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Madeleine 𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡The auditorium was loud with excitement, the kind that made your stomach feel like it was full of butterflies with coffee addictions. I sat in the second row, cap bobby-pinned to my head, gown a little wrinkled no matter how many times I’d tried to smooth it out. I could smell someone’s floral perfume in the row ahead of me, and underneath that, the faint chemical tang of veterinary antiseptic still clinging to my fingers no matter how many times I washed my hands.I kept twisting my class ring around my thumb. Clockwise. Counter-clockwise. My name was in the program. My name. Madeleine Cordeiro. I stared at it for a long time. It looked so real there, so official. It was the proof I’d actually made it.We were graduating. I was graduating. I was going to be a veterinary technician. I could poke cats in the butt with thermometers and do blood draws and explain post-op instructions. My smile kept twitching around the edges. I was proud, really, I was, but I cou
Adriano ⫘☠︎︎⫘ I stepped into our home first, flanked by Luca and Vincenzo and the second we hit the marble foyer, we heard it. Laughter. I paused halfway out of my coat and followed the sound down the hall. There they were, in the grand living room, Alessia sat on the couch with a cup of tea in one hand, head thrown back, laughing like that after days. Claire was beside her, trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably as she bounced Aurelia on her lap. The baby girl giggled, arms flailing, trying to slap a half-eaten cookie onto her mother’s blouse. Madeleine sat on the opposite couch, wearing one of the dresses I bought her this morning and looking like the sun had kissed her and never left. Her face was flushed from laughing too hard, and her hands were wrapped around a teacup she was clearly too distracted to drink from. Her hair was up in a messy bun, and Flan was curled up right in her lap. I wasn’t sure what had them all laughing so hard until I spotted Dante
Adriano ⫘☠︎︎⫘ Villa Merlino was half restaurant, half art gallery. Crystal chandeliers, and the walls were covered in oil paintings of long-dead women staring down at us like they knew where the bodies were buried. I sat with my back to the wall always and my eyes on the door. Vincenzo to my left, jaw tight, suit sharp enough to draw blood. Luca loitered near the front entrance like a statue that could rip your spine out with one hand. We brought no soldiers, just brothers as we agreed. The Lombardis showed up ten minutes late. Rino Lombardi walked in like his balls were dipped in gold and the world owed him a blowjob for it. Forty-four, built like a wrecking ball with a beard that probably had a few bullets lodged in it from past “negotiations" and arms like he could bench-press a coffin... with you in it. Women probably saw him and thought, daddy issues, solved. I saw him and thought, dead man walking. Remo followed a few paces behind, twitchy and pissed, like a dog kept t
Madeleine 𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡 “Where are we going?” I asked. “Somewhere you’ll like.” Which, in Adriano Capone language, meant: somewhere that’ll make me blush so hard I lose bone structure. He parked in front of a boutique with a name I couldn’t pronounce, one of those fancy places with gold lettering on the windows and mannequins wearing stuff that definitely didn’t have cotton lining or moral values. There was a faint scent of perfume in the air. The door opened with a little chime. “Oh,” I said, blinking, “We’re shopping.” Adriano slid his hand to the small of my back and guided me inside. “I don't need new clothes,” I whispered, eyeing a mannequin in thigh-highs and a leather corset. “You do,” he leaned in, his breath brushing my ear, “Underneath.” I spun to face him, “I own perfectly functional underwear, thank you very much, lots of cotton. Some of them even have hedgehogs.” “I’m burning them.” “You wouldn’t dare.” “I’ll light a cigar with them.” “Adriano.” He looked
Adriano ⫘☠︎︎⫘ The last time I stepped into a jewelry store, it was to pay off the owner for a diamond heist we didn’t do, just to piss off the Russians. This time, I was apparently ring shopping. For a girl who still wore mismatched socks and thought “soul ties” were a real thing. The store smelled like money and every display case had mood lighting like we were browsing holy relics instead of rocks some guy yanked out of volcanic piss millions of years ago. “Don’t make that face,” Aunt Alessia said beside me, pinching my elbow. “You’re not walking into a gunfight.” I glanced at her sideways. “Could be. Depends on the price tags.” She rolled her eyes and kept walking, heels tapping against the marble. I, on the other hand, had sweaty palms, not because of commitment. But because how the fuck do you pick one ring for a girl who thinks every stray cat is her biological child, talks to trees like they’ve got souls, and wears cartoon animals on her socks. A private concierge me
Told from Afar 𓎢𓎠𓎟𖦁𓎟𓎠𓎡 Alessia sank into the leather backseat of the car, her coat still draped over her lap. The city lights streaked past her window, but her thoughts were still in the basement of Saint Agatha’s. Still echoing with Rino Lombardi’s voice. When the car finally slowed to a stop outside the Capone estate, Alessia stepped out into the chilled evening air and stood for a moment under the front arch. She needed a plan. A way to talk Vincenzo down from whatever hellfire he was preparing to unleash. Maybe this time, he’d listen. But not yet. Not before she checked on someone else. She crossed the foyer, her pace unhurried and turned down the east wing. Vincenzo’s side. But the second she stepped in, she knew it was empty. Claire wasn’t here. Alessia frowned. She retraced her steps, walking back through the main corridor, passing portraits and locked doors until she reached her own wing. She opened the door, already halfway thinking about kicking her heels