Page 40 of Sins of the Orchid

Amore’s eyes met mine, pure misery reflecting in them. Her gaze looked a much darker shade of green right now with the shadows under her eyes. She was exhausted, and it was barely one in the afternoon.

“We have guests,” Bennetti muttered. “It’s her birthday party.”

“She won’t make it through this party,” I told him. “She looks like she is ready to fall off her feet.”

“Savio, I think Adriano is right,” my father reasoned with him. “The only way she’ll start feeling better is if she gets rest.”

“I’m sorry, Dad.” Amore raised her head to meet her father’s gaze as she wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her white dress. The spring dress that came up to her knees was some light material, probably environmentally friendly, which she always talked about. She looked pretty and innocent. It would seem I corrupted her a step too far last night. “I can ask Grandma to go home. So you two don’t kill each other.”

My girl. Always the peacemaker.

“Just let them,” I said, striding to take her arm.

She shook her head. “Not funny.”

I thought it was.

“I’m taking you inside. Maybe we’ll have some ginger ale to settle your stomach.”

“Just help me to my room please,” she muttered, all her coloring dangerously pale. “I’m sure you have work to do for your papà and Santi.”

Right,I thought sarcastically. She didn’t know my papà had reverted to babying me within the last few weeks and kept insisting on keeping me out of our family business. It was pissing me the fuck off.

“Not to worry,” I assured her bitterly. “It seems both my big brother and my father have put a pause on my work in the Cosa Nostra.”

“Adriano.” My father’s voice warned behind me. Of course, he would hear that. He didn’t hear any of my complaints for weeks, but he would hear this.

“I’m sorry.” Even sick as a dog, Amore found compassion. She patted my hand, though she seemed to have barely enough strength for that small physical activity too.

She was better than I was. I had tried not to let it get to me, but today I failed. The truth was that I resented that decision. At my age, Santi was fully integrated into our family business and pretty much running the show.

“Don’t worry about it,” I told her. After all, today was her day. “Let’s get you that ginger ale.”

An anguished groan left her lips. “I just want to sleep,” she murmured.

Santi said she barely got any sleep last night. “You have to stop puking your guts up first.”

“If she gets worse, you come and get me,” her father instructed. Amore was the apple of his eye. If he knew she was so sick because of me, I’d be bleeding on this lawn. He’d be sure to shove my face into her vomit as I took my last breath.

“Want me to carry you?” I offered to Amore.

She shook her head but held on to my arm as we walked towards the house. The smell of puke and her own strawberry scent mixed in my nostrils. The soft tunes of Pavarotti drifted along the May breeze, guests played soccer, laughed together, and mingled while some pretended not to look our way. The day wouldn’t remain a fond memory to either one of us.

“What’s wrong with my granddaughter?” The voice came from behind us. Of course, it would be Regina fucking Regalè.

“What the fuck does it look like?” I growled, as she stepped in front of us. “She is sick. I’m taking her inside. Enjoy the party.”

“Watch yourself,” Regina growled. The woman was a damn tigress, regardless of her fragile stature.

“Adriano didn’t mean it,” Amore chimed in, sidestepping her. She couldn’t wait to get to her room. “I-I’m so sorry, Grandma,” she continued in a weak tone. “I’m not feeling well. I just have to get some ginger ale and some rest.”

Her grandmother’s eyes traveled to her father. “Does she need a doctor?”

“No!” Both Amore and I spoke at the same time.

“N-no, thank you,” Amore murmured, sharing a quick glance with me. “I just need some rest. Go and enjoy the party.”

Her grandma scoffed. “There are criminals of the Cosa Nostra here. There is nothing to enjoy. If you are going to bed, I’m going home.”