CHIARA
Our car followed the others to the Contis' home mansion. My eyes took in the masterpiece, which stood tall and intimidating. You could tell that the mansion had many stories to share from its old structure and modern refinements scattered throughout. When we went inside, I froze. The mahogany furnishings of the entire house were deep brown, while the walls and everything else were a clear white. If we were rich, then these people were filthy rich. Everything screamed money in this mansion.
Storm went straight through some door which I concluded to be a kitchen. "Come on in cara. Please feel at home," Francesca said. I left Carmelo talking on the phone and followed the others to the living room. She sat on the same couch as her husband, her hand resting on his thigh, and he enclosed it with his own naturally. My mind replayed when their son did it to me.
"Your house is beautiful," I commented, trying to get the man out of my head. "The pleasure is all mine. It wasn't until my father-in-law died that I was able to decorate it the way I wanted," she said. "Mama, uh, uh, do less. You are throwing shade on a dead person. Tragic," Celia said, shaking her head and sitting on the same couch as me.
Francesca stared at her. "Huh? Your grandfather was indeed such a pain in the ass," she said. Celia rolled her eyes and took out her phone, jumping onto social media. Marcelo grunted, "We don't talk badly about the dead, honey." She gave him a look of disdain. "I wasn't talking badly about your father, hon. I just said what we all already knew," she paused, facing me with a smile.
"Except our wonderful guest here," she said.
A maid with a strict face came over and served us cool drinks. I still wondered what made them not have any hostility towards me. These people acted like they didn't even know my last name. "Buongiorno, everyone." A booming voice came from the entrance.
"Junior," Francesca started. "Mama," he replied, coming to the living room and sitting on the handrest, leaning down and placing a kiss on Celia's head, who shrugged him off in return. "I don't recall giving birth to you with a memory malfunction, dear." Said the woman, her forehead formed with two deep lines. All the charming, rich lady's humor was gone from her face, and instead, I saw my mother's wrath. I gripped the mini pillow on my thigh hard. A snort snapped me out of the memories, "I'm dead," Celia murmured.
"My memory is pretty good, Mama," he eyed me and gave me a wink, which made me cringe. What the fuck was that? "Why weren't you at the mass today?" she asked. Marcel Junior sighed, "Mama, not this again." He said, picking up a glass on the coffee table, and chugged it down. Junior had a purple bruise on his left cheek. It was nothing to be surprised about since he owned and ran a mafia group.
"This is why I hate your work. Look at your face, I thought you knew how to fight, you idiot!" Her tone got sharper. "You should see the other guy, Mama." Jr. teased. "Iconic," Celia gave her brother a thumbs-up. Junior smirked.
"You never listen to me, testa dura!" (Hard head.) His mother smacked the back of his head. Junior hissed, rubbing the spot, "I'm afraid you are the one who is going to give me a memory malfunction now, Mama." He uttered. Francesca huffed, turning to her husband. "This is all yours and your father's fault, Marcelo. You two ruined my son." She complained and got up. "Honey, come on," Marcelo uttered, sighing.
Junior walked up to his mother and hugged her. "I'm sorry, Mama. I'll make sure to attend the mass next Sunday." The woman let out a deep sigh and pulled off her son, her face softened. "Let me see your face. Does it hurt?" She touched the bruise, and Junior hissed. "Gabi, bring me the first aid kit." She ordered. "Yes, ma'am," replied the maid. "Mama, I'm fine." He protested, but a glare from her mother made him not say anything further.
"You—you're crying?" Celia's voice brought me back to my senses. All eyes were now on me, my hand went straight to touch my face. A shaky breath left my trembling lips when I felt it wet. "What happened, cara? Are you sick?" Marcelo asked, frowning deeply. My eyes gazed at all of them, and I stood up abruptly. "I'm—Excuse me," I ran to the entrance. I bumped into Carmelo, who was returning from a phone call. He held me back, eyes darkening as he assessed me. "What happened to you? Why are you crying?"
"I'm okay." I pushed him off and ran out while he called out to me. I only stopped when I was away from them and everything they were doing to my heart. Everything was too much. My heart couldn't handle it. I was astonished and didn't even know how to process the display of their family's interaction. It was everything I ever wanted and nothing I'll ever have. Even in that moment, I knew it was a wishful thought for me.
My vision was blurred, and a cry tore through my aching throat. Tears flowed as I gripped the dress and dropped to my knees, sobbing audibly. No! I can't panic now. I could hear footsteps approaching from behind, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. "Tesoro," he uttered in a small, cautious voice.
And then, his presence overwhelmed my senses as he fell to his knees and pulled me into his embrace with my shaking body. I melted in his arms and buried my face on his chest while he rubbed my back gently, soothingly. Weirdly, I found myself calming down at the sound of his steady heartbeats, just like the other times he held me. It was cooling all the fire that was burning inside me. It was like nothing I'd ever felt before.