～·～·～

A squeal of horror sucked into her throat and Indigo immediately snapped back. Provoked instinct jerked the point of her leg up. She barely gave Mick a chance to breathe when her bony kneecap smashed into the tender flesh of his crotch. Like the sweet satisfaction of squeezing a stress ball, she felt the soft bulge cramp into the pelvic bone.

A pained gasp threw the bastard forward, straight into Indigo's thrusting fist. Her knuckles cracked ruthlessly into the undercut of his jaw, throwing his head back. Another pained noise squeezed her satisfaction. And seizing Mick's vulnerability by surprise, her hands scruffed him by the hooded collar. In one fluent motion, she twisted around, gaining momentum, and heaved the bastard away from her shop.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she spat out, roughly wiping her mouth as Mick lost his footing.

He shouldered into the street, scuffling, for scrap marks to dust his clothes pebbly gray. He rolled onto his side, hands buried between his legs. A pained moan was his answer. Indigo had no remorse. Her lips curled in disgust. A tch huffed from her chest, and the Italian turned around, making a reach for the door.

Only, she fell short in her stride. Carletta leaned against the doorframe with the door propped at her pointed foot. Her own scrunch of disgust peered beyond Indigo, phone in hand, recording.

Indigo raised a questionable brow. Carletta didn't acknowledge it when replying, "Evidence."

Mick heaved out wheezed air. His twisting grimace dropped into the face of the pavement where strained creases collected pebbled dust. "Fuck," he rasped out, the pain wearing down his usual baritone. "When the fuck did you get so violent?"

Carl scoffed like it was obvious. "When you decided to fuck with her, chump change."

Indigo smirked as her migliore amica kicked the door wider for her; an emphasis of 'let's go'. Once inside the vintage atmosphere, a click signified the door lock. Carletta pulled the blinds down—its unfolding racket an echo—blocking out the male left huddled on the floor.

"Who the fuck was that loser?"

Indigo glanced over her shoulder, viewing the pathetic excuse of a man through the thin strips of wood. She shrugged. "My ex."

"Eww." Carl's expression visibly recoiled as she took another glance herself. "That pretty boy mother fucker's Cyrus?"

"No," Indigo huffed, falling back against the counter with braced hands. "I put a restraining order against Cyrus. And he has black hair, remember?"

Carletta crossed her arms, invalidating Indigo's argument. "There's a thing scientists invented, it's called bleach and contact lenses. Or did you forget how much of a creep he was?"

Indigo rolled her eyes yet said nothing because Carl was right. Cyrus was the type of man who clung to attention and wouldn't take no for an answer—no matter how polite or blunt the woman was.

After a meaningless one-night stand became a two-week fling, Indigo lost interest. The first night they met, she sensed something off about him. Her instincts warned of danger, yet that—initial—dangerous thrill only drew her in like a moth to a flame. And she hated it. She didn't know whether it was because of the hazardous environment she grew up in, or a coping mechanism after the cruelness of Mick's ways. Either way, it had her attracted to Cyrus.

Until he became overbearing; boldly proclaiming his love for her, blowing up her phone with a possessiveness only teenagers would swoon at in books, and following her home and standing there for hours. She'd been trying to get rid of him for days. To her dismay, he kept coming back like a lost puppy despite how many polizia warnings he got.

The final straw snapped when she caught him outside her window one night—drawn by his moaning—and found him jerking off on her front doorstep. Carl was spending the night; she saw it all, including the moment Cyrus filthily came all over the stairs. In his mind, it was some twisted possession, like a dog urinating on his territory.

She put a restraining order on him the following morning—courtesy of Carl's demand. And much to neither of their surprise, they discovered he was a repeated offender of sexual and aggravated assault. But thankfully, neither of them had seen him since that disturbing encounter last year.

Moths were inherently self-destructive, destined to be consumed by the very thing that captivated them the most. Indigo wouldn't let herself be drawn to it again. Her life as a cocoon was far too precious, too fragile.

Her gaze drifted down. The faint throb of pain in her reddened knuckles emphasized at her acknowledgment. It made her smile.

Carletta caught the expression and immediately grimaced. "Girl, don't tell me you actually liked that kiss like those weak-ass fictional girls who drop their panties when a man forces himself on her."

Indigo knitted her brows, confusedly amused. "What are you talking—"

"Indigo Estelle Giuseppina Mariani, I will hit up Gemini right now and we'll tag-team slapping sense into you, pinata fucking style if that's what it'll take to raise your fucken standards."

Indigo couldn't help but snort. "Christ, girl, relax. If I enjoyed the kiss do you think I'd be leaving him out on the street in pain like that?"

"Okay, sure, whatever." Carletta shrugged, brushing the irrelevant fact off. "But that doesn't explain why the hell are you smiling?"

Indigo couldn't help the sweet satisfaction curling her lips up. "It just felt good to finally kick his ass."

At the mention, her eyes wandered back to the door, peering through the blinds. She freed a trapped breath when the emptiness reassured her.

The kiwi snorted, approval crossing her arms and dancing amusement in her eyes. "Atta girl."

~ 𐀔 ~

What would normally be a five-minute walk lasted only two as Indigo rushed home. Her tongue was brimmed with words, ready to spill into a teacup for nonna to gasp; no, sei sicuro? Quickly, she skipped up the concrete-topped brick stairs, rummaging around for her keys that had her bursting through the door moments later.

"Nonna! Non crederai a chi si è presentato al negozio oggi!" she hollered out, dropping her bag off for a counter to catch with a clatter. | translation: You won't believe who showed up at the store today! |

Stepping through the laundry and into the living room, the woman found not a speck disturbed. Her excitement stalled, rendering her steps to a shuffling halt. She'd hoped to see her precious nonna sitting on the black sofa, helping herself to the knitted throw whilst watching a dated movie. Alas, walking through the kitchen mirrored the vacantness. The radio's timeless hum grew louder from its perch on the island as Indigo peered into the sink.

Concern worried between her brows. It doesn't look like she's eaten anything today. Has she even left her room?

Her thoughts led her to climb up the stairs. The soft thud-thud-thud of shoes on the carpet ceased as Indigo rounded the top where nonna's room was, only she stopped. A slice of light poured out from nonna's door left ajar. It deepened Indigo's frown. The elder never left it open, and reality dropped a rock of dread into the pit of her stomach.

"Nonna?"

She approached. Hesitancy made her steps slow, quiet, as if she was the apprehensive main character creeping towards a door with obvious intent to scare the hell out of her. She'd seen the same plot many times, and many times she'd slouched back, sighing; well, this idiòta's about to die.

Was she the idiòta?

The white-painted door seemed harmless, yet torturously concealed whatever lurked behind without so much as a noise. Indigo hated the silence—silence always promised death.

Bracing a hand against the door, she pushed it open. Its creaking filled the room, flushing the hallway with light from the curtains tasseled apart. Flowery diamond wallpaper kept the room bright with its pale complexion. Against the far corner was nonna's double bed, draped in blushing pink sheets left disturbed, held up by a Victorian metal frame. A side table accented beside where nonna's precious orchid sat. Its magenta-spotted petals had begun wilting, so too, the leaves.

Indigo's frown stayed firm as she walked into the empty room to check on the orchid. The rug sweeping the bed's breadth offered a sliver of comfort to the floorboards beneath, but it was the least of Indigo's worries. She dug her finger into the soil—knuckle deep—finding it bone dry and crumbling.

She's been neglecting it?

She picked up the plant's cream-colored ceramic pot. Taking it with her to check the rest of the house, Indigo concluded the elder had gone out. Soft annoyance grumbled out of her; a note would have sufficed. And of course, nonna left for her appointment before she got home. What the hell was up with that?

If the elder heard such audacious thoughts, she would've swatted the granddaughter with a flick of the wooden spoon; come se dovessi dirti dove sto andando.

Indigo sighed and dropped down the stairs. She decided that, whilst she waited, she'd pass the time by training. She already had a rest day the day before, and the woman had pent-up energy to burn.

~ 𐀔 ~

Tossed around weights and practiced fighting techniques left two hours breathless and sweaty. The burn agonized quivering muscles, but it was a pain welcomed, embraced, for one felt strong, accomplished.

Freshly showered, the cloudy evening found the Italian settled in the solitary chair with her laptop propped on the armrest. Deep in thought, her subconscious fiddled with its favorite loose thread, wedging it between her nail. For the past twenty-ish minutes, Indigo had been scrolling website after website, looking for a decently priced phone to last until she could afford a better one—whenever that would be.

The longer the minutes ticked by, the greater her irritation became. Honestly, the least nonna could've done was leave me a note. Is that so hard?

"Come se dovessi dirti dove sto andando," nonna would've huffed. | translation: Like I have to tell you where I'm going. |

Indigo couldn't ignore how coincidental the circumstances felt. An ex from the past just happened to waltz into her life the same day nonna abruptly disappeared. Was it really just a coincidence? Was it just her paranoia antagonizing the anxiety gnawing on her calamity? Fucking Christ.

When Mick found her those measly few months after her parents' death, he was a rookie drug dealer. Although he never said who he worked for, Indigo knew. No one dealt anything on her familigia's territory without them profiting from it.

Does that mean—Indigo's fingers brushed her lips, feeling the hairs stiffen on the back of her neck. He said ten years but it's. . .

Did Eugenio puppeteer some strings to bail Mick out? Did he know where they were because that botched abduction was actually a recon mission? Did he send Mick knowing their history and she wouldn't think much of it? Was the kiss a distraction?

Her thoughts spiraled, deeper into a rabbit hole. It spurred more—pieces jarring together to paint an abstract picture of the horrible realization dawning on her. He used me. They both. . .

She stared ahead where a bookcase laid, cluttered with books and knick-knacks. Shadows lurked, rimming around her vision for paranoia to shudder at. Her demons smiled pretty pearly teeth, looming, like a knife hanging over her head. Don't. Already she heard it. The memory flickered like the colorful lights she'd grown familiar with, pounding her heart in rhythm to the bass of the club.

"Welcome to my club, baby."

She'd never forget the first time she stepped into a club for the first time. It was one of the many popular clubs in Miami—notorious for its bargained favors and high sailing ecstasy. Walking into a room flooded with faceless bodies, the pungent smell of sweat and alcohol assaulted her nostrils into a wrinkled displeasure. The song's ruthless bass felt like a pulsing headache throughout her entire consciousness, flaring erratic lights that left her stunned.

The teenager couldn't handle it, yet the crowd absorbed the atmosphere, thriving off it; sweat-drenched bodies grinding mindlessly, tossed glitter on limbs became fluorescent rainbows by the flare of rapidly moving lights.

The teenager could describe it as a sea, a dark and treacherous tide crashing beneath the beacons of colors in its midst. And she, a sailor lost, and about to drown.

She didn't belong. T-This was a mistake. Anxiety roped around her throat, injecting icy fear through her veins. It clamped around her airways, tightening the breath that left her lungs burning at the shallow humidity in the club. M-Màmma.

She stumbled back, crashing into a chest, a lean, shirtless chest. Mick. He had brought her. At the time, the teenager felt safe in his presence, having never felt a man's touch before. Even if he was four years older, his touch awakened a spine-chilling desire a teenager could only fantasize about. She thought it was love, naively the reason he introduced her into the darkness of his world.

A darkness she craved more than Indigo would ever know.

"Relax," he murmured from behind, husky in the shell of her ear. With his arms curled around her waist, he swayed her stiff hips. "Here. This'll help."

There it was, right in his hand, the promised solution to all her problems; a little pill of baby blue powder. Indigo remembered thinking it looked like the sky on a summer morning before the wind huffed clouds overhead.

"I-I shouldn't—I'm not supposed to be here. Mick, I want to—"

Mick chuckled at her hesitance—he always liked introducing her to new things to see her reaction, claiming he found her naivety cute.

Because all along, you were the predator feeding off my dependency. My vulnerability.

"Baby, you wanted this, remember? Trust me, okay, once you've had this, everything you're feeling will melt away into nothing." He pulled the pill closer to her lips and it made her sink further against him. "You want that don't you?"

Indigo gritted her teeth, wincing at the memory reliving her mistake, the first domino of many. She ground her jaw shut, yet the teenager only squeezed her eyes shut and tipped her head back, falling against Mick's shoulder.

"Open, baby," he whispered, coaxing the pill past her sealed lips.

She obeyed, and once the pill fell into her mouth, Mick held her jaw up so he could see her sweet little face. The film dried out her tongue as the teenager moved it around. A sickening twist in her stomach warned her that something was wrong, empathizing how badly she wanted to leave.

"Swallow it, Indie."

She pried her eyes open, tears shining in her eyes as she stared up at his darkened face. "I-I'm scared."

"I won't leave you, baby, okay, I promise. Trust me."

Promised words. Its love; the teenager berated to the nauseating roll in her stomach. It's normal to feel nervous because he loves me. He was only trying to help her ease the unbearable pain clenching in her chest. And she trusted him.

Mick didn't move, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. His fingers dropped from her jaw, palming warmth against her elongated throat. He tenderly stroked the column of flesh. It sent spine-chilling thrills through her trembling body. He cooed at her, and eventually, he coaxed the pill down as the teenager swallowed the devil's promise.

"That's my good girl."

Indigo didn't realize she was crying until she blinked against the stinging sensation. Cold, bitter tears dampened snail trails down her cheeks. A cocoon's grief weighed hollow in her heart; the torn shell was a constant reminder that the damage inflicted upon its fragile little self was her own fucking fault.

Christ, you're being fucking pathetic!

With a frustrated, throaty growl, Indigo slammed her laptop shut and tossed it into the warmth of her suddenly abandoned chair. She relentlessly wiped the tears blurring her vision, refusing their existence. Pacing around, the ringing in her right ear grew loud like a whirling whistle. Sleeved fingertips pressed flat beneath her eyes, enforcing a scribbling darkness of phosphenes upon her eyelids. Despite it, a whimper clawed its way out. The same seething rage curled her lip into a muted snarl, bearing her tightly clenched teeth.

"Breathe. Just breathe," she gritted out, envisioning the cocoon. The delicate little thing among the forestry, in awe of the butterfly nestled by a branch of flourished berries. "You're okay. We're okay."

Respirare, she thought, letting its meaning cleanse the negative chides that rippled through each wincing memory—a subtle way to tell the demons to fuck off. Respirare. The woman took deep, even breaths to control the tightness in her throat. The suffocating combination of stress and anxiety always threatened to engulf her, but she refused to let its diagnosis determine how she lived. She'd come too far.

A moment let her thoughts regroup. Indigo inhaled through her nose, swallowed down the lump in her throat, and exhaled it all in a drawn breath. The radio's buzzing grounded her, and she returned to her reality of rugged cream texture walls and floorboards swallowed in a high pile rug.

A reality without nonna.

A hand drove through brown roots, letting it rake against her thoughts. If Eugenio did kidnap the elder, wouldn't there be evidence of it? The apartment in disarray, a note, or even someone waiting to grab her too? Amber eyes subconsciously flitted around the living room. She knew how her zio ran la Mariano borgáta. It was a cutthroat, dominating empire with a reputation only the ruthless of famiglie held.

Indigo couldn't go to the polizia yet as it'd only been roughly three hours since she discovered the elder missing. But who knew how long it'd been since she first left. And even if I went to them, what do I say without giving away my past? She wasn't exactly hiding the fact that her name was a squiggly mirror's reflection, but she didn't go around flaunting it.

"Fuck," she muttered, falling back into the chair with her laptop plopping on her lap.

As soon as she opened it, an idea came to mind. Indigo paused, evoking the masked man himself. Reese. His darkened gaze had grown fuzzy over the weeks of last seeing him, yet they still bore that unsettling nonchalance, heavily against his mask. He crossed his arms, giving her a questionable look.

Without my phone, I can't call him, she thought in a factual tone. So how will I find the one only I know by the name of Reese?

Imaginary Reese said nothing, did nothing. Instead, he disappeared like ashen'd liquid melting into a pool of black water. Indigo brought up the chat she had with him the night he visited. A few clicks later, and much to her disappointment, he'd deleted the account.

"Fucking Christ, Reese!" she groaned to the ceiling. "How am I supposed—"

Her laptop chimed. Curious eyes fell upon a notification from her migliore amica. A click sent the screen to the notification's digital stem, and Indigo raised her brows amusedly at the message.

19:45

➤ View photo
Innie pooh
Look who's coming home with minnie tonight
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Indigo opened the image, liking it with a heart. She smiled softly at the sight of Carletta and Gemini huddled together, making ecstasy faces to the high-angled selfie revealing Nyxius's charismatic bar, rimmed with customers.

replacing me already?
and i thought i was your girl
Seen just now

I'm down for a throuple if you are babes
;)
Its Gemini BTW

Indigo snickered. Figures.

tempting
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Seen just now

Oh so you DO have standards
Jk jk Carl told me what happened and showed the vid
Gotta say, I like your style babes. I think that surprise uppercut was my favorite part. It doesn't take much to nail a guy in the dick, but a punch bruises SO much more...
Catch my drift?
;)

Indigo couldn't help but grin. She sure as hell caught the implication.

i know exactly what you mean
he had it coming
Seen just now

Fuck yeah
Now what's it take for Innie the pooh to get her throuple on?
;)

well that depends babe
Seen just now

Oh yeah? On what?

if youre ready to explore this wilderness
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Seen just now

There was a pause, and Indigo knew she had the black woman snickering before the three dots reappeared.

The busher the better
;)
Lol Carly's getting annoyed

Indigo snorted.

shes going to reread this and think youre a bad influence on me lol
Seen just now

Although the three dots thrummed on the screen again, her gaze drifted away. She hadn't told Carl that nonna was missing yet. Indigo wasn't sure if she should if the elder was simply running an errand after her appointment and was stuck in traffic. But, if nonna was kidnapped, then Indigo couldn't—wouldn't—tell the kiwi.

Am I just being paranoid and overthinking simple coincidences? She glanced at the screen.

Eh let her
You should come and join us tho. Itd be fun to catch up again

She wanted to say yes, accept it without hesitation, but all the woman did was stare at the invitation with uncertainty. Questions of what-ifs dripped off the icicles of her thoughts, drenching into a puddle of doubt.

What if nonna came back mere minutes after she left?

What if Eugenio really did kidnap her?

What else am I supposed to do?

It seemed her only chance at getting some answers was the masked man. He, who visited her thoughts from time to time, with a name only she knew. The odds were stacked against her, but weren't they always?

count me in
Delivered

The woman needed answers, and she wouldn't find them or him in the confines of rugged cream walls.

Determination marched Indigo up the stairs, and she entered her room. She gently tossed her laptop in the tousled comforters of her bed, letting the fluffed grays and blues swallow it like a plane risking it through a thunderstorm. She went for her drawers, sliding the painted wood open. Marveling over what to wear, she wasn't in the mood for a dress—something more casual, yet still appropriate.

"You've changed so fucking much."

Indigo took pride in the statement. She found her outfit. Throwing each article of clothing onto the bed, she returned, seeing the latest text from Gemini six minutes ago.

Omw. I gotta pick up some gear first
;)
See you in thirty

Indigo liked the message, assuming Carl told her the address.

—

Bonjour maffians!

Are we ready for a little Rindy action? ( •̀∀•́ )✧

(yes that is our ship name now, courtesy of my hoe, Xaprith)

Ciao ciao (๑^ ∀ ^๑)ﾉ゛

~Sonya~