HELPLESS. @delilahsbello - Tumblr Blog

hermionediangelo:

[ @delilahsbello ] 08/04/19. TWELFTH NIGHT.

Harriet had emerged from her office finding the museum a vastly different place than it had been when she had entered, dissonance of conversation pierced through the veil of calm that enshrouded the building during working hours. Shouldering her handbag, the D’Angelo woman’s gaze sweeps the room once, making a brief note of the familiar faces that littered the crowd, advantageous to be amicable with regular clients (but from a distance).

“Buona notte,” bidding farewell to the security guard at the front desk, she returns the smile offered to her as a parting gift, the sound of someone walking behind her amplified in the otherwise silent foyer. Hand on the long metal handle, Harriet steps back, waiting to see if the person behind her would, too, be exiting the building. The corner of her mouth tightens for a moment in what she hopes is a kind expression, that the long work day didn’t impact her features.

“Getting some air?” The question is poised, it always paid to be nice, an attempt at small talk in relation to a gesture that could have been taken from her own playbook.

Delilah knew she should be taking it easy. She had only been out of the hospital for about a week now, but she needed to get back into her routine. She felt stifled just sitting back at her house. She had to practically beg her supervisor to allow her to cover an event, but after much reluctance, she had given her the go-ahead to report on an event happening at the Twelfth Night. It wasn’t the hard-hitting news that she had been working towards, but it at least made her feel useful in her line of work.

She had underestimated the size of the event. Crowds of people surround her as they mingle around the museum. A camera dangles around her neck as she tries to write down notes on the exhibit and the attendees, but the ambiance of the event pulls her focus away from her work. Delilah found it too hard to concentrate, so she tucked her pen behind her ear and attempted to slip away to a deserted part of the museum.

Her attention was focused on her camera, but she glanced up at the woman’s comment. A soft smile played on her lips as she nodded. “It’s a bit too loud for my tastes. Hard to concentrate with so many conversations happening at once.” Delilah grew up used to the quiet, especially since she had spent the past week in a quiet hospital room. Adjusting back to the present would take some time. “Did you enjoy the exhibit?”

#( chat )#( harriet )#( april 8 )#( twelfth night )

dailynetflix

I think I’ve had the joy of playing women who just have to find themselves. I think that’s something we can all relate to, especially as women, where we might feel that we’re put in a box and told what we should be or should do or how we should dress or look or express ourselves or whatever. They make mistakes, like some really big, messy mistakes. But essentially they learn from them and move forward with life in a much more positive way.

#how is she so pretty :/#( visage )

ivanrahal‌:

The whole ordeal is a little tacky for his taste.

The venue is fine enough, but the decor is outdated, and the fish is dry, and the flowers are too kitsch, and all the love songs are giving him a headache, and there are far too many men and women in blue for his liking. (Really, now, did Odin have to invite the entire fucking precinct?)

But Ivan has a role to play, and he certainly does look the part—a model best man if ever there was one. He’d pressed Odin’s tie himself, stored backup ties and pocket squares in the trunk of his car should Odin change his mind about his wardrobe, ushered the groom to the venue on time, stood beside him at the altar with a perfect, practiced smile that looked real enough to sway the masses, and delivered a speech full to the brim with anecdotes, charm, jokes, and a heartfelt conclusion that left not a dry eye in the room.

All the world’s a stage, no?

And Ivan is merely a player, plying old friends and strangers and the Bello family with a tongue that drips honey so sweet you’d never guess it’s laced with poison.

A familiar voice chimes from behind him, and he swallows a weary sigh as he turns to face the blushing bride. “It was no easy feat, rest assured.” He means it: bringing Odin back in one piece was grueling work. He doesn’t have enough fingers or toes to count all of the times Odin had risked his own life to save a stranger’s. He’d survived their tour by the skin of his teeth, and only because Ivan, affectionately called “Shadow” by their team, followed Odin around like a second skin, always watching his back with keen eyes while the stupid bastard played hero. “Your husband is superhumanly bullheaded, Mrs. Bello.” The title sits on his tongue like curdled milk, sour and rancid, but his smile never wavers.

“The venue is divine, Delilah,” he lies, simpering. “You put it to shame.” Slick, syrupy words meant to put her at ease, dismantle her guard. “I met your parents,” he says conversationally. “Lovely people.” More like dull, boorish people who look like they’d rather eat glass than watch their daughter marry Odin Bello, but… “They must be over the moon.” He knows they’re not—it’s why he asks.

Mrs.Bello.

The term was still foreign to Delilah. She had been Delilah Russo for so long that the name Delilah Bello hadn’t fully registered in her mind yet. She had shifted from her mother’s daughter to the wife of a beloved police officer within the span of a few hours. A part of her expected to feel nervous about the change, but strangely, she just felt content. She had always been attracted to that sense of adventure that she lacked herself, and Odin had managed to bring that to her life. He made her better, and she felt like she did the same for him.

Ivan’s comment made her smile slightly. She had been attracted to Odin for many reasons, but his stubbornness was an unexpected endearment. Of course, years from now she’ll learn that his stubbornness will play a part in their downfall, but for now, she found it amusing. “He is bullheaded. I think it’s part of his charm.” Her eyes drifted over to him, all charm and smiles as he mingles with some of the cops from his precinct, before she directed her attention back to Ivan.

The compliment made her look away. She wasn’t used to such praise, but today had been her special day. It was understandable that she’d receive dozens of compliments on her wedding day. Delilah was merely used to being more in the background rather than the limelight. “Why thank you. You clean up well yourself, Ivan.” A part of her suspected her husband’s outfit was partly due to Ivan, but she kept her suspicions to herself. He could’ve shown up in a swimsuit and she still would’ve married him.

At the mention of her parents, Delilah couldn’t prevent a sigh from escaping her lips. “I love them to death, but--” She paused, thinking about her parent’s reaction to her engagement. She could remember her father’s claim that he would never give his consent to the relationship, and Delilah’s defiance as she went along with the wedding. She hadn’t been able to understand their disdain for her husband. A part of her wondered if it was merely their overprotective nature, but another part feared that it was truly just a distaste towards Odin. “They don’t necessarily approve of Odin. I had to beg them to come to the wedding.”

She could remember the words she used to convince them to show up. I’m your only daughter. It didn’t seem like much, but it was enough to get them to set aside their personal feelings. “They’re here though, so that’s all that matters.” She shrugged, but the shrug was anything but nonchalant. Her parents had provided her with unnecessary stress, but the wedding had slowly been alleviating that concern. She hoped it would continue to do so.

#( chat )#( ivan )#( flashback )#( wedding reception )

trinityzakarians‌:

“You shouldn’t be here.”

It’s an interesting notion and Trinity cannot help but ponder what she means by the phrase. ‘Here’ could refer to so many things– it could mean before Delilah, at the function, and for all intensive purposes, the woman could very well mean Trinity shouldn’t be here in Verona, in which case, Trinity wouldn’t exactly be in disagreement. Delilah does of course clarify with her addendum that it was private event, but it was all still ambiguous in Trinity’s eyes.

“Hmmm,” Trinity breathes out at her remarks, lacking any interest in what the girl has to say. She’s not exactly curious for the truth, whatever it may be, but rather she’s interested in pushing Delilah’s buttons, daring to see what might make the Capulet woman tick. The implied mention of her supposed infidelity seems to pull a defensive reaction from the woman, but Delilah’s feet remain planted, at which Trinity’s lips curl into a cruel smile. It was always more fun when the prey decided they wanted to fight back.

“And why’s that?” Trinity asks with the tilt of her her head, “Isn’t the truth is just a matter of perception? Hearing is knowing, darling…” she says, as she holds the knife in front of Delilah. She tilts the blade so it catches the light, her gaze moving from Delilah to weapon in her hand. In many ways, Trinity’s words are rooted in experience, for her entire public reputation had been built on the foundation of a secret. She had ensured her own truth would never see the light of day, so did the reality of the situation matter at all?

There was something about Trinity that caused Delilah’s breath to hitch. There was a coldness in her eyes that Delilah had seen only a few times before. She had seen it in the mob after they had turned away from her, but her more memorable encounter had been her husband’s gaze as he threw accusations her way. That cold, ruthless stare that stole her voice for months after it left her gaze. It reappeared on Trinity, but this time had been different. This time she fought to keep her voice from failing her. She had her voice stolen once before, and Delilah was tired of embracing the silence.

“Rumors are baseless.” She had echoed that same sentiment to the Capulets, but her words had fallen on deaf ears. They either believed her to be the witch her ex-husband claimed her as, or they had settled on a cool indifference that impacted her just as harshly. There had been few wins in her eyes, few that claimed to believe her story, few that knew the real her enough to deny the rumors. It had been painful, but she learned who her true friends were through the hardship.

She was about to say more, but the movement of fabric caught her attention. She saw a glimpse of the Capulet soldier, or was she a Montague?, strung up for all to see. Her focus had shifted from the enemy in front of her to the spectacle meant to draw the Montague’s attention. A nauseous feeling crept up her throat as she looked at the girl. She was so in her head that she didn’t notice the soldier that had looked at her so hungrily seconds ago. A tragic mistake, but wasn’t her story riddled with those already?

#( chat )#( trinity )#( cathedral )#( march 26 )

dukemassetti

april 24th delilah’s home mid-afternoon | closed for @delilahsbello

Now that he’s firmly decided on what to do, it’s time to tell Delilah. It won’t be easy, and the conversation will suck very deeply, but he cares enough to let her collect herself before he tells the entire Capulet rumor mill.

It’s taken a lot of time and patience to get here. Orion had a suspicion for some time, that it was Ivan who had torn Odin and Delilah apart, but nothing close to being able to confirm it. It took help from Pietra, and even reaching out to Loretta, in order to put Ivan’s history together. Once he was able to do that somewhat-reliably, the pieces began to fall into place.

It’s all cirumstantial, of course. Ivan would never have left any actual evidence behind. Yet like a puzzle of logic, eventually, investigation will lead to only one conclusion: it could only be Ivan Rahal. He was the only one motivated, to the extent that anyone could be, to ruin Odin and Delilah’s happiness. He is the only one who still reaps the benefit of their anguish, who still gets to see his perfect plan bear fruit in their pain. Now, Orion has him caught enough to coax him into admitting it, if he plays his cards right.

But first, a test run, on the woman who has most to gain and most to lose from such a reveal.

Since he only had to go from the car to the door, in essence, he brought his cane, and he sets it beside his chair as he sits across from Delilah. ❝ I know I told you I had something serious to tell you, but we might want to start with wine. How does that sound ? ❞

delilahsbello

Delilah was nervous.

Delilah didn’t know what news Orion brought her, but the topic being serious made her nervous. Was it about his recovery process? She knew he must be struggling with it after what the Montagues had done to him. Her eyes had travelled to the cane resting beside his chair and the missing digit on his hand. Was it about her standing in the mob? Delilah had never been the perfect soldier. She was exercised enough to be good stamina-wise and she was decent with a knife, but she was nothing remarkable compared to others. Her refusal to murder or torture also could be seen as a downside, though Delilah insists that she’s human and wishes to treat others as such unless truly provoked.

A final thought swirled through her mind: did it have to do with Odin? The thought only occurred because of their shared connection with her ex-husband. Delilah had met him through her ex-husband, after all, and they all worked within the same mob.

Regardless of the subject, she nodded when he suggested wine. Delilah slipped away from her chair and into her kitchen. Her eyes scanned the fridge before she found a half-empty bottle of Chardonnay that she had been working through for a while. She gripped the cold bottle before grabbing a couple of cups in her other hand. She set down one cup in front of Orion before pouring the liquid halfway. She did the same to her own cup before she nodded at the man.

“Be honest, Orion.” She sipped the wine before placing it down on the table. Her kitten tried to bat at the cup, but Delilah nudged her away with her foot. “Will I need something stronger than wine?”

#( chat )#( orion )#( delilahs apartment )#( april 24 )

dukemassetti

march 26th the cathedral 8 PM | closed for @delilahsbello

There was no clear reason for him to be so vaguely fond of Delilah. She was weaker than Maeve, who at least had the comfort of her convictions, and not so talented as Lillian, who had just as soft a heart. She didn’t stand up for herself, that was the issue, and Orion was usually uninterested in standing up for someone who never took the initiative. He’d only started to befriend her on a whim, instinct telling him that she was part of lies and conspiracy that he would like to figure out. Prolonged proximity really did make the heart grow fonder, because now, with everyone dressed so nicely and feeling so celebratory, he saw her wince at the sight of her former husband and felt a feeble twist in his stomach.

He raised Rafaella’s hand, linked with his, and kissed the back of it. ❝ I think I see the only empty space on my dance card, ❞ he murmured, turning to make sure it would be okay if he left for the space of a dance. This was her first large-scale outing with the Capulets since she’d come home, and she had been unnaturally quiet, prone to sticking to his side more than usual. He liked it, he’d admit to that, but he also worried for her. At his sentence, she looked away for a moment, but when she collected herself, she gave him a slight smile. ❝ As long as the rest are firmly reserved, ❞ she said with reluctance, her fingers on his cheek.

Orion leaned forward to kiss her, leaning his forehead against hers for a moment. ❝ Every other slot’s got your name on it, ❞ he promised, squeezing her hand before getting to his feet. He was reluctant, too, not just to leave her but to let the others have a fair shot at her. He had been greedy with her, and he reminded himself that he wasn’t supposed to cage her, not entirely. This would be good, a moment of separation for both of them as the current song neared its’ end.

He crossed the room to Delilah, weaving his way through the other Capulets and knocking her shoulder with his gently. ❝ Hey there, wallflower, ❞ he said, turning fully to face her and holding out a hand. ❝ Party’s over. Dance with me. ❞

delilahsbello

Delilah had prepared herself for the event. She had thought about skipping it altogether, but she knew how that would look to her fellow soldiers. She could hear the rumors that would float around about her absence--- ones that painted a picture of her believing she’s too good for a celebratory event or whispers about her spending the time with the lover that supposedly ruined her marriage to their beloved Odin. The thought had been enough to get her out of her apartment and into the midst of the festivities, or well, at least out of her apartment.

She had spent a good portion of the night tucked away from the party. She had watched her ex-husband work the room from afar, and the sight of him so close made her wish she had chosen to stay home and embrace the rumors that would swirl the next day. She hadn’t spoken to him in around a year, and the thought of interacting with him made her heart lurch. Would she use her voice, or would he strip her of that once more? She wasn’t keen to find out, but the room felt too small for her to escape his presence.

Luckily, she felt a body bump against hers. Her eyes pulled away from her lost love and focused on the man in front of her. A soft smile fell on her lips at his greeting and his outstretched hand. “Orion Massetti wants to dance with me? I’m flattered.” She had joked, for she knew she was amongst friends. She didn’t know if he was on her side or riding the fence, but the gratitude she felt for pulling her focus away caused her not to care at the moment. Let her enjoy one dance with a friend. She had dressed up and made the trip out there--- she might as well enjoy it for a moment.

She placed her hand in his before she quietly led them out to the dance floor. They were far enough away from the others to allow Delilah’s shoulders to relax. “Have you been enjoying the event?” She felt like she hadn’t seen him much, but then again, her focus had remained elsewhere. Her dress swayed as she started to move to the song alongside her partner.

#( chat )#( orion )#( cathedral )#( march 26 )

isabellagagliano‌:

“Gardening, hmm?” Isa says. “My mother loved gardening. She planted flowers more so than vegetables, but my father got her a pomegranate tree; no matter that she planted, she never found blossoms that she liked as much as the blossoms on the tree.” It’s jarring almost, having a memory of Candela Gagliano that is not tainted by the trauma of her murder or the loveless ways in which she tried to mold them into her idea of a perfect daughter. Their expression falters for just a moment, though they perk at the sound of fresh tomatoes. “Yes, please. I’d like that.”

At least you didn’t get hurt, Delilah says, and Isabella can’t stop the wry half-smile that overtakes their features. They might have taken better to the Vernon daughter’s quick dismissal if she’d spun it in that direction; they would have, of course, still fought back, but seeing a shred of humanity in Odessa’s expression rather than guardedness would have fared better for them both. “True,” they acquiesce with a shrug, “though I’m not necessarily afraid to get hurt.” The fearlessness is seared into the marrows of their bones; the desire for truth so often outweighs common sense–but if they won’t, who will?

Not much on the Capulet end–not anything that their darling Jezebel would be informed of. Isabella detests how they’ve silenced Delilah, how they’ve branded her dishonest and unworthy of trust–not because they want her to funnel information to them (though, it would be a plus), but because she’s done nothing wrong. But let them shun her, let them try to muzzle her; Isabella Gagliano has plans for Delilah, has faith in Delilah, and that, coupled with her tenacious work ethic, will be more than enough. “They’re not harassing you for going home, are they?”

It was sad that normal conversations were far and few between for Delilah. The fact that something as simple as gardening was able to make her feel like her old self should’ve frightened Delilah, but instead she valued the small steps she was taking to put her marriage in the past. She could enjoy a simple conversation with a friend. Her husband took her voice, but she had slowly been finding it again. Small conversations were a start, but with Isabella’s help, perhaps she will build herself whole once more.

“Pomegranate flowers are gorgeous. Your parents had good taste.” Delilah didn’t ask Isabella about their parents. She had been familiar enough with Odin’s childhood to know that sometimes people don’t wish to talk about things for a reason. Delilah had been lucky enough to grow up with two parents who loved each other, and her, fiercely. She had been overwhelmed by how protective they were, but she wouldn’t trade them for the world. A part of her was relieved when they told her they were relocating to Rome. She had seen the true Verona, and Delilah had been happy to keep them away from such revelations, and especially since their beloved daughter couldn’t keep away.

Delilah nodded at Isabella’s confession. She knew the journalist was willing to do whatever it takes to uncover the truth, but she also knew that there needed to be a bit of self-care involved in such a risky field. “I know, but that doesn’t mean I condone it.” Her eyes softened as she watched her friend. “Take care of yourself.” Delilah looked around the office before a sly smile tugged on her lips,” You’re the only friend I have here.”

At their question, Delilah shook her head. She knew that she wasn’t valuable enough for the mob to care if she took a weekend off. A part of her knew it was better to fly under the radar. She didn’t want to kill or torture. She wasn’t sure if she could allow herself to go that far even if they asked that of her. Being overlooked for certain missions due to her reputation was a pain when it came to rebuilding the trust that she lost, but it was a blessing for a woman that only joined the mob in a bid to restore a failing relationship. “I doubt they even noticed my absence. I’m not exactly a social butterfly in the group.” That was an understatement---- Delilah wasn’t merely shying away from forming connections with her fellow soldiers, she had a wall built around her by her ex-husband’s barbed words.

#( chat )#( isabella )#( il giornale )#( march 17 )

la-bella-falco‌:

It was cruel, perhaps, that with out her status as a fallen women, Delilah never would have caught Lucrezia’s attention. There was nothing particularly remarkable about her, she was sweet and sweet never lasted all too long in their line of work. But to cause such an outrage, such a heavy scandal - now that was interesting and caught the attention of the famed Lady Macbeth. There must be more to her, and Lucrezia was intent on figuring out exactly what that was.

“Right again, Lilah. I try you know, they say its good exercise and there is even some sort of ‘runner’s high’ but I think its bullshit all I get is bored. Running is only useful if you’re running towards or away from something.” And that was her opinion on the matter, she nodded in a final sort of way, already over this conversation and ready for something much more interesting. “I have trouble sleeping so I can always pretend to be doing something productive.

Delilah shifted her attention back to the sunrise, beautiful she said, and Lucrezia agreed. But it wasn’t a peaceful sort of thing, the blending of colors under a careful artist’s brush. This was a bloodbath of a sunrise, the reds seeping into the clouds and permeating the blues and grays with the promise of violence. She took it as a promising sign, sometimes bleeding was the only way to purify. Sometimes blood was the only worthwhile sacrifice.

“Yes, it’s beautiful.” Her eyebrows raised at Delilah’s hesitation, at the longing and pain in her voice. It seemed a bit of bloodletting would be required here as well. Lucrezia was more than game.

“May I?” And before the other woman could answer, Lu had already slipped the diamond from her finger and held it up to the light. “Hmm, looks real. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d gotten a fake, cheap fucking bastard.” She got a manic sort of look in her eye. “Let’s test it shall we?” She slipped the ring over her own knuckle, pressing the edge of the diamond into the stone wall beside her, carving out of this tragic symbol their own sort of legacy.

LF + DB

“Must be real after all.” She smiled, and handed it back a bit dusty and the metal of the band bent. “It’s time, Lilah. It’s time to cut out that part of you. It the only way to stop hurting.”

She smiled softly at Lucrezia’s words. Lucrezia struck her as more action-oriented than Delilah. Delilah enjoyed a nice run. She liked the feeling of getting away from her thoughts and the freedom that came with just running with no clear destination in sight. It had been one of her escapes after her divorce. Maybe Lucrezia was right, maybe running was her outlet because it allowed her to run away from the rumors and the negative memories, but Delilah also just found a contentedness that came with the hobby.

Delilah watched as Lucrezia slipped the ring from her finger. She sucked in a breath at the foreign feeling of a barren finger. She was so used to the band resting around her digit. She couldn’t remember the last time she took the piece of jewelry off and a part of her knew it was because the ring held so many memories. She could remember their first date, the day he proposed to her, their wedding, but she could also remember the fights and the feeling of a door being slammed in her face.

Her eyes focused on the ring as her friend carved into the stone wall. There was something tragic about seeing the beautiful ring marked up by dust, but she needed to remind herself that the person who gave her the isn’t her husband anymore. All of the symbolism that the ring carried was gone as soon as she signed the papers, and now the piece of jewelry was just a stark reminder of how far she’s fallen.

Maybe that’s why she noted Lucrezia’s words. Maybe that’s why she gripped the ring and stared out over the bridge. She knew she needed to abandon the old memories that plagued her. She knew she needed to start anew, and getting rid of the wedding ring would help her focus more on the future. There was a slight hesitancy as she held the ring in her palm, but then she thought back on Odin’s harsh words and the tears she shed after he left. She thought about how she received the divorce papers in the mail---- how her ex-husband couldn’t even deliver it in person. She thought about how she had been the one to collapse as this marriage crumbled, and how he hadn’t even reached out to hear her side of the story.

All of the bad memories came to a head, and Delilah felt her jaw stiffen. Her vision was cloudy as tears threatened to fall, but before they broke the surface, she moved her arm back. Her eyes shifted to lock onto Lucrezia’s before she released her grip on the ring and let it go. A soft splash could be heard as the item sunk into the Adige.

“Addio.” She whispered to the ring as she watched the ripples slowly die down. Her eyes shifted to Lucrezia after that moment, and softness could be seen in her expression. “Thank you.”

#( chat )#( lucrezia )#( castelvecchio bridge )#( flashback )

rafaellacapulet‌:

date: march 27th

location: hospital

time: 4:00 am

status: for @delilahsbello

She doesn’t visit Delilah out of the kindness of her heart – but out of respect. The reason she stays throughout the night, after having settled things at the cathedral. There’s a plan in motion to recover, her mind already thinking of the names of three different contractors to contact as well as figures within the papacy that would be more than willing to donate their funds to rebuilding what was damaged from the fire. Despise them as she did, Catholic pockets ran deep and their coins always carried more weight. Tiredly, she rubbed at her eyes in the dim room, gaze occasionally flickering towards the screen that monitored Delilah’s heart palpitations.

Rafaella wasn’t so callous as to turn a blind eye towards the sacrifice that was made. It reassured her that Delilah’s stake with the Capulets went beyond her husband’s – ah, ex-husband’s – ties. But it made Rafaella curious – what could Delilah possibly offer and contribute to them that they didn’t already have? She sinks back in the hospital chair, turning the question over in her head, meticulously listing the possible answers.

But the glaring truth is this: the Capulets cannot afford to lose any more soldiers. And if there’s any way Rafaella can turn this woman into an asset, she’ll find one, no matter which parts the sacrifices Delilah will have to make in the process. She’s done it…what, twice before now? Her lips twitch as she thinks of Cordelia, of Miranda…she can do it again. Her gaze flickers over to Delilah, watching the woman stir from her sleep. The wound that Delilah had taken for her hadn’t been a simple cut, it looked as though it had been clean and deep.

“Ah, so she lives.”

She leans forward, lips pursing in consideration as she waits for Delilah’s mind to catch up to the current situation. “I had you taken from the Cathedral and placed here. There’s a Capulet initiate that’s standing guard outside, but I don’t think you’re in danger – it was simply a precaution.” What she doesn’t say is this: you’re not valuable enough, yet, to be worth killing. “You did well today, Desdemona – considering.”

Delilah could remember the days before she joined the Capulets. She had lived in blissful ignorance of the mob war that plagued Verona. She didn’t see the blood that stained Odin’s hands or realize the brutal acts he’s committed in the Capulets name. No, she had only known of the gentle touch he held her with and the romantic acts he did to win her heart. Life would’ve been easier had he kept that part hidden away, but Delilah knew it was too late for longing. She had elected to join the mob in a bid to rekindle her dying relationship, and she had stayed in it out of obligation.

It wasn’t an obligation, however, that caused her to protect the advisor. A part of it stemmed from her role as a soldier and the knowledge that Rafaella was higher up in the chain of command, but another part of her had done it out of concern. She had never gotten along with Rafaella, but she knew the girl must’ve endured unspeakable things when she was captured. Delilah may not be the perfect soldier, but she was human enough to see when someone needed a break.

Delilah’s eyes squinted as she adjusted to the light. Her body ached, and the pain only deepened as she fought to sit up slightly. Her hand brushed against her abdomen before pulling it away at the touch of a bandage. Slowly, the memories of the event flooded into her mind. The Capulets celebrating their anniversary before the Montagues swarmed. Trinity’s cold gaze pinned on her. The feel of a knife entering her body.

She had quietly hoped it was a bad dream, but apparently the world wasn’t willing to give her that.

Eyes trained on Rafaella as she spoke. Questions swirled through her mind, but Delilah couldn’t settle on just one. Instead, she allowed herself to nod at the advisor’s praise. It allowed her mind a break before she finally grasped onto a singular question. “What happened after I left?” It melded her questions into one. Instead of asking who else got hurt, why the Montagues had entered their party, what the outcome was, she had opted for a question that would ideally answer all of them--- or at least help fill in some of the blanks.

#( chat )#( rafaella )#( march 27 )#( verona hospital )#violence tw #idk if its necessary but ill tag it anyways

alvafae‌:

Their attention, for the most part, was mostly on the men, making sure that they were well and truly gone. Alva, despite coming to the young woman’s rescue, didn’t actually want to get their ass kicked for it. Satisfied that the group has moved on, they turn their attentions on the young lady.

She’s so pretty, they think, and sad looking.

Whatever her story is, Alva was not keen on leaving her to those wolves. They’re not concerned with learning more about why her eyes glisten, or her brows knit, not when it’s more imperative to make sure she’s out of danger. She needs to come down off the adrenaline, relax, and then maybe Alva can get her a cab back to wherever home is for her.

“Couldn’t leave you there, like that. Come, I’ll put you in the back real quick in case they have buddies around, and I’ll go get your box.”

Alva is living proof that being kind and good is a conscious choice that one has to make, regardless of what’s happened in one’s life. There were several opportunities for Alva to learn to be harder, to be meaner, to be craftier, but Alva chose not to. It wasn’t worth it, to them, to become the same thing that tried to steal their joy, their happiness.

The world needs good people; and it’s provided those people to Alva on several occasions. They wouldn’t be alive were it not for the kindness of strangers. Alva considers this paying back into Verona what she offered them at their lowest. People always assume Verona is nothing but the families, but that would be a mistake. Despite the fact that everything seems to be inter-connected, there are still people who want to do good, here. There are still people here who’d help a stranger. Alva is one of them, now.

They lead the young lady into the back, where the workers who operate the bar and the club floor leave their things. It’s kind of a locker room and employee break room in one. They lead her to a chair at one of the tables.

“I’ll be out just a moment, to get your box. Do you want anything from the bar? I’ll get it on my way back to you.”

Couldn’t leave you there. It was sad that such a humane phrase warmed her heart. She had felt hopeless since her divorce. She had lost her voice, her husband, her friends, and her dignity all in the span of a few months. In the past, she wouldn’t even question the help of a stranger. She had been raised to see the good in people. However, she had been forced to see the malicious intent that laid ben.eath the surface of so many people. Odin’s words had gone from honey-coated to barbed. The soldiers’ had gone from content to ravenous. The stranger, it seemed, was one of the few that chose to display their good side rather than whatever lurked beneath the surface.

She followed them to the back of the Dark Lady. It was strange to be tucked away in a place that so many soldiers were known to frequent. She had partly avoided it because so many of her old friends occupied the tables, but perhaps it wasn’t all bad. The ambiance was night. the music was soothing, and the workers seemed to know how to take care of someone.

She slipped into the chair and her eyes examined the room. It was cozy. She could picture singers and employees lounging around in between shifts, sharing drinks, and tales about wild customers. It partly reminded her of her new workplace’s break room, but she hadn’t known enough people to make conversations. She only knew Isabella, and they could only talk so much before they were pulled back to work.

At the question, Delilah thought about her options. Normally, she would’ve requested a small cocktail to take her mind off of things. She didn’t particularly enjoy overly sweet concoctions, but cocktails were a quick way to name any hard feelings. However, she didn’t want to bother the employees. “I’ll just take a glass of red wine.”

She placed her hand in her lap as she watched the stranger leave. All Delilah could think about was the risks they were going through to help her. They could’ve gotten attacked by those soldiers. They could get in trouble for tucking her away in the back. They’re doing a lot for her. How was she meant to repay them?

#( chat )#( alva )#( the dark lady )#( flashback )

lavolumnia

Lealtà Testate || ft. DB

delilahsbello

lavolumnia‌:

Date: March 27th, 2019. Time: Early afternoon. Place: Ospedale Borgo Roma Availability: Closed to @delilahsbello

The Capulet Anniversary has left Vivianne feeling angry.

Perhaps angrier than she has a right to feel, given that she’d stayed silent and somber at Cosimo’s side as it had all gone down. But the lengths he’d gone to to prove his point had surprised even her; in that jolting, nauseating way that she’d thought she’d long since become immune to. Leave it to the Capo and his grand ideas to bring it out of her again...

At least, fulfilling her duty in visiting injured Capulets, is a welcome respite - where it was normally an exhausting and not entirely welcome task for the Capobastone. But today she prefers to be here; even with nurses rushing about and the gawking stares of onlookers who know exactly who she is. Delilah Bello is last on her list; a name that’s gotten tongues wagging over the last few months - albeit not for reasons that interest the Underboss.

Still, as she slips into the divorcee’s room and closes the door gently behind her, Vivianne wonders idly whether a knife to the gut had inspired her ex-husband to come visit her. Her mind travels unwillingly to another Capulet at that; to the events of Il Teatro and the marked absence of his name from her own list of visitors thereafter. Don’t think of that, she rebukes herself firmly, only for her mind to travel to more recent events; to an impeccable office and a crumpled dress-shirt and cool hands on warm skin… Don’t think of that either.

“Buon pomeriggio, Desdemona,” She says, fixing her attention onto the bedridden woman as she strolls over to greet her. “Word of your heroism has reached many ears, bella. The Adviser is very grateful that you were there at the right place and at the right time.” It’s only half-true. She hadn’t yet spoken to Rafaella about it, but they’re words meant to bolster the injured soldier’s morale. Vivianne offers them with practiced ease. “How are you recovering?”

She had flipped through the channels ten times before she finally turned the TV off altogether. Delilah’s mind wandered back to the anniversary event. She had gotten into fights before, every Capulet has, but she had never felt the slip of a knife puncture her skin like that. She had felt true fear at that moment, and she felt like she could see Trinity’s cold gaze every time she attempted to close her eyes.

Was this what it meant to be a soldier in the mob? Just living in a cycle of obtaining injuries and healing from them? Was this truly the life she signed up for over a year ago? At the time, it seemed to be the only way to fix her marriage. Odin had been slipping away from her, and joining an organization he spent most of him time with seemed to be the smart decision. Of course, now she knew that it didn’t matter if she bled blue or remained neutral. Her marriage had been doomed either way.

She thought about sleeping away the memories, but her eyes had fluttered open as soon as she heard a voice. Her eyes settled on the underboss as she soaked up the woman’s frame. She had this power that radiated from her so easily. Delilah had never possessed that power, and especially in the recent year, whatever light used to radiate from her had been slowly losing its glow. She wondered how Vivianne dealt with the power, how she handled the threats and glares sent her way from enemies and jealous co-workers alike, but she didn’t inquire about it aloud. After all, a lowly soldier shouldn’t be asking such questions to the underboss.

“No permanent damage. Just a scar, it seems.” And pain. She was dealing with it, but Delilah always had a rather low pain tolerance. The first part of her sentence, heroism, had caught Delilah’s attention. She was often painted as a villain in the eyes of the Capulet, a harlot that threw poor Odin aside as soon as another interested party came along, so to hear the word heroism tied to her name caused a bit of shock to course through her system. She shook off the shock before diverting her focus back onto the underboss, “And you? Are you well?”

#( chat )#( vivianne )#( verona hospital )#( march 27 )

evcravens‌:

date: 28 March 2019 location: Ospedale Borgo Roma time: 20:57 status: closed for @delilahsbello

Mikael is soon to be on the mend, which isn’t healthy, but it’s healing, and that’s all that Everett can really ask for in the aftermath of il Tribunale. Every one of his loved one’s injuries has pricked another hole in his heart, pin by pin. Now, it’s hemorrhaging concern. Easton, Mikael, Lillian ( and even, for some unknown reason, Lucrezia ) flash past his mind’s eye, all carried out from the main sanctuary two days ago, and he wonders, and he worries —

Everett shakes his head, tugging on his coat as he walks down another corridor reeking of that too-clean antiseptic smell. No use fretting about what can’t be changed. And anyway, Mikael is still in a remarkably cheerful disposition, which is enough to make Everett feel more lighthearted already. They’d all get better in due time… although what he’s going to tell his father about Easton landing himself in the hospital is a monster Everett’s not willing to wrangle at the moment. He tugs a scarf around his neck, on the verge of knotting it, when he notices a familiar face through one of the open doors. He doesn’t know Delilah Bello well enough to be familiar or overly casual, but he knows her enough that walking past her without at least saying hello would seem, in Everett’s opinion, an oversight.

None of the hospital staff are paying much heed to him at the moment, all preoccupied with their own duties, and so Everett approaches the doorway, a one respectable step over the threshold. He raps his knuckles softly against the door. “Seems as if everyone’s in this ward. I just visited Mikael, he’s down that way,” Everett explains, jutting a thumb over his shoulder with a half-smile. “How are you holding up?”

There was certain loneliness in hospitals. Even with the never-ending stream of hospital staff checking on her vitals or bringing her meals, Delilah still felt all alone. She used to love the comfort of silence. She used to thrive on her alone time as a child. The silence had turned wicked over the years, and it left Delilah yearning for some company. She could remember the few times she had visited a hospital in her youth. She had fallen out of a tree, the one time she dared to let her feet leave the floor, and broken her arm. She could remember the way her mother would rub her back as they sat in the ER, and the way her father lectured her on the dangers of heights. She missed their presence, but she was glad they weren’t able to witness their only daughter getting stabbed.

She was alone with her thoughts and the muffled sounds of her TV when she heard the sound of a knock at her doorframe. Everett Craven was a familiar face. She often saw him flitting around the Falco Household as she curled up with Lucrezia on the couch. He was also a familiar face in the Capulets, and the thought of her begging for his help with rearranging the soldier assignments came to her mind. Her eyes trained on him as she sought out any bruises or wounds that he sustained.

At the mention of Mikael, her eyes flicked back up towards his face. They may not share a common friend in Lucrezia, but her husband was an ally to both of them. “How badly was he injured?” She had been escorted out before the event ended. She didn’t know the status of many of the Capulets. Delilah attempted to shrug at the question about her own well-being, but she winced at the movement. “I am----” she paused, trying to think of the way to phrase it. “keeping it together.” It was the truth. She wasn’t happy to be in her position, but she doubted most would feel content with being stabbed. “I’ve been told I’ll have a scar.”

#( chat )#( everett )#( verona hospital )#( march 28 )

litanyoflight‌:

she swings the glass-door to the flower shop open with a side-swing of her hip, and it opens to the click-click-click! of camera shutters going off, serving as a background to the chorus of garbled questioning that is a synonymous-enough blur of: “signorina wen! signorina wen! da quanto tempo vede il signor butt?!“ it makes lillian’s joints freeze in place, the cinematic experience of her existence one that had been hit pause on. the button pressed reading: miss wen! miss wen! how long have you been seeing signor butt?

what a picture she is: afternoon sun threading its gold through the dark cloud of hair half-twisted into a knot at the back of her head, fresh blooms swaddled in brown paper & cradled in the crook her arm, nestling sweetly. her mouth cannot help itself – it sprawls, quick, like a habit – and it does not know how not to mean a smile. her eyes, though… oh, her eyes are a different story, aren’t they? is it a gift or a curse, that there were but a select few who might be able to decipher the darkness that clouds the amber-light gaze?

both, she thinks. always both.

yet she says: “for you, dove,” with an extension of a hand that’s plucked a violet from her bouquet, tucking it behind the boy’s ear. “have a beautiful day,” she wishes, and offers naught more than that, sauntering off down the street that had already been in her sights, with a face in mind that awaits her ‘round its corner. and for that face, the moment her gaze immediately lands on one miss delilah belllo, lillian’s eyes brighten, sparking to life. a (strategically-selected, knowing her once-lover) nook couldn’t dare to be enough to conceal the radiance of her existence. lillian gravitates towards her, as much as she’s ever done.

her mouth splits in a laugh that is equal parts breath & song. “mm, my lovely delilah, how i’ve missed you so,” lillian coos into the curvature of her neck, managing to save the bouquet of flowers she carries from getting crushed in the enthusiasm of their embrace. when they part, her lips soften into something far more tender than the devil-may-care grin that had adorned her lips before, something that couldn’t quite make it there, and somehow, was truer for it.

she smells the croissants before her gaze drops to them, the hum thrumming at her guitar-strings of her vocal chords utterly pleased. “i’m starving,” lillian chuckles, holding out the bouquet for whom it was always intended, before she settled her rear into the seat precisely opposite. “how is your heart?” she murmurs, hand curving over delilah’s like shelter.

A blush formed on her cheeks at the sight of Lillian. She looked at her and saw their past together. Eyes connecting across the fountain. Limbs tangled underneath satin sheets. The smell of flowered perfumes as Lillian slipped away from her fingers, satisfied and ready to leave the nest. There will always be a part of her heart dedicated to the model. She had allowed her to have an unforgettable summer and gave her that first glimpse of the adventure that drew her in. She wasn’t sad when they parted her ways, but the sight of her always brought up a sense of nostalgia.

She hummed as they embraced. “I missed you too, Lilly.” The smile that graced her lips was one of the few ones she’s sported in months. She had gone from a woman happily married to an outcast in her beloved Verona. It wasn’t a graceful fall, and Delilah still felt herself struggling to get off of the ground. She longed for the confidence Lillian possessed, longed for the strength she showed after her own fall from grace. Perhaps being in her presence would allow some of that confidence to reflect onto her.

Delilah plucked the bouquet from Lillian’s outstretched palm. She could smell the fragrance of the flowers, and it had instantly reminded her of the woman before her. She slipped into her seat as she gently set the flowers on the corner of the table. Her hand squeezed the woman’s as she listened to her concerns.

“Shattered, but I’m slowly picking up the pieces.” There was no use in lying or downplaying when Lillian was concerned. She knew the woman could read her well, and Delilah prided herself on being able to tell when troubles cloud the model. “I looked at dating apps but---” She paused, trying to choke back any tears that may threaten to spill out. She didn’t want to become emotional in public. She couldn’t handle the eyes on her and the silent judgements. “It’s just not the right time.”

Her free hand wrapped around one of the croissants that sat neatly in the middle of their table. She allowed herself to bite into the flaky pastry before placing it down on a napkin. Brown eyes flicked upwards at her companion before she painted a soft smile back on her lips, “How is yours? I heard you have a new partner. Signor Bhatt, si?”

#( chat )#( lillian )#( phoenix and the turtle cafe )#( flashback )

ofhugo‌:

tomassabello‌:

He’s always been bad with dates. The only reason he remembers his own anniversary is because he’s talked about his wedding so often since marrying Celeste a little over a year ago, that it’s been practically emblazoned into the grey-matter of his brain. But everything else slips through the cracks; dates of movies he’s made, times with old lovers, birthdays - the like. So it isn’t until Hugo shoots him a discreet text in private that he understands exactly why Delilah needs them today, of all days.

It’s playing on repeat in his mind as he gets ready and tells Celeste he’s going out to meet friends (he doesn’t specify who, and blessedly, she doesn’t ask). His heart aches for Delilah; he can’t imagine a divorce so ugly - and to be dragged mercilessly for it, the way she had. Without proof, without reason… It’s cruel. As he meets up with Hugo outside her building, he has the distinct feeling that nothing they do will really mollify that pain; but either way, Tomas is determined to try. To cheer her up any way he can; make her forget, even if only for a few minutes at a time. But that intention goes out the window when Delilah opens the door and a little creature bounds after her heels excitedly, instantly capturing his fickle attention.

“Heyyy!” He crouches down instantly, momentarily forgetting his manners as he tries to peer at the little kitten who dashes nervously behind her owner’s leg. “She’s grown! She’s sooo cute.” The actor sing-songs appreciatively as he reaches out an open palm for the kitten to sniff at. She’s too nervous and after a few more seconds’ worth of a failed introduction between human an animal, Tomas stands up and reaches out to hug Delilah. Thankfully, she’s far more receptive than her adorable roommate, and the actor kisses her on both cheeks before offering her the plastic bag slung around his wrists.

“I brought tacos. I figured they pair well with margaritas and hopefully that way we’ll avoid getting drunk too quickly or any major hangovers tomorrow. Cel will kill me if I don’t make it back; poor thing’s still hobbling around on crutches.” He can’t help but steal another glance at the kitten who doesn’t seem to know what to think of her guests. “As much as I’m tempted to ask for co-parenting rights over Fantine, it’s probably a good thing we don’t have this little girl running around at home, tripping up my wife as she tries to make it through the day.”

@ofhugo

Knowing the intimate details of Delilah’s marriage was something that Hugo found himself dwelling on for years. He listened to her cries about the ordeal for months before the divorce even happened, attempting to console her and be a friend instead of a preacher was something he surprised himself with. Sooner rather than later, he found himself attached to her and wanting to protect her from the rest of the Capulets who sought to hurt her with taunts and rumors. Petty vendettas that never served to help anything. It was another reason on his list of things that made him rethink his standing with the gang.

And yet, those thoughts melted away from his mind when he spent time with her. A smile slipes onto his face as he watches Tomas play with the kitten; he’d only seen it from photos she sent to them and had to admit, it was much cuter in person. “I’d watch her if I were you. She might make her way to Catherine’s when you’re not paying attention.” It was an empty threat, but one paired with a smile that could fool them. He wouldn’t really steal the kitten while staying at someone else’s home - he’d get permission from Catherine first, of course.

Of all the souls in Verona, he wonders how the ones he holds dear have fallen victim to the violence of the city. Delilah, a light in the dark that was almost stamped out for good by Odin. She was a soul that thrived on beauty and light, not the ugliness that surrounded her. It made his stomach turn each night he prayed for her. And Tomas, a shooting star through the night sky. Hugo was positive that he burned too bright to burn out. But now his hand is wrapped and Dio knows what other injuries he’s been suffering with since the Montagues attacked him. If only his prayers could protect them both, but it seemed as if God stopped listening for them.

“I had to head over to the Cathedral to get the good mixer, but it’s worth it for you two.” He slides by Tomas, leaning towards Delilah to wrap an arm around her. Between the mixer in his other hand and his attempt to keep it from slamming into her, the hug was awkward at best. But, she shouldn’t expect much from the man. She should know him better than that by now.

@delilahsbello

Delilah was grateful for Tomas and Hugo. She had been lonely ever since the messiness of the divorce. Countless of her friends turned their backs on her in fear of hurting their own reputation or do to their friendship with her estranged husband. She had grown used to living with somebody, going from her parent’s home to a shared home with Odin, that being in an apartment alone that taken a toll on her. She loved the silence, but she had grown used to having people around. Even when her and Odin’s relationship had just started its descent, she still welcomed the company.

It was strange to wrap her head around the fact that the three of them held a shared connection in the mob. They were three souls from completely different places---- an actor, a priest, and a journalist--- but they were all dragged into the affairs of the underworld. There was a certain admiration for Tomas as he remained unaffiliated. Delilah often wondered if she should’ve chosen the path of neutrality, especially when her marriage only crumbled further after joining the ranks of the Capulets. It was a thought that haunted her, but she found no way around it now. She was trapped within their ranks, and all she had to do was make the best out of a poor situation.

Today was a day of forgetting. She was forgetting the failed marriage that haunted her steps to this day. She was forgetting the Capulets and the way no one came to her defense. She was forgetting all of the pain that the three of them have been through in the past year. They would drink, chat, and act like they are just three friends who met out in the world.

“She’s growing up too fast. I caught her climbing on top of the fridge this morning.” Her kitten was feisty, and it actually amused her to see the kitten shy away from the actor. Delilah hadn’t had many visitors since she got her. She placed the tacos on the counter before allowing herself to embrace her two friends. Her eyes drifted towards the mixer before she heard him mention the cathedral. A frown formed on her lips at the thought of the building, “How bad is it?”

@tomassabello

#( chat )#( tomas )#( hugo )#( delilahs apartment )#( april 18 )

date: april 18 location: delilah’s apartment availability: closed to @tomassabello @ofhugo

April 18th had once been a day of celebration. It felt like yesterday that she was preparing to walk down the aisle. She had remembered looking at herself in the mirror and wondering if it was all a dream. Was she truly getting married to the love of her life? Was she able to be that happy without any conditions clouding over her? She didn’t believe it at the time, but present-day Delilah knew those feelings were genuine. She had cried as he slid the ring onto her finger. They twirled around the dance floor as if they were the only two in the world. They had collapsed on their bed with satisfied smiles at the knowledge that they were husband and wife.

And now, she stared at the hand where her ring used to be. She used to have a mark from where the skin was covered up, but it had faded over time. Now, it looked like a blank slate. It was almost like she could trick herself into thinking it was truly all a dream, but then Delilah remembered the scar from her fight with Trinity and the way her old friends acted like she had a stranger and it brought her back to reality. She wasn’t a blushing bride anymore. She was a woman with clipped wings.

Delilah didn’t even realize how tightly she was holding onto a bottle of tequila until she felt her hand start to ache. She had invited Tomas and Hugo to come around in a bid to distract her. They had been two members of her small support system, and Delilah appreciated their presence. She also wanted to hear about their lives. She had heard about the cathedral catching on fire, and she knew that was a safe place for Hugo. She also wanted to know how Toas was faring after the last event. She hadn’t been around to witness it, but she had caught glimpses of conversations surrounding his actions with the heiress.

Delilah heard the doorbell ring and slipped off of the couch. She placed the bottle of tequila on the counter, and she watched as Fantine pawed at it. Her kitten had been a bit of a handful ever since she got her, but Delilah was too fond of the company to remove her. She gently tapped the kitten’s nose before she reached out and opened the door. Her eyes scanned the people on the other end before a soft smile fell on her lips.