Luciano | Book I ✓

Chapter Forty-Two

LUCIANO REACHED 5 MILLION READS SOMEBODY SLAP ME. Thank you all so so so so so so much!!!

Updating is so freaking stressful but exciting. It's like I'm bringing the family all back at once for a mini reunion LMAO

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"The greatest sacrifice is when you sacrifice your own happiness for the sake of someone else."

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| Liam Luciano |

Stress was indeed a silent killer. My appetite was nowhere to be found, my mood was constantly fluctuating between semi-happiness and annoyance, and I constantly felt like going to a quiet part of the house and ripping all of my so-called beautiful hair out of my scalp. It was also the reason as to why this was the third night I had laid awake in bed, watching the digital numbers in my clock slowly turn, time passing.

It didn't take long for me to realize the mistakes I made and I uttered apology after apology, but Faith could not hear the ones that were directed at her. The night drew on and my eyelids eventually began to give way, memories of Faith still at the forefront of my mind. But before my eyelids closed, I couldn't help but hear the soft piano melody float through the crack in my bedroom door.

The first thing I woke up to the next morning was Rosalie bursting through my room and jumping on the bed, pulling her body on top of mine. Her knees hit a few sensitive places and her fingers grabbed things that should not be grabbed, forcing me to squirm and curse in pain. Before I knew it, her small hands were resting on my shoulders and her forehead was on mine. She was so close that whenever she twisted her head, she appeared to have another set of eyes.

"Liam," She demanded, "Uncle Rico is punching something."

I groaned and shifted underneath her, casually pushing her knee away from my crotch again without further damage being done. Tension was still high, even after Dominic and I's late night chat, even after Rico came in the room, jumped on my bed, and started singing Beyoncé. Only a few days had passed since then, yet nothing truly seemed to have been fixed. Federico was still shooting me random glares and occasionally bumping my shoulder whenever we brushed past each other, Dominic had grown quieter and would often zone out of conversations he typically had a word in. Even Michael was acting weird and that was hard to recognize, but the signs were there.

The only thing that we were agreeing on, was the fact that we had to go back and get Faith.

Rosalie casually slides off the edge of the bed and lands on her feet, her eyes still pleading for me to do something. Gently, I run a hand over my face and roll over on my side to face her. "Is it Dominic's face?"

She scrunches up her face, "No!" Her hands find mine and with her feet planted, she tries to physically pull me out the bed. Her eyes close as an eyebrow on my face lifts and the corner of my lip is tugged upwards as she struggles with all her might; her fifty pound body has no chance against my 200 pound frame. I watch her struggle just for a second before reluctantly obliging and pulling myself off the bed. Her face is red by the time I stand in front of her and she's breathing quite heavily.

"Fine," I give in without much persuasion. I meant to talk to Federico anyways, to apologize for our fight days before; not just for because I felt bad, but also because I was certain I heard him mutter something along the lines of, "Sleep with one eye open tonight, bitch." And I just wanted to give my mind peace, knowing I wouldn't wake up with Rico standing over me, or worse, in my bed with a sharp weapon in his hand.

Rosalie screeched something happily and then shooed me out the room, muttering something about making my bed. The door was slammed behind me just a second later and a smile crossed my face. I was halfway down the hall, a t-shirt still clutched in my hands when I heard a low, faint, yet harsh whisper coming from behind Dominic's door. I swung the shirt over my head and slipped my arms through their appropriate sleeves, before pulling the rest of the fabric down my chest and tugging it, finished. My feet stopped just before his door and my knuckles rapped softly against his door in await of a reply; I didn't get one.