Fiery Revenge⎪✓

83

☀︎

Dealing with the repercussions of a huge fight with many dead is annoying, my body has been healing over the past days which is why I find myself joining the trusted ones in the office again. They're talking dead bodies, numbers, statistics, possible consequences. Every single stone is turned and analyzed upon, it's becomes very apparent to me how they're such a feared organization. 

"We might need to relocate, boss," Joseph says ruefully. 

"Explain," Xavier nods his head, leaning his muscular body against the wall next to me. 

"A possible negative outcome from the fight is very clear, we killed every single drug dealer in the city, the mafia is responsible for a lot of frustration," His explanation makes sense, but it seems strange to me how they would want to relocate. 

Not knowing how to keep my mouth shut, not wanting to either, "Well, we rescued over 30 women who were kept down there against their will. That must provide some recognition."

Xavier nods at my input, "Yeah, they should be understanding of us helping those unfortunate people out. I don't believe that's how their minds work though, they only concentrate on their next fix and from where they can get it."

"È disgustoso," (That's disgusting) I spit. "Where could we relocate then? In case we decided to work from that perspective."

Roman sends a sympathetic smile in my direction, the suddenness of his actions throws me off guard, "Martinelli, shouldn't you be resting?"

I despise how they act as if I'm a broken doll. 

This is a question I get every fucking time I see any of them. 

"Here she goes," Marc groans and leans backward in his chair. 

"Fuck you, Marc," I scoff and he smiles at me. Turning to Roman and tilting my head to the side, "And fuck you, too. I've said on multiple occasions that I'm absolutely fine; there's no need to comment on my health all the damn time."

"I'm sorry, Eloisa," He places his hands in surrender and I stare at him indifferently. My lack of emotion throws him off when he chuckles.

The silence stretches in the room before Marc breaks it, "Boss, do we know why Carlos killed the Martinelli family?"

Xavier's eyes cut to mine, he pauses slightly and answers the question, "I've been reading through documents from that period of time. Martinelli is mentioned briefly two years prior to the incident, Maxon Martinelli sold some of the drugs my father manufactured. The two of them were cooperating. The incident is most likely because of something gone wrong with drugs."

This information is very new to me. I had no clue that my father was involved in any illegal activities, especially not with the leader of the Italian mafia. Suppressing my emotions, I maintain eye contact with Xavier. The facade is up and as strong as ever, my mind is surging with possible scenarios. 

Was my mom in on it?

Did they support us with the money from the drugs?

Where in the process did everything go downhill? 

I sense I might have missed some clues before the killings, something doesn't add up in my mind. It seems too strange. Xavier would know if they killed my father because of a drug deal gone wrong, they would've documented it. There is a foreign feeling in the pit of my stomach; an uncertainty that makes it difficult for me to reason with reality. 

"Where in the documents does it mention my family being killed?" I find myself questioning, wanting to restrict my mind and thoughts from the bizarreness of the situation. 

The entire room is soundless, even a pin dropping would disrupt it, none of the trusted ones speak. Xavier is carrying my gaze with his own, no emotion is displayed on his features and I give him nothing in return. Some part of me knows where this might end up, a huge part of me dreads the reality of the situation. 

"It doesn't," He simply answers. 

"They didn't document a slaughter of an entire family, but they documented a partnership with some random man who sold drugs?" I ask him. 

Xavier nods, "It strikes me as odd, too."

Joseph cuts in, "We're obligated to journal every single piece of knowledge. Why didn't Carlos do it in this case?"

I read Xavier when he responds, "My father did a lot of irresponsible things. He didn't care about rules or regulations, not even in the mafia he was the leader of."

My mind swirls again and I look around the room, all of them are deep in thought. It's obvious that this piece of information has riddled us more than we thought it would. Marc runs a hand through his blond hair in confusion, next to him Joseph is frowning towards the ground, his dark hair hiding his facial tattoos. 

The room becomes suffocating and I leave them in the office, walking towards my bedroom. It's not that I'm upset, there is simply a part of me that's absolutely exhausted by analyzing and being tough all the fucking time. 

Talking about the slaughter of my family as if it doesn't disturb me anymore, ignoring the agonizing stabbing in my gut by the mere thought of my brother's screams. It's unrealistic for a person to get over their trauma so easily, it's better to hide behind a hard exterior. That's what I convince myself of anyway. 

I barely touch the doorknob to my room, before a fiery hand places itself on the lower part of my back and opens the door in front of us. Xavier stares down at me as we step into the room together, without even saying anything to me, a profound shiver travels down my back and my heart sings with the understanding in his eyes. 

He closes it behind us and cups my face instantly, placing his lips on mine, and my eyes close on instinct. Feeling the comfort of having him close, I sigh into the kiss and he smiles in return. It was challenging for me to open up to him at first, but this right here feels so good and safe. 

His tongue dances with mine in such a careful and soft manner, allowing me to feel every single emotion emitting from both of us. My hands grip his shirt urgently and he deepens the kiss even more. The masculine scent of his overshadows everything and it has my heart hammering. 

Without reasoning about it, I unbutton his shirt and pull the fabric down his muscular body. Unfastening his belt, I open his pants and he groans against my lips, the sound forcing a pleasing shiver down my spine. 

"I don't want to hurt you," He murmurs gently against my swollen lips. 

"You won't," I tell him. 

Thoughts are unquestionably speeding behind his black eyes, the darkness of the room doesn't allow much visibility. I know his answer when he kisses me again, reaching behind us he locks the door and I smile against his lips.