Chapter 7
Stella
Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck. I missed family dinner.
I’m so dead, I think to myself as I park in my family’s driveway.
Wait a second… I’m twenty-one years old. A college senior for crying out loud. I should be able to skip a family meal or two if I want to. I mean, Marcello ditches dinner all the time. What’s one miss on my record, right? Fuck it. I’ll come up with an excuse.
Unfortunately for me, the second I slip inside my home through the kitchen door, my big brother is sitting at the table looking like the world’s most disappointed parole officer.
“You’re late,” Marcello says.
“And you’re here.” I snort. “Is that the game we’re playing? Stating the obvious?”
My brother doesn’t even crack a smile, too focused on his mission to interrogate me.
“Where were you?”
“I’m sorry… I already have three fathers. Not exactly in the market for a fourth, thank you very much.” I shrug off my jacket and toss it over the back of a chair, along with my schoolbag.
“Now I know you were up to no good. Otherwise, you’d have told me why you skipped dinner, no problem. Besides, you know how our father gets about family meals.”
“Can’t be that big a deal if you skip them ninety-nine percent of the time.”
“Stella…” he starts, exhaling in pure frustration.
“Don’t ‘Stella’ me, Mar. You don’t get to show up whenever you want and demand explanations about where I spend my time when I have no idea where you spend yours.”
“You know damn well where I’ve been.”
My expression turns into a frown. He’s right. Marcello doesn’t have to tell me his schedule for me to know where he is almost all the time. If he’s not working for the Outfit, he’s back at Nonno’s gym, fighting off his demons.
Damn it all to hell.
Knowing that I’m the one in the wrong here, I drag out a chair and sit beside him, placing my hand over his.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I just don’t like being interrogated about my whereabouts like I’m some prepubescent teenager. Especially not by my own brother.”
Marcello’s shoulders slump as he sets his free hand over mine.
“I just worry.”
“I know you do. But it’s me, Mar. I can take care of myself. Or do I need to drag you out to the barn and show you?” I lift a teasing brow, which gets a shy smile out of him.
“No.” He chuckles softly. “I’m not in the mood to get my ass beat.”
“Smart man.” I wink, though we both know it wouldn’t be a fair fight if Marcello ever decided to let the demon inside him loose on me.
I’d lose. And I’d lose hard. Hell… anyone would.
“Are you going to tell me where you were, though? I’d breathe easier knowing you were safe and not getting yourself into trouble.”
“I live for trouble.” I throw him a cocky smile and nudge his shoulder playfully with mine.
“My point exactly.”
“Fine. If it’ll erase those worry wrinkles on your face, I’ll tell you why I got home late. I just had a study group that ran later than I expected.”
“So you were at school this whole time?”
I can hear the trap in his tone, as if trying to catch me in a lie.
“Nope. We all met up at some coffee shop in the city. Do you need the name and directions? I’m sure the barista remembers me.” I laugh.
“No, that’s okay. I trust you.”
Guilt claws at me for deceiving him, but a lie is better than the alternative.
I doubt telling him the truth about how I was out dancing on a frozen lake with the Bratva underboss of Chicago would ease my overprotective brother’s concern any.
Actually, I’m pretty sure that the second I even uttered the name Kirill, Marcello would be out the door hunting him down and telling him to stay away from me.
And when I say ‘telling,’ I mean Marcello wouldn’t politely ask him to stay clear.
He’d make sure Kirill couldn’t dance with anyone ever again.
“Lourdes left you a plate in the fridge. You want me to warm it up for you?” he asks, thankfully unaware of the thoughts rummaging in my brain.
“Actually, yeah. I’m freaking famished.”
Marcello gets up and starts heating my food while I lean back in my chair, hands behind my head, boots propped on the opposite seat.
“So how pissed off are the parentals?”
“They’re okay. Annamaria said you might be studying.”
God, I love my sister. Even when I don’t ask for an alibi, she’s always there to have my back.
“What about Mom?”
“What about Mom?” my mother parrots, walking into the kitchen at that exact moment with an empty tea mug in her hand.
I drop my feet to the floor and square my shoulders.
“I was just asking Marcello if you were cross with me for missing dinner.”
“And why would I be upset about that?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Mom… maybe because everything I do seems to get on your nerves.” But I don’t say that. No. I just swallow down the acrid words instead.
“She was studying,” Marcello explains quickly as she sets the mug in the sink.
“So your sister told us.” My mother thins her lips, not believing a word of it.
“I was,” I lie again, doubling down.
“If you say so. A text letting us know where you were would have been nice, though. But then again, you’ve always done whatever you wanted. So I guess I have no say in the matter.”
“Funny, since it always feels like you have more than enough to say about everything that has to do with me.”
“Stella,” Marcello warns.
I grind my teeth. Of course he takes her side. He always does. That’s why he’s her favorite. Ugh.
“You know what? I’ve lost my appetite. Good night.” I push back from the table, pick up my jacket and backpack, and bolt out of the kitchen.
Still fuming, I march upstairs and slam my bedroom door behind me, finding Anna stretched across her bed, reading the latest romance novel she downloaded to her Kindle.
“Well, hello to you, too,” she says with a smile.
“Sorry,” I mutter, collapsing onto my bed.
I grab my pillow, shove it over my face, and scream every ounce of frustration into it, throwing the pillow on the floor once I’m done.
“Mom again?” Annamaria asks, setting her Kindle on the nightstand.
I tap my finger against the tip of my nose—my own little signal that she hit the mark.
“It always is.” She sighs, coming to sit beside me. “It feels like lately you two are always fighting.”
“Tell me about it,” I grumble, sitting back up.
“One of you will have to bend, Stella. You two can’t keep going on like this forever.”
“If you’re suggesting I do the bending, then I’m good with this fight lasting forever.”
“She’s our mom, Stella. She loves us.”
“I know that. Don’t you think I know that?” I throw my hands in the air in aggravation. “It’s just… her love is… suffocating.”
Annamaria’s temple wrinkles as she frowns. “That’s an awful thing to say.”
“Well, it’s true. Why can’t she just let me be? What is so wrong with the way I am? I can’t be you, Anna. I just can’t. And it’s about time our mother dealt with that.”
My sister flinches at the blurted-out remark and starts to get off my bed, heading for hers. Seeing the hurt in her eyes, I grab her wrist gently and pull her back down beside me.
“I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”
“Yes, it was. And I get it. Who would ever want to be me?”
Fuck. I’m the worst sister ever.
“Stop that, Anna. I’m sorry, okay? Anyone would be lucky to have the qualities you have.
I’m the black sheep here, not you. You’re…
perfect.” Again, she flinches, as if the word physically hurt her.
“Anna… that’s not what I meant to say either.
God, why does everything I say tonight come out all wrong like I’m the resident bitch? ”
“No. I get it. It’s okay,” she says softly, forgiving in a way I absolutely don’t deserve. “And you’re right. In most people’s eyes, I probably do come off as an annoying goody two-shoes. But if I accept you as you are, why can’t you accept me as I am?”
“But I do accept you.”
Her brows lift, sadness in the crease between them. “No, you don’t, Stella. You see me as weak.”
“You’re not weak,” I counter immediately, cupping her face in my palms. “You are the strongest one among us. It takes bravery to be this kind. It takes guts to show your vulnerability like you do. Us being jaded is a by-product of our family’s…
environment. But not you. You see the potential this world still has to offer.
I could never do that, Anna. That’s something to cherish and strive for, not something to look down on. ”
“Really?” she asks, trying to blink back the tears watering her eyes.
“Really. I’m so damn proud of you. And it’s a testament to the girl you are that Mom wishes I could be the same. That’s not a reflection on you, just on how Mom judges me. I’m proud of you. I mean that with all my heart.”
Anna’s shoulders relax a little at the sincerity in my voice.
“So you don’t think I’m a victim?” she asks softly. “You once told Frankie and me that a woman only has two roles in this life—victim or villain. If that’s the case, doesn’t that make me the former?”
“No. Not you, Anna. You’re the exception to the rule.”
“Right,” she sighs.
“I’m serious. Your heart is good and pure. But that doesn’t mean you have to be a victim. Because guess what?” I wipe a fallen tear on her cheek that refused to be kept at bay.
“What?”
“You’re still a Romano. Which means that if life ever tries to crush you, you won’t break. You’ll rise to it. I’m as sure of that as I am of anything.”
Anna’s eyes light up as she throws her arms around me in a tight, grateful hug.
“Thank you. I needed to hear that today more than you know.”
“Well, if you ever forget it, I’ll always be here to remind you,” I say, hugging her back.
We only pull away when there’s a knock on the door.
“Who is it?” Anna asks, quickly wiping her tears.
“It’s me. Can I come in?” Marcello calls.
Anna hops off the bed and opens the door for him.
“Always.” She smiles sweetly at him.
I’m Anna’s favorite, obviously, but Marcello does his best to keep his runner-up status and not get bumped down by our other siblings.