Niccolo Fierri [Book #2]

Chapter 11

All eyes were on us when we stepped foot into my parent's house. People stopped conversing and sipping their champagne as they watched us closely. I felt like I was back in high school all over again. And I absolutely hated high school.

I spot my mom in the crowd talking to one of her rich friends. She's dressed in a tight, hot pink dress to accentuate all her plastic surgery.

The only reason she has these parties is to showcase her trophies, which are her luxuriously over-the-top home, and non-dysfunctional little family.

Gag.

She's laughing and talking with the dark haired women, but stops when her friend's chin jerks in our direction.

Her attention shifts to me. She immediately frowns. I respond by giving her a wave and a cheeky smile. She whispers something to her friend and starts towards us, a glass of champagne in hand.

Cesare leans in to whisper softly. "From the disapproving motherly look marking her features, I'm assuming that's Mrs. Jacobs?"

I told him about my parents and my reasons for hating them. He told me that he could relate because his father wasn't always the best father. He didn't go into detail, and I could tell it was a difficult topic to discuss. So I left it alone.

I nod. "Yup, the one and only," I tell him. "Unfortunately," I add on, muttering really to myself even though I'm sure Cesare heard me.

My mom approaches us, making sure to flash that fake white smile of hers to those looking in her direction.

"Autumn!" She tosses her arms around me, as if she's actually happy to see me. She's always trying to portray this perfect, happy family, and it annoys me to my core. Especially when I know the real her. "What the hell are you wearing? This is not ladylike." She chides, her tone low and familiar.

How dare she tell me what's not ladylike. I'll wear whatever the hell I want to wear!

"Oh please, mom. Save me the modesty lecture," I say with a scoff. "I'm a grown ass women. You don't get to judge me when you spend your time injecting yourself with silicon." I don't stop there, loving the way her jaw practically drops to the floor. "And don't even get me started on Pillsbury Doughboy. Please, do me a favor and stay in your lane."

Cesare is staring at me like a proud father, watching the madness between my mother and I unfold before him.

She pulls back, sneering at me. "You better watch your mouth, Autumn. Tonight is not the night." She glares at me with a warning.

I wasn't afraid of her threats. They mean nothing to me. The bitch is all bark and no bite.

Cesare raises a brow, and clears his throat, sensing the tension between us as we stare daggers at each other in silence.

Mom brings her attention to Cesare, who smiles his charming smile and shoots out a hand for her to shake. She looks down at his hand, then back up at him. "I don't shake the hands of criminals."

"Mom!" I scold.

Cesare clears his throat once more. "No, it's okay po' rossa(little red)." He slowly unbuttons his jacket, before putting a hand in his pocket.

A shiny black gun is revealed in the waistband of his suit pants, a smug smile on his face. "Now, ma'am. Shall we try that again?" He's calm, cool, and collected.

Mom's eyes are wide with fear. She's trembling, the champagne in her glass sloshing around. The look on her face is priceless.

A smug smile of my own tugs at the corners of my lips as I watch her stick out a frail, wrinkled hand for Cesare to shake.