Union Of Death (Secrets of The Famiglia Part 2)

The boot slams with a big thud as my sister’s mood enhance her ability to close things quietly.

I sit in the front of the Black vanquish OWNED by my brother.

Pushing the button to move the leather heated seat a bit forward, I slip my phone in my bag, ignoring Guilia and Filippo discussing her sudden blue mood. The reason is me. I knew that this morning when she arrived and heard from Papa that I would be joining the two of them. I stood there shocked that it was the first time she heard about it.

Guilia and Leonardo’s relationship was no longer just an arranged marriage. And as much as she tried to convince me last month when we had our luncheon of her loathing for Leonardo, foolishness is not a trait I possess. Guilia had gotten close to her soon-to-be husband and the closer she got, the more she secretly wished I wasn’t around to witness any of it.

And I know it has nothing to do with any negative underlying issues she has about my 4-year-old crush on her soon-to-be husband. She just feels awkward.

My sister convinced herself that any sign of happiness from her part meant a heart-breaking sadness on mine.

Admittedly, it’s selfish of me not to have convinced her otherwise by now. To tell her the truth would mean I confess it to myself and risk other people finding out about my sins with Marco Catelli, namely, my father.

Sometimes in the prism of my own self, I wonder if my silence really stemmed from self-preservation and the wrath of my father or was it that I secretly enjoyed her pity and spirited emotions that held me in its core.

I touch the steering wheel as a colorful bird sweeps through the air. My phone rings and I already know who it is by the ring tone.

“I’m not picking up,” I say to the empty car, as my heartbeat gets heavier.

I close my eyes

don’t face

ignores me and knocks

every intention of hurting him with the door, but

out of the car as I stand by the open door and glare at the arrogant blue-eyed, blonde-haired Matteo Fucking Di Salvo standing less than

grey coat on top of his Winter Suit and his face is blotched with redness and remnants of his

sick a week back, just after his return from Chicago. He also requested 0 days off.

is not going to assist with his fever-stricken body. It is cold today, but nonetheless beautiful, windless, yet tickled with a whisper of

is the eye before the storm. A fitting description for this entire weekend.

around Matteo, I can’t

standing in this weather looking

my skin, and if he was anybody else, I would have felt sorry for him. But he isn’t anybody. He is

want to be subjected to

the only reason? Or are you just scared I will let your siblings in on your little secret? Tell me, Miss Capello, does your sister not smell the deceit and

forward but I see my brother just in time as he marches toward us

I hiss at

scream, shout and swear as loud as my voice could possibly manage, but with a thumping heartbeat, flushed skin, and an itching

my absence, but the tension in the car is certainly at a dangerous point when Guilia