Union Of Death (Secrets of The Famiglia Part 2)

I listen to Marco’s words, and snort as I leave the door, and let the two of them discuss their shit. I send Mero a message to not come back here, and tell Michel to get a car ready for tomorrow. There is no way I am handing my friend to Marco Catelli.

A quick text to an old friend and I am well on my way to getting back to my sister. This weekend is important and if all goes to plan it might be the last one, I have with her for a while. Because Papa will not be happy when he finds out what I did.

“If you think for a moment you are fooling anyone with the way you look at my man you are more stupid than you think.”

“You are hurting me Camilla. Please.” I walk in just in time to see Camilla with her claws in my sister, and Guilia’s arm twisted. Camilla’s eyes widen and she lets my sister go.

Not thinking, I march up to her and she stands her ground as I slap her across the face. She is taller than me, and dressed in a powerful suit. And then there is me,

“You are stupid thinking you can touch my sister.” She moves to slap me, but I grab her wrist mid-way, spinning her around by the same arm, I kick her with my barefoot on the crease behind her knee. She falls and makes a soft sound.

I bend down close to her ear, “I have taken men bigger than you, and dropped them just like this. Touch my sister again and I will slit your throat while Marco watches,” I push her on the floor and spit on the side of her head.

Mischa runs inside and sees Camilla on the floor, “Why is Aunt Camimi on the floor?.”

closer to her and bend down, “Aunt Camilla is looking for her earing sweetheart. I’m going upstairs now

her cheeks are so cute, I touch her nose, “No, I want

way she says it tugs at my heartstrings and reminds me so much of myself.

the house, if you scream, he will come.”

“You pretty,” She says, as I stand to my

are you, go find your

Camilla standing there and I take my sister and move to the

leave no crumbs for argument and I have never spoken to my

the one

she thought I was. I have had death on my conscious since I was 12 years old. Maybe not exactly that, but she could count on me to

see her standing in the middle of designated bedroom, ringing

suggest you start talking, what

into tears and I tilt my head, but walk over to her, knowing hurt can be a crippling thing. I hug her, “Papa wouldn’t be happy to see you crying,

are the younger sister.” She sniffs and I let her go and take a step back, “Tutti abbiamo bisogno di aiuto a volte, Guilia.” We all need