional point of view, I don't bear much hope for the little ones to have survived. From an expert's pshycological perspective the killer appears to be a sadistic and well-prepared hunter. His every move is precisley calculated and, given the lack of evidence found in the house, extremely scrupolous too. It is unlikely of him to have let the two children get away out of pity or negligence. The reasons why he breaked in the Gallaghers family home and assulted the residents remain undiscovered for the moment. Police is still investigating and looking for the culprit.

excertp of an article for The Tact curated by (Redacted)

xx/xx/xxxx Entry n.215

Reagan is making cosiderable progress in her recovery. Her appettite is still unbalanced and we still can't find the correct middle point between too little and too much, but the sole fact that she's willing to eat brings me so much ease. Her ambulatory abilities are invariably; she doesn't require a weelchair to move around anymore, however the doctor said it might take her longer to be able to walk normally again. It worries me but I'm confident she can pull it through.

Recently she's been visting the garden more often and she insist I go with her; both her and Lilia say that some fresh air would do me some good as I'm always cooped in my office, as they claim. I have to say I don't mind taking a stroll in the sunlight for a bit, the plants Reagan planted are growing nicely and my chest fills with pride seeing her work with so much passion and carefree merriness.

During the night however... Reagan still has nightmares about that night and despite our best efforts she's still utterly terrified of sleeping by herself and unable to properly identify her agressor. I wish to find the man that did this to her and her family just so I can make sure he won't ever do that again, but this individual is elusive and awfully good in covering his traces. I truly don't want to ask either Leona nor Vil for assistance, not after how I've been told they treated her and her case, but doing this on my own is proving to be much more difficoult than anticipated. Lilia suggested I contact Boss; on their side, apparently, there is someone who is capable of helping Reagan. Seeking that shark's help is truly the last hope I have, one that I don't want to accept, but if it might aid Reagan heal faster and make sure this man pays what he owes for the lives he destroyed I'll gladly sell what's left of my soul to that devil.

I've made up my mind: I want to protect Reagan with every mean I possess. I won't lose someone I care for again. I'll send Boss a letter and hope the price they ask won't be greater than what I can afford. Then again, I'm ready for everything, even taking someone else's life.

page taken from Malleus Draconia personal journal

“Thank you Boss for taking care of my employer while I was stuck in the hospital. There is no way i could ever properly thank you, however if you need anything from me, do not hesitate to contact my Employer and i’d be more then happy to help you.” The poison says. “and tell the person who took my employer to rest thank you as well. One of the gift bags is for you and the other to the one that helped my employer.”

Hopes of dreamers nodded her head. “Yes, once again thank you for letting me rest here when I collapsed from exhaustion and from my injuries.” She says as she placed a few pieces of papers in front of everyone.

“Let’s get back on topic. These papers contain information about 3 out of 7 safe houses that the Grayhound gang owns. Inside one of the safe houses, I manage to find information, very detailed information about all of you’s daily routines. Every single person’s routines were down exactly to what time you guys usually sleep and down to what you all preferred to eat.” Hopes of Dreamers explained while crossing her arms.

“So the gang is targeting you all, for the exact reason is currently unclear but the best guess I got is that they want you gone. I have already destroyed all the information in that safe house; however I do not know if they made backups of the papers I took.” She told them as the Poison nodded.

“We couldn’t risk going to another safe house so soon after attacking and destroying one of said the safe houses. And we had to take care of a few stragglers that had attempted to attack The King’s darling. Your lover is safe however they had nearly given me a black eye out of fright.” The Poison said as Hopes of Dreamers snickered.

“It was kinda funny.” Hopes of Dreamers said as The poison flips Hopes of Dreamers the bird. Hopes of Dreamers snorted and said “Love you too.” The poison looked exasperated before shaking her head.

“Either way, they are safe and a little shaken. They are currently at one of my boss’s safe house until we made contact with you all. The King, we will be sending you the location of that safe house.” She told them as Hopes of Dreamers then turned serious while handing the location of the safe house that the king’s lover was in. 

“Once more Kinighó is getting aggressive and 3 more attacks happened within three days of each other since his group failed to attack the king’s lover. I haven’t gotten in contact with Kinighó again just yet mainly because of how badly injured The Poison and I had gotten last time we encountered him. I would also like to know your opinion on what you plan to do with this information Big Boss.” Hopes of Dreamers explained as she uncrossed her arms.

“Once more, I do apologize for not informing you all sooner but we needed to do something immediately or you all could have gotten hurt. That’s all we have for now and if anything else happens or if you have more questions for us, please do let us know. for now we will take our leave.” Hopes of Dreamers said as she bows to the big boss with The poison bowing as well. The two then leaves in a trail of smoke. 

The ticking of a clock echoed eerily inside Boss’ office, marking the seconds of that staring contest between Leona and Boss—emerald green fixed into searching the pupil into the black chasms that were the other person’s eyes.

Leona glanced around the room. Heishen stood behind him, blocking the doorway—he knew she wasn’t as frail as she looked, and if he’d thought of raising his hand against her paying employer she would not have had any qualms about breaking a bone or two. Behind their seat Ruth and Ruby observed him with the same eyes of a couple of barracudas on the hunt—even though they were not physically a match, they were so devoted to Boss that they would gladly blow their brains out with a bullet, taking the offender to hell with their bare hands if necessary.

Leona knew that was a fight he couldn’t possibly win.

“You promised,” he hissed through his fangs. “You promised that if I hadn’t pried into your personal affairs you would have kept her away from that psychopath!” he roared, knuckles curled into a fist landing on the desk and rattling the objects placed on it. None of the three girls, nor Boss, flinched.

“First,” said Boss, never raising their voice, “I never promised anything, least of all to you, Leona. Second, while I want to take credit, I regret admitting that I didn’t plan for the unexpected arrival of the woman our informant called ‘your darling’. Either our informant is very bold or you’re just that oblivious with your feelings for your beloved policewoman. Anyway, I’ve tried to keep her busy with pointless investigations, but it seems the cadet isn’t particularly inclined to step aside. Not even when the order comes from a superior. I bet she’s trying to knock down the walls of that safe house right now with kicks and empty threats of prosecution.” 

Boss giggled mirthfully, before addressing the man in front of them who could kill with just one look.

“You found yourself a pretty spicy one, huh?” they commented, showing a row of pearly whites as they grinned akin to the Cheshire Cat.

“I don’t know how you plan to handle this, honestly I couldn’t care less, but I recommend having a long chat with your doe. Next time, she might not be so lucky.”

“And what do you expect me to do? Kidnap her, tie her up on a chair in my basement and stage her death so that she can be safe and away from harm’s way?” 

“I told you: I couldn’t care less. Since she’s the object of your affections you decide how much to tell her and how to keep her from dying a horrible death at the hands of your enemies. I know Draco won’t stoop so low as to take it on an innocent…do you think Nightshade will be as magnianimus?”

Leona clenched his jaw. Oh, how he wanted to wrap his hands around that pale, frail neck and wrangle it like a chicken’s. Boss had their hands in so many different circles around the city, who knows how many subordinates lurking in the shadows. If he’d even lifted a finger, the Kingscholar family would have collapsed like a house of cards in less than a single night.

Taking that risk was not an option.

“I won’t hold you back any longer with my chatter. You’re a pretty busy bee, and I too have a few things to take care of, so…” and just like that Boss dismissed him from their office, waving their fingers and accompanying the gesture with one of their irritating smirks.

Leona could only shut up and take their words, having another issue to take on that would require all his patience. He stomped out of the room, after Heishen "kindly" opened the doors for him.

Silence reigned inside Boss’ office.

“Ruby, my dear, would you be so kind and do me a favour?”

“Your wish is my command Boss.”

“Gather all the info you can find on Raleygh Hartmann and bring them to my desk.”

Boss’ dark eyes shifted toward the second twin. 

“Ruth, my sweet, would you bring me my phone? I need to make a call.”

“To whom, if I’m not being indiscreet, Boss?” asked Ruth, ready to fetch the object she was tasked with retrieving.

The person in question curled their lips in a smile as enigmatic as it was unstably dangerous. 

“An old friend of mine.”

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Amari sits annoyed beside Rosabella. "Bitch, Your all obssessed over him! And You even kicked your own feet of excitement and love because he would love to take you out the date. And you know what you looked alike? This french-blonde boy right there" point at Rook.

"Wow. Great ruining my moment with him" says Rosabella angry.

Irene her girlfriend trying to calm her down, "Baby, pls calm down"

"well, well. Irene is Amaris girlfriend, huh? You have looks but not my type" says Rosabella.

"Watch. It" Amaris glares.

"Wow, calm down girl, I'm surprised anyone would date you especially Pinky pie from My little pony" says Rosabella.

Irene, not she should be offended or surprised.

"Now, lets get to business here, now to Nightshade I have a gift for You" says Rosabella takes out the white rose bouquet and give him a peacock broach with diamonds with yellow, purple, blue, Orange diamonds in it. "I hope you like it"

"And my question is, do you have experience of falling in love?" Says Rosabella.

"Bitch, when did you get that money to Buy that broach!? It cost 100 millon dollars!?" Says Amaris.

"I have my ways" says Rosabella.

Amaris still dumbfounded... "Ok... Ok... Well...uh... Sleeping Beauty, does that name of Aurora from the Sleeping Beauty of Disney?"

Vil didn’t waste a second, admiring the craftsmanship and quality of the broach before appointing it to his breast pocket, just under the flower he wore that night.

“A peacock. A graceful animal, full of beauty, symbolizing immortality, awakening, and inner wisdom. An animal symbolizing pride and vanity. — those lilac eyes shot towards you in all their magnificent beauty — Hmm, yes, I must say it fits me.”

Rook didn’t even register the insult thrown at him. His face had this dreamy-looking daze, an expression made worrysome by the purple-greenish bruise at the corner of his left eye. Vil glanced at him and his expression turned sour for a moment. “Of all the people in this world, of a barbaric foreigner…” he muttered before returning his attention back to you.

“Peculiar question you just posed. Aside for the love I already harbor for myself and my physical and mental state, I must admit I might be a little ignorant on the subject. Don’t get me wrong: I perfectly understand the process, in theory, of what happens when someone falls in love, I just haven’t experienced it first-hand…yet.”

And Vil gave you this charming smile akin to the cat having caught the mouse in its claws.

Silver blinked a few times, confused at the words that had just left your mouth.

“Auro…who? Deez-neigh? I’m… not sure who this person is…my apologies.”

Next to him Lilia did his very best to maintain himself from chuckling—resulting in him looking like he was choking on his own saliva.

“My nickname was given to me by a few rookies when I was still in training and would fall asleep after sparring…”

“Even before sparring.” specified Sebek, leaning into his side to whisper it to the silver head only for the whole audience to hear him.

“I genuinely don’t know why they called me that, but the name stuck to me since those days to the point where I don’t mind it much anymore whether it’s a compliment or an insult.” he said calmly and spelling each word like a schoolboy on his first recital.

He paused for a moment, amethyst eyes seemingly lost somewhere, reminiscing something that spread a soft, heart-stopping smile on his candid lips. Silver’s pale cheeks tinted a soft pastel pink. The audience’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

“Though, I must admit…I really, really like it when Ollie says it. It sounds dreamy and fairy-tale like…”

Silver sighed before realizing he spoke of something he shouldn’t have, and recomposed himself as quickly as he could. 

The image of his adorable enamored face was now branded into the minds of the entire crowd.

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On the one hand my site was gaining more views and readers by the day, with very minimal complaint. Seems Miss Kitty had been right. There would still be people loving the interviews and those that didn't were drowned out. Decided to either leave, or to just deal with it. It brought an assurance that I hadn't felt in some time.

On the other hand, the pushback I did get was, although minimal, bordering on down right unsettling. A few readers seemed to be making it their daily mission to voice their complaints in a large variety of ways, be it words or GIFs or anything in between.

From the way that a handful were acting and writing so similarly I was starting to have my suspicions it was the same person with multiple accounts. My first troll viewer. My mentor would be so proud. "All views are good views if you can swing it right. Long as it doesn't get you killed you can call it a win," he'd sometimes say with chuckle. Years of working for the media giants of the world tended to make one form a darker sense of humor, I guess.

Just last night I'd been getting everything ready for today, re-checking notes, looking over news articles, brainstorming on the questions I'd wanted to ask and if what I'd decided was how I really wanted to go about it this time.

The clipping and pages had started to show some kind of pattern. A rather mischievous one. Over the last few weeks, during this break in interviews, it seems someone has been making waves. Little "pranks" or "jokes" being pulled on each of the seven families.

They'd started small. Flat tires, windows shattered to businesses they either owned or protected, graffiti, stink bombs, and a myriad of other such things. But it seemed to happen right before the victim family was going to make a move. Heading somewhere on a time sensitive issue, bringing another business into their ring, inspections to make sure they were up to code. Nuisances at most as these things could be side stepped or paid off. So no big issue.

At first.

But they kept happening.

And only got worse.

Flat tires became blow outs leading to car accidents with the most recent causing a near pile up. One such accident, the young Al Asim had nearly been caught in had it not been for a certain Viper being behind the wheel at the time.

Graffiti and broken windows had become straight sabotage and planting as one inspection of a specific make-up and skin care factory had nearly been shut down. The once pristine and famed line just managed to pull through after a few dead rats were found in some of the machines with a few more being found scurrying about. The Queen of the brand had managed to reason with the inspector that, given a lack of nests, the rodents had clearly been planted and pursuaded for another inspection a few days from then after a thorough cleaning and tightening of security. The next inspection went off without a hitch avoiding a PR nightmare.

Yet somehow rumors had gotten out. Nothing too damaging but still. It should be noted the cameras cut out between a certain time the day before the first inspection, showing static. No doubt The Hunter had been rather put off at reporting this to The Queen.

Stink bombs became actual small scale explosives and structural damage. The other day, several small businesses under the Kingscholar family's watch had walls blown out, support beams broken, calling into question the family's ability to secure their territory and keep it safe as promised.

One building run by The King himself had a wall destroyed during an underground fight ring, er, absolutely legal sparring and training session, as The King would later clarify, resulting in more than a few severe injuries. Two of the injured being a certain Hyena and Wolf though they suffered scratches and shallow cuts at most.

At each scene, a sort of calling card had been left. The first car that had had the blow out had a small spot on the back seat carved into a symbol. As had the static on the cameras. As well as a graffiti tag on the part of wall that survived the blast.

The symbol had been in the shape of a harlequin jester. The face split down the middle. One side comedy, the other tragedy.

Many more incidents for the other families with the same calling card where popping up.

The part that had made a chill run up my spine was that the families and authorities weren't reporting this.

It was all spreading over the internet. With pictures to back it up. If they were taken down, they popped up elsewhere. Someone wanted to make sure the world knew about their "playful antics".

A cleared throat brought me out of my dissociation.

I glanced up from where I sat at the refreshment table. Miss Kitty was standing over me, her face a mix of caution and concern, "you ok?"

After a moment to ponder if I was honestly alright, I smiled warmly at her worry for me, "I'm fine. Just, feeling a bit off. Can't shake the feeling somethings not right."

It was at that point I noticed her spider, Widow, standing just a ways behind her. Glancing over my shoulder I noticed her wolf, Garm, a short distance away. Their loyalty to keeping her, and by extension me, safe put me further at ease.

But still that tingle along my spine remained.

"Hey. Talk to me chick. If somethin or someone is botherin ya, ya only gotta say the word and we'll take care of it. Promise," her expression softened a bit, her words, though dark in implication, meant to make me feel secure. Behind her, Widow smiled as if to confirm he'd gladly follow that order. Without turning, I knew Garm was following suit.

Thinking it over, I decided to confide. Telling her about the incident the night before with the aforementioned troll.

"They wanted me to go for something that would either annoy all of them or embarrass Taipan because they 'liked watching him squirm'", I huff, agitation showing.

She cringes, "yeesh. I like my share of sadism, but this creep is just relentless. What's it been, every week now, they makes similar requests?"

Pinching the bridge of my nose I exhale the answer, "every week since I started showing up here. They're consistency is more than a bit unnerving."

Humming to herself, she tilts her chair back dangerously without a care as she pops a treat from the table into her mouth. Her voice is muffled as she speaks behind her hand, mouth still a bit full. Some manners I guess. "To swap topic for your sanity, did you hear about 'the present'?"

Quirking a brow at her I answer evenly, "uh, hello? Who hasn't? It's only the biggest topic on everyone's mind right now."

A cheshire cat grin slide across her lips and I already know there's bs afoot, "way I heard it, Boss has put out a hit out for any info on the person that done it. Big money too."

"Can't say I'm surprised. Was more than a little slight. Honestly, I doubt it'll be very long before they're made into an example. They're "jest" will be their undoing," I glance out a window.

Ah yes, and the biggest "prank" of all lately. On Boss's birthday no less. THIS incident hasn't been removed or covered up. With reports even stating, Boss commenting "how quaint. Seems this jester knows their classics. Quite the gift. I'll have to show my gratitude. In kind~."

The collective shudder those words had sent through the internet, a stark reminder of the type of person it took to keep the families in line.

The "gift" in question?

A horse head delivered to Boss's front door. With a note saying "so very sorry you couldn't wake up to the surprise. Your thugs proved too tricky to get past to make sure it made it to your bed. Ah, well. Enjoy. Happy Birthday, bOsS." With a metal pin in the shape of their calling card in a small bag tucked into the large box with the rest.

Miss Kitty giggled, "gotta love a classic. At least this weirdo has taste in old movies."

I roll my eyes, "If thats what you wanna call it."

The doors to the parlor open and its time to take our seats. Between the four of us it's the same arrangement as last time.

It's a beat or two longer than usual, waiting for the interviewees to join us. The reason as to why becomes blaringly obvious as each family files in. The heads of each family look vaguely annoyed or put off but upon taking their seats, adorn stoic expressions. Their family members looking a bit worse for wear in some cases. A few with cuts, scrapes, or a bruise here and there. Some looking uneasy, one or two seeming on edge if not the tiniest bit jumpy. Something a certain eel takes full advantage of, no doubt to try and alleviate the bad mood he seems to be in.

And then theres Boss, who strolls out looking absolutely unbothered. Dare I say even chipper.

Well thats unnerving given the prior conversation.

None of this goes unnoticed, yet no one daring to speak on it and despite the entrance, things go about as usual. Each interviewee answering with the same charm and charisma they have thus far until once again its my turn.

"Good day, gentlmen, and to you Boss," same professional smile as always, paying respect where its due. "I do hope you all had a lovely break and time to relax or celebrate as you saw fit. We all missed you and are happy to see you return in full form."

I select my words carefully to do the usual tactic: compliment, banter, build rapport, and above all, avoid negative topics unless they can be spun to a positive. Their bad side is the last thing last thing I want to get on. Nevermind the fact, the empath in me feels they deserve a break from the drama.

"I thought we could change up the questions this go round, just a tiny bit I swear," I give a charming smile as I chuckle to show its nothing of consequence. Curious murmurs from a few of the other interviewers. Not a unique take but one that has seemed to be interesting every time its happened.

"As to the ones receiving the questions, it should go as no surprise they're for The King, Taipan, and Nightshade. As always my readers just adore you and are always eager to hear more." A few giggles here and there, no doubt people of the same mind set.

"My first question, do you currently, or have ever had, a particular sport or form of excersize you fancy? Anything from dancing to Magishift to marathons or whatever else you can think of."

A slight buzz from the surrounding interviewers and scratching of pens. I'm a little proud of thinking outside the box .... but a tad bit disappointed no one else had really thought to ask.

And now for one that should prove very insightful, "for my second question. Fatherhood: do you see yourself in that position at any point in the future? If so how many little ones can you see yourself having?"

THAT causes an even bigger buzz. Giggling from blushing fans of theirs, to murmurs of speculation.

"For my final question," I shoot Taipan and apologetic look before continuing, "readers are so very curious to know, have you ever considered role play? If so what would be, or has been, your go-to scenario? Mind you, the role play can be either lewd or tame."

This causes an even bigger stir among the crowd. More murmers and chuckles, very eager for that answer it seems.

Boss returned the greeting with a graceful and overjoyed wave of their fingers, happy to see you once more in the crowd, before returning their attention to the paper they were scribbling on with a fancy-looking fountain pen.

Jamil squinted his eyes at you—your statement didn’t bring good news in his book. 

Vil seemed to be searching someone in the sea of reporters with burning lilac eyes, seemingly incapable of locating them.

Leona had a brooding expression, much like the start of the interview, like he wasn’t too keen on being there but had no means to leave.

The three of them made this skeptical expression, in different flavours corresponding their personalities, at your first question.

“Not really,” answered firstly Jamil, “I don’t fancy sports that much, though I do keep myself healthy with some standard exercises.”. He answered quickly, like he wanted to mark that question off from the list you had prepared as fast as he could. 

Vil gave it some thought for a brief moment. “Have I answered this already?” he mused out loud, “I practice yoga. It’s good both for the body and the mind. Though, recently, I don’t disdain practicing some healthy and relaxing thai-chi.” 

A few ladies around the room noted down that small piece of advice to keep themselves fit, others wondered what kind of gym Nightshade could frequent—as if they ever had a chance to be in a session with him personally.

You hummed quietly. The answer was simple yet well-constructed, kind of granted for a person like Vil.

Your eyes wandered towards Leona, who didn’t even quip at his rival choice in feminine exercises. He blinked his emerald eyes slowly, not akin a cat showing silent affection, but akin a person on the verge of exploding in pure rage trying to maintain the calm. Those same eyes shifted towards his right—to Boss, who was still scribbling, unbothered.

He seemed greatly irritated.

Emerald orbs locked in on you in a matter of milliseconds, like a whip coming back flashing after a blow. 

“Kickboxing,” he answered, spelling the syllables like a threat. “I should probably start practicing again. I’ve grown rusty.” he added while making the knuckles of his hand crack with little to none pressure. It sounded like a promise and an ominous one to boot.

At the second question all three of them answered with a unanimous—and in perfect, non-staged, sync—“Absolutely no.” 

The murmurs ceased for a short instant before resuming with much more loudness than before.

“Let me be more clear: I don’t foresee myself that far in the future nor I see myself fit for that role,” spoke Leona. Vil begrudgingly agreed with him. 

“Bringing a child into this world is a great responsibility, other than a gift, and not all parents deserve that gift. A child requires much more than just love, it needs stability and care…things that I cannot say I can give. For the moment, at least.” added Leona, before patting Jack’s shoulder like saying ‘you’re gonna do great’.

“I truly despise just how much we see eye to eye on these kinds of topics…” muttered Vil. “But yes, I agree. A child needs a loving and present parent…and I don’t think I could value that more than my work.”

Jamil seemed to want to add something, parting his lips to give his own opinion, only to shut them and shake his head, quietly agreeing with his colleagues choice of words. 

It seemed like that question had struck a nerve it should’ve not been poked.

The third question seemed to shook the poor young man, his shoulders squaring like a spooked rabbit. To his left Kalim was already covering his ears.

“I…I-I don’t…” he stammered, face a lovely cherry red.

His eyes darted around the room like he was searching for a quick escape route, finding none however. 

“I’d rather…not answer this one. Too private.” he said, firmly imposing a boundary on how much the audience could know his sexual life. 

Seemed fair to you—less for your readers, but they could cry a river. Though, you believed you heard Kalim mutter something about massage oil.   

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It had been some time since the women had been back in Boss's Parlour, and they were eager to see the Mafia once more ...well eager to chat more like it. One's motive was closer to nesting dolls, multi-layered. The other was so simple that many thought her reasoning deeper than it truly was.

"No." Daphne sighs, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears, a pair of rose gold earrings with a crystal necklace at her neck shimmer in the afternoon snow fall through the glass windows in the sitting area of the foyer. "It's not in the coat closet, nor is it with the staff. It's the blue pashmina one, right, with the designs? From Italy?"

"Lost and found doesn't have it either ...and yeah." Amaris sighs bothered by her favorite scarf going missing. "I had it at Boss's birthday bash, I threw it over this chair." The reporter muttering, retraced her steps, ankle boots muted by the rug as her fingers touched the chair back, brows knitted. "I must've been anxious about everything to leave it here. I thought for sure it would be here."

"You're doing better now, less stressed about your mon rêve*. You're practically glowing these days. You look healthy with the new schedule and sleep being a thing. What did you find that worked?" Dove teased and the reporter looked away fluffing a pillow. Seeing she wouldn't get her mentor to spill, Daphne shifted her angle. "Wasn't it your mother's? The scarf?"

"Yes. She got it on a trip with my father. They visited several countries for work over the years. Italy was one of them." Amaris follows behind Daphne, fixing the mess she made.

"Kinda romantic all things considered, I mean you work for a family and you get to travel? Sounds like-ow!" Daphne yelps as she clutches her hand muttering in Russian. A couch cushion thumping as it falls.

"You okay?" The reporter moves closer, shielding the younger from the emptying room that had begun filing into the parlour's heart as she takes her hand, examining the wound.

A small pin prick, beading with blood on the woman's skin mocks them both, nothing to be concerned about. Daphne snorts. "It's nothing. Sorry I scared you."

"It's fine, you're safe and that's all that matters." Amaris pulls a tissue from nearby and covers the pink woman's finger. "Keep pressure on it. There must've been a pin in the cushion." She clicks her tongue turning away to grab the offending object of fluff.

"Maris..." The weak chilled tone had her rounding to catch her intern, calling for security, anyone who was left out in the foyer. She'd call Daphne's doctor once the pink-clad woman was stable and checked by the infirmary here. This wasn't the moment to sit on one's hands and let fate decide by waiting for medics in an ambulance. She knew enough to at least help, and no doubt the nurse in the infirmary would know more. She never thought she'd be thanking Boss for having such a place on site.

A letter, a notebook page (folded to be a letter) is handed to Hitman during the interviews by a staff member. It read in fluent cursive, despite several points of the pen failing the writer in splotchy faded sections she had gone back over with patience. Someone was used to bad pens. Though the scribble in the upper corner of a heart was telling.

Good afternoon gentlemen. Happy belated Christmas and New Year. I do hope your day is far better than mine...

I can explain my absence, my intern is in need of a nap in the infirmary—hence the letter and not me in my seat—so I regret to say I must babysit her, feel free to come by. I need some entertainment after our months apart. Don't worry, she's fine, just tired. There seems to be a guest with drugs on them to cause "sudden collapse" when injected. Matches a certain flower's M.O.. I'm sure Boss will be keen to tend to such a spectacle, probably already aware.

My questions this week are as follows for just you two gentlemen, The King and Hitman. If Jack is back he's welcome to answer as well, my best wishes to his return. He's been missed by many, if my DMs on my blog have anything to say about it. His fans are feral.

But I digress, the questions:

My first deals with memories. With a new year we often are called to reflect and remember, so what moment in the past year made you feel most alive? Countering, what moment stopped your heart? Take this as you wish, good or bad situations are up to your discretion to share.

Second, do you get jealous? How do you—or would you— deal with jealousy regarding a partner? The "blog gremlins", not to be confused with my well-behaved viewers, are curious and wanting to know with all the opinions swimming around these days. Color me curious to put a lid on rumors and assumptions.

Third, what does loyalty mean to you? In regard to friends, family, your job, and a lover. Does trust fall into the same vein? Or is that something different?

And lastly, it seems I've exhausted myself on questions for his highness The King. Pity he's so popular these days. I may have to leave him for the other interviewers, lest we strip him to the bone.

Hitman has my undivided attention this week and I regret not being in the room to ask this. I received many answers from reading everything Boss so generously dropped, but one question came to mind. Favorite genera of music to listen to? What? Were you expecting something else Bucchi? Favorite fabric softener maybe? Or something more tantelizing to your ears? Got ya.

At the bottom was three letters, clean and very elegant in signature script.

'Maris

P.s. Remember how I asked you boys to look at the cameras last year? When I was caged in a pillowed cell far from where I wanted to be? Yeah, let's not repeat those weeks of eye strain gentlemen.

I look forward to hearing and seeing you both on my screen. But believe me, no one is more upset than I that, I'm once again, barred from attending my favorite interview. Fais en sorte que ça compte, d'accord?*

Language detected: French

Fais en sorte que ça compte, d'accord ?- Make it count, okay?

Mon rêve- my dream, something or someone that is too good for reality.

[Good to be back Boss! Have fun!😈💕😈]

The three men huddled closer to read what was written on the paper, Jack’s eyes squinting to focus better the letters.

“Heard that bud? Your fans are feral lil’ gremlins.” commented Ruggie with a sly smile. Before Jack had the chance to shoot a reply Kalim backed with his chair, arm outstretched towards the ceiling and yelled: “Hey, Jack! Congrats! Patty told me everything and said she’s so hyped to organize the baby shower!” 

“Kalim, for fuck’s sake! Inside voice!” whisper-yelled to him Jamil, face cadmium as if he felt the second-hand embarrassment himself. 

Jack simply stood there, cheeks red and mouth agape in pure astonishment, while Ruggie struggled to hold back a laugh at that comedy sketched-timed scene. Leona stayed quiet, staring at the paper he was holding between two fingers seemingly deep in his thoughts. His expression could be interpreted as he’d shut off all the other noises around him, his mind processing something the audience would never know.

“Let the Prodigal Son answer first, after all he owes it to us for his absence in favor of a honeymoon, ain’t that right everybody?” spoke Ruggie, throwing the hot potato at his junior. “I was not on a honeymoon!” replied Jack not adding ulterior context to his leave. 

The man with moon dusted hair sighed and quieted for a couple of minutes, reflecting on which answer giving. 

“My past is highly bland, hence I’d say the most overjoyous and heart-stopping at the same time moment I ever had is…well…when—” 

“...when you found out you were gonna be Big Papa Wolf?” said Ruggie finishing the sentence instead of Jack. The latter started assuming the same color as a traffic light but didn’t deny the words of his superior. “Yes.” he uttered, the sound being drowned by a few congratulatory applauses that only managed to make him way redder. 

“Please, never phrase it like that ever again.” muttered Jack only for Ruggie to claim that was his new nickname.

Speaking of the blond…

Ruggie had this slightly offended face when he didn’t see you in the crowd, puffing his cheeks with an unreleased huff. He teased and joked around like his usual self not to show how let down he was feeling of being incapable of seeing his favourite person—though there was this odd feeling that he was purposely avoiding a certain question.

Ruggie repeated the question a few times, rolling it off his tongue as if he had no answer to give—as if he was trying to stall for time. He froze mid-sentence, baby blue eyes flickering around as if to avoid the audience’s stare. His happy-go-lucky persona slipped off, leaving behind a frigid and cold expression of someone that isn’t proud of what he did but doesn’t regret either. 

Leona jabbed Ruggie with his elbow, his expression neutral but his chin held up high like he was reminding the blond to get back it together.

It was a fleeting moment, silent but one that said more than the crowd could decipher; swept away in an instant only to return once again to the normality they had always displayed.

“I would like to skip this one, is rather personal and…a few police officers might ferret in their archives if I say somethin’, so…I appeal to the Fifth, Your Honor.” Ruggie answered, raising a soft fit of giggles from the crowd of journalists.

“As for my musical tastes, uhm… — he added while his cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink — I really like rock ballads…?”

“That is a question.” pointed out Jack.

“Oh, hush you! Mr. I-freaking-love-Selena-Gomez.”

“Way to throw me under the bus, thank you!”

Leona quieted the bickering down with just one movement of his hand, officially taking the word.

“I’d like to say that the moment I felt most alive was when I finally got the spot I deserved as head of the Kingscholar family…but I would be lying. That was actually the most disappointing moment in my life. Take it as you will.” he spoke with so much calm and indolence that for one moment one could almost feel guilty for him. “So, I suppose, the day I met such a recalcitrant little thing like my Doe takes the cake. Never met someone so small yet so adorably fierce.” he added with a smirk that spelled womanizer a mile away.

“That being said: I’m not really jealous of whom she decides to take into her bed—”

“Yeah, suuure…so said the territorial guy that threatened to annihilate the chief of the police department because the latter can’t keep his hands for himself with a cute lady.” said Ruggie, looking elsewhere under penalty of being reduced to ashes by Leona’s fiery gaze.

“We want to act all cool, ain’t we? And remind me, who was that guy who was ready to cut off the bone a certain officer’s hands less than a couple of months ago?” said Leona with the most unnerving smile; the face Ruggie whipped out caused general laughter in the whole room as if it were a sitcom.

“I’d rather not add anything to the pile. It’s already a circus show.” replied Jack, hand over his eyes in pure shame.

“Okay, okay. Enough with the jokes now,” said Leona, bringing the room’s mood back to a more neutral one. “Loyalty is such a subjective concept, the more common being having such high regard for a person that one would rather give their life to serve said person, or follow their ideals. Terrorism is a fitting example of this ideology. Sometimes loyalty is bred out not having a better option for survival. Other times loyalty is gratitude for being pulled away from an awful, bottom-of-the-barrel situation.” Leona paused briefly, sipping his water calmly, “Many declare my kind of loyalty is inherited, I say is deserved. The loyalty I harbored is the result of trials which I passed with flying colors. Being at the top means you have to be the best at whatever you do, being dazzling like no other, that encourages others to follow you to be just as bright. That for me is loyalty. Trust comes after and, much like loyalty, you have to deserve it.”

The infirmary walls were the same as one could grow accustomed to—aseptic, pure white and impregnated with that smell of latex mixed with anesthetic. But although the atmosphere seemed depressing, the young nurse who operated there made the whole thing much more bearable. 

“Gesù, Giuseppe e Maria!* Where did I put those nausea pills? They were right here in the cabinet just a few seconds ago!” wailed the nurse with her, probably dyed, pink braid. Her white and red midwife dress floated like a puffy jellyfish as she practically bounced around the room in search of those nausea pills.

Daphne seemed bewitched by her, maybe for the peculiar color of her hair, and you too struggled to tear your eyes off her. Mayhaps it was the way she swiftly yet sweetly took care of Daphne, tending to her like a nurturing mother would have, or maybe because you were trying to figure out how such a woman was part of Boss’ entourage.

Either they have a frightening keen eye for people or simply human cases just flock to their door.

Another colorful curse left those lips of hers and both you and Daphne watched her literally sprinting to the other side of the room.  

“Oh, Maria Serafina! How much of an airhead can you possibly be?” she said to herself, not really minding there were people in her infirmary. A soft knock stopped her from possibly having a meltdown.

A couple of young ladies stood by the entrance in their contrasting blue and red coats with matching scarves. Two polar opposites that somehow seemed meant to stand side by side. The one wearing red had long honey blond hair and huge baby blues that reminded you of the summer skies, her cheeks and nose were dusted pink due to the cold; the one wearing blue had shiny raven hair, curly at the tips, and grey eyes, resembling cute pebbles at the bottom of a river, underneath the coat—although she tried her best to hide it—she had a very telling belly bump.

“Ehya, Mary!” said the blond girl, her glove free hand shaking a pill packaging, “You left these in my car this morning.”

“That’s where they ended up!”

Daphne giggled and you too stared at that little picture through the divisory tent. The woman in blue met your eyes briefly and gave you this knowing smile, caressing her belly.

After the nausea pills odyssey ended the pair made their exit without acknowledging the both of you and while the nurse handed packs of iron, magnesium and who knows what other remedy against anemia, you got wind of a little exchange between the red-blue duo.

“That little gremlin’ ‘s gonna have your pretty genes Aira, just you see! Oh, I’m gift ‘em so many fucking onesies!” 

“Patricia! Language!”

“Oh, you can forgive the cool auntie one lil’ curse. And you swear worse than me, FIY.”

“I do not!”

Pocket Glossary: [ Gesù, Giuseppe e Maria = Jesus, Joseph and Mary ] Language detected: Italian

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I recently bought this pretty white dress. You tie the strings onto your shoulders so it looked like bows. It stopped a few inches above the knee with ruffles at the hem. It had some pink, floral designs. Some matching accessories with ribbons on the hair and pearls on the ears and neck, and a faux fur shawl to keep warm from the exposed neckline.

Was the outfit too much?

I feel some heat across my cheeks while thinking about my decision, but I wanted to dress to impress!

It was almost Valentine's Day. A time of celebrating love and affection, which makes me think of a certain event filled with love and happiness.

When my turn comes, I gracefully stand up and look into his blue eyes. I feel the pounding on my chest as I try to remain calm.

"Do you believe in marriage? Do you see yourself getting married one day?"

- Miss Pretty in Pink 🩷

Upon hearing your voice, after such long time, Azul seemed to perk up; his eyes came alive like a pup when hearing the word walk from its owner.

The mischievous grins on the twins’ faces made him recompose himself. He straightened his tie and adjusted his glasses like he was a professor giving a lecture, his handsome and affable smile spreading on his lips so naturally.

“Why, it is a pleasure seeing you again,” he greeted you so sweetly, almost making you melt. “I have to say your absence was very noticeable. I was afraid you got tired of seeing me.”

You almost shouted that would’ve never been the case—not until you were still alive and kicking—but you suppressed the squeak before it could come out. This was still a public parlor after all.

Your question made Azul blink more than once, astonished and surprised. 

He cleared his throat after the initial shocker before answering.

“Marriage, huh?” he said, rolling the word off his tongue like he never heard it before. “Marriage is…a fairytale-like thing. People describes it as this wonderful thing, full of happiness, an experience that is a must for every man and woman to have…though, sometimes it is anything but. I can’t really say I believe in it, I’m a man of facts and substance over, well, empty promises and vows…” he paused for a moment, the audience at the edge of their seats to know the answer.

“...mayhaps, if I ever find that one person in a million, I wouldn’t mind being this selfish for once.”

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