Just Like His Father

Your hands are wet with the blood of an empire. You lick it off.

[aqua-regia009]

Terrible Weakness (2012) - David Palumbo

[yesterdaysprint]

The Washburn Review, Topeka, Kansas, November 14, 1923

[andywarhols]

[abel-costello]

chanelxalbright‌:

A blush made its way across Chanel’s face at his compliment, a small part of her hoping that someday maybe they could do just that. Go out like normal people, maybe hold hands, enjoy each others company. Something she’d been able to do with past boyfriends, flings, ‘whatevers’. But nothing about either of their lives was really normal, and keeping things secret and private were probably the closest they’d ever be able to get to it. Because once this got out, if it kept going long enough for it to get out, it would suddenly become something worth exploiting. In fact, if anyone ever found out about them, it would probably be the end of it. Abel would be too worried over Chanel’s safety, and Chanel would just be a sitting duck.

But that wasn’t today. Today was Abel’s birthday, and they still had their secret. Their time spent together away from prying eyes.

Accepting the drink he had poured, she took a small sip of it after his cheers and looked over to the bed of DVDs. She returned her gaze to him and let out a small laugh at his last comment, allowing him to bring her over to where the movies lay in wait. “No, I can’t say I remember reading anything about any of that on the back of them.” A princess, maybe, remembering one of the titles that had a picture of Audrey Hepburn on it, but definitely no prince charmings or sentient computer programs.

Placing her glass on the bedside table, she searched for the movie she had styled herself after and picked it up from the bunch. Holding it out for him to examine, she plopped herself on the bed and picked her drink back up to take another sip.

“I thought we could start ourselves off with something to get the blood pumping.” She teased, biting her lip and raising her eyebrows suggestively at him. She couldn’t actually say whether or not the movie would do that, but the fact that it was considered a mystery thriller made it sound fun enough. And Alfred Hitchcock was supposed to be an amazing director, or so she’d heard.

Abel didn’t hold back the wry expression that formed on his face as Chanel teased him, and his restless mind can’t help but give in and wander to what else she might mean. He’d seen the movie before but wasn’t going to say no to her-- she even wore a replica of what Grace Kelly wore in the film and the effort she’d gone through to prepare everything was enough to make him sit through a rewatch of all the movies she rented even it takes all night.

He washed down any lingering thoughts of what ‘more’ entailed with the contents of his glass as the consigliere secured a bottle and placed it on the bedside table. The DVD was already in place and Abel loosened his tie in an effort at being comfortable before joining Chanel on the bed. They were overdressed for a movie night, but it’s what made it different from the others, he supposed, it’s what made it memorable.

The lights were dimmed as the opening credits rolled, and Abel nursed a drink as he tried to keep his focus on the screen. He observed Chanel from his peripheral, but every now and then he would actually turn to look as the consigliere was more interested in watching her expression than pay attention to the movie. 

Abel couldn’t help himself, he’d seen the thing before but he also knew that Chanel wouldn’t bother with this type of movie in the first place if it wasn’t his birthday. So he topped up his drink before reclining on the headboard, determined to keep her company until they finished at least two or three films.

Except he was now watching her back, and the deep, V-neck cut of the capped-sleeved dress in black and white fit her perfectly while the pearl choker accentuated her slender neck. Chanel Albright looked like Dresden China, delicate, almost untouchable but it made Abel want to reach out even more.

A low, frustrated sigh escaped the consigliere, one that unintentionally sounded like boredom as blue eyes finally peeled away from Chanel’s back to return to the ongoings of the movie on the screen.

[abel-costello]

elisabettabiondi‌:

Paperwork was always a bore no matter where she went. Sign here, initial there and do you consent to wave any right to be rescued should this place be taken over, blah, blah, blah. If she could wave her hand at such necessities she would but this place required her to sign on the dotted line so she did with just as much flourish as she put into her attire. God forbid her handwriting be atrocious. Even with ever name she took on she made sure the signature for the part she played fit like a glove. She had taught her left hand how to write too. That is just how committed she was when it came to these things. 

A side eye to her companion revealed that he was still not a happy camper but then again when was he. He cracked a smile almost as rarely as the Queen’s guard. Poised, puffed up chests and eyes that bore holes into anyone who may meet his gaze. God he was such a stiff. The stick up his ass at this moment could rival that of Leon’s though she presumed Abel had more humor than that of his cousin. 

Lisabetta had watched in silence at the exchange between the unknown woman and Abel. The smirk that formed on her deep crimson lips was evident even with the polka dot head piece obscuring some of her features. Her gaze was fixated on Abel before it shifts as her voice becomes like liquid to the ear as she responds, "Oh honey, you say the darnedest things.”

She had noticed the smallest flinch from Abel the last time her hands roamed freely on his chest and rather than repeat such a thing now - there was more time for that later - she instead clasped her hands together. “Pay no mind to him,” she said to the woman who had commented on her and Abel’s appearance. “He is shy and doesn’t like to make too much of a fuss when it comes to the two of us. Just you watch, he will deny we are together most adamantly so it is best to just go along with it, dear.” 

Lisabetta’s words seemed to easy the woman who thought she had spoken out of turn. So Abel could not make one more quip and deny as Lisabetta knew he would, she heads towards the woman who she had been conversing with from a distance to learn all about why the woman was here. It was always good to know whom may be behind bars and what blood relations, if any, they had outside should the need arise. A coup could very well be in order if it served her or the family a purpose. But that was unlikely. It was always more fun to play mind games with others while she killed time. A speciality she was quite good at. 

The dead-eyed look he had on earlier turned into an icy blue gaze as Lisabetta’s words traveled and reached his ears-- "Oh honey, you say the darnedest things,” --and Abel turned his head almost mechanically to where the woman stood...which was right beside him. 

The corners of his mouth threatened to dip into a frown as Lisabetta conveniently cornered him, and she continued to address the woman who was now all too eager to chat while they all waited to be escorted inside. Abel glanced at the main doors, just the smallest part of him wanting to make a swift exit and wait outside with a cigarette until the bothersome reporter finished her business, but he knew all too well that Lisabetta would just wait for him instead.

“She’s right,” Abel chimed in, not wanting to let Lisabetta have her fun. “I am going to deny it ‘cos I don’t know her. Never seen her before in my life-- you can ask the front desk.“ he challenged. 

The woman had an awkward half-smile on her face, as if waiting for the rest of the joke to be delivered, a punchline, but the no non-sense delivery of the consigliere was making her second guess things. Her gaze shifted from Lisabetta to Abel and back as she waited for an explanation on what the hell was going on, but a corrections officer arrived and called the consigliere’s name.

“Mr. Costello? Your father’s waiting for you. Please follow me.“ 

Abel took a deep breath, eyes no longer on the journalist as he gave them a passing nod before following the man in uniform; his heart began to race and the blonde absently balled his hands into fists. While Lisabetta may have been annoying, she was mostly harmless, but the man that awaited him as they made their way through a different hallway was nothing short of dangerous. 

[abel-costello]

sinclairpriya‌:

“I am not lying. I don’t know what you are referring to-” Her counter did little to make this encounter stop for Abel uttered her and her family’s name alongside his own blood relation. Marcel. Of course this was not by some misguided thought or action that Abel dragged her out here. He never seemed like to do anything irrationally or without forethought but they had walked together once without a plan between the two of them. 

He was cold where she was warm but she had always seen it as two forces balancing the other out. The Sinclair part of her had always said to be on guard for she was born in a storm called war but her open minded nature spoke clear and louder saying to look beyond a name. Do not judge a book by its cover.  Had her family been involved with Marcel’s demise, which she had inkling was the case, for who else would gain by his death but her own flesh and blood. If they were, the publicist in her rational began to take over as she talked back and forth between the voice in her head, she would not nor could she admit such a thing to Abel. 

“I had nothing to do with that.” True words spoken on deaf ears.

Her hands raise up between the two of them even though he could easily just grab them and hold them down. Priya would not be caged by anyone not even someone who was better equipped with dealing with threats. “Let me pass,” Priya  as she pressed her hand against his shoulder as if he were a door that was jammed. If she could not out maneuver him than those who could would when they came through the very same door that Abel and she had. “This gets you nowhere.” A thought meant for her ears alone slips off the tongue and hangs in the tension filled air between them. Her blue hues met his in defiance. 

There was not just one outcome now but many and she refused to let the hand of death be the one chosen for her. 

He stiffened when Priya placed a hand on his shoulder meant to make him move aside, but Abel met her gaze with a dead-eyed stare before catching her hand and removing it. Again, he pushed her against the wall, gentler this time, and her security detail had finally found them. The man shouted Priya’s name, just loud enough for the consigliere to hear.

The blonde turned his head, blue eyes catching the movement of the bodyguard’s hand reaching for something as he approached. Abel pulled the gun holstered on his back and pressed it against Priya’s stomach.

He kept his eyes on the guard as he used his body to keep Priya pinned against the wall; her words echoed in his ears, a plight of innocence in the chaos. There was no one else who could have done it though, and while Abel had no proof, the consigliere relied on a gut feeling that it was her family’s doing.

“Tell him to back off,” Abel ordered in an even tone, the safety on the gun removed as he spoke. 

[abel-costello]

paitynsinclair‌:

Paityn exhaled sharply and turned on her heels to avoid the eyes of her father. Her face felt hot as her heart rate increased. Her breathing started to falter, but she moved forward regardless. Paityn was used to her body and emotions playing tricks with her mind, teasing the anxiety that constantly lurked under her skin. In times such as these, where she feels bold enough to speak truth and feeling she kept bottled up inside, she couldn’t help but dread the consequences of her words.

Her father could be killed at any moment, murdered in retaliation for the assassination of Marcel Costello. Was it wise to leave without giving him a chance to redeem himself?

It was a thought only in her mind for a moment before she reminded herself the crimes her father committed. Not against society with his career, but the torture he inflicted on his children. Maybe time and torment twisted Paityn’s reality, but when she thought of her father all she could see was red. A sister killed as a pawn in his game, a love she has to keep secret out of fear of who would die because of it…her entire existence was a nightmare. All because of Morgan Sinclair.

Though, Paityn couldn’t dwell on her fractured family for long. A pistol to the temple and a fist in her hair took her attention soon enough. The blow to the head didn’t render her unconscious but the world was dizzy and words were meaningless, despite how loud the people around her were shouting.

She felt a cool touch on her cheek; the barrel of a gun. Paityn moved then, a fight or flight response ingrained in her reflexes. Despite the injury to her head, she tried to pull away. Though, the grip on her hair just became tighter and the man holding her hostage whipped her across the face once more.

This time, he knocked her out cold.

The elevator doors opened and Abel stepped out as several of the corrections officers ran towards the visitor center where the commotion was happening. The consigliere followed, stopping outside of the doors as the hostage taker’s voice echoed. His gloved hand rested on the handle but his escort gently patted his shoulder to guide him back to the elevator. Abel looked back, a part of him wanted to see for himself the result of his impulsive decision. If the girl died, she would just be another casualty but he wanted Morgan to live long enough to see everyone and everything he ever loved burn to the ground.

Inside, Officer Jones steadied his grip on the pistol, and an unconscious Paityn Sinclair in his arms put a damper on his plans; he hadn’t meant to knock her out cold, she was supposed to stay awake the entire time to add to her anxiety. Morgan Sinclair continued to watch from behind the glass window, shouting helplessly at his daughter as more and more officers surrounded them. Jones fired two shots at the head of the Sinclair clan and the glass partition shattered as everyone on the other side ducked for cover.

“Wake the fuck up!” He ordered, shaking Paityn awake as he screamed at her. “Wake up!” 

One of the officers called out to him, coaxing Jones to drop his weapon and let go of the girl. His time was running out, and it was now or never as he looked at the guns pointed at him. He turned around, fired two more rounds at Morgan before shooting once at the cops. This was his mistake, as Paityn slipped from his grasp and fell on the floor and out of desperation, he aimed the gun at her, the final bullet saved for Morgan’s daughter but the cops fired their weapons at him in a last-ditch attempt at controlling the situation.

Jones fell on the floor, blood spurting from his mouth as he looked around him. He struggled to keep his eyes open and Paityn was taken away. 

Abel sat in the car, blue eyes watching the events from a tablet that was handed to him on his way out; Paityn didn’t die, but the look on Morgan Sinclair’s face was priceless at the thought of possibly losing a daughter again. The consigliere had seen enough, and he placed the gadget down before telling the driver to pull over. 

He stepped inside an old phone booth and after checking for a dial tone, Abel dialed a number.

“Make the arrangements, but don’t do any wire transfers that can be traced back to us. Use the cash reserve-- take care of everyone.”

[abel-costello]

tristan-sullivan‌:

Maybe the stranger wasn’t interested in a conversation – but Tristan wasn’t necessarily paying attention. He had a bad habit of simply talking, and talking, and talking, until he was interrupted. But, for the most part, Tristan’s small talk was always harmless, and the other party was free to simply walk away. It was only whenever there were assholes around that Tristan started to mouth off and got a little braver with the shit that he said. 

The man standing next to him was quiet, but Tristan could already tell he wasn’t the type to fuck with. There was just something about his energy that told Tristan he better play things casually. 

“Nope,” Tristan said, gesturing over to his loud group of friends, on the other side of the club now. “I’m with them. They’re pregaming for this thing we’re going to later. I’m driving, so no alcohol for me,” he said, holding up the glass of water rather lamely. For Tristan, the real fun would come later, in the form of adrenaline as he barreled through the streets of Chicago in his Camaro. “And you? You waiting on someone, or just… waiting to see who catches your eye?”

Pregaming, kid lingo, something he heard from Luca and Javi more than once, most definitely from Sofia too. Abel nodded, glancing towards where the tall, young man gestured before revealing that he wasn’t there to drink. It was oddly responsible, the consigliere supposed as he looked at the glass of water shown to him.

“Sure, something like that,” came his noncommital response. Abel didn’t want to admit that he was by himself, some deep-rooted paranoia from growing up in and working for organized crime. 

It was then that the consigliere finally took a good look at the boy. Unsure whether Abel had seen him before or if every male, twenty-somethings just looked alike, he asked a question.

“What did you say your name was?”

[starssight]

*touches things*

[elisabettabiondi]

@abel-costello

[abel-costello]

lucacostello‌:

Luca made a feeble attempt at walking like a sober person, but he was finding it to be rather difficult – no thanks to all of the vodka already in his system. Drinking more was definitely a bad idea, but that was a problem for future, hungover Luca. Not the current grieving version of himself.

‘I haven’t seen you since the funeral.’

Even inebriated, Luca knew that he’d been doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. Pursuing a relationship with Paityn wasn’t a smart thing to do, considering both families were fully at war with the other. It wasn’t just a hook up, either. Not just some weird infatuation with someone who was once supposed to be his fiance. It was a fucking relationship. A real one.

Luca didn’t want Abel to find out. He didn’t want anyone to find out.

“I know,” Luca finally said, as they neared his apartment building. He let himself in, walking right past the doorman. “I’ve been… very busy,” Luca explained. “Smoking weed. Playing video games. Eating junk.”

He walked into the elevator, finger waving around unevenly before finally landing on the button for the top floor. “Everybody grieves differently,” Luca slurred. “And I think my dad would be sorta proud that, even after he was murdered, I continued being a dumbass. Say what you want, Abe, but at least I’m devoted to being a fuck up.” He paused, feeling slightly dizzy. He held onto the rail inside of the elevator. “I’m devoted as fuck, Abe.”

There was a significant delay in Luca’s response and if his cousin wasn’t inebriated then Abel would have found it peculiar. Instead, he nodded, accepted the answer at face value and followed him inside the elevator.

‘Everybody grieves differently.’

He knew that, when Guinevere Costello died, it had been different too and when Luca stood by his decision to continue playing the family screw up, Abel could only smile wryly. He would remind his cousin another time of the promise that he made, to clean his act after the Sinclair girl got shot; this was different, it was his father who died.

Abel wondered how he’d feel if it was Gio who got murdered in cold blood.

“By yourself?” he asked in an attempt to continue the conversation. Any other time Abel would have been good at leaving it at that but he couldn’t always rely on Kai or Violet to handle Luca; he had to try and do better at some point, reach out to his own family and not just when he wanted to.

“Sof isn’t keeping you company?” He knew the answer was no because he’d seen more of Sofia because Leon had been too closed off for her to deal with. “Gimme a call next time Lu, maybe I’ll join you.”

[abel-costello]

elisabettabiondi‌:

Their banter, more like long volleys for the two seemed to be constantly trying to one up the other (or maybe that was just Lisabetta) was always one that she looked forward to. Abel never followed the script and neither did she. Who knew what either would say when the moment came. 

Touché, Abel.

Not one to be out done, Lisabetta basked in the warm that radiated off of Abel as he stepped closer. He smelled of tobacco leaf and dark liquor. Should she bottle him up for later, he would say he was Jazz Club by Mason Margiela. Her eyes closed, a smile formed on her lips and her hands lifted to waft the smoke more towards her as if it was her newest perfume. Except this one was called Eau de Abel.  

Once he had finished her eyes opened and full teethed grin was on her lips. “Now every time I wear this dress I’ll think of you and your lips sucking on that cigarette.” Her hands that had wafted the smoke towards her now moved to dress to smooth out it out and fluff what needed to be fluffed. This outfit was meant to be seen and Lisabetta would make damn sure every gaze was on. She allowed him to walk in front of her to the correctional facility. 

Abel certainly gave her a better view to look out than that dreary building where the closest thing to a spa experience was face planting into fresh mud. Her head tilted to the side in admiration of the behind that Abel worked so hard on. Only when the two drew closer to the correctional facility did she keep in time with his steps so the two were walking side by side. Though her stature was five foot eight and his six foot, she could keep up with the best of them and still appear as if she was floating. 

“You know,” the blonde leaned in close, her breath on the exposed skin of his neck, “if you wanted me to smell like you there were better and much more fun ways to go about it.” There was a twinkle of mischief in her eye as she said those words. Her hand reached up to pat his chest twice before her index finger traced a circle on his pecks before she pulled it back away. “No need for smoke and mirrors.” With that last remark she walked through the entrance and began the process involved with seeing an inmate in this correctional facility. 

She basked in the nicotine that she loathed just to prove a point, complete with a remark to get a rise out of him but Abel remained steadfast. If he had stayed and looked into her eyes, it would probably be wide and dilated, like an over-excited feline that found its prey. As he walked he felt Lisabetta’s gaze on his back and after a few strides, the woman was already walking beside him-- not that Abel was in any hurry but with her attire, it was almost impressive how she managed to keep up.

This time, Abel almost flinched when he felt her breath on his skin and he was reminded how Lisabetta had no respect for personal space; her hand patted his chest, making sure to slip inside his coat that the consigliere could feel the coldness of her skin seep through his shirt. He frowned, eyes still looking ahead as they reached the steps to the correctional facility and the bothersome reporter finally left him alone so she may enter ahead of him.

The form was accomplished and the inspection completed, and Abel stood beside Lisabetta as he waited; there were two other visitors with them that day and they couldn’t help but look at the overdressed reporter and the glum-looking male in sharp clothes. They felt underdressed and wondered if they ought to have worn something else. One caught Abel’s gaze and she smiled apologetically before commenting that they made a handsome couple.

“We’re not a matching set,” Abel replied flatly.

[abel-costello]

chanelxalbright‌:

The knock to the door came as she was reading through the fifth DVD’s backing, this one about swamps and mysteries or something of the sort. Another black and white movie to add to the mix of possibilities that she’d never seen but he’d most likely watched more than once. Perhaps after some of these viewings she’d be able to follow along with references made rather than just smile and nod as if she did. That is to say, if she even ended up paying attention to any of them.

Standing from the bed, she smoothed out the white skirt of the dress she wore and primped her hair so it was as fluffy as the actress had worn it in the original film. Walking over to the door that Abel stood behind, she opened it and quickly offered a sultry smile that was met with a flirtatious lean against the door frame, one arm blocking entry as it rested against the opposite side.

“Happy Birthday, Mr. President.” She put on her best Marilyn Monroe voice, despite the difference in actresses she was trying to portray, before giggling and standing back up straight so that she could move out of his way.

She waited for him to enter before quickly closing the door behind him, once again attempting to keep their meetings a secret from the public eye for as long as possible.

“I figured you’d want something more lowkey to celebrate, so it’s just you, me, and a bunch of DVDs.” She gestured to the pile of DVD cases that now were strewn about the bed from her reading before also gesturing to the other provisions she’d made sure to provide. “And also lots and lots of alcohol.”

Abel was a man of few words, but to deliberately not say anything and to be too stunned to speak were two different things, and seeing Chanel standing by the doorway all dressed up like Grace Kelly while channeling Marilyn Monroe caught him off guard that he just stood by the hallway looking dumbfounded.

“Wow,” the consigliere uttered when he finally remembered how to speak, and a grin formed on his lips when Chanel finally stepped back to let him inside of the suite. “Never thought I’d hear that spoken to me,” he quipped while taking in the sight of the dolled-up publicist as Abel couldn’t stop looking that at one point he wanted to lean in and kiss her. But he held back and turned around instead to inspect the room. 

“Lowkey” he nodded, pausing in front of the row of expensive liquor arranged on the table. Picking up a bottle, he poured the liquid into two glasses and Abel walked back to where Chanel stood waiting to hand her a drink. 

“I’d believe you but that dress you’re wearing makes me feel like I should take you out and show you off,” Abel shook his head as he gave her another once over. They both knew that he couldn’t, not even on a more peaceful time would he risk being seen with Chanel in public. A part of him did enjoy the thought that she dressed up just for him.

He raised his glass at her before taking a sip.

“So what are we watching?” Abel asked, letting Chanel pick from the selection that she had prepared. If her attire was any indication, the woman had probably chosen vintage titles and he can’t help but remember the last conversation they had that had something to do with films-- it was Halloween and they were with other people then.

“No movies about prince charmings or sentient computer programs, I hope?” he couldn’t help but tease and Abel held Chanel’s hand for a slow twirl before leading her towards the bed where the DVDs waited. She made for a lovely Grace Kelly. 

[abel-costello]

sinclairpriya‌:

Abort. Abort. Abort. 

If only it was as easy to get away from Abel as it was to push a button and cancel a mission, a launch or something else that had those words attached to it. The music grew louder and the room seemed to enclose upon her as the Costello male’s grip tightened on her wrist. Was she concerned? Of course. The severity of the situation she had gotten herself into would not present itself until later. 

Security could do little if they no longer saw her head amongst the crowd. Even with her locks of fire, she would not stand out with the dim lighting and the arms that raised in the air in cheer. An infinite amount of fingers crossing would not get her out of the spider’s web she found herself in. A web she held weave with intricate patterns tracing back to their beginning. 

Her free hand grasped the hand that held her, putting pressure upon it as if it would make a difference. She would have thought that self defense lessons would prepare her for a moment like this when she was grabbed but in the moment everyone reacts differently. In her case, she knew the right moves, saw it play out in her head and what should happen next but things sometimes did not go according to plan. No matter how many hours she spent preparing for them. 

She winced when her back smacked against the cold brick. There would be a bruise there and on the wrist that throbbed after Abel had released her. She raised that throbbing wrist to her chest as her other hand rubbed against as if the pain was like an ink stain that only needed pressure to be removed. One breath. Two breath. Three. Her gazed flicked back up to meet his cold, blue eyed stare. A flash of worry was surely shown in her eyes before she found what resolve she had and calmed the racing beat of her heart. Logic and words. Thoughts over emotions. You are a Sinclair, no, a Moreau. 

“What are you referring to?” She counters as her voice kept the steadiness she was known for. “Planning what, Abel?” His name on her lips tasted sour. 

“Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t lie to me.” His hands balled into fists at his sides as he stopped himself from doing anything drastic in such a public place but her refusal to answer only fueled Abel’s anger. 

He also didn’t like the way his name sounded on her lips. 

Priya Sinclair had always been so casual with him, and he had let her then, their encounters questionably pleasant even when she was in mourning. And while he had once thought of her as someone who might be different from her family, the consigliere finally realized his mistake-- Priya was just as conniving.

You and your family...Marcel.” Abel didn’t need to elaborate as he continued to stare at Priya. He had minutes to get an answer out of her, maybe even less if she came there with her bodyguards and his peripheral kept track of each passerby from the end of the hallway. The weapon holstered around his waist felt heavier with each passing moment as the reality of having to use it when her security detail eventually finds them grew near, but the more volatile side of him, the one he inherited from his father, whispered a more menacing thought:

Kill her and get even.

[abel-costello]

sofia-costello‌:

Sofia laughed. “You’re sour.” Rubbing the spot between his eyebrows where his frown lines formed, she giggled. “You’re a big sour puss. A crotchety old man.” Relieved and reassured with his promise that she did, in fact, have him, she allowed herself to relax. She still hadn’t really cried, not properly, but she didn’t feel like she could. Whatever part of her that turned on the faucet was blocked. 

“I don’t know, I only have mine, it’s hard to compare. Juliet and Mason are super tight, but they have weird family shit that she won’t talk about, so who knows.” She envied Juliet her closeness to Mason, though of course she could never want anything different from her relationship with Luca. She just .. found the idea of a protective older brother equal parts stifling and attractive. If she’d had one, would she have been more bad, or better?

Touched that he’d said her, Sofia impulsively flung her arms around his neck, even while they were lying down, and pressed her head against his shoulder. “You always have me. Even when you and Chanel get married and have really pretty, anal retentive babies. Just remember who made that happen for you.” 

“I feel ancient,” he concurred and Abel closed his eyes for a moment as he suppressed a smile. The days that followed Marcel Costello’s death have been a blur, a seemingly endless night of chaos. It felt as though the Halloween event would be the last time that the consigliere would have any respite but lying there in Sofia’s room gave him some time to breathe. He wondered if the Sinclairs would allow them the same courtesy to mourn, to let them bury their dead before recommencing what essentially was a full-on war, but knowing them, and their underhanded tactics, Abel doubted it.

He wondered if it was safer for the twins to be sent to their grandparents but it wasn’t his call-- they weren’t his siblings. Abel was brought back to the conversation at hand where Sofia talked about the Carmichaels, admittedly he didn’t care to know much about them, the younger one, Juliet, used to date Luca and the consigliere bore witness to his cousin’s spiral post-breakup; Mason, he knew had been incarcerated and whatever the reason, it was a fuck-up and Abel didn’t like dealing with those who messed up-- it was a matter of self-preservation and the consigliere wasn’t about to stick his neck out for someone unreliable. 

Abel was about to comment on the subject of the Carmichael siblings when Sofia shifted the conversation to what he assumed was more teasing, though his blue eyes did widen for a moment at the mention of a particular name. He gave the younger Costello a sidelong glance before absently patting his cousin’s head and Abel took it as his cue for an exit.

“It’s more likely that you end up marrying a Hemsworth, Sof, so don't hold your breath for the other one.” Abel sat up and turned to look back at her. “But thank you, for last time, though nothing came out of it.” He hadn’t forgotten the lengths that his overly helpful cousin have gone to, playing matchmaker and basically manipulating Chanel into going out with him.

[wardo]

#me af

[tell-me-another-horror-story]

[abel-costello]

@sofia-costello

[abel-costello]

chanelxalbright‌:

@abel-costello​

Date: November 13th, 2019 (Abel’s birthday)

Location: Roma Hotel

It had been nearly two weeks since Marcel’s death, about a week since his actual funeral. Chanel’s world felt rocky at best at the moment, so much uncertainty going on that she was beginning to feel anxious of what was to come. Whatever it was, she planned on backing the Costello family no matter what, she just needed to know what it actually was. Would there be moves made against the Sinclairs? What kind would they be? Would they be attacks on their business, or would they be attacks on their family? Bloody? So many possibilities floated around, every single one of them bogging down Chanel’s mind to the point that she was desperate for distraction.

Lucky for her, Abel Costello was such a distraction. While he was wrapped up in her anxieties of what the future held, he also was the breath of fresh air that she needed to take her mind of those exact anxieties. She wasn’t sure what was going on between them, not even certain if she could classify each other as a ‘them’, but ever since they’d kissed in her office at the Roma she just felt better when he was around. Like she could breath easier, feel relaxed, not have the weight of the world on her shoulders. He’d promised her protection, and he was giving it to her whether he realized it or not.

Which is exactly why she needed to return the favor. November 13th marked Abel’s birthday, and while in the past they had gotten together to share a drink in celebration, this year she decided to make it a little more special. Not just because there was a chance they could make out again, but also because Abel needed a distraction from the world they both lived in as well. He deserved some time away from the chaos, and a time to celebrate his birthday was just the thing.

Texting him to meet her at a room in the Roma, Chanel had taken some time to set it up so that it was similar to the set design of Rear Window. Whether or not Abel had seen the movie, she was unsure, but being the cinephile that he was he had to at least have heard of it. Which caused her to also dawn one of the costumes worn by Grace Kelly. It was dramatic and very well over the top, but that was exactly what she was going for. Over the top meant distracting. And even if it caused Abel to laugh his ass off, it at least meant that he had gotten a kick out of it.

Double checking all of her other provisions; the alcohol, the snacks, the movies (including Rear Window), she smiled confidently at what she’d been able to put together. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but it would have to do. 

Walking over to the bed, she laid down and picked up one of the DVDs she’d borrowed from a friend who was also similarly into classic movies and had been the one to recommend half the movies she’d brought with her, and began to read the description on the back of it while she waited for his arrival.

Three days have passed since the funeral and the delay allowed the most volatile of the family members to compose themselves while Abel remained his stoic self. The death of a father figure was something foreign to him and he was thankful for Chanel by being there. She was a welcome distraction and the recent developments have given him pause on more than one occasion. He wanted to be happy but found himself unable to give in completely, the guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders. It was ill-timed, as was the case with the Costello publicist since Abel met her six years ago.

It’s always ill-timed. If not now then when?

Perhaps never. It was reckless, he knew this but it hasn’t stopped either one of them from acting like love-sick youths with all their attempts at secrecy. She had her reasons and he had his, but they were both in agreement at keeping it between them, for how long it was never discussed. In fact, nothing had been discussed since then, and the avoidance of having to define what it was that was happening between them was clear.

It doesn’t matter, right?

A text message from Chanel Albright prompted Abel to stop what he was doing and the crowbar was handed to his colleague; it was November 13th, his birthday yet the event had completely slipped his mind. There was a slight twitch in the corners of his lips, a flash of something that resembled anticipation in his usually cold, blue eyes and Abel typed a response before putting the mobile phone away and took the crowbar back.

Two effortless whacks on the head and the bound Sinclair lackey was gone, blood splattered on the consigliere’s face and it was finished just like that. He began to remove his gloves only to pause halfway; what if it was another party like the last time? Luca and Sofia had both attempted to throw him a party in the past, two different parties on two different birthdays with the same result-- Abel slipping out and leaving his own celebration.

The location for their meeting was one of the bigger suites, and from what Abel could remember, it wasn’t big enough for the kind of party that Chanel often planned but with her, anything was possible. He wanted to call her, just to get a feel of what she might be up to but before the consigliere knew it, they had arrived at the hotel.

He came empty-handed, having forgotten to bring anything during a detour at one of his apartments for clean-up and now that he was standing in front of the door, Abel was unsure if he should have brought something. But it was too late and he gave two quick raps on the door as he adjusted his tie.