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Vanessa's POV:
"Now, hush little baby, don't you cry, a 'real' man doesn't cry," I softly crooned the lyrics of the nursery rhyme, a sardonic edge underlying the words, as Elio tended to the wounded eye of his brother, Giovanni. Despite the pain, Giovanni's remaining eye fixated on me with a twitch, prompting a cheeky wink from my end.
My attention then drifted to my prized possession - my pocket knife, discarded and forlorn on the floor. It was more than just a tool; it was an extension of myself, a symbol of power and control. Leaning subtly to the side, I tapped Nicolo on the shoulder to catch his attention. He obliged, lowering his head slightly to allow me to whisper in his ear.
"Can you retrieve that knife for me? It's important," I requested, knowing full well the significance of the item to me. Nicolo's incredulous shake of the head was accompanied by a barely concealed smirk, hinting at his amusement at my attachment to the blade.
"You'll have it back by tonight, don't worry," he assured me, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes, suggesting a plan already forming in his mind.
After I regained the conscious amidst the chaos and tension, Marco, Giovanni's brother, made a move as if to retaliate against me. But before he could act, Nicolo swiftly intervened, delivering two precise punches to Marco's throat, rendering him unconscious. With a protective stance, Nicolo had positioned himself in front of me, becoming a shield against any further threats. It was a gesture of brotherly protection that both surprised and touched me.
As the tension in the room lingered like a heavy fog, everyone eventually settled back into their respective places, their attention momentarily diverted to the urgent task of attending to Giovanni's injured eye. Marco lay unconscious on the unforgiving floor, a stark reminder of the chaos that had unfolded moments earlier.
In the living room, Vincenzo and Dante engaged in a hushed conversation, their expressions grave and their occasional glances in my direction betraying the weight of their concern. It was clear that I was the topic of their discussion, and the implications left a bitter taste in my mouth.
Alessia sat beside Angelo, seeking solace in his comforting presence as he attempted to assuage her distress. Our eyes met briefly, and I silently communicated my intention to speak with her privately later, away from prying eyes. After all, there was no need for Sive Darcy to maintain any pretense in this tangled web of deceit.
Meanwhile, Lorenzo remained preoccupied with his beloved whiskey, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil unfolding around him. He chased my kitten with careless abandon, his carefree demeanor a stark contrast to the gravity of the situation.
Armano, seated on the sofa opposite us, avoided meeting my gaze, his mind undoubtedly reeling as it absorbed the events that had transpired. Every detail seemed to be etched into his consciousness like an indelible mark, leaving him lost in thought.
"Vanessa, would you mind coming with me?" Dante's sudden request broke the tension in the room, drawing everyone's attention, including Lorenzo, whose concern was evident in his gaze before he masked it with a neutral expression.
"I'll come with her," Nicolo declared, rising from his seat beside me. Dante appeared momentarily conflicted, his expression betraying his inner turmoil, but he eventually nodded in acquiescence.
"Can I come too?" Armano interjected, but Dante's response was a firm and unequivocal "No."
Nic and I trailed behind Dante as he led the way down the hall towards his office, the weight of anticipation heavy in the air. Upon entering, Dante remained standing, a silent sentinel in the center of the room, while Nic and I settled onto the plush couch nearby.
The atmosphere in the room was palpably tense, each of us bracing ourselves for the conversation that was about to unfold. My mind raced with possibilities, my senses heightened as I awaited Dante's next move.
For a long moment, Dante seemed lost in thought, grappling with the weight of the situation before finally finding the resolve to speak. His words, when they came, were unexpected, devoid of the anger or blame I had braced myself for."I want to understand what happened downstairs, and I want you to explain it to me," he stated, his tone surprisingly calm and measured.
His request caught me off guard, leaving me momentarily speechless as I processed his words. It was an unexpected opportunity, one that I hadn't anticipated. For the first time, someone genuinely wanted to understand my motives—a stark contrast to the indifference I had grown accustomed to from others in the past. Memories of Amelia and John surfaced, reminding me of their lack of interest in my reasons, their focus solely on the consequences of my actions.
But as quickly as those memories resurfaced, I dismissed them with a shake of my head. Why was I even comparing Dante to them? He was nothing like them, and his genuine curiosity deserved a genuine response. Yet, a defiant voice in my mind questioned why I should bother explaining myself to him. After all, I was Vanessa, and my actions were mine alone to justify or rationalize.
With a conflicted mix of emotions swirling inside me, I remained silent, grappling with the internal turmoil threatening to consume me.
"I don't like to be touched, remember? I told you all last night," I replied with a nonchalant shrug, dismissing the need for further explanation. "I'm considered mental and a threat to society, that's why I'm here, isn't it?"
The words came out almost flippantly, a defense mechanism kicking in to shield myself from the vulnerability of sharing my innermost thoughts. But beside me, Nicolo understood. After the candid conversations we had shared the previous night, it was clear to him why I had been triggered, and he stood by my side. It was a revelation to have someone I share blood with, my actual brother, to stand by my side. Who would have thought?
"Stop calling yourself mental, okay? Just stop that," Dante's voice boomed, his eyes reflecting his disapproval of my self-deprecating words. He seemed genuinely concerned, but did I care? Not really.
"What? It's the truth," I retorted, refusing to back down. "You should have warned those guys to stay away from me, or better yet, why even bother introducing me to them? I made it clear—I'm not looking for family or relatives or anything of the sort. It's on you that your cousin now has one less eye to care about." I stated bluntly, twisting my words in an attempt to shift the blame onto him, hoping to provoke a reaction that would absolve me of any responsibility.
"Sure, blame it on me. I mean, what's one more thing piling upon another, making me hate myself, right?" Dante's voice wavered with a mixture of frustration and self-loathing. His eyes attempted to focus on me, but there was something off about them—they were dilated. His movements were jittery, his hands trembling slightly as they scratched at his head. His speech, though coherent, held a certain edge of agitation, as if he were struggling to maintain control over his words and his skin appeared flushed and sweaty despite the coolness of the room.
A sudden realization struck me like a bolt of lightning.
My eldest brother is a fucking junkie.
The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, connecting the dots of Dante's erratic behavior and troubled demeanor. As the truth dawned upon me, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over me, leaving me reeling in disbelief.
"Dante, are you fucking high?" I seethed, unable to contain my anger any longer. "Don't tell me they left me under the care of a bloody substance addict."
The words escaped my lips in a venomous stream, fueled by a potent mixture of frustration and disbelief. There were few things I could tolerate, but the thought of being left in the care of a drug addict ignited a fiery rage within me.
In my eyes, there was no greater sign of weakness than succumbing to the allure of drugs. No matter how formidable the demons that plagued your mind, I believed that true strength lay in confronting them head-on, without the crutch of artificial escapism. To me, finding solace in drugs was the epitome of cowardice—a cowardice I refused to tolerate, especially from someone like Dante, specially from someone like him.
"Wh- How..." Dante sputtered out, his voice faltering as he struggled to form a coherent sentence. He was visibly taken aback by my observation, his usual composure shattered by the weight of my accusation.
For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the sound of our ragged breaths. It was as if time itself had come to a standstill, allowing the gravity of the situation to sink in.But as the seconds ticked by, Dante's expression morphed from shock to something resembling resignation. He knew that there was no use denying the truth any longer—the evidence was plain for all to see.
With a heavy sigh, he finally found his voice, though it was tinged with a hint of defeat. "I... I can't explain it," he admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I messed up, okay? I messed up."
"Nic, can you wait outside?" I spoke out, the words laced with a sense of urgency. I didn't want to further tarnish Dante's high and mighty reputation in front of someone who looked at him with admiration. It would only hurt both of them more deeply.
Nicolo hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering between Dante and me, as if weighing his options. But ultimately, he nodded in understanding and rose from his seat.
"Sure, I'll give you guys some space," he said quietly, casting a sympathetic glance in Dante's direction before exiting the room, leaving us alone to grapple with the uncomfortable truth that lay between us.
As I stood there, grappling with my conflicting emotions, a wave of self-doubt washed over me. What was I doing? Why did I care whether Dante was high or doing drugs? After all, he could die for all I cared, couldn't he? But then, why was I not so sure that I wouldn't care? Why did I care?
The questions swirled around in my mind, each one more perplexing than the last. I couldn't deny the truth—I harbored a strange mix of resentment and concern for Dante, despite everything. It was as if beneath the layers of anger and disappointment, there still existed a glimmer of compassion, buried deep within the recesses of my heart. Or was it sympathy?
But why? What was it about Dante that elicited such a complex array of emotions from me? I mean, what happened to my unfeeling self? Is it because he is my brother, or because deep down, I still held onto a sliver of hope that I can be good or feel? That I can be normal?
As I grappled with the tumult of emotions swirling within me, a frustrated sigh escaped my lips. Why were emotions so damn complicated to understand? Why couldn't they be like a perfectly cooked meal, ready to be consumed and understood with ease?
Instead, they were more akin to a tangled puzzle, each piece interlocking with another in intricate and confusing ways. Just when I thought I had figured it out, another layer of complexity would reveal itself, leaving me feeling even more bewildered than before.
Emotions were messy, unpredictable, and often irrational. They didn't adhere to logic or reason, but instead operated on their own enigmatic rules, defying comprehension at every turn.
I shook my head, trying to dispel the confusing thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me. For now, I needed to focus on the task at hand—confronting Dante and demanding answers. Only then could I hope to untangle the web of emotions that were creating a chaos in my mind.
With a heavy sigh, I pushed aside my swirling thoughts and refocused on the task at hand. I muttered, the words escaping my lips in a resigned tone.
"Let's just get this over with".
----------------------------------------------------
A/N:- Did you like the chapter?
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