Bonus chapter two- Angelo
"Harder, Caruso!" I shout from my balcony, echoing down to the street below.
The sun hangs low, casting long shadows over the pavement, where I can see him—Caruso, drenched in sweat, pushing himself to his limits.
I think of the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
They swirl in my mind, a tumultuous reminder of what I've been told—each stage a haunting echo of emotion, battling for prominence in this chaotic moment.
It's been over a year since I watched Jax get shot, and I find myself grappling with my place in the emotional spectrum lately.
I've come to terms with the fact that he is no longer in my life, yet the mere thought sends waves of frustration crashing over me, leaving me feeling isolated and despondent as if I long to curl up in a ball and vanish from reality.
Jax and I never officially entered a relationship, but the sense of loss is palpable; it feels as though I've been robbed of a future filled with possibilities that could have blossomed between us.
"You've done a wonderful job with them all," a gentle voice calls out from the direction of the sliding glass doors. I turn to see Alexa standing there, her eyes sparkling with warmth. Even in her heels, she still slightly gazes up at me, a hint of mischief in her expression.
Her hair is meticulously twisted into a sophisticated bun, accentuating the graceful lines of her neck. She's donned a striking ensemble; a fitted black, white, and yellow pencil skirt that hugs her curves and a matching black turtleneck that complements her radiant complexion perfectly.
"You look absolutely stunning," I say, forcing a smile, though it's genuine; her beauty is hard to ignore. "Where are you headed?"
A smile spreads across her face as she leans against the railing beside me, her posture relaxed yet somehow poised.
"Please tell me you didn't forget?" she says, feigning exasperation, though the lightness in her tone softens the blow. "We had lunch plans because I'm leaving for Verona tonight."
I instinctively rub the back of my head, a sheepish gesture of regret. The truth is, I've been so caught up in my own world, it completely slipped my mind.
"I'm really sorry, Lexi. It honestly slipped my mind. What time is your reservation?" I ask, hoping to make it up to her.
"It's in an hour," she replies, a heavy sigh escaping her lips as she shakes her head in disappointment. My heart sinks; I hate to see her upset, especially when she has made such an effort to look so radiant.
"I can make it in time. I promise I'll be there," I assure her, but I can see the question hanging in the air—her eyebrows raise in disbelief. "Will you really be there?"
Just then, my attention drifts back to the training session, where Vince's voice booms across the field, berating someone for slacking off.
The contrast between the chaos of the training and the calm anticipation of the lunch date strikes me, reminding me of the juggling act I seem to always perform between my commitments.
Even though Vince had stepped down from his role in the family businesses three months ago, his presence still loomed large in the minds of those who remained.
His former colleagues continued to seek his counsel, as if he were still at the helm.
I often found myself wishing he would reclaim his position; after stepping into his shoes, I've gained a profound appreciation for the weight of his responsibilities.
The sheer volume of paperwork he managed and the tedious, often pretentious discussions he navigated daily astounded me.
It's little wonder he often appeared so irritable and tense, particularly before Lexi brought light into his life.
In addition to reflecting on Vince's legacy, I've taken on the immense responsibility of overseeing the training of our new recruits.
With each session, I strive to instill in them the values that Vince embodied, hoping to honor his contributions while preparing the next generation for the challenges ahead.After Vince killed his father, the traitors panicked.
They started shouting loudly and wildly, forgetting all the training Vince and I had once provided them. From there, Alexa's family had no trouble killing them all and helping me discover any other snakes.
It was kind of them to help, despite all the trouble our family had caused.
"He misses it so much," Alexa murmurs softly, her voice barely above a whisper, almost lost in the gentle hum of the room. Her gaze is fixed intently on her husband, and I realize with a pang of understanding that she is speaking about him, the weight of her words hanging in the air.
A flicker of guilt washes over me as she continues, "I feel really guilty that he gave up everything he worked so hard for, all for me and Xavior.
But he just won't listen. Being around my family has its joys, yet there's a heavy worry lodged in my chest. He's so consumed by his desire to please us that he isn't considering his own happiness, and I dread the thought of him being unhappy because of me.
" Her voice carries a blend of sorrow and concern, each word laced with the complexities of love and responsibility.
I take a moment to gather my thoughts before responding, "He was selfish for so long, and now he's desperately trying to atone for it.
We all remember the pain he caused you, and I think he's still plagued by the fear that you might walk away from him again.
" My words spill out, and Alexa hums thoughtfully in reply, a sound that resonates with shared understanding.
"He was," she concedes, her expression softening, "but I moved past that long ago."
I can see the flicker of her memories playing across her face, momentarily lost in reflection. Sensing her emotional distance, I gently squeeze her hand, and she jolts, as if startled back to the present. She glances down at her phone, the reality of the moment rushing back.
"I'm going to check up on Xavior. Remember, the reservation is in an hour.
I'll kick your ass if you leave me sitting alone," she threatens playfully, before she rushes off, her fingers dance across the screen of her phone, sending messages into the digital ether.
I take a moment to observe her slender silhouette as she strides away.
It isn't long before she rounds the corner, her figure swallowed by the bustling crowd.
Once she's out of sight, I shift my attention back to the new recruits gathered around me, their eager expressions reflecting a mix of anticipation and uncertainty.
— — —
I was late. I was talking to some new recruits about their questions. By the time I realized I was 10 minutes late, Lexi had blown up my phone. threats.
The streets were bustling with people strolling past the shops and restaurants that lined the way. Some paused to enter a store or eatery. Normally, I would relish the lively atmosphere, but today, the crowd felt like an obstacle, slowing me down.
It was official... Lexi was going to kill me. Her most recent text messages confirmed what I already suspected. I was a dead man walking.
My fingers dart across the small screen, desperately crafting messages in an attempt to convey my remorse.
Each word feels insufficient, but I hope it softens the sting of her frustration.
I become so absorbed in the rhythmic blinking of the three dots, signaling Lexi's reply, that I fail to notice the woman standing right in my path until we collide.
"Cazzo. Sicilianu parri?" I mutter, a mix of surprise and embarrassment escaping my lips as I quickly extend my hand to help her up, my heart racing from the sudden encounter and the weight of my own guilt.
Despite her vulnerable position on the floor, there's a fierce energy radiating from her, making it clear she could easily hold her own in a fight. Her eyes flash with defiance as she squints at me, trying to intimidate—yet I refuse to back down after having knocked her to the ground.
"Se, n'anticchia," she mutters, a note of irritation creeping into her voice when she realizes her fierce glare isn't fazing me. The lightness of her words—translated as "yes, a little"—contrasts sharply with her fiery demeanor.
With a huff, she pushes herself up from the ground, entirely dismissing my outstretched hand. Brushstrokes of dust coat her jeans as she nonchalantly brushes them off, her focus solely on regaining her composure.
"Do you speak English then?" I venture after a moment, breaking the silence that lingers between us.
"Look, I don't have time for someone like you," she retorted sharply, her voice laced with irritation. "I have work to do. Now, either apologize or get out."
A smirk danced across my lips in response to her bold sass, clearly infuriating her even further.
My gaze wandered to the shop she was leaning against—a tattoo parlor, vibrant with colorful flash art displayed in the windows.
So, she was an artist. A flicker of intrigue sparked within me.
I couldn't help but wonder if she had inked some of those tattoos herself.
If that was the case, I found myself genuinely impressed.
"I was actually interested in scheduling an appointment here for a new tattoo," I muse, leaning casually against the tattoo studio's doorframe. "Do you think you'd be able to do it? I'd pay you whatever you wanted for it."
I figure I might as well enjoy myself before Lexi gets the chance to tear me to shreds, right?
The tattoo artist's eyebrows arch skeptically as her sharp gaze roams over my suit-clad form, her expression revealing her lack of enthusiasm. After what feels like an eternity of silent scrutiny, she finally responds, "I don't do first tattoos."
"Good thing that it's not my first tattoo then," I reply with a sly smirk, watching as her expression darkens, a mix of irritation and surprise apparent across her face. I can practically see the steam rising from her ears.
She thought she could dismiss me that easily. There was something about her—an enigmatic quality—that piqued my interest, and I wasn't going to walk away until I uncovered what that was.
"Come inside," she finally relents, her tone softening just enough to indicate that I might have piqued her curiosity. "I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement. I'm Vanessa, by the way, but I will murder you if you call me that. Call me Ness".
She pushes open the polished glass door. As it swings wide, she strides purposefully into the reception area, her heels clicking against the floor with each determined step.
Turning her gaze towards me, she offers a heartfelt apology, her expression softening beneath the warm, ambient light of the studio.
"I'm really sorry for bumping into you earlier," she says, her voice laced with sincerity.
"I just hope that, as a consequence of our encounter, I won't end up with you as my tattoo artist."
Feeling a playful spirit rise within me, I respond with a lighthearted joke, leaning back against one of the cool, painted walls.
I let my eyes wander over the stunning designs meticulously displayed around the room, each piece a breathtaking testament to her talent.
If I had any lingering doubts about this decision, they dissolve into admiration with every glance.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimmer of mischief dancing in her grey eyes, and a playful grin breaks across her face, revealing two charming dimples etched into her cheeks.
"No promises," she teases, her tone inviting a flicker of intrigue.
I can't help but feel a spark of connection; I like her already.
— — —
Hey,