She took another sip of wine, which caused the redness in her cheeks to flush even more. “She does. Just not around people she doesn’t know that well.”
“And what about you?”
She raised her eyebrows. “What do you think?”
Alessandra was tough to crack. I liked it. It was obvious she was different from her twin in regards to her personality. I found that even more fascinating. Which one was more adventurous in bed? It had to be the one in front of me. She was feisty.
I jumped at the sound of Isabella Bonifacio’s voice. Little did their mother know, but she had actually brought me back from my thoughts, which had me overwhelmed. The twin before me had a quality about her that captured my curiosity. She seemed feistier and less apprehensive than her sister. Unlike the twin next to her, she made eye contact and didn’t back down as easily. Those gray eyes didn’t give away much about what she was thinking about, and it was her silence that left me baffled.
Usually, I could tell what women were thinking. It was never that difficult for me. I had been with enough girls to be considered an expert at reading them. Girls tended to wear their emotions in their expressions. I’d grown to understand that and always used it to my advantage. Seeing Alessandra sit here with her smooth, composed expression was strange. It felt as though she was determining what kind of person I was. It was something that had never happened before. It made me curious, and once I was curious, it was hard to let up on the fascination, especially since it was the first time this had happened.
“Come now. Let’s go to the kitchen. We have some amazing hors d’oeuvres to try, as well as drinks.”
I wasn’t sure if anyone else picked up on it, but there was a strong slur to Isabella’s words. It wasn’t until I saw Isabella walking toward the kitchen that it was confirmed. She was drunk. I could see the tilt in her body as she walked, which caused a smirk to form on my lips. It was just as I’d been told. She was a drunkard and likely used drugs too.
I wondered if the daughters were the same way. Romeo had mentioned that Lucia wouldn’t drink around him and seemed innocent and virginal. Looking at the twins had me thinking that they were the same way. The mother, on the other hand, seemed to have no idea where she was. She was stammering around the kitchen, staring at the waitresses as they lifted the hors d’oeuvres from the island and walked toward us with their trays.
I averted my eyes, bringing them back to Alessandra. Just how far had she gotten with someone? How well could she turn and bend that willowy body of hers? It would be interesting to find out. A shiver swept over my body, and I felt warmth in my groin. Damn. I could picture it too well.
It had beena week since the incident. We hadn’t discovered where Gianni’s body was yet, but there was no doubt that the Bonifacios had fallen. We’d taken over their part of the underworld completely, and their heirs were now our prisoners. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I tried to imagine what it would be like if it had been my family if the roles were reversed, and it made me feel sick to my stomach. Still, there wasn’t much more that could be done. My family had rolled the dice, and we could only move forward.
I quietly made my way out of the room—always cautious—as to not get any attention. The last thing I wanted was to suffer anyone’s comments or hear what my family had to say. I’d been avoiding them for the past couple of days. The only things I’d heard about were the girls being imprisoned in the house or the properties the Bonifacios had, which were now ours. My father had already started going through their assets, and he was having them turned to our possession through the help of their lawyer and accountant.
It was all ours.
It didn’t feel deserved. We’d killed them in cold blood—and as their guests. If it had been any other way, I might have congratulated my father. The way it was and how it had happened just didn’t sit right with me. I couldn’t control what he did. Hell, he was the one with each of us wrapped so tightly around his finger that it felt like we’d suffocate. He’d done a terrible thing that the Bonifacios didn’t deserve.
But that wasn’t my problem anymore.
I moved past the patio and walked by a small garden of flowers that my father had installed when we’d first moved in. They’d become overgrown, with patches of weeds mixed within. No one cared for it too much anymore. It was out of sight, for the most part, sequestered into a wing of the house that no one visited, just like the remnants of my mother’s belongings.
The flowers glowed brightly under the morning sun, and a large, colorful butterfly caught my sight. The butterfly gently landed on one of the flowers and ate. It was unaware of the lizard in the grass under the stem of the flower. The lizard crept until it was close enough, and in one swift move, it jumped at the butterfly and caught it in its mouth. Just like my family, it took what it wanted without a care in the world.
It was then that I saw the woman they’d brought in to help with Lucia. She was a woman who had spent most of her days cleaning our house, but it seemed that my father was willing to set her up with something else. She wasn’t wearing her typical uniform.
I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and waited the moment I saw her with my father. She was wearing an all-black uniform, with her hair pulled into a low ponytail. My father was tapping his foot on the ground as she said something, which was inaudible from where I was standing. I was silent as I watched, wondering what he was getting himself into that time.
“I want you to keep an eye on her. You got that?”
I watched Phillipa tense as my father’s finger gestured toward her, almost threateningly. Phillipa was a newer hire. Most of the people we had working for us were people who my father had hand-picked. Their English was never good, and they were usually brought in from other countries. Phillipa, on the other hand, seemed to know English well enough.
“Yes, of course,” she said, lowering her eyes toward the ground and bringing her hands to the front of her black dress, which was the uniform for most of our staff that maintained the grounds. “I’ll keep a watchful eye.”
Her accent was thick, and my father seemed pleased enough. I knew that there was always a hidden layer to his expressions. It was something that many people overlooked. He grimaced slightly, which caused Phillipa to flinch again.
“If I so much as hear that she’s made a run for it, it won’t just be her that gets penalized. It won’t be pretty either. It’ll be slow, and it will hurt.”
Phillipa swallowed hard, and my father smiled lightly to himself, having gotten his way. He didn’t say another word as he lowered his finger and brushed past her, eyeing her down as he did. My father enjoyed intimidating those who were under his thumb. It didn’t matter if it was our staff or us. He simply wanted control.
It was that look in his eyes that drove me insane. I could remember when he looked at me that exact same way. He was already gone by the time I lifted my eyes again. Phillipa inhaled deeply, as though relieved by his exit. She turned away, her back facing me as she wandered toward the stairs. I was silent as my hands began to shake. That frustration was resurfacing, as it always did when I thought of those moments I spent being berated, beaten, and talked down to by my father.
I always grew frustrated with the way he treated others. Even if the Bonifacios had killed Gianni, it hadn’t warranted their parents being massacred in front of them. I could still picture Romeo’s expression.
I spun on my heel and tried to keep calm. I knew that there was nothing more I could do—my temper was getting the better of me. My stomach was in knots, and my teeth were clenched tightly. My hands were formed into fists, stiff along the sides of my legs as I stomped through the room and toward the front parlor. There was no one around.
I had to release my anger.
I was no better than my father, but I couldn’t stop myself. I reached for the closest object—a vase that had belonged to my mother. Its intricate design had made it a centerpiece in the parlor for years. Without thinking, I flung it across the room, enjoying the sound of the vase shattering into pieces. The flowers inside fell to the ground, and the water spread out along the white wall, dripping slowly to the ground. I reached for a teacup and smashed it onto the tiled floor, enjoying the sensation of destroying something.
