Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Luca nods once, and the camera clicks off.
Alexis mutters a curse. Even he looks rattled.
The silence that follows is thick and suffocating.
Aemelia is crying for real now, her frame shaking. I release her immediately, hands hovering as if I could erase what just happened by letting her go. I want to pull her close to me, stroke her hair, kiss her sweet lips, and tell her everything will be okay, but I can’t even look at her. I turn away, catching Luca exhaling a ragged breath, rubbing his hand down his face. Even Alexis is quiet, his usual cocky expression absent.
What do I do? What can I do to make this right?
I force myself to meet Aemelia’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”
She wipes her tears with trembling fingers, giving a watery laugh. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “That was the point, right?”
I nod, but the truth is, I feel wrecked. And by the look in Luca and Alexis’s eyes, I suspect I’m not the only one.
20
LUCA
PLANETARY SHIFTS
Something is shifting. Like a meteor knocking a planet off its axis, Aemelia Lambretti has come into our lives and changed our course.
After Antonio helps Aemelia cover herself, he leads her up the stairs. I exchange a look with Alexis, and through silent communication alone we decide to follow them.
The video is on my phone, and I should distribute it to Enzo immediately, but somehow, it doesn’t seem as important.
In the bedroom, Antonio strips his sweater and gently pulls it over Aemelia’s head. He encourages her to put her arms into the sleeves, gentle and patient as a father with a small child. The sweater is oversized on her, covering her thighs as she lets the towel fall. Her eyes are glossy and wet, her hair still in disarray. With tender hands I don't recognize as belonging to my brother, he begins to stroke the knots from her hair, and she closes her eyes and lets him try to undo the damage we did.
Will it ever be possible?
I recall the first time I saw my father kill a man. It was nothing like those stupid TV cop shows or the movies. The bullet left my father’s gun and pierced Alberto’s gut, and he bled like a stuck pig, groaning and writhing for what seemed like an eternity. I couldn’t watch, so instead, I focused on my father. He was a tough man. Nobody becomes the boss of a family without being hard as nails, but he wasn’t like that with his kids. Strict but fair, we grew up respecting him more than we feared him, but that day, I saw a different side of him. Cold. Hard. Ruthless. And once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it.
For the rest of his life, I viewed him through different eyes and faced a truth I wish I hadn’t had to face about someone I loved. Men, when pushed, are capable of anything. It’s a fact I learned about myself in time, the limits of my conscience easing outwards until I was no longer restricted by the boundaries I’d grown up with.
We’ve all done things our mama would be ashamed of but will always find a way to look past. I, too, look past horrors when it suits me but watching my brutal brother pet Aemelia Lambretti is a gear shift. Seeing him touch her with such tenderness is unsettling. In the garden of the Venturi estate, there’s a low wall that we all used to walk along, balancing on the narrow stone. Right now, it feels like I’ve misstepped and am about to tumble off the edge.
Antonio finishes combing through Aemelia’s hair and helps her lower herself onto the mattress where she curls up, hugging her knees close. Without a word, I leave the room, descending the stairs. In the kitchen, I uncork a bottle of red wine and pour it into four squat glasses that would be better suited for whiskey. If I had some whiskey, I’d have poured that. Aemelia needs this. Pretty sure Antonio needs this, too.
My head isn’t on straight like it usually is. I gulp back a full glass of wine and pour more. The scar on my ribs, long healed, aches. It wasn’t a life-threatening injury like Mario’s, but it’s a permanent reminder of the night that changed all our lives. The night that brought us here.
Emotions are a weakness. I gave up on feeling anything a long time ago. Those who were already in my circle of love and trust have remained there. Anyone new is kept out in the cold. The world could burn around me, and I’d usually keep my composure. Alexis calls me the eye of the storm. But tonight, I don’t feel that way.
I take the glasses upstairs, clutched in my broad hands. The snake around my left wrist seems ready to pounce, ever the reminder that evil lives in the shadows, ready to strike at any time. Some people get tattoos to remember good things. I got mine so that I’d never forget how easy it was to trust a man who could have ended us all.