{THIRD PERSON}
Zion couldn't help but stare at the woman sprawled on his chest. The woman he never thought he would get this attached to.
Last night, she had kissed every scar on his body before they had fallen asleep. It was something he had never experienced before, and the feeling that came with it was just as unfamiliar.
"You are so beautiful," she had told him, caressing the tattoo that covered his first bullet wound. She had asked for the story behind it, and he was more than okay with sharing.
He would tell her anything she wanted to know—even the darkest moments of his life.
He was shot first when he was 17. He had only had a small amount of training compared to his abilities now, so he couldn't blame his younger self for falling into the reckless situation. It had hurt like a bitch, and Zion passed out before he had made it to the house doctor. She then proceeded to ask if he had recovered well, and he calmed her nerves with assurance as if his presence in front of her didn't convince her that he survived.
She had been curious about Matteo, but Zion knew that the answers were not his story to tell.
"Is Matteo bothering you?" he had asked her, suddenly ready to scold his younger brother.
She had shaken her head with a smile he couldn't shake from his memory.
God, it was all he could think about.
He didn't know when the switch flipped inside him, but it was as if all he could remember was being close to Zhara. Her body against his, his lips on hers.
It was suffocating him in the best way possible.
"I don't think I want to see Alphonzo," she mumbled as she traced circles on his chest. The morning glow in the windows filled the room.
Zion brushed her hair out of her eyes, "I thought you would want a final explanation."
Zhara kissed his abdomen, "I thought so, too. But the more I think about it, the more I realize I don't care."
"Maybe that's the reason you should see him," Zion suggested, "Get the last word, let him know how you feel."
Zhara thought about it, and it made sense. Show him that he no longer had an effect on her. He didn't have a right to say anything to her, and she wanted to prove it.
"You don't have to, Zhara," Zion assured, "Or you could go with your brothers when they arrive."
Oh, yes. Zhara remembered.
Her family was coming, and part of her couldn't be happier.
But the other part was nervous.
"What about Adriano?" she whispered, her fingers halting against Zion's skin.
"What about him?" Zion pulled her closer to him. His deep voice made her shiver. He brought the blanket up and around her body.
"He obviously isn't a fan of me, so I doubt he's going to be any different with my brothers. Shit, especially Rowen," she sighs, thoughts jumping to all types of conclusions.
"He won't do a goddamn thing, I promise you," Zion confirms, kissing Zhara's forehead.
He was going to make sure of it.
~***~
Zion had just finished the paperwork for the day when he walked into the living area, immediately spotting Zhara outside on the patio. She was sitting in the garden wearing a summer dress that shouldn't have looked as sinful as it did to Zion.
He was thankful for the twelve-foot gates that surrounded the property. Zhara could definitely defend herself, but he wasn't going to take any chances.
As Zion neared the glass doors, he saw Matteo approach Zhara from the other side of the yard. Zion paused, deciding he would watch to see what happened.
Zhara was sitting on the brick ledge surrounding the flower beds. Her gaze was stuck on the weird-shaped blooms of a red and white flower. She was imagining what it would be like to just be a woman who tended to flowers. A gardener, perhaps. Simple.
Zhara stilled, sensing a presence behind her. She was taking some time to herself to think about some things, not expecting an interruption.
"Calla Lilies," the voice of Matteo startled her, but she didn't let it show.
"Hm?" her heterochromia eyes met his familiar ones. He was standing only a few feet from her, but somehow he felt so far away from her.
Matteo might have intentionally avoided getting close to Zhara. Mostly because he was afraid she would turn out to be exactly what Zion thought she was.
"Those ones," he nodded down to the flower she was engrossed by, "Calla Lilies. In Italia, they bloom near winter."
Zhara tore her eyes away from the small splatter of blood on his white button-up. She instead found herself glaring at the sunset.
"The soil has to be kept moist, but never soggy," he went on, "Occasionally it depends on the weather."
"Winter is hardly near," Zhara replied as the wind whistled, "What about those?" She pointed to the small purple and blue flowers.
"Phalaenopsis orchids," he answers. She raised a brow at him. "Their watering cycle is complicated."
Matteo had mastered the stoic look that his brother had as well.
"Do you have a passion for horticulture?" Zhara asked with a sense of seriousness. Matteo shook his head, moving to sit down beside Zhara.
She was a little suspicious of what he was doing but kept it to herself.
"Then how do you know so much about flowers?" she questioned, shifting her body to face him.
Matteo wasn't upset by her questioning, to be honest, he wasn't sure what he felt.
"I don't choose to remember the knowledge I have," he explains, but there isn't a condescending tone like she expected there to be. Zhara didn't know if she should ask him to elaborate, but when he continued speaking, she was glad.
"It's my memory," Matteo says, "My father likes to pretend he doesn't know, but I'm ill."
Zhara sucked in a breath, suddenly worried for someone who tried killing her on multiple occasions.
"You're sick, Matteo?" her brows furrowed.
"I'm on the autism spectrum," Matteo admits, and Zhara crosses her arms. She thought he was going to say something along the lines of cancer...
"You're not ill," she countered, "There is nothing bad about being on the spectrum."
Matteo gave her a knowing look. Zhara didn't back down from her words.
"Does Zion-"
"No," Matteo cut her off, "Or maybe he does. He believes my only problem is that I can't read."
Dyslexia, Zhara remembered.
"So you remember things?" Zhara said with a shadow of a smile, "A lot of things."
Matteo nodded, his face hollow of emotion.
"Will you tell me more about the flowers?" she asks, "When our lives are not a mess, I'll grow a garden of my own, hopefully."
Matteo inwardly grimaced, realizing how wrong he had been about Zhara. She was still just a girl that just happened to be raised by a mob family. Although, Matteo knows Zion thinks she's the most feminine embodiment of a woman. That, Matteo supposes, is everything Zion wants. But then again, Zion usually keeps his opinions on his woman to himself when others are around.
Matteo looks at Zhara, hoping to feel something. There was nothing wrong with her, she was beautiful, and Matteo could definitely see that. Long dark hair, striking eyes, and hips that could kill a man. But why couldn't he feel the attraction? Why couldn't he feel what Zion felt for her? Hell, why couldn't he feel anything at all?
"Those are freesia," he points to the pretty flowers across the garden, "They are common in Italian weddings."
Zhara hummed, "Italian weddings."
Zhara felt as if her ears were turning red. Weddings. Matteo was thinking the same thing.
"Are you going to marry my brother?"
Zhara whipped her head around, eyes wide with shock. She wouldn't put the question past him, but it just caught her off guard.
She had a poker face when it came to being tortured and interrogated, but this was so, so different.
Matteo's expression was still blank, and she was confused. She wished she knew what his question meant and how to cater to him with her response. But she stopped thinking like that immediately when she realized why he never told Zion about his disorder. He didn't want people to think he was any less capable. And he wasn't. But here Zhara was, ready to change her answer according to his emotions. Or lack thereof.
"I do not know, Matteo," Zhara replies, "I want whatever Zion wants. As long as he's happy."
Matteo suddenly felt angry, anger being one of the only things he could feel. But he was getting better at figuring out what to direct his anger at. He knew it wasn't Zhara.
"You should want for yourself," Matteo expresses, "Not want what someone else wants."
Zhara agreed, but it was different between her and Zion.
"I understand, but I truly do believe that what I need in this life is to see the people I care about safe," Zhara tells Matteo, looking him in the eye. No one ever spoke to him as she does. Like he was equal. "Safe and happy." Zhara shut her eyes for a brief moment, and the only person she saw staring back at her was her mother. And suddenly she could breathe.
"So you just want the best for everyone else?" Matteo pulls at a rose, tearing its root from the soil.
Zhara nods.
"What about the best for you?" Matteo was one of the first to ask her what she wanted for herself.
"I don-"
"Matteo."
Matteo jerks at the voice of his brother, and Zhara's throat closes up for a split second. She looks over her shoulder at Zion who stands by the glass doors. She hoped to God that Zion didn't treat Matteo badly. She remembers him talking about his relationship with Matteo, but it might've changed since then. She didn't want to be the cause of any dispute.
Zhara stood, giving Matteo a smile he didn't reciprocate before walking over to Zion.
"Help me make dinner?" she asked a pissed-off Zion, reaching for his hand. He finally glanced away from Matteo, meeting Zhara's eyes.
Please don't change your mind about me now.
Zhara's mind was on a rampage.
Why are you hesitating?
Zion squeezed Zhara's hand with his own, and she exhaled in relief before walking back into the house. Zhara dragged Zion along with her, turning to wave goodbye to Matteo.
Matteo nodded curtly, and that was all.
When she turned back around, Zion was watching her from the kitchen island.
"Is Alphonzo still conscious?" she asks, looking into the fridge to look for any ingredients.
"They're keeping him awake," Zion speaks, his voice traveling straight to Zhara's heart. A hand met her waist, the heat from his body setting her blood off. She leaned back into him, finding comfort in his chest.
There was still an uneasy presence rolling off of Zion, and Zhara didn't like it.
"What's wrong, Zion?" she asked, lifting her head to meet his gaze. He didn't know which of the variety of problems to tell her about.
"Your brothers are at the airport," Zion says, "It's about an hour's drive to the estate."
Zhara's lips parted, trying to find something to say. Zion doesn't seem happy about it, but he was fine the night before.
Zhara knew there will always be tension between the families. Almost as if they were back in the 14th and 15th centuries...When the Medici family and Albizzi family were out for blood during the Renaissance.
The mob had always been around, even if they just decided to call it a banking business. The Medici's were one of the most successful bankers in Florence until there was an assassination attempt. It's humorous to Zhara, actually, how things have barely changed. The feuds between underground families had been going on since anyone could remember.
And it's all primarily based on jealousy and greed.
Zhara's father is a prime example.
"Then we better make enough for everyone," Zhara said with a smile.