Summus Proelium

Elena Evans, born Elena Russo, had never been an ordinary person. Living one’s childhood as a mafia princess tended to make having normal experiences rather difficult. Especially when your father was Jacopo Russo himself, the most powerful and dangerous crime lord in the state of Michigan and its surrounding territory. Jacopo Russo had not gained his position through being kind or forgiving. He was a ruthless man. Ruthless in every possible way. At one point, Jacopo had been a mid-tier leader within the organization, the local Mafia’s version of middle management. He was known as a caporegime, or a capo. A lieutenant, essentially. His primary job had been to liaison with the local gangs, hiring cheap muscle for small problems that didn’t require a full response. However, he had used the contacts he made through that position to conduct a hostile takeover of the Detroit criminal underworld. Those high-ranking members of the Mafia family who were loyal to him were brought on board, and those who were not, or who could not be trusted, were all ambushed and killed across a single night. When the dust had settled the next morning, Jacopo Russo had been on top, with his own thugs installed as muscle in all of the former Mafia strongholds. It should have been unthinkable for a made member of one of the top families to betray his own and work alongside outsiders. But then, he had never cared about such things. Not really. Jacopo cared about himself, about what was good for him. He knew the Family was far away, that Detroit was hardly seen as that important of an investment anyway, and that they all had their own problems. By the time they could actually bring together the manpower and equipment needed to retake the city, the new organization was deeply entrenched. The effort of dislodging Russo, just to retake an area that was failing anyway was deemed not worth it. But they did continually attempt to have the man himself assassinated. The Mafia didn’t forget that sort of betrayal, after all. For years, Jacopo escaped attempt after attempt on his life, some more narrowly than others.

Still, the man had achieved what he saw as true greatness. It was, in his mind, precisely where he had always belonged. He wasn’t going to allow that to change, and he certainly wasn’t going to allow anyone to forget how important he and his family were. He would never allow the people connected to him, the people he saw as an extension of his own self, to live normal lives. He abhorred the idea of being normal in any way. In Jacopo’s mind, his family were the elite of the elite, living royalty who were above everyone, and they should always be treated as such.

Or at least, he had believed that until Elena betrayed him. Then his feelings about how family should be treated had adjusted somewhat. He was what mattered, he and his choices, his comfort, his decrees. He was a god to those beneath him, which was everyone else.

But, of course, there had been a time when Elena didn’t mind the treatment, a time when she had enjoyed the feeling of being so special. It was hard to disagree with being seen as royalty, as being above the common people, when that was how your life had always been. Throughout elementary school, and all of junior high, Elena was never concerned with what things cost, or what the law or rules were. She did what she wanted, when she wanted. She attended classes when she felt like it, and left when she didn’t, even if that was in the middle of the lesson. She took from people whenever they had something she wanted. No one dared stop her. No one wanted to draw the ire of Elena’s father. Even if the police were unable to find proof and willing (living) witnesses to put Jacopo in prison, he was still known to be very dangerous. There was a difference between knowing someone to be a vicious monster and being able to prove it in court.

All of which meant that Elena never faced consequences for her behavior in those days. She was above the common person, above the law. She was above everything and everyone.

Naturally, one of the most important ways of using that power, of using how special she was, had been spoiling those close to her. Elena, in those days during that first year of high school, had loved to show off for her friends. Or, more specifically, her friend. Diana Escott had been around Elena for years, first as a silly, quiet little nerd who did Elena’s homework for her through the first part of junior high. But eventually, Elena had grown fond of the smaller girl and brought her along on various trips. She was very different from the girls who usually spent time with her, and something about Diana made Elena feel protective. She wanted to show Diana a good time, wanted to reward her for ‘helping’ her with schoolwork. So, despite the other girl insisting she didn’t need to and trying to demure, Elena had continually brought her along on various trips.

And that was when tragedy had struck. Because those old world Mafia loyalists had never stopped trying to get at Jacopo. Yet in this case, they chose to target not the very-protected and untouchable man himself. Instead, Elena had been put into the crosshairs. A bomb was planted on the car that the fourteen-year-old Elena was meant to take to a weekend skiing trip. A trip that she had insisted Diana accompany her on despite the other girl trying to say that she had no interest in skiing.

But, of course, Elena had ignored the preferences of her supposed friend. She had overruled the girl and insisted she come with. Because she wanted Diana to be there, regardless of what Diana herself wanted. And, in the end, that had cost the other girl her life. Because Elena had not been in the car when it exploded. Diana had been. The small, quirky, nerdy girl had been vaporized instantly.

Elena had been forced to comprehend the fact that a girl she liked, an innocent person who had never hurt anyone in her life, had been brutally murdered. Not because of anything she had done, but in an attempt to get at Elena's father through Elena herself. Diana had been several times removed from the situation, but she was still dead. She was gone forever through no fault of her own. She was dead because Elena had insisted that she come.

That had been the beginning of the end of Elena's time as a mafia princess. Yes, it hadn't all changed at once. She hadn't changed all at once. But the realization of what her actions had done, of what they had cost, made the young woman seriously begin to reconsider everything in her life. It made her reconsider who she was, and who her father was. She decided right then that she would do things differently. Everything she had done and allowed to happen in the years since could be traced back to that moment.

Of course, as a fourteen-year-old she hadn't actually understood what that meant. It had taken years, and meeting the man who would become her husband, to really decide how she was going to change things, how she was going to be better. And yet, in all that time, she never forgot Diana. She never forgot the pain of losing her friend to the violence caused by her dad’s choices. She never forgot hearing the explosion and running outside to find the car burning. She never forgot standing there in the heat from those flames and staring into the wreckage where her friend had just died.

Those memories came back to her often. But never as vividly as they had on two different occasions. Both involved her daughter. The first had been when Elena learned about the massacre at the Tates' home. She had thought of how much pain she went through with the death of her old friend, a girl she hadn't even truly appreciated at the time. Now her daughter was going through something even worse. Her best friend has been murdered in front of her. Not with an explosion, but with a gunshot. Cassidy had actually seen it happen in person. And Jacopo was responsible for that as well. He had chosen to have his granddaughter’s friend murdered in front of her just to hurt Elena.

She couldn't let her baby girl go through that sort of trauma. So she had the memory erased. In the years since, Elena had asked herself many times if they'd made the right choice. And honestly, she had no idea. All she knew was that she wanted to take the pain away from her daughter. She remembered what it felt like to see her friend killed because of that man. She wanted to make her daughter smile again, and to take away all of her pain and trauma. She desperately, desperately wanted to fix it.

But it was now, as Elena took the emergency phone call from Sterling and heard the words that he spoke, that the shock and pain of losing Diana that day all of those years earlier came back with a true vengeance. Sterling told her what happened. He didn't stay on the line. He didn't wait for her to do more than acknowledge she had heard him. He had other things to deal with. He had a man to kill.

For several long seconds after her husband disconnected and went about his dark work, Elena sat in her office at the mansion, in the home she had put together for her family. She didn't move. She didn't spring into action. She wasn't planning ten steps ahead, or even a single step. She wasn't thinking at all. She simply sat there, staring at the wall without moving. The woman was motionless. Well, mostly motionless. One part of her did move. Her hand clenched tight enough around the pencil she had picked up to snap it in half. The sound of that crack made her eyes close. And yet, that was all she did. Even then, she didn't jump to action.

This was wrong. What was she doing? She needed to get up. She needed to make phone calls. She needed to go to the hospital. She needed to be there with--with her… she needed to be there with Cassidy. What was wrong with her? Her daughter needed her. Her daughter was hurt, so badly hurt. She could have died. She still might. There was no guarantee. From what little Sterling had been able to tell her, Cassidy had taken a horrific blast of lightning, a direct hit from Cuélebre. She had survived it, but barely. It was very close. Now the doctors were taking care of her. Ministry doctors, the very best that money and influence could buy.

Maybe that was why she didn't move, because there was nothing for her to do in that hospital while they were working on Cassidy. But no, Elena knew that wasn't it. She should be there. She should've been there already. She needed to be waiting and watching. She had to be in control of the situation. She needed to get their story straight, control who found out what, and what they were allowed to do with that knowledge. This could spiral out of control so quickly, even if these were Ministry loyalists.

Her daughter needed her to be close. Her people needed her to show that she was present. Her husband needed her to be there while he was busy. Everyone needed her to show strength and control right now. They needed her to be Minister White.

Elena knew all that. She knew all the reasons she could not continue to sit here with her eyes shut and that broken pencil clasped tightly in her grip. So why couldn't she make herself move? Why couldn't she put thought to action? Why was she continuing to sit motionless aside from the slight tremble that had begun to overtake her in these past few precious seconds? Why couldn't she act?

Elena was a woman who was accustomed to always being in control of every situation. She always knew what had to be done, even if she didn't like that thing. She was pragmatic in many ways. Like it or not, that was a quality she had inherited from her father. She knew what to do.

The same applied here. Elena knew the things she had to do. She knew the steps that needed to be taken to contain this before things got out of hand. She needed to bring in Kent immediately so he could deal with the memories of anyone who could not be allowed to remember Paintball’s true identity.

Paintball’s… identity. It was that thought that made Elena’s eyes open. It was that thought that made her drop the broken pencil and finally stand up.

She didn't need to contact Yellowbrick, or ask for a bridge to the hospital. The Touched phone had kept the line to Elena open that entire time, and the bridge was already there and waiting for her.

In all honesty, only forty seconds had passed. But for someone like Elena Evans, to sit and do nothing for forty seconds in an emergency was completely unthinkable. It might as well have been an eternity.

The bridge was waiting through the open doorway. First, Elena disguised herself, a thought creating an illusion that would make her look like an older, somewhat matronly blonde woman with slightly graying hair. It was one of several illusions she used that were recognized as Minister White.

Steadying herself with a deep breath, Elena went through the doorway and crossed the amber bridge with a murmured word of gratitude to Yellowbrick. Then she was on the other side, and exited into the waiting room of the secret hospital. Well, secret floors hidden beneath the regular, public hospital.

It took everything Elena had right then to keep her voice calm and even as she walked to the nearest nurse, who had immediately spun to face her as soon as she arrived. “Tell me what’s happening.”

The nurse nodded quickly. “Paintball is still alive. Doctor Fennis is in there right now, with his team. The last I heard, they managed to stabilize him. He's not in good shape, but Silversmith brought him here quickly enough that he should have the best possible chance. They're doing everything they can.”

Him, she’d said. So this nurse, and probably the others around here who weren't directly working on… on Paintball, didn't know the truth, either about her identity or even her gender. And she certainly didn't have the slightest idea why this mattered so much to the woman in front of her. As far as she was concerned, Minister White, and Silversmith before her, simply wanted to make certain that a useful and important young Star-Touched didn't end up dying like this.

Pushing aside the impulse to react in a way that would have exposed far too much, Elena thanked the woman and assured her that the entire staff would receive extra pay for both their work and discretion in this matter. They didn't want the fact that Paintball had been so badly hurt to get out.

And speaking of maintaining discretion, Elena should have contacted Kent to come in and be ready to deal with this. But she didn't. Instead, she left the nurse there, walking briskly down the hall. Once she was out of sight, she changed her disguise to blend in as one of the other nurses. No one would question her disappearance. They were accustomed to the Ministry leaders coming through to get a report in a situation like this and then leaving unexpectedly and without warning. After all, as far as they were concerned, this wasn't anything personal.

Suitably disguised, she entered the corridor leading to intensive care. Maybe she couldn't help her daughter the way that real medical professionals could, and she shouldn't get in their way. But she could be nearby. She could be as close as possible.

For the next hour, Elena moved up and down that hallway, listening to what the doctors were saying to one another, listening to the reports. She changed her disguise now and then, enough to avoid standing out. She heard from Sterling, heard about what he had done. Cuélebre was dead. Good. They would deal with the fallout of that later. But it did mean that he couldn't be here right now. He had to control the situation out there, and needed her to be here for their daughter.

Finally, there was no more for the doctors to do. Not for the moment anyway. Their patient needed time. All they could do right then was wait.

Of course, they would all need to have their memories adjusted. They couldn't be allowed to go around knowing what Paintball looked like under that helmet. But that was something they had agreed to a long time ago. Every person who worked here had agreed, in exchange for obscene pay and benefits, that there would be times when their memories had to be changed. That would come later though.

Once the room was empty aside from the girl in question, Elena used the master code on her phone to disable the security monitoring devices and stepped into the room. She locked it behind her, facing the door for another few long seconds before turning to look at the figure in that bed.

God. She was so small. She was so fragile. Elena’s eyes closed again, while a soft, almost animal-like sound escaped her. It was a sound that made the form in the bed twitch a bit.

Just like that, Elena was there. Her disguise was gone, as she stood over her daughter's bed. She saw Cassidy staring up at her, her face bandaged. The girl was heavily sedated, barely conscious. But she saw Elena, and made a soft noise off her own.

“I'm here.” Voice breaking with those two simple words, Elena gently touched what little there was of her daughter’s exposed face. “I'm right here, baby.”

That was when it happened. In that moment, Elena didn’t see relief in her daughter’s eyes. Her baby girl didn’t lean into her touch. After nearly dying, after being so horrifically injured, burned over most of her body by Cuélebre’s lightning, her child didn’t reach out for her. She wasn’t relieved by her presence.

She withdrew. Her eyes filled with worry. With fear. She pulled back as if by reflex, gaze flicking to the side.

Elena knew what she was looking at. The helmet. Paintball’s helmet, sitting on a table nearby where it had been placed. She knew that her identity had been exposed. She knew her parents were aware of the truth, that they knew what she knew.

Cassidy had almost died, had come within a hair of being killed by Cuélebre. Her injuries were… severe. And yet, even then, even after such a close call, her reaction to seeing her mother was to pull back, uncertainty--even fear filling her eyes.

She was more afraid of Elena knowing the truth than she was of almost dying.

Elena could have taken a knife into the stomach before it was twisted viciously, and it would not have caused more pain than she felt right then. In that moment, she saw Diana. She saw Diana’s face, in those last moments when she had tried to tell Elena she didn’t want to go on that trip. The last moments before she went out to the car anyway, because Elena insisted. That look, the last look Diana had given her was one of resignation. Not for death, but for doing something she didn’t want to do in the first place. She didn’t want to go, and Elena bulldozed over her just because she wanted Diana to be there.

Diana died because Elena, then only fourteen years old, had put her in a place she never wanted to be.

In the years following that choice, that failure, that mistake, Elena had often seen Diana’s face in her dreams. A face that began as resigned but shifted quickly to fear. She had imagined the terror in her friend’s eyes, had pictured the recrimination in her gaze.

Now, all these years later, Elena no longer had to imagine it. Because she saw that very shift in her daughter, her child. She saw the pained resignation right there, and saw it shift to fear, to distrust.

Her daughter had almost been killed because she didn’t trust her parents, because she didn’t trust her mother. She had gone through… everything over these past weeks, had been dealing with her knowledge about what her family was, all without talking to them about it. She had been so alone, so frightened, so lost, because she was afraid of her own family.

She was afraid of Elena.

Reeling physically and emotionally, Elena took a moment before slowly lowering herself to one knee next to that bed. She didn’t reach for her daughter again, but simply left her hand resting next to her. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “You are my principessa. Always. Nothing will change that. And you need never be afraid of your family.”

There was no response at first. Then, Cassidy’s head turned ever so slightly, looking away from her mother. She turned her gaze to stare thoughtfully at the distant wall. Yet, at the same time, her fingers shifted as well. She moved her hand just a bit, enough to touch Elena’s. Her hand was heavily bandaged, but parts of three fingers were exposed, and it was those that she used to wrap around her mother’s hand.

The two stayed like that, in silence, for some time. The time for talk would come. The time for explanations, apologies, promises, arguments, and so much more. But for now, for that moment, they simply remained motionless, silent, fingers touching.

More would come, in time.