#El diablo wears prada | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

miss-tarja · 11 days ago

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El Diablo Wears Prada (Pt. 6)

Mafia boss! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNINGS: Angst, emotional distress, scheming, emotional conflict, mild fluff towards the end, suicidal tendencies, mentions of death, slow burn burning, heartache, gun manipulation, emotional meltdown, reckless behaviors, manipulation, sociopathic tendencies (Massimo)

Summary: Massimo keeps planting seeds of pain as you try to end it all.

A/N: Thanks for your patience towards this lil thing <3 The plot keeps moving! Hope you like. Reblogs and feedback much appreciated <3.

“So…” Xina exhaled as soon as the privacy of another room welcomed her and Miguel with the click of the lock. “Wanna tell me why should I help you this time?”

Miguel’s shoulders tensed, shrinking with a hint of awkwardness in the way. As much as he preferred to do things on his own, he knew help eventually would knock on his door and reproach him for avoiding it too long. And coming to none other than his ex wasn't exactly the way he had envisioned such a thing. But the woman was one of the smartest people he had known in the business so far.

Another mark got added to your black list of annoying traits. You were making him go back to places he once promised himself wouldn't return to. You were pushing him into somehow confronting things he had left almost done. However, he was grateful that Xina was a pithy thinker. She understood with little and asked no questions. It worked better that way for them.

“Cause you'll get a good cut out of it." He gestured while pulling a cigarette from his pocket.

Xina nodded, unamused for a moment as she took the cigarette from his mouth in a silent warning to not pollute her sanctuary with the smell, to then throw the piece of vanilla scented cigar to the trash. The gears in her mind worked like a perfectly oiled machine and curiosity always prevailed within her.

“And?” she urged, and Miguel rolled his eyes. He knew that look miles away. The kind of look that sooner or later would coerce him into speaking the truth. A trait that amused him when they dated back then.

“Nothing else.” He shrugged, “Just need your help to locate a man to finish a little thing pending on the side. Thought you might be interested, since I know you enjoy hunting assholes down."

“How thoughtful." Her brow quirked, "And does that woman have to do with that little thing?”

Silence filled the room for a second, but Xina's giggle interrupted it, with her hands up in the air with a feigned surrender when Miguel glowered her way.

“Ah, don’t look at me like that. You goddamn well now you have a penchant for showing off your conquests. Tacky as they are." Her hand dismissed him, "Must say, I'm surprised, though. This one is... different. Didn’t think you were into eight-to-five job sort of women."

“Xina.” Miguel warned, irked and she just chuckled.

“Guess we're making the right choices in women now, huh? As for your thing on the side, why not ask Dana about it?” Although the pettiness dripped from the question, Xina had to give the brunette some credit. She was cunning, not at her level, but smart enough to call Miguel's attention and give his ego a good stroke.

“She could never do it. And she's dead. Now, can we focus on things that actually matter? Did you read the file I sent you?”

Xina just watched him for a moment before sighing.

“I’m afraid I haven’t. Too busy with other things. Though, I heard about the shooting. Sorry for your men's loss. Is Gabriel okay?”

Miguel just nodded, briefly.

“He is. Came to check up on me the next day. But enough of it." He pulled the chair closer to her main computer. "Long story short, I’m looking for a man, a corrupt lawyer that owes me a shit ton of money. He vanished into thin air. Need to locate him, or to see if he’s left the country.”

“Well, shock me. Who's the poor soul that crossed the devil?”

“That woman's husband.” Miguel's mouth soured not only at the title of said man, but at the sudden image of his face coming unannounced first seats in his mind. Like a plague that haunted him for the wrong reasons.

Xina had to blink a couple of times to let the information sink in properly.

"...Right. If you're here, it means not even her knows about his whereabouts."

Miguel huffed. "She didn't even know he had a secret life. Tried to pry the information-"

"Ugh, stop." Xina scrunched her nose, "I don't wanna hear how you fucked her already."

Miguel just chuckled and crossed his legs in front of her. "Guess my methods are getting old."

"I'd say predictable. Maybe you're not being patient enough to pry it out the correct way from her."

"Time's running out, Xina. Patience is not a luxury I can afford right now. I need to find that man." His eyes raked over the different screens, revealing the many attendees too into their business. Some danced, others drank to their hearts' whims as new ones arrived. Yet Xina's voice snapped him out of the steering thoughts.

"Of course you do. It's not that simple though."

"It never is. I know much. Every time I think I've found something, it turns out it's nothing but crumbs from shit unrelated." He sunk deeper in his seat, "And the fucking cherry of all this? I've got a snitch in the family."

Xina whistled lowly, a little hiss escaped her mouth with disapproval marring her pretty face as she shook her head.

"And it all started with that woman."

"Ah c'mon. You're just frustrated at her for not giving you what you need. And I’m not talking about breaking the bed every night.”

"¡Es un dolor de huevos!" He groaned, "Always crying for that asshole and being dramatic instead of being helpful, and-" (She's a pain in the ass!)

Au contraire of Massimo's unwelcomed remembrance showing up, the sudden memory of your face contorted in the sheerest of pleasure as he pounded into you, came to his mind for a brief second, interrupting his thoughts for a moment.

"And?" Xina teased, But Miguel wasn't having it.

"Xina, por favor, focus."

"Por favor, what?" She huffed, "Must I remind you that's how you and I started?"

"Yeah. And look at us now. I'm surprised you haven't syphoned one of my accounts by now." He grumbled

The boss herself rolled her eyes, slapping the back of his head softly, earning an annoyed huff from him. "You're frustrated ‘cause you, a control freak, don't know how to deal with unexpected things."

And God, he hated when she was right. For someone that prided into being a cold-headed thinker and collected man, the lack of control in any aspect of his life was unthinkable. An error from life itself. A glitch that he would fix sooner or later.

"Unexpectedly or not, Kingpin is after her."

Xina slicked her hair back, a habit she adopted from the man before her, to then walk towards her equipment. Slender fingers typed elegantly the password over the worn keyboards, granting herself access to her database.

"I understand the urge of you to find her husband, but why does Kingpin want her?"

"El cabrón este made her sign things she shouldn't. She thought she was helping him with business related stuff. But, the asshole was just making sure to not leave his traces behind, and put her as the main target.” He paused to wet his lips. “The FBI has all the evidence with her signature in it. And you know those cabrones sell themselves to anyone paying a good cut." (That son of a bitch)

"Just when you think men can't go any lower, there's that guy." Xina shook her head, repulsed, but even she knew pronouncing those words would be like indirectly challenging the corrupt man to be worse.

"That's why I need to find him. If Kingpin catches him, my money is gone."

Bullshit

His mind corrected. Miguel knew he was feeding himself big spoonfuls of seasoned lies. As much as he couldn't care less about people, needlessly dragging innocents to shady business wasn't something he indulged in, as it meant more unnecessary trouble in the long run for his empire.

Unfortunately, you had seen and known too much to go by as an innocent. As you bore the mark of a target, bright and dazzling on your back, not only because of the man that swore to protect and love you at the altar. But for doing such a simple thing as to remain at MIguel’s side.

El Diablo knew that even if you hadn't done something wrong, men like Kingpin wouldn't take the time to tell apart the rotten apple from the rest, and would discard the whole batch instead without much thought.

Xina kept typing, listening with perked ears to his complaints. It was rare when something managed to upset him this much. For a moment she didn't know if to mock him for the righteous karma he got for wronging her in the past, or to pity him.

An empire was put on his shoulders with non-trustworthy men surrounding him, resulting in restless nights because of said people and other things plaguing his mind sure did take a toll on his broad shoulders. Trust was as sacred as his beliefs yet, he couldn't even trust his shadow now.

"Well, that's not a bad thing, is it? Sure the money part sucks, but at least she won't be your problem anymore. Or you'd rather get rid of her yourself?"

The question weighed his other thoughts down. Would he? He didn't have a reason to actually keep you, beyond being a guarantee he knew wouldn't be claimed at this point. A keepsake that was surrendered unwilling and unknowingly in his hands, and always prodded his brain with the same question. If he knew Max wouldn't pay him, why keep you around?

"Can't leave loose ties, can't I?"

The words came out in automatic, but the promise in them, nonexistent. Empty of the end he always delivered his foes with flying colors.

Xina seized him for a second longer and hummed, as if pondering.

"Well, Imma need the guy's complete name and phone number."

Massimo Alessandro Bianchi.

Lawyer at 23, master in laws at 27, successful and professional, charming husband at 30, one of the most acclaimed lawyers in New York at 32, and the most wanted man from underworld dons at 34. He had played God over men's rules for so long, that late justice was an inconceivable concept for him.

Aaron had given him the news he needed and wanted about you, yet few things had surprised him greatly.

To starters, he didn't think or rather refused to believe El Diablo would take the extra mile to protect you. Even if that meant you getting fucked by the criminal Don himself. And not that he didn't enjoy sex with his wife, but money and power had been weighing more in his messed up priorities since a long time ago.

Although you remained in the top five of that list, your spot was always the latest. Aaron had scratched the first one, to know about your status. His own hands had scratched the second, by getting rid of the evidence by burning his home and frame none other than Miguel for it. And now that he knew you were alive and good, and no traces would get to bite his ass later, he moved to the next. Your parents.

Ever since the devil showed up at his doorstep and took you and very important documents away from him, he called his favorite group of officers to help him out. Not only did he untie himself, but searched through other hidden compartments to see if they had been ransacked by that demon’s imps. When he took what he needed, his home turned into one of the biggest bonfires in the city.

And every time your parents called you, he always picked up with loving excuses of how much you both were enjoying an impromptu vacation in Italy. Or how you were sleeping after long hours of lovemaking as you both were trying to make them grandparents. He had them both in the dark for so long that they eventually stopped asking. Until he revealed the most convenient part of the truth to them. Causing a meltdown to your mother as soon as she learned you were missing.

Their anguish had just started, but like the compassionate man he was, Bianchi was here to end their suffering.

His steps guided him to the elevator, after presenting his ID card to the guard assigned to the spot. And once inside he smiled, satisfied at the magnitude the whole show had gained. He truly had outdone himself this time. Hiring guards for your parents security sure was a must, but the fake victim act needed to be up at all times.

Sometimes he purposely didn't sleep to appear more disheveled, he let his beard grow to keep the charade of a worried and hardworking husband, who did everything he could to find his missing wife, afloat to gain the pity of those around him.

So far it worked. Massimo had even gotten a few sympathizers within the firm. His cases were assigned to someone else in a show of support for him to solely focus on finding you, and getting the bad guy behind bars. A true hero. A phony one that had tried a lot of methods to make himself cry, to try to achieve that worn and burnt out man look.

His face adopted that somber and distant stare, but this time he had to be more convincing, especially with the news he wanted to deliver. He squeezed and rubbed his eyes a bit too hard to redden them, and practiced his sniffing before reaching the stage where he would deliver one of his best performances so far in this self made tragedy.

The doors swung open and he walked over yet another guarded door. His eyes became heavy with sadness the more he approached, and when the guards stepped aside to let him in, his hand hesitated to knock. Adding bonus points to the commitment in his role as some guards stared for a second longer in his way.

But Bianchi was brave enough to knock, and in matters of minutes the wooden door swung open, revealing a man with a gentle looking but distressed face. His relief lasted less than a heartbeat and the lawyer was urged to get inside by him.

“Massimo!” Your father yelped, alarmed, nearly dragging him inside.

“Henry.” The defender’s voice turned solemn, adding even more distress to your parent’s worn spirits.

Your mother rushed to your devoted husband. Her gentle hands pried the cold coat away from him and put it on the hanger.

“Please, tell me you’ve found her.” Your father pleaded, anguish shrouded his features as tears peeked in the corner of his eyes.

Bianchi had to take a deep breath and gesture with his hands to keep the animosity down, tensing your parents even further.

“Please tell us!” Your mother pressed

“I need you both to please take a seat. Especially you.” He instructed your mother and she shook her head, dread soaked her from head to toe.

“No. No! Where is my baby, Massimo?!” She pleaded. Your dad joined her as soon as her voice broke, holding her close in a poor attempt to keep her together for the upcoming blow. “I know you’re doing your best, but it’s been almost a month since we’ve known anything about our daughter! Where is she?!” Her voice trailed into an incomplete and choking sob.

“I’m…I’m really sorry, Mira.” Massimo gulped, swallowing the imaginary knot in his throat, as he pulled an envelope and gave it to Henry.

“Wh… What’s that?” Henry’s throat became arid, breaking his voice as well, “Massimo, what is that?” His eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from the capitalized letter inscription in the back of the envelope.

NEW YORK CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT

CRIMINALISTICS FORENSIC REPORT

Mira had to hold onto Massimo’s arms since Henry's were too numb to take over. She wept, and wept hard, while pleading to the heavens for it to be a cruel joke. Cause if it was, she’d stand it. She’d bear the disgust of the universe's tasteless pranks when it came to his beloved ones, if it meant to hear that it was all an atrocious lie later. Yet his son in law’s words did little to solace her bleeding heart.

“I’m really sorry, I… I tried everything in my power to recognize her but…” Massimo gulped, trying to get his broken voice out. Thankfully for him, Mira’s desolated weeping gained him some time to think of his next words.

“What happened to my daughter?!” Henry, half angered and half broken, demanded. “You were the one I handed her over to protect! And now you tell us she’s dead?! How dare you!”

“You think only you have the right to cry over her?! I’m a fucking widow! I’ve lost my wife, my home! EVERYTHING! Because of my job.” His voice finally broke in a breathless shout. Maybe in another life he could’ve been a marvelous actor cause Henry looked away, as if ashamed for accusing him of such heinousness, “You think it was easy for me to know she was scared and then ending up searching for her through charred shit, cause I couldn’t get on time to save her from that psycho?!”

Mira recoiled from the outburst into her husband’s shaky embrace, staggering on her steps and reasoning.

“You think it was easy for me to get to the lab and receive a bunch of samples instead of my wife?!” the defender shouted with glossy eyes, and his words were enough to get Mira’s body collapsing from a nervous breakdown. The news had been too much for her already frail mind.

“Mira! Mira!!” Henry held her close, gasping and trembling. Massimo rushed to help him, but Henry pushed him away. Too volatile and antsy to let any other man close to his rattled wife. “Get away. Get out!!!” He exhaled furiously, trying to calm his erratic and panicky breaths as his mind tried his best to regain control over his emotions and functions. His hands cupped his wife’s paling countenance while laying on the floor with her. Sobbing and sniffing for the sudden loss suffocating them both with a vice-like grip.

Massimo gathered himself and left the envelope in the closest surface available and stepped away, cleaning his face from the dripping tears rolling down.

“I’m sorry I’ve failed you both.” he sniffed, “But I promise you… That madman will pay. I’ll make him rot in hell for ripping a part of me.” He gulped, trying to drown yet another imaginary sob. “Miguel O’Hara will pay for burning everything I’ve loved.”

With an unflinching resolution shining in his eyes, Massimo left the apartment, leaving the agonizing couple to deal with the shocking news, the mourning and evidence described in the report within the envelope.

That’ll have them busy.

“Call an ambulance right away.” He instructed a nearby officer as he got into the elevator.

As soon as the doors closed in his face and isolated him from the main scenario, with a swipe of his hands he erased all traces of misery and despair from his now triumphant face.

A smile spread wider in his lips upon recognizing his breakthrough. They’d be out his way for quite some time, too busy with a funeral and someone else’s ashes to care about his doings. And, if he played his cards right, Bianchi was sure he’d get some time off the firm to finish his own business and move on with his plan.

He’d be free soon. Freedom was two more steps away. He could almost taste it, sweeter than the perfume you wore whenever you tried to get him into bed with you. Scrumptious like the rush of adrenaline coursing through his brain each time cocaine reached past his lungs, after sniffing it out from a woman’s cunt before eating her out like a possessed man.

And now with a third objective marked off his list, it was time for the next in line, even if this one took a little longer than anticipated. Miguel. His prosecutor, his torment, the demon that haunted his sleep and the new owner of his favorite toy. Massimo had shared you enough. It was time to pull his doting husband mask on again.

After what it seemed like never ending hours, Xina finally could find a potential lead that would reduce his search ratio considerably. She searched and he replied to the questions Kwan threw at him, there was no time to waste with physical distractions.

Miguel was too irked and bored to cave in, and Xina was too focused into cracking the many security codes the FBI database had to deepen the search.

“It would all be better if I had Lyla here. Messy as she is, she’s quicker in interpreting this programming language than I am.” Xina mumbled, pursing her lips, completely vexed at the admission and at the program that kept changing lines every certain amount of seconds.

“Call her then.” Miguel pressed with a roll of his eyes, which got Xina gifting him a brief deadpan.

“Once she’s on the dancefloor there’s little I can do. Pray she’s not drunk. She gets too chatty and bold with whomever she’s partying with.”

“Thought you liked having fun as well?”

“Hunting assholes like these, yeah. Not dancing.” Xina nodded, with a satisfied smirk in her gorgeous features.

Miguel in the meantime had glued his eyes towards the screens displaying in the back once more. His eyes wandered through them, skimmed through the many images changing until his stare remained still in a single spot. Curiosity got the best of him as he watched through a specific screen in the middle.

His eyes became unable to tore away from it as the scene displayed before him. It was Lyla, dancing until her feet were sore, singing from the top of her lungs, or so the image gave away, with none but you.

You laughed, wooed, even drank as if tonight was special. As if tonight all your problems would be solved and forgotten. It was a new side of you he didn't know and much to his surprise, it amused him.

It amused him to see you so damn loose and happy, unlike the defensive and reluctant woman he often found within the sheets of his enormous bed or couch. It all depended on his mood. If he was easygoing, the day was peaceful between you both, gaining him a few jokes here and there from you. But if he had woken up on the wrong side of the bed, everything was chaos and a sour day.

But none would prepare him for witnessing Lyla’s, pulling you closer and closer until your mouth collided against yours. And he blinked when you pulled the hacker by her neck to deepen the kiss. His brows couldn’t help but widen at first to then furrow. Still deciding whether it was out of anger or confusion. What was going on?

¿A qué juegas, ratoncita? (What are you playing at, little mouse?)

Xina followed his line of sight and gasped, almost embarrassed.

“Goddammit, Lyla…” She mumbled, pressing a button and a bouncer stepped in right away.

“Bring Lyla and the woman, please.”

The bouncer nodded and scrambled off quickly.

Miguel on the other hand stood, his eyes despite being a little photophobic, adjusted perfectly into the dazzling neon lights surrounding you, to focus on you being yanked away from the kiss by Gabriel. Not that he blamed him for such a thing, he knew Lyla and her persuasive ways with people were always effective. Especially if they’ve been acting weird.

You have been acting out of your curious persona lately. You didn’t approach him for questions, nor bothered him in the slightest, causing the deafening silence to give him discreet jumpscares here and there. If it wasn’t for the gps attached to your ankle, his men would already be looking for you. It was too risky to leave you unsupervised.

You were quiet. Too quiet for his likings, and much to his dumbfound, he almost yearned for a dose of those snarky remarks you threw at him. But now everything you gave him was silence and brief stares, honoring beyond perfection that pet name he gave you. He didn’t like it one bit. He was lucky if he heard you say good morning or evening his way.

He knew he shouldn’t care a single ounce about it, but even a devil like him was aware that whenever a woman acted that way, everything was far from being okay, and he was the only possible culprit in the game. And yet, nothing had prepared him for what happened next.

As in slow motion, his eyes watched with rising dread and an unknown feeling constricting his chest, at the way your hands reached for Gabriel’s face. Almost too lover-like.

What are you doing?

His mind demanded, more at you than at the poor control he had over his body, incapable of tearing his bewildered eyes from the scene. These widened when your hands held Gabriel on the spot, and pulled him for a kiss. Just like you had done with Lyla. No matter how much he needed to break the unwilling visual contact from the show you were giving everyone, his gaze remained fixated on your lips and how these devoured Gabriel’s.

Although his brother froze on the spot, a wave of… something stirred the need to punish him tenfold for not reacting quickly and ending the kiss right away. Was he enjoying it? Was Gabriel enjoying mocking him by letting his problem to kiss him? He had to, or else he would’ve broken the kiss by now.

But oh, the scorching anger and that stupid something flared in his chest when your eyes met his. Defying him openly with an unsaid ‘fuck you’ his way. Just when he took in properly the spectacle, his eyes finally managed to avert.

Xina however had been analyzing every of his moves, acting like a silent watcher as everything unfolded right under her nose. A silent chuckle escaped her mouth upon the sight of Miguel’s evident conflict, switching between your stunt with Gabriel and his reaction. She didn’t know if to praise you for the bold move, or pat his back in a comforting gesture, cause even she felt the distraught energy irradiating from El Diablo.

But he looked away, focusing although absent minded in the blinking screen of his phone, apparently reading the notification’s bar log, until the door echoed with the bouncer’s knocking.

Lyla bursted in and hiccuped a smile, then approached Miguel with stumbling and ditzy steps.

“I’m so sorry for kissing your… your-” He hiccuped again and Xina caught her before the hacker ended up in El Diablo’s lap.

“Can you stop embarrassing me for just five minutes?” Kwan hissed as she took a giggling Lyla away from Miguel, to put her gently on a nearby couch.

You on the other hand sat outside the room, if you were leaving soon, why even bother to make more social life among them? And low key, your mind was too far gone into the many scenarios running in your mind to pay attention to Miguel.

“Guess our reunion is over. Will send the details to you soon.” Xina dismissed him as she asked the bouncer for a glass or bottle of water.

Miguel stood and slicked his hair back, walking over the door. The first one coming to his sight was Gabriel. That gulped and stared his way like a deer caught in the headlights, frozen, and awkward. The youngest of the O’Hara only managed to look away as he cleared his throat.

“She’s on the stairs and-”

“Tell Ben to prepare the car.” He interrupted dryly as his eyes scanned the hall, or rather the end of it.

Just as Gabriel had said, you were there in the stairs, slumped against the cool wall, staring into nothing.

Gabri just nodded and disappeared as fast as his feet managed to. There was an unspoken rule he always obeyed despite the blood connecting them.

To not touch what was his.

Sure you were far from being his favorite person, but if Miguel had already laid eyes on you and bedded you, it meant you were off the table, even if accidental. He wasn’t in the mood, nor the time to fuck around and find out again. His eldest brother could be quite creative when it came to punishments whenever he misbehaved.

Miguel’s steps however echoed your way, announcing his presence with ominous moves. You didn’t flinch when he stood tall and proud next to you.

“It’s time to go. Move.” He spoke, yet you didn’t move, instead, just yawned and rubbed your face, trying to wash away the alcohol written all over your cheeks and eyes. And this got his jaw tensing. “I said, move.”

“Manners wouldn’t be bad for you.” Unlike Lyla, your alcohol intake offered a bit more resistance towards it, and you had diluted it through constant glasses of water to avoid ending up completely wasted. Your brain was aware, but your body staggered slightly as you stood.

Miguel had to muster everything in his power to not bite a comeback, but the speed you were walking sure did increase his brewing anger. How dare you speak to him about manners when you had kissed his brother before his every eyes and could barely stand on your own, while he was trying to get a hold of your husband?

Without much saying, he stood before you and threw you over his shoulder.

“W-What are you doing?! Put me down!!” You shrieked while trying to remove yourself from his shoulder, but your sight was everything but stable. It swooned, twisted and bent underneath you, as if it would swallow you whole if you fell. Your hands held onto him, clawing at the end of his back. His hand however curled around your thighs, to hold you in place as the other one, delivered you a firm spank, stilling you completely.

“Cállate ya. (Shut up already) You barely can walk on your own and smell like fucking cheap wine. Thought you had more standards than that.”

“Oh scre… screw you.” you hiccuped, “You’re the least to talk about standards.”

Miguel had to stop for a moment to take a deep breath. He didn’t want to cause a scene, but you were proving hard to deal with. In other times, he’d reply with the same high spirits as yours, but right now the anger and other unknown feelings plagued his mind, ruining any form of interaction.

Some people outside stared at you both as he approached the car. With ease, he pulled you away from his shoulder, pushing him inside the car. The heat of your body had increased, he noted. He didn’t know how much you had drunk, but sure as hell you’d wake up hungover tomorrow. That if you didn’t put yourself in danger.

“Help!” You yelped and kicked, “Help!”

But none of the attendees in line outside aided you, given your current stupor, they thought nothing alarming was happening. If anything, It only made Miguel put you down on the floor to then push you into the back seats as he slammed the door shut. It was enough cue for Ben to drive away.

Miguel caught Gabriel’s eyes for a moment. His lid twitched and his lips scowled, and Gabri looked away. A submission gesture that earned a satisfying huff from Miguel.

“Take a turn on the left. We’re going to Queens.”

“Wait… wait… what about the hotel?” You mumbled groggily, the alarms flared in the back of your hazy head but Miguel ignored you completely.

“Go to Copper Boulevard and then stop at Ember Towers. Tell Peter and Jessica to bring our stuff there.”

As much as you wanted to protest and give yourself a voice for him to listen to you, the haziness in your brain saved you from opening your mouth to say something potentially stupid that would only add more fire to his already brewing anger. With a pout, you curled once more on your end of the seat, as Miguel looked through his window. Devoting himself to silence.

For a moment, your brain played a graceless joke and tricked you into seeing none other than Massimo sitting there. A painful déjà vu crossed your memory, forcing you to relive for a brief moment the way Bianchi used to ignore you whenever you were ‘too emotional’ for the night.

“Miguel…” You called through a careful mumble, pressing to see if he’d even look your way, “Where are we going?”

Silence welcomed you instead. His mind was too enraptured by the messages displaying on his screen to pay attention to you. But in truth, he was holding back his tongue to say stuff that would probably make the rift between you wider. And the least he wanted was to take more of what he could manage in his plate.

You didn’t talk during the rest of the trip, as you had slowly fallen asleep.

Your head swayed and lolled to the sides. Your eyes managed to slowly open, sadly they didn’t recognize the place they were in. Marble floor extended left and right, a tinge of golden rimmed them on the edges. Your whole body floated, almost too comfortable as if someone was taking you to a peaceful realm.

The grip adjusting underneath your knees only broke the illusion of you floating, and when you looked up who it was, your heart raced, making half the stupor to leave your body in a go. Your head craned to see the door sliding open, revealing a place that looked like Miguel's personal penthouse.

Unlike the tower he lived in, the place was almost empty, stripped from its deco. Except for a couple of scarce furniture scrambled in strategic places like the living room you were both in, the main bedroom and of course the kitchen. It was the basics as the rest would come later.

You heard Gabriel’s meek voice telling him that he had business to attend, that he was sorry. But Miguel ignored him, and rather put you, a tad brisk, on the couch. Earning immediately a protest kick in his forearm as he had startled you while he removed your shoes.

“Stay still.” He warned

“No! Let me go!” You half mumbled, half startled, earning a growl from him as he tried to get your dressed feet.

“Mira que si eres un dolor de huevos horrible… Stay the fuck still! You’re gonna hit yourself.” (You’re such a pain in the ass.)

He grumbled, hovering now his arms over your shoulders, but your mind was still on cloud nine of alcohol and melancholy didn't help by showing up. You slapped his hands away with a firm no. And it was the last straw of his patience. He took you by the arms and lifted you, shaking you briefly to see if that made you come to your senses.

“Fucking stop!” He shouted. “You’ve got no idea what I’m sacrificing for letting you breathe another day!” The words dripped with venom as his face hovered over yours. His fangs bared to you as you struggled to push him away. Unlike other times, fear was completely absent in your head and heart.

“Then, fucking kill me!” You defied. Tears pooled in your angry eyes as you looked at him straight in the eyes. “If I’m such a burden for you, fucking kill me and get rid of me like you told Gabriel you would!”

His hands loosened their grip for a moment. Realization didn’t hit him with all his might as he tried to place your spite. He didn’t remember talking to Gabriel recently, except for…

Oh…

Your hands pushing him away and unsheathing the gun from his waist, was enough dose for his eyes to widen, disturbed as you turned the gun’s cannon and placed it under your chin.

“Stop!” He shouted, horrorized for a second while your fingers tinkered with the weapon, struggling to get the damned security pin off. “Gimme the fucking gun!” Never in his life his fingers worked so fast to neutralize someone. His fingers curled on the weapon and pulled back, just in time as a gunshot echoed through his ears with an acute ring, buzzing through his system.

The bile rose in the back of his throat, his mouth turned arid, swallowing was too painful and for a moment his chest trembled with an unwelcome guest from his repertoire of feelings he rarely paid attention to. Panic. He had panicked for a moment. Not because of the gunshot. No. Panic because you still wanted to get the gun from his grip as tears rolled freely down your flushed cheeks.

“¿¡Qué mierda te pasa?! (What the fuck is wrong with you?!) You’re gonna kill youself!” He roared, still perturbed as he threw the weapon away from your reach, and you screeched and punched his chest.

“You’re just like him! You’re just like Massimo!” You bawled, completely out of wits. The sudden weight of the events finally crashed on your shoulders, unable to hold it anymore. Too heavy on your feeble psyche. The kidnap, your beaten husband, your missing parents, him, his world, everything. Everything was turning your head upside down. “You fucking liar!”

But your words only made him cage your torso tighter with his broad arms. If anyone could look at you both, would say that you were hugging. But in truth he was containing you to prevent your meltdown to worsen as you struggled and even punched his chest harder in an agonizing attempt to break yourself free from your misery.

“You just used me!” You wept and gasped, and he pulled you tighter, unabling you to move. Yet, you squirmed, desperate to breathe and be away from him. “And you keep using me!”

Miguel’s eyes darted back and forth between you and your shaky hands. He could feel the speedy thrumming of your heartbeat, that threatened to stop at any second. Your words hammered in his chest with such power, that the comparison between him and Massimo had stung a bit too much than he actually wanted to admit.

And even despite the terror spreading through your body, your mouth kept spilling what you didn’t have the courage to tell him while sober. The alcohol had won over you, unleashing the dam of your chaotic thoughts, while you kicked, screamed and cried in his chest, until your own legs gave up. Much to his own shock, his body had gained self control as he was unable to let you go. Instead, it had locked you in a tight embrace.

Too on edge to free you and give you the power to commit another unhinged trick. You had seen death face to face and hadn’t hesitated to end it all, you had welcomed it even. You had even begged to be released to finish your task. And then quiet. You had quieted down.

Your hands slowly loosened their grip on their own and clutched onto his back, holding him in a such grip, his throat gulped laboriously as your body collapsed in his arms, causing both to fall onto the couch. You fell on top of him, and he caught you with ease.

“Ratoncita…” He whispered and tensed as soon as the first open and maudlin sob escaped you. Then another, until turning into that familiar cry only those in real anguish let out. He swallowed again.

“He doesn’t love me, Miguel…” You hiccuped with trembling lips and shaking your head, finally grasping the truth behind your next words “Massimo never loved me…”

The realization hit him differently this time. He sighed, glad that your strength had vanished, but also conflicted. The pain in each syllable coming out of your pretty mouth held so much heartache, so much hurt that for a second his mind stopped to ponder properly what kind of man did this to a beloved one?

What kind of heartless man would abandon his wife in such a risky situation that probably would put anyone in the psych ward?. And by the looks of your outburst you sure as hell needed it. But it also made him wonder with a question he refused to find an answer to. Cause even he had limits when it came to his violence.

Did Massimo beat you?

“Why… why won’t he love me?...” your weeps vanished into the soft, yet soaked by tears shirt. The warm and moist feeling of your liquid pain staining his chest, puzzled him greatly as it stirred and poked awake, even if little, that urge of protection and comfort

“I don’t know, hermosa…” He shook his head, his voice toning a good couple of angry notes down, but it wasn’t strident like when he started yelling, it was soft. Almost comforting if it wasn’t for the sudden hatred simmering in between lines. “His loss, though.”

His words made you crane up to meet his stare, and his chest constricted for a second longer than necessary upon the sight. Beautifully defeated, anxious and weary. Staring at him with more questions in those pretty eyes he could barely answer.

“He’s not paying you up, is he?”

He gulped and shook his head. And your head hung for a second before giving yet another sob, staring back at him.

“He doesn't care what happens to me anyway, never did.” Your voice trailed off. Even in these messed up entanglement of limbs and heartache, the heat irradiating from his body resulted in an unexpected comfort.

Once the initial resilience of escaping vanished, your hands relaxed completely, sauntering over his chest to finally cup his face. His pupils dilated and a breath escaped his mouth as you placed your head against his.

“Why haven't you killed me yet?” More like why haven't you ended your suffering with me yet?

“I… I don’t know.” An honest answer. Too honest perhaps for his likings, and it didn't help that the beat of his heart had somehow matched yours in that crazed tempo only hummingbirds managed to achieve when your nose rubbed against his.

“Then, kiss me.” Your mouth was already hovering over his but Miguel pulled away, enough for those eyes of yours to turn glossier and rounder at the evident rejection.

However his hand cupped yours in return, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip. Taking a feel of your trembling lips. He didn’t know what confused and perturbed him the most. The emotions you put him through in a single night and the outcome of so many bad decisions resuming into you asking for a kiss, or the words coming out of his mouth

“I’f I’m to kiss you right now, you won’t remember it.” you blinked almost stupidly at him to then press closer once more. He pulled back again with a tender yet warning look.

“Maybe I want to forget.” You mumbled, half asleep, half staring into his soul. Yet, you let him maneuver your body until you rested on his chest, back in your original position.

The warmth of your body mixed with his was the unexpected and calming antidote for your chaotic outburst. His hands for once had the opposite effect in a foe, as your breaths evened until the weight of your world crushed your eyes resistances and put you to sleep. Completely drained from yourself.

Maybe he had turned softer over the years. Or maybe you had pressed the correct buttons for his walls to crack enough and let the man underneath to allow himself to feel a bit more beyond responsibility and duties. The heartache had been real in his life as well, giving you both another thing in common.

“And maybe I want you to remember.” He murmured in a faint whisper.

Massimo sure made it all about business. But now that your tears had soaked his bones and your pain permeated his soul as you rested in his chest, stripped off your dignity, it had turned completely personal.

And may God or mercy protect the man that turned things personal with him.

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