Semua Bab S.I.X: The Mafia's Kryptonite: Bab 71 - Bab 80

BiancaMarco’s name lit up my screen at night. I picked up the phone. “Hello, Cousin.”“I’m doing your job for you,” he sounded irritated right off the bat.I blinked. “What?”“Where are you?” he asked.“You’re probably home alone, laid up in bed while I do your work for you…” he sounded really pissed.I sat upright. “What is it, Marco?”“I said,” he snapped, “I’m doing your job for you. You remember your job? Or have you forgotten that too?”I stood to my feet. “Of course I remember…”“Then where are you, Bianca?”“Home.”“I set him off, he’s spiraling, and you’re nowhere to be found.”I stood from my bed, already reaching for my jacket. “What happened to him?”“I’ll give you a hint: I and Arabella. Find him. Fix it.”The line went dead.I stood still for half a second, heart racing. Then I grabbed my keys and slipped out into the night.I texted one of the drivers and asked if they’d seen Six. Nothing. I called Francesco. “Brother, do you know where Six would be tonight?” I asked as

Marco The study was dim. I sat behind my desk, the glass of whiskey untouched, staring at nothing. The door swung open without a knock. “Marco!” Bianca’s voice cut through the stillness. She waltzed in, a radiant smile on her face. She skipped happily into the room. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she said, flopping onto the velvet couch like she owned the place. “You will not believe last night.” I didn’t respond. “Six was a mess. Absolutely wrecked. What did you say to him? Whatever it was—bravo.” She clapped once, laughing. “He practically fell into my arms. You should do that again.” She giggled, eyes dreamy. “We danced, we kissed. His arms—God, Marco. I didn’t think he’d feel like that. So strong. He wrapped them around me tightly. He felt warm. He smelled sweet—and like alcohol too. He had so much to drink last night...” She sighed. “I think I like him. No, scratch that—I love him.” She leaned back and draped her legs over the armrest, her eyes half-closed. “He lo

SixI shouldn’t have been here. I should have gone home when I had the chance.Bianca’s room smelled like expensive perfume and flowers. I leaned against the wall, half-drunk, the top buttons of my shirt undone.I had a pounding headache. I needed silence. I needed quiet. I needed her—and her alone.But instead, Bianca was in front of me, a sultry smile on her lips as she slipped off my jacket. She let it fall to the ground, then began to undo the other buttons of my shirt. Her fingers skimmed down my chest like they belonged there.They didn’t.No one’s hands did but hers.“Relax,” she whispered, lips brushing my neck. “Let me take care of you tonight. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”I stiffened. My hands stayed limp at my sides.Arabella’s face flashed in my mind. Her bright blue eyes smiling at me, the dimples in her chin, those full red lips I loved to kiss.An image of her laughing without a care in the world played in my head on a loop. I heard her voice in my head—I lov

ArabellaThe table was filled with dishes, all carefully arranged by the wedding planner, who kept smiling as if this were the happiest day of my life.Marco was talking animatedly, describing each plate with such passion that I almost believed he cared more about the food than the wedding itself.“This—this is the cherry pasta I told you about,” he said, pointing at a glossy bowl of red-coated noodles. “My nonna used to make this every Sunday. She’d let the cherries soak overnight in white wine… the smell alone would fill the whole house. That’s how you know you’re home.”The planner laughed as if she had just heard the sweetest thing ever. “That sounds incredible! Would you like it served as the starter or the main, Mr. Falcone?”He waved his hand, grinning. “Main, of course. I want people to remember it. I want them to taste it and think—this is the flavor of love.”I barely registered any of it. I was sitting there, nodding at the right times, smiling when I felt a pause, but I wa

ArabellaI sat on the high stool, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I almost didn’t recognize the face that stared back at me. My hair had been styled to perfection, with a few tendrils framing my face. There were a lot of women fussing over me.One of them was flicking a brush over my cheeks, while the other was pinning a curl in place on my head. I wore a gorgeous white beaded dress with a long train.I didn’t pick it; Marco did. His eyes grew wide when he saw the dress, and someone slipped a small heeled silver shoe on my feet.I should be happy, I should be grinning from ear to ear. I was dressed in the most luxurious clothing, not to leave out the huge ring on my finger. I looked good, and it was my wedding, but I was anything but happy.They say a girl always dreams of the day she gets married, and I did. I imagined I’d look good, I’d wear the prettiest dress—but most importantly, I imagined I’d be getting married to the love of my life and that I’d be glowing with happine