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[elisabethrinaldi-blog]

romvnio‌:

Roman trailed thoughtfully towards their agreed rendezvous, caught up in some form of self-imposed high. A brief exchange but— powerful. It was enough to stray his thoughts from the bountiful worries plaguing his mind. She had the unintentional ability to rid his stress but would he ever acknowledge it? Over his dead body.

“Frequently,” he assured, watching her with such a calculating intensity. Roman had been wrong before. Brought to his knees in mock worship to serve the wrong agenda. Idolize the wrong person. Humiliating to say the least. So he watched, waited. His hands were back on her hips, pulling her closer as they slipped further back, caressing the small of her back. For a moment, he considered slipping away. Keeping her at a safe distance— but there was hunger in his movements. She’d been teasing this far too long. 

For a single, unabashed moment, he let his head fall to her shoulder, breathing her in. She drove him mad. Was that any secret? His lips trailed against her soft skin, brushing feather-light against the crook of her neck as he branched upwards, just below her jaw. Another gentle kiss, shy in it’s wake.

The words left her mouth and he nodded after a short beat. A glimmer of a smile as he pulled back. Another moment to absorb the information. That little secret she’d been dangling in front of his face for much longer than he cared to acknowledge now out in the open. 

“Logan Legend,” he repeated the name, letting it slip over the curvature of his tongue. Tasting it. Familiarizing it. “The guy who brutally murdered the Mayor?” A furrow of his brows. He liked Logan. They met and connected instantly— but that wasn’t the point here. The point was clinging to the tip of Elisabeth Rinaldi’s tongue. He wanted to taste it. Understand it. “Why?”

Sweet words were a particular kind of poison. When a formula worked—when it put a king in your bed and a crown of diamonds upon your head—you didn’t experiment with the recipe too much. In the world men foolishly believed belonged to them, femininity could never be overlooked. Elisabeth’s would’ve been her downfall, had she not turned it into a weapon: soft purring, fitted dresses, that signature southern belle charm. Harmless flirting here and there. Yet there was a line no man except Vittorio had ever crossed: a line no other man—or woman—would ever be allowed to disrupt.

Roman had stepped on it, but really, it shouldn’t have surprised her. Wasn’t this what she appreciated about him the most? That kindred, lucid boldness.

His was amusing. Hers had paid off. The confirmation was right there, lingering on her tender skin: Roman Guerra could, to a certain extent, be trusted.

“You’ve answered your own question,” she told him, matter-of-factly. “Because Logan Legend brutally murdered the Mayor. Because I like him.” A little shrug. There was some potential there. Why waste it on the Castros? “And because I was bored. Besides”—eyelashes fluttered, the grin grew wider—“now he owes me. I want—”

“Fuckin’ bastards.”

Elisabeth turned on her heel, lips staying parted for a moment. Crap.

“You motherfuckin’ bastards,” repeated Seran Brenek as he stumbled out of the fire escape and onto the cracked pavement. Still half-slurring his words, but his glare a sharp, pointed knife. Mammoth-sized paws gripped the doorway so tight the wood squeaked. It sounded like an animal being strangled.

“Seran,” said Elisabeth carefully. A hand raised to clutch her necklace. He’d followed them here. Which meant he’d heard enough.

“How long?“ He spat, ever the drama queen. “How long have you been working with this worm?“

Worm. She glanced sideways at Roman, suppressing a chuckle, then back at the Stones’ Vice President. Fingers traced the edges of the silver heart, once, twice. Think think think. “Seran, you're bein’ ridicilous.“ Her voice was soft, almost playful. Too playful, actually. This isn’t funny. Focus. “You got it all wrong.“

Seran’s beetle eyes narrowed in disgust. “Raphael trusted you, Elisabeth.“

Yes, well, Raphael is dumber than a five pound sack of stupid. “Come on, we should talk about this.“ She moved towards him, but a sudden glimpse of silver in the shadows made her halt.

His axe.

[elisabethrinaldi-blog]

romvnio‌:

“I’m a man of my word,” he responded, taking out his card as he slid it across the counter. His eyebrow cocked at her offer but he kept any euphemistic quips to himself. They were in a public space after all. He led them to the collection of tables, Julian doing little to acknowledge his brother but instead giving a short, reaffirming nod to the blonde in return before flitting his gaze back down to the notepad in his lap. Clearly much to engulfed in his little slice of happiness after the news, most likely. Roman pulled out the chair for Elisabeth, taking a seat across from her to join his brother’s side. The mention of a secret, both of their faces were up to greet Lis’; an identical look of morbid curiosity adorning their chiseled features. 

“Must be a worthwhile secret if you’re makin’ me wait, darlin’,” Roman practically purred, receiving an eye-roll from Julian. Elisabeth was quite the character. She was intriguing. A wildfire; and what was life without a little bit of arson? It was the best word he could find for her. Being a man of both quality and quantity (ever so gracefully exemplified by his overflowing bank account), it made sense why she’d captured his attention in the first place. Still, this was a dangerous game they were playing. Anyone could see through the giant cafe windows what they were doing. Henchmen weren’t quiet and the messengers were hard to pinpoint. It was almost tragic Roman had to keep his hands off her. 

“I suspect this secret doesn’t involve me— so,” JJ stood, closing his journal and collecting his coffee. “I’ll see you back at the house. Don’t forget to call Daisy. Elisabeth— always a pleasure,” he acknowledged briefly as he walked away, two of the bodyguards remaining as one followed the twin out. For a moment, Roman hardly registered Julian had left. All of his attention was on what this little secret might’ve been. Curious wouldn’t be the word to describe it. It was a colossal understatement, frankly. 

“We could find someplace quieter, mi amore.”

"I wouldn’t be opposed to that."

Just wait till I finish my coffee, she could've added. She would've too, had she been playing this game with any other man.

But there was something about Roman that made her do whatever that feral, dauntless girl who rode wild horses and colored her lips with poisonous berries demanded.

Or was free the word she was looking for? Maybe. She’d been strangling her far too long.

Elisabeth stood up. He mirrored her. "Thanks for the drink, Mr. Guerra. It was lovely to see you again." With a polite smile, disingenuous through and through, she leaned in to greet him the good old Italian way. Nothing to see there, just two rivals pretending not to want to claw each other’s face off. But then, as her cheek brushed against his, unexpectedly soft, she whispered: "There's a small backyard behind the storage room." Cue the other cheek. "Leave through the fire escape. Right by the kitchen.“

The place had gotten ever more crowded. She tucked her silk shawl into the handbag, adjusting it on her shoulder. Martha shot her a dimwit look from the table in the corner. Ravenna, mouthed Elisabeth, before heading out the front door.

The bodyguards followed, watchful and silent. Just as one of them signaled for the limo, she feigned a frown.

"Darn, I forgot my shawl. Don’t move."

When she was certain they were too engrossed in their crude jokes, she slipped between the entrance and the old oak.

Ah, yes, just as she’d remembered it. The size of a broom closet, stacked with torn boxes, colorless grass that almost reached her calves. Roman was already there, waiting under a single hollow tree.

Elisabeth balled the ends of her sleeves up in her palms, pulling them down over her hands. There was no sunlight there in the back, only ghosts and whispers. "Impatient, are we?" she teased, head tilting to the side. A quick glance behind, then she stepped closer. "Logan Legend was released this morning." Her face split into a self-satisfied grin. "I bailed him out."

[elisabethrinaldi-blog]

victorxrinaldi‌:

Victor didn’t comment on her assurances, just continued to watch her with calm eyes and a worried heart. If she was sick, if her condition was about to worsen, there wasn’t a doctor he wouldn’t harass to heal her. Still, her kiss was a welcome distraction and he cupped her jaw, ducked his head to kiss her jaw before sitting opposite her. The food could wait a moment. “Hectic but manageable,” he assured before kissing her knuckles and giving a derisive scoff. “The old man couldn’t shit without an instruction manual, neither could his welp children.”

A laugh escaped her, throaty and light. Vittorio was never one to crack too many jokes, but when he did, he sure hit the nail on the head. “Baboons with guns. That’s all they are. I always said—” 

Their fingers intertwined, and as her gaze met her husband’s, whatever it was that she’d always said evaporated. God, those eyes. 

Thankfully, Carlo barged in with his stupid mustache and a bottle of wine. A 90-something Masseto. She withdrew her hand.

“Whoa, hold your horses.” Smoothing out her already impeccable skirt, Elisabeth instructed: “We’ll have some kind of coke. Grape, maybe.” A beat, then one eyebrow cocked. “Both of us.” Before Vittorio had the chance to pitch a hissy fit, she glanced back at him, smiled knowingly, and declared in a calm, sanctimonious voice: “I’m showin’ solidarity. Hush your mouth and appreciate it.”

[elisabethrinaldi-blog]

ravennarinaldi‌:

Ravenna stood there, as the motion of memories filtered past her from déjà vu. Elisabeth there, all but clinging to the toilet as Ravenna stood in the doorway. Of course, it was the notion of littering her lucky little world with children, while she, a spare to the throne, was considered nothing more than a waste of space.

Undeserving of children. Undeserving of a wish she’d wanted.

Of course, Bianca was there. But Ravenna had been desperate. And now, here, it just brought back memories she’d preferred tucked into a drawer, chained within her mind unable to come to the forefront.

“I’m always right, I don’t need you throwing up to prove that to me.” Was her obvious response, as she moved to the kitchen sink, running a small handcloth under cold water. “You eat too much for a woman your size,” She quipped, a knowing glance to the blonde, as she squeezed out the water. “Perhaps you’re coming down with something?”

Elisabeth leaned against the counter. Exhaled.

“I mean, maybe,” she uttered, grimacing at the taste of coffee and metal in her mouth. “It’s been goin’ on for days. And couple of kids at the Center were down with stomach flu just last week.” Little morons. They should’ve been quarantined. Alas, she had to pretend she gave a darn about their comfort.

More air. She moved towards the window, a tad too abruptly. The room went dark for two, three seconds, and she gripped Ravenna’s arm to steady herself. Easy now. Breathe. There was no way she could afford to get sick. Not with her schedule, the barbecue on Saturday, the ongoing negotiations on the border. Nope, she was going to have to power through this.

“Nothin’ to worry about, darlin’.” A smile, as bright as she could manage. “I’m gonna fetch me a cup of tea, get some fresh air, and I’ll be brand new.”

[elisabethrinaldi-blog]

logan-legend‌:

Logan stood behind the bar, a lingering cover of an old newspaper laid on the bartop. There he was, in all his handcuffed glory, being escorted out of the mayor’s party. Being annoyed was an understatement, as he plucked it, whipping it and papers flew. He wasn’t about to sit here and say that he’d be laughing his god damn ass off if she hadn’t said a thing. Catching someone sitting at the bar, a mode to get his mind off things, as he approached. “What do you want?”

She looked up from the menu, smirking. “A thank you would be nice, for a start.”

[elisabethrinaldi-blog]

#me doing the least for my family

[elisabethrinaldi-blog]

She’s my person. If I murdered someone, she’s the person I’d call to help me drag the corpse across the living room floor. She’s my person.

Sandra Oh, Grey’s Anatomy (via thoughtsdetained)

[elisabethrinaldi-blog]

You’re a woman, use it; bring every man you meet to his motherfucking knees

(via neaux-la)

[elisabethrinaldi-blog]

my brother is in the hospital with a fractured skull and this is what my mom chooses to update me on

[elisabethrinaldi-blog]

favorite characters ≡ Veronica Palmer

“What is it with everyone and their questions this morning? Where’d you learn to drive? Will you marry me? Why would you say that to my baby?”

[elisabethrinaldi-blog]

[elisabethrinaldi-blog]

romvnio‌:

Since his return, there was little gossip welcoming him back. It was the grand entrance he’d craved, but even as he sat in that Starbucks, sipping a simple black coffee, bodyguards three tables away, no one paid him any mind (well, maybe no one but the barista who’d given him his coffee free of charge as she giggled amongst her coworkers). He almost preferred it that way. It was a significant change from the asphyxiation of the bigger cities. Regardless of where he went, what he did, the tabloids were always up his ass since the divorce. Picketers crowded the front entrance of both his apartment and his company building, demanding his head for the countless atrocities he’d committed. The prison time was always ‘never enough’. Even getting coffee was a feat as iPhones replaced human faces and gawked up at him as accusing questions resurfaced day after day. For a while, it’d calmed down as newspapers and magazines took their quota, but something always happened to regain their focus, and that was Roman’s intention. Keep their eyes on him.

Lakewood was a small town of around nine thousand. A mere handful to the nine million circuiting New York City. Some eyes were on him. Others were directed towards the other three, but he couldn’t complain. Since the arrival of the mysterious black vans, none of which belonged to any of the core four, it’d become apparent what was happening. He’d seen it before. Still, as long as he could remain out of the spotlight, the better. He’d settled the cup down onto the table, nodding as his brother’s mouth moved. He’d inadvertently tuned JJ out, but reading lips had been a cursed privilege in its own right. He tuned back in, the similar voice meeting his ears. Something about— the company. Expenses needing to be cut.

“Are you even listening? You’re gonna need to cut down on the amount of money you spend,” Julian reiterated, removing his glasses as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’ve hardly spent more than a million since my return.”

“The charities.”

“I’m not gonna stop donating ‘cause you think we need some extra coffee in the boardrooms.” He sighed, swiping the notepad he’d been scribbling on. His brows furrowed as he read. “You want the COO position?” Julian quickly took it back, dusting off his brothers invisible fingerprints as he gave an indignant cock of his head.

“I figured since— the former COO— isn’t with us anymore that there might’ve been a promotion for the VP in the near future.” He explained, closing the book. Roman nodded before shaking his head.

“Shit dude, I didn’t even think about that ‘til you mentioned it,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head. “I have to do some moving around. We’ll get Daisy on PR for the statement and we’ll announce it next week. It’ll give you some time to move into the penthouse.” He took a moment, thinking it over. “She’s fine in PR, right?” Julian simply nodded, matched by one from Roman. He wouldn’t move anything around for her unless she asked. As his eyes scraped over the entirety of the shop, it landed on one familiar face, a smile spreading across his own. He stood up automatically, collecting his wallet as he took residency beside the woman, the same smirk from the night before curling at his lips as he placed a hand on her hip.

“Let me get that for you, beautiful.”

[ @elisabethrinaldi ]

Like everyone else and their cat, Seran Brenek was yapping something about the Castro bodyguard’s arrest at the masquerade ball. Half-slurring, full-mansplaining. Elisabeth suffered through it with a tight-lipped smile, arms folded across the chest, wondering just how high she must’ve been to ever pursue an alliance with those people. High and blind.

“We goin’ to end them fuckers,” said Seran for the third time. He towered over her, fist raised for emphasis.

Elisabeth’s long, sharp nails dug into her elbow: the smell of cigarettes and stale alcohol on his breath was bad enough to gag a maggot. The hangover from last night treated with a can of discount beer, no doubt. Her nose scrunched up.

“I bet y’all will,” she agreed, a mixture of amusement and disgust pooling behind each word.

With that, Raphael Stone’s VP stumbled out of the coffee shop. Finally. Martha materialized next to her, wiping hands on her canary yellow shirt.

Elisabeth cocked an eyebrow. “What were you doin’ in there, givin’ birth to triplets?”

“No, ma’am.” The secretary beamed. “Should I get your order, ma’am?”

I’m surrounded by morons. “Just go fetch us a table. I’ll do it myself.”

The place was a jungle of bubbly students and gussied up mothers with their brats, even more so than Cake Fairy at that hour. But Starbucks was right behind the corner, and she didn’t particularly feel like dealing with a Rinaldi today. Not even Val. The drama had gotten so tiring she had to tune out. If her children had invested as much in the business as they did in their own pettiness, their family would’ve been in control of the whole continent by now.

She was just about to pay for her order—a Snickers Frappuccino with two-and-a-half craploads of cream and enough extra sugar to give her diabetes—when a warm, dishpan-sized hand rested on her hip. Lips twisted into a smirk.

“You sure are hellbent on gettin’ me that coffee, darlin’,” she quipped, shooting a sideways glance at Roman Guerra.

It made the smile grow, how different from Seran he was. Clean, handsome, quick-witted.

A man who treated her like an equal.

“You know, I’d buy you lunch to return the favor, but I got a better idea,” Elisabeth teased as she let him guide her towards the tables. A firm nod at Julian Guerra, seated in a booth with a notepad on his knee, then her gaze darted onto the younger twin again. “How about I pay you back with a secret instead?” Fuck it, she’d share. Roman was going to see the sheer hilarity of it, but also the opportunity. Her eyes twinkled playfully. “Later, though. When it’s less… crowded.”

[elisabethrinaldi-blog]

rinxldi‌:

There was temptation in his mother’s offer. He had been collecting his own scraps of money from his work at Kobra, but it wasn’t nearly enough to buy a house. Enough for drugs and alcohol, sure. Enough to numb him for a week, absolutely. There was a purpose to him staying at Valentina’s, though. He couldn’t leave without executing the first part of his plan. Perhaps wait until the perfect moment to do so. He straightened up, head high. 

“I couldn’t possibly do that to you. I want to earn money my own way— get my own place.” It was a matter of pride but if Valentina saw him work hard for what he got, perhaps that’d put her at ease. A new leaf and all. “Of course, Mama. Patience,” he reiterated, allowing the word to settle in. He let his eyes drop a moment. “I could always— move in with Titan?” He cocked a brow. “I know the Reyes aren’t necessarily on our good side, but he’s already given me a job at his club. We’re practically family.” With benefits, he internally corrected. “Would that be an issue?”

Titan? Which one was Titan again?

Either way. Elisabeth offered a reassuring nod.

“No, no, that’s fine. It’s good to have someone you can count on in every corner. Allegiances are fickle.” Allegiances were foolish. On the Rinaldis’ good side or the bad, the Reyes’ were a means to an end like any other cartel family. And she meant, any other. “Just be careful. We’ll tell people you’re rentin’ with a co-worker. Don’t mention his name more than you have to.”

Signora Ferrara was now waving at her from across the hall, a stupid smile plastered on her thin, unfortunately Italian face.

Back to work. Elisabeth turned on her heel, but before she went to wrap yet another useless hen around her finger, she glanced back at Peter. “Oh, and when they ask why you won’t stay at home, go with the wantin’ to earn money your own way story.” A faint upward tilt of her mouth. “I quite like that one.”

END

[elisabethrinaldi-blog]

I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free.

Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights (via theanglicist)

[elisabethrinaldi-blog]

victorxrinaldi‌:

His habitual nature had no say against a simple need and desire as his lips brushed hers, hand covering the one on his forearm. “Do you want someone to die?” he returned with one of his small smiles and pulled out a chair at the kitchen island for her to sit at. A short walk but he gently kissed the side of her neck before giving a soft sigh. “You worried me, angelico, at the party. Are you feeling better?”

“Oh. The party.” He had noticed? “Don’t you worry about that, I’m fine,” said Elisabeth, and she was. Queasy still, but fine. “I’d just eaten too much in too little time.” A single lift of her shoulders. “Probably broken a world record or two. I mean, you’ve met me.” Lips captured his in a brief, tender kiss before she took a seat: nothing too intense, but fervent enough to spark imagination. The go-to formula. “How was your day?” She waited for Vittorio to mirror her, then reached across the kitchen island for his hand. “Any news from Samuel Stone?”

[elisabethrinaldi-blog]

ravennarinaldi‌:

It was a short trip from the top of the stairs to the master bedroom for Ravenna, as red-bottom heels timed their rhythm against the tile, undisturbed if she walked in on whatever the hell it was she was walking into. Doors flung open in the most Ravenna sense, as she looked around—nothing.

“Elisabetta—“ She called out, her familiar role-of-tongue falling free, as she looked around. “If this is your version of a cat-and-mouse game, you should know I’ve no issues stabbing you to teach you a lesson.”

She smirked at the thought, before approaching the double-doors of the bathroom—closed. Hand knocked, but didn’t wait for a response, as she opened the door. “Elisabe—what are you doing?”

@elisabethrinaldi

“Huntin’ possums o—”

Splash! The quip was rewarded with yet another surge of nausea: bent over the toilet, Elisabeth made no effort to control the spasms until there was nothing left to vomit. For now.

The goshdarned pasta. She should’ve skipped dinner last night, but she couldn’t turn Vittorio down. Crap. I ain’t ever gonna eat again.

“Come on, just say it,” a whimper came as she tapped her mouth with a wet cloth. “You were right. A whole cake before the ball was a bad idea. Almost as bad as that pizza. I’m a pig.” Cue a whole week of this, just like Ravenna had predicted. She straightened slowly, throat burning, abdomen aching from contractions. “Lord, I think I threw up my actual stomach.”

[elisabethrinaldi-blog]

Robin Wright photographed by Victor Demarchelier for The EDIT magazine.