Union Of Death (Secrets of The Famiglia Part 2) novel Chapter 5

The boot slams with a big thud as my sister’s mood enhance her ability to close things quietly.

I sit in the front of the Black vanquish OWNED by my brother.

Pushing the button to move the leather heated seat a bit forward, I slip my phone in my bag, ignoring Guilia and Filippo discussing her sudden blue mood. The reason is me. I knew that this morning when she arrived and heard from Papa that I would be joining the two of them. I stood there shocked that it was the first time she heard about it.

Guilia and Leonardo’s relationship was no longer just an arranged marriage. And as much as she tried to convince me last month when we had our luncheon of her loathing for Leonardo, foolishness is not a trait I possess. Guilia had gotten close to her soon-to-be husband and the closer she got, the more she secretly wished I wasn’t around to witness any of it.

And I know it has nothing to do with any negative underlying issues she has about my 4-year-old crush on her soon-to-be husband. She just feels awkward.

My sister convinced herself that any sign of happiness from her part meant a heart-breaking sadness on mine.

Admittedly, it’s selfish of me not to have convinced her otherwise by now. To tell her the truth would mean I confess it to myself and risk other people finding out about my sins with Marco Catelli, namely, my father.

Sometimes in the prism of my own self, I wonder if my silence really stemmed from self-preservation and the wrath of my father or was it that I secretly enjoyed her pity and spirited emotions that held me in its core.

I touch the steering wheel as a colorful bird sweeps through the air. My phone rings and I already know who it is by the ring tone.

“I’m not picking up,” I say to the empty car, as my heartbeat gets heavier.

A shadow appears by the car's window and I close my eyes as the fucking ring knocks on the window.

“What!!!” I don’t face the perpetrator.

He ignores me and knocks again.

I take a deep breath and open the door with every intention of hurting him with the door, but he must sense my venomous thought and takes a step back.

Both feet get out of the car as I stand by the open door and glare at the arrogant blue-eyed, blonde-haired Matteo Fucking Di Salvo standing less than 4 ft. away from me.

He is wearing a grey coat on top of his Winter Suit and his face is blotched with redness and remnants of his sickness.

According to Elise, Matteo got sick a week back, just after his return from Chicago. He also requested 0 days off.

But seeing him today, he is insanely warm. A hazard that is not going to assist with his fever-stricken body. It is cold today, but nonetheless beautiful, windless, yet tickled with a whisper of the upcoming snow that would soon grace our yards.

This is the eye before the storm. A fitting description for this entire weekend. We were going to be experiencing a cold front soon and some snow.

Long drive, here we come.

We arrive a little after 12pm. The three Bentleys at the back slow down on to the side of the forestation as we take the right, going off the tree view roads and into what at first resembles the beginning of a forest, but changes when we take a left, over a small pothole and come face to face with the gates of hell. They have actual demons with horns and tails welded into the wrought iron.

“Must I hop out and press the buzzer?” I ask my brother who hasn’t said more than 5 sentences since we began our journey. And those were to give me directions.

“I got it, you stay warm, you’ve been driving.” Filippo doesn’t wait for me to respond as he hops out of the warm car and into the freezing air. The further we drove, the colder the air became.

I turn to see Guilia’s sleeping form, covered in a warm throw-over I carried in case.

The manor is nothing of what I expected Marco’s place to be. Which isn’t much to think about since I have never seen where the guy stayed.

From the safety of the car I examine the expanse, and the distant walls we would soon be residing in. It resembles a 3-hundred-year-old castle. Filled with death, lies and history far beyond my almost 20 years.

Maybe it is some old place that once belonged to a wealthy American family that had a taste for Victorian living. Or perhaps a British Aristocrat bought a piece of American soil and decided to put his own roots into the land and built this for his beloved.

Filippo rubs his gloved hands together as he walks back to the car and hops in.