Heart of Stone - Stone and Fire #1 [17+] (REWRITING)

Prologue (Important)

Adriana's POV

"Oh, shit."

The burnt crust crinkles off the pan, Mama's rage a thrumming pot of magma behind me. Slowly, the sides of my mouth thin into a cringe, because of course, I know exactly what ramification I'm about to face. Other than yet another pan- of burnt risotto.

Mama's anger was like a slow, pain-induced fire, sticks and stones already beginning to crackle from the heat.

But I turn around, and her hand is slunk on top of her forehead. 

Disappointment.

Somehow, the pitiful gaze dotted with brown is even worse than getting yelled at. 

Already, I could feel the dismay-lined words start to form in her head, and in a few seconds they would spray out, no despair, in front of me. 

Like they have been, every single fucking day.

The back of my head starts to thrum, pain pounding up and down my back. Layla was waiting outside, slutty dress in tow, while I was still in the kitchen a sweaty mess, clinging to the island sprayed with half-opened cans and cutting boards dotted with vegetable peels. 

Mama crosses her arms and leans against the island. 

"Go on. Uccidere tuo marito." Kill your husband. I sigh, tight shoulders flopping down as the argument from yesterday starts to resurface. "That burnt pan is enough to make him melt from the insides, Adriana. Ay, Quando imparerai?" When will you learn?

"I've been learning, Mama. It's you who refuses to back off." I turn back around and twist the knob of the stove, sighing when the heat finally disappears and a rush of wind from the half-open screen door blows the hair off my sweaty neck. 

"Back off? Sei impazzito? Are you insane?" She huffs, throwing the kitchen towel onto the marble slab. "So you'll let him starve, then?"

"Only if he's fat."

I mutter the words under my breath, but decide to seal my lips shut when Mama's eyes widen.

"Please, Mama. I'm tired, and Lay's outside-"

"No." She shakes her head, and a deep groan rumbles from within me. Days of practice- but no bone inside of me gave any signal that screamed, 'I know how to cook!' Either that, or all the other parts of my life simply mattered more than the 'dutiful wife' qualities even my sixteen-year-old sister seemed to have. 

"If Nonna was here, you think she would like seeing this? Her nipotina, failing to follow her hand-written recipe seven times?"

I roll my eyes. "Nonna's dead, Mama. Quit using failed examples to back up your statements, it isn't arguable."

I've lost hope in myself to keep the words inside. I was tired of debating this topic, and today, right now, felt like the perfect time to end it all.

"I'm tired of keeping watch, Adriana. If you don't learn- who will?"

"You're tired?" I turn around with an exasperated look. "Oh, please. Your other angel of a daughter is sitting upstairs is practically waiting to be called down- and we both know she'll be happy enough to commit to whatever fantasies you have for your future son-in-law."

"Basta! What is this nonsense? You think Aurora's about to get married? No," She shakes her head, "The men are practically busting down your Papa's door- just to figure out if you're an available donna. What will you do once he chooses one of them? Huh?"