Potere | Book II ✓

xxi | as long as i love you

xxi | as long as i love you

what a nice intermission. now that we've all collected our clown masks, we can continue.

i really wrote a 9k chapter in 3 days imagine the power i'm feeling rn jk watch it be trash pls ignore any grammatical errors I tried to fix them but I miss some.

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Federico De Santis pulls himself to his feet, rising above the unconscious figure said to be better than him. He bows his head as he stands over Diavolo's unmoving body, as if every man who ever doubted his ability was lurking in the shadows of the parking garage, seeing what I'm seeing. Witnessing the passing of the crown, or rather, the reclaiming of one.

No words pass my tongue. I have nothing to say, because I doubted him too. The closer I move towards him in uncertainty and hesitation is when I begin to realize why I didn't recognize him – why I don't. It isn't his hair that he's let grow a bit, or the neatly trimmed beard that accents his jawline. It isn't his eyes, which lack the pain I remember. The pain that was so easy to find.

I stand inches from Diavolo's hand, but I'm not worried about the demon at my feet.

My breath catches in my throat and I force myself to hold back an emotional sob as I drag my shaking hands to cup Rico's face. His eyes capture mine for a few peaceful seconds, and that's how long it takes for me to know.

There're two demons in the room, one looks like the devil himself, while the other plays at being human.

I cry because I can feel the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips. I cry because I can feel the muscles in his face position themselves as he smirks slightly. I cry because I can hear him breathe, but I lose it when I hear him speak. The voice I had heard so many times in my dreams after that fateful phone call, the voice I would've paid good money to hear again when I thought I had lost it forever.

"Hug me, Mrs. Luciano."

I throw my arms around Rico's neck as his own skate around my waist. I close my eyes because I'd rather feel Rico than see him. I've stared at too many photos and replayed a million and one videos since the news. But what those photos didn't do was remind me of his scent, or mimic the way his shoulders rise and fall, or replace the slight laugh that escapes when I hug him tighter. What we see will never be able to triumph over how we feel.

There's so much I want to say, yet even more I feel the need to ask, but I would be a damn fool if I thought for one second that the universe would have mercy on me.

They come from everywhere. Soldiers. Russian. They storm in from every entrance. An injured Diavolo's backup. They aim their weapons high, setting their sights on the back of the assassin I hold tight. There's a lot of them. There's too many of them.

But I can't run anymore. The fight at the company earlier today was tiring, and the emotion I drained in the hospital at Carmen's side didn't help. Being chased by Diavolo was exhausting – both mentally and physically. I can't run anymore.

My fingers tighten around the fabric of Rico's hoodie. I rest my chin against his shoulder and lock eyes with the commander of the group of Valentin's soldiers. Their figures blur as tears of exhaustion and frustration cross my vision. There's too many of them.

"Rico—"

He doesn't have to turn around to know. "How many?"

I lose count at thirty-three. "Too many."