𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺.
The woman of impeccable beauty was the infinite definition of her name. Calm and poise.
Born into a violent life of guns and knives, you would assume a Mafia Princess like her would be training and preparing to be the next heir...
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Curse my weak immune system.
The day went slowly, with me falling asleep and then waking up around two o'clock in the afternoon to find many family members still hovering around the house and my entire being suffocated in multiple blankets.
But now that I was awake, Mamma was at my aid giving me her honey and lemon tea she always prepares for me when I'm unwell or feeling like a pile of cow's shit on my period.
Oddly, it only tasted good when I was feeling sick, and if I wasn't sick, it naturally tasted like sour lemons and a touch of something sweet.
Uncle Nico sat across from me, cursing at someone over the phone while also petting Butterscotch who made it his mission to stay away from me.
He had always known when I was sick, and he always stayed away.
Which also meant that I had no comfort buddy to curl into.
Uncle Nico hangs up rather angrily on the person, rolling his eyes and tossing his phone on the sofa beside him. His forearm drops over his eyes, dramatically groaning and throwing himself back against the sofa.
I sip my hot tea gingerly, eyeing him suspiciously.
"Trouble in paradise?" I raise my brow, watching him glare at me from under his arm.
"Work, Serenity. Work." He sighs and moves both of his arms behind his head, bringing his tired gaze to me.
"Is Bella's shitty tea helping you at least?"
"What the fuck, Nicolo!"
Mamma angrily storms into the room, hands on her hips as she stares at her twin brother with much annoyance. I wouldn't be surprised if she started throwing her pink flip-flops at him.
"I'm sorry, Bells. I'm just saying the tr—
And there go the shoes.
As the twins argue over the amount of lemon that should go in a lemon and honey tea, my eyes are drawn toward the new figure that enters the room.
A tall, brooding, middle-aged man who hardly ever smiles unless he's with his family—or if he's munching on skittles—enters the room.
My father's back goes to me, his black Henley shirt stretches across his body as he picks up his wife and throws her over his shoulder. I have to restrain my laugh as he throws her onto the couch and she becomes dead silent.
"Your dad is such a DILF."
I jumped from the deep voice that was suddenly uttered from beside me.
Hayden had been dead quiet for the last few minutes, silently observing my crazy family while eating my white-chocolate smartie cookies.
