- [TRIGGER WARNING // SUICIDE] -

Curled atop the bed, the sheets crumpled and twisted around her, Liliana's body shuddered in a silent sob. Beside her, sat her unlocked phone.

She had been so foolish. As any young, deluded girl would, she had trusted her father implicitly; she had believed he cared for her and would protect her from the evils of his work, as he had failed to do with her mother. Yet, he hadn't even bothered to defend himself over the phone, merely spluttered a few reprimanding words as if she was at fault for questioning his motivations.

The phone call had barely lasted five minutes before he hung up on her.

"Liliana?" Mercello's sharp voice pushed through her sniffles and caught her off guard. She hadn't heard the door open. She groaned pitifully, knowing it was too late to hide her sorry state. "You've been crying?"

Liliana shot him an incredulous look, expression twisted in pain. Her eyes felt raw, her cheeks flushed, there was no doubt that she had been crying herself sick.

"Are you okay?" His voice was quiet and calmer than she had ever heard him speak. He hadn't spoke to her with anything but a scowl for the past week, and whatever this false air of sensitivity was, she didn't trust it. Liliana showed him as much with a glower directed his way, eyes narrowing further when he took a step towards her.

"Why bother asking? It's not like you care," she snapped, wiping roughly at her wet cheeks with shaking hands.

"I do care."

Liliana couldn't muster the effort required to scoff her disbelief. The day he cared would be the day she was beyond help.

Marcello seemed hesitant as he folded his jacket on the top of their dresser and approached the bed. Gone was his usual anger and distance.

"What's wrong?"

Liliana clenched her eyes shut, hating the ache in her chest at his soft tone. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he could ignore her for days and act like nothing other than an ass when they were together, and still leave her wanting to confide in him. Truthfully, she just didn't want to feel so damn alone.

The mattress dipped under his weight as he took a seat, and a strangled sob escaped when she felt his fingers graze her hand.

She pulled herself up into a sitting position, and forced herself to school her expression as best she could.

"My father," she uttered, unable to avoid the bitter taste on the tip of her tongue at the mention of the traitorous relation. "I've just had a particularly rotten conversation with him over the phone. If you don't mind I'd like to keep it to myself." Mercello's heavy hand fell to her knee and Liliana's harsh gaze did it's best to remove it.

"If you ever need to talk." Mercello left the phrase open which led Liliana to believe that he couldn't possibly know how to even finish it - that he didn't know how to offer such kindness. With her head bent forward, her eyes meeting his, her response was unaffected by his attempts to stupefy her.

"You may want me to believe that, but I'm afraid I just can't bring myself to it. There's far too much evidence towards your selfishness and sexism that one false act of understanding and kindness don't persuade me to fall for your masquerade. I don't know why you're trying to exploit my state of vulnerability but it only adds to your callous personality, and in all honest I don't really care to find out. Now," she breathed as her hand fell to his, her slim fingers curling across the back of his hand and removing it slowly from her leg. "Thank you for lending an ear, but I don't want it. If you'll excuse me I'm going to take a bath before bed."

Mercello scowled, rolled his eyes, but said no more.

Liliana spent her time alone in the bathroom without any more tears. Though that was more to do with the headache slowly growing across her forehead. When she emerged - in a mood more foul than before - she was surprised to see Marcello hadn't left the room. Instead, he was fast asleep on his side of the room, bedsheets gathered around his hips.

She forced herself to keep her eyes from his bare chest, hating that she knew all too well how it felt to have his body pressed against her.

Stupid husband and his stupid attractive body.

Was this the first time he had slept in his own bed since they were married? He'd spent so many nights not in here, she was beginning to wonder if he slept at all. Yet here he was, completely out of it, looking alarmingly peaceful.

She noted with grim amusement that he'd tidied up again while she was in the bath. Her mobile was now on charge on her bedside table, the book she'd left open had been put back on the dresser, all of her books had been organised actually, instead of the usual messy stack she left them in. And the creased photograph of her mother that she's propped against them - that Marcello seemed to hate so much - had been put in a simple black frame.

Had he done that? She hadn't realised just how much the 'mess' had irked him. Though the room had been remarkably spotless when she first arrived, but after realising Marcello rarely spent any time in here she'd assumed it was tidy merely from disuse.

On Marcello's own bedside table, he'd left a book out, and Liliana felt a strange compulsion to put it away for him. One good deed for another, as they say.

An Italian copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde was not a book she expected Marcello to read, and it seemed he had read it many times if the condition of the book was any indication.

As she was going to put the book away amongst hers, a couple of photographs fell out, dancing their way to the floor.



The two photographs, that Marcello seemed to be using as a bookmark or hiding in the book, were creased and folded. They were pictures of two different women, one of them Liliana recognised almost instantly to be her own mother. She'd never seen the photo before, her mother looked young but no younger than the photo's Liliana had of her just before her death.

The other woman she had never seen before. Seeming to be around the same age, she had dark curled hair, olive skin, sharp nose and looked notably similar to Marcello. His mother perhaps?

Liliana's hands shook as she fumbled with the photographs, shoving them precariously back into the pages of the book and putting it away on the dresser as quickly as she could. When she climbed into the bed beside Marcello, her heart hammered away in her chest.

She hadn't forgotten the letter she had received today, with the old news articles of her mother's death. Nor had she forgotten the notes that suggested she had been lied to, that the D'Onofrio's had lied to her.

Why did Marcello have a photograph of her mother?

***

It was no surprise that Marcello was gone before Liliana awoke. Unlike all the days before, though, Liliana felt nothing but a sense of crushing relief. She had no idea whether or not she was going to confront Marcello over the photograph of her mother, she had no idea what she would even say.

At least now she couldn't talk to him about it.

Liliana had grown used to Marcello's absence now, and as lonely as she had become, it wasn't Marcello's company she longed for. She spent most of her days by herself, or occasionally with Lucetta when she didn't feel as if she were disrupting the young cleaner too much.

The idleness, and growing feeling of discontent was mind-numbing though, and it was worsening with each passing day.

It was later that afternoon, when she had been unable to find Giovanni - or anyone else in the house for that matter - that a thunderous knocking on the front door startled her into awareness. Curled in the armchair of the lounge, her book now forgotten, Liliana waited in silence for anyone to answer the door.

The knocking continued, however, and no one put end to it.

The two large, arched front doors were made of dark wood and clouded glass. Behind them, Liliana could make out the shadowed form of a short figure. Anything more than that, she couldn't decipher.

Liliana knew that the front gates of the D'Onofrio manor were guarded carefully. Anyone who wasn't trusted by the D'Onofrio's wouldn't have made it to the front door. And yet, no one else was here to greet them.

With a slow, wavering exhale, Liliana opened one of the doors and plastered a bright but sharp smile on her face - prepared to play the role of happy wife to a feared mafioso. It was a smile that almost faltered at the sight of a small aged man, drowning beneath a coat far too big and a scarf far too thick for the current weather. He met her smile with one of his own, albeit his was far more relaxed.

"Signora D'onofrio, I presume?" his greeted in a thick, Italian accent. His tone matched his friendly expression - something which contrasted greatly to the atmospheres that the two stony-faced men behind him were emitting. Liliana wasn't feeling as comfortable with her decision to open the door any more.

For an uncomfortably long few seconds, Liliana forgot how to speak. Her throat felt tight and she was sure her heart had already leapt out of her chest and made a break for it out of the back door. How she managed to stand, with her back so straight and her welcoming gaze so unwavering, was a miracle.

"Signor Barbato," she addressed firmly, immensely relieved that her voice did not crack and her words were not stuttered.

A flicker of surprise passed across the old man's face before his smile brightened further.

"You know of me?"

Liliana nodded stiffly, hands clenched into fists at her side. She recognised the Italian man from the numerous news articles she'd read over the past day, trying to learn anything and everything about Alessandro Barbato.

Before his incarceration, he had been a prominent leader in the New York mafia - from one of the five main crime families. It was rumoured that while in prison, he'd remained in charge, and now that he was released he could assume his official position once again.

Liliana made no effort to hide the way she eyed the guards flanking Alessandro, and the guns holstered at their hips. While the five families were not outright enemies of one another, Liliana would be stupid not to be cautious.

"Would you like to invite me in?" He nodded at the door that she was still gripping onto as if it were her only lifeline.

Not at all, Liliana thought to herself. But as Marcello's wife, if she refused their entry it could be seen as an act of disrespect against the Barbato family. So she had no choice but to respond with a tight lipped smile and open the door wide enough for him to enter.

"Marcello is not home, if you're hoping to speak to him."

Barbato chuckled lightly to himself, stepping forward and reaching out to pat Liliana on the side of her arm gently.

"It's no matter, I can wait for him," he insisted and stepped forward with such confidence that Liliana felt she had no choice but to step out of his way.

Once inside Barbato removed his thick coat, his guard reaching out to take it from him just as his scarf was the next item of clothing to be removed. Beneath it he was wearing a crisp white button-up tucked into a pair of ironed, trousers which matched the colour of his earth toned eyes and dark brown, leather shoes. He seemed even smaller without the extra layers to build up his form. He was the same height as she was, and yet somehow she seemed even smaller.

"I'll show you to the lounge," she spoke through gritted teeth, again eying the two guards the followed Barbato's every move.

When she took her place in the arm chair once again, Barbato chose a seat on the opposing couch. His two guards stood a few steps away, expressions hard as stone with their arms folded in front of them. She shivered under the weight of their gazes.

"I didn't realise my marriage into the D'Onofrio family was common knowledge. I take it Sophia informed you?"

Barbato's round, tanned face was momentarily overcome with amusement as he rasped out, "I make it my business to know all things which interest me."

"My marriage to Marcello interests you?" Liliana asked, crossing her legs.

"Marcello interests me." He smirked, his dark eyes remained locked onto her face with an unnerving amount of focus. Liliana tried her best to remain unfazed. "I found your marriage to Marcello to be quite sudden, though not at all surprising. That event had been destined for a long time, you have your father to thank for that."

So he knew more than just what Sophia could have told him.

Liliana grimaced.

"Hopefully you will fair better." A cool flush overcame Liliana's body at that one foreboding line.

She didn't know why she thought of it, but photograph of the young woman tucked inside Marcello's book suddenly came to mind.

"Fair better than whom?" It was all Liliana managed to say, an unsettling feeling twisting at her gut. Barbato only waved off her question, smiling.

Every day she was here, it seemed the D'Onofrio family became nothing more that a confusing mass of lies and secrets. Everyone seemed to enjoy hinting vaguely at such things, without ever giving her the full truth, and she was left scrambling for every morsel of information she could grab from every conversation.

"Is something wrong?" Barbato asked. "You seem uncomfortable."

"Your presence was not expected, is all," she said diplomatically. But when a strange smile curved at his mouth, one full of mirth and mischief, Liliana found herself saying, "And I find your unexpected presence to be an unwelcome one."

From the corner of her eye she saw one of his guards shift, though to her relief he moved no closer. Alessandro Barbato is not someone to push, she reminded herself. Be demure, be polite; wait for someone to save you from his company.

"You're ruder than I thought," he said, no malice in his tone. If anything he only seemed more amused.

"Well you rather rudely demanded entrance to my home," she retorted, her eyes narrowing in distaste. She refused to sit idly by, allowing this man to make her feel uncomfortable in the house she resided. "And now you've perched yourself in my lounge, waiting for my husband to return without knowing exactly when it is he's set to arrive. Now I have to babysit you when I could be doing something far more valuable with my time."

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"I don't appreciate being patronised," Barbato warned.

"Then leave."

Barbato broke out into a raspy laughter, one of his hands lightly slapping at his knee.

"I like you." His finger shook in her direction. His eyes crinkled at the corners from the wide, cheek splitting smile spread across his face. "You're just like my niece, a spitfire, that must cause trouble between you and the husband." He sighed. "Now Mercello," Barbato called, his gaze tilting away from her but not quite towards the doorway. "Are you going to join us or continue to idly stand there?"

Liliana's gaze shot towards the doorway to see Mercello warily enter the room, making his way towards Liliana's side. Without hesitation he grasped hold of her clenched fist and unfurled her fingers to thread them through his. He only glanced at her briefly with a frown marring his forehead before turning to scowl stiffly at Barbato. She was unsure whether the action was meant to comfort Liliana or to simply make them appear as a united front against the older man.

"I'm surprised I gotten inside with so little resistance," Barbato drawled, head tilting as he visibly assessed Marcello. "Your security is not as strong as I would have hoped."

"You think I didn't know the moment you stepped foot on my property? You think I didn't allow you to be here, or that I would leave my wife so unprotected in your company?" Marcello nodded towards the large window behind Barbato. "You've had guns on you from the moment Liliana opened the door."

Barbato's guards weapons were instantly drawn, and Liliana did her best not to flinch. Marcello had no reaction at all, other than to scoff at them with all the disdain someone as arrogant as he could muster - which was an awful lot.

"Why are you here in my home, troubling my wife?" He jutted his chin towards the guards, snarling as he said, "Call them off or get out of my house."

"I just want to speak with you," Barbato explained, gesturing to his guards. Instantly the two men relaxed into their previous positions, though there was certainly more hostility in their eyes now.

Marcello's grip on her hand tightened, and Liliana offered him an answering squeeze of her own. Her husband was so obviously furious, yet thankfully he seemed to be keeping it check for now.

"And I was curious to see how much alike your mother you were."

Marcello stiffened, and his grip on Liliana's hand became almost bruising.

"What would you know about her," Marcello spat.

"What I know, is that you seem to be far more alike your father than I would have hoped. Tell me, do you do everything he asks? That was, after all, why the two of you married. And now poor Liliana is trapped with you all. Just like your mother."

Marcello jolted beside her. With her lips pursed tightly, her head moved to rest against Mercello's bicep, her fingers moving slowly up and down the length of his arm, hoping to keep him calm enough to not try and murder Barbato in the lounge.

Liliana remained in frozen silence, heart in her throat as she waited for Marcello to speak. But he never did. His entire body remained tense, jaw clenched, hard eyes locked on Barbato.

"You do know what happened to her, your mother, right?" Barbato sighed. "You were barely eight months old when she killed herself. Depression, I'm told. It seems to be a recurring fate within families such as ours." Barbato speared her with a pointed look.

"Don't. Don't speak as if you knew her."

"Don't speak to me like that boy!" Barbato snapped back with just as much fury. "You knew your mother for merely a year while I raised her for nineteen! And then that filthy father of yours got his hands on her and drove her to end it all!" The old man wheezed, his breaths laboured as he glared right back at Liliana's scowling husband. "My intentions today were merely to get meet my apparent nipote and his charming wife. That is all. I see a lot of Andreana in you boy, but you're poisoned with the D'onofrio bloodline. I'm interested to see what kind of man you're going to mature into."

Grandson.

Liliana could only stare, mouth agape. Marcello was his grandson. Marcello's mother was Alessandro Barbato's daughter, and she had killed herself.

***

Marcello's hands were shaking. He couldn't hear anything above the pounding of bloods rushing through his ears, erratic and quick in time with the pain constricting in his chest. He'd barely been able to make it back to his bedroom, his every breath catching as he cursed out Alessandro Barbato's name again and again.

Liliana was somewhere in the room, silent, watching him. He wished she'd leave. He didn't want her anywhere near him right now. And yet the words locked up in his throat.

He began undressing with a violent vigour, almost ripping off the buttons of his shirt and tearing the material as he stripped.

His grandfather. That man was his grandfather.

Alessandro Barbato was a name Marcello had been taught to despise since birth. He was a man his father had vehemently hated with his every breath, and Marcello had never truly understood why until now.

Just how well had that secret been kept for all twenty-four years of his life, if he had never heard a single whisper of it until now?

With his shirt barely hanging onto his body, his trousers unbuttoned, and his neck tie half undone, Mercello sank to his knees, his head falling into his hands as his laboured breaths were the only sound to fill the room. Until the sound of Liliana shifting across the mattress and her bare feet padding across the carpeted floor reached his ears. A hand fell to his shoulder gently.

"Marcello."

His hands fisted at his sides as he felt her fingers press into his skin.

"Marcello," she whispered again, his name his name sounding muffled and distant to his ears.

When he finally dared to look up at her, his stomach lurched at the concern he found in her gaze.

"Did you know about your mother?" She asked quietly, squeezing his shoulder as she dropped to her knees beside him. His averted his eyes.

"I knew how she died," he confessed, voice hoarse and words sharp against his tongue. "But I don't know why and I didn't know she was his daughter."

As he spoke, Liliana began to undo the tie from around his neck and removed the crumpled shirt he'd left half buttoned. He couldn't fathom why she was being so gentle with him, and his head hurt far too much to think about. All he knew was the warmth he felt because of it.

"That can be a lot to digest all at once," Liliana murmured, fingers brushing through his hair. His eyes fell shut at the sensation, lips parting softly. "It's okay to take some time to process this. Do you want me to leave?"

No.

Please stay.

But again, Marcello found himself unable to speak, only able to shake his head. He was exhausted, and just standing again left him swaying on his feet. He stumbled towards the bed, shame coursing through him at how weak he must have seen.

Don't look at me.

He collapsed into the bed in only his underwear, shuddering as he hid his face in his pillow. The lights turned out, and Liliana quietly joined him.

"Thank you," he said, voice muffled by his pillow. He heard no reply before he fell into a restless sleep.



This chapter went through some big edits in the re-write, with the addition on the photographs Liliana finds, and how vulnerable Marcello seems at the end. I also changed a lot of the dialogue for most of this chapter.