[ S E R A P H I N E ]“Why didn't you just tell me?” I stare at him, internally reminding myself to keep calm. My heart feels like it's gonna implode if I don't get this off my chest now. I just don't know how else to broach the subject that's been hovering like a heavy cloud between us. How to confront him about his impulsive decisions. If I don't demand answers and explanations right now, we'll just end up sweeping things under the rug. I can't just swallow my pride and say yes to everything he says if my life and my family's safety could be at risk. “I mean, I'm not saying get down on your knee and actually propose to me. But, put yourself in my shoes.” I hold my breath, steeling myself for what he's about to say. “How would you feel if I did all that without even asking if you're okay with any of it?” “You feel like I'm forcing you into this?” Dominico slowly gets up from the couch, his voice soft and steady, his gaze searching mine with a mix of concern and curiosity. I scoff
[ S E R A P H I N E ] [ What?!! He just left you there? By yourself? ][ He's probably on a dinner date with some chick he met online. ][ Aren't you coming back here this week? ]Wow. Alina's unusually chatty tonight. I squint at my phone and drop it on the ruffled covers, unsure of what to say to her. I haven't told her that I'm already here in Florence with Dominico. Or that I'm no longer going back to Genoa.All she knows is that we're on a vacation, and like Dominico's parents and mine, she has no clue we're getting married this weekend.Upon checking the time, I take out the velvet-sheathed box in the nightstand drawer and just stare at the shiny wedding rings inside. They're simple but elegant. Real gold, but not the expensive kind. We bought these on sale, actually.A knot tightens in the pit of my stomach. I keep thinking about Dominico's more often than not capricious behavior lately. Even worse, he's being uncommunicative again. Emotionally distant. We haven't talk
[ S E R A P H I N E ]“Alora, sei libero la prossima settimana?” [So, are you free next week?] I gawk at the words on my screen, just staring at each one of them until they all start to blur. My heart races as my breaths turn shallow. It's the second text Ignazio Tomassini sent me today. The first one shows only two short sentences congratulating me and Dominico, and then asking me if I'm willing to meet him and his wife for dinner this week. What the heck does that two-faced creep want now? “Shit.” I toss my phone on the maroon covers. I don't know what to do with him anymore. I can't avoid him forever. I can forgive him for what he did to me, but we can't pretend nothing happened and just go back to our previous rapport. Dominico's reassurances only ease my anxiety and fear to some degree. But it's not his fault that I'm still this anxious.The rain drums against the windows as my brain replays snippets of my previous conversation with him over and over, like it's stuck on a lo
[ S E R A P H I N E ] Michele Serra is a curly-haired lanky guy in his early 30s. Most likely Alfeo's first cousin. They have the same downturned blue eyes. Light brown hair. Well-defined jawline. About the same height, too. Paolo, Fico and the other bodyguards remain standing near the carved wooden doors. They keep glancing around. Like they're all expecting someone uninvited to show up out of nowhere.It's only worsening my nerves. I'm not sure why Alfeo brought seven guards with him.Because Dominico told him to? Maybe he told Alfeo that security is an issue right now. Or does Alfeo usually bring this many bodyguards wherever he goes? I tilt my head and look at my groom. The guy looks stupidly handsome in his tux. Like he should be on a catwalk. Not sure if he did his own hair today. It looks on point, like the rest of his outfit. Something in me aches when he stares back at me with a faint smile. Help...I can't believe this is all happening. I'm marrying the man of my drea
[ S E R A P H I N E ]The sun's up. Rubbing sleep out of my eyes, I squint at the light filtering through the curtains and giving the room a soft glow. My new bedroom. It's much bigger than the one in my apartment. The furniture looks brand new, too. Every corner is still unfamiliar, and I'm not sure how long I'm gonna be staying here. Until Dominico thinks it's time for me to stop freeloading off of him?This house is bigger than the property he sold in Genoa, and it's his first one here in Florence. I don't know the exact amount he paid for this property, but this certainly doesn't look cheaper than his old house.It's got three bedrooms, two indoor bathrooms, and one by the pool. The backyard is wide and nice, as well as the patio. Three large vehicles can fit in the garage. His older stuff and some of his gym equipment are in there. Pushing aside the covers, I get out of bed and make my way downstairs with careful steps. The muted noises coming from the kitchen tell me he's awak
[ S E R A P H I N E ] Where the heck is it? It's not in any of his bags. Not in his briefcase, either. Did he bring his laptop with him? I need to check something on his computer. I need a distraction. Something to occupy my mind. Ease the knots of tension taking root in my chest. Even my shoulders feel heavy. Sighing to myself, I stand beside his windows. The cloudy skies match the somber feeling in the entire house, and I keep imagining Dominico with his family at the cemetery. Is he okay? Is he crying? Finally realizing he just lost a loving father figure? Or is he and his dad having another fight? Crap. I hope not. I can't keep worrying about him every time he's not here or anywhere near me. I'll go insane and end up in a nuthouse. Busying myself with some general cleaning isn't working. I've scrubbed the kitchen and dining room clean, and then vacuumed all the three bedrooms. My body's tired, but my brain is still on high alert. I rummage through his drawers and closets,
[ D O M I N I C O ] The service is over. Finally. Everyone's walking away from the grave and the endless rows of flowers. Except Pappa and Leandro. They're putting on another show. Convincing the audience that they're mourning Zio Luciano's death just like the rest of us. What people don't know is, deep inside, the tight-knit duo's wallowing in their success. They're probably already planning the biggest party of the year. Somewhere in the tropics, I imagine. I'm sitting behind the wheel, alone in the car with Enzo. My chest is heavy with unspoken questions and grief, but I'm trying to look the opposite. I'm only here to pay my respects. The last thing I want is to draw any more attention to myself.“You good?” I squint at the purplish and bluish spots on Enzo's nose and cheek. I can sense his real emotions brewing. Much like the tension stirring beneath the surface. The purple bruises on his face and his blank gaze on the dashboard say enough about his mental state. Although he'
[ D O M I N I C O ] Why isn't she answering? It's been two hours. I've been trying to call her since Enzo and I left the cemetery. So far, still no texts, no callbacks, no emails from her. She didn't even bother telling me she's going somewhere. Waiting for my static inbox to move, I peel myself off the sofa and stand behind Enzo. We're one action flick down and two glasses away from finishing the bottle of red wine I rescued from the fridge. “So? Where's your wife?” Enzo's loud voice and grumpy tone only amplify the tension in my shoulders. “At the mall, prolly.” I pace behind the couch, my eyes glued to my phone. Worry is starting to consume my mind. I dial Seraphine's number again. Still no answer. Paolo hasn't called me back, either. The fuck is happening? Are they on a secret dinner date or something? They'd better not be making out on some gondola, or anywhere else. I ring his other phone number, the knots in my stomach only doubling by the minute. “Paolo,” I say the s