Page 62
Story: The Merciless Don's Bride
“What?” I question, looking towards her.
“Where did you go so early?”
“Why do you care?” I ask.
I’m nearly 15 years older than Sofia and yet it’s amazing how at times, we have the same peculiar bond all siblings have. Her eyes narrow and I practically see the gears turning in her head. She switches to Italian, intentionally keeping Cassie out of the loop in the conversation.
“You were at the cemetery, weren’t you, fratello?” Sofia states, her eyes narrowing further into a glare. “You went to see Mama.”
My jaw tightens and I reply in Italian as well, “Drop it, Sofia. My comings and goings are none of your business.”
My sister adores me, and I know she supports me in nearly everything I do. What she’s never been able to forgive me for however, is the death of our mother. She doesn’t understand why a woman she barely remembers was ripped away from her so young. Sofia was only a teenager when mother was allegedly killed.
I was supposed to kill her not long after our father died. It was his dying wish, or should I say, command. A couple of years after I took my position as Don. She has never been able to understand why she had to grow up without both her parents.She blames me for it, as she should. Our mother’s a sore subject in this home.
I don’t think Dante understands it either. But he doesn’t talk about it. He just accepted my actions, continued to respect and follow me in spite of it. I expected more anger from him. Especially considering he had more memories of her.
“You went to see your mother?” Cassie asks, speaking up for the first time.
I look at her in surprise, wondering how she understood. She reads the look and waves her hand in the air with an eyeroll.
“Oh please, I’m not completely hopeless when it comes to Italian,” she states. “So please no trying to leave me out of the conversation by speaking a different language.”
“Nothing of the sort is happening,mi vida,” I say before turning to my sister. “Drop it, Sofia.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t press the issue further. Having nothing else to say, I turn around wanting to get some work done before breakfast. Cassie follows me out of the kitchen, as I’d been hoping she would.
“Can I help you, sweetheart?” I ask she trails silently behind me up the stairs.
“Your mom,” she starts curiously and I feel a zap of irritation. This is the one topic I’d rather not discuss with her. I don’t want it to change how she views me. “She’s dead, right?”
“Yes. Both my parents have passed away.”
“Sorry about that,” she murmurs.
“It’s an inevitable fact of life,mi vida. Children bury their parents.”
She flinches at that, reminding me that she’s yet to actually deal with the grief of losing her father. She doesn’t talk abouthim and she pretends it never happened. The day those feelings burst, I can only hope I’m close by to offer her the comfort I know she’ll need.
“Anyway,” she says, brushing past the comment. “I was going to ask for a favor.”
I arch an eyebrow in question.
“My dad’s company. The board meeting is in a week and I need to be there. I haven’t been seen in public in weeks. My absence from the company was excusable due to grief but it’s been too long. They’re starting to get antsy and so am I. I need to go and take care of things.”
“Okay,” I reply easily.
Her brows furrow, “That was too easy.”
I smirk, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Actually you need to do something for me first,bella.”
She sighs softly, “What is it?”
“A date. Our first one as husband and wife. We can go to my favorite restaurant tomorrow night. You like Mexican food right?”
“Of course I do,” she affirms before agreeing with a small smile. “Fine. One date doesn’t sound like too much of a hardship.”
“Where did you go so early?”
“Why do you care?” I ask.
I’m nearly 15 years older than Sofia and yet it’s amazing how at times, we have the same peculiar bond all siblings have. Her eyes narrow and I practically see the gears turning in her head. She switches to Italian, intentionally keeping Cassie out of the loop in the conversation.
“You were at the cemetery, weren’t you, fratello?” Sofia states, her eyes narrowing further into a glare. “You went to see Mama.”
My jaw tightens and I reply in Italian as well, “Drop it, Sofia. My comings and goings are none of your business.”
My sister adores me, and I know she supports me in nearly everything I do. What she’s never been able to forgive me for however, is the death of our mother. She doesn’t understand why a woman she barely remembers was ripped away from her so young. Sofia was only a teenager when mother was allegedly killed.
I was supposed to kill her not long after our father died. It was his dying wish, or should I say, command. A couple of years after I took my position as Don. She has never been able to understand why she had to grow up without both her parents.She blames me for it, as she should. Our mother’s a sore subject in this home.
I don’t think Dante understands it either. But he doesn’t talk about it. He just accepted my actions, continued to respect and follow me in spite of it. I expected more anger from him. Especially considering he had more memories of her.
“You went to see your mother?” Cassie asks, speaking up for the first time.
I look at her in surprise, wondering how she understood. She reads the look and waves her hand in the air with an eyeroll.
“Oh please, I’m not completely hopeless when it comes to Italian,” she states. “So please no trying to leave me out of the conversation by speaking a different language.”
“Nothing of the sort is happening,mi vida,” I say before turning to my sister. “Drop it, Sofia.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t press the issue further. Having nothing else to say, I turn around wanting to get some work done before breakfast. Cassie follows me out of the kitchen, as I’d been hoping she would.
“Can I help you, sweetheart?” I ask she trails silently behind me up the stairs.
“Your mom,” she starts curiously and I feel a zap of irritation. This is the one topic I’d rather not discuss with her. I don’t want it to change how she views me. “She’s dead, right?”
“Yes. Both my parents have passed away.”
“Sorry about that,” she murmurs.
“It’s an inevitable fact of life,mi vida. Children bury their parents.”
She flinches at that, reminding me that she’s yet to actually deal with the grief of losing her father. She doesn’t talk abouthim and she pretends it never happened. The day those feelings burst, I can only hope I’m close by to offer her the comfort I know she’ll need.
“Anyway,” she says, brushing past the comment. “I was going to ask for a favor.”
I arch an eyebrow in question.
“My dad’s company. The board meeting is in a week and I need to be there. I haven’t been seen in public in weeks. My absence from the company was excusable due to grief but it’s been too long. They’re starting to get antsy and so am I. I need to go and take care of things.”
“Okay,” I reply easily.
Her brows furrow, “That was too easy.”
I smirk, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Actually you need to do something for me first,bella.”
She sighs softly, “What is it?”
“A date. Our first one as husband and wife. We can go to my favorite restaurant tomorrow night. You like Mexican food right?”
“Of course I do,” she affirms before agreeing with a small smile. “Fine. One date doesn’t sound like too much of a hardship.”
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