𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨:
⸻ 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴!
❝𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗥 𝗕𝗨𝗧
𝗦𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗬 𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟❞
❝ She looks at you like you're her saviour. ❞
❝ Even though I'm a sinner? ❞
❝ You...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO “HEART FLUTTERS”
SCARLETT DEL GATO
I woke up the next morning with a pulsing headache.
It was morning because the smell of coffee, bacon and eggs filled my nostrils, and not to mention that the birds were chirping happily outside in the trees like every morning I woke up.
I’ve been out for a while because once the smell hit my nostrils, my stomach growled in response. I wanted nothing more than to feast on Amelia’s delicious breakfast right about now. Just thinking about her crispy bacon made my mouth water and my stomach grumble loudly.
I try to sit up but the sudden movement made my headache pulse again. I lift my hand to touch the sensitive skin right above my temple, the skin there was completely raw and it won’t even surprise me if it was bruised.
Damn Diablo. I thought.
I knew his intentions weren’t pure, but I always try to see the good in people even though it was buried very, very deep somewhere.
His words from yesterday came to mind: “If you tell the brothers that this happened, I’m going to kill your little friend Eden.”
What was with everyone who threatened Eden if I opened my mouth?
First it was Giovanni who told me that he’d kill her if I ran away to go to her house. And now it was Diablo threatening her too if I told the brothers what he did in the car yesterday afternoon.
Just thinking about him bashing my head into his dashboard made me wince out loud. It’s like I could still feel how my head connected with the hard surface of his car’s dashboard.
I hear footsteps coming down the hallway. It sounded like a set of three pairs of footsteps. Giovanni’s, Vito’s and…
Oh shit.
I was so deep in thought about what Diablo did yesterday that I completely forgot that the Castiglione brother’s father was home.
Just thinking about him coming inside my room made my stomach fill with nervousness. My poor heart started to beat faster and faster until their footsteps stopped right outside my room.
I saw their shadows underneath the doorframe.
“La voglio fuori di casa.” He says. “End of discussion.”
I don’t know what he told his sons, but by the sound of his angry tone and how his words came out of his mouth told me that it couldn’t have been a warm welcome.
“She has nowhere else to go, Papà.” Giovanni says.
I can just imagine him running his fingers through his hair. He always did when he was frustrated with something, or in this case, with someone.
