Oriana was slowly getting used to life in New York. After her initial misstep with Aurora Mastrosimone, if trying to kill her could be called a 'misstep', Oriana did her best to stay out of trouble. There were a few missions where she and Cat had worked together, but Catalina could still sense a small distance between her and her RHM. Oriana was a private person, and she didn't connect easily. Cat knew that Oriana would take a bullet for her, but pulling conversation out of the Italian was like pulling teeth. To try to jump-start the situation, Catalina booked an appointment for two at the local bathhouse. 

Oriana may be shy about her past, but her reticence didn't seem to everything; Catalina watched with a raised eyebrow as Oriana taped a knife to the outside of her naked thigh.

"Oriana... you don't need to do that. They have security."

"I always have a weapon."

That, it seemed, was the end of that. 

A few minutes later, Oriana and Cat were both stretched out on a pair of massage table. They were getting hammered by two Swedish men; the blond, burly masseuses seemed to be enjoying themselves as they attacked each muscle on the backs of the women, removing the tension minute by minute. 

Oriana hadn't felt this good in months. She nearly fell asleep under the expert ministrations of the Swede. A minute later, she heard Cat hiss "Oriana!" 

Wha- Oriana's eyes opened immediately, and she realized she had drifted off. Open-mouthed and drooling. 

Catalina's eyes were mirthful as she said, "You were moaning."

"I was not."

"You were," added the very pleased looking Swede standing above Oriana.

Frowning, Oriana seethed silently. Until her Swede hit a muscle in her lower back that made her eyes roll up into the back of her head. Catalina laughed, but Oriana didn't care. She exhaled.

"This was a good idea, Cat."

Fifteen minutes later, they entered the sauna wrapped in their towels. An attendant gave them a small pail of water, adding just a little caused a gust of steam to rise toward the ceiling. The two women sat next to each other as they leaned back and relaxed, enjoying the cleansing heat and not minding the sweat because of the cold water bath that would follow. 

"So Oriana... any man in your life?"

"Now there is. What was that masseuses name? Mats?"

"Yea. Mine was... Ben... Bengt?"

"He'd be in consideration." Her smile faded. I just..." Oriana sighed. "It's complicated. My former boss, handler, whatever you want to call him. He kind of made all of us fall in love with him. A way of protecting himself from a gaggle of well trained assassins, I assume. I... there are times when I wonder if he was involved in killing my best friend. But most of the time I just miss him. Which is fucked up, because he... it's a long story. And he also discouraged us from other relationships, to the point where every time I'm even thinking about being with a man I feel like I'm under a microscope." She paused. "So it's complicated."

Catalina looked apologetic. "Oriana... I was just going to make a joke about the masseuse, I didn't..."

"I know. You just deserve to know this shit. You're my boss. And my friend. I just don't know how to say it. I love him, but there's a big part of me that tells me I really shouldn't, but I feel it anyways. He was a constant presence in my life from ages ten to twenty-two. Now I just feel off. Like I'm missing a part of myself."

If she was being honest with herself, Oriana felt a true, pure, terrifying panic at sharing this much.

"Cat, promise me you won't tell anyone else about any of this."

Catalina stared at Oriana for a good while. Why she felt she had to hide such a bizarre Achilles' heel was beyond her, but she had to respect it.

"Of course."

Something clicked in her then, and a decision was made. She was going to fix this, somehow. Whatever this monster had done to her, and others, couldn't be undone. But something could be done to the man, himself. Maybe then, Oriana could re-write her story, one where she wasn't trapped like a bird in a cage inside of her own mind. Leaning against the warm wooden walls, she watched a bead of sweat make its way down her arm. The bench was hard, and she readjusted herself so that she was lying on her stomach.

"How often are you supposed to water the rocks?" She asked lazily. "And how often do you think of this man? Is it constant? Are you letting him define you, even now?" She asked, turning her head to look at Oriana through the steam. She'd kept her voice low, curious, far from accusatory. Perhaps this approach would cause her to answer without even thinking.

Oriana stood and poured a little more steam on; Catalina was easily still visible.

"Not constant, no."

Oriana sat back and closed her eyes. 

"When I'm alone, it's more. When I'm with you or Tara or on a job, it's less. Especially you, since me thinking about how you'd want me to act replaces me thinking about how he'd want me to act. As for defining me... that's a hard question to answer. He made me into what I am, so I can't really help but be defined by him... I'm just looking for a fresh start here in New York."

It was an unprecedented discussion for Oriana, vocalizing things she hadn't talked about in years. She trusted Catalina as much as she could trust anyone. It was just so strange to talk about.

She didn't know what else to say, and she was halfway toward pretending like she'd started to fall asleep again when she heard the gunshots outside. Oriana's eyes snapped open. Were they on the street? Or inside the building? Definitely coming closer. 

Oriana moved quickly,  pointing and pushing Catalina toward one of the corners of the room.  As footsteps became audible outside, Oriana dumped the whole pail of water on the stones. The room exploded into a steamy cloud that obscured vision; Catalina had just enough time to see Oriana reach under her towel and remove the knife taped to her thigh before it became impossible to see anything.

Then, there was only sound. The steam was overpowering; it felt like breathing under water. It was already starting to clear when they heard footsteps inside the sauna. An arm waved, trying to move the steam, and Catalina saw a man carrying a pistol; then Oriana emerged from the steam behind and stabbed his neck. Once. Twice. Then he tried to angle his gun back toward Oriana and fired twice before it was knocked out of his hand. The man roared, grabbed Oriana, and threw her out the door.

She landed hard, skidding on the damp wood floor outside the sauna. The pool was right behind her, and she could only try to dodge laterally when the man charged her. She tried to feint, but he was a pro and it wasn't enough; the man's outstretched arm knocked her backwards into the pool. 

Oriana surfaced as quickly as she could, lunging out of the water to head back toward Cat. But there was no way she'd beat the man to his gun; hopefully Cat was able to find it in the sauna. 

The gunshots were deafening, but thankfully impotent as they lodged in the roof of the sauna. As her ears protested with a loud ringing, Catalina watched as Oriana was tossed out the door like a rag doll. She heard a loud splash but didn't take the time to look; all that mattered was finding the gun that had clattered to the floor. Catalina dropped to her knees and felt outwards with her hands; the steam wasn't as bad down here, but the lighting was close to nil. Her hand touched metal, and she sighed with relief before repositioning herself on her stomach on the sauna floor. A large figure materialized out of the mist above her, one much too large to be Oriana. Catalina angled the gun upwards and fired directly into his crotch.

The scream was animalistic, and went on for what seemed like forever. Catalina fired again, but both the gun and her hands were slippery from condensation. She hit him below the collar bone this time... not a heart shot, but a mercifully silencing one. Through the now-continuous ringing of her ears, she could hear Oriana calling out, but the words were unclear. Catalina climbed to her feet and stepped out of the sauna, two female heads now swivelling in every direction and looking for the next threat, naked as the day they were born, and with only one gun and one knife between them.

Oriana was dripping with cold water as she chased after the man, flinching as she heard the gunshot. Hopefully that wasn't Cat. 

Entering the sauna again, she squinted and saw the body on the floor. She was about to start interrogating the man, but he was quiet and his eyes were staring. He wouldn't be sharing information anytime soon. He might not have talked anyway- guy moved like a pro. Oriana rifled through his pockets, taking out a few folded pieces of paper that she tried to put in her own pockets, before remembering that she didn't currently have any. She held onto them, regardless, and slit the man's throat to ensure he wouldn't be getting up.

Catalina had found a couple of robes, which they both shrugged on.

"Are you hurt?" Oriana asked Cat.

"What?"

"Are you hurt?"

"No. A little trouble hearing."

Oriana nodded.

"What do you think? Try to sneak out the back? Could be harder to catch a cab there, but it might not be watched as well- if either one is being watched at all."

She slipped the papers inside the robe's pocket. Something to look at later, perhaps, when they knew they were safe. Unless Catalina wanted to look at them now, Oriana wouldn't force the issue.

Her hearing was coming back a bit, but it still sounded like Oriana was speaking through cotton. Regardless, she was able to pick up the gist of what the other woman was saying. 

"You want to... no. Let's go out the way we came in. They would not be expecting that, if there are more of them. Plus, we would never get a cab dressed like this. But most importantly, our guns are up there with our clothes," she said, trying to temper her voice, knowing it was probably still coming out much too loudly. Oriana seemed to think about it for a split second before nodding in agreement, and they moved towards the door leading to the front, one flanking each side of the door frame. Oriana crouched low, her blade at the ready, while Catalina stood high, gun raised as she quickly darted her head into the hallway beyond. 

"Hallway is clear," she said in a low voice. The hallway was indeed clear... very clear, in fact, because every employee in the building seemed to have vacated it once the sounds of gunfire had erupted.

The exception was Mats, who lay face down in a pool of his own blood at the end of the hallway. It looked as if he'd tried to come to the rescue, and had taken several shots to the back for his efforts. Catalina glanced over at Oriana, whose face showed nothing. When the two arrived at the dressing room door, Oriana poked her head in this time, deemed it safe, and stepped through.

"If you finish dressing faster than I do, see what the papers say," she said as she shucked off the robe and picked up some of her clothing. She didn't waste time with undergarments; the cops would likely be here any minute, and they needed to be gone before they arrived. 

"Depending on what they are and what they say, it may dictate what we do once we make it out of here."

Oriana seemed to disagree at "we would never get a cab dressed like this", but she was too focused to protest. She moved through the hallway with Cat, cautious as they moved through the empty building. When they reached the dressing room, Oriana stepped into her pants, gunbelt, and boots before throwing her shirt on and doing one of the buttons. She felt better with her own weapons on her, and soon her Beretta was in hand. 

No other sounds. Must be safe. She relaxed a little, couldn't help but glance at Cat for a moment, then dug the papers out of her robe.

"First one is a bank account transfer. Couple hundred thousand bucks- I'm assuming to our friend back there. Second page is three addresses. Somewhere in the Bronx, already crossed off the list, then this place, then somewhere else I don't know. Maybe Jersey?"

Once Catalina was dressed, Oriana handed her the paper. Catalina would recognize her brother's address in the Bronx.​​​​​​​

"Wh-"

For one long, agonizing minute, Catalina's vision darkened. Then it rebounded drastically, as if the room was suddenly overbright, painfully so. She blinked and re-read the address. And again. And again. The numbers weren't changing on the address, and that hateful black mark drawn through it was going nowhere. 

"¿Por qué está tachada la dirección?" She demanded. Oriana never broke eye contact, but she wasn't answering a painfully rhetorical question. Catalina swallowed hard, then blinked back the tears that threatened to blur her vision down to nothing. Crushing the paper in her fist, she turned and ran through the dressing area and into the foyer, caution now long since gone. Once she'd made it through the front door, she kept going to the curb, her arms waving wildly for a cab. One eventually came to a stop, likely drawn like a moth to flame by the sight of Oriana's blouse being held together so precariously by that sole button.

"Llévanos a... joder. Take us to Brooklyn. 124 Duffield. Quadaruple your rate if you break every moving violation law in New York's books. This is an emergency," she said breathlessly.

"He's dead, isn't he," Catalina said quietly, her hand gripping the door handle so hard that a fingernail broke with a quiet 'pop'. She felt none of that as her throat tried to close down on itself and the tears began to flow.

Oriana watched Cat freeze; confused, she tried to figure out what was happening. Oriana figured that she obviously must know the address. Her Spanish was rusty, but she managed to understand the gist of the question. She followed her boss as Cat ran outside and got a cab. 

"Usually crossed out lines are bad, but... I mean, uh..." Any reassurance felt fake. Who's dead? Who lives there?"

Oh shit. She's crying.

Oriana had never seen Cat close to crying before. Normally when people cried around Oriana it was because she was about to kill them. She patted Catalina's back awkwardly, hoping her boss belonged to the school of "it's the thought that counts."

"Marco. Marco Rey. My brother," she said, then swiped at her face with her sleeve. This was not professional behavior, and she needed to act like a professional right now.

"He did a run for me once, ended up staying in Chicago and working with Daniel's crew. He fell in love with Daniel's sister, Elena. After the war, when I moved to New York, they eventually followed. He is not a member of any crew any longer, but he continues to do the drug running from Madrid." She was using the present tense, as if doing so could make his death a thing that had not happened.

The cab was sailing through the city, through tunnels and over bridges. Any other time, Catalina would be impressed with the driver, and might try to hire him.

"They have not said as much, but I believe Elena might be pregnant," she said very quietly as the car pulled up to the curb at 124. All was quiet on the street, and Catalina found the absence of motion and sound the worst thing she'd ever heard.

Oh.

Well, shit.

Oriana nodded slowly as she listened to Catalina. 

"I'm sorry, Cat."

That explains the crying. Cat seemed focused on pulling herself together, which was good. Still, crying was okay. Oriana rested a hand on her boss's knee, trying to reassure her.

"You, uh, never know what'll happen."

Still, Oriana had a bad feeling. Hitmen didn't cross out addresses because no one was home to answer the door.

The cab pulled over and Catalina threw some money at the driver. Oriana followed her out the car, gun in hand and hidden in her pocket. No cops, no ambulances. That was a good sign, maybe.

Oriana picked the lock and followed Catalina into the house. Quiet as a grave. Disturbing, but not surprising. Oriana did a quick sweep of the house, but nothing could be seen or heard. No trace of anyone. A kidnapping? As Cat and Oriana split up to explore the house, Ori could hear Catalina shouting out her brother's name.

Checking the bedroom, Oriana froze as she noticed the bloodstain on the mattress; someone had thrown a blanket over it to hide it. 

Gun out, Oriana moved toward the bathroom. Nothing. She opened the shower curtain and stared at the two bodies in the bathtub. They were lying down, staring with dead eyes. Both had had their throats cut. Marco had bruising on his face and hands; Elena had blood under her fingernails. They'd fought 'til the end- fought for each other as best they could.

It wasn't enough.

Oriana heard Cat's voice, and she stepped away from the bathtub toward her boss and friend.

"Cat. They're dead. In the bathroom. You don't have to look if you don't want to."

"No. No, no,no," Catalina murmured as she pushed past Oriana and looked down into the bathtub. Her hands balled into fists as she threw her head back and screamed. She'd failed in the worst possible way that a human being could fail. Marco was her responsibility, despite all his protestations to the contrary. And Elena? An innocent. Her greatest fault had been to love the wrong man. 

The baby...

Catalina spun around and rattled off words in a frighteningly clinical manner.

"I need to call my parents. I need these two out of this FUCKING bathtub and cared for immediately. I need someone's throat between my hands so I can squeeze the wasted, infected, putrid life out of them. Which of these things can you help me with, Oriana?" She asked, then breezed by her Right Hand and stalked out of the house where she violently vomited over the railing of the front porch. The cab driver was still there, and she blinked at him stupidly for a moment. 

"You. I want to hire you." A solemn nod. Catalina blinked again, then called back into the house. "Oriana. Give the driver the paper. We have another stop to make before I call Madrid and break my parents' hearts."

Oriana watched with wide eyes as Catalina threw her head back and screamed. She couldn't comfort her boss- at this point, no one could. But perhaps she could help her get revenge. It would have to be enough. 

"Which of these things can you help me with, Oriana?"

Oriana was about to answer when Catalina walked outside and vomited. Ori followed, holding Catalina's hair until her boss straightened herself up- and locked eyes with a confused looking man in overalls and carrying shopping bags who spun around and started walking briskly away.

"Oriana, he-" began Cat.

"I saw."

Oriana was off like a hound, knife in one hand and gun in the other. The man in question had a limp, and she caught up to him quickly. Thirty seconds later, she dragged him at knifepoint up the steps and into the house.

Cat, she was sure, would want to ask him a few questions- especially when they saw the tubs of lye in his shopping bags.

Tubs of lye rolled into the gutter as Oriana and Catalina hauled the man up the sidewalk, across the porch, and into the living room. It felt like a betrayal to allow him to sit on her brother's couch, so Catalina let go of him right in front of it, where he slumped to the carpet. He wasn't even trying to struggle or fight them, which seemed... off.

"There's no fight in you. Good, this will go easier. Who hired you?" Oriana checked the man for weapons before standing with her arms crossed at the side of Catalina. The man simply stared up at Catalina, looking shocked.

"Do you not speak English? WHO HIRED YOU??" Catalina enunciated loudly into his face. The scared man shook his head. Oriana removed a knife and held it out to her boss, seemingly asking if she'd like to do the honors herself or if Oriana should.

"If I talk to you, I'm dead!"

"Do you think you're not dead already?!" With a flick, she grabbed the knife from Oriana's hand and opened a gash on his cheek.

"You... if I talk. You protect me? I work for you?" As the man got more scared, his Spanish accent emerged. Oriana tucked her thumbs into her gunbelt, content to support Catalina. Catalina's eyes narrowed in suspicion. This wasn't right. Not only was a Spanish accent emerging, but the dialect...

"¿De dónde eres? Específicamente. No me mientas, conozco todos los distritos de Madrid." The man's mouth opened and shut wordlessly for a moment, but looking into Catalina's eyes seemed to break him.

"Sal- Salamanca." Catalina's face drained of color and she took a step back. The knife slipped from her hands and pattered to the carpeting. What was happening here? Or, the better question... what was happening at home?

"Oriana, we have to... I have to go. I have to go home. Something is very wrong. I have to fly home right now. Do whatever you wish with this man. I don't know if the remaining address is relevant, perhaps someone else can check it, but I have to go." Oriana removed another knife and held it in front of the man's face.

"Who do you work for?" Silence. She moved the knife closer. The man leaned his head back, and Oriana grabbed his hair, moving the knife an inch from his eye. She moved it closer again, and he whispered.

"l'orso di salamanca"

"His real name."

"I don't know it."

"Who does?" asked Oriana, moving the knife back slightly.

"No one." Oriana looked up. Cat had already left the room. Shrugging, Oriana stabbed the man three times, slit his throat, and left him bleeding on the rug.

The cabbie should have aroused suspicion by now, but Catalina's gut hadn't steered her wrong, yet. The man merely raised a brow at her when she climbed in the back of the cab and muttered a quiet, "Where to?"

"Wait for Oriana," she said, the defeat clear in her voice as she stared out the open car door while the woman in question came down the porch stairs and joined her in the back of the cab. If she stayed clinical in her thoughts, maybe the pain wouldn't crush her like a vice.

"Take us to the airport. We can make calls from there," she said, looking at Oriana, who nodded in agreement. "Once we're in the air, tender your resignation with your cab company and go to my headquarters," she said, flipping a business card to him over the seat. She watched him glance at it via the rearview mirror and nod to himself. "I'll have a retainer fee arranged for you, and a good car. Where did you learn to drive- nevermind. Another story for another time," she said, then leaned back in the seat and grabbed Oriana's hand. 

Instinctual. But why? Catalina let go, then squeezed her eyes shut and grabbed for it again. She felt better when she did it; if Oriana had a problem with it, she could always let go of her or yell at her or do whatever she wished, it would be a welcome distraction from the onslaught of terrible possibilities tearing through her mind right now. 

"¿Cómo está tu español, Oriana?" She asked as the scenery sailed past the windows.

As Oriana watched the wing of the plane descend through the crowd, she gave Cat's hand a squeeze. Her boss had been latched onto Oriana since the cab almost nonstop. Oriana had soon grown accustomed to it, subconsciously tracing her thumbnail against Cat's hand. Catalina was strong, but it seemed that she needed someone to hold onto. Oriana was happy to oblige. 

There wasn't much to discuss. It was hard to make small-talk in a scenario involving a dead brother and his family in the tub- as the start of more possible bad things. And a frantic phone call home- well, four of them, before the operator stopped trying to connect them. The line was dead.

They disembarked from the plane and grabbed a cab. They hadn't even stopped to pack, so there were no bags to wait for. Oriana had had to hide her guns, but she soon had her gunbelt and long coat on.

Oriana's Spanish was passable, but she was rusty and far from fluent. Better to let Catalina handle any talking- both for efficiency and as another thing to keep her mind occupied.

The car ride over was silent. Oriana spent most of the time staring out the window or glancing at Cat. 

But when Cat dug her nails into Oriana, the Italian hissed and prepared to protest- until she saw the smoke rising in the distance and Catalina's wide eyes.

Gone.

Everything was gone. Charred, destroyed, still in flames, but gone nonetheless. The main house, Catalina's family home, was still burning, but there was nothing to dash inside and try to save. The bodies of her parents were on the scorched lawn out front, a gutted, bloody mess. The outbuildings where production took place were nothing but smoldering, skeletal ruins. Bodies of workers were scattered everywhere. There simply was no life left here, not anywhere... even the coca fields had been torched down to smoking earth.

Catalina stood over the bodies of her parents. There were no words as she stared down at their faces. The only consolation she had was that they had died together. Catalina was an orphan now, and homeless, at that. She'd still been a citizen of Spain. There was nothing left for her here, now, nothing at all except...

"Mateo." She looked around, but if he'd been here, she'd have found him amongst the bodies. Could he possibly be alive? 

"My brother. The youngest. He's not here," she said to Oriana, who stood nearby. There was nothing left inside Catalina to feel much, anymore. The sight of her destroyed home and slaughtered parents had effectively broken her.

"I would not even know where to look for him. He rarely left here, wasn't seeing anyone that I am aware of. My grandfather, in the tariff office, he's the only one I can even think to call. The only other option I see is Salamanca," she said, kneeling down to close her parents' eyes. 

"What do I do, Oriana?" There was a small note of pleading in her otherwise deadened voice.

The car slowed to a stop, and Oriana heard a choked half-scream get caught in Catalina's mouth. The only thing waiting for them here at her boss's family home was death.

Oriana gave Cat's hand a last squeeze before they exited the car. Catalina, understandably, seemed to struggle to process things. Oriana stayed objective, analyzing the situation and watching for threats. Catalina stood, looking down at an older man and woman. It was hard to tell their age, due to the damage. 

The fires still filled the air with smoke- something that made Oriana suspicious. Based on what she could see of the bodies, these people hadn't been killed recently. But the fires had been started within the last couple hours. A signal to Catalina? A warning? A welcome? Either way, Oriana kept her hand on her gun.

Oriana had never known her parents. But there'd been two people in her life that Oriana knew had loved her- and both of them were dead. She didn't exactly know what Catalina was going through, but she knew well enough to guess. Catalina would need support... and she'd need revenge.

"Mateo. My brother. The youngest. He's not here. I would not even know where to look for him. He rarely left here, wasn't seeing anyone that I am aware of. My grandfather, in the tariff office, he's the only one I can even think to call. The only other option I see is Salamanca. What do I do, Oriana?" 

It was strange, hearing the voice of such a powerful woman reduced to a whimper. It didn't sound like Cat. Oriana walked over to her boss, who seemed crushed by the scenery. Oriana rested her hands on Catalina's shoulders and looked into her boss's eyes, demanding eye contact. A shiver ran through Oriana as she realized she had subconsciously done a gesture that Francesco had often done to her, but it was too late now to break it; she was invested.

"I know this is hard, Catalina. I've lost people, too. But... you need to focus. Use your anger. What we'll do..."

She raised a thumb to Catalina's cheek, wiping a tear away.

"... we'll get revenge. Perhaps your brother is alive, but I wouldn't assume so. There's no room left for hope. But we'll hunt this Bear of Salamanca, and we'll kill him both to punish him for what he did here and to make sure he never comes after you again."

Oriana dropped her hands.

"We need information. We can call or visit your grandfather, if you'd like. But if we're dealing with a criminal, someone in the underworld could be helpful. What about our mutual friend Manuel? He seemed... charmed... with you and me, both. We might be able to persuade him to help."

She shrugged.

"Either way, I'd like to know more about what's going on before we charge into Salamanca. We also need a place to stay."

"Alright," Catalina said softly. A plan was good. Anything was better than standing here wondering what her parents had gone through while dying. The pair turned to head back towards the car, which was idling a short distance away. Catalina kept looking back over her shoulder as she walked away, knowing she would never see this place again, and wishing she had a better visual of it as the last one she'd ever have. After climbing into the car again, Catalina ran her hands over her face. She already reeked of smoke. 

"You'll have to give him the directions, Oriana. I haven't seen Manuel in many years and cannot for the life of me remember his location right now," she said, resting her head against the seat and closing her eyes. That didn't work; she kept seeing her dead parents' faces staring up at her. When she opened them again, Oriana was staring at her. Not in a judgemental way, but perhaps an assessing one. 

"I'll be alright. I have nothing anymore, but I'll be alright," she said, then turned to look out at the landscape that she knew so well from so long ago. Regardless of how many years she'd spent travelling back and forth between Madrid and the United States, this had always been home, and she'd stubbornly refused to acquire American citizenship because of it. Part of her had always thought she'd return to settle down one day, with Daniel perhaps, to retire from all the things they'd been doing and maybe raise a family here. 

There would be no marriage, no children, no golden years spent in Madrid, no nothing. She had exactly nothing, except the small glimmer of hope that her remaining brother might still be alive. 

Oriana's directions to the driver were in passable Spanish, and they arrived at Manuel's place of business after only one wrong turn. Catalina assumed it was a place of business, anyway. Likely a front, the old Spanish restaurant look deceptively sleepy and pleasant on such a devastating day. 

"Manuel," Catalina said by way of greeting as they walked through the front door. By the look on his face, she could tell he'd heard the news. The old man simply embraced her for a long while, patting her gently on the back as an entire conversation passed between his and Oriana's eyes, right behind her.

Oriana took Catalina's hand; it was really the only thing she could do.

"I'll be alright. I have nothing anymore, but I'll be alright."

"You have Manhattan. Me. Sven. The whole crew. I know we don't stack up much compared to... everything. But it's something."

The spent the rest of the car ride in silence. When they'd flown in, they'd used a more private airfield outside the city. As they approached Madrid itself, however, it was obviously that all was not well in the city. Protests. Broken windows. At one point, they had to take several turns to avoid a crowd.

Oriana wanted to ask about politics, but Catalina didn't seem to notice it all. Couldn't blame her. Manuel's place, at least, looked peaceful enough. They walked into the restaurant and were immediately shown into Manuel's back room, where gambling, drinking, and every other vice was available- for a price.

Manuel himself was a large man, muscular once but now just large. A close cropped grey beard covered his large face, and his brown eyes looked at Catalina with concern as he enveloped Cat in an embrace. Oriana watched closely, but he seemed to keep it professional- despite his rather colorful commentary on Catalina a few months before. He must have heard about Catalina's family. 

"Venir venir. En mi oficina hablaremos en privado."

He ushered them inside, where he closed the door and gestured toward the two seats opposite his massive desk. He sank into the chair behind it, unbuttoning his grey suit as he laced his fingers.

"Primero, permíteme ofrecerte mis sinceras condolencias por tus padres y tu abuelo. Solo dime cómo puedo ayudar, y será tuyo. Sin cargo; Sé que me harás un favor en el futuro."

Cazzo, thought Oriana as her mouth opened, but it was too late to say anything. Cat's grandfather too, then.