Book two of 'The Vengeance Duology'
Five years ago, the lads and I made the biggest mistake of our lives-a reckless decision that shattered everything.
We destroyed what mattered most, but my deepest regret is how much I hurt her.
Every moment of pa...
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It's been five days—five exhausting, never-ending days of having to put up with Tom's family. Normally, I don't mind Elizabeth; I've only ever had to deal with her in small doses, a few hours at a time. But now I'm stuck with her, non-stop, and she's been grating on my nerves since the second we landed.
Usually, she's tolerable, even charming in small bursts, but having her around for this long has made it painfully clear that she's not used to any of the things I've 'grown up' with—the flashy cars, the sprawling houses, the kind of luxury that's second nature to me. Instead of being gracious or polite, she's acting like a child, throwing her weight around like she somehow belongs in this world. Spoiler: she definitely doesn't.
And it's not just the entitlement; she's been downright rude and demanding to Nicco and Gio's men, treating them like personal servants instead of the professionals they are. It's disgusting to watch, and what's worse—Tom, David, and Samantha have done absolutely nothing to stop her. No one's even tried to rein her in, and it's making my skin crawl. I'm used to people like her, but it doesn't mean I can stomach it for long.
Giovanni, Theo, and Estelle still haven't made it, and neither has Alessio. I didn't expect Estelle to mean as much to me as she does now, but after hearing her story, we bonded quickly. That week before I left, we went shopping, grabbed coffee together—it was nice, having someone like her around. I wish she were here right now.
Instead, I'm sitting at my favorite restaurant in the world with Nicco, Jacques, Lucas, Dad, Tom, and his family. The place is amazing. Some restaurants in Italy claim they serve "homemade" food, but you can always tell it's a lie. Not here. The pasta, the pizza—everything tastes like it's been passed down through generations, like someone's nonna spent decades perfecting it. It's my safe haven, but not even the perfect meal can make me forget the irritation simmering just beneath the surface.
We all order our food, and unsurprisingly, Elizabeth is acting entitled again, looking down her nose at the server as if he's beneath her. The poor guy doesn't deserve that, so when he gets to me, I make sure to soften the situation.
"Per favore, ignorala," I say softly, giving the server a reassuring smile as I place my order.
(Translation: "Please ignore her")
Elizabeth immediately snaps her attention to me, her tone dripping with condescension. "Valentina, it is rude to speak in a language not everyone can understand. Please refrain from doing so."
Nicco scoffs, clearly unimpressed, and takes a slow sip of his Negroni, raising an eyebrow at her. "Fica," I mutter under my breath, too low for her to hear but just loud enough for my brothers and Jacques.
The reaction is instant. Jacques, Nicco, and Lucas nearly choke on their drinks, struggling to hold back their laughter. Dad, though, just glances at me with a slight smirk, clearly amused but keeping it together better than the rest. It's nice to know I'm not alone in how I'm feeling.
