Shattered Vendetta

A Twisted Game Chapter 4

Amara:

I sat alone at the bar, the rich aroma of Sangiovese filling my senses as I sipped the crimson liquid, trying to find solace in its velvety embrace. The rhythmic pattern of raindrops against the windowpane provided a soothing backdrop to my racing thoughts. Taking another sip of my wine I looked at my parents who were busy in a conversation with Natasha, my cousin. She is almost three months pregnant and she is only 23. I'm not judging her but it's just when we were kids she used to always talk about how she wanted to be a part of the mafia and take on her father's position but now she is married and is having a kid. I suppose it's just me who is stuck in the past but that doesn't mean I'll stop.  

A man, strikingly handsome with an air of mystery, took the seat next to me. His mere presence sent shivers down my spine, for I recognized him all too well. His amber eyes, the lips, the small cut right above his chiseled jawline. I have seen him. I recognise him. It is almost like he has been a part of my life for way too long already.

My grip tightened around the stem of the wine glass as I fought the urge to draw my hidden knife and slice his throat open, stab him till the pain disappears, Rip his heart out with my bare hands and toss it down in front of everyone. 

Summoning every ounce of courage, I broke the silence that enveloped us. "Leo Moretti," I spoke his name, my voice laced with a mix of defiance and curiosity.

He glanced at me, his gaze icy and indifferent, as if my existence barely registered on his radar. The dismissal in his eyes stoked the embers of my anger, but I remained determined to engage him.

Unfazed by his initial coldness, I pressed on. "Quite a choice of drink," I remarked, attempting to break through the barriers he had erected around himself. Taking yet another sip of my wine I crossed one of my legs over the other and spun my chair so I am facing him.

His attention shifted slightly, acknowledging my words, but his response was curt and devoid of any warmth. "Just a preference," he replied, his voice as dry as the desert wind. A smirk made its way to my lips I started tracing my fingers on the rim of my wine glass.

I pushed further, determined to unravel the enigma before me.  Not looking at him I asked, "What brings you here?" My voice carries a note of both intrigue and challenge.

He paused for a moment, seemingly contemplating his answer. "I was invited," he replied, the brevity of his response both frustrating and intriguing. I refused to let his icy demeanour deter me.

As the minutes stretched into what felt like hours, a flicker of curiosity danced in his eyes, a spark of interest that momentarily defied his stoic facade. The dynamic between us shifted, if only slightly, as we engaged in a tango of words and hidden intentions. There were no words exchanged after that but eyes speak, his eyes were roaming all over my face. From my eyes to my lips, my hair, lashes. Everywhere.

But that was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of my parents. My mother's voice cut through the air, her tone filled with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the frostiness of our exchange.

I turned my attention away from Leo, slipping back into the role of the obedient daughter, concealing the torrent of emotions that surged within me. My parents spoke of mundane matters, oblivious to the brewing storm that raged beneath my composed exterior.

As I stole one last glance at Leo, a sense of grim determination settled within me. He had no idea who I truly was, He saw me simply as the daughter of Luca Romano, unaware of the tempest that churned in my veins.

With each passing moment, my resolve to exact vengeance upon him burned brighter. The gathering storm outside mirrored the turmoil within my heart, a tempest that threatened to consume me.