Page 45 of Vicious Behaviors

“You don’t sound too convinced,” I probe gently, watching her closely as I step beside her.

“It’s school, Marcello. Nothing to be enthusiastic about.”

My frown deepens. Unlike the twins, Annamaria’s social presence at Sacred Heart is… quiet. Nonexistent, almost. A lot like mine used to be back when I roamed those same halls, head down and fists clenched.

Though it should be different with her. I had my reasons to keep people away. Dark, ugly reasons I still carry with me. But Annamaria? She has the purest heart out of all of us. She’s kind, soft-spoken, and generous to a fault.

Hmm. Maybe that’s exactly why people stay clear. They just don’t know what to make of her. Perhaps her soft heart is too gentle for a place that only knows how to tear things down. It’s a burden she bears alone. But if I could carry it for her, I wouldn’t hesitate.

I open the passenger door, and she slides in without a word. I round the car and get in, but I don’t start the engine just yet. My attention is still on her frown.

“What were you smiling at a few minutes ago?” I ask, remembering how her face lit up while texting.

“Huh?” She looks at me, caught off guard.

“On the steps. You were staring at your phone like it was the funniest thing in the world.”

Her cheeks go bright pink, and she quickly turns her gaze out the windshield. “It was nothing, Marcello. Just some silly meme Stella sent me, that’s all.”

Of course, it had to be Stella. Like me, Stella would do anything to bring even the smallest bit of joy into our sister’s lonely world.

I nod, though something about her tone tells me there’s more to it. Still, I let it slide since I don’t want to further dampenher mood. In fact, I’m going to try to improve the damage I’ve done.

“I was thinking,” I say, switching gears, “before we go home, we could stop in the city at that ice cream parlor you love. What do you say?”

Her eyes snap back to mine, lighting up like the damn sun. “You mean Serendipity? Really?”

“Only if you want to.”

“Oh, I definitely want to.” She grins, giving me a side hug. “Thanks, Mar.”

Watching that smile back on her face is worth every detour.

I start the engine and pull out of the parking lot. Annamaria immediately commandeers the radio, skipping over my alternative metal playlists until she reaches her desired album—Tortured Poets Department by Taylor Swift. Not exactly my scene since I’m currently more into Deftones’s White Pony, but I let it play regardless.

Annamaria sings along under her breath, joyfully tapping her fingers on her knee in rhythm, and easing the knot in my chest for being in her happy place. Taylor might not scream through the speakers like Chino Moreno, but her truth is just as powerful. And if it makes Annamaria happy, then hell, I’ll learn every lyric if I have to.

Unlike my other siblings, Annamaria is easy to please. Ice cream and Taylor Swift. That’s the magic formula. Most girls her age would rather shop till they drop or gossip about which guy made eyes at them. But not our Anna. She prefers simplicity over chaos, honesty over ego. Always has.

Money, power, status, these things mean nothing to her. It’s ironic, really, considering she was born into a family drowning in all three. But that’s the rub. Our name, our reputation, the weight of the Romano legacy, it’s always sat a little too heavy on her tender heart. It’s like she wears our world like a dresstwo sizes too short. Never quite fitting, always trying to shrink herself to make it feel less suffocating.

Perhaps that’s why I try so hard to give her these small moments of normalcy. Moments where she doesn’t have to be anything but herself.

We arrive at Serendipity, the cozy little ice cream parlor tucked between rows of boutiques and bookstores, and order one of their signature sundaes to share. Chocolate, hazelnut drizzle, two spoons. We take a booth in the corner where I can keep a vigilant eye on the door and dig in.

“Mar,” she says after a few quiet bites, brows pulling together like a knot. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“You can talk to me about anything, angel,” I say, leaning in a little, reading the subtle worry in her eyes.

She gives me a little, shy smile, then looks down at the sundae, stirring it softly with her spoon. “Have you noticed that Stella’s been… a bit off lately?”

I straighten up, getting caught a little off guard by the question. “What do you mean, ‘off?’”

“I don’t know… just off.” She shrugs and drops her spoon. Her shoulders sag a little as she leans back into the booth. “Ever since she got back from Russia, she’s been distant. Like she’s hiding something from me.”

I chuckle, not to brush it off but because… well, it’s Stella.

Stella loves her privacy. Loves her secrets even more.