Garrett Donnelly (garrettdonnelly) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-01-11 02:51:00 |
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Nico loved spoiling Gianna more than he loved beating the ever living shit out of people. She was his little angel, a princess that he could not and would not say no to. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her. At this age, it was easy to just enjoy the time he had with her because he knew as soon as she got old enough, boys would become a problem. It was bad enough that he had a list of all the sexual offenders and pedophiles in Las Vegas so he'd know where to start if, by some horrible twist of fate, someone ever hurt her. They'd be in for a world of hurt, not just from him but from her father as well. But that would all come later. For now, they could enjoy ballet lessons. He'd seen the studio advertised around but it didn't click that it was a front for Leo's business until he arrived with little Gianna, dressed eagerly in a pink tutu trying to twirl every other step. She was so fucking adorable. Nico wore a smile on his face as he led her into the classroom where some girl - introduced herself as Justine - was setting up the class and then he went looking around. He didn't handle this part of the business so it was up in the air if he'd recognize Olive on sight, but he at least knew her story pretty fucking well. It wasn’t every day they tortured a woman. Still, Nico always did whatever the fuck he wanted so he wasn't worried about poking around somewhere he wasn't supposed to. It made complete sense to start with the door that was marked "Private". Olive wasn't at the front of the studio very often. Like Miss Havisham in her white dress, she stayed out of sight. She knew nothing about dancing, after all, and she could barely walk across the studio's wooden floors without tripping and scuffing the things black. No, she wasn't made for dance, and she never had done. As a child, she'd run along floorboards and carpets in the servants' halls of that grand London home, but she'd never twirled. She and Peter had played at a great many things, but never that. She did, however, like the sound of terribly small feet while they took lessons, and she was lying in bed at the top of her loft, listening to the sounds and counting the beats. It was a welcome distraction from this mess with the Giacoma, and she longed for freedom with a strength she'd never previously done. She'd dreams of getting revenge for her beloved Vicente, to bring low the men who'd taken him from her, but her aspirations there were falling away and leaving only the ache of years of imprisonment at the hands of this Giacoma behind. When the door opened, she looked down from her bed, surprised, but expecting it to be one of the little children who had lost their way. She was dreadful at remembering to lock the door, having grown accustomed to doors that were locked from the outside, you see. But no, the man there was not small, and he was not a child. She would have called out then, outraged, but the familiar face kept her from it. Oh, the memories that dreadful face called up. She remembered blood, a dead family, and months of torture in basement for information she'd not possessed, not to her knowledge. Wealth, you see, but she'd never known she'd anything to offer, or she'd have done so within minutes of the agony she'd suffered then. She couldn't remember any of it with clarity, but it was there all the same, and she huddled beneath the blankets instead, hoping the evil creature would leave, begone, disappear from whence he'd come. She didn't concern herself with the phone sitting atop the nightstand, the one with countless messages to Dylan and Connor. She thought nothing of the texts there. Her fear overshadowed those realities, and she simply hid, unmoving and trying not to breathe. While he wasn’t typically a man to take anything for granted, he did expect that Olive would actually be running the place downstairs like she was paid to do. It was for that reason, when the door appeared to lead to a living area with a loft space, that he didn’t turn back. In fact, what a perfect opportunity it was to poke around and see what there was to see. The place reminded him of his eldest sister’s dorm room, small and kind of eclectic. Whatever, he didn’t care how the girl decorated her living space. Wasn’t like he had to see it with any regularity. The phone caught his attention and, without any sense of respect for privacy, began looking through it. The call history had a few frequently called numbers that he noted but he quickly shifted his attention to her texts because those were always so much more informative. He wondered, briefly, if Leo had given her the phone. If he had, they could just pull all this shit anyway, couldn’t they? The texts were troublesome. Very very troublesome. He read the first few before deciding there was a problem. A big fucking problem. Nico set the phone down and went rifling through the various papers left about. Those weren’t important though. Olive fucking Pendry was important now and Nico was glad he didn’t remember what she looked like because he would happily drag her ass to Leo then and there. Deep breaths. Can’t go killing now. Gigi is out there, he reminded himself. Still, there was something dark and dangerous in his eyes as he swept over the place once more. He needed to call Leo. Now. Nico was already pulling out his phone as he walked out of the living space. |