Mio Sole

8 [Salvatore]

**June 7th, noon**

I make my way into the kitchen slowly, flinching every time the fabric of my shirt scratches against my sensitive flesh.

My fight with my father last night had escalated from our usual verbal sparring to a physical brawl in the gym. He kicked my ass, of course. Now I have bruised all over my ribs and scratches across my back from where the rough cement wall dug into my skin during his assault.

I push open the kitchen door, finding Luciano already cooking away at the stove. I let out a breath of relief when I don't find Father at his normal place at the island. My brows scrunch, wondering why he isn't here.

"Where is he?" I ask, taking my own seat.

Luciano shrugs, mixing whatever is in the pan he's working on vigorously. He glances back, taking in the dark circles under my eyes and shaking his head with disappointment. "Still asleep, I think. Him and Aurora went driving last night. I heard Emiliano go check on her earlier."

I feel my brows scrunch together further. "So he acts like an asshole to her all day, and then he cares enough to go check on her?"

Luciano shrugs. "You acted like an asshole all day yesterday, too. Do you not care about her?"

I shut up because he definitely has a point. As cold and cruel as I was being yesterday, I was doing it only out of concern for her well-being. My father's refusal to set rules for her is only going to get her hurt. She's still a child, and children need discipline.

Luciano shuts off the stove and reaches into a nearby cabinet for a plate. "Give me some of that," I say. "I'm starving."

"The make yourself something," He says, dumping the contents on the pan onto a plate before adding garnishes. He places the plate of scrambled eggs on a tray beside the oven, already carrying a glass of orange juice, a mug of coffee, a bowl of fruit and a plate of bacon and toast.

"Is that for Aurora?" I ask. He shrugs again, picking up the tray and making his way towards the kitchen door.

"Haven't you heard?" He calls over his shoulder. "Archer commenced a 'Best Brother Competition.' I fully intend to beat him at his own game."

I shake my head, fighting the smile that rises to my lips before heading to my office to grab my keys. Two can play at that game. Or three, I guess.

I make my way to my all black Camaro and hop in the drivers side, the radio blaring to life as soon as I turn the car on.

I pull the car out of the garage and quickly make my way to the road, pulling up directions on my phone as I drive.

The annoying robotic voice on the screen tells me the address is 40 minutes away, but I make it in 30. Perks of your father being the Capo of the Italian mafia: speed limits and traffic laws are more of suggestions. Every police officer in the city knows not to even try to pull us over at this point. Arresting the men that pay you is the same as biting the hand that feeds you: it's better if you don't do it, no matter how good it would feel in the moment.

Seeing all of the parking spaces on the side of the road already filled, I stop by car in the middle of the road. I ignore the honking horns of the frustrated drivers behind me as I make my way into the small bakery.

Last night—after my fight with my father—and on the plane ride back from Los Angeles, I'd binged every interview I could find with Aurora in it. It's creepy, I know. I just wanted to learn as much as I could about the sister we've all spent the past 17 years searching for.

The results didn't disappoint. She'd done an interview at least once a month for the past 8 years. I'd had to use closed captions to watch many of them, since they were all in other languages. Some in German, some in Spanish, many in Russian and French. That's one of the many things I learned: Aurora has a talent for learning languages. What's most surprising for that is that it seems she didn't even learn English until three or four years ago. The fact that she can speak so naturally in a perfect American accent says a lot about how quickly she can pick things up.