Stella (Book One of Dark Souls Series)

Pastiera

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numero- an arithmetical value
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I sat in complete silence as Mr. Veretti's voice became the only sound in the room.

It was surreal that my family was here right now. They sat across from us with their upper-class noses in the air as they listened to him drone about wedding traditions. If they were only here to mend together a wedding rather than their relationship with their daughter, I would gladly kick them back to Spain or wherever they were.

My mother sat on the edge of her seat, dressed in a light pink, pleated dress. Her tall, nude court pumps added about five inches to her height. Since I was 5'4, she appeared to be around 5'7 or 5'8. My father was a tall man, but with aging, he was shrinking. The Veretti brothers would stand over him if they were side by side. Mr. Veretti was the shortest, which was ironic because he was the most intimidating.

My parents looked well into their late forties and looked like they had been raised from old money. My mother looked like she was getting ready to attend a classy derby, and my father looked like he was riding in on her coattail.

"Estella, are you paying attention?" Mr. Veretti asked me, pausing in the middle of his long, boring conversation.

"I'm bored," I answered.

I was still sitting halfway on Adonis's lap, and his hands were resting on my thighs.

Catalina appeared to be fighting a smile which made me like her a bit more. Finally, someone other than Adonis and I had a sense of humor.

"I'm sorry that the help I am trying to get you is something you find insufferable," he replied with false sadness. He was putting on a show for my family, but I could read his eyes which he knew.

I sighed dramatically and looked at Adonis who looked down at me with a raised eyebrow. "Can you repeat whatever he's been saying for the last ten minutes?"

He nodded and pulled me closer to him. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it and frowned. "I don't think I've been paying much attention either, dear," he responded.

I grinned and returned my gaze to his father and my family.

"For the love of Mother Mary," my mother exhaled irritably. "I thought you raised a nice, respectable son," she snapped at Mr. Veretti. My eyebrows flew upward before I could stop them.

"The truth, Mrs. Macáno," my fiancé started. "My father didn't raise me. My mother did when she wasn't drowning her sorrows in alcohol. Why was she drinking? My father was cheating on her and running his infamous Mafia ring. I'm sure you've heard of the Hissing Vipers; so original, is it not?"

I blew my breath dramatically and laid my head against his chest. I was going to stay out of this because whenever Adonis did speak, he was on a roll.

Because she didn't know him, she couldn't tell that his question was rhetorical. "I-I suppose it's not," she stammered, unsure of how to answer.

"I guess everyone wants to be a snake nowadays."

My blood ran cold when he spoke those words and looked his father square in the eye. I didn't know we were going there today. I thought we would wait until we found proof before we started tossing shades. There was a slight chance that Mr. Veretti wasn't a snake and that he wasn't using his son's name for the crimes. As I said, it was only a small chance.

"Whatever you wish to discuss Mafia-related should be brought to one of my offices, not a family function," Mr. Veretti seethed. Was Adonis really ticking the nerves of the all-powerful Mafia king? He knew the risk of exposing the Don, old and new, and he was taking it on my behalf.