𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 ✓ [𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐎𝐍𝐄]

✎chapter thirteen × when in rome

ʟᴀᴢɪᴏ, ɪᴛᴀʟʏ
ᴀᴅᴇʟᴀsɪᴀ ᴍᴀɴᴏʀ
ɴɪɴᴇ ᴛᴡᴇʟᴠᴇ ᴘᴍ
━─━────༺༻────━─━

[TW: Blood, torture, gun use. No, not in a kinky way.]

It's strange seeing someone switch. Going from mischievous and happy-go-lucky to silent and cold. You want to say something, but you know if you do, they'll snap. With Angelo, it's no different.

A half hour after that woman leaves, we're on a plane to Italy. Two hours later, we've landed and he hasn't said a word. No snarky comments. No teasing remarks.

Just a rushing silence. Which is sometimes much scarier.

A long drive down winding dirt roads that I can't appreciate because the tension in the air is palpable. It makes me feel like I've done something wrong, even though I know I haven't. Or maybe I have. But theres not way of knowing because Angelo won't say a word.

We pass what looks like miles worth of vineyard, barely visible in the night, and up a steep path.

That path leads to a cobblestone driveway blocked by a massive gate that takes a while to open. All the while, Angelo taps a finger against his thigh.

But once it does open, we're met with a beautiful home ahead.

It's illuminated in a stary gold from the rustic lamp post burning over head. The light reveals the burgundy accented manor in somber tones. Large windows and intricately carved mahogany doors. Balconies spilling over with ivy and early spring blooms.

The huge double doors are opened by a woman and a man, dressed in sharp suites and crisp white gloves.

They address Angelo in Italian, though he walks past without a word, and me in English.

"Good evening, Ms. Castillo." The woman says. "Let me show you to your room."

The man follows behind us with my laugage in tow as we traverse the grand, chandelier clad halls. The carpets look Persian; intricate, expensive and good at muffling footsteps.

Especially my anxious ones as I slump behind my guide. I have theories about what's going on. About why Angelo reacted the way he did. But, each one is more outlandish than the next and I'm more than glad to lay my spinning head to rest.

I'm left alone in a large room with a king sized canopy bed on a platform. A bathroom to the left and a closet as big as my bedroom back home to the right.

The bay-window that looks over the vineyard is adorned with an opaque curtain and soft pillows. But, my eyelids are too heavy to marvel, so I simply get myself ready for bed in record time.

And just as my bonneted-head hits the pillow, a knock sounds at the door. With a groan, I sit up.

"Coming!" I call, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. But, the door is already ajar.