you are not heads or tails ― you are the coin

🗡―when they catch you, they will kill you but first, they must catch you.

[elise-venturi]

The De Lucas were known to be nothing short of lavish – every party, no matter how small or simple, was rumored to be something to behold. Men in Brioni Vanquish II suits wearing Philippe Patek watches that would even put Rolex to shame. Women sauntering about with their jewelry and Chanel bags on full display, as they danced and mingled with the next great thing.

The De Lucas were extravagant by far, and perhaps even she would have been bedazzled by the charm of it all but, alas, she was a Venturi, and the Venturi pride in Elise begged to differ as she watched the crowd mingled and chatter, all wide eyed and excited.

Certainly the Venturis can hold a grander party than this... She mindlessly mused, almost caught in the atmosphere of empty vanities and competition herself. Elise was never a girl fond of luxury and money, much less the fame that followed, but her family's blood still ran through her veins and if she lost even this little dignity she had as a Venturi, no matter how superficial, what would she even have or be anymore? Save for a family name meant for destruction?

With a sigh, she looked at her watch and then her phone, waiting for the long-awaited news from Romilda but... There was nothing. And while nothing was usually a good sign, it was different this time. Their assassin was supposed to be out by 10:30PM.

It was 10:56PM now.

As Elise ventured nearer to the targeted room, lingering around the hallways and pretending to clean, she swiftly sent a message to Romilda, her stomach twisting into knots of anxiousness.

[ Elise, 10:57PM: Consigliere, what's going on? Why is Gii not out yet??]

An abundance of thoughts ran through her mind as she found herself walking towards one of the large balconies, occasionally glancing at the room Gii was likely in. 

How badly did she want to go in and check for herself, check on Gii who had been nothing but loyal to the Venturis ever since she'd join their gang. The both of them encountering one another at a tender age of 12, and while they were more than acquaintances but less than friends, Elise always had high regards for the other. She'd accomplished so much more, afterall, despite having so much less.

The balcony's lights turning on due to her presence, she walked closer toward the railing when a voice called out to her from below. A voice she'd come to familiar herself with, one that brought comfort rather than hate, something she could've never have expected.

“Fjord…” It was barely a whisper as she said his name - one that tasted so sweet on her lips rather than bitter.

The man standing down there, hand casually placed atop the head of a marble statue, the billion dollar grin etched on his lips… For a second, she found him far more stunning than the carved statue. Far more beautiful than the things her eyes had laid upon that evening.

It was moments like these which reminded (reassured her) money couldn't buy everything as the Venturis had been taught. Because she knew, for a fact, no amount in the entire world could buy her a moment of solace as the one she strangely felt whenever he was around.

Fjord... He was truly warmth wrapped in a person.

And yet...

He shouldn't have been standing there.

This warmth should've been extinguished minutes ago.

"My prince, what a surprise! Should I not be asking you that question?" She cheekily replied, a smile naturally appearing. "What have I done to be graced by your presence tonight? Especially with…” Briefly turning to the side, Elise casually pointed behind her where the event was taking place, reality settling in once again. One where Gii was still nowhere to be found, one where there should've been a hit taking place. 

One where the target was the man standing below her.  

But I digress. she thought, stopping herself from thinking any further on the subject. No matter what, no matter the compagna still missing, or the darling principe in her sights, she had to stay calm, stay focused.

Digression or deviation was out of the question, she simply couldn't. Not when she needed to stay sane.

"... A royal ball taking place. What is the center of attention doing outside here, all alone? Should you not be with them?"

It was funny really, how she said 'them' as if she wasn't truly one of those people herself. The ones who'd tasted luxury and wealth from a very young age. The one who had friends whose names she couldn't quite remember, and close relatives that could very well throw them under the bus the very same second.

Perhaps if it were someone else, she wouldn't have said it that way. Be more than fine adapting herself with people of her own kind, but Fjord was not just someone else. He was something more, someone she wanted to tell the truth to (and the truth being: I'm not like them. I never was).

It was moments like the day before when everyone was busy bustling about, plotting the murder of someone (and someone who may have meant something to her than the friends or wealth she held. But alas, who would ever take the time to ask dear principessa for her thoughts? They only ever asked for her nod of approval, afterall) as if it was just another task in one's daily schedule, did she think how meaningless their life was despite it seeming so rich. So beautiful to the people watching on the other side of the field.

There were times she wondered if she hadn't been the one standing and watching from the outside, would she have also turned into one of them; vicious, tenacious, and cruel. She wondered if she'd shamelessly paint the town red with no cares in the world just as they did, and if the ones who thought rubbing shoulders with her family and the likes would think shedding blood was worth it all.

But if they'd seen what she'd seen, witness what she'd witnessed... Elise couldn't help but wonder if they would possibly still feel the same. Or would they, like her, yearn for the other side of the field.

One filled with blissful ignorance and peace. Something not even money or fame could possibly hope to give her.

Thus, whenever she smiled kindly at the people who looked at them enchantedly, false naivety painting her expression, Elise couldn't help but be envious. And perhaps, this was an painful reminder that she, in truth, wasn't so different from her famiglia, after all. For they were always longing for more, and more, and more, weren't they?

But... She digressed in thoughts, once again.

"So Fjord, pray tell, what are you doing here? What would the attendees think or say if they saw their prince talking to the help on this lovely night?"

@fjorddeluca

[fjorddeluca]

He sees her, the girl who stands on the balcony, looking down upon him as a party happens just a few walls, and lifetimes, away. He could become lost in her, the beauty and joy that radiates from the girl who would so callously called herself the help.

She is more than that.

The world she stands in now, high above him in the darkness of the sky as glasses clink and guests enjoy their small, idle talk, is one that his parents would lambast him for inviting into. But it is more than that too.

Looking up at Elise, he thinks that he might just be a boy who looks upon the face of love, if such a thing were to exist. There is no blood feud with another family, no need to be more than he is now, his gaze settling upon her. She is not the help but the beauty he has come to steal away on horseback, to pull into the Italian countryside, never to be seen again.

"Them..." he echoes her words, the side of his mouth tugging up until it has formed a smirk. "They are boring people. Drab in their existence, talking only of their wealth and how to gain more..."

His fingers clutch the marble, biting into the brick; he wishes he could climb to her, to take her into his arms so that they could sway to the small orchestra that plays only the best music.

If he could do that, he would forget all about the hasty attempt to clear away what he knows to have been a hit. If he was the mark, they were not successful but that will only leave the Venturis deeply enraged; he would not think for a moment that it was another person. They would not have the capabilities to send an assassin on a covert mission to end the bloodline of the De Lucas.

But perhaps his own assassin is the being above him, so lovely in her disposition that he is moving from the statue without another thought.

"I'm not alone..." he remarks, drifting closer to her. "I'm with you, am I not?"

A simple remark but one that would end in trouble. His family will be on edge as is, the guests unaware of the world that is about to befall them if the truth were to slip out. If the tremble of his hand became a voice that would announce to them that he had survived the impossible and did the worst.

His family can keep it quiet, tightening their hands over the mouth until it is drowned out in the world of beautiful moments that they fabricated with their wealth and their words. How many politicians has his father managed to talk over tonight? How many bored wives of businessmen has his mother convinced to talk to their husbands? When the night is over, how many jewels will sparkle and why is it already certain that his will be the dullest?

The beautiful girl before him could never be it and Fjord is aware of such a notion; she is nothing like those in the mansion and that is why he had needed to see her now.

His hands might be stained with blood but if Elise cannot see that, then he will not linger on it.

"You might be the help in their eyes," he tells her, stepping so close now that he must crane his head back to see her. "But not to me... You are so much more in my eyes..."

A confession of sorts, one that he combats by allowing that tingle in his mind to work. Impulsivity, as it was said in a report, and it is what drives him to climb to her the same way it had saved his life not too long ago. He pulls himself up with the sole purpose of reaching the delicate beauty before him.

The perfectly trimmed hedge is sturdy, his actions are that of a man driven man, he knows it but if he were to stop for just a moment, he would realise what he is doing.

He does not want to realise what he is doing.

So, he climbs.

Thorns that prick his soul at the mere suggestion that he will be seen; smooth stone is under his palm a moment later, when she is clearer in his vision and he is almost face to face with her. So closed that he could brush his fingers over her cheek, to sweep the hair that falls into her face out of her eyes.

He could kiss her.

"I see a princess," he remarks, reaching out until his fingertips drift over the top of her hand. A ghost of a touch but the promise of more, to pump life back into the ghost until it thrives without the need to whispers and secret moments lost within the bright roses of a garden.

"Would this princess be willing to escape this party with me?" he asks delicately. "I wouldn't take you far, just —" he half turns, motioning towards the maze of hedges and within the middle, a lake decorated with lily pads and filled with koi fish. "Just to the middle of a labyrinth..."

It is where their golden boy has always deserved to go, after all.

[fjorddeluca]

The first time he had the displeasure of seeing blood, he had only been three years old. A tumble down the steps that had left a scrape on his knee that had bled. His mother had strode past him, leaving him in the capable hands of Matteo.

The first time he had the displeasure of seeing blood that had been shed by his own hands, he had been fourteen. He had stood in his parents' bedroom, the moonlight shining in over the dark wooden floors and the bed and the oil paintings that hung after the latter.

A body lay on the floor, in the space between himself and his mother, and blood pooled. It sept between the floorboards. The stain remains there to this day.

An ambush, a Venturi assassin that had gotten close enough. He had heard the fight, he had seen the chaos. He had his father's gun.

It would be the last time he would ever put a gun down.

And today would be no exception.

An ambush, a Venturi assassin that had gotten close enough. He had seen the fight, he had seen the chaos. He had his own gun.

Moonlight shines now too, has it had then. The curtains ripple, the stained glass doors open to look out over the vineyard that the De Luca family is known for. Sprawling for miles, pushing beyond the horizon that he longs to run into.

But he cannot.

"What happened, figlio?!" Vincent snapped, his voice almost close to yelling. "Do you have any idea how this will fall back on us?!"

He didn't know how to respond. There were no words to respond with. Whether this had fallen onto his hands or not didn't matter; he was the one who messed up.

"I know how it will fall back onto us, father," he replied, hands held behind his back. Remaining calm was the only option he had. He could not be afforded the luxury of expressing his temper the same way his father was now. "Do you think I had a choice, father?"

Vincent moved slowly, picking up a crystal glass. The fire that crackled within the fireplace reflected on the liquid, causing a glow that resembles amber. "A choice?" he remarked, swishing the liquid around in the glass. "There's always a choice, figlio."

It grew within him, the rising waters of a flood that would eventually engulf the entire world; the terrible urge to turn into nothing more than a petulant child. To stomp his foot against the polished hardwood floors and beg. He had had no choice. He had had raised the gun. He had taken care of it.

He had ensured that their lineage would continue and he was the one who was being reprimanded.

Their battle with the Venturis had always been a bloody one. They had killed some of the De Luca men and in return, they would retaliate. That was how wars worked.

"What did you want me to do, father?" he requested, his voice remained as even as he could force it. He was better than cries of situations becoming unfair. "They were going to kill —"

"A true De Luca man would not have allowed himself to be in that position," Vincent cut him off. He brought the glass to his lips, taking a long drink before he set it down on the table. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with you."

He wondered, even just briefly, if it would have been better if it had ended the way the Venturis would have wanted it to.

"I'm not entirely sure, capo," he said. "Would it have been better if the Venturis won?"

Vincent's eyes were filled with a rage, an anger. He turned to only son and struck him with the force of every capo before him. Every man who had led the De Lucas in this much too long feud with the Venturis.

It burnt, it always burnt. He found himself on the receiving end on this burn often. He had thought that it would slow the older he grew but that would only have been correct if he had become the son that they wanted.

"You should watch your tongue," Vincent snarled. He pointed one finger at Fjord. "Should I ask if this entire thing was one of your impulsivities?"

The words struck hard and deeper, much harder than the slap ever could. A reminder of inadequacy, a reminder that he would always fail them even if he had become the diligent son they had hoped for their entire lives.

He would never be those things.

He cannot answer such a question. "How do I fix this?" he asked.

"You don't," Vincent stated and turned his back to Fjord. "I will mop up your mess, figlio. Just when I had thought we would get somewhere with the Venturis... You're dismissed."

He did not believe that. The last thing his father would attempt would be peace with the Venturis. Their soiled relationship had become nothing but bitter roots now. Perhaps by get somewhere, his father had simply meant that he would steal a venture from them.

But that was not for him to deal with. Instead, Fjord turned and strode out of the sitting room. The quiet De Luca mansion would always be cold, regardless of how many fires had been set to build it; he listened to his own footsteps tread across the polished floor, echoing against the cold, stone walls.

Sometimes, it would feel more like a museum than a home. Those same walls decorated with art that had never belonged to them in the first place. The hallways had never been ones where he would be allowed to run or laugh or be a child. Instead, he would would walk diligently to his lessons. Sometimes it was combat, sometimes it was weapons, but most of the time, he would sit in his father's office and learn what it was meant to be a true De Luca man.

He supposed that none of those lessons ever stuck.

Walking towards the open foyer, he did not head for the wide steps that would take him to the wing of the mansion that had become known as his own. Instead, Fjord ventured towards the stained glass doors that lead out to the garden.

A trickling fountain sat before him, the marble shape of a maiden pouring the flowing water from a vase stood in the middle. Moonlight flickered in the reflection of the water, disrupted when he stroked his fingers over it.

"He says these things..." Fjord muttered, watching as the water rippled over the surface of the fountain. "But was he not like me once?"

It felt impossible to imagine his father as a young man. He had always been the hail of whisky and tobacco and gunpowder that Fjord knew him as. A man who had never been a boy.

He did not think that his father had ever been like him. He did not think that the man had felt anything but solemn duty for the life that he had been set out on.

He did think that his father had thought he would be the same. A carbon copy of a man who had never raised him, let alone raised him with the adoration that young boys on the streets of Italy tended to have.

"You could leave," he mused to himself. "But what would there be to leave for...?"

The question that had run through his mind would be interrupted by the appearance of a light. It glowed across the fountain's water, causing his eyebrow to slowly lift. Slowly turning, he was able to look up towards the balcony that sat out towards the lush, green maze within the De Luca Estate.

And there she was, stood on the balcony above him.

Elise. Sometimes it felt as though she were a world away, nothing but a routine helper in their home who would leave when she would no longer be of use. He would ache to see her gone but for now, she was there. Above him.

And for just a moment, he felt like that boy he had never been.

"Ah, a fair maiden..." he called up towards her, a smirk played at his mouth. Stepping closer to the balcony, he placed his hand on the the marble head of a statue, stepping onto the base. It brought him closer to her. "What have I done to be graced with your presence on this night...?"

@elise-venturi

[fjorddeluca]

elise-venturi​:​​

When you think of kindness, you do not think of the sun. Instead, you think of its heat. the way it blazes and burns, scorching anything and everything that attempts to come into close proximity. It is majestic as it is fearsome. It is beautiful as it is deadly.

And yet, if you were to ask Elise if she shared the same sentiments, she would likely shake her head and disagree. Because in her eyes (in her heart), the sun was nothing but kindness contained, and to call it anything else would simply be bringing it great dishonor. The sun, with the way it chooses to burn itself away for the sake of humanity, the way it wraps its rays around others like strong arms  — promising you warmth and life and light in the darkness that would’ve otherwise left you to your own terrors and nightmarish devices. Was that not the epitome of kindness? She would wonder. Was its rays not just compassion and affection bursting through the seams and pouring out as streams of light? The same way kindness, when unconfined, kept on giving and giving and giving — pouring sweet milk and honey into the hands of anyone who’d be willing to uncurl their fists and receive the goodness it could unconditionally give?

For the longest time Elise didn’t understand why the sun had to be associated with labels and titles such as cruel and ruinous before it could be seen as glorious; and why something as simple yet powerful enough to break barriers upon barriers (mend heart after heart) such as kindness could not be the crown it would wear proudly.

[ And she remembers the time when she was 15 and a little too brave (a little too bold), thinking she could change the course of their broken destinies and cleanse their bloodied kingdom with her shaky hands.

 “But why, mamma? Why does it have to be this way?” She’d asked passionately, following her mother down the hallway. “Why do we need to follow the traditions and wars of our ancestors? This war… We can end it, mamma. And see the peace we always hoped for. Don’t you want that?” 

“Elise…” Gulia Venturi sighed exasperatedly, perplexed at how she and Don Venturi -the epitome of power and might and ruthlessness- managed to birth a child so naive, so simple. “Tesoro, let’s talk about this another time—“

“No, mamma! You have to listen to me.” Elise pushed on, desperate to grab ahold of whatever interest was left in her mother. “ We can change the future, don’t you see? We… We have that power in our hands, no? I’m sure if we just talk to papa,”

“Elise..—“

“We can change history and—“ 

“Elise.” 

“And maybe, just maybe, even the De Luca’s would—”

“That is enough.” Finally having enough of her daughter’s nonsense, Gulia stopped in her tracks ang glared at her. “Don’t you ever mention their name with such… Such kindness,” Gulia spat in disdain, ”This is why I told you to stop reading all those books. Look at the delusions they’ve put in your head. All this talk about peace and change and not following tradition… What would your father say or do if he heard you speak that way? Basta, ti prego (That’s enough, please).” 

“But why won’t you try? What is so wrong with wanting peace? Or kindness running through this city?” Elise spoke, voice broken and rasped; void of the fire that it once held. “In this family?” 

 “… Wake up, Elise. The only people who live to see the crown in this city are the ones tough enough to rule with an iron first. The people who had the same ideals that you have… Where are they now? Do you see them anymore? Do you? Answer me.” ]

To this day, Elise could never really find the answer to her mother’s cruel question and thus, the desire to relent and agree with her sentiment after all these years of walking down a dirtied path and fighting this wretched war had grown strong but now, in this very moment, as she stood next to Fjord who reminded her of the sun (so bright, so brilliant, and perhaps, just as kind), it was as if the fire (the passion) she’d lost at the tender age of 15 was attempting to ignite itself once more. 

She especially felt the match striking her heart again and again as he spoke, each strike bringing about a brighter spark than the next (Here, she could picture herself saying to her mother, is kindness alive. Here, is the sun personified. Here is my answer standing in front of you, next to me) but it was still a fight, nonetheless, to keep the fragile flame alive, because with each strike came also a doubt that would attempt to extinguish it like water, like dirt. It was a vicious tango between optimism and cynicism, hope and fatalism. And sometimes Elise wondered how many times could she ricochet between hope and resignation before she is utterly, devastatingly exhausted to the point there was nothing else left to burn or extinguish anymore.

“I’m looking forward to finding out where you usually hide out amidst all the hustle and bustle. And I don’t mind a car trip at all, sounds fun.” She grinned, expression free from any of the anxiety and wariness that had begun plaguing her. How do you kill an enemy flawlessly? She remembered asking their consigliere once. When they least expect it, of course. They responded, and she couldn’t tell if this was one of those moments — where the hunter ends up the hunted instead. But if it were, better to die at the hands of Fjord than some soldier. At least, in his arms, she’d likely have a proper burial. “Thank you…” She muttered shyly as she entered the passenger seat, a strange excitement blossoming and thrumming within her heart; and even moreso when Fjord leaned against the door briefly, brown hues meeting hers whilst speaking words that sounded so silkened and melodic to her ears. 

Away from all of this… It’ll just be me and you. 

Ah, whispers that should have elicited caution instead made her feel like she was being dipped in honey; her heart smeared and smothered as if it were some kind of fruit — one ripe and ready and now sweetened to be devoured whole by a Casanova like him. And if she had been any other bambina bella roaming down the streets, heart etched on her sleeve like an indicator blinking catch me and love me to the next hunter that came her way, he might have had a delightful meal; stomach filled with sugary sweetness and innocence. 

But alas, while she was indeed a bambina, she was certainly not a beautiful one. Her heart, while glistening with color and drizzled with sweetness on the outside, was ever still the same on the inside — forever rotten and rotting still. Never safe for consumption but perhaps, this was what her parents had wanted. A girl whose heart was poisoned and void of anything good so that if ever they were in need of a weapon that superseded the likes of knives and guns, they had her to push to the frontlines; just like today (and she almost pities Fjord for being the unlucky one to have to taste her heart).

As he made his way to the driver’s seat, Elise felt her phone vibrating in her pocket. Dread pooled in her stomach as she cautiously took it out, instinctively knowing who it was before even checking the text she’d received.

[ Romilda, 3:05PM: U should have told us it was going to be a car trip. Send me the location when u know where you’re going.]

[ Romilda, 3:06PM: also, don’t forget to ask him about the rumours we heard about. Get back to me asap.]

The weight that sat heavily on her shoulders was now heavier than before, and a sigh nearly escaped her lips. The rumors, how could she forget? What with the way their caporegimes and consiglieres had swarmed to the meeting room like flies yesterday evening. She vaguely remembered hearing Romilda mention it when she’d walked past her father’s office after coming back from a long day of work. Something along the lines of, ‘the De Luca’s are seemingly planning something next week’ and ‘Nobody knows whether its a private event or a business dealing, Don Venturi. However, we’ll be sure to find out.’ 

But never did she think their solution to finding out the bits and pieces would be her.

Putting her phone away bitterly, she turned to him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, my mother sent me a message. She’s, uh, always overly worried about things.” A lie she secretly, ruefully wished was the truth. “But anyway, want to tell me what this secret spot is? Or at least, give me some sort of a hint?” ​

@fjorddeluca​

This is the kind of thing he has done before. The kind of thing he will always do. The kind of thing he is known for. This is the kind of thing he’s expected to do. An heir who is searching for his own heir, or so they think. 

He was Fjord De Luca, the son of the Vincent De Luca, a man who has never been able to settle down despite the marriage that was arranged and the son Madeline De Luca bore him. Though they were no royal family, there had always been a precedent set. They were heralded as close to a royal family and to their followers, they were royalty. 

He was their prince and thus, he was treated as such. 

And his reputation proceeded him before he had gotten a chance to explore it himself. Found, by accident, kissing the pretty, young maid who had been a new hire in the supply closet. They had meant for it to be a secret but she had smiled at him and he had been so lonely — so touch starved, so ignored, so lost — that her sweet words had won him over in the end. So, they had gone into that closet — him fifteen and her close to seventeen — and it had lasted six minutes and three seconds before Martina, the head of domestic services in their home, had thrown the door open.

That simple action, that simple incident, had painted him as the Casanova of the De Luca family. He spent years after cultivating that image, taking pretty girls out on the family yacht or on extravagant dates just to dump them a day later or a night later or that very same day. 

He became Vincent De Luca’s son before he ever became himself. 

And so, when he had popped his head into the office he’d been in one too many times in his life, a smirk on his mouth, the annoyed sigh from Matteo was to be expected. His personal bodyguard — the one hired when he’d gone on that impromptu and impulsive and reckless flight to Cagliari and gotten shot because the right person recognised him as Fjord De Luca at the wrong time — knew what was happening. 

(”Another date, bambino?” The older man asked, eyebrow raised.

Smoke billowed from the expensive cigarettes he smoked and that was to be expected. He got paid a hefty sum to look after the De Luca’s only heir but what his parents did not realise they were paying for another parent too.

Naturally, Fjord would deny needing one of those. He didn’t need the ones given to him, what use would a third be?

“This one is different, zio,” he had sighed. “She’s... different.”

“Everyone single one of them is different.” Matteo sat forward, elbows on the table in an act that would have gotten Fjord a hard smack when he was too young to hit back. “The French model, the Greek scholar, the Italian socialite. Is this one going to be left in the dust too?”

And the thing is, Fjord did not like being the De Luca Casanova but he hadn’t outright tried to fight the accusation either. He didn’t seek, his reputation stopped many a smart girl from coming to his door, but they find him. And if they give him attention, then he gave it back to them.

As harsh as Matteo’s words might be, Fjord understood that he was trying to protect another innocent person from being trampled by his actions.

“It’ll just be for a couple of hours, zio,” Fjord grumbled. “I’m taking a car, if you need to follow me.”

“You know I do.” Matteo told him, stubbing out the cigarette. “You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days, bambino.”

“Yeah,” Fjord sighed. “I know.”)

Now, Fjord was making his way out of the estate with Elise and it felt much different than most dates had. For once, this actually did feel like a date. This wasn’t a chance to get away from the estate and his parents. He wasn’t using the curiosity of another to escape his own reality but he was escaping.

Somehow, he was escaping.

With Elise, Apollo could finally escape the title given to him by Zeus. Apollo could finally evade the sky, he could finally escape the dread of ensuring that morning came and everything fell into place perfectly. He was able to come down amongst the flowers and the rivers of the common people and feel alive. 

So, why did he gain a sense of dread from the whole thing? Even as he pulled the gun out from his holster, dropping it into the crafted little space into the door by his thigh, there was an air of wrong. 

Apollo, Apollo, they would cry, we need the sunlight.

A deep ache in his chest as he watched Elise pick her phone up and read something. A text from a friend or a parent or someone who cared enough about her to text her. A person interested in her and her whereabouts. A person who might seek her opinion or her comments. Someone who was speaking to her because they wanted to and not because she could do something for them.

Something he was doing now too.

Apollo, Apollo, they would demand, how could you do this?

He had avoided his family as he left today. Ducked past their rooms and their dining room and he’d snuck down to the car. He’d taken the keys and he’d taken a gun and he’d taken his black card. He could do anything he wanted and they wouldn’t be angry at him but this — this was wrong. 

Because a French model or Greek scholar or Italian socialite were acceptable but ever since Martina dragged him out of that closet, his parents had made one thing clear. Nothing like this. No one like Elise. Pick someone worthy. Pick someone rich. Pick someone who, if things blow up, you can marry and bring more wealth and power to our family.

Do not date someone we would be embarrassed of. Do not date someone who would ruin our family name. Do not date someone you might fall in love with. 

Apollo, Apollo, they would laugh, you’re going to destroy your family.

In a week’s time, they had the private event. He hadn’t listened too much as his parents spoke about it over dinner but he knew it’d be important. A private event but they were inviting important business partners and their families. A private event but they had selected a few potential business partners to attend. 

Owners of news firms, owners of manufacturing companies, owners of TV networks and even a few non-Italian potentials. All important to expand their world. All needed if his transition from prince to king is to go smoothly.

The whole thing made him feel sick. He wants to run away.

Apollo, Apollo, they would scream, you’re going to burn away their wings.

His light brown eyes settled on Elise, watching her as she pushed her phone away. He listened to her words, the talk of an overly worried mother, and felt a deep pull in his gut. The longing of a child who had only ever been weaned on resentment. A worried mother, what a novel concept. A mother who cared about her child’s whereabouts instead of letting inebriated words remind him of one simple thing.

You are only here because I cannot create another.

“I would hope you don’t tell her about this,” Fjord smirked, playfully. “There is a lot of things I can fight but a resentful mother — that has always been my biggest weakness.” And that isn’t a lie, not really. In a sense, Fjord has grown to accept that his father would always be painful hits and mocking words. But his mother, she was supposed to be more.

His hands turned tightly around the steering wheel and his foot pressed against the pedal. The car peeled away from the big house, down the driveway, and he only half glanced in the rear view mirror. At any moment, Matteo would make his presence known. “I would tell you,” Fjord spoke casually, signalling to the formally dressed guard at the gate to open them, before he gripped the wheel again. “But that’d be no fun, yeah? It wouldn’t be a secret anymore.”

And maybe, he would’ve added, the car is bugged.

Still, he offered Elise a gentle smile as the gates pulled open, giving way to the beautiful countryside that lay out before them. They had miles to go before they got out of De Luca property and that was good for him. “Don’t be scared, yah?” He reached over, deciding he was too late to back out, and gently touched her shoulder. It burned him to the bone. “I won’t take you anywhere dangerous or scary. Trust me, I don’t want to get into trouble today. I want it to be about us.”

Us. The word lingered on his tongue, burning it too. There wasn’t a single thing about Elise that didn’t make him feel like he was burning — or, perhaps, he was finally allowing himself to give in. To stop pretending like the flames had always hurt him. Even Apollo couldn’t bear the weight of the sun.

“But right now,” he grinned and held the wheel tightly in one hand. “We’re being followed.”

The words might scare her but he doubted it. Elise seemed strong and she seemed like she would be more curious than worried. She worked for them, after all, she would know that security was tight. 

“And I don’t want that.” 

His fingers trailed down her arm, until he could almost touch her hand, and then he pulled it away. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and looked ahead, at that open gate. “Hold on tight, cara mia.”

Pressing his foot down tightly on the gas pedal, Fjord sped out of the estate and down the road. If Matteo or anyone else were going to follow them, then they would need to do a great deal to catch up with them. 

And the fall out from that, Fjord was willing to take.

@elise-venturi​

[fjorddeluca]

elise-venturi​:

If Elise were to ever be compared to a weapon, she would likely be rendered valueless — for the way her blade was neither blunt nor sharp, neither spotless nor bloodstained, was a clear sign she should not be picked up. As such a tool showed signs that no one had found her precious enough to be cleaned, or flawless enough to be taken and used regularly. She knew that none would ever want a knife that was unable to cut at the first slice, or a blade that dearly wished it’s tip would bend and curl at the first sight of its target. She knew all of this and yet, here she was, nonetheless. A living, breathing weapon who was neither blunt or sharp, spotless or bloodstained. A tool that was spared merely because of the brand that had been ingrained into its handle (Venturi). A knife that was tucked away only because of who she belonged to (Daughter of Roberto & Giulia).

Most would have assumed she’d relish and savor the privileges’ that had been bestowed to her since birth, but all it ever really did was have guilt continuously ensnare her heart and mind, as she’d seen people like her (blades who wished to be silk. Blades who wished to be human) be dealt with a fate that had angels crying and death snickering disgustingly.

Every death that occurred in their household was another question left to linger endlessly in her heart. Questions about her own value and worth that needed answers to but never seemed to have one. Was she a dying flame or an unleashed potential? Was she blood turning into steel or paper turning into ashes? What was she, in this war that seemed to spare the cruel but not the kind? The heat from the world and the fire within her continuously burns and burns and burns, trying desperately to make something out of her but the more time went, the more it seemed that no one was able to really make out what she was. Because, in truth, she was never a planned masterpiece or a diamond in the rough. She was the artpiece you made on a whim which you couldn’t decide whether was priceless or a piece of trash. The dazzling stone you pick up at the beach not knowing whether there was any value in it besides it’s beauty.

And those paradoxes and uncertainties within her seemed to shine ever so brightly today, because though she should have seen this an opportunity to sharpen her blade, point her tip at her target, prove that she was worth more than diamonds and guns and a bloodied name that felt heavier than a crown, she couldn’t. Not when she thought of him. Not when she knew the words that he may utter and spit out one day when the curtains fell and the play was over.

You lied. You’re no better. You are just the same as all of them.

Just the same.

Huh.

How ironic. She thought, glancing at her reflection as she passed by the fountain. Though she would give everything to be the same as her famiglia (her hopes, her dreams, her life served on a pretty platter for them to enjoy), the idea of being similar to them simultaneously brought a sickening and nauseating feeling in the pit of her stomach. As if, in the presence of someone such as Fjord who did not see her as broken bloodied shards but fine porcelain, she was desperate to disassociate herself with them; desperate to prove that she was so much more than the bloodied crown she’d been forced to put on.  Thus, it was probably due to that that she knew she needed to wrap this entire situation up as soon as she could. Because the way her heart would skip a beat each time she saw him (like now, as she catches sight of him), and the way her aim would waver and blur whenever he smiled at her (like now, as she walks towards him) was dangerous. 

“Mi dispiace! I got confused and turned into the wrong corner earlier.” She said, smiling apologetically. It was near surprising how a lie could leave her lips so seamlessly nowadays, considering how she didn’t turn into the wrong corner, but instead, spent a good two minutes scoping out the area beforehand. (If he knew that, would he feel betrayed? But then again, in the grand scheme of things, would a lie as small as this even matter?) 

“But me? Stand you up when you’ve so graciously given me your precious time? I could never.” She gasped dramatically, before breaking into a lighthearted laugh. Oh how nice, she thought, to be able to joke in such a carefree manner. To be able to have someone not cast silent judgment towards her but rather, look upon her with amusement and fascination. To be able to pretend for a moment that she was not Atlas, with the weight of the world pressing upon her shoulders. But Icarus, who’s free to fly towards the sun. Even if it’s with borrowed wings and borrowed time. Even if it’s just for a single moment like this. 

“We should make these five minutes count then. Though… If they’d be more angry about the car being taken… I think we might have an extra 4 minutes to spare?” She said, looking at him with a grin. There was something endearing about the way he spoke. Most she knew or encountered in their circle were almost always too smart with their words, and much too calculative with each sentence they chose to string together. But with Fjord… It was different. He radiated genuineness and warmth. Something that was rare in their world. Something that she felt much deprived of. 

“Yes, let’s. Where should we go this fine evening? Any ideas, principe?”  As she started walking alongside him, her hand briefly brushed his. It was but a fleeting moment, an accidental touch, but it was enough to throw her off and have her heartbeat quicken. She didn’t know whether to apologize or laugh it off and so, instead, she did what she knew best — be silent and let the moment pass.

@fjorddeluca​

His world was a labyrinth and he was the minotaur.

The walls high and solid, the sun cut off completely. He roamed the hallowed halls, fingers tips to brick in an effort to find his way in the dark. There had never been help ― the people who had put him there had done so for a reason. A serious of corridors and dead ends that all bore the same inscription over and over again, all looking the same even without the aid of the shadows to make it harder.

The hands that had lain the first brick were long gone now, a legacy left in their place, and it was on his shoulders to continue carrying it ― should he find his way out.

So desperately, they wanted him to be Jupiter, the king who resided high above them all. Handsome and devastatingly uncaring. Destruction at his fingertips like a lightning blast, chasing his next conquest with glee.

He had never been what they had wanted him to be. He had no radiance on birth and had grown up with no radiance. It ached him to his very core because as they wished for him to be the king, so desperately did he want to be Apollo. The sun. The radiance in the world, the music and joy and singing that would occur when he nocked an arrow. 

But he would never be the sun nor would he feel it ― the labyrinth’s roof would not allow it.

Perhaps the only comparison that could be made was their use of weaponry though his was not worn on his back nor on display. His arm would brush against it as he shifted, cold metal pressed to his skin, a leather holster that was strapped close to his torso and over his shoulder. No one could see it and if they did, what did it matter?

The walls of the labyrinth would enclose them too and had they already escaped it, they would not care to mention it. You don’t shoot your own.

Unless, that is, they’ve done something to anger you. 

He knew he did that when he was born ― crying for the first and one of the last times. A seemingly normal child with too much curiosity (trained out of him) and a wandering mind (helped but one could not talk about it) that proved to be more than an obedient heir. So, the labyrinth was constructed and he was hidden from view. The lineage was important, it always has been, and although their monarchy was more red blooded than blue, it was still an important facet.

He was first in line and the first into the labyrinth. 

(”I’ve called him again, he will come out in the next few days to see you,” words spoken over a glass of whiskey. 

A sneered laugh, a wine glass held so tightly the stem might have snapped in half. “We’ve gotten ten, twenty different opinions. Appraisals from the best all the way down to some rural doctor from Cagliari. There is no changing the news.”

“The bambino ―” Venom only half allowed to be spoken.

“Our only one, now,” she said, tipping back the glass. 

The one in question sat by the fire, his back to them. They knew he was in here and they knew he was able to take in every single word. Something replaceable that was now unreplaceable.)

It didn’t matter once faced with the reality that he was their only chance, their only heir. He couldn’t be shoved into the shadows and hidden away, a ghost more than a person. 

The minotaur had to be released.

And so here he was, face in the sun but it felt colder than he remembered it. The sting of metal in his hand and the sting of business and the sting of a palm when he didn’t do good enough ― which was an impossible standard to meet. He would always be the monster, to them, to everyone around him, and so he had to pretend that he wasn’t. The mask he wore was handsome, confident. Arrogant. He was a bloodstained heir to a bloodstained throne and he had to act like it. There was no time to be anything else. 

Except, as he stood there, waiting for his date to arrive, it felt so incredibly normal. It felt so human ― no longer was he the beast but a man waiting for the sun to arrive. No longer was he Fjord De Luca but just a boy, smiling as the girl he waited for showed up and apologised for her lateness. 

She had gotten lost or so it seemed. He could give her the benefit of the doubt. She didn’t grow up here the way he did, didn’t know what each turn of the labyrinth held, so it was only natural that she would get lost. But still, as the word paranoid flashed in his mind like lights that were far too bright, Fjord couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about it. Could he claim that someone he had just met was a bad liar? Or a good liar? Or a liar at all?

How could one find their way around the labyrinth when they had only just entered it? How could anyone but a monster navigate it?

Fjord didn’t think she was a monster. At least, not to the extent that he was. The skin of his torso itched, the leather feeling tighter around his body now.

“Nothin’ precious about it,” he smiled back, heart heavy in his chest. A million things he should have been doing right now. Training or learning or shadowing. He didn’t have time to mess around unless it was to project his Apollo onto the world. Bright, shining, dazzling before he left you burned. “In fact, it should be me thanking you for your precious time ―”

She doesn’t have to be here he reminded himself. She had a life outside of him, no doubt a family who cared for her and people she could be with but she had chosen him. He would not take that so lightly.

“Ah, so nine minutes total?” he asked, eyebrow raising. A rhetorical question, really. “Plenty that can be done in nine minutes.” 

Plenty he had done in nine minutes ― with the right aim and a steady hand, a lot could be done and shattered in nine minutes. But they had more than that, a lot more. He would drive them out of the estate, away from anyone who would follow them ― follow him, the bodyguards he didn’t need nor ask for ― and escape it all. Even just for an hour or so.

“I know a spot,” he told her, eyes straight ahead. Her hand brushed his and his cheeks burned, the sun prickling at them. Soft touch upon soft skin ― he wasn’t too afraid to wonder what would happen if he were to reach out, to grasp her hand and hold it tightly. He was, however, too afraid to do it. Too many prying eyes and too many people to tell on him. What would they think if their only bambino had elected to date someone who was not to their suiting? A princess who didn’t suit their prince?

“If you don’t mind a car trip, that is,” he had trained himself in the art of hiding his sheepishness ― a Casanova wasn’t worried about what people thought of him, only what his next conquest would be. 

But Elise was no conquest.

He opened the door for her, the top down so that they both could bask in the Italian sunset. It felt warm, for once. He revelled in it. 

“Somewhere secluded, away from all of this,” he closed the door softly, leaning on it to be at eye level, briefly. “It’ll just be me and you...”

@elise-venturi​

[fjorddeluca]

A date. A phrase here which had two different meanings. The first, wildly known, was a specific moment within a week, a month, a year. The second, however, held the more... romantic notion to it. Two different things, not even on the same realm of existing and somehow, this was both of them. A momentous, romantic occasion.  

He wasn’t a romantic person by nature. He had been raised on sharp blades and gunmetal, not rose and candlelight. Where people saw romance as solace, he instead had been taught to find the solace within gunfire and violence. In no way could those things be synonymous. Along with that, had he ever seen his parents be any shred of romantic towards one another? Racking his brain, he couldn’t find the answer to that, though Fjord knew he couldn’t exactly write it off as never happening. How did he know that their silent stretches reading over reports or securing business deals didn’t count as dates? How did he know that sitting together, drinking wine or whiskey in front of their very expensive fireplace didn’t count as a date?

If they did, he knew he didn’t want that kind. Silence was a terrible thing. He found that it allowed his mind to wander, to find things in it’s dark recesses that he had forgotten about, things long buried away. Silence meant nothing good. It was the bated breath before a strike, the seconds of waiting to see the outcome. It was the uncertainty or shock or disgust at what had been said. It was no longer having anything to talk about, to look across to the woman you loved and realising you had nothing to say to her, so you said nothing. He didn’t want that.

Which, was maybe jumping the gun a little. She had called it a date but wasn’t that colloquialism? Was she merely describing as such because it was quirky and, surely, nobody would think that landing a date with the Casanova of the De Luca’s would be so easy as simply saying so?

Wrong. Very wrong. People came and went but it was never, really, a date. He wasn’t bracing himself against the door to stop it from being torn down by desperate ladies, ready to tussle around in the bed with him. Fjord took what came to him and simply accepted it. In a way, the title was hereditary. Not once had he not heard speak of how many ladies his father had courted before, finally, deciding on his mother -- as though it were some competition. The implication that this was in his blood, among many, many other things, had always been the problem. Lemarck seemed to be right in this one, isolated case.

Always, always, was he the closed fist trying to be met with an open hand. 

This, however, this whole thing was different. This wasn’t an escape -- in one way, anyway -- and it wasn’t something that was expected of him. It was merely a boy meeting a girl so they could go out together, have some fun. What was so wrong about that? Why did he feel like he was striding into no man’s land, wearing bright red so that he was a visible target for all sides? Why did it make his heart race when he thought about it too much? Why did he feel like a child, sneaking around past bedtime? In a way, it was both an adult danger and a childish danger. Scared of being caught by anyone, let alone his parents. Scared of being alone with a girl. 

Unapproved. The word echoed in his mind. A paradox. They had approved of her working here and yet, if he were to introduce her as a prospective... something, it would no longer be a question of approval. And that was a whole other thing, wasn’t it? Perhaps he just let himself overthink too much these days and he knew that if someone were to work behind their walls, then it couldn’t be anybody who sympathised with the Venturi’s or someone who had even been within the same room as them and yet... He wasn’t accusing her of anything, he wasn’t but there was times when he thought too hard for too long and questioned everything. 

(Innocently, he’d asked about the daughter. The girl the Venturi’s dragged into their mess the same way he had been dragged into his family’s. It wasn’t meant as anything, a curious child who had yet to find that curiosity stamped out of him. He knew nothing of her, besides the fact that she existed. Had there been times when he thought of how well they’d get along? How they’d probably sit together, share wine and horror stories of being the ones who would carry on a legacy they never asked for. Of course, if that was the case, then they’d never actually have a feud. He didn’t exactly see his parents sitting down with the Venturi’s to discuss common negatives in their business.)

Perhaps, at one point, he would have been naive enough to think that Elise wouldn’t be so bad as to betray them but it had happened before and it would happen again. A pretty face and even prettier words couldn’t distract him from what he knew people to be. A farce, really, because why was he doing this now? Waiting for her to join him for their date, if he really thought she wasn’t who she said she was? If he thought she would turn around and run him through the moment they were alone? 

(All answers pointed to something that scared him too much to say or even think.)

It had been a game of cat and mice but between two cats ; he had found his way through the house without being seen by anyone who would call his attention -- he was sure they had some sort of function later tonight, one where he would sit on his father’s right, like the dutiful son he was, and they would present themselves as a tight knit family. Unbreakable, made of stone.

He made the first crack the moment he agreed to this with Elise. The second came when he heard her join him. The third with that signature smile of his. The fourth when he spoke to her.

“Was beginning to think I was being stood up.” he teased, lightly. “Thought I was gonna have to call in the big guns to track you down.”

Love. A fickle little word that he’d never experienced but if he ever did, he wanted it to be like this. Easy, like breathing in the ocean breeze, like walking through a door into the warmth of home. Like the easy feeling that settle across his shoulders now that the weight was gone. Atlas letting go of the sky.

“I think I have about... five minutes before anyone realises I’m gone.” It was no warning, not really. He didn’t care if he got caught, not now anyway. It was her he worried about but he’d never been raised in the world of showing that you that out rightly. It had to be subtle. The grasp of a hand. “Though, they might be more angry about me taking the car than me actually being in d --”

Too much, too much, too much. The voice bounced in his head and the quick frown he wore following it was just that; quick. He hoped she hadn’t noticed. Equally so, he hoped she didn’t find him too overbearing.

(Though, if that were the case, wouldn’t she have left that first night?)

A brief moment flashed past in his mind, an indecision if he should offer her his hand or arm, and by the time he’d made his mind up, he had done neither. Indecision might be the death of him.

“Shall we?”

@elise-venturi​

[fjorddeluca]

elise-venturi‌:

It was almost as if she’d heard this conversation before.

One where someone was requesting for a change that the other was, inevitably, unable to make. She remembered how those conversations were nothing like the one she had with Fjord currently, as they were a little less playful, and a little more volatile.

She remembered how it would usually start with her mother bringing up a certain topic during dinner, and her father letting out a long sigh, as if to say, not this again (And back then, when she was far too young to realize that her father’s resignation to the damned life they lived were just as extreme as her mother’s requests, would hope in her little heart that it wouldn’t be “this” again too. That maybe her mother would bring something else up for once, and they could have a family conversation where neither of her parents were in constant disagreement. A family dinner that didn’t always end in tears and resentment).

They’d go back and forth, their hushed voices gradually growing louder and angrier as they continually disagreed with one another. Her mother would ultimately demand for an answer, while her father would let out a laugh that sounded more like disbelief than anything else. Oh, si.  As if we live in a world where everything’s that simple. He’d often say, only to get cut off by more shouting.

Elise could recall sitting there quietly, head hanging low as she played with her food; trying hard to ignore the stares of pity from their house help. She’d wonder why they’d choose to argue instead of finding a solution to their problems, why they’d rather throw what little time they had together as a family to disagree over silly things. She vividly remembered not understanding the dissatisfaction of her mother and the ruthlessness of her father; no, not until she, ironically, found herself in both their positions years later.

Oh, how’d she strongly feel her father’s irritation when one would speak about whimsical ideas, as if people like them were able to attain it. But how she’d also painfully understand her mother’s frustration when none seemed to approve of her “preposterous” idea that maybe, just maybe, they could end this redundant feud. This bloodied war that had costed the lives of people that could have had a happy future, a happy ending (because did they not deserved that, at the very least?). Thus, having to deal with such conflicting emotions made moments like these difficult for her. She knew the logical thing would be to jump at the opportunity to coax him to spit it out, to tell her all the secrets he’d been bottling up all these years. The same as how she knew it would be the most absurd yet sensible thing to walk away from this mess, this lie, and hope he’d accept her apology.

But… Alas, the choice she made was -ultimately- neither methodical or virtuous. Instead, she chose to look down. The same way she did in the past. The same way she did when she was too much of a coward to face her fears, choosing to believe that ignorance was ‘bliss’ despite knowing it was anything but.

When Elise finally found the courage to look up again, she noticed Fjord’s expression had hardened. She felt a strange urge to press her finger against his forehead to stop him from looking so forlorn, for it made her heart ache in a way she couldn’t quite decipher. “Hey… Don’t worry. I understand,” she responded gently, all the while resisting the need to add, Moreso than you think. Moreso than you could ever imagine. “And you’re right, you don’t have to apologize. It’s not your fault.” Because it’s merely a natural part of being in this life. She echoed his words in her mind, as if consoling herself that being here, in his room, scouring for intel like a filthy rat was only natural. That doing acts as loathsome as this was but expected in their line of work (Life, even) and Fjord would certainly understand if he were to ever find out the ugly truth.

…. But Dio.

As soon as he began speaking again, all self-reasssure and consolation vanished into thin air and she could feel her heart aching with shame and guilt once more. Oh, what she would give to tell him he was so wrong to think she deserved any better than the wretched life she had. Especially when she’d gone and deceive a boy like him. A boy who didn’t deserve the pretty lies she told, a boy who seemed to want nothing more but peace. A boy whose soul seemed a lot like hers.

“… I think the one who deserves better is you.” she uttered, feeling the walls within her crumbling little by little. She knew she should’ve have treated his comments lightly, like they were nothing but jokes intertwined with hints of truths that she was expected to ignore but, in all honesty, how could she? How could she when the person in front of her was almost bearing their entire soul… No. Their entire heart to her?

How cruel, she thought begrudgingly. How cruel that though life had forcibly taken her humanity and innocence from her, it decided to leave her heart behind. Leave a cruel reminder that she was, at the end of it all, still a pathetic being whose heart continuously bled, and bled, and bled. (And bled it did when his eyes found hers again, looking at her like she could possibly have the answer to his heartache and pain. As if she was someone he could be open with. Someone he could trust.)

“I don’t think it’s ‘bullshit’,” Elise whispered, fingers gripping her sleeves tightly. “ I’m sure you have a good reason to feel the way you do. And besides… Il segreto della felicità è libertà, no?” The secret of happiness is freedom, no?, she murmured, gazing earnestly at him. “Even if we have all the riches of the world, it might amount to nothing if we feel empty or trapped. All that glitters is not gold, afterall.” A bitter smile crept onto her lips as she looked towards the balcony. If only she could tell that to her parents who’d found a twisted solace in the empire they’d painstakingly fashioned from the gold they donned, and the bones of the lives they mercilessly took.

Turning back towards him, a look of uncertainty crossed her face. A part of her wanted to decline his kind offer, tell him that he needn’t bend over backwards for a housekeeper like her - [ A liar like you, the ever-present voice in her mind interjected, vicious yet truthful as ever ] - but the other part, however, was determined to accept his invitation. (And whether that be because of duty, or her personal desire to get to know him more, she couldn’t tell).

“Anything I want, you say?” She asked, doe eyes settling on him as she tilted her head. “Then… how about we go somewhere on my next day off? Maybe we can forget about reality for a day and have the break we deserve…?” Despite speaking with confidence, there was something about the way she looked at him. It was as if she were pleading with him to say yes. As if she were pleading with him to say no.  

The words she spoke to him sounded foreign. The sweet whispers of I understand and as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t believe that she did. It wasn’t that he thought her life had been easy, there was no way he could be a sound conclusion about her life when they’d only shared a short conversation where they had skipped past the normal kind of introductions to... this, whatever it was. In a twisted way, he’d circled from forlorn acceptance, to feeling at ease when discussing his feelings to... defence over it, as though he was seconds from entering flight or fight. Or maybe he’d been in it the entire time and was just now realising it.

That would have explained the sickly feeling that burned in his chest now, like an arsonist mocking the people whose home he’d just set aflame -- except, he was the arsonist and the fire and the people who were losing everything. But he wasn’t the one who had gotten the matches. He’d been born with them, ready to be struck in one hand, the deed to this broken empire in the other, and nothing in his chest that could resemble the heart of a normal man. 

Unloved from that very moment. Further more, as he grew into what he had been then, a small boy wishing only for affection from his parents but earning himself a sharp slap instead. A knife thrust into his hands long before he could do much else -- a child weaned on violence seldom knew what anything else felt like. 

Her words to him, a reversal of what he had said to her, felt much like a consolation prize. Kind of like he had been fishing for those words, begging anyone to tell him he wasn’t what he thought he was but by the time they’d been spoken, he’d already forgotten why he thought he was worthy of such niceties. But with this girl in front of him, with her voice low and the expression on her face that suggested to him that her mind was somewhere else, somehow on the conversation but not at the same time -- like him. It was too easy to find oneself wrapped up in the complexities of feelings when another shared them, like he had decided he wasn’t burning alone and grabbed her hand, to drag her into the flames with him.

(And maybe... he was being that soft boy that had been knocked out of him as a child again, but why did thinking about such a metaphor make him want to? Why did he want to grip her hand, hold it in his own for any amount of time? It was a bold move to make, if he so dared to, but that wasn’t the issue, Fjord took bold moves all of the time. He feared he’d never be able to let go if he did.)

Hearing her explanation felt like validation and it made a short laugh leave him. Not bitter or mocking, more gentle. Fjord leaned back, head dipping between his shoulders for a moment as he lingered on it. Words not spoken for people like him but more so, it felt as though they weren’t just for him -- words of solace in the form of advice to another. Not quite something he dabbled in but he’d like to have known more about where it came from. It sounded much too real to be from anywhere else bu the heart.

But who was he kidding? In this world he’d found himself in, pretending was exactly what they did. It was a form of getting what you wanted, of getting away with all the bad you’d done, a form of survival through and through. Perhaps she thought of him as a weak, pathetic even, and she was merely saying what he wanted to hear in a way that wouldn’t make him throw her out of the room, because that’d be the least worst thing he could do. Or, the least worst thing he’d be perceived to do.

A boy with the reputation of a king -- Henry the Eight on his throne, peddling through wives and getting rid of those who disappointed him for even the smallest of actions. He understood now, and always, why many steered clear of him and why many steered right into him. Was he impossible to resist or was it his power that was impossible to resist? 

“Freedom...” he reiterated to her, looking forward once more. “A nice word... Sometimes, I think it could be more than that, like it could be so easy to... walk out.”

Not alone, he would’ve added if he could. Not with this heart, it’d need something more.

And maybe Fjord was too used to people accepting this kind of offer with open arms, demanding their weight in gold and all sorts of fancy riches he could provide, that the simple offer of a day out left him dumbfounded. He was sure his face reflected that, all furrowed brows and a ghost of a frown tugging at the ends of his mouth, even a slight shake of his head. It might have been as though she’d asked a poor man for all of his money, but this was much easier to shake off than that, because it was something he wanted. And that felt nice to admit, that he wanted something and to not worry that it’d come with some kind of strings attached. He could say yes and he wouldn’t have to perform a role that someone expected of him. He could be him. Or, he could find out who he was. 

Though, there was no denying that inkling within him, that told him to say he couldn’t, that he had a filled up calendar for the time being. The wrath of a man who thought himself as powerful as a monarch would be dealt upon them should he find out that his son wanted to spend time with the help ; a funny thing, really, that his father think so little of the very person he hired. Perhaps not directly, but with the extensive set of rules that were set out for the people they brought onto their staff, he might as well have. It’d be a prince running around with the kitchen girl in the dark and he wanted to save her from that danger, he wanted to protect Elise from that.

And yet...

“You give me the day and I’ll do that.” Fjord agreed. His voice held no sign of the hesitation that had grown in his head, as though his words had been plucked straight from his heart and he knew that they had been. “There’s a few places I haven’t been to in a long time but mostly... we could find somewhere quiet, away from everything. I could think of a few places.”

Perhaps he was thinking this over too much but it would be easy to get around this. A lie about where he was going, paying off the right people to keep quiet about his whereabouts for a few hours, and it would be done. He’d get out of this forsaken house and it’d be nice -- he couldn’t think of the last time he’d had nice. 

But no, he could. It was right now, sitting here with her. And it had nothing to do with him or the wine they’d been sharing or what they had spoken about (okay, maybe a little about what they’d spoken about). No, it’d been her company, sitting here with what felt like another half of him, like he’d found some sort of missing piece. It’d simply slipped into place and fit there perfectly.

For the first time in a long time, his mind felt calm. Fjord reached out and took Elise’s hand.

“I can do that for you.”

@elise-venturi​

[elise-venturi]

Fjord & Elise  ∞ Gifs (01 / ? )

 And I need you to know that we’re fallin’ so fast We’re fallin’ like the stars, fallin’ in love And I’m not scared to say those words with you, I’m safe We’re fallin’ like the stars, we’re fallin’ in love

[fjorddeluca]

elise-venturi‌:

With the way Fjord had suddenly looked to his glass forlornly, a heavy sigh escaping his lips, Elise could tell something she’d mentioned had troubled him.

Her mind hastily went back to the things she’d said earlier — picking and scrutinizing each word in hopes she’d be able to pinpoint the source of his apparent despondency but as soon as he muttered those seven heavy (for they held more weight than they should have) words, it was as if a part of her instinctively knew —understood, even— what he might’ve been feeling in that moment. And despite her mind denying and denying and denying that she remotely cared about any of this, her heart was singing a different tune. A different story. One that would have caused her parents to gasp in absolute horror because truth be told, her heart wanted to care. It wanted to shamefully know more about the boy-king in front of her because were they not, ultimately, the same? Two kids being forced to wear crowns heavier than their entire beings? And coerced into holding bloodied swords they never really asked for? 

 Weren’t they merely just two lost souls hoping to find a place to fit in? To call home, even?

Though Elise desperately wanted to whisper a soft I can try, she knew she had no choice but to hold her tongue, and quietly listen on. 

As he continued speaking, he mentioned a loss of some sort, and her mind wandered to the text message she’d sent to her father; a twinge of guilt and relief rising within her. The knowing she’d given her family accurate information about the De Luca’s transactions alleviated some of the burden off of her shoulders, but hearing Fjord’s slight dismal over it made her feel somewhat repentant. She wondered what would he do if he were to find out she was partially at fault for their loss, considering it was technically her who informed her father of their dealings.

“I honestly hope none of that happens.” She hummed, going along with his jesting, “I mean, I do need this job so… Maybe you could help keep the peace? For my sake?” With a soft nudge, she shot him a playful look. 

For a minute, it felt nice— serene, almost. What with them having a lighthearted conversation, and joking about things that didn’t seem true but were actually true. It was a moment she secretly hoped would last because despite the harsh reality of at it all (him covering the ugly truth with jokes and her feigning sweet, sweet ignorance) she was at least given a fleeting glimpse of what it’d be like if they merely two ordinary people having a silly conversation. Two ordinary individuals that might’ve had a shot at life and love.

“Mm, yeah, I do. It was quite the tortuous process, to be honest…”  Lifting her glass to her lips, Elise was about to take a sip when his next words stopped her in her tracks. Though Fjord was quick enough to pause, she didn’t need him to finish his sentence for her to know what (Or rather, who) he’d nearly mentioned. 

The Venturi’s. She thought ruefully, downing her drink. That’s who they believed was at fault.  And though they weren’t particularly wrong in this case, she never really understood why both families had a habit of blaming each another as soon as something went wrong. It was as if it didn’t matter how ridiculous or absurd their reasoning may be, or how much torment they were putting their cara famiglia through; just as long as there was an issue they could blame the other for, and a chance to put the other in jeapordy, they’d risk it all.

It took Fjord’s question to snap her back to reality, her eyes widening ever so slightly. There was a slight pang in her chest as she pondered over his question, uncertainty and conflict brewing within her. What was better? She wondered. To bare one’s heart fully? Or to only show a glimpse of it? Because though it was a question she knew the answer to, Elise never once dared speak it out, lest anyone were to tell her parents who would possibly disown her for being ungrateful or unworthy if they found out.

… And yet, here she was. Ready to take a chance. Ready to spill the truth to someone she hardly knew. Ready to bear her heart to him in hopes he’d do the same too. (Oh—! what would her parents say if they found out.)

“Well… If I were to say yes, I’d honestly be an ingrate.” she spoke quietly, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve, “ But if I said no… I’d be lying.” Turning to face him, Elise found herself gazing into his eyes. “How about you? Would you change where you came from?”

Do you, perhaps, feel the same way as I do?

It was nice to hear her joke back, just the two of them poking fun at something that had been gripping this secret, shadow world for many, many years; Fjord wasn’t sure if it went as far back to his grandfather, great grandfather or great great grandfather. Perhaps the only thing any of them, really, had in common was that none of them were that great -- the most senior alive De Luca was, perhaps, the worst of all, and it was at times like those that Fjord could actually empathise with his father. 

But how do you sit down with the man who, for many many years, had treated you as nothing but the next in line to a thorn covered throne and say hey, I get what it feels like to be treated as anything but a son by your father when said man was your father? 

They had never been able to communicate, him and his father, because there was always, and would always be, a divide between them. Fjord supposed that he was just lucky that, at the end of the day, his father would call him his son, would show him off to the rest of their people, to the people of Italy. It was all silver linings; there was no way in hell Fjord would ask to be treated as a human, as more than just an heir with a brain and some control over what happened. Too many fights, broken dishes, tables having to be replaced due to the abundance of angry knife thrusts. At this point in his life, Fjord had accepted what he could get. And that was all he would ask for. Nothing more.

But she had uttered the words for my sake and for that brief, delusional moment, Fjord wondered if he could say fuck it and throw the towel in; march right downstairs to where his father would be nursing something a little stronger than wine, a cigar in his right hand, a complaint or three hundred falling from his mouth, harsh Italian words spat out at no one in particular, and demand for all of this to just stop. But it would never be that easy, it could never be that easy. It almost made him laugh, the thought popping into his head, in response to her. Maybe you could help Elise had offered up, but he didn’t want to break her heart but telling her that he couldn’t. 

“Oh, yeah,” he drew out, the Italian words --  oh si -- a drawl on his tongue. “Let me just head downstairs, I’m sure my father would looove it if I told him to knock it off. I’m pretty sure that he’d make me --”

And, nope, that wasn’t a joke anymore and it was too vulnerable. As much as he whole heartedly trusted this girl, for whatever reason that might have been, there was no way he could spill out secrets that had been secrets for the two decades he’d been alive. A part of him, just as bitter and broken as everyone else in the De Luca family, muttered a gentle she could easily expose all of this to the Venturi’s and it made him feel downright nauseous. He wasn’t like that -- or, he didn’t want to be like that, just another hateful De Luca who would keep a family feud going because he was... what? His father’s son?

It was clear in the way Elise paused, seconds from taking another drink of her wine, when he almost uttered their name; it was like Macbeth, wasn’t it? If he invoked the name, something would go wrong. At least, when he had been just a toddler, he’d believed that -- though there was no correlation between your standard run of the mill hit on their members hours after he had jumped around his room, just repeating Venturi, Venturi, Venturi. Fjord had carried that guilt for many years, he still did. It was an omen, looming high above his head, but as he had gotten older, he wasn’t so sure if it was the Venturi’s that was the omen but him, instead.

“Sorry about that,” he told her, though there was no need to apologise. He did feel awkward, knowing that she had been subject to the whole lot just to pick up after them when she could have gotten another job much easier. And it’d be much safer too. Fjord didn’t like to think badly about the people here -- what was it that one psychiatrist had said about his negative thinking? that it often lead to negative outcomes? yeah, he’d needed a psychiatrist to help him heal from that one meeting. “I guess... I mean, I don’t have to apologise -- it’s a natural part of being in this life, you probably get that and.... and...”

And there it went, his thoughts lost to other things, his brow furrowing down as he glared down at the last of the wine in his glass. He needed more if they were to keep talking like this, the whole point of it being that he’d wanted to keep his mind off of everything but it had stuck like glue. Superglue. 

It was Elise’s words that snapped him back to reality, tugging him by the hand out of the deep spiral he almost lost himself to. And it was on account of how much he understood what she meant. How her words rung true for him, piercing his heart to the point where it felt like she had dug her hand into his chest and wrapped her delicate fingers around it. But it didn’t feel like she was squeezing, no, it just felt like she was giving him an embrace. Something sorely needed.

“I...” he breathed out. “You deserve better than that.”

And fuck, how’d he get in so deep already? He didn’t know the first thing about this girl’s family, how she had been raised, if she was just speaking to appease him, the charming, dangerous De Luca boy, or if she was telling her own warped view of her life but there was something to it, the way she sounded so nervous speaking, how she had lowered her voice, her fingers finding a distraction in her sleeve. And, most importantly, how her eyes had raised to meet his, and there was just something in those beautiful eyes that screamed that she was telling the truth, even if she hadn’t spoken any details.

He had looked into her eyes and saw the truth, her truth, his truth. 

“If I said yes...” he echoed her words. “That would, probably, be the end of my life.”

Multiple meanings. Uncertainty to his tone. He would have nothing, no one, if he were to admit that he wanted it. And, should the wrong person hear, he might not have had to worry about those consequences. After all, his father hated treason and by admitting that he didn’t want to be in this god forsaken family was the highest treason one could commit. 

“But I would also be lying if I said no.” Fjord continued, having to tear his gaze from Elise’s for a moment. He let out a shaky laugh, his head shaking sharply. “That’s bullshit, isn’t it? Anyone out there --” he motioned to the balcony, the sinking sun. “-- would kill to be where I am. A well known family, a roof over my head, anything a kid my age could ask for. And yet, I’d rather be anywhere else. I’d rather be...”

Fjord paused for a moment and then, finally, met her eyes again. “I’d rather be someone else. Anyone but me.”

And god, did it feel so terribly open and vulnerable. He had ripped his own chest open and exposed his heart to her and perhaps he should have been worried about Elise running off to spill the news to anyone who heard, but there was nothing in his head -- or heart -- that told him to be scared of her, worried about her.

At least, worried about her actions, because when he laid his eyes on her, he worried for her position here, around so many dangerous people, including himself. 

“Atlas has an easier burden,” he murmured and then, snapped back, quickly, to that charming grin of his. “Do you need, want more wine? There’s plenty where that came from. Hell, I can get you anything you want. Just say the word and I’ll do it -- food, dinner, a different type of drink. I can do that for you.”

His last words to her doubled as an apology; sorry I cannot protect you from this life, my family, me.

[fjorddeluca]

elise-venturi‌:

Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t care who I’m seen with.

His words were enough to spark something within her— a sense of wariness, uncertainty and curiosity. She couldn’t really understand how Capofamiglia’s son didn’t care who he was seen with, considering how it might be viewed as distasteful or downright problematic if someone were to find out the heir’s been mixing with the help. 

Was he unaware that there were eyes watching him and his family’s every move? Was he simply unphased by the possible rumors that could swirl around him if someone were to see Fjord De Luca inviting a servant into his bedroom? Or were there no repercussions or consequences for things like these in the De Luca Household? Because as far as Elise knew, in her family, fraternizing with the help was not allowed. 

Her household had implemented such rules when one of their most trusted captains fell for a seemingly harmless cook, only to lose his life when she pierced him with a knife as soon as she got what she needed. His tragic tale served as a harsh reminder to most— reminding them that whimsical musings such as love rarely existed in a world such as theirs, and anyone who actually believed in undying loyalty or unbreakable bonds was nothing more but a mere fool. ( Her father always cautioned her nothing good ever came from the heart that tried to make one feel, for it would constantly provoke emotions that would leave a person in absolutely ruins.)  

Thus, she’d been told time and time again how dangerous it was to mingle with people they didn’t know well, and how their family wouldn’t hesitate to take action against both the house-help and whoever was involved; regardless of their status within the mob.  And so, to see Fjord —of all people— be so carefree in regards to matters like these made her wonder whether she should be extra wary of him, or whether he was someone she didn’t need to worry much about.

“I should be able to keep up with you, hopefully.” She grinned, passing by him and entering his room. Though she’d been on high-alert ever since they interacted, Elise could feel the tension rolling off her body as soon as her eyes laid on the stunning view in front of her — Hues of dark pink combined with blue, purple and a hint of fading orange coloring the sky effortlessly. There was just something about a beautiful landscape that soothed her soul, something about it that reminded her there was still hope and beauty in life; and that maybe, just maybe, she still had a shot at leading a different life. 

A life that was truly, genuinely, worth fighting for.

As Fjord spoke about sitting… Somewhere, Elise was eventually brought back to reality, and forced to look away from the breathtaking scenery.  “O-oh…! Yeah, okay. I guess I’ll just…” Looking around, she noticed there were multiple areas to settle down on but only one seemed… Preferable. Though the bed would have been the perfect and most comfortable choice, it was, undoubtedly, too risky (Wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea now, do we?) of an option. And the furniture would have worked if weren’t for the fact they’d need to be seated in a fairly strained position to look at one another.  Therefore, the only place that seemed to actually work was… The carpet. (Not that she was complaining, of course. It did look somewhat comfy. Just… Not as comfy as the bed. But still.)

Plopping herself onto the carpet and leaning against the bed frame for support, she quietly observed him as he made his way to the cabinet, seemingly heading for the wine bottle placed atop of it. It wasn’t until he paused for a moment —almost a little disconcerted, even— that she noticed something else was on it. It looked like a small plastic container of some sorts which was filled with… Maybe… Possibly… — Oh!   As soon as their eyes met for a brief second, all thoughts or wonders of what was in the bottle left her mind. 

Elise casually turned away and looked elsewhere; silently hoping he wouldn’t think much of her prying curious nature as he came back with a wine glass for her, and taking another one for himself before sitting almost next to her. A soft grazie left her lips whilst he poured her some wine and as they clinked their glasses, she shot him a warm smile. “Cheers.” As she took a sip, she found herself glancing at Fjord, observing him as he drank.

Charming.  Unpredictable. Casanova. 

Those were the first three words that came to mind when she looked at him, and yet, whenever he spoke, she could see those words change to…  Endearing. Funny. Awkward. 

It’s so strange, she thought. So, very strange how a man who looked like a heartbreaker could make her feel at ease with just his words. It was almost as if they felt like… Home?  … Although, she didn’t know what an actual ”home” was supposed to feel like. 

But maybe, just maybe, this was what it would be like? Warm, comfortable, and fairly comforting.

“My name’s Elise… Elise Young.” A lie. Her mind whispered, almost accusingly.  “I’d ask you for yours but uh… I think it’s pretty clear who you are.” She laughed, taking another sip of her wine in hopes she could drown the voices.  “So instead, how about you tell me what’s on your mind? Since you did say there’s been a lot you’ve been thinking about.”

Be confrontational; never let anyone pry into your life without a reason to do so -- his father’s words were ones he had so often heard; they were spoken loudly, confidently, so that anyone who might hear them would know that the punishment would fit the crime. He was not expected to let anyone into his life, he was told not to, and if someone slipped in by accident, then he would have to report that.

Fjord never really did, though it wasn’t hard to do if you never let yourself get close enough to people to let them see in, but he’d seen her. The way her eyes had followed him, how they’d shot away quickly when he’d looked back at her. He knew she’d seen -- and she knew he knew, but he’d walked over to sit by her, on the floor, instead of heading right to the head of security, because what did it matter?

The sensible heir to an empire in him knew that no one would believe the girl who simply cleaned their home in anything she said, that she’d be easily taken out if they heard her running her mouth -- though there was something about that idea that didn’t sit right with him, even with the years of desensitising to the whole concept --, and that would be that. But that wasn’t the part that won out in him, as much anger and resentment that would cause his father, because whatever it was about her, the way she sat there, choosing the floor instead of anywhere else, how she had agreed to join him, the grin she threw his way as she had entered the room, all of those little things made him think that maybe not everything was bad and he could take a chance with her. 

And a foolish part of him decided that, should anything happen, he would simply say it was his own fault and take whatever repercussions came with it. Besides, his father couldn’t possibly to do him, the son of the don, what he did to others... right?

Her response to his question made Fjord take pause for a moment. Something about the name seemed familiar, though it might have just been the very nature of the name itself, that of many different people he had run into in his time alive, and he was just overthinking things. 

He decided not to think too much on it; the pause she took could easily be explained by who he was. He often forgot about the danger he held, without ever meaning to, and that only the most willing got into trysts with him. Somehow, that’d earned him the reputation of a so called heartbreaker but there was never any time to get into the semantics of it. Somehow, in his endeavour to find real, human connection, he lost the very thing to titles and labels and other people’s thoughts on who he was. 

They could label him as whatever they wanted -- many of them true, though he would only admit that to himself when the nights were long and he didn’t have anything else to think on -- and all he could do was accept that. It was easier to pretend he was one thing, than admit he was something completely different -- different from what everyone wanted, thought, and needed him to be. 

He couldn’t care about it, because as soon as he started caring, then he wouldn’t be able to stop.

With a jerk of his eyebrows, he had responded to Elise’s mention of him and his name and all Fjord could think about for a second was wonder what would happen if he had any other name. He could have a normal life, probably, he could court the girl beside him with no worries that his parents would deem her not right for a boy of his stature, and he could settle down with her, in one of those stereotypical little homes with a white fence and flowers in the garden. They’d have a dog and a happy life. 

A different name. A different life. Yeah right.

A long sigh left him, he shook his head, and looked to his glass. It was a check to see if he had enough and he thought back to the times he’d hear his father state that he hadn’t had enough wine or whiskey to deal with whatever the fuck was happening now and Fjord had never really understood that. The only thing that that had taught him was that you didn’t touch the don’s drinking glasses unless you wanted to get thoroughly yelled at.

“I don’t expect you to even understand,” was his first words, a sort of gesture that she didn’t need to bend over backwards to get what he was about to tell her. Though he wouldn’t speak the truth, he couldn’t say much; couldn’t physically bring himself to say hey this is all so fucked up and I can’t deal with it, so he would try for an even middle ground. “Things are messy in this line of business. We lost -- Some things happened, people are mad, I’m always just waiting for that civil war to kick off. They’ll be sending out draft papers any day now.”

Delving into the realm of joking and sarcasm was what made it easier on him. They weren’t, inherently, the truth and were easily believed to either be exaggerations or not at all true, it meant that Fjord could believe that anyone who heard him say anything in those tones, had only the decision that it weren’t real. He could choose to accept that it wasn’t real, because that’s what the De Luca’s did. Pretended.

“I guess though,” he continued. “You know what you signed up for, right? You went through the vetting process, the whole thing. They won’t hire anyone who might be dangerous, yet they get sloppy with information, and they expect me to believe that it’s, somehow, not their fault but the --”

Fjord caught himself, his eyes sliding carefully over to Elise. It was assumed, all but expected, that if you worked in the home then you were on their side. As much as her gaze on his made him feel as though he had the room, the safety, to tell her all of his raw thoughts and feelings, there was still the matter that it would get back to his parents. His father didn’t like treason, so to have the knowledge that his own child would do so? No one would end up happy.

So, Fjord took a long drink until his glass had only a small puddle left in it and then he leaned back against the bed, drawing one leg up as he did so. “If you had a choice,” he began, softly, carefully. “Would you change where you came from?” 

[fjorddeluca]

elise-venturi‌:

Living a double life is hard, but living a double life where one needed to interact with the enemy on a daily basis as well? Now that was hard. Excruciating, even. To have to smile at the people you were made to hate the day you were born, to have to serve the family that wanted to burn yours to the very ground, and to listen to their vile insults toward your household’s name. 

… Yes, excruciating was undoubtedly the right word to describe Elise’s situation. 

If it wasn’t for the fact that she’d been specifically tasked with this assignment —[‘You’re the only one that can do this, Elise. Be our eyes and ears.` Her father had said, his voice stern and commanding. There was no room for options, no room disagreements, no room for her to voice her own opinions.]— , she’d never have wanted to step foot into the De Luca household; for the consequences of failure was far too heavy for a girl like her to bear.

Even the very thought of potentially screwing up sent shivers down her spine, as it took nearly months of preparing to infiltrate the place safely. Their rivals happened to be extremely careful and cautious when it came to accepting people in— even if it were just a mere housekeeper. 

Fortunately, once she got in, it was fairly easy winning the hearts of susceptible men who only saw her as a pretty face, and the trust of injudicious women that found her ‘guileless’. It honestly wasn’t much of a challenge when it came to convincing the majority of them she was simply a harmless girl looking for a job, but it was, however, rather trying to gather any sort of Intel from them.  

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she walked down the hallway, occasionally checking her phone for any messages. The last text she sent was to her father, informing him of the news she’d heard of the De Luca family having a possible shipment of some sorts. Whether that piece of information was of any use to him wasn’t something she was sure of, but judging from the unusually tense atmosphere she’d felt since morning, something told her it must’ve been somewhat useful. 

Just as she was about to turn the corner, the sound of faint footsteps stopped her in her tracks. She instinctively pretended to be busy cleaning whilst taking a quick glance to see who it was, only to recognize the individual as Fjord De Luca. 

Heir to the blood-stained throne. 

From what she’d gathered, Fjord was neither an imprudent man like the rest, nor was he as credulous as the ladies. Rather, he was a little something in between and more— an enigma of some sorts. There was no denying that both of them came from the same dark world, and possibly coerced into living the corrupted lives they were brought into but… There was just something about the way he stuck out that caught her attention; something that seemed different about the boy compared to the rest. 

Something that didn’t seem to quite… Fit. 

Elise felt a sense of curiosity rise within her as she watched him slip into his room, with a bottle of wine in hand no less. A part of her wanted to see what he was up to but the girl knew better than to pry, and decided to head on her merry way when all of a sudden, she heard the door behind her flinging open.

It took almost everything in her not to stiffen up once she heard him call out. She genuinely wanted to believe he was yelling at somebody else but once she heard him for the second time, she knew he was calling out to her. 

Slowly turned around, she was faced with Fjord who happened to be smiling oh so sweetly. If she didn’t know any better, she might have been entranced by his charms, possibly even falling a little for it. But she reminded herself she wasn’t here to find love; she was here on an assignment. 

Seeing this as a golden opportunity to finally get close to the De Luca family, she shot him a dazzling smile of her own, and spoke in a sweet tone.

“I mean, if you aren’t too ashamed to be seen with a house help… Sure. I was thinking of taking a short break anyway.” 

Her response almost made him laugh. Almost. What it did do, instead, was make him smirk. 

For his entire life, he had lived with strangers, whether that was in the form of different members coming through or with the people they hired to take care of the house -- to take care of him. He wasn’t uncomfortable around those that his parents, or the people who worked for his parents, anyway, hired. He’d seen many a housekeeper, many different people who’s jobs it was to pick up after his family. It was a tough job, he had no way of denying it. The house was large, the rooms large, the people who lived and came through here messy, in more ways that just leaving dirty clothes on the ground. He wasn’t sure how they managed to buy their peroxide in bulk but they had to. 

Fjord had never seen the process in which the house help was hired, but he knew it was extensive. Usually, it was through recommendations through other, less than legal allies that they would find the right people for the job, and then it was a course of background checks and so on -- they didn’t want to hire someone who would either go straight to the police with proof of the De Luca’s activities or someone who might be some kind of spy. Fjord had been six when he’d seen the, admittedly tame, aftermath of what happened when someone betrayed them.

He’d been seven when he found out that he shouldn’t ask about the family of those they made an example off -- ”They knew the danger of working here and they still did what they did, there’s no need to worry about their lives now,” Madeline De Luca spoke without an ounce of care in her tone. His mother had never been a woman for caring.

All of that, really, was a simple way to say that Fjord was very aware of the house help and he was very aware that he didn’t care about their supposedly lower position against them. Weren’t they all after the same thing at the end of the day? It was just that one of them were gaining work in an honest way. Perhaps that was why so many people in here looked down on them; they were face to face with those who were morally superior and they just couldn’t have that.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t care who I’m seen with.”

It was genuine but not words that he could let travel outwith the two of them. He figured she might think that he was just trying to charm her or he was acting as though he thought differently to impress her or something, but he wasn’t sure if she cared to ask, and he certainly didn’t care enough to elaborate without being prompted to. 

“If you can keep up with me, there’s no shame,” he continued, pushing his door open further, moving off to the side to allow her room to enter.

That did cause some nerves to bubble up in his chest, because when he’d gotten old enough to make his own decision, he’d decided that he didn’t want anyone but himself in his room. The house help and other members of their empire were not allowed to enter. There wasn’t any real reason for it, no grand debate that he made to win over, he just needed somewhere to be alone, somewhere to be. If he really were trying to woo her, he would have turned the charm on to a hundred and flattered her with those words, but he didn’t.

And it wasn’t because he didn’t find her attractive, because he did. She was a pretty girl, no doubt that ticked a lot of boxes in some of the more perverse members of this household. With her dark hair and dark eyes, Fjord thought she was quite beautiful but he didn’t want to make things complicated for her. She was here to work, not to keep him satisfied, and if he tried anything, he would be putting her in an unfair and dangerous situation. 

Motioning around the room, it was large, decorated with expensive items yet plain -- there was expensive furniture and an extraordinary view and a bed too big for one person but none of it was flashy or gaudy. Unlike how he had been raised, Fjord didn’t much care for expensive things. 

“Just -- sit wherever,” he told her. “Nowhere’s off limits.”

He reached the beside cabinet, where he had left the wine, and noted two things. The first was the distinct notion of only one wine glass that had been brought up, despite his need to not be alone right now, and the second was the pills. 

With a quick glance over his shoulder to see where she was, where she had located herself, he grabbed the bottle with one hand, the handle for the drawer with the other, and in they went, hidden from sight. Perhaps he did have a reason for not allowing anyone in his room. 

(His mind jumped back to when he was fourteen, when they’d gone through their second change in medication, and how his Madeline had turned her nose up at him, told him to hide it. She was only protecting her family, was her excuse, but all he knew was that he was bringing shame on them by merely existing.)

The wine glasses, however, was a simpler solution. He picked up the clean glass between his fingers, tucked the bottle under his arm, and made his way over to where she was sat. As he passed, he didn’t have to look as he handed her the glass and found the old one, sat astray on the dresser. Though it might have suggested the presence of someone who partied constantly, it was probably some days old, and the result of Fjord being too caught up in other things to bring it down to the kitchen. It’d work for now, however. 

He dropped down next to but not adjacent next to her but next to her, and popped open the wine bottle. Ever the polite gentleman, he poured her some first but guessed, from her statement earlier of taking a break, that she was still, technically, working, so perhaps he would wait until she said so to give her more. He filled his own, watching the red swirl around the glass, coming to a stop passed the mid way point, and then the bottle was discarded on the nearby table. They’d get it back when they needed to. For now, he held his glass to hers.

“Cheers.” he said, his mouth turned up into a small smirk. 

Their glasses clinked loudly in the otherwise quiet room, and he took a drink then, letting the wine hit his taste buds and slide down his throat. It was a little bitter, somewhat sweet, and he knew he’d had better. They never really used the more expensive stuff for casual dinners, anyway. 

And then Fjord’s eyes were on her again, his head drifting ever so slightly to the side. He studied her for one or two moments, and then drew in a breath to speak.

“Do you have a name?” he asked. “I mean, I know you have a name -- what I’m actually asking is, what is your name?”

[fjorddeluca]

@elise-venturi

There was many things to be said about being the only son of one of Italy’s most well known Mafia duos. But perhaps well known was not the right word to use, perhaps that would cause one to assume that they were good people. Infamous was, probably, the better word to use here. Digression aside, Fjord did not and could not simply walk out of the door of the decades old mansion and say hey, can someone talk to be about this bullshit? 

Well, he could, but the only responses he would get would be the grumble of his father’s distaste -- “what kind of future leader do you expected yourself to be if you can’t handle a little trouble?” came the reply that had plagued his childhood, and he was ten this time, looking up to their shared brown eyes, and he wanted to ask why he had to be okay with it when he was just a kid but that response never went down well -- or one of the many people who filtered through the home casting a quick glance his way and then going about their business. They didn’t talk, not to each other, and certainly not to people outside of their small group. 

And Fjord was young. He was the youngest problem in the bunch when it came to their family, so he had learned through observation and teaching that it maybe wasn’t the best idea to seek out the battle hardened mafioso who’s list was longer than the rifle he carried on his back to talk about, who knows what? Feelings? No way. 

So when things like this happened, there was no real way to deal with it. At least, no real way that he dealt with it. He didn’t go for the route of drinking his feelings away nor did he opt to go for the angry route. Call it a stunted emotional growth, one way or the other, he would just let is fester and eventually, it would die out, ebbing away like the ocean being swallowed back by the horizon after a high tide. It was all he could do, really, 

A lost shipment meant huge losses for them overall. They lost deals with lucrative clients, money lost, lives lost in return. The news had come in the middle of dinner, the De Luca table terribly quiet as his mother did the books and his father poured over the newspaper like he’d just step out of a 1930′s mob movie, and Fjord did nothing but sit there. They valued family time but only in image; they’d stop raising him at fifteen, decided to let the psychiatrists do it after they found out about his ADHD and they didn’t want to deal with it, deal with him. 

Digression aside, the report came from one of his father’s most trusted advisers. Two of them dead by the hands of the Bellini family because they hadn’t been able to keep good on their payment. Two of them gone because, as his father practically spat, of them. Fjord didn’t really believe that, but he did get to escape from the awkward environment because his father let loose on his rage and hey, when your il padre storms out of the room, cussing in anger, you don’t necessary follow. For any reason.

So, he snagged the untouched wine bottle and made his way up to his room, where he sat now, legs crossed on the too big bed, eyes on the double glass doors that lead out over the balcony. It overlooked the acres of land they owned, before coming to the golden fence. Inside, there was they ornamental water features, that were completely different from the pool -- that was on the other side of the house. With it being late at night, the sky was a shade of dark pink, soon to turn completely dark. Lights would twinkle on the horizon soon enough. 

The bottle of win lay untouched on the beside cabinet. He hadn’t felt like opening it yet and for a good reason. He was alone. And why waste some of Italy’s finest on his own, individual moping?

And then, as if this were some tragic play and everyone worked on cues, he clocked some movement from behind his door. It lay ajar, having blown open a little at his failure to close it properly. His own movements were quick, as he moved from off of the bed and across the room, his fingers wrapped around the handle and he pulled it open fully. 

She was flitting past, going to wherever she needed, and it might have been all too easy to simply turn around and head back into his room, but he didn’t. He leaned against the door, the edge of it digging into his shoulder, and then he called out.

“Hey,” and then for added measure, “Hey!”

His goal was to make her stop, to have her turn and look at him, and when her eyes did land on him, he flashed her a charming smile. Italy’s Finest Asshole he’d been called once before, by a scorned lover who was very upset that he had decided a second date was out of the question. 

But what could he say? It was hard to date when you were the heir to a criminal empire and no ordinary person could understand that. So he was charming and an asshole. 

“C’mere,” he said, mostly to close the distance between them. “I have a, uhh, bottle of 1970 Lambrusco and lot’s of things on my mind. Care to join me?”