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.

shadow appears by the car's window and I close my eyes as the fucking ring knocks on the

don’t face the perpetrator.

ignores me and knocks

and open the door with every intention of hurting him with the door, but he must sense my venomous

feet get 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 4 ft. away

and his face is blotched with redness and remnants

week back, just after his return from Chicago. He

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

storm. A fitting description for this entire weekend. We were going to be experiencing a cold front soon and some

I can’t help

is unhidden standing in this weather looking at the boy who is slowly skirting off enemy lines. The question

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

through MY head, I don’t want to be subjected to a sneezing soldier

that is the only reason? Or are you just scared I will let your siblings in on your little secret? Tell me, Miss Capello,

my brother just in time as he

agenda.” I hiss at Matteo,

mine doesn’t come with a bullet to the head.” Matteo leaves me with those parting words and I want to scream, shout and swear as loud as my voice could possibly manage, but

good mood. I wonder what was said in my absence, but the tension in the car is certainly at a dangerous point when Guilia jumps into the back without