Potere | Book II ✓

xix | surrounded

xix | surrounded

a/n: happy early birthday to my girls on IG, and my king, luciano. tomorrow is the day.

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One week. It's been a week since we've seen or heard anything from the Russians. A week since the fight at the club transpired. A week since Veleno drove a knife through the palm of the Russian's son, their guardian angel, their demon. It's been a week since we started looking for Veleno's daughter, Analía, and over a week since she went missing.

The lack of Russian sightings should be a good thing, but the constant feeling of dread that tightens my chest tells me it isn't. Every day that passes by without a pathetic attempt to scare us only makes me more cautious, and even more concerned. We are more on edge than ever, unsure as to whether the incident at the club scared them more than we thought – or if they're pacing in the shadows and waiting for the right moment to strike harder than ever before.

Then there's Analía. A five-year-old girl who did nothing to deserve this, and a mother whose worry has caused her to shut down. Savaughna sits with us, she eats with us, and she nods her head whenever we try and engage in conversation – but she's stopped speaking. She believes her baby is dead.

Veleno has yet to acknowledge that the child is his, but the situation is wearing him down. He's frustrated, and yesterday he snapped at Rosalie when she asked him a simple question. He picks at his food, stares at his drink, and according to Austin, has intensified his training with the family. He put a fellow soldier in a headlock two days ago. The soldier was hospitalized in critical condition.

I don't want to believe that the little girl is dead. I told Savaughna that we would bring her child back to her. I placed all of my faith in Liam, in his word, and as the hours pass, I can feel it beginning to falter. I can feel my hope slipping out the palm of my hand. And the one thought I refuse to entertain sneaks its way into my mind this early November morning, as I stare at my reflection in the large, bathroom mirror.

Analía is dead.

I turn the faucet on and let cold water rush into the palm of my hands. I lower my head and splash it on my face, letting it mix with the warm tears that slip out the corner of my eyes. When I draw my head back, Liam is standing behind me.

I stare past my reflection and focus on his. A week has done his facial hair more than just good. He pairs his fitted, black dress pants with a navy-blue turtleneck that hugs his shoulders and clings to his biceps like an excess layer of skin. He has the shirt tucked into his pants and paired with a belt. He's busy pulling the sleeve of his shirt up an inch to successfully latch a diamond studded watch to his wrist.

I don't have to say anything. Liam knows.

"We'll find her."

In my own irritation, I slap the marble counter and spin around. "We've searched everywhere, Liam. Everywhere." I raise my voice in anger, not at him – he's doing everything that he can – but at the situation. "Savaughna hasn't said anything, but she's loosing hope. She's lost hope. Even Veleno—"

Liam clicks the watch securely on his wrist and lets his arm fall. "Veleno never had hope to begin with, Faith," is his argument.

"I know that."

I lean back against the counter as Liam takes a step forward. It isn't intimidating. It doesn't scare me. His voice rises when he says, "I am doing everything that I can—"