Family Brunch

I parked my pink 1961 Maserati 3500 GT in my parents’ garage. I was dreading the Sunday family brunch with my parents, brother, my uncle, and his family. I knew everyone would be looking at me and criticizing everything that happened.

Even though the heat had died down, I was still under scrutiny from the media, and I had been advised not to go to the prosecutor’s office. I had been working from home for the past two weeks.

Emilio still hadn’t contacted me, and no one had seen or heard from him. I was tired of looking over my shoulder, waiting for the murderer to come and ruin my life again. God, I hated that man.

I sighed, pushing all other thoughts away, and walked to the door. There were other cars in the driveway, alerting me that everyone else had arrived. Before I could even ring the doorbell, the door swung open, and my mother came into view.

She hugged me tightly. Papá didn’t allow me to see her. He claimed she was in Greece visiting her parents, but I knew she was still in the country because I saw her F******k posts.

“You’ll be fine, Korítsi mou. Keep your chin up and ignore all the negative energy.” She said, adding a Greek term of endearment, as she ushered me into the house.

She was dressed in white, which contrasted with her dark hair and green eyes, which she lined with dark eye makeup. She had on bold lipstick, embodying the role of the wife of a ruthless crime fighter.

I got my features from her: green eyes and dark chestnut hair that was curly and wavy. While she took time to straighten hers like she showed me, I just threw mine in a bun to match the two-piece outfit I was wearing. It consisted of a short white skirt and a white backless top with a collar and a V-neck design.

Everyone was in the backyard, even my boyfriend. He was in a corner speaking—flirting with my cousin Bianca. Tommaso was never loyal, and I knew that, but he could at least mask his infidelity by refusing to engage with the cousin who hated me most.

Bianca was twenty-four, one year older than me, but she had this perception that we were in competition. We both chose to pursue law as a career, and she was mad that I got into a prestigious university and had surpassed her in my career.

She was the daughter of Giancarlo Moretti, my father’s brother, who was a decorated judge. He had three kids: Bianca, Caterina, and Lorenzo. His wife was Lily, and she was just like Bianca—jealous and always in imaginary competition with others.

We all had Sunday brunch together every week, and alternated between homes. My brother, Alessandro, was also there. It was a full house, and I was dreading having to face everyone.

“Look who showed up,” Lily said, with a smile that told me she was about to throw unnecessary jabs at me. “I thought you were hiding in a hole no one could find you in. I wouldn’t show my face if I were you.”

“Fortunately, we are not the same. I don’t hide when the going gets tough, especially when I have done nothing wrong.”

My response wiped the smug smile she had on her face. I walked to the huge table that had been set outside, and I put the pie I had made from my grandmother’s recipe on the table.

Everyone looked at me, and I knew they were all judging me. Papá and Alessandro wouldn’t look at me, Giancarlo glared at me like I had done the worst thing in the world, Bianca and Lily were pleased, and Tommaso didn’t even acknowledge my presence.

I wanted to say something about Emilio because it was eating me alive, but I didn’t want to drag anyone else down with me.

Someone changed the subject, and everyone shifted their attention away from me. I grabbed a wine glass and poured myself some wine. As I was drinking, Bianca appeared near me.

“I hear you’re helping a fugitive now,” she said. “This is the end of your career. You were always destined to lose to me, dear cousin. Your boyfriend can’t stop staring at me, and I am about to take your spot as the up-and-coming prosecutor in Palermo.”

I closed my eyes and counted to ten so I wouldn’t crash out and lash out at her to give her a reason to villainize me even more than I already was.

“Tommaso would fuck a dog if it looked at him suggestively. Don’t flatter yourself.” I stated it because it was true. “Careful, someone would assume your life revolves around me with how much you’re obsessed with it. Your jealousy is showing, Bia.”

I left her standing on her own and downed more wine. I was buzzed at that point. I was about to pour myself another glass before Tom came and grabbed my glass from me.

“Don’t get drunk and embarrass me.”

“I don’t need to embarrass you, baby. You do that all by yourself.” I said with the fakest sweet smile I could come up with.

If it were up to me, I wouldn’t be with him. Papá had a way of controlling all our decisions. He could coerce anyone to do anything. Tommaso didn’t have a loyal bone in his body, and I didn’t even want to admit I was seeing him.

It was embarrassing. But father was forcing us together.

We all sat down for lunch, and everyone took turns referencing Emilio’s escape from prison and how I could have been involved. Nobody jumped to my defence. If anything, Papá and Alessandro added fuel to the fire while my mother stared at everyone with her piercing green eyes.

When lunch was over, I couldn’t have gotten out of there faster. As I approached my car, I spotted Alessandro going to his car, and I ran after him. Maybe he could help me with the Emilio situation.

“Sandro?” I called to him and he barely turned around.

“Your little stunt has made my officers lose trust in me. Don’t be a fuckup, Chiara. This family doesn’t need a disappointment.”

Before I could defend myself, he walked away. He was the Chief of Police in Palermo, and he knew I was innocent. He just wanted someone to blame for what happened because he was getting heat.

Whoever said older siblings protected their younger siblings was wrong. Lorenzo, the eldest of Giancarlo’s children, appeared. No one understood what it meant to be a fuckup more than he did.

He was meant to become a judge like his father, but he instead chose to be a nurse.

“He’s a dick,” he said. “This wasn’t your fault, so ignore everyone else.”

“Thank you,” I replied, and drove away, eager to get to my apartment.

As soon as I opened my door, something felt off. The door to my balcony was open and I could see someone’s silhouette. I went there with a baseball bat in hand, ready to deal with the intruder.

“You’re so predictable,” Emilio said as soon as I went to the balcony, baseball bat in hand.

He was casually smoking a cigarette there in an expensive suit. The suit contrasted with the tattoos peaking from his chest and going up to his neck, the spike earrings in his ears, and the piercing on the far right of his bottom lip—piercings that I hadn’t noticed on him before.

If he looked hot before, he was definitely hotter now. He didn’t look like a fugitive running from the law.

“Let the games begin, birdie. I’m ready to play.”