SINFUL LOVE

I never liked weddings. Too much smiling, too much drinking, too much noise. Today was worse. It was my mother’s wedding. And somehow, I already knew my life was about to change in ways I didn’t want.The church smelled of roses. Too sweet. I sat in the second row, hands knotted in my lap. Whispers floated around me.“That’s her daughter.”“Poor girl. This will be an adjustment.”“She should be grateful. Falconeri money changes everything.”My skin prickled. I kept my head down.My mother, Elizabeth Rossi, stood at the altar glowing in white satin. She looked like she belonged in a magazine. When her eyes found mine, I caught the plea in them. Don’t ruin this for me.I sat straighter.The doors opened. Marcelo Falconeri walked in. Tall. Silver at the temples. Black suit pressed sharp. The room hushed. He didn’t smile. He didn’t need to.Two women behind me whispered again.“He looks younger in person.”“Not young enough for her.”The vows blurred. The priest spoke. My mother said yes,

The alarm hit six, and I shut it off with one hand before it got loud enough to bother me. Mornings never started gentle in this house. Servants moving, my father’s voice barking from the study, Elizabeth laughing too hard at something fake. I drowned it all out with cold water on my face and black coffee in my veins.Phone buzzing. Two messages from Naples, one from Palermo. Business never stopped, even when I was supposed to play college boy. My father liked appearances, and Sicilian Heights College was the stage.I dressed quick, grabbed my bag, and walked out. The driver offered keys, but I took the wheel myself. I needed the control. Engine roaring down the long driveway, I let the gates open like the world had no choice but to part for me.The campus was alive already, students grouped in little circles like sheep. Laughter too light for my taste. They stopped when I pulled up. They always did.“Falconeri.” The guard at the gate said my name with respect that sounded close to fe

The house was too quiet.I sat awake in my room, the clock dragging past midnight. My mom and Marcelo were long asleep. I wasn’t. Sleep never came easy here. Too many shadows, too many thoughts.Then I heard it. The front door creaking. Heavy footsteps. The scrape of shoes against the marble floor.Ricardo.I froze. The clock ticked louder. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t even move. But my legs carried me out of my room, down the dim hall, until I saw him.He leaned against the wall, jacket half off, shirt unbuttoned at the throat. His hair was messy, his eyes dark with something I couldn’t name. Drunk, maybe. Or acting drunk. With him, it was hard to tell.I crossed my arms. “You think sneaking in this late makes you look cool?”His head lifted slowly, eyes locking on me. A smile tugged at his lips. “Waiting up for me, little sister?”“Don’t call me that.” My voice came out sharper than I meant.He chuckled low, stepping toward me. “Touchy tonight.”“You reek of alcohol.”“You like it?

The ball thumped against the court, echoing like a heartbeat under the vaulted lights of the Sicilian Heights gym. Practice meant control, one place where noise turned into order.I owned this floor. Everyone knew it.“Again!” Coach barked.I caught Matteo’s pass, pivoted, drove through two defenders, and dropped the shot clean through the rim. Cheers rippled from the bleachers. The sound didn’t matter—except for one small, steady rhythm that wasn’t part of the game.Aurora.She sat halfway up the stands with a notebook on her knees, pretending to study. Pretending not to watch. I felt her eyes every time I moved. Every shot, every breath.When I looked up, she flinched.I let a slow smirk spread across my face and held her stare until she looked away. Bad idea, now she’d blush all through class.Matteo jogged over, wiping sweat off his forehead. “You’re off today.”“I’m not.”“Liar. You keep staring at the same spot in the bleachers.” He followed my line of sight and laughed. “So tha

Morning came too fast. I’d barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her again,the way she looked last night when I cornered her in the hall, her breath trembling against my lips, her eyes begging for something she couldn’t name.By the time I came downstairs, the house was already alive with noise, maids setting the table, my father’s voice echoing faintly from his office. Aurora stood by the front door, clutching her bag, ready to leave.“I’ll drive her myself,” I said.Elizabeth looked up from her cup of tea. “Oh, Ricardo, the driver can—”“I said I’ll drive.”Aurora’s head snapped toward me. “You don’t have to.”“I want to.”She looked at my father, then at me again. “It’s fine, really. I can go—”Marcelo raised an eyebrow. “Let him.”There was no arguing with that tone. Aurora sighed under her breath and walked toward the door.I grabbed the keys. “Come on, Rossi. Don’t make me late.”The silence in the car was sharp. She sat stiff in the passenger seat, eyes fixed on the