Capo Dei Capi (Secrets of the Famiglia Part 1) novel Chapter 6

She spins to face us, one step closer to where I am currently standing to the left.

“So,” She says as she comes closer.

One second Guilia is smiling wide, next she is losing her balance, not seeing Serena’s skateboard and going down.

“Guilia,” I scream, jerking my body toward her as she slips.

Someone stops her face plant just in time as I let out a shrill scream, digging my blunt fingertips into my brother's arm when he grabs hold of my waist, wrapping me into his chest.

Guilia makes a funny noise, which has me releasing my claws from my brother's arm. Staring up into my brothers' now straight face, my shock wanes to a keen curiosity. Any playfulness in my brother's mood now brimmed with concern.

I turn, hesitant to look at my sister as the sun shines on this beautiful Saturday. I feel a knot bury itself within my belly. Why? How? I can't say, yet, when I turn to see my sister and the man who has his arm around her waist, there is one emotion I can say that is dominant right now, FEAR.

His black gaze levels with my fearful one. Only his is filled with a storm that has been brewing since before he was born.

Who is this man?

He has light lines around his eyes and forehead, and a small crease in between his brows. His face is carved from stone. My fingers itch for my paintbrush to copy the curve of his jawline, the indent just beneath his chin. His face is harsh, and oh, what a primal view it will make mirrored on my canvas.

He is older than Filippo, maybe early to mid-thirties. His shoulders are too broad to be confined in the prison of his Suit jacket, no matter how well-tailored.

Recognition flashes in his unwavering gaze. Does he know me? Surely not. I would remember him.

He resembles a demon trapped by an enchanted chain. A predator, untamed. I wonder if Kylie will call him a cliché too.

He is tall, close to 6 ft. 1 inch, even as he stands with his long legs slightly parted. I am not certain as to the reason my heart rate is so loud and feeling. I can't explain why the pulse on my neck is beating with such erratic thumps that I hear the sounds in my ear. No, I don't understand any of it.

I can feel the drumming of the organ, which is my heart pumping blood through my body.

I frown as I remain looking at him, stuck.

The familiarity of him is uncanny, apart from his onyx gaze staring at me, challenging me. But for what? Why?

He might not look like Ren. However, Deno and this man are definitely a match. DOES he know I am friends with his brother? Is that why I am the pawn who got his attention right now?

His black gaze pierces me as a breeze covers me. I shiver.

My eyes, I'm sure resemble someone who just witnessed the end of the world in 4D Xtreme.

The longer I stare at him, the more my flesh heats up, hyper-aware of this man, standing in front of me. None of these feelings is good or welcomed.

My sister takes a step back, breaking my concentration as that small voice in my ear whispers, The eyes of a killer.

A dark shadowed face and unkempt black hair, unlike a Made-Man I know. Yet everything else about this man screams Mafia. Right to the bridge of his nose and his dark deadly presence.

From the shiny tan shoes to the tailored cream pants and matching jacket.

He is a Made-Mad-Man. Yes, he is mad.

I have always been attracted to a man with big hands. No matter who the man is, the need to look at his hands is a habit. We all have habits, right? That is the excuse I tell myself when my eyes drop to his extended one. Veins around his knuckles bulge out. Thick long fingers.

A long angry scar covers most of his forefinger. It makes me swallow hard at the thought of the reason behind its existence.

His hands can easily wrap around my neck, overpowering me. The hands of a killer.