Another's Demise

Our Father's Children

Cameron

I watched her figure disappear up the winding stairs, the clutch of her left hand on the railings revealing the absence of the very speck of silver I had longed to see, but it was gone.

I didn't know what I had convinced myself, of the taunting lie that curled in my mind, as I hoped that seeing me would trigger something or even, that like me she didn't have the heart to take the ring off.

Our wedding bands, drenched in blood as they were, I hadn't removed mine.

I couldn't.

I twisted it roughly between my thumb and forefinger a hollowness ebbing its way up my throat.

"You need to leave," the voice was coarse, but recognisable. That deep low accented timbre, "Mr Grayson."

I turned, leisurely no attempt to reach for any of the weapons beneath my jacket, "I don't have to do anything, Vincent,"

I was not afraid of the Falco leader, his men hissed behind me, like twisted snakes reaching for a victim left dutifully by their owner.

"This is my house Cameron Grayson, and that is my daughter you are after. One who I know wants nothing to do with you,"

My jaw clenched, a fragment of anger bursting in my iris but nowhere else, I was no fool, I knew that there were at least a dozen weapons ready to fire at will, bullets with my name carved into them, "From what I've heard, Alara doesn't want anything to do with you either. She is after all," I paused slightly, letting the silence writhe, before slicing it with a single name, "Alara Mortello."

Vincent's jaw ticked, eyes a deep bronze hollowed out only by the disappearing rays of sunlight, but made no response.

I stalked forward, "She needs neither one of our names, and it's killing you,"

"As much as it has destroyed you boy?" a chord snapped within the Mafia leader, venom in every sharp gaze as with a single look his dismissed his men, leaving us alone.

I had already surveyed his stance, he had a gun safely tucked beneath that onyx black blazer, a dagger designed as a tie clip, curled around his shirt, tucked beneath linen but not perfectly enough for me not to notice.

I had a gun, and a pair of throwing knifes, but I was not arrogant enough to think that overpowering Vincent Torres would be an easy feat.

"I won't deny it," my voice was deathly quiet, "But you should know any goodness you thought I might still harbour, any boyish kindness was destroyed with the rest of me. I have nothing to lose, and you have everything to. Do you think," my gaze burnt over him, "I don't know what you plan for her?"

There it was, a slight tremor in his hand, his right one that soon curled into a fist, he was good at concealing his emotions, but not good enough.

"You think I haven't figured out why after all these, years after abandoning both her and her mother, that you want her back. You don't give a damn about her, Vincent, you just want the blood diamond for yourself."

He said nothing.

And that was all he needed to say.

"You are playing a dangerous game Cameron," quiet as night was his voice, the low murmur of trees groaning, there and gone in a matter of seconds.

"This is no game, Torres, not where Alara's concerned. It is never a game with her. It is her life, and I am not going to allow you to destroy it for your greed, to be revered."

Silence once more, I pressed forward, eyes darkening as a I surveyed him, gazes locked, frames almost level, "And do you know how I know this,"

He didn't have to ask.