On the previous chapter...
Divine blinked. "Did she at least play cello during the arson attempt?"
"Once. Naked".
"That's art". Fiorenzo said.
"Or a felony". Immanuel muttered.
Jacques clapped once. "This is why I trust no musicians. Only DJs".
"DJs are just chaotic neutral sirens". Seraphina said.
"You say that like it's a bad thing". Jacques said.
Cecilia, still tossing twigs into the fire, smirked. "Imagine being emotionally destroyed by someone who plays an instrument you can't even spell".
"I don't have to imagine". Silvio said, raising his bottle. "I live it".
Immanuel just stared into the fire like none of them deserved rights.
Yaqueline leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Ten bucks says he cracks before the full moon".
"Cracks how?"
"Emotionally. Or just kisses her and combusts".
I grinned. "I'll take that bet".
Immanuel and Cecilia locked eyes.
It was either going to be a kiss or a crime.
Maybe both.
Silvio sighed dreamily. "God, I love campfires".
ʚ YAQUELINE'S POV ɞ
We landed back in Sicily just before sunset, dragging our overfed, over-sunned bodies through the villa like ghosts returning from a better life. Everyone was still glowing from the Maldives, in that too-tanned, salt-washed way that screamed vacation just ended.
No one smelled like the sea anymore, but the sunburns were fresh, and the exhaustion was real.
"Why do I feel like we've been gone for six months?" Divine groaned, dropping her bag in the hallway.
"Because some of us aged". Chrysanthe said, rubbing her shoulder like she'd just fought a sea monster. "Emotionally".
"I'm going to sleep until next week". Cecilia announced, slipping off her shoes like she was shedding trauma.
We were mid-collapse, everyone half in, half on the furniture when it happened.
Federico stopped.
He had just closed the door behind us when his body language snapped out of leisure mode and into something far more sober. One breath in, and he was suddenly alert.
From relaxed leader on vacation to something colder, sharper. His shoulders squared like someone had pulled a wire tight through his spine.
His hand lifted.
Three signs.
Quick and sharp.
Fiorenzo, Silvio, Immanuel gone in an instant, moving like parts of the same machine. Like they'd been trained. Like it was muscle memory.
Fiorenzo headed upstairs, Silvio skirted around the kitchen, Immanuel moved to the front entryway without a word.
Jacques hadn't even taken his sunglasses off yet. "What's going on?"
Federico nodded toward the far end of the hall, where the wide archway led into the sitting room.
That's when I saw him.
YOU ARE READING
Silent love
RomanceThere is only one way to make an alliance between the French and Italian mafia and that is by marriage. Yaqueline Aimeé Baudelaire has been hiding from the world her whole life, to protect her from the evil but she is the French mafia princess afte...
