Cruelly Fated - Book 4

Chapter 30 - The Lies we tell

Jasmine's POV

Throwing our bags in the trunk, I strap the kids into their seats. I thought I would feel relief, but instead, I'm just numb. I'm grappling with moving forward and seeing better days. This weight on my chest doesn't allow me to live only to exist, and the feelings that dominants are those of betrayal. If I laugh or become lost in a happy moment, I'm betraying my brother. Stupid? Maybe! But while he lays in a box, six feet beneath the surface, I'm still breathing, and I don't know how to live. Running my fingers through my hair, I blow a breath. I can sense Stefano watching, and I'm not coping. Sliding into the driver's seat, I glance ahead, briefly allowing my eyes to fall on the man I fell helplessly in love with. Shoulders slumped, he pinches the bridge of his nose. There's a tremor in his body, and it's shaking me to the core.

Everything I've ever wanted is in front of me. I visioned a messy house, surrounded by children's laughter. I accepted the family occupation, and although I am not Mina, I tried to be as fearless. What happened to Matt changes everything! I've never been a fan of guns, and I never fired a weapon. The most violent I've ever been was when I stab Patrick. Despite what he did to my brother, I could be the reason he blew his last breath.

That vivid image haunts me. It won't give me any peace. My brother's head jolting the smell of gunfire and death fill my nostril every time I replay that scene. My love for Stefano can no longer blind me. Gun wars and drugs surround him. My finger hovers over the start button, and I'm shattering into millions of pieces. I drift into thought, remembering the first time I laid eyes on him. That sleeveless hoody, his rough exterior, had me intrigued. The first time we spoke, my heart thundered at his deep voice. Bringing my hands to face, I exhale; my mind is broken, and I'm barely treading water.

Losing my mother gave us freedom. We started to live without darkness. After everything she did, I hated her. Grieving was foreign. Now I'm consumed. Burning and constantly in agony. It kills me remembering my brothers' cold eyes, witnessing him end his life. God, please take this pain away. I just want to remember him before all of this.

I come at of my thoughts as Summer inquisitively questions, "Where are we going?"

Composing myself, I glance through the rear-view mirror, "Road trip," I try my hardest to sound enthusiastic.

Shuffling, she continues to ask questions, needing to feed her curiosity, "For how long?"

"It will be a long holiday." I lie. Predicting her next question, I state, "Stefano needs to work." I lie again. Starting the car, I avoid making eye contact.

"Wait!" she screeches. "I need to give Stef something."

"Stef?" I repeat. It's the first time she's shortened his name.

Giggling, she nods, "He said his closest friends call him Stef and that I was his best friend." Then, unclipping the seat belt, she pulls out her art book and rips out a drawing.

"Can I see?" I turn, facing her. I'm curious. Summer doesn't open up easily, and most of the time, we are guessing. I understand that gaining her trust would take time, so I tread carefully, ensuring I don't set back the growing relationship. She expresses herself through her drawings, so I avoid looking without her permission. It would be like reading her journal.

Smiling, she hands me the drawing. My eyes widen, and I sorrowfully blow a breath. It's a family drawing; I stand next to Stefano, holding Luciano's hand while she is next to Stefano holding his. Tears well up, "It's beautiful." One day she will be a remarkable artist; she incorporates so much detail already. Although unable to draw portraits yet, one day, she will master it.

"Do you think he will like it?" the nervous have her voice cracking.

Dislodging the clog in my throat, I nod, "He will love it."