Chapter 32: XXVIII

— RORI —

Zephaniah is scheduled to leave the country early on Sunday morning.

"Where exactly will you go?" i had asked him earlier on.

His face had appeared on the left side of my phone screen, during a FaceTime call with Wyatt, and i almost jumped out of my skin at the sight, for i was about to start talking about him.

I think he could tell, and Wyatt clearly could too, as the latter smirked at me when i so obviously glared daggers at him.

The two of them are friends, it appears.

Sometimes i forget that Wyatt has the option to hang out with his brothers instead of me.

"Hm," Zephaniah had replied, thoughtfully, as if he hadn't yet figured that out. "Perhaps London. I've always been fond of the city, and i have an apartment there, after all...Maybe Athens too. I don't like being in one place for too long."

At first, when he told us he would be leaving, one could imagine that my prone to overthinking mind had spiralled.

He has barely been here three months and now he's leaving?

He doesn't know when he will be back?

But then i realised that, so long as Zephaniah is out of the country, Damiano and others can no longer get to him, and i felt okay again.

My eldest brother is acting as he normally does, and it as if his near meltdown on his birthday never happened.

I had panicked, initially, thinking that he was fleeing the country because he was in danger, but, even if that was his reason for doing so, all seems to be well now.

After all, he would not be so relaxed if he was in serious danger. And he surely would have picked a destination by now.

Zephaniah is spontaneous but by no means indecisive.

And, to conclude, i am not so much hurt by his behaviour the other day as i am confused.

If i was hurt by every little thing Zephaniah said or did, i would spend most of my life feeling sorry for myself.

I think i have gotten better at not caring, as the months go by. There is a saying, i am sure, about developing thick skin...

The bell on the door chimes as i walk into Aunt Tosca's cafe.

Christian has chosen to sit at our usual table, at the back of the cafe, where the whirring of the coffee machine is not so piercing. While standing in the queue, i idly observe him. I then order myself a blueberry muffin, as well as a chai latte, and make my way over to the table.

Christian smiles at me as i take a seat, nodding in approval at the sight of my order.

He wears grey sweatpants and a navy blue, tight-fitting t-shirt which represents the Vancouver Canucks. His hair is slightly wet and tousled, and i glare at it.

"I, uh...had a hockey game this morning," he tells me, avoiding my gaze as though he is embarrassed to be seen like this.

I don't know why he's embarrassed. Though, i realise that i am sitting here in a white shirt and pinstripe pleated mini skirt and conclude that he must feel underdressed.

I have to say, his hair does look quite silly. He could have at least run a comb through it.

"I didn't realise you played in the NHL," i say, causing his eyebrows to furrow in confusion. "Your top..." i add, and he glances down, his expression morphing into one of realisation.

"Oh. This was my change of clothing. It's too small for me now but i can afford to wear it to and forth games," he explains.

My gaze lowers once more.

"Looks fine to me," i say, before clearing my throat.

I avert my gaze to the Juicy Couture bag sitting on my lap, which contains an English essay i brought for him to look over, as well as my Math homework.

"I forgot you played hockey..." i sheepishly admit.

He scoffs.

"Gee, thanks," he says, somewhat offended. "It's not like i'm ranked second best under eighteen in our region, or anything."

My lips tremble.

He is well and truly offended that i forgot he played hockey.

"Was i supposed to know this?" i ask, purposely trying to push his buttons now.

He gapes at me in disbelief.

"Ria...i'm on the wall, outside of the gymnasium. I've won cups for the school. I'm the centre forward," he lists.

I shrug with a deliberate air of insouciance.

"I forgot."

"You—"

"Our school is very much academic. And i don't spend much time in the gymnasium." i shrug once more. "Did you know that i'm the top linguist?"

He squints, pointing a finger at me, as he often does when he believes someone to be incorrect.

"I thought that was Quentin."

My smile fades instantly, and i swear my left eye twitches.

"I'm sorry?"

"Is he...the top male linguist?" he queries.

I blink once. Twice. Three times.

"There's no such thing. The top linguist is me. I am her."

"Well, i'll be dammed," he says, taken aback.

"Everyone knows that i'm the top linguist," i insist.

"Well..." Christian begins, his face contorting into a mocking 'awkward' expression.

"Th—there's a plaque."

"Mhm."

"And a photo of me holding my plaque."

"Uh-huh."

I scoff.

"I'm also going to attain the highest overall grade in English Studies by the end of the year. So long as i maintain good grades in Chemistry and Mathematics, i could be well on my way to being top of the class," i declare.

Christian's eyebrows raise in amusement and he smiles at me with indulgence.

"Well, i can certainly help with both Chemistry and Mathematics," he emphasises my use of the word mathematics. "And, of course, should you require help with your English Studies..." there he goes again, "i'd be more than happy to share my wisdom."

"I won't need help with that," i say, dismissively, plastering a friendly smile onto my face. "I've already told you that your...tutoring me," i say the word tutoring with the utmost contempt, "is not necessary."

"It's just that English is in fact a foreign language for you," he patronises me. "You might struggle."

"I was speaking three languages before i knew i was speaking three languages," i sass. "I guess that's why i'm the top linguist and you're the..." i pause, looking him up and down, "second best hockey player."

Christian's mouth breaks into a full on grin, his tongue rolling to the left side of his cheek in an incredulous fashion.

"Touché, Łabanowski."

The sound of my last name on his lips always gets to me.

In a good way, i mean. A comforting way...i don't know.

It flows off his tongue so effortlessly, i suppose. And when he calls me by my last name, it doesn't sound gruff, in a way that he would address my twins, or polite, in the way that he would call my eldest brothers Mr Łabanowski.

It just sounds soft — weirdly affectionate — and i feel warm.

"But, for the record," he continues. "If anyone is going to be top of the class — at least in English — it's going to be me."

My mouth twists as i avoid smiling at him.

"In your dreams," i retort.

"Wanna bet?"

Deja vu washes over me quicker than i can acknowledge his words, as i am brought back to our childhood.

I never was good at winning bets against Christian, but he always set me up, knowing that, whatever the task was, he would win. Knowing that i couldn't say no, because there's nothing i loved more than a challenge.

Whether it be who could do the most press-ups, or who could stay awake the longest, i was no match for him.

Christian is good at just about everything, so, really, no one is a viable opponent. But English, i know for a fact i am good at.

And this time, i will win.

"I thought you'd never ask," i say, cheerily.

"Name your prize," he responds, just as smug as i.

I think to myself for a moment.

What is the one thing i want from Christian Taylor that he is able to give me?

After a few seconds, it hits me.

"I wanna go on your yacht," i tell him.

"You wanna go on my yacht?" he repeats, surprised by my answer.

"Indeed. And i want you to teach me to how to sail."

Christian has been sailing ever since he was a little boy — of course accompanied by an adult. But, now that he is sixteen, he is allowed to sail all by his lonesome.

I don't think my brothers would ever let me set foot on a yacht without one of them present, so, naturally, i want to.

"That can be arranged," he tells me, almost too happily, before adding, "Should you win. Which you won't."

I roll my eyes.

"And if you win?" i ask, disinterested.

"If and when i win, i'll teach you how to play ice hockey," he insists. "Since you clearly think my second place ranking is nothing to brag about, it should be satisfying to witness you falling on your ass," he concludes, an elated look in his eyes.

I smile to myself.

"I know a thing or two about ice skating."

"It's a lot more difficult when there's a puck involved," he argues.

"We'll see."

"That we will." he gleams. "Cause you're so gonna lose."

Minutes pass, and eventually — reluctantly — i allow Christian to help me with my Math homework.

Math is not his strongest subject either, but he is still better at it than me, though it pains me to admit it.

He is helping me with a problem when my phone rings and, this time, for whatever reason, i am almost certain that it is Damiano calling. I excuse myself from the table and head into the accessible bathroom this time, sighing before i accept the call.

Damiano speaks before i can so much as get a word in.

"Zephaniah is leaving the country."

"I know that," i respond, unsettled. "Though how you know is a mystery to me."

"I assumed it would be obvious at this point that i have many people working for me," he says, and i feel even more unsettled. "We are in the same family, after all. The same circle. It's not difficult to keep tabs on one's whereabouts."

"Cut to the chase, Damiano," i demand. "I'm with a friend and he'll be expecting me."

"He?" he repeats, in a curious tone of voice. "Where are you?"

"Yes, he," i say. "I'm at Aunt Tosca's cafe, studying. The same place where you first called me and the same place where i saw you."

"Studying?" he repeats. "On a Saturday?"

"For Goodness sake, will you get the point already?"

"I will pick you up in ten minutes at the end of the alley, next to the cafe, in a beige Porsche. It's best if i explain in person. Go back to your studying and, when the time comes, make up some story to tell that boy of yours. Got it?"

"He's not my—"

Damiano hangs up before i can finish my sentence, and i roll my eyes.

His tone of voice didn't sound urgent, merely bothered; as if whatever news he has to share with me is an inconvenience rather than something to worry about.

But, even still, i can't shake off the feeling that something is wrong.

I take a deep breath, staring at myself in the bathroom mirror. I pinch my cheeks in order to restore their colour, and then i head back to the table.

Naturally, the first thing Christian asks me is "Is everything okay?"

"Uh-huh." i greet him with a warm smile.

I think i've gotten better at acting.

"It was just Wyatt," i tell him. "He was reminding me that he's picking me up in ten minutes. I would walk, but i have to be back in time for dinner."

That was a smooth cover. I think.

"Right." he nods. "Is he meeting you outside?"

"Uh, no, i'm going to him. He's parked round the block. He's already in town, i think."

"I can walk with you," he offers.

"It's fine," i say. "But thanks."

"Okay..." he trails off, eyeing me with intrigue. "No problem."

I send him another smile to compensate, feeling bad that i am declining his polite offer to accompany me, especially knowing what happened after i did so at the last party.

We manage to solve a few more problems in the remaining minutes that follow, and then i bid farewell to my friend, following Damiano's instructions and rounding the corner until i reach the neighbouring alleyway.

I find myself walking at a quicker pace than usual in order to reach the Porsche, and i glance in the window to try and spot him. Of course they are slightly tinted, but his five o'clock shadow is enough of a giveaway and i open the passenger door.

"Real discreet car," i say, as i lower myself into the vehicle.

"This is Hollywood. This is as discreet as it gets," he argues.

"This is Santa Monica and, here, we drive Hondas," i quip.

"If i ever see you driving a Honda, i'll have Lorenzo banish you like he did our mother."

He obviously meant it as a joke but his accent, far stronger than mine, or any one of my siblings', makes it sound like a harsh threat.

"Sorry," he adds, glancing at me with a slightly softened expression. "I usually think before i speak. Different story when i'm stressed."

At least you apologised, i think to myself. Even though i wasn't offended.

Once i have secured my seatbelt, Damiano starts the car. Despite being used to the comfort of high-end vehicles, i have never sat in a Porsche until now. It looks and smells as good as new to me. Though, if Damiano is anything like my brothers, he probably pays thousands of dollars maintaining it.

He controls the vehicle with ease, turning it around in one smooth motion before driving to the end of the alleyway and heading east in the direction of Los Angeles.

I figure now is a good time to speak up, but he does so before i can so much as open my mouth.

"I have to go against everything i stand for in this moment and help your brother," he begins. "My men have been keeping watch on Henryk. He's been in captivity ever since he ordered someone to shoot your brothers, but i was informed half an hour ago that he escaped. Killed three of my men in the process."

Instantly, i panic. Damiano most certainly did not tell me that he knew of Henryk's whereabouts for a reason as, blackmail aside, the first thing i would have done is inform my older brothers.

"Is that why Zeph is leaving the country?" i ask him. "It can't be — he was in a good mood this morning. He didn't seem stressed. Wyatt was fine," i ramble, completely ignoring the misfortune of Damiano's employees.

"I have no idea why Zephaniah is leaving, but that cannot be the reason. This only just occurred."

"What about Lorenzo? Can't he do something? Can't you call him?" i point out.

"He is aware of the situation and he is handling it the best he can but, even still, he is thousands of miles away," he tells me.

"Then we need to tell Zephaniah. The first thing Henryk will do is look for him, and, since he knows of his whereabouts, that will not be hard at all."

"I agree that we need to inform your brother. But it is not that simple. I have reason to believe that, should Henryk go after anyone, it will be all three of us. Me, for betraying him. The two of you, for existing."

"Then what do we do?" i ask.

Damiano sighs, as if he, himself, does not know the answer. And, immediately, i feel angered by the sheer helplessness i feel.

The man who is technically my eldest brother, and the leader of my mother's side of the family, is thousands of miles away right now. No doubt he is sipping his drink of choice from some golden chalice, stroking his chin in thought with a hand that wears some sort of signet ring that is twice as elaborate as my brother's, while his little brother has to break it to his recently acquainted little sister that his erratic father is on the loose and hunting them down.

I don't need to meet this guy to know that i do not like him.

After all, i never get along with the patriarch. They tend to leave their kin to their own devices.

"Connect your phone to the car's speakers. We'll have to call him. We have no choice," he finally says, sounding particularly resigned.

"What about the rest of our siblings?" i point out. "We have to inform them; how do we know if they're safe?"

"First we need to deal with Zephaniah," he tells me, sounding surprisingly calm. "Connect your phone."

I do as he instructs, connecting my phone as quickly as possible and then searching for my brother's name in my contacts.

I try to remain as calm as possible. And, in this moment, feuding or otherwise, i know that i need to be strong for both of my brothers.

I can't bear the anticipation as i press the call button below Zephaniah's name. But i don't have much time to worry anyway, as he answers after only a few rings, greeting me in an unusually pleasant manner.

"How can i help you, Rori?"

Damiano doesn't seem unsettled by the sound of his voice, though i do notice he breathes a little deeper.

We didn't discuss who would be doing the talking, but i assume me and speak up despite the fact my hands now involuntarily tremble.

"Zeph—"

His name leaves my mouth a lot quieter than intended; soft and timid, as if i hadn't uttered it in years.

It feels like it, in this moment. Suddenly, all that matters is my brother, and i love him. Even the worst of him.

Especially the worst of him.

I love him, and i want to tell him so badly how i miss him and want to give him a hug.

But i don't.

"Rori?" my brother says my name, and only then do i realise that i tuned out.

"It's important it's—it's Henryk."

I somehow manage to get the words out, but no weight is lifted off my chest and, if anything, the anxiety i feel intensifies.

It's at that moment i look over to Damiano, silently pleading for his help. It appears he has tuned out also, as he focuses on the busy road ahead of us. But when a car horn blares from behind us, he returns to the present.

"The connection is weak on your end," my brother tells me. "I can't understand what you're saying. Are you in the car? Look, i'm about to leave for the airport—"

"What!?"

Damiano and i squawk at the same time, and i feel the engine come to life as he presses hard onto the accelerator.

From this part of town, at this time of day, it will take well over an hour to get to LAX. And that's assuming we don't get stuck in hordes of traffic, which is almost impossible when living in Los Angeles County.

"Who are you with?" Zephaniah asks, his tone sounding like one of curiosity rather than recognition.

This time, Damiano speaks before i can open my mouth.

"It's Damiano Łabanowski speaking. Where are you right now?"

There is a predictable silence on Zephaniah's end, until...

"What the fuck is going on?" he seethes.

"Listen, there's no time to explain. Rori and i are acquainted. She is safe. And, much to your dismay, i am safe. Henryk is on the loose; killed three of my men in the process. I have reason to believe he's after all of us. Lorenzo knows, but we cannot inform the rest of our siblings just yet. I just need for you to tell me your location and stay exactly where you are until we meet you there."

There is another silence, and this time it drags on. I hear my brother release a deep breath, as if weighing up the severity of the situation. He clearly heard that i am in a car with Damiano, and he clearly cares, but, luckily, he chooses to ignore this fact for now, meaning he must trust that i am at least safe in Damiano's presence.

"I'll send you the address," he complies, his tone of voice ominous; much different to the light, cheery tone he had addressed me with, when he thought he was about to be leaving the country for somewhere more exciting.

He hangs up immediately afterwards, and we both breathe a sigh of relief that the most difficult task is over: getting Zephaniah to obey.

I check my phone immediately after, informing Damiano of the address, and notice that i missed a text from Wyatt earlier on which states, simply, 'Zephaniah forgot to say that he is leaving for the airport later on today. Can't wait to get peace from Yakov,' along with several laughing emojis.

I rub my hand across my forehead in frustration, and Damiano glances at me, curiously, from the corner of his eye.

"Everything okay?" he asks me, before adding. "Stupid question, i know."

I turn to face him, plastering a small smile onto my face, despite the fact i am anything but happy right now.

"Thank you for helping me and my brother," i say. "I know you probably want him dead—"

"I want no such thing," he swiftly cuts me off, casting me a meaningful glance. "This was never about bringing harm to my baby brother; it was about making things right...Even if i have to make some immoral decisions to get there," he tells me.

I stare at him with bemusement and intrigue, wondering how he can be both the most reasonable person i have met as well as the most stupid.

"I think i would want him dead if i were you," i tell him, before adding, "I'm not trying to give you ideas or anything."

He laughs at this, causing me to smile.

"I did fantasise about killing him at one point," he admits. "But i'm sure he's done the same."

"Well, he's certainly thought about killing your father," i muse. "He's going to do it, you know? Unless Henryk kills him first, that is."

Damiano is silent, and i instantly feel guilty for talking about his father in such a way. I am not phased, knowing that mine is dead, but it isn't a subject i'd appreciate being brought up.

"I'm sorry," i say. "I should be more sensitive."

"It's not your fault i'm son to the spawn of Satan," he dismisses me. "Everyone will be better off once he's dead. That's for sure."

Damiano must be driving at the maximum speed limit, as he weaves his way through the cars, and i hear yet another horn beeping in the distance.

Well, i've certainly seen more reckless driving in my time.

"Do you mind if i put the radio on?" he asks. "Helps me concentrate. Even if i can't make out half of what they're saying."

I eagerly nod my head, desperate to distract myself from what's to come.

"It's your car," i point out, tuning in to KIIS FM.

The intro of 'Paper Planes' by M.I.A travels through the speakers, and i nod my head along to the beat when, suddenly, i feel the car speed up from beneath me.

"Don't panic," Damiano says, when he sees the bewildered expression on my face. "I'm a very skilled driver; just have to break a few laws to ensure we get there before Zephaniah does something stupid."

— SUCKER PUNCH —

We reach our destination after what feels like an eternity, having drove to a somewhat isolated area of land that i have never come across in my life. It is a warehouse, and that is all i can say. But while it's exterior is not pretty, it at least looks a tad better inside.

A young man greeted us at the entrance, which clearly requires you to present some sort of identification card to access it, and i was surprised to find that he is dressed in regular clothing as opposed to looking like he is starring in Men in Black.

Without a word, he leads us down a tediously long corridor until we eventually reach the room where Zephaniah must be, knocking on the door which is locked on our side three times in quick succession.

Zephaniah answers the door after only a few seconds, and he, too, is not dressed in the professional attire that i expected he would be in but, rather, wears an unbuttoned blue and white striped shirt showing a tight-fitting, white t-shirt underneath, a pair of loose fitting, tan colored jeans, as well as the cleanest pair of white Vans i have ever seen in my life and plenty of gold jewellery which brings the outfit together.

I think this is the most color i've ever seen him wear in my entire life...

"Hello, Cousin. Long time no see."

In the threshold of my brother's office, Damiano and i stand amidst an air of unease. Zephaniah has not yet glanced in my direction, his eyes firmly fixed in the direction of the former, and his tone of voice — as casual as ever — unsettles me even more.

"Zephaniah."

On the other hand, Damiano makes no effort to conceal his true feelings towards the man before him, uttering his name in a contemptuous tone.

My brother steps aside, allowing us to enter his office, and he closes the door behind us with a loud thud. I don't say a word as he approaches his desk and takes a seat, and, when his gaze finally shifts to me, i feel twice as anxious as i did during the drive here.

"You may sit," my brother says, his eyes gesturing to the two chairs conveniently positioned in front of his desk.

If i thought the chair Damiano had inhabited during our first meeting was luxurious, Zephaniah's surely puts it to shame. Our chairs are comfortable but, in comparison to his, almost comical.

My first instinct is to glance around the room and make myself aware of my surroundings, and i find there is not much to it at all. It isn't your typical office, with pictures of loved ones, or plants scattered around the place, it's just very...bland.

It makes sense, i suppose, seeing as Zephaniah was never a fan of clutter. He has always taken a minimalistic approach, and always kept his bedroom neat and tidy, which can't be said for some of us.

Honestly, i think the whole neat freak persona is just part of being the eldest.

"Isn't this an interesting day?" Zephaniah muses, pulling me away from my thoughts. "The two of you, in my office, already acquainted."

I glance at Damiano, gauging his reaction, and i am surprised to see not a single movement in his stoic expression. Zephaniah doesn't seem fazed by this at all, as if he is used to it.

"Indeed," Damiano says. "I decided to reach out to Rori. I believe she deserved to know of my existence, don't you think?"

"You decided to reach out to Rori?" Zephaniah repeats, dubiously. "As opposed to Quentin?"

"After all, she is my only sister. And the males in our family have a notorious habit of not getting along."

"I'm sure you would have gotten along fine with my youngest brother," Zephaniah dismisses him. "He's a sweetheart," he mocks.

Zephaniah's eyes shift over to mine a moment later, and i instinctively avert my gaze to the lone painting behind his head.

"Rori?" my brother begins.

"Mhm," i answer, my eyes making no effort to move as i admire the abstract shapes.

"It is impolite to avoid eye contact when someone is speaking to you," he scolds me, his voice slow and severe.

Begrudgingly, i lower my eyes until i am met with his own. Their color may be warm, but the way he looks at me in this moment is cold and calculating.

"When did the two of you first meet?" he asks me.

"Last month," i say, automatically.

"Last month?" he repeats, his tone of voice sounding uncharacteristically gentle. "And why didn't you tell tell me?" he innocently asks, though something tells me he already knows the answer. "Did you not think i'd be happy to hear that your brother has suddenly taken an interest in your life?"

I shrug my shoulders while i try to make up an excuse, but i can't seem to come up with anything that would justify me not informing my eldest brother that a stranger, who happens to be my relative, decided to reach out to me and me only.

"Zephaniah, while i understand you are not pleased, we've got more important things to be dealing with, like the fact my father is on the loose again," Damiano reminds him. "Lorenzo will call and update us on the situation. With luck, father will be located by the end of the day. Though we must wait here now until he calls."

Anyone who does not know Zephaniah well would only see that he is giving Damiano a blank stare, but i notice the flicker of amusement in his eyes instantly.

"Lorenzo will not call," he says.

"Excuse me?" Damiano says, quirking an eyebrow in bemusement.

"Lorenzo will not call because your father is exactly where you left him," Zephaniah elaborates, and both Damiano and i furrow our eyebrows in bemusement.

Zephaniah huffs in amusement and stands up, ignoring our inquisitive looks as he heads towards the door, opens it, and then gestures for someone to approach him.

A man walks into the room behind my brother, and i notice his eyes widen when he spots me and Damiano.

Zephaniah returns to his desk, the man still standing, and faces him with an expectant look.

"You recognise these two. Don't you, Mr Mancini?"

The man doesn't bother to glance at us a second time when he answers, "Yes, Sir."

He may recognise us, but i certainly don't recognise him, and i turn to Damiano with a perplexed expression. My brother, on the other hand, clearly does recognise this man, as his eyes narrow at the sight of his face.

"I don't understand," i say, as i stare at the relatively young man. "Who is he?"

"Mr Mancini was present on the night that you met Damiano, was he not?" Zephaniah asks me, or, rather, tells me.

He turns to Damiano when he notices his severe expression, the corners of his mouth turning upwards, almost mockingly.

"I was oblivious too," he tells him, feigning sympathy. "But he offered me some very valuable information in exchange for his life...information i almost wouldn't believe if it hadn't been for events which would prove it to be true," he explains. "And so, i had him inform you that Henryk had escaped, knowing you would wind up here."

Damiano is still, like a body of water that simply cannot be disrupted, no matter what the weather brings. It is this stillness and this inability to show sign of weakness that i am envious of, especially in the presence of someone as gruelling as Zephaniah.

Even now, i am avoiding eye contact as much as possible; barely able to refrain from bouncing my leg, or tapping my foot, or even playing with my hands, and fiddling with my bracelet. I am never still, and i wear my emotions on my face.

What i would give to simply handle situations like this in the same way i handle situations at school: with ease. It's a pity there is no one to teach me how to hold my own in the presence of such men.

"I know it was you who called my sister the night i was drugged. I know under what circumstances the two of you met. And if you think for one minute that the two of you would be able to walk into a hotel, which our family own, and that Rori — who is quickly becoming a well known face around here — would not be recognised alongside one of the known members of said family, you really must be insane."

Zephaniah's voice is raised by the time he finishes his sentence, not a single pause as he reveals this news like a sharp blow to the chest, as if he has been waiting for the right moment to do so.

This is the only time Damiano reacts, as he closes his eyes for a moment, only exhaling right as he opens them. He then turns to face me, a somewhat regretful look in his eyes as he peers down at me through furrowed eyebrows.

"So you must also know that i did not harm a single hair on her head," he says, quietly, and i am not sure if his motive is to reassure Zephaniah or prolong the inevitable. "We merely ate finger sandwiches..."

My brother scoffs.

"You may not have physically harmed my sister, but you manipulated her to say the least," Zephaniah points out. "No doubt told her some fabricated story designed to make her hate me..." he locks eyes with me now, and, if i didn't know any better, i would assume he is glaring at me. "You knew that she's as easy a target as she looks, and you took advantage of that."

Ouch.

"You said it. Not me," Damiano levels with him, and a meaningful exchange happens as they look one another in the eye. "And she may be an easy target..." Damiano glances at me once more, making sure i am looking him in the eyes when he says, "but i don't doubt for a second that she is strong."

From the corner of my eyes, i see Zephaniah typically raise his eyes to the ceiling.

"You may leave, Mr Mancini," he dismisses the man, as if his lingering presence is of a great inconvenience.

Damiano quirks an eyebrow at him, almost mockingly.

"You really aren't going to kill him?"

Zephaniah doesn't answer, but glares at him instead.

"Did you really think i wouldn't find out about your scheming?" he asks, glancing between the two of us. "I'm not oblivious to what's right under my nose." he faces me now, a look of determination on his face. "And if you think for one moment that this man has your best interests at heart, i pity you. Do you even know what his master plan was?"

I shake my head ever so slightly, and Zephaniah almost laughs in my face at the incredulity of it.

"My dear, naive, little sister," Zephaniah begins. "This man was going to have you kidnapped off the street without so much as a warning—"

"That's not true," Damiano interjects.

"No?" Zephaniah mocks.

"I was going to warn her. I wasn't going to let her think that she was really in danger."

"And that's better how?" Zephaniah asks him, in true disbelief. "Either way, your little sister was going to be kidnapped in order for you to, what, seek revenge on me because you landed yourself in jail?"

"Hold up." i turn to face Damiano, a look of shock and confusion swimming in my eyes. "You were going to have me kidnapped?"

"Technically," he responds, indifferent as to what the big deal is.

"Technically?" i repeat, my tone of voice incredulous, showing that i fail to see how this is in any way something that would make him appear reasonable. "What the hell does that mean!?"

I notice the smug look Zephaniah gives his brother, and he relaxes into his chair a little as if he is content by the scene playing out in front of him. Damiano, on the other hand, glares at Zephaniah with such a hateful look that would surely rival mine.

"Try not to think of it as a kidnapping, but, rather, it would be orchestrated like one."

His attempt to put my mind at ease is almost comical, but i really shouldn't be surprised considering how nonchalant and self assured he seemed during our first meeting.

From the corner of me eye, i see Zephaniah's eyebrows raise in mock bemusement.

"And this would help you seek revenge, how?" i ask, skeptical.

Damiano sighs in resignation, turning to face Zephaniah once more before staring at me with a meaningful look.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asks. "All i would have to do is make it look like i was handing you over to my father, and Zephaniah would do anything to save you." the look he gives Zephaniah now is menacing. "Including turn himself in to Lorenzo."

Zephaniah raises his chin as he responds to his brother, completely ignoring the fact it was said he would do anything to save me.

"I don't quite understand what i would be turning myself in for." he plays dumb.

Damiano scoffs, an unfriendly smile forming on his face.

"So, what, you have memory loss now?" Damiano mocks. "Let me remind you of the fact i spent eighteen months in jail for a crime i didn't commit."

Zephaniah's mouth breaks into a proud smirk, his eyes lighting up rather than showing any signs of regret.

"After what you did," Zephaniah begins, and his attitude becomes more serious; more sinister, "you surely deserved it. And more."

Damiano scoffs, humourlessly, his eyebrows raised to the heavens as he stares at our brother with sheer disbelief.

"After what i did?" he repeats, unimpressed. "What i did?"

Zephaniah's expression is all the more relaxed as he observes Damiano's astonishment.

"What have i ever done to you, Zephaniah?" Damiano asks. "What i have ever done that could possibly equate to what you put me through?"

"You assisted your father in the assassination of my son."

My eyes widen — not only at him announcing that Damiano is to blame, not only at him confirming that he indeed was a father to be, but that he was to have a son.

A son.

The child's gender, of course, is not important. And when i think of my family, it is clear that it is already male dominated. But the matter is, Zephaniah was to be a father to a son. Not a daughter. And if i imagine that this child was actually born — that this son was actually born — i can't help but wonder if my brother would have held him to such a standard in which he would have been taught how to use a knife to defend himself at the same time he was taught how to chop vegetables with it.

I believe if the child was to have been a girl, i would be much more distraught right now.

I would have taken her under my wing from the very moment i met her; no doubt about it. I would have wiped her tears as her father lashed out, and assured her that, underneath his hard exterior, there is a man, who was once a boy, who was taught not how to love but how to survive.

A son of Zephaniah is a nephew i would try to bond with, but, ultimately, i imagine myself struggling to.

"Excuse me?"

Damiano looks nothing short of offended and, above all, confused by my brother's accusation. Zephaniah, on the other hand, maintains his composure, and he has not once glanced at me throughout this entire interaction.

"The fetus that was to be my son," Zephaniah rephrases, exaggerating, as if Damiano cannot understand his English. "You helped your father put and end to his life before it had even begun."

"I did no such thing," Damiano insists, furiously. "And don't you forget this is the same son you abandoned; don't you forget about Veronica," he seethes.

If i didn't already feel as though i am sitting amidst a conversation i was never supposed to be apart of, i surely do now.

This is the first time i have witnessed Damiano coming close to loosing his temper, and, as usual, when Zephaniah wishes to add fuel to the fire, he appears exactly as i am sure Damiano perceives him to be: remorseless.

"I do not care for Veronica. I did not respect her and she did not respect me. She was a nasty piece of work, who happened to be carrying my child."

I can tell Damiano is close to reaching his breaking point, as Zephaniah describes the woman, who is obviously his late ex girlfriend, in such a distasteful manner. If i was him, i wouldn't know what to do with myself. And, even now, as Zephaniah continues to pay no mind to my presence, i am left staring at my eldest brother as if he has just committed the most heinous of crimes.

"I don't believe you truly care for this son of yours, either," Damiano says, and his voice is slightly quieter now; his tone more solemn.

"How can one love a child that is unborn?" Zephaniah asks him, deadly serious. "This is not about some nonexistent grief; this is about you and your father doing everything in your power to make my life miserable."

"Make your life miserable?" Damiano almost laughs now, and it is an unpleasant thing to witness, as he and my brother communicate to each other with not one ounce of respect. "You slept with my girlfriend."

"But that's not how the story went," Zephaniah argues, shaking his head, and i can tell his frustration is also growing.

When i take one look at Damiano, i can tell things are about to take a turn for the worse. His usually bright, green eyes have darkened, and it as if something else has taken over.

He stands up from his seat now, so he is looking down at his younger brother. The latter is unmoving, relaxed in his chair, with his biceps on display, as his arms lie across his torso. The only give away as to how he truly feels is his expression, resembling his brother's, as he gazes up at Damiano with hardened features.

"No, that is exactly how the story went, Zephaniah," Damiano continues. "You slept with my girlfriend, you got her pregnant," he rattles off, counting each offence with his fingers, "you abandoned your unborn child and left me to take over, just like you abandoned your kid siblings and left the nineteen year old  in charge." he gestures to me at the mention of 'kid siblings', and only now does Zephaniah spare me a moment's glance, his expression still the same. "When you come to think of it, me and my father haven't done much harm in comparison to you."

I see Zephaniah shaking his head, as if warning Damiano that some things are better left unsaid, and i can't help but think back to all that Damiano shared with me in the car and wonder if he truly meant what he said about wanting to fix his relationship with his brother, or if he was just trying to appease me.

"After all, wasn't it your father who first tore our family apart by sleeping with his brother's wife?" Damiano points out. "And wasn't it your father who gave your mother ten children, only to abandon them?"

Zephaniah says nothing, and i say nothing, but i know that he, too, can feel the weight of Damiano's words, and the bitter taste of betrayal as the story is retold to us.

"At the end of the day, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. And one of these days, mark my words, Zephaniah, i'm going to get justice for all the wrong that you've done."

Damiano makes sure Zephaniah understands the severity of his threat, as he looks him dead in the eye.

"And you should thank your lucky stars if i don't put you six-feet underground like my father did yours."

My eyes notice the gun before my brain has time to register what i'm seeing, catching sight of the shiny, silver metal which sparkles under the bright glow cast by the light above Zephaniah's head.

When i realise what is about to happen, my instincts take over and insist that making sure Damiano is out of the firing line is the right thing to do. After all, Zephaniah would most certainly not go unpunished if something were to happen, especially given their history.

And so i stand up in an attempt to push Damiano out of the way without a second thought; him completely oblivious, having only just finished his sentence.

I don't notice anything right away, and, for a moment, i believe that Zephaniah has noticed me in time and stopped himself from pulling the trigger.

But then i feel it.

The vibrating sensation as the bullet makes contact with my flesh, the pressure as it makes its way deep inside of me, and the wave of numbness that soon takes over.

I realise that i am no longer supporting myself, but i have not fallen to the ground either, as Damiano holds onto me.

I hear a loud ringing sound from deep within my ears, and i almost feel as if i am suffocating, as my vision becomes blurry and the room sways, the walls seeming to close in on me.

I distinctly hear Damiano shouting at Zephaniah to go get someone, but he doesn't.

My eldest brother hasn't moved an inch since he fired the bullet; his mouth agape. And, all too quickly, my vision begins to fade.

Even as my eyes close, Zephaniah is still. And, as i am drifting off to sleep, the last thing i hear is the traditional, ominous ring of a telephone.

(Edited)

A/N: Hey...how y'all doin'?

Um...there's a lot to unpack here, so let's just take a moment and regroup...

Great. If you're wondering why i took a month to update...well, i would hope it is self explanatory after reading this chapter. But, jokes aside, i was also just really busy trying to make the most of my summer holidays as well as coming to terms with the fact my first week of college was around the corner. I can't promise updates will be regular atm due to various reasons, but you know i will do my best. Anywho, please do let me know your thoughts on this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it, and, for those of you going back to school or starting something new, i hope you have an amazing first day!

Oh! Before i forget — make sure you check out my latest tiktok which will be posted in time with this chapter. Also, i'm curious to know if you guys have any expectations of what Lorenzo and Eden are like.