Bella smiled and perched on the arm of Victoria’s chair, the tablet in both their hands. She tapped the screen slowly, showing her where the apps were, how to scroll, how to open the cara. Victoria watched with a half-mocking, half-delighted expression, her fingers hovering as if she were about to perform a sacred ritual.
"See? That one takes pictures," Bella said, holding the tablet out. "If you press the round button, it will—"
"Capture my good side, of course," Victoria finished, plucking the tablet and angling it at her face. She puckered and fussed like a woman half her age, then cracked a rare laugh when the cara betrayed a small, perfect selfie. "Hmph. Not bad. Maybe I’ll beco an influencer yet."
Bella giggled and showed her how to send the photo. Victoria’s eyes lit up when the picture slid off the screen as if by magic. "Ooh," she whispered, genuinely impressed. "You young people and your witchcraft."
Halfway through the lesson, Victoria set the tablet down and folded her hands, eyes sharpening into a playful scold. "Girls are way cuter than n, you know that?" she said, her voice full of exaggerated exasperation. "My grandsons always run away the mont my tea turns cold or I start telling the sa old story for the third ti. Argh, if I see them next ti I will pull their ears so hard they will rember their manners for a year."
Bella’s laugh softened into a smile. "They do care about you, really," she said. "They worry in their own way."
Victoria waved a dismissive hand, though her smile betrayed her. "Perhaps. But I will not be ignored. Today you will teach filters, and I will make them sit through tea with biscuits. And if they complain, I will use this new tablet to sha them on the family group chat." She tapped Bella’s shoulder with mock severity. "Now finish your lesson. Teach to send hearts."
****
Leo leaned back against the high leather barstool, one arm resting lazily across the counter while the other held his glass of whiskey. The golden liquid caught the dim light, but his gray eyes did not leave the phone in his hand. His jaw was tight, sharp enough to cut glass, and his leg, crossed over the other, bounced once with restrained tension.
The servant’s voice crackled through the line, and Leo’s brows drew lower. "She’s here," the man confird.
"Nonna?" Leo’s deep voice carried both disbelief and the faintest edge of dread.
"Yes, sir."
A muscle twitched in his cheek. He dragged a hand down his face, muttering under his breath, "Of all the damn tis to show up..." His gaze flicked to the entrance again.
He straightened in his seat, leaning forward. "Is Bella okay? She’s not scolding her, right?" His voice softened only when he said her na, the question threaded with an uncharacteristic trace of worry.
The servant hesitated. "Sir... both are just talking together."
Leo froze. "Just talking?"
"Yes. In fact..." A pause, then the faint sound of a cara click. Seconds later, a photo landed in Leo’s inbox.
He tapped it open, and his eyes widened despite himself. His grandmother Victoria, the iron-fisted woman who once ruled their household with terrifying authority, was sitting beside Bella. Not only sitting, but smiling. Smiling. And Bella, that little bunny, was laughing at sothing on the tablet in her hands, leaning in as though they had known each other forever.
The corners of Leo’s lips tugged downward, conflicted. He had grown up fearing his grandmother’s sharp tongue and her infamous punishnts. Just the mory of her "special oil massages" was enough to make his broad shoulders tense; she had always believed in drowning her grandsons in layers of her homade concoctions until they were slick as seals. God knows what was in those bottles—herbs, spices, maybe even hellfire.
He downed the rest of his whiskey in a single swallow, his throat working, the burn doing nothing to cool the fire in his chest. His gray eyes narrowed at the photo again, at Bella’s glowing expression.
Grandma never smiled like that with him.
Leo placed his phone face down on the counter, his jaw hardening the mont he caught sight of the bulky figure stepping through the bar’s entrance. The man was tall, wide-shouldered, his heavy boots dragging attention as he moved. A subtle hand signal followed, a sweep of fingers toward the corner, directed at another shadow already lurking there.
Leo did not react. He did not even move much. He just leaned back, long legs crossed at the ankle, glass of whiskey still dangling between his fingers. His posture looked almost lazy, but his stormy gray eyes were sharp as blades, following every move.
Little by little, the bar began to empty. The chatter dulled, laughter faded, and chairs scraped as custors slipped out, sensing the change in atmosphere. The bartender’s hands shook slightly as he wiped the counter, stealing glances toward Leo, then the strangers, and finally at the exit, as if debating whether to close early.
The bulky man sat two tables away, the wood creaking under his weight. He did not even order a drink. Just sat there, his thick fingers drumming against the surface. His eyes flickered up, eting Leo’s for a second too long.
Leo smirked faintly.
He could feel the tension spreading across the dimly lit bar. His aura was magnetic, pulling every gaze toward him even without a word. He tapped his glass once against the counter, his voice smooth and deep when he finally spoke, not even looking at the man.
"One of Pablo’s?" he muttered low, almost like he was speaking to himself, but loud enough to be heard.
The bulky man stiffened, his jaw ticking.
Leo chuckled under his breath, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Tell . Did your master send you here to watch , or to die for him?"
The man did not answer, but Leo could see his hand sliding slowly toward the inside of his jacket.
"Careful," Leo said, his voice dark silk now, dripping danger. His legs uncrossed, his body unfolding with effortless grace. "I don’t like spilling blood when I’m drinking. It ruins the taste."
User Comments
0 comments from readers