[RE-WRITTEN]
Liliana shivered as she stepped out of Marcello's black Audi, making sure her steps towards the restaurant were long and quick. Marcello was already at her side, keys handed to the valet as they hurried away from the cool night air. Her husband said nothing as they were greeted inside; he had been quiet during for the entirety of their journey and Liliana was worried that there was something wrong.
The restaurant was dimly lit by large exposed bulbs hanging from the ceiling, and wooden tables cover in crème cloth were spread out through the spacious building. The décor gave the establishment a modern, yet rustic aesthetic; the perfect setting for a romantic evening, or for meeting the close friend of your husband, she supposed.
Mercello's hand rested on the small of her back as he guided her through the restaurant, that small ounce of heat easily seeping through the thin material of her blue silk dress and leaving her acutely aware of his closeness. She felt immersed within the act once again, playing the role of a doting couple. It had been a while since it was like this between them. But who was the act for; the public or his friend?
She still didn't know who it was they were meeting tonight, Marcello had told her very little about his friend. All she knew was that they had been away from the country for some time now, and Marcello was pleased that they had finally returned.
Liliana wondered how close Marcello and his friend truly were, and if they had been told the true nature of Liliana and Marcello's marriage. She was also beginning to feel as out of place. She shouldn't have asked to come here to night, it wasn't her place. Yet, Marcello had agreed.
"Are you okay?" Marcello murmured, casting her a cautious glance. It was only then that she realised her pace had slowed to almost a stop. Clearing her throat she nodded, and with a push from Marcello, continued towards the very back of the restaurant, where they would have the most privacy.
Their table was empty when they arrived, no sign of Marcello's friend, but the two of them claimed their seats next to one another, their shoulders brushing as they settled. There were glasses of wine waiting for them already, that Liliana had seen a waitress rush to pour as they had entered. Liliana had only eyed her glass with amusement, knowing she wouldn't be drinking again for a while now; she would stick to water tonight.
Though she hadn't been tortured with too bad of a hangover this morning, she had felt terribly dehydrated all day, and had slept most of the morning after Marcello had left. She had definitely drank too much at the bar, it was a wonder she had made it home at all and if it weren't for Marcello's assistance she dreaded to think what time her and Sophia would have crawled back to the mansion.
"Who is this friend of yours, then?" Liliana queried as her eyes skimmed the menu that had been placed in front of her. It was a French restaurant and Liliana could only vaguely understand what each dish entailed. Marcello - menu foregone - was watching her with keen eyes. She held his gaze for only a few seconds, before clearing her throat and looking away somewhat shyly.
"The son of my father's associate. We've known each other since our teens, he's a couple of years younger than me."
He was closer to Giovanni's age then, Liliana mused. "And you're close?"
"We were."
Someone called out Marcello's name throughout the restaurant, capturing his attention immediately. He turned in his chair and Liliana watched, amazed, as a slow smile curved across his lips.
"Anton." Mercello shifted in his chair, body turning to face behind them, his arm skimming gently across her shoulders. Clearing her throat, Liliana allowed her gaze to sink back to the menu, her eyes observing the design but not reading a single word. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to join Mercello tonight. Already she felt as if she were intruding in something she should not. They were two old friends and Liliana would stick out sorely the entire night.
"Marcello," a deep voice laughed. Liliana looked towards the sound, and caught the sight of an impossibly tall man at her side. It was almost difficult to take all of him in at once. He stood well over six feet tall, without doubt taller than Marcello, with broad shoulders and a sturdiness set in his lean muscles that Liliana knew he would make a formidable opponent. His skin was dark, bronzed and flawless, his ebony hair pulled back in a tight bun so that Liliana had no inkling to its length. He was physically intimidating, but she made sure to meet his eyes without giving away such an impression.
"Anton Ansari," he greeted, eyes widening slightly at her presence beside Marcello. He reach out a hand towards her, and Liliana didn't hesitate to shake it firmly in greeting.
"Liliana Fiorenza D'Onofrio."
Anton grinned, no doubt recognising her family name. He didn't look Italian, but the accent in his voice was distinct and even if he had only spoken two words Liliana knew of his Italian upbringing.
"My wife," Mercello added.
Anton allowed his surprise to show as his brows raised towards his dark hairline, and he moved to claim his seat opposite the couple, all the while grinning. With his jacket removed and a glass of dark red wine in hand, Anton's amusement never wavered as he took a moment to glance between Liliana and Marcello in a somewhat awkward silence.
"I wasn't invited to the wedding? I'm hurt."
Liliana couldn't tell whether or not the man was teasing. His tone seemed grim and yet her Marcello was now chuckling beside her.
"You know very well you wouldn't have come."
Anton rolled his eyes, and appearing sheepish, winced into his glass as he threw back the dark drink. He met Liliana's raised brows and explained, "Your cousins and I don't get along. Me and Marco have a particular... grudge... between us."
Anton shrugged casual as if to convey flippancy but his tone had been too bitter for Liliana not to think anything of it. Whatever had happened between Anton and Marco, still had not been forgotten. She had never even heard of Anton before now though, and she had lived with her cousins for three years. How far back did their history go?
"Speaking of the Fiorenza's, I ran into Roderigo yesterday." Anton sent a pointed look towards Mercello. "There's certainly no love lost between the two of us. He's as surly as ever."
"Trust, he's not too keen on me either," Marcello grumbled.
"Roderigo?" Liliana perked up, frowning at the two men. Liliana suddenly had very vivid memories of texting Marcello the night before while drunk, wanting to discuss this exact topic. By the time he had arrived at the bar she had been far too drunk to remember. At the mention of Roderigo's name, Liliana's curiosity was present once again.
"Your cugino has been skulking around New York for the past week. You didn't know?"
Marcello shifted in his seat.
"No..." Liliana glanced at her husband. Marcello was scowling over at his friend but Anton hadn't noticed until he had already divulged the information. Still, he didn't seem at all apologetic. "What is he doing?"
Mercello's arm curved around her shoulder and he leaned in towards her. Liliana kept her gaze focussed on Anton as she felt Mercello's hot breath brush her ear. She tried to supress the shiver that wracked through her body but it was useless. She was too affected by her husband's touch and he knew it.
"We thought it would be best to put our issues aside while we dealt with the aftermath of that night. Roderigo has been helping in our search." He'd spoke the words in a quiet hush, and Liliana knew it was to rile a greater reaction from her rather than to hide his words from Anton. There was something about the quiet purr of his voice that had her breath hitching.
Her hand rose to wrap around her throat, rubbing at the sore skin where she knew the evidence of that night till stained. The bruise on her throat had shifted to an ugly yellow colour now, fainter than before but still very much visible.
Anton watched their exchange with attentive eyes, looking between both Marcello and Liliana before his eyes fell to the hand at her throat. There was no way he had could have missed the bruise before, not sat so close to her. His expression gave nothing away but she wondered if he knew what had occurred, if Marcello had already told her.
Before her husband pulled away, unknowing of her thoughts, he ensured he placed a gentle kiss just below her ear, lips pressed for longer than necessary. Liliana gritted her teeth as her face flushed hot and her thighs clenched. How could the smallest of touches leave her so flustered?
"Is this it now for you two? Whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears and I'll just sit here drinking my wine?" Anton smirked. "I always assumed you would become a lonely old man Mercello. You definitely don't deserve to have someone as sweet as Liliana by your side."
"What makes you think I'm so sweet?" Liliana's head cocked slightly, trying to quell her previous mortification as she willed her cheeks to cool.
"Before we became at odds with each other, I was very close to your familia back home. I know enough to know that a bastardo like Mer doesn't deserve your left toe, let alone your hand in marriage."
"Alright Anton, stop with the flirting," Marcello grumbled.
Anton shot Liliana a wink as he teased Marcello in a smooth voice, "Jealousy too? What's happened to you, man? I don't recall you ever being so enamoured before?"
Sighing irritably, Mercello grunted, "Just decide what you want to eat so we can order."
Liliana had almost forgotten where they were for a moment, her menu completely forgotten on the table. Nothing seemed particularly appetising right now, anyway. She knew eating something might settle her stomach after all of the alcohol last night, but she wasn't sure she could stomach it.
"What are you having?" Mercello murmured, leaning closer to her. His arm stretched out behind her chair. He was so close that if Liliana shifted even slightly to her left their thighs would be pressed together.
She tried not to scrunch her face as her eyes skimmed the meals, choosing to ignore Mercello's newfound closeness.
"Whatever salad they have will be fine." The menu snapped shut, and she slid it to the centre of the tables where Marcello's awaited to be collected by the wait staff. When he gestured for someone to come, the same young woman as before appeared, shifting nervously on her feet as she eyed up the two men at the table.
Marcello was quick to order their food, and she noticed he'd asked for more than a couple of side dishes as well, keeping his attention on Liliana as he barely spared the waitress a glance. The waitress seemed more than thankful for this as she scribbled on her notepad, hands shaking.
"You speak French."
"I'm a man of many talents." The sinful smirk on his face was unlike his usual expression. No, this twist of his lips was not the result of his wry amusement but rather a tactic to rile Liliana further, and it was working. A hot flush returned with a vengeance to torture her face and Liliana couldn't help reaching for her glass of ice water, hoping it would calm the burning inside of her. Did she do anything but blush?
"Let's all not forget that I am still here," Anton drawled. "I'm beginning to regret coming tonight, next time I want to catch up we're going for drinks only. And if we're bringing dates, warn me, so then I won't be the awkward third wheel."
"You're seeing someone?" Marcello asked sounding surprised. He shifted in his seat, arm remaining tight around her as his fingers took to stroking the skin of her bare shoulder; the touch light enough to leave her skin breaking out into chills.
Anton shook his head with a laugh that didn't seem all that genuine. "You know I don't bother."
"Don't tell me you're another one of those consummate flirts like Angelo," Liliana teased, leaning closer to Mercello.
Anton's mouth pulled to a taunt smile. Taking a sip of the last of his wine, he responded dryly, "My history of dating hasn't been all that kind. It gets to a point where you begin to no longer care and the whole concept becomes tedious. Besides, I have plenty of ways to spend my time."
The wiggle of his dark, thick brows told Liliana all she needed to know. He may not date, but he certainly had not denied himself the pleasure of someone's intimate company.
"Not everyone can luck out as apparently Marcello has, with such a lovely wife." Anton rested his forearms on the table, leaning in conspiringly. "Your father's have known each other for decades, right? It makes sense that you would be promised to one another. I haven't heard a single word of you two together until now, but you look very familiar with one another already, you've certainly kept that quiet. You been sneaking around at family gatherings?"
"Something like that," Marcello agreed tersely.
"I'm surprised Papa Seb agreed."
"Why would Sebastiano disapprove?" Liliana's hands slipped beneath the table where her hands could clench in the material of her dress out of sight.
"Well with everything that happened with Gabriella," Anton explained as if it should have been obvious.
"I didn't think Sebastiano was all that bothered by my father's affair. It didn't seem to hinder their relationship for all these years."
"Well, yes." Anton blinked, pausing for a second. "There's your father's affair too, but I was talking more of what happened between Gabriella and your mother."
A biting pain sunk into the palms of Liliana's hands as her nails pressed harder into the soft skin, and she felt something twist uncomfortable in her gut. Her voice sounded somewhat foreign as she whispered, "I wasn't aware they had much to do with each other."
"What..." Anton never finished his sentence, his voice fading as he caught the eye line of Marcello sitting so stiff beside her. The heat that rushed to Liliana's cheeks was no longer the product of Marcello's teasing, but instead a sinking feeling of dread.
"Keeping secrets again?" She accused tersely, barely raising her voice above a whisper, sure that it would crack.
"This, I did not know about," Marcello stressed. He then asked Anton, " Another Fiorenza secret you were privy to?" There was a heavy scowl on his face as he stared down his friend, as if an interrogation was about to begin. But he quickly grunted, relenting, "This isn't the time to discuss it."
Anton's lips were pulled taut in a thin line. His shoulders squared as he gave a firm nod of confirmation. Liliana was left to stare incredulously between them both.
"I want to know," she pressed. Turning towards Mercello she turned to grip his forearm tightly, fingers sinking into the material of his white shirt as her heart continued its heavy thud. "Can you afford to be keeping more about my mother from me?"
He swallowed visibly, as if even that small act was difficult, cupping her cheek with the palm of his hand.
"Just not now. Not here."
***
"You brought me back to Barbato's," Liliana whispered, glancing out of the car window at the large metal gates in front of them. The illuminated rooms of the mansion were sparse so she assumed most had retired to bed already. Barbato's estate was so large that all of his staff lived on the property.
The engine of the car cut out and Liliana turned to hold Marcello's gaze. His hand, she noticed, was tight against the wheel, as if driving here had been a struggle.
"I didn't want to be presumptuous."
"Thank you." She hesitated, hand pausing on the door handle. "I'd invite you in, but, well..."
"I understand." His tone was clipped. Marcello breathed deeply, eyes never falling from her and Liliana couldn't bring herself to look away first. The space inside the car shrunk, Marcello's larger presence consuming it all.
Still her hand hovered over the door handle, she was reluctant to leave but didn't know why. Maybe it was because of how quiet Marcello had been on the drive back. He hadn't spoken all that much at the meal either, he never did in public, but this felt different - it felt tense and uncomfortable. She wanted to know what was wrong but didn't know how well her question would be received.
Finally, he looked away. His tight grip on the steering wheel relaxed, and Marcello ran his hands across his face and through his hair, sighing deeply.
"If given the choice, would you have married me?" His jaw was clenched, the muscle ticking, eyes afraid to take her in.
"No." Liliana didn't want to sound harsh. Out of all her quick quips this wasn't one. The lies of the D'onofrio's and Fiorenza's had torn them apart enough. If things were going to be settled between them, then Mercello deserved the truth.
The tension in his body didn't ease, and Marcello's hands now curled into fists on his thighs. He remained silent, and didn't acknowledge her answer, though it was clear he had heard her.
Sighing, she placated, "But all I knew of you was your reputation - something which sold you only as the devil in my eyes. I was being forced to marry you and that alone tarnished whatever perceptions I could have had of you. Given the situation, I don't think anyone would have chosen our marriage."
"And now? Do you wish we had never met?" Why are you so keen to ask me questions that we both know won't answer in your favour?
"If we had never married, I would still be living a lie. I would have no true knowledge of my mamma and I would be idolising a man who neither deserved my time or respect." She bit her lip, watching her husbands face intently, praying he would turn to look at her again. But he remained stubborn - fearful - turning to stare out the window of the car. "The beginning of our marriage was painful, we both made mistakes, both worsened the situation with our ill thought out words and actions. But... things aren't so bad now, are they? You're allowing me freedom, I'm no longer suffocating and have no need to fight for air with a sharp tongue and biting attitude."
After everything she had endured in their first month of marriage, in this moment she felt the most vulnerable, the weakest. Marcello didn't need to shout to gain power, he had her in the palm of his hand and as she waited for his response with baited breath. Her chest felt too tight, and this silence was almost suffocating.
Mercello rubbed at the nape of his neck, clearing his throat, "My wife is no longer living with me and this is the most I've seen her in an entire week." He laughed dryly. "Is this what you call better?"
He was acting bitter and pushing her away with spiteful words. Gone was the gentle husband who had arrived to pick her up at the beginning of the evening. Gone were the flirtatious touches that set her skin alight. Marcello D'Onofrio, the dedicated business man and feared mafioso had returned and he held no sympathy.
"Marcello," Liliana's voice broke, and she wiped roughly at the wetness of her cheeks. "My mother died in your house. I nearly died. I-" she sniffed, "I didn't feel safe. I couldn't sleep."
She let out a wavering breath, readjusting the thin strap of her purse on her shoulder, and finally clicked open the car door, one leg planting firmly on the paving stones that littered the path to Barbato's grand entrance.
"Staying with Barbato is a temporary solution. I just had to get away from that house, and from you," she confessed. "I needed a chance to breathe again, and to process everything with a clear head and to feel some level of independence. Please don't poison the progress we're making." She could no longer face him and that twisted expression that knitted his brows and pulled his lips into an grimace, all the while he still refused to look at her.
A groan emanated deep from his chest. He turned, wide, wild eyes meeting hers. Hands outstretched towards her, gripping her forearm and halting her escape.
"Liliana, I'm sorry." He tugged lightly and Liliana complied, softening her stance and leaning further back into the car. Mercello's hands didn't retreat like she had expected they would, his hands danced down her forearms until they were close enough to grasp her hands. "When Anton mentioned your mother and you turned on me with such ferocity, so suddenly -" he paused, shaking his head, "I'm constantly aware that one wrong move on my part and I could lose you permanently. You feel so far out of reach, the distance between us growing further with each passing day." He licked his lips, nostrils flaring as his fingers tightened on hers. "I don't want you to resent me Liliana, I know you need to be here, away from my family and yours, away from me, but there's not one ounce of me that likes it."
Liliana was rendered frozen at his confession. The fact that he believed it would be so easy for her to leave him, when she was fearful she may never be able to escape alive if she wished, was startling.
"Mercello," she breathed, "I can't promise you I'm going to return tomorrow. I don't know when I'm going to be able to return to that place, when I can return to you. But I'm trying so hard here to overlook all that has happened and all that I have learned. Even if you played no direct part in this tragedy, it never seems to escape you. Until I can fully come to terms with that I think it's best I stay with Barbato."
She was crying, the only evidence her tears as her expression remained strong and her lips refused to quiver for a second time that night. She wouldn't let her emotions continue to overcome her over and over again at every difficulty that came their way. She would have to toughen up if she was going to survive as a D'onofrio wife. She needed to be untouchable, unwavering and unaffected if she were to carry the Fiorenza name and not allow her father's sinful reputation to weigh her down. She would survive. She was determined.
Before she thought of her marriage, of Mercello, she had to think of herself. And there was no shame in that. She was only nineteen, still growing, still maturing while Mercello was almost twenty-five. She needed this space or their marriage would never survive.
With a melancholy smile that barely graced his lips, Mercello leant forward to press a soft kiss at the edge of her lips. Hovering just a breath away, his hands released hers and moved to graze the nape of her neck, cradling her head. Their eyes locked, breaths mingling. Liliana couldn't control the thrum of adrenaline that awakened her senses as he leant in once again to brush his lips with hers.
It was soft, and had Liliana's pulse racing a mile and minute.
The pressure of his mouth on hers increased, lips gliding across lips as large hands knotted in her thick hair and held her close. Her eyes closed on instinct as she kissed back clumsily, her own hands hesitating before coming to slowly wind across his broad shoulders and around the back of his neck, her body arching towards him. This was maddening but she felt addicted to his touch, a gasp escaping with every tug on the tendrils of her curls.
Much too soon, her husband pulled away, leaving her staring back at him wide eyed. He was still so close, his cologne engulfing her, his body heat seeping into her skin. She didn't move away, unwilling to distance herself so soon. Instead she wanted to lean back into his embrace.
Her eyes dancing across his face, taking in the dilated pupils of his dark eyes, the flush of his lips that were stained with the pink of her lipstick, Liliana waited for him to speak for she was at a loss for words.
His thumb grazed her cheek, eyes closing as he sighed and leaned in for one last chaste kiss on her temple.
"I'll see you later; sleep well."
***
Marcello could feel his brother's narrow eyed gaze burning into the side of his head. Angelo stood beside him, arms crossed stiffly against his chest as he stood shoulder to shoulder with him, his head turned sharply towards Marcello.
"This was why you didn't bring her home." There was no sense of query in his tone, Mercello knew there was nothing but judgement in his youngest brother's voice.
"There were multiple reasons," Marcello drawled. "But yes, this was a prominent one. You saw what happened when she was exposed to our world. I won't allow that to happen again."
Marcello's voice reflected nothing, but his throat felt tight as he swallowed. Despite his inability to keep distance between himself and his wife, he was adamant she would not return until he had made it safe for her.
Men of all ages were arriving at the manor, filtering in through the double doors held open wide in welcoming. Each man, now strangers to Marcello, entered with smirks and an arrogance he would not abide by. Long gone were the same humble men initiated into the life of mafioso. Before him stood his men who had allowed themselves to be tainted by greed, the men who had been so blinded by their egos they could not understand the truth behind their invitations here in home tonight.
There were few rules to live by under him, but those that existed were absolute. When men stepped out of line, penance was paid. These men had all wronged him in small ways, but Marcello would not allow even a fraction of defiance or incompetence within his ranks. He was not his father, he would not be so lenient. These men were soon to become an example of all who dared to cross Marcello D'Onofrio.
Anton stood stiffly at his other side, face stern as he stared down each man that entered into the manor. Anton's playful demeanour that had been present when flirting with his wife had disappeared. Now was not the time to show any weakness. What was about to proceed was not something to take joy from, but a necessary evil that ensured the prosperity of their family.
"When did you get back?" Angelo shot Anton a dark look, his face almost scrunched in a sneer.
"I came as soon as someone called," Anton replied, words clipped, and his tone unforgiven of Angelo's disrespect. "Just in time, it seems."
A glare was held between the two younger men, neither backing down from the challenge that ignited in their heated gaze. Mercello hadn't the time for their power match, they needed to focus, to remain united. They needed to finish the job as quickly as possible and wash their hands of the night that was about to transpire.
The heavy manor doors slammed shut with an echoing thud that rung loud and cut through the murmurs of the men that had gathered in his foyer. Giovanni stood guarding the exit, arms crossed, stance wide, his usual glower present. The foyer was crowded the low grumble of voices that vibrated across the tall walls and arching ceiling grew louder. They were all completely unaware of what was about to befall on them.
With a single nod from Mercello, the resounding multitude of gunfire rang on deaf ears, and the marbled floor was stained red - mirroring the morbid scene detailed in the photographs that haunted his wife. Except one body was not present tonight, but many. The collateral of their sins.
Tonight served not only as a way to eliminate all weakness from his organisation, but as a message to all those who wished to hurt him and his family.