2 | raconteur

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raconteur [ ra-con-teur ]
n. a person who is good at storytelling

Orabella's heart pumped wildly in her chest as she continued to look into Vincenzo's eyes. Gently, the frightened girl walked past him and ran down the stairs in search for her mother. She scurried past a bunch of maids who looked at her in confusion, as she made her way to Angelo's office door. Moments later, she arrived and knocked immediately.

It didn't take long for Angelo to open up the door with a smile on his face. "What's wrong?" He asked, his eyebrows laced in worry. She wanted to break down and cry from all of the frustration and fear that clawed at her emotions.

"I want to go home." She stated as she backed away slightly out of distress. He chuckled and opened his office door wider. He walked back over to his desk and she took a cautious step inside, followed by another.

"I don't bite." He told her when he noticed her reluctance. "Why must you want to leave so soon?"

Orabella awkwardly stood still in the corner of the room. "I just don't feel comfortable here." Truthfully, she was fine until she met Vincenzo; something about him screamed at her to run away and she could tell he was up to no good.

"You just got here." he laughed. She wanted to scream at him but horror clouded her voice. Even though Angelo appeared kind, something about him didn't seem to match the kindness. He pulled a cigar from his desk, brought it up to his lips, and took a long drag.

"I-I know but my friends and my boyfriend are going to be so worried. I have literally zero reception in this place a-and I just really need to get home," she pleaded.

He opened his mouth to speak just as the door opened. Her attention turned over to Vincenzo who showed no ounce of compassion. His gaze was hard and cold as he looked over at his father.

"Vincenzo, have you met Maria's daughter, Orabella?" he asked. Vincenzo looked over at Orabella with a knowing smirk as he grabbed her hand and brought it up to his lips. She could have sworn that his tongue swept across her skin as he pecked it. She snatched her hand from his grip which he frowned upon.

"How rude, neonata?" he teased.

"She was just telling me how she needed to get home. Dì la parola e lei se ne è andata," Angelo spoke the foreign words to his son as he turned over to his computer. Vincenzo stared at her as if he were debating in his mind.

She stood there awkwardly once again, wanting to just run away from his heated eyes. "She stays. This is my sister after all, no?"

That caught Angelo's attention, leaving him to look up at his son as if he just solved the most difficult problem in the world. Orabella quickly wiped a tear that had fallen from her eye. "Where's my mother?"

"Maria!" Angelo shouted.

In seconds, Maria walked into the room with her eyebrows scrunched up. She looked around and froze the moment her eyes met Vincenzo's. The woman quickly looked down at the floor before she walked over to her husband.

"Orabella asked for you." Angelo whispered into her ear. Immediately, her attention turned on her daughter. She quickly moved over to Orabella when she saw how sad she looked.

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