Page 2 of Vicious Intentions
“Benvenuti a casa nostra, Don Carlo,”my mother greets the head of the small entourage.
I don’t pay much attention to the man’s response, but it’s clear my mother doesn’t like him. She is usually so poised and graceful at these gatherings. Still, the tightness of her smile and the coldness in her eyes tell me she despises this man’s very existence, which intrigues me, since my mother isn’t prone to hate.
I keep my head down as my mother, Mina, and Don Carlo continue their small talk, doing my best not to flinch when words likebody bagsare casually thrown about.
I only look up through my lashes when Don Carlo is about to introduce his four sons, only for him to stop short at his eldest, Carlo Junior. My curiosity is instantly piqued when I realize one of them looks to be about my age.
However, I lower my gaze to the floor immediately when I find the boy staring back at me with a playful smile tugging at his lips.
Why is he staring at me like that?
I worry my bottom lip, count to ten, and lift my gaze from the floor to glimpse him again, only to find the boy still watching me.
I try to tear my eyes away, but it becomes impossible when his smile widens in response. It’s almost as if he’s daring me to look at him. Usually, I wouldn’t be so brave, but I find myself doing just that.
Unlike his father and brothers, his hair is the color of spun gold, and his eyes a startling steel blue. He’s pretty. Prettier than any boy I’ve ever seen. Especially in an Outfit gathering. Kids my age don’t exactly come to these things.
I only manage to look away from his warm smile when a large hand lands on his shoulder, my gaze shifting to the man gripping him. If the boy reminds me of a young Apollo, then his older brother looks like Hades incarnate, imposing and severe. With black hair, cold eyes, and a scowl etched deep into his face, he’s just as striking as his younger brother, but in a far more terrifying way.
“Don’t be rude, Father,” I hear Carlo Jr. say. “You have other sons to introduce.”
“Yes, yes, quite right. This is Matteo, followed by Niccolò, and of course, my youngest, Raffaele.”
Raffaele.
The boy’s name is Raffaele. I wonder if he answers to his full name or prefers something shorter. Maybe a nickname.
My thoughts are still tangled up in him when my father arrives. My mother’s tense posture eases, if only slightly. But when my father grins at the elder Donato, my stomach drops.
I’ve seen that smile before. It’s not the sincere one he gives his children. It’s the sharp, haughty smile he reserves for his enemies, right before he makes an example of them.
My stomach twists into knots, praying that my expression remains as neutral as possible, trying to conceal the anxiety currently rippling through me. The Donatos have never set foot in our home before, and I get the sinking feeling that after today, they never will again.
“Annamaria can keep Raffaele company, can’t you,dolce angelo?” my mother says, pulling me abruptly back into the conversation.
I nod, words failing me, even as my pulse skitters beneath my skin.
I risk another glance at Raffaele and find that he doesn’t seem too upset about staying behind with me while the others head into the woods for Marcello’s induction—a ceremony the twins and my mother won’t be able to resist watching, hidden amongst the trees.
I saw Jude’s induction once. That was enough for a lifetime. I have no desire to witness another ceremony. It offers me nothing. All it does is remind me that my family will forever bind their souls to a syndicate built on bloodshed and death. What joy could I possibly find in that?
Everyone begins to move, leaving Raffaele and me standing there, staring at one another.
When I hear Mina’s voice at my back and her hands settling protectively on my shoulders, I realize there’s another Donato brother who hasn’t moved an inch.
“We should follow the others,” Mina states firmly. “We don’t want to get lost in the Romano’s woods now, do we?”
Matteo doesn’t say a word, but the way his dark eyes linger on me tells me everything I need to know. He doesn’t like me very much. My very existence seems to irritate him somehow.
I’ve never met this man before, yet in a single glance I’ve earned his hatred, his disdain. It confuses me. Most people don’t look at me twice, much less waste real emotion on me, even one as sharp as contempt.
Matteo throws me another scornful look before letting Mina lead him back to his other brothers and their father.
“Don’t take it personally,” Raffaele says with a light smile. “Matteo always has that grumpy look on his face.”
“I don’t think I made a very good first impression with him,” I mutter, immediately kicking myself for how self-deprecating the words sound.
“It has nothing to do with you. Trust me. He doesn’t like any Ro…” He hesitates, stopping himself mid-sentence, but it’s too late since I catch the implication before he can finish his thought.
