"Which bet is that?" he asked, turning his gaze to the drop ceiling over him. He had memorized the tiles over his stay.
"The one where caring for someone is..." He paused. "Advantageous."
He opened his eyes again, making the effort to turn his head to look at Jim again. He was tired. Sitting up had exhausted him. He tried not to be disgusted with himself, and largely failed.
"Remind me of the particulars?'
Jim gave him a dry smirk. "You bet me, and I quote, that Lorna could, within one year, convince me of the positive and rewarding nature of taking care of someone else. And here I am. Caring for you." His face lost its amused expression. "Nothing about this feels positive or rewarding. You're losing."
Moran smirked just slightly. "Then stop," he retorted quietly.
He raised his eyebrows slightly, expectantly. "Stop what?"
"Stop taking care of me," he rasped. "If there is no redeeming... Whatever... Then stop."
"And then who would keep you alive for your darling's return?" He retorted evenly, leaning back in his seat. "I don't have a choice, any which way you look at it. But it's not what I'd call fun."
"One of the highly trained professionals you've hired..." he offered. "You should be out running the network..."
"It's being watched by guiding hands, Moran. I didn't leave it rudderless. But you're going to get sick of me being here to snap you back to reality, and that's just how is going to be. I'll dog your last breath if I have to. If you force me."
Moran closed his eyes, still smirking, the exhaustion tugging at him. "I'm winning..."
"I didn't say I didn't care, Moran. I said I hate it," he snorted.
"Would you like it better if you didn't?" he asked drowsily.
"Couldn't tell you, Tiger. Never had it another way."
Sebastian didn't respond, already fading back into sleep, his breathing slow and labored.
Two days had passed since Lorna had been given the mission to go after Luciano, and now she was sitting in her car at the wrought-iron gates that blocked her entrance to the long gravel driveway that meandered up the hill, leading to the villa at the top. Italy, once again. She took a deep breath, rolled down the window of the gorgeous car she'd been given for the occasion, and leaned out to press the button to request entrance. No doubt they already knew someone was here - she could see a security camera on a pole by the light post. But no one except Luciano would know her face. Yet. Hopefully.
The click of the intercom coming to life drew her eyes to the little chrome speaker, despite the fact that there was nothing to see with her eyes. "Name?" Came the request in Italian, and she cleared her throat, leaning back out towards it.
"Lorna Harrison. I'm looking for Antony Luciano. I know how to get him Vincent Armetti. Please relay that to him directly," she said back, also in Italian, and there was another click and then a couple of minutes of silence, where she tapped a finger soundlessly against the steering wheel and tried not to imagine a sniper up the hill in the shadows, lining up the shot to pick her off. Finally, the intercom clicked again.
"Drive up to the villa, get out of the car and put your hands on the roof. No sudden movements."
It clicked again.
The gates began to let out of the creaks and groans of old metal as the mechanism holding them shut began to open to allow her through, and she put the car back into drive and drove up the hill, jaw clenched, stomach roiling. The tiny drive took even less time than she thought it would. She turned off the car and opened the door, swinging out to stand, shut the door, and place her hands on the black roof, neck prickling as she heard the large double doors open behind her.
There was silence, then the slow click of heels on stone as someone walked down the front steps toward her. Whoever it was stopped a pace behind her, and was silent for a moment. Then the voice of Luciano is in her ear. "It's her. Search her- everywhere- and lock her up."
Her jaw tensed, and she resisted the urge to turn and look behind her. That was him, alright. This was the bastard who had killed Vince's sister, Valerie. She'd liked that girl. And he'd killed her. And then she'd failed to kill him. It was perhaps her greatest failing, now that she thought about it more. "What, don't want to have a chat about my dear old ex Vincent before you lock me away for good? I dressed up and everything, hoping for that good Bond villain chat. Just look at my ass in these slacks."
Luciano didn't respond, and a moment later sturdy hands were pulling her arms down behind her back, locking them into handcuffs. She was yanked around, and there he was, once-dark hair a distinguished silver, but otherwise largely unchanged.
"Well, still handsome, huh? I was kinda wondering if you'd do that thing that happened to Silva in that Bond movie? Who am I kidding, I know the name of the movie. Skyfall. That one. Is your face melty like that or..." She smirked.
"English," he scoffed. "With your dreams of grandeur. You're a minor inconvenience in an otherwise interesting day. Lock her up. I'm running late." And he walked past her to a waiting car.
She scowled, ignoring the men who stepped out of the shadows towards her. "Nothing else to say to a woman who tried to assassinate you? Vincent isn't going to be in the same place for long, you know. He never is."
He slowed, hand on the handle of the car. His shoulders rose and fell slowly. Then he turned. "You had better make this very worth my while," he retorted.
The men about to grab her by the arms stopped a few inches away, though she could feel them at her back by the goosebumps on the back of her neck. "Nine years ago. Vincent Armetti kicked your holdings out of New York. You stole his sister. She died in your care. He sent me to kill you. I left you in your office with a needle full of cyanide in your leg. I know where Vincent is, and I thought you'd like to know that too. I'm sick of him, and I know you have the reach to get rid of him. After that, let me work for you. You can look at the record I left while working with Armetti, I'm worth it, trust me."
He walked over to her slowly, eyes narrowed as he studied her. Then, in rapid italian, he said "Take her to my office. Keep her chained. And get some leg irons. I don't want her walking away."
Lorna didn't say anything else, just gave a shrug of resignation and a slight sigh, and then the men who had been hovering at her back closed their hands around her shoulders and upper arms and forced her to walk up the stairs and into the villa. She was glad she'd had the forethought to stop at a gas station and take a piss a mile back, or she might have been in for an uncomfortable evening. She was also glad she'd chosen the dark, slate grey slacks that had been provided for her, and not the little black dress; you never knew how they were going to tie you up, after all.
It was two hours later that Luciano entered his office. He didn't dismiss the guards standing over Lorna, just walked over to his desk and sat down. "We are not here to discuss old times," he began, looking at her. "We had a wonderful time, I'm sure, but for the moment my focus is on business. To that end, you will speak only of business, and we will confirm that you know what you say you know."
She shrugged in neutral agreement, ignoring that her ass was beginning to hurt. "Sure thing. What do you want to know?"
"Where is Armetti?" he said, getting straight to the point. "How do I take him out?"
"New York. I think I have the address memorized, but at the very least a rough area you could search. And taking him out? Use me."
"Yes, I'm very on-board with the idea of sending you into Armetti's arms all alone. Would you like me to give you my pistol as well, just on trust?" he asked sardonically.
She shook her head. "Not what I meant. Use me as bait. Make him come to you."
Luciano considered her for a moment. "An interesting proposal. Though given our history, if I informed him I was alive, that might be enough by itself."
She gave him a slightly skeptical shrug. "Maybe. You did have a direct hand in his sister's death. But that was a long time ago. He holds grudges, but are you willing to risk that he's moved on enough to just send his people and not himself? He's no longer physically sound enough to fight you himself; he sustained an injury from Moriarty's second that's given him a limp. He won't endanger himself for revenge. For me, though? Crying on camera, pleading for his help? He will come running."
The crime lord eyed her for a moment, then smirked. "You always were connivingly persuasive. So be it."
Her lips spread into a smooth smile. "Excellent. When do you want to work out the details of my employment?"
"I'll send someone to take care of it," he said, waving his hand dismissively. The guards reached down to unlock her from the chair, though they left her cuffed. "Bring her to the suite."
She had a quick, dry thought of I desperately hope the suite is actually a suite and NOT a toilet-less cell, and then she was whisked out of the room to places unknown.
The suite was, surprisingly, rather luxurious. If not for the grates over the windows and the steel door, it might have been a high-end hotel. There was a kitchenette, a seating area, and a door leading to a bedroom and adjoining bathroom with a large bed, and an almost larger tub.
They uncuffed her without any dilly-dallying and left, and she was left by herself in the quiet, where the reality of the situation landed on her like a 500-ton anvil. She was a captive again, this time for a man she had tried to kill. A man who killed children without blinking. She sat on the couch and ran a hand through her hair, and not for the first time wondered about Sebastian.
A few hours later the door of the room opened, and a tall man with dark hair and several eyebrow piercings entered, holding a gun in one hand and a tray of food in the other. He faltered just slightly when he saw Lorna, but then his step smoothed out and he walked over to the table to put the tray down, gun still trained on Lorna. "Stay where you are, Harrison."
She didn't react at all besides looking at him, but her heart soared. Anton. She hadn't seen him since she'd brought Sebastian to DeWitt's door. She didn't resent him for standing by on that issue. How could she? Standing up to Ryan had been an enormous risk. But he had helped her escape DeWitt the very first time she'd ever had to escape from anywhere, and he was honorable. "Sure thing," she rolled her eyes. Better not to give away that she knew him.
"Save the sarcasm," he snorted, and nodded to the food, before backing out of the room and shutting the door.
She stood once he was gone and walked over to sit back down at the food, and paused with the fork halfway to her mouth when she considered poison. She looked down at her food for a long moment, weighing the pros and cons of having her poisoned. Then she shrugged, and forked the food in.
She didn't die.
She was left alone for the night, but in the morning Anton was back with a breakfast tray. This time, there was a scrap of paper inside of her napkin.
She found the scrap of paper without any surprise, and made sure she was out of range of the only camera in the place (one watching the door and the radius around it) before opening it to read it.
The paper was folded around a scrap of pencil lead. In a tight hand, Anton had written Luciano plans to dispose of you after Armetti's arrival is assured. Why are you here?
She had to hand it to him, that was some promisingly good ingenuity from Anton. He hadn't changed. She pinched the lead carefully in between her forefinger and thumb and delicately wrote out the response: Saving Moran. Indirectly. Need info on loc. for kids. Job 4 you w/ M if I make it. Then she folded up the paper and tucked it back into the napkin, and crumpled it up on her plate to wait for Anton to come take it back.
A/N
How we all doin? Thoughts? Haven't heard from yall for like a SOLID year I miss you!