Yes, I Gave Over.

"You must travel dark hallways to get there. And it is a place of sin. The Red Door stands as the gateway to abandon. And you'll do anything if they let you in." ~ Sable

{| @lalienna-dementriento @f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat |}

Meanwhile, within the private confines of his office, Santino leaned into his window frame watching a flock of doves in the garden below as they bathed happily in the stone fountain, chirping to themselves in the afternoon sunlight. He was immensely glad to be home at last. He enjoyed international travel even if the different time zones tired him. Regardless, he found nervous reserves of excitable energy the moment the plane landed, to go out, breathe foreign air. Explore. He'd been to every corner of the globe he could attend, maxing out his passport twice before he was even twenty-eight. No sooner did he land in one city than he wanted to strip it of its beauty and riches and take flight to another. The food, the music, the women, history, art, architecture. They all enthralled him, captivated and enlightened him. His favourite was always travelling across Asia. Singapore, Thailand, Malaysia, China, Japan. So much history, it made him dizzy. The temples fascinated him. The monks and their chanting, their combat. The way they could meditate for hours on end, removing their souls from the living world yet remaining present, focused. Incredible.

Yet, no matter where in the world he went, there was never any place like Rome. His homeland. His birth nation. Here is where he belonged. Where he felt freer and safer than any destination ever before. He would jet set off for months on end, restless, hungry for more... but Rome called him back. A lover to her breasts. He sank into her tender embrace. Here... in his estate, surrounded by his loved ones. This was where he needed to be. He loved London too, the empire humbled him, its vastness outstripping anything Italy was capable of producing in terms of sheer geometric land mass. The people were so unified, so patriotic and good-natured. A little rigid perhaps. Still very Victorian in their behaviours. The class divisions were clear amongst the people. The rich were rich, the poor were poor. A steady stream of middle-class citizens kept the nation rolling on the backs of hypocrisy and terminal bloodshed.

When he attended the Continental, he had no intention of staying any longer than it took to present his face to Athena with his High Guard. A token offering of respect. There were issues with minor gang members and lower Camorra mafia teams that ran a money-laundering racketeering ring along the red light district. Athena had written to him personally, inviting his attention. Inviting... Huh! He scoffed at that. She diplomatically demanded the Prince of Rome present himself in her nation to remind his men of the stringent rules of arranged compliance for their trade in her city... or they would meet with significant family losses. He was at a loss. Gianna gave the list of names a cursory glance and decided immediately that the work was beneath her. Her brother would dispatch on her behalf. She didn't waste her time with two-bit pistol-toting wannabe thugs. That was his job. And he resented her for it.

"Jon Marco è un tuo problema, Gianna, perché devo sempre fare il tuo lavoro sporco?" (Jon Marco is your problem, Gianna, why do I always have to do your dirty work?)

He'd argued with her.

"Perché mi devi, fratellino. Ti ho salvato la vita, mantieni l'ordine lungo la ragnatela. E smettila di darmi problemi. Ne ho abbastanza del tuo piagnisteo. Lavora, per una volta! Fuori dalla vagina di una donna." (Because you owe me, little brother. I saved your life, you keep order along the spiderweb. And stop giving me a hard time about it. I've had enough of your whining. Work, for once! Outside of a woman's vagina.)

Oh Gianna! She infuriated him beyond belief sometimes. That look of tense fury in her eyes, the way she looked down upon him, almost in faux pity. He'd warned her before that wouldn't think twice about slapping that narcissistic look off her face. He hated her puffed up, over-importance. Ever since their mother had left she had assumed the role of lady of the house. And Lorenzo had tolerated it. Allowing the bitch to push her weight around as though she owned the place. God! He argued with their father bitterly, swearing to the Gods that he would not spend another night under the same roof as her. And he didn't have to. For the moment he turned eighteen his father had bestowed this estate upon him with a look of relief.

What was that for? Was he so impossible to live with? It wasn't his fault, it was theirs! Gianna's mainly. He got on well with father. But that bitch sister of his... God!

Well, no matter. He shook the memory away and freed his phone from his trouser pocket, thumbing the screen absently and opening his banking app. He sought to review his statements for the last two months. What he was doing was stalling. He hadn't wanted to front to conversation with Judeth Clayton. That White Woman was... unnatural. Detached. Disassociated from the world around her. She lacked warmth, humility, presence. She was beautiful, yes, some eight or nine years his senior, but already the cracks in her beauty began to show. Those eyes... They haunted him. He found himself remembering them at the oddest occasions and with the memory came a crawling discomfort in his chest. The English were too militant. Too rigid. There was something never quite right about them. Some sort of dark discipline that permeated their presence and stripped the air of its joy. He didn't want to face the call. The berating he knew he was in for. The whole affair in the Continental with Sable and Hector and Lalienna had unhinged a portion f his sanity, leaving him feeling disconnected and powerless. He couldn't accept it. At least here, in Rome he was lord of his own means once more. He needn't fear the oppression of another ruler. He could manage his father. He could manage Gianna. Everything seemed a hundred times more manageable now.

Sort of.

He was unaccustomed to being made to wait or having his summons ignored. It offended him that Lalienna did not present herself at his table for breakfast. She'd not attended lunch either. Nor had Ares. He would make allowances and swallow his displeasure for now. The girl meant no offense and he sympathised with her plight at being transplanted so wilfully across whole countries to please him. She would need time to adjust. Gather herself. They both needed time to heal. To his heart, healing began in the intimate embrace of her body. He'd enjoyed her vigour, her rejuvenating sensuality and nearly unquenchable thirst for heated, passionate love making. He never rejected her advances, relishing in her need to explore his physical terrain, testing the skin to see what would give way beneath her fingers. He rarely rejected her advances, even if he was tired or distracted or otherwise mentally engaged. She seemed to always find a way of dominating his will, to bring him back to her body. He bled himself to love her. But the trip to Austria had been a veiled blessing. In a way, he needed the solitude and distance to ground himself. He'd felt it coming on multiple occasions that in each session of passionate embraces, he was losing something of himself in light of relinquishing it to her needs. She was draining him of his spirit. Through his cock, it seemed.

Until her affair left him cold. Then it had all changed. He was no longer warm and yielding. Rather, he'd pushed her way entirely. Abandoning her to her private demons.

What a nightmare. He didn't think he'd ever be able to look upon London the same way again. That city had brought with it demons and nightmares he was not prepared to endure. And prayed he'd never have to again.

Something wasn't right. Among his men. Among Christov and Hector and Ares. They...they were distracted. Preoccupied at the table. They looked to each other and the rest as if they were in the midst of uncovering something great and he was not part of the unveiling. He couldn't put his finger on it. Perhaps it was just tiredness. Lalienna had not attended his needs for days. Then again, he wasn't the same young man he was at twenty-one. His ravening after sex was better controlled. He relaxed knowing he had a Mistress to attend him when and if he desired it. And she was explosive in his bed. But not recently.

He pushed the thought away and with it, righted himself from the window frame, clearing the room and seating himself heavily into his sofa. He closed his banking app and pulled up his contacts, scrolling until Judeth's surname appeared on screen. He connected the call... and waited.

Within three rings the woman answered in alarmingly clear Italian.

"Buon pomeriggio signor D'Antonio." (Good afternoon Mr. D'Antonio)

"Grazie, signora Clayton. Confido che il giorno ti abbia trattato gentilmente?" (Thank you, Lady Clayton. I trust the day has treated you kindly?)

"As well as can be expected. I thank you for your concern." She returned in English. Her Italian was clear and well elocuted, but her English... that accent made him feel things. She was positively delicious to listen to on the phone. He would enjoy this exchange after all. He remembered the power rush he'd gotten off meeting her face to face. The battle of wills between them. The game... It felt good, so long as he was winning. But he couldn't win her. Not for all his charm and swagger, he couldn't win her. So he'd try now. On the phone. The way he did Lalienna whilst he was nations away.  He licked his lower lip, leaning back into the tobacco coloured leather of his sofa and purring, almost sensually into the phone in his richly accented English.

"Lalienna tells me there is conversation pending between us. I called to push it into traction. How can I be of service, Lady Clayton?"

A heartbeat passed between them on the line. He'd chosen his words carefully. She was thinking. Her reaction was like a whip to the shoulder blades.

"You can start by telling me on whose authority you sought to transplant my daughter from English soil to Roman territory, Mr. D'Antonio."

Ouch! The sting. She was so direct. So... aggressive. So completely out of her depth. He liked it. He had her off balance. Which card would he play? How would the tarot fall?

He decided to take her with swords. That seemed the most prudent. The English understood power. Now he would show her his.

"My own authority. " He began, meeting her with a direct thrust. "Your daughter is now my employee, Lady Clayton. The Camorra has absorbed her assets, expenses and losses the moment she pledged her allegiance to my sister, Queen Regent, Gianna. Are you suggesting, we did not make it perfectly clear that she is our property now? She serves a new King , White Woman. Our King. And he is Roman."

God he was sharp. He spat the honorific almost as if it was distasteful. And it was. He had no love for the Tower, Athena or her Iron Fortuna syndicate. Their arrangement was purely statutory as far as he was concerned. A formality. He owed the English crown nothing.

She was silent for moments. Likely bleeding out slowly. But she returned to conversation presently and her tone betrayed no weakness.

"The Camorra has,  in recent memory, been an organization born and bred on the honour of family and its traditions, Sir. As such, I merely enquire as to why you have affronted me with the discourtesy of removing my daughter from the hands of her English Masters without, at bare minimum, a simple phone call to pre-empt me of your intentions to take her with you? Am I to believe I class so lowly; that I was not worthy of your attention? "

Bold move... She retaliated with veiled flattery and the hidden threat of a knife blade. He was stimulated. She was worthy even as she hinted on debasing herself.

"No! Perish the thought!" He assured her. "I admit, I was remiss in not calling to ask for your pardon. Even if I do not feel I had to." There it was, his fire. He threw it in her face and continued. "But I understand family more intimately than you would know, Signora. And I respect that I have caused you anxiety. I assure you, Lalienna is healthy and safe and will come to no harm in Rome under my care. The time has come that we complete her initiation under Lorenzo D'Antonio. Your Queen relinquished her on a political loophole. We merely caught her in the undertow. Her English "masters", as you call them, are as inconsequential to her wellbeing as are her ties to Iron Fortuna. " He meant to tell her that included her. But he held his tongue. He'd said enough. He would not allow this woman to dictate the terms of the agreement to him. What he did with the disowned was his business alone. He'd not justify himself to anyway save his father and sister and even then it was not without heavy resistance.

"I'm afraid her disassociation from my syndicate is not that simple, Mr D'Antonio.  There's still the matter of her hotel membership that needs to be settled."

"I personally take responsibility for her on-going maintenance. I will request Signore Jeremy dispatch her accounts to Signore Julius here in Rome."

"I decline your request, Mr. D'Antonio. Her residency in London's accounts department will stay exactly where they are."

"Scusami?" (Excuse me?) He straightened off the lounge now, raising his brow.

"I said, no, Mr. D'Antonio. I refuse to allow the Camorra Miss DeMentriento's retrenchment of financial maintenance until we formalize a grace period to establish her commission of service to Italy."

"Woah woah woah," He snapped, rising to his feet and pacing toward his fireplace. "There's nothing retrenched about her situation! She had promised herself to my family on her own word-"

"Three months." Judeth insisted, cutting him off cold. "Three months of probationary service and if you find she is unable to meet the needs of the Camorra based on her criteria, then you are to return her to independent service to The Continental London where she is to live and work unmolested and free of your entrapment, do I make myself clear, Mr. D'Antonio?"

The words stung like a slap to the face. He had no intention of enrolling Lalienna's service to his family with any probationary period let alone giving her back to Jermey and Sable if she failed her purpose... alive. He'd sooner break her neck himself than allow her to walk free with any knowledge that could be used against his family. This woman was insane! He told her so.

"Sei fuori di testa, signora!" (You're out of your damn mind, lady!)

"Don't you dare take that tone with me, Prince of Rome." The words like ice as they left her lips. "You don't get to fuck my daughter and then assume you have imperial ownership of her person just because you spilled your seed in her belly."

"Che cosa!?" (What?!) He snapped... completely beside himself. He couldn't believe what she was saying.

"You heard me, you degenerate slave trader. Lalienna's clearly a child. Barely able to wipe her own arse yet. Do you honestly think I'll allow you to chew her up and spit her out like some inconvenient whore? You, are the one who's out of his mind, Santino.  I may not have birthed her, but I spilled blood in her name well before you ever came to the English scene to pluck her from the wild. As far as I'm concerned, she's still an independent contractor on loan from London and will remain so for three months. I will ensure Lorenzo D'Antonio himself is aware of this arrangement and it will remain so, without breech of protocol or God help me I'll fly down there and stick something sharp in you, capisci, pasanio?" (understand, peasant?)

With that, Judeth disconnected the phone and returned it to her coat pocket, flicking up the collar against the Autumn wind. She'd had absolutely all she could stand of that idiot Italian and his self-proposing mind games. He sickened her. She was furious. Completely indignant of entire affair. No sooner did she begin her march across the quadrangle under the escort of her personal guard, than her phone rang again. Irritated she noted the name and answered. It was Sable this time.

"Clayton."

"Good afternoon Mistress Clayton. The Continental extends its compliments and wishes to invite you as its guest to join us for dinner this evening." Still seething from her attack on the Roman Prince, she bristled and responded far too sharply.

"With whom?"

"Me..." Came the reply. Velvet-like. Seductive. "I want you to join my private table for dinner Judeth. I want to talk to you about Lalienna's account."

"It's been paid for, Sable. You know this."

"Judeth... we're not talking about money here. We're talking about contractual obligations. For ten weeks we provided a service to your ward and I second that her bill has been settled. With interest. That's not the point. The point is... Twenty-four hours ago, your ward left English soil under the employ of the Italian mafia who are not known for leaving behind loose ends. I need to know if we're to transfer her paperwork to Rome or not. And considering how delicate this matter is to you, I thought it best you join me for supper first. A little wine perhaps."

When a pause was extended, he lowered his voice and continued. "Dessert."

"Sable...." She breathed the name, a heavy sigh. "Come to dinner, Mistress Clayton. Tonight. Table Twenty-One. Eight o'clock sharp. And wear a dress."

"...Fuck...."

"Dessert. Don't keep me waiting." Mmh. That felt good. He'd enjoyed that call. Sable wore a self satisfied smile as he put down the reception phone. He enjoyed Judeth's company. More than he should, he admitted. But it was good to hear her voice falter under pressure.

"Ladies, take over the desk will you. I'm going out for a little while."

"Ooh Sir!" The twins chimed in, all too happy to relieve the handsome gentlemen of his post.

"While that cat's away..." Sang Chantelle

"The mice....shall.....play...." Chervonne completed. Purring the line with suggestive undertone.

Sable stood proud, adjusting his leather gloves as he fixed the girls with a predatory glare.

"Don't wait up."

He turned on his heel and stalked away.

Tears formed in her jade eyes, lip quivering slightly. She held back a sob, taking a breath.

“You…you never wanted me?” It felt as though her heart was breaking. Literally. The strings of her cardiac muscles were snapping, leaving her in the worst pain she’s ever felt… and she’s felt a lot of shit. She’s been through the worst, through hell. But this…this was worse. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her lungs wouldn’t produce the oxygen needed to stay alive. God, make it stop. Stop it! She couldn’t handle it. She clutched her heart, squeezing the fabric of her shirt in her fists. Her eyes broke. They relayed how she felt. So so so so ruined. So torn. So…worthless. Thrown away.

————

@f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat // here is your angst. Do with it what you will. ;) have fun, my angel of sadness.

Bleed like me.

Keanu Reeves’ filmography: John Wick (2014)

star wars art dump ✨

It hurt to leave her...

Her body in his arms. He cried tears into her hair, needing her touch. Feeling somewhat whole again because she refused to let go of him as much as he refused to let go of her. They were fated together. Bound by destinies than entwined. He couldn't resist her if he tried.

Why did he fight with her so desperately? Why did he separate himself when he needed her like the air he breathed? How long had he slept alone in his bed, his hand feeling for the warmth of her body that wasn't there. Wouldn't come.

And a thousand times he thought to himself; 'I should go see her. I should tell her I'm sorry. For hurting her. For cutting her.'

He thought it yes, but then he thought of the sin. The betrayal. That woman... Devina... He could have done it if he wanted to. Put a contract on her head. A million pounds sterling for the first man in England that executed Devina Dentent. And her fucking husband. She'd committed two fold adultery. Once against her husband. And once against his Mistress. And she was his Mistress still. He toyed with the idea of making her his fiancé. Gianna had told him to, soon after her initiation To make an honest woman of Lalienna. What if he had? What if he's proposed on his knee to her, given her the ring, begged her hand in marriage just a few weeks sooner? Would she still have betrayed him?

He didn't want to know.

He just didn't want to know.

It was best to keep things in the shallow end. Because he'd never quite learned how to swim.

And he saw the smoke when he left that morning before this mess ever came to pass. When he kissed her as he rose from their bed and sighed his love in her ear.

Something deep in him begged him to turn around. Leave the airport. Go back and get her. He was rushing things with the Austrians. This could wait couldn't it? He'd not even taken her home to Rome yet. Why was he so obsessed with securing her international passage across the border lines of different countries?

Because he wanted to establish a safe haven for her. There was no Continental in Vienna. Not yet.  But he wanted her secure in a safe country. Where she could escape the world. Her own villa, her own car. She wanted a dog. He liked dogs, he wanted her to have one. He wanted to personally go to the shelter and pick a tender pup that she could raise and love. Because she was a child still. And children needed puppies. Something to look after and grow with. To learn responsibility and love and loyalty.

Loyalty.

She had it in droves... But she drank... She got bored. An old friend from the Tower. An old lover, in spite of his best intentions, for the sake of playing nice as a guest to Athena's land. He hated those women for what they'd done to her. He hated her father. He hated her mother. He hated everything and everyone around her right now, including his High Guard that protected her like savage, snapping dogs. Because that's what he'd trained them to do. That's what Gianna wanted. That's what Lorenzo demanded.

He hated leaving her.

He promised as Christov picked up his fallen coat and bags, that he would come back. That he'd make this right. Again.

He'd fucked it up gloriously.

He always managed to fuck it up and there she was with her tender eyes and powerful embrace telling him it was alright. Because it was flesh for flesh. Blood for blood. He never did call that contract open on Devina.

He knew deep down he never would because a woman that she bedded obviously meant something, even if it was in one drunken fit of passion.

He couldn't understand it though. He'd never done these sorts of things. Cheating on lovers. It was against his ethics. Even in all his whoring, he didn't cheat of them if he was in a serious relationship. If it wasn't working, he broke it off clean and spent the night in another woman's bed. That's why he stayed single. Unattached. Evading his father's demands he marry and clean up his life and stop acting like a spoilt brat. And fucking woman like a whore. He was a disgrace.

 But Marissa changed him. For the better he thought. He wanted to marry her too. He actually bought Marissa the ring. He gave it to her.. in front of Gianna, in front of Lorenzo. Down on one knee he looked Marissa in the eye and begged her hand in marriage. To prove a point to himself more than anything. That he could do this. He could survive without a hundred flowers so long as he had one that would control him. And he craved that. To be controlled.

It didn't turn out the way he wanted it to.

None of this turned out the way he wanted it.

 So he bowed his head, shook Hector's hand and wiped at his tears, flustered and feeling extremely insignificant. Entirely small. He needed a drink. He needed to lay down a few hours. He needed to be with Lalienna and just hold her to him.

Why did the world make so much sense in the cold light of the day?

Why did it hurt so much when Christov pulled him away?

"Come on, Tino... You need to give the lady some space. You heard her, she's forgiven you. It's over now. You're both going to be okay. But you have a flight to catch. You worked hard last month trying to secure her papers, if you don't get her residency tied up you're going to piss all that hard work away. "

 He left the Continental under a single Guard. He couldn't face the others anymore. Ares, Hector, Marcus, Curtis, Tony. He felt as if he was the brunt of some big joke and no one was going to make any moves to let him in on it. He got this feeling, as Hector had said Lalienna wasn't permitted to drink... that something was going on outside his knowledge. They were professionals after all. Discreet. They knew things. And they knew how to keep him out of the loop.

He was quiet most of the drive up to the London Air Port.

"Thank you." He conceded at last.  

"Oh yeah? What for?" Chistov asked, not turning to face him. Keeping his eyes on the road.

"For helping me see the light. After so long. I was beginning to lose sense of myself."

"You never could see the forest from the trees, Tino. That's why you have a family like us. Many pairs of eyes decipher the puzzle one cannot see."

"Wise words, my friend." Santino returned. Settling back into his seat and lighting a smoke. Blowing the plume out the car window.

"I'm not sorry though. For what I said to you. About you being a pig sometimes. With girls. Why'd you cut her man? I mean really? What did you think you'd get out of it? Watching her cry? Watching her bleed? Fuck...man, seriously. I mean... What if she was carrying your baby? Would you have still fucked her up like that?"

 Santino leaned back into his seat. Covering his face with his hands. Dragging on his cigarette nervously as if the harder he smoked it the faster the answers would come.  

"No... I don't think so... I'm not that deranged. I-I don't know, please, Chris, stop pushing me. I can't take anymore. You and the crew have been at me like this for years."

"Marssia?"

"Yes, fucking Marissa! I'm sorry... I'm sorry. I told you I meant it, I'm sorry. I told her I was sorry. She still walked out on me, there was nothing more I could do to stop her. She didn't want the ring, she threw it in my face. God! Won't you ever let me live that chapter of my fucking life down?" Santino begged. The tears he was choking back on started to threaten again.

Christov was quiet for a moment. They were in the Air Port car park now, in the International Terminal. He was moments away from pulling up at the drop-off rank. He spoke again though, as they slowed in the traffic. Giving other cars way.

"She left you.. because you broke your own promise, Tino. You didn't use your head. You didn't apply the breaks even though you knew you should have. You can't do that to girls, amigo mio. You just can't. That wasn't safe, sane or consensual. You tied her up. You cut the pads off her fingers, off her toes. You whipped her like she was cattle in a field. You bled her, tortured her. Then you raped her. Even when she told you she was carrying your baby... She would have given her life if it meant to please you. She let you do those wicked things to her willingly. Because you got dark... you got depraved. She lost the child because of you, Tino. It wasn't the blood, it wasn't the sex, the knives, the whippings. It was you. She couldn't stand a world where someone as violent and twisted as that would actually be a father."

"There's no proof the baby was mine. That night, I caught her with another man in my bed. I was going to marry her.... I was going to marry her.... and she was fucking another guy. FUCK!!" He couldn't breathe. His vision was blurring. He felt the bile rise to the back of his throat and swallowed thickly. Ashamed of himself. He thought he'd buried these emotions and memories under concrete four years ago. Why was Christov tormenting him like this?

 "It was your baby dude... The other guy... Before we killed him. He confessed... To everything. That he was having a tryst with her, yes. But he always wore protection. He never came inside her. But you did... She miscarried the child after the beating you gave her. It was only six weeks old but it was still a baby, Tino. Your baby. Isn't that what all guys want eventually? To be fathers?"

 "No." He said at last. Getting out of the car as they pulled up to the curb. He picked up his coat and leather bags from the boot. He looked Chris over one last time. He was going to Vienna alone. He didn't need a guard with him. There was no danger. He was a danger to himself more than anything else.

"You saw that man today... Marquis... That man was her Lalienna's father. He wasn't ready to take responsibility for his daughter. He left her in the hands of a drunken addict so he wouldn't have to believe the child was real. Maybe he had his reasons for walking out on them. Even if they were degenerate and selfish. Everything in this life happens for a reason. I wasn't ready for marriage. I wasn't ready for children. I wasn't ready for Marissa Conti. Marissa Conti wasn't ready for me. But times have changed, Christov.... I've changed. I've come further than you give me credit for. I took responsibility for my actions today."

"Because we backed you into a corner, Tino. Otherwise you would have dragged this stalemate out and until she was driven insane. And would have sat back and enjoyed it. Because that's the kind of man you are today."

"You're wrong, Chris. I won't accept it. This half informed judgment you're piling upon me. Don't make a mountain out of a molehill. Lalienna betrayed me with another woman. That's the fact here. She got drunk, she knew the consequences, and rather than call me and tell me she was in the mood... she took her friend to my bed... and fucked her. And she wouldn't have told me about it either if it wasn't for the photos she'd sent me where I saw the bite marks on her neck. If I didn't come home... If I didn't punish her the way I did... She would have kept doing it, behind my back. Even if I did buy her that ring. And first it's a girl from the Tower. Then it's another old friend with history.... Then it's John fucking Wick. And where would that leave me? On the side-lines, with a wife that's an adulteress. Following her lusts like I used to. I bled Lalienna because I saw myself reflected in her eyes. I cut my initial into her throat to remind myself I was wrong. Even though I was insane with rage. And I'll remember my sin now every time I kiss her neck. That I wasn't the first one to love her. I won't be the last."

 "You really love her, eh?" Chris asked quietly.

"Yeah. I love her. But I'm not ready to be a father either. Not until I have time to work myself out." Santino admitted. Defeated, broken down.

 "Then get your shit done fast... come back. Pick her up and take her to Rome. That's where she needs to be now. Away from these distractions. Away from temptations and indiscretions. She did what she did because she's afraid of losing you. Your her Papi now. So act like it. If you can't be a father, at least be a man." Chrisov admonished.

 "I'm trying." Was all he said. He turned away. With his coat and his bags. He entered the international terminal and waited in the lounge until the next flight could take him back to Vienna. Where he had every intention of buying Lalienna a house... and a car. Where she had a new alliance with people that would protect her if she ever decided to walk out on him. Because he wouldn't...couldn't repeat the trauma of Marissa Conti.

He understood then, what Marquis had said... to his own daughter 21 years later.

That he wasn't ready to be a father.

Tears formed in her jade eyes, lip quivering slightly. She held back a sob, taking a breath.

“You…you never wanted me?” It felt as though her heart was breaking. Literally. The strings of her cardiac muscles were snapping, leaving her in the worst pain she’s ever felt… and she’s felt a lot of shit. She’s been through the worst, through hell. But this…this was worse. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her lungs wouldn’t produce the oxygen needed to stay alive. God, make it stop. Stop it! She couldn’t handle it. She clutched her heart, squeezing the fabric of her shirt in her fists. Her eyes broke. They relayed how she felt. So so so so ruined. So torn. So…worthless. Thrown away.

————

@f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat // here is your angst. Do with it what you will. ;) have fun, my angel of sadness.

One Last Battle... Before The War

john wick | neon noir

John Wick (2014)

Emotions: Focus & Rage.

“Horror stories don’t interest me,” Maul said.

“Being one yourself, I would think they might, wouldn’t it?”

Color conveys an important role in John Wick (2014), helping distinguish the two major moments in the film: the greenish blue and black tones portraying the melancholy and sadness of John’s loss; and the electric neons that accentuate the anger and pursue of revenge. A way of showing, through aesthetics, the seductive and addictive power of violence.