Alessio Falcone and Isabella Vitiello meet in the midst of chaos where the war between families leave marks and demons that haunt their nights, now with peace sealed between them and many unfinished business, they must try to resist the strong attra...
I deserve an hour in a week To focus on my thoughts Not so obsessed with yours I can't hear myself speak — Tornado Warnings, Sabrina Carpenter
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— Isabella Vitiello
The world lately seemed slower, more golden and much easier to ignore when I was immersed in my notebook scribbling like a madwoman scenes as dark as they were sinister. The more time passed, the more certain I was of what my creative genre was, and I don't know if that scared me or comforted me. Sometimes I tried to convince my reflection in my bedroom mirror that the under-eye circles I had been lovingly cultivating were just an accessory — well, they weren't that deep. I swear. Just enough for my mother to gasp when she saw me at breakfast and murmur something about "creativity not needing to be so nocturnal." I simply ignored her, drank my tea, and went back to my room with an extra cup and the promise that I would rest more. Except the best ideas come in the middle of the night, so what could I do? That's why the promise of rest was broken in under ten minutes, when I opened the black-covered notebook and started writing like a madwoman.
"You're going to wear a hole in that couch if you keep staring at it like that," Sienna appeared in my bedroom doorway, her faded peach-pink hair was in a bun and she was wearing an oversized sweatshirt that had definitely been stolen from some brother. "You're still in your pajamas, I can't believe it!"
I laughed, finally getting up and walking into the closet that looked like the replica of a war zone. While I changed, Sienna threw herself onto my bed and picked up the black notebook that was sitting on the pillow.
"Don't read it," I warned, but without urgency. She had tried before and given up on the second page, just like everyone else.
"Relax, I'm not going to invade your demons. I just want to know if there's a love scene yet."
"There's a murder scene."
"Even better."
She dropped the notebook and stretched out, her lazy eyes drifting across the ceiling.
"How are you, Si?" I asked, pulling the blouse over my body. "Really." She sighed, which was already an answer.
"I'm... processing. I knew this was going to happen sooner or later, but it's strange when it becomes real. My mother is already planning the engagement dinner. My father bought a new suit, and the engagement dinner is in a week, and people won't stop congratulating me all the time." She spoke quickly without pausing and then choked on a sigh, only to resume. "And Flavio didn't even call me after, fine, if he had called I definitely wouldn't have answered or I'd have cursed him out, but still." She made a confused pause. "Whatever, anyway." She waved her hands in the air.
The arranged marriage story was still an open wound. Flavio didn't talk about it, and Sienna alternated between explosions of fury and a painful silence. Days after the wedding announcement, she had shown up at my door before breakfast, with under-eye circles as deep as mine and a bottle of wine that we agreed to save for dinner. I was glad to have sorted things out with her, after all she was my only friend who wasn't part of my circle of cousins. I would hate to lose her.
