(on hold) Angeli Oscuri

ᴅᴜᴇ

Spericolato

♛

I FELT LIKE I was sixteen again. And not in a good way.

Only now I would prefer spending the day living it up at home, coping with the aftermath of last night's affairs properly. With my head stuck in a toilet, regretting most of my life choices. Instead, the four of us sat side by side, witnessing the trio of accusatory glares burning down on us.

Regardless of how badly we, mainly I, had made a mess of things in the past, it had never gotten to where we had infuriated them to silence.

Until now.

Pushing past the heaviness that weighed upon my eyelids; my silvery-grey eyes remained sharp and unblinking. Nor my father or I made a move to back down, refusing to deter our gazes elsewhere.

We were both alike in that way; tenacious and stubborn.

I inherited almost all of my features from him, looks and personality. From a full head of thick charcoal-black hair to the prominent dimples we both shared. My father's light ashen orbs were almost a mirror image of my own, the only dissimilarity being the bluish hue he had that appeared in the natural light. Currently they were the epitome of dark and ireful.

Receiving equal looks of disappointment from my uncles — Marco and Romano. Their stances were wide and rigid, arms folded over their chest in a poor attempt at intimidation while standing either side of him behind a desk big enough for a king.

This office was somewhere I'd spent many days growing up. Quickly becoming one of my favourites for many reasons. It was a tastefully designed, spacious area with a modern traditional decor.

From playing with my toys scattered across the floor in front of Babbo's desk. To standing over his shoulder, attentively listening and observing. Soon enough, I began picking up on how things worked, frequently stepping in, helping where I could. Finally, sitting in the same chair we are now being tasked with our own work.

Though it was hard to reminisce when everything felt a lot more ominous than memorable.

A smirk crept up on my lips, eyeing them all up one by one. "So, a family gathering this early in the morning? It must be serious...." I spoke, mildly attempting to lighten the perpetual mood; there hadn't been a word spoken since we entered the room.

Nobody took to my joking mood.

As the silence prolonged, I only grew more restless—shuffling in my chair, the heel of my right foot repetitively tapped against the wooden panelled floor. My fingers instinctively curl into my palms, cracking the bones in my knuckles. I could never stay still or silent for long.

Being the boldest and most forthright, like the fearless (crazy) woman she was, Liona sat up straight in her chair. Her thick chestnut curls tamed back into a ponytail, making the non-bullshit expression on her face clear as can be.

"Allora, is anyone going to speak or are we just going to continue sitting here as though we're being scolded for who knows what this time? We are not children anymore." She demanded, a little too confidently.

Her father — Romano — expelled a low, bitter laugh with a slow shake of his head. "It seems your actions don't match up with your words figlia, otherwise we wouldn't be here," he sneered, taking a slow step back in a silent gesture that we were on our own.

Our other Uncle — Marco; the youngest, calmest and most susceptible of the three, also stepped back, directing his gaze elsewhere, leaving us to the Don, who had yet to blink or twitch a finger out of place.