Z E U S

♚ Romanio Idoni Guerra. 42. CEO of KG Inc. Democrat. New York City, NY. ♚

[justjensenanddean]

Jensen Ackles as Beau Arlen | Big Sky, 3x01 “Do You Love An Apple” Promo Photo. (x)

[rcmvngucrrv]

nevaehsanford​:

‘‘You could pretend you’ve missed my company, Emilia.’‘ Nevaeh retorted when the blonde approached, she’d met her a few times once upon a time, someone that Roman had always held such high regard for, or at least as much as he was capable of. Maybe she’d grown bitter over time, remembering a man that she’d at least seen hope for in the future. Somewhere along the way he stopped trusting, and she left with hopes of a brighter future. Had she been selfish? Yes. But she didn’t regret her decisions, even if the pain of losing him had been far grander than she’d ever let anyone know. 

She’d resulted to the lonely life of con artistrey, she’d learnt a lot and still continued to learn. 

‘‘ — Emilia, how longs it been? Not long enough, I’m keenly aware.’‘ Nevaeh greeted in return, her own expression a picture of fierce wrath, leveled orbs of fury burning brightly at the approach. She’d always liked the woman before her, held a respect for her that she’d since forgotten in the world where she was but a shadow. However, that tone an snark had her back stiffening. Had times really changed so much? 

‘‘Tell your boss that I’m providing clients a service. I’m working — I’ll be out of his hair by the end of the night. There’s no need for drama, unless he wants me to cause a scene right here, in front of all his esteemed guests?’‘ Her tone mocking, taking the time to side step the woman so she was staring directly at Roman, lifting her hand to her mouth to signal a drink, telling him to meet her at the bar. She’d never done deals with his people, that had never been the way.

And she certianly wasn’t starting now. There’d been a time where they’d respected one another, or so, at least she thought they had. If they were in the same circle, they might have to learn to co-exsist, and she was done tip-toeing after all these years. They were not children, grown adults who needed to learn when to let bygones by bygones. 

‘‘Tell him it’s my last trip to New York for some time, so it’s tonight or never.’‘ 

Nevaeh took no time to turn sauntering off to the bar, throwing a glance over her shoulder to find Roman, eyes like a snake and a smile as treacherous as a demon. There’d always been something about her that spouted innocent but dosed her with fear. She was a con artist for a reason, a master visonary for black market art. But she was also a girl who’d once loved a man who she soon realised would never really love her back. 

Romance Guerra had been the man that had filled the hole that Luthor left. 

And he hated her more than life itself. 

      If he could frame that-- frankly, dumbfounded--- look Emilia had shot Nevaeh, he would. He had to resist the urge to laugh, instead replaced by a small, pleased grin that pulled on the corner of his mouth. Emilia circled back, glaring down her supposed opponent with such stark anger, he’d have anticipated his bodyguard throwing the kitchen sink at the brunette’s head in defiance. Emilia wasn’t one to let petty grievances get to her, though. She had a part that was easily manipulated into whatever part Roman needed her to play. Fixing her dress, she accepted his jacket, draping it over her arm and sitting back to watch the carnage unfold as she relayed Nevaeh’s message. Being Roman’s right-hand woman had its advantages, what with the expensive escapades, cars, companies and matching infamy--- but he was also a liability. An eye sore in the only way he was capable of. 

He rose and the room seemed to quiet. Be it the blood rushing to her ears or the actual trickling silence and whispers circulating, she hadn’t a clue but even she could see the heat radiating off of him. Body language screaming ‘RUN AND HIDE’ at the top of its lungs as cautious onlookers eyes followed his stride. If not the onslaught of personnel from the shadows, definitely the mirage of side-eyeing guests anticipating a good show based on his track record.

Had he left the both of them in such limbo state? She deserved much more than being booted out onto the street. She deserved a straight-forward murder attempt. It was the least he could do. 

“Pretty brave of you to pull a stunt like that,” he interjected, taking a seat along side her--- not too close. No, he couldn’t risk it. Whether that risk was personal or straight-up feral animosity, he wouldn’t entertain either--- but he couldn’t deny that she always looked so breathtaking. It was almost wrong for him to hate her as much as he did. He glanced to her shoulders. Slender, supple. Not now at the very least. “What she lacks in confrontation tonight, she’ll make up for at the after-party.” It sounded more like a promise than a playful jab like he was hoping. A beat. “So,” he began, taking a sip of the two-fingers of whiskey that had seemingly apparated into thin-air. “We doing this the easy way or the hard way, cara mia?”

[rcmvngucrrv]

nevaehsanford​:

For: Roman Guerra. 

Time: 18th of January 2023. 

Where: Charity Ball, in aid of Financial Business and the Financial Times. 

She knew the risks of coming here. 

It wasn’t rocket science as to the reasons why, yet, a job was a job and Nevaeh Sanford had never been in the position of turning down money. The elegance of it all was still breathtaking to her, the grand chandelier hanging above their heads as classical music filtered into the room. The kinds of things she’d dreamed about as a girl, but had never quite reached. Now she got what she wanted, whenever she wanted. A con artist, or just an artist, as she liked to view herself meandered in the crowds, her companions; two well-to-do men from Scilly who were thinking about making their stamp on the great country with their trust fund money.

They knew nothing, she’d realized in the short time she’d been here. A hired escort, or so they thought. Oh, she was far more than that, and in conversation when they pushed their misogynistic and old-timer views on her, she all but smiled, dipping her head as if in servitude of them. 

‘‘I was always taught manners, best to be seen and not heard.’‘

Bullshit.

Every word that came from her mouth was painted to look like gold dust for them. Their side eyeing agreement that they’d made the right decision and investment in hiring her. She thought mockingly, it was such a shame that she’d rinse them for all they were worth by the end of the evening. So when she painted that pretty little smile on her face, they didn’t see the dancing flames lingering in those hazel orbs, embers of the chaos she’d rain down upon their lives in hours. 

She’d known the risks and had prepared for almost all eventualities.

But not him. 

Glancing around the room taking in the luxurious event, eyes snapped straight forward, face falling when she saw Roman Guerra. All manner of ease she’d had that evening dissipated in mere seconds. Not tonight, she wanted to beg. This couldn’t be his event, surely? No, it couldn’t be, she thought to herself jutting that chin while her lips pressed into a thin line.

How long had it been? Years? Gulping thickly she diverted her eyes away from him, memories of their last encounter burned into her mind as if it were yesterday. How she’d cried, wishing that things had been different. They’d talked about love and the insanity of it all. 

Now? She agreed with him. That day when he’d dropped her off in queens like she was nothing more than trash on his doorstep had fuelled something in Nevaeh that had never been there before. She’d worked harder, and longer and made a reputation for herself that was bar none in her industry of work. The Black Market was her game, so she smirked. 

She knew she was playing that fire that would end up with her dead. But she’d never been one to shy away from a man that had once viewed her in a different light. How she wondered what he saw when he looked at her now. A lone wolf with no one but herself. 

     Countless hours; time, sweat, blood and tears went into planning this gala. Not from him, of course. It was the people under him who did whatever he told them to do that had suffered for this. His little worker bees; mindless, sardonic, and full of themselves as much as he was. They could take this to their egos and continue to spew whatever narcissistic jargon that had filled their tiny, little pea-brains. Nothing but rocks in there, he thought. 

“Sr. Guerra,” rang a voice from behind him, earning a quick turn of his head matched with a dazzling toothy grin. His event coordinator, Raul, had all the right intentions for his art, but he was still too stupid to realize he was barking up the wrong tree. He thought back to the night he went to check on the progress and was met with an intoxicated thrust of wine, and way-too-close-for-comfort conversation. He had only been lucky that once that Roman didn’t retaliate.

Still, he had to acknowledge all of the planning had gone seamlessly and it reflected on how well put-together this event had portrayed itself to be. How put-together he wanted to appear. He had still been dealing with his third divorce, custody battles and the talks of a new sister company that would raise in Dubai. He was beyond stressed, but nights like these were what he lived for. He would rub elbows with prospective buyers and promote his legacy while disguising this all for the greater good.

Her eyes were on him and he met them with the same ferocity that a cat might show a mouse. He excused his impoliteness, taking a leave of quick absence to welcome his newest guests. Emerald hues dipped into whiskey brown, trailing towards the uninvited guest he once left for dead. A short stop on his chest as he was greeted by Emilia’s slender hand, a cautious look aimed up at him. Wordless comfort. Emilia’s eyes were on Nevaeh, cold and piercing. Replacing Roman’s stride, she continued on towards her, followed by two more bodyguards on her side.

“Nevaeh Sanford,” she sang, tucking her hands together mid-waist. “Beautiful dress. Although,” she tilted her head ever so slightly. “We weren’t expecting you--- so soon.” Given the circumstances, she held her tongue. Lest she embarrass another femme-fatale in front of onlookers. Offering her hand, she leaned in closer to her ear as if to give her a hug. “He’ll kill you.”

[rcmvngucrrv]

tag drop !!