“Anna does have a point. It isn’t like Kirill to come to such things,” I press on.
“Kirill?” My father raises an eyebrow, his hazel eyes piercing through me.
“That’s his name,Papà. Or would you rather I call him the devil in black?” I joke, earning a sheepish giggle from my sister beside me.
Still, my father doesn’t see the humor in it. Instead, he keeps his gaze locked on mine longer than I’d like.
“Did he ask you to call him that when you two went out to the terrace earlier this evening?”
Shit. Leave it to my father to know my every move, even when I thought I was being cautious.
“You what?!” My mother’s eyes practically look like they’re about to pop out of her skull.
“I just saved him from the governor’s stepdaughter, that’s all,” I reply nonchalantly.
“And why on earth would you do something like that? The Petrovs are dangerous criminals,” my mother scolds.
“Newsflash,Mammà—so are we.” I grin, smug and unrepentant, as my mother’s cheeks flush bright red.
However, the way my baby sister shrinks in her seat, turning her attention back to the window, makes the small satisfactionof getting under my mother’s skin die in my chest. I might enjoy provoking her, but I hate being the reason for that sullen little frown on Anna’s lips.
We keep silent for the rest of the ride, too attuned to Anna’s melancholic silence.
Yep. I really did it now.
When we finally arrive, Anna and my mother are the first to step out of the limo, bidding us goodnight as they excuse themselves to their rooms, while Dad and I lag behind.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble to him when I feel his penetrating gaze starting to weigh on me.
“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” he points out matter-of-factly. “You know how your sister doesn’t like being reminded of the family business and all the dangers that come with it. And neither does your mother.”
“Mom should be used to it. She was born into this life long before any of us.” I frown.
“You could say the same thing about Annamaria,” he reminds me. “She was born into this life, too.”
I know he’s right, but a part of me still wants to fight him on it. To tell him that Annamaria is different. Special. Sensitive. Sure, she was born a Romano, but she doesn’t act like the rest of us. She doesn’tfeellike the rest of us.
Anna’s an emotional sponge—a pure-hearted vessel who feels too damn deeply. None of us shares that quality. We learned early on how to compartmentalize, how to shove the darkest parts of ourselves somewhere no one can reach. We’ve mastered raising our walls high enough that nothing gets through. Not unless we want it to.
But not Annamaria. She wears her heart on her sleeve for anyone to see… and abuse. She reminds me a lot of Marcello when he was younger. He felt deeply, too. And look what good it did him.
“I promise I’ll do better,” I mumble, disheartened for bringing any kind of pain to Anna.
My father cups my face in his hands and presses a tender kiss on my temple. “I know you will,dolcezza. I know you will.”
I’m too old for him to be calling me such things, but I still can’t help the smile the endearment brings to my lips.
“Goodnight,Papà.”
“Good night,” he returns, but just as I place my hand on the staircase rail, he stops me.
“Stella?”
“Yes,Papà?”
“Whydidyou help Petrov tonight? He’s more than man enough to fight his own battles. So why step in?”
“Never hurts to have aBratvaunderboss owe you one, now does it?”
