𝑃ℎ𝑜𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑛

02

~ phoenix ~

At a hundred feet in the sky, the world below seemed insignificant.

The irony of that, I thought, sinking further into my seat.

Opposite me, Gianna was indulging herself with an Italian fashion magazine. It was the same one every week, which she'd have imported. That thought reminded me of something I'd been meaning to ask her about.

"When did you last talk to Giovanni?"

As expected, she scowled. "Do we have to? Now?"

I raised a brow, remembering how she'd pestered me in the cathedral only hours ago. "Then, when do you suggest we discuss your exile?"

She blew out a long, frustrated breath. "Phee, we haven't spoken in over three months."

I couldn't hide my surprise quick enough, which seemed to offend her.

"What did you expect? Le famiglie hate my guts. They think I'm the reason Papa is dead, which if it were true, I wouldn't be ashamed of." Her careless words carried an undercurrent of sorrow. She missed home. [the families]

"I don't understand why he can't do anything. He knows you're innocent."

"I'm not actually," she shrugged, "I helped you escape. Besides, the Capo has only so much power. If all the famiglie were to band against him, he'd be overthrown. Last I heard, the Genoveses want him off just for association."

I wanted to scoff. The mafias I grew accustomed to were led by one, unquestioned leader. Apparently, the Italians felt more democratic.

"It should be your mafia," I commented, quietly.

Gianna didn't respond, but I already knew how vehemently she agreed. At times, she couldn't shut up about the sexist, patriarchal system of the Cosa Nostra.

Somewhere between staring out of the glass and fidgeting with the glock strapped to my thigh, I fell asleep. The night before, I only tossed and turned, plagued by the dread for Dza's funeral. The service had been awful. Half the guests were men he couldn't stand. The other half, men who couldn't give a shit. Babs barely spoke two words to me. I wasn't oblivious to her resentment for me.

I was no longer the Lyra she knew. That, she had made very clear when I returned from Russia. I didn't explain about Vasiliev and she didn't want to hear it. Part of me thought she was disappointed that I'd broken the blood oath, although now, there would be no consequence. Another part of me questioned if she blamed me for Mom's disappearance.

No one knew what happened to Lena Stilinski. Vasiliev didn't admit to finishing her off, and I believed him. The man was obviously weighted down by something; perhaps it was that. But if she were dead, I would blame myself too.

She fucked herself over, trying to save me from a monster. A monster, I needed to rid myself of.

In the last year, I'd allowed myself to become his weapon. What else did I have to live for? And he'd offered me Gianna. In the first months, he'd trained me personally and ruthlessly. Weapon training and hand-to-hand combat were only a couple of my new 'skills'. Either I was a fast learner, or I was too invested than I should have been.

Unfortunately, Gianna was allowed to sit back and watch. She was the daughter of the ex-Capo. This was as natural to her as fashion was.

When I was deemed 'ready', I was given various jobs. My first theft was a nuclear code from government servers. My first kill was a serial rapist in Moscow. My first grand theft auto was the Maserati sitting in the cargo depot of the jet. Actually, it was the drugs stored in it that Vasiliev was after. The car was some sort of twisted prize. I kept it.

Gianna was initially there to take a bullet for me. That was my father's strict instruction: die for her. Unfortunately, that opportunity didn't come up. Now, I was glad to say we were somewhat equal in our abilities. Whilst she had a mean punch, I was the better hacker.

The last job was the worst, because it hit too close to home. Or what used to be home. Vasiliev's test was to coax a name out of the Bratva's government mole, the name of a drug supplier. My idea was brute force; Gianna's was seduction. A week later, she admitted to regretting her decision. But the job was done.

Now, Vasiliev seemed to trust me... us.

And I finally proved to myself I was over him. If Ilya Dimitri Ivanov didn't want me anymore, then I'd still survive. It hurt. But I was alive.

"Phoenix!"

With a start, my eyes snapped open. I met Gianna's stare with confusion. Oh, I realised, glancing out of the window. We landed.

I sat up, smoothing my skirt to conceal the handgun beneath it. I felt her gaze still on my face. Was there anything there? I lifted a hand to my cheek.

It was damp.

Embarrassed, I ducked my head, letting my hair fall forward.

"Um, let's go," I mumbled, standing up.

Immediately, the ring I'd been fidgeting with tumbled out of my lap. Shit. Gia got to it before I did, holding it up to me. I took it without meeting her eyes. That was another thing we hadn't talked about, and I didn't plan to anytime soon. I knew she was waiting for me to open up, but I was more concerned with forgetting him than reliving bittersweet memory.

"You should wear them around your neck again," she commented.

I shrugged. "Maybe I should."

In silence, we made our way to the bottom of the jet. Before I got to the driver's seat of the black sports car, she did.

"I'm driving," she stated.

I shook my head, reversing towards the passenger seat. I glanced at the sleek black paint of the vehicle and painful memories rose to the surface. I shook them away, climbing in.

I sighed, eyes stinging. 365 days weren't enough.

There was a comfortable silence as we zoomed out of the hangar and into the streets of Chicago.

NOTE:
Double update!!!! We're on a roll, hoes!
xo, Rosavi
PS— might do another tonight, no promisesss