[RE-WRITTEN]

Liliana's fingers flexed and clenched, her fist hovering over the solid wooden door before falling to her side. She huffed to herself and rolled her eyes, not quite understanding where this hesitance spawned from. This was her home, she was free to enter when she pleased, and there was no harm in appearing without warning.

It was mid-day and she knew that Marcello would not be home, and perhaps neither Angelo or Giovanni either as they no longer needed to stay home to watch her - something she had not considered until this very second. Only the staff should be occupying the house, and though it was still daylight, and though she would not be staying long, her pulse still spiked at the thought of entering the D'Onofrio manor once again alone. Barbato's guards, the ones he had hired to protect her now she was staying with him, had stayed by the front gates.

As soon as she entered, her eyes immediately fell towards the marble tiles of the foyer, as if she were expecting to find the residue of her mother's blood still staining the floor from all those years ago. She had not looked at the photographs of her mother since the day they had been delivered, for obvious reasons, but the image was burned into her mind it seemed. Sometimes, before she fell asleep, all she could envision was the sight of the bloodied D'Onofrio hallway.

It was spotless; as clean as the rest of the house, as usual. One would never assume, as she original had not, that the home held any ghosts.

Gathering her courage, Liliana walked through the home with purpose, in search of someone to speak to, someone she could question. In light of what little Anton had revealed to her the evening before, Liliana was no determined to find out every last detail that pertained to her mother's death. If she understood the situation entirely, she could hopefully lay her mothers memory to rest without these ridiculous letters disrupting her life with their ambiguity.

Today she would know everything about her mother's death, her murder.

Emiliana Fiorenza may have committed suicide but she did not sentence herself to death. It was Antonio Fiorenza and Gabriella D'onofrio that pushed her to the edge, that murdered her with their callous, thoughtless actions.

Liliana spied the staircase as she ventured further into the house, and she eyed the open hallway visible at the very top. She swallowed roughly, lip curling upwards as she stalked straight past towards the kitchen, her stomach turning uncomfortably.

Liliana had never expected to enter the D'Onofrio manor and have it feel so small, so confining. In comparison to the grandness of Barbato's mansion, the D'Onofrio manor had lost its allure. And as Liliana walked through it, it felt as if her lungs had been bound. The sound of her feet faded, and was replaced with the distinct sound of a man's heavy boot against the carpeted floor, or the thud of something solid and weighted cracking against her skull.

Liliana came to an abrupt stop, palms flat against the white walls as she sucked in a sharp breath. Acid rose in her throat, and Liliana worked hard to quell the unsettling feeling of queasiness. When it finally passed, the tightness in her chest easing, Liliana noticed how her whole body seemed to still be shaking.

"Signora Liliana?" It was then Liliana noticed she was indeed not alone.

Lucetta was at her side, a comforting hand rubbing small circles against her back. With a shaking smile, Liliana righted herself and offered the maid her greetings, shaking fingers fisted and pressed against the softness of her stomach. When the illness quelled she found her lips stretching wider, heat returning to her face. The sight of such a soft face was welcoming. Liliana could feel her feet firmly on the ground as Lucetta hooked an arm through hers and guided her to the kitchen, where she had been attempting to reach before the small incident.

The young maid pulled out a seat for her at the kitchen island, and poured her a tall glass of water, all the while enthusiastically speaking in Italian to confess how quiet the house had seemed without her presence and asking if Liliana was back for good now. Liliana didn't answer right away, taking the time to sip on her water before she replied with a quiet, 'No'. She didn't bother to explain why she was living outside of her marital home, and Lucetta didn't dare to ask.

"Who is the food for?" Liliana asked in a hoarse voice.

Lucetta was busy at the counter preparing what appeared to be a small lunch. Liliana knew there were other staff members hired specifically to cook for the house, and that this was not a part of Lucetta's usual responsibilities.

"Angelo in bed, must be ill."

So one of the D'Onofrio's was at home. But how much help would Angelo be in the discussion of her mothers death? He may have been aware of the incident but she doubted he cared all that much to research further into it. It would make more sense to wait for Marcello's return and hope that he had since spoken to Anton about her mother, or better yet, ask Anton directly.

"I don't mind taking it up to him for you."

"Grazie, Signora Liliana."

Liliana had no trouble locating Angelo's room, it was on the same floor as her and Marcello's room, but not as secluded away in privacy at the other end of the house, rather it was right by the main staircase. With the tray resting on one arm against her hip she knocked lightly against the door.

There was no response. She knocked again, louder this time, but again it was silent. If he wasn't feeling well, it was likely that he was still sleeping. She would just leave the food by his bed, her curiosity would have to wait.

Except when she opened the bedroom door, eyes roving over his ocean blue room, complete with plush creme carpets and thick drapes, Liliana did not find Angelo dozing in bed. Her brother-in-law was tangled in the arms of another man, tanned legs locked with bronzed limbs, hands knotted in long ebony hair, mouth pressed heatedly against plush lips. He was being devoured and Liliana couldn't possibly detach her gaze.

"Gesu."

The two figures shot apart, Anton's wide eyed gaze meeting hers as she could do nothing but stare back, the tray of food clutched tightly between her fingers. His hair - released from its bun - was wild, strands tangled and shooting in all angles, reaching just above his shoulders. Dark hair decorated his chest, running south beneath the sheets, torso toned and muscular - more so than her husband.

Stop staring.

"Lil!" Angelo exclaimed, rising quickly to his knees, moving out from under the older man.

Heat scorched her cheeks when she realised with a startling clarity that both men were stark naked, more than just their bare chests on show now. Stumbling, she placed the tray on the floor and whipped on her heels towards the door, all but scrambling out of the room.

"I should not have seen that," she hissed to herself, slumping against the adjacent wall from Angelo's doorway. The wooden door was left ajar in her haste to escape, and she desperately willed her heart to calm so she could hear anything other than her pulsing of blood through her ears.

"She's going to tell Marcello," Anton could be heard murmuring from inside the room. Liliana bit her lip, hand clutched to her chest, straining to listen.

She heard Angelo scoff.

"Their marriage is anything but functional. They can barely say two words to each other without screaming."

Liliana rolled her eyes. Angelo hadn't particularly helped in that aspect, perhaps if he hadn't meddled in their marriage in an attempt to taunt his brother, her and Marcello wouldn't have been so at odds with each other for so long. While she knew Angelo's involvement couldn't be entirely to blame, he had still succeeded in creating more tension between them, adding to the already existing conflict.

"Well I was with them yesterday and they seemed enamoured with each other." Anton insisted "I don't think he'll take to the idea of me sleeping with his kid brother."

Liliana couldn't move, even as she heard the tell tale sounds of rustling of bed sheets and heavy feet landing on carpeted floor.

Dear lord, walk away, walk away before you get caught, she scolded herself internally, but her feet didn't seem to be working.

"Nice to know that's how you see me," Angelo huffed. Feet drew closer to the door and Liliana held her breath.

"That's not what I mean."

A belt buckle rattled, and she knew Angelo was by the door. She had to leave now, her spying had been cut short.

"I know what you meant," was the last thing she heard, a sense of begrudging finality in Angelo's voice. So much for judging her relationship when these two seemed just as tense.

Ten minutes later, when Liliana had hidden herself in the lounge, curled into the favourite high-backed, leather armchair, Angelo appeared looking as foul as ever.

His shoulders were tense, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans, and a scowl curled at his upper lip.

Liliana was quick to speak first, uttering, "I won't tell anyone if that's what you're concerned about," wanting to dispel the tension immediately. She wouldn't mention she knew exactly that that was what the two men feared. Walking in on them was bad enough, let alone spying on their private conversations.

"They know about me. Mer, Gio and Dad," he huffed, shrugging.

Liliana's mouth thinned as she watched Angelo step further into the room and drop down onto the sofa with a sigh. His thumb and forefinger pressed heavily into the bridge of his nose.

"And your mother?" Liliana couldn't help but ask. Angelo scoffed. Mothers were a sensitive topic in her marital home. Angelo's held seemingly more importance in her own life than she could currently understand.

"Yeah, she knows. But beyond that, not many other people do. I would like it to stay that way. I'm sure I don't have to explain to you how adverse our lifestyle is to that sort of thing."

Liliana nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat. Men had been killed for less in the mafia. "Marcello knows about Anton too?"

Angelo's eyes met hers, his hands dropped to his lap, fingers splayed out against the denim. She noticed the tension in his forearms, the veins that became visible under strain. "He knows he's gay. He doesn't know about our history."

"So you two are..."

"No," Angelo was quick to refute. "Anton doesn't handle commitment well, not anymore. And well-", he shrugged, "I'm twenty, I like my freedom."

Freedom. The look he shot her was knowing and sympathetic. She did not have her freedom, he understood that, but there was nothing he could, or would, do about it.

Liliana had so much more to ask but it wasn't her place to pry. Things between her and Angelo were already so uncomfortable and she uncomfortable and unsure of herself despite her attempts to appear otherwise. She didn't like that feeling, constantly having to assume an act of confidence and dominance with these men was tiring but it had to be unflinching. Weakness was something she could not afford, weakness was her father.

"Is he still here?" Anton was the one she wanted to speak to most, he was the one with a past that linked to her family, he was the one who apparently knew most about her mother and Gabriella, more than even her husband.

Angelo shook his head and rose to his feet, understanding that their discussion had come to an end. Neither bid the other a farewell, Liliana turning her head away to gaze at the glass table in dismissal.

How was it that she had only met Anton yesterday and yet he seemingly has connections with all of the important people in her life? If she hadn't already decided to break the silence between her and her cousins, now would be the time to do so.

She needed to contact Marco - her eldest cousin - soon. She had a lot to discuss with her family and it couldn't be done over the phone. She knew that Marcello would not approve of a trip to Italy but currently he had little room to stop her, and after their last conversation, she didn't think he would try. Family was important to her, and she was sure Marcello would understand that.

She would sit down with her husband and tell him her plans. She would not bait him into argument, and she wanted desperately to believe he would listen to her and not walk away like he had a tendency to do throughout their past arguments.

Liliana rose to her feet, her intent to visit Lucetta in the kitchen once again and make a cup of tea for herself, but stopped short in the doorway of the lounge. From where she stood she could see an envelope discarded by the front doors. She didn't need to examine it closer to understand what it was.

Acting in a rush she snatched the envelope and retreated to the privacy of the lounge once again so she could inspect it without interruption. After what the last envelope had contained, Liliana was already feeling sick to her stomach, and she found herself hesitating from opening it. She wasn't sure how much more she could take.

Were these more photographs of her mother's death? Or was another horrific secret about to be unveiled?

Holding her breath, heart thrumming faster, Liliana clumsily opened the envelope with shaking hands, and pulled a stack of glossed photographs from inside. Liliana bit her lower lip sharply, her teeth sinking deeper and deeper into the flesh the more she examined the contents, until she was sure bruises would form.

When the entirety of the photographs were revealed, Liliana's tight grip on the sheets relaxed. These photographs were from just two nights ago, depicting her in the bar with Sophia and her friends. She kept flicking through the photographs, one after another all from the same night in the same bar until they began to become more focussed and all the photographs detailed were her and Cal. Standing beside one another, laughing together and finally the last picture was of Cal stood at the bar, Liliana leant into him in a seemingly intimate manor. Right in the middle of the photographs was a neon green post-it with the bold word whore printed on it.

Her stomach dropped, as she clumsily shoved the photographs back inside the envelope, suddenly aware that anyone could walk in on her. She wasn't sure what she would do if Angelo suddenly returned and caught a glimpse of them, and she couldn't be sure he wouldn't run off to Marcello to tell him before she could explain.

Liliana felt her stomach drop at the sudden thought of Marcello seeing this. If she had been sent these photographs, just how likely was it that he had been sent them too? There was no note making demands, there never had been with these letters. At first it had seemed as if they were trying to help her, to enlighten her on the truth of her family history, perhaps now all they cared to do was ruin her.

***

Liliana hadn't moved from the lounge, and it was after 10:00 pm when the touch of her husbands hands cupping her cheek and gripping her shoulder awoke her from the curled position on the armchair.

"What's wrong? Where's Sophia?" He asked, eyes quickly scanning across her body.

Voice thick, she murmured, "Everything's fine. Sophia had classes today."

Liliana wiped the sleep from her eyes, running a hand loosely through her hair as she pulled herself up into a sitting position. When her vision had cleared from its blurry state she realised just how close Marcello was leaning into her. He was crouched in front of the chair, face only several inches from hers.

"Why are you here? Surely her classes have finished by now," he said, not moving away from her.

Liliana glanced at her phone, cursing when she saw the numerous missed calls she had from Sophia. Liliana had told her where she was going today, but it was unlikely that Sophia expected her to stay so long into the evening.

"I...ah... fell asleep." Liliana wet her lips, eyes darting to the large envelope still on the coffee table. Marcello didn't seem angry, or irritated, it was likely he hadn't been sent the photographs too, and that he hadn't yet noticed the envelope on the table. Or, perhaps, he had seen them, and he truly didn't care.

"I have something to show you."

Liliana sat up from her slump, chest rising with a deep breath as she tried to gain courage. It was better she showed him now than he find out later from some stranger. It wasn't as if she had done anything wrong. The photographs implied a betrayal which she had not committed, and though Mercello had proven what a possessive man he was, she had to have faith that he would believe her word.

"Okay..." he drawled, a frown forming. He rocked back on his heels, giving her enough space to reach past him and grab the envelope, handing it out for him to take.

"This came for me today," she explained, watching the confusion disappear from Marcello's face. Instead his features sharpened, and Marcello eyed the envelope now gripped tightly between his fingers with disgust.

Ripping the envelope apart, paying little care to the paper, the photographs scattered in his lap. Standing up, he flicked through them one by one, a snarl growing on his face by the time he reached the last.

"Those pictures of your mother, where did you get them from?"

She should have known he would ask about that. He was no idiot, of course he would make the connection. She sighed, eyes avoiding his as she murmured somewhat guiltily, "Same envelope, same writing, same anonymity."

"Fanculo! Stupido bastardo!" Sharp and deafening, Mercello's harsh words had her flinching where she sat. Her husband slung the photographs away from him, several of them scattering along the floor.

"How long?" He spat.

"How long wha-"

"How long have you been receiving this filth?"

"Since I arrived here." Having allowed herself to trust in Marcello a little more - especially after how open and honest their last conversation had been, after Marcello had demonstrated his ability to grow and acknowledge his faults - Liliana knew she should have confided in him earlier. But, of course, she had not known then, what kind of a man Marcello was; she honestly had not known if her own husband was to be her enemy.

"I've been receiving them since the news of our engagement. I never thought that you could be receiving the same. Where are the other letters?"

"Upstairs. In the bedside drawers."

Marcello nodded but made no move to leave the room.

"I need to visit my family in Italy," she said, not as a request. Her voice was firm and left little room to argue. Marcello again merely nodded solemnly, causing Liliana's brows to raise considerably. She had expected more resistance.

"Okay, we can arrange to go in a month or two."

"No," Liliana shook her head. She cleared her throat and sat a little straighter in the chair, face tilting upwards to look at him as he continued to stand, towering over her. "I need to go as soon as possible."

A gruff exhale passed through his lips, and Marcello turned his back on her as he paced towards the nearby sofa, taking a seat. His shoulders slumped, his head stooped, and his legs splayed wide as he leant forward and ran a his hands through his hair.

"I'll sort it for this week," he assured.

"Thank you." At the the sound of her soft voice he glanced up. The two stared at one another in tense silence. Liliana bit her lip, contemplating how best to phrase her next words.

"What else?" Marcello encouraged, sensing her apprehension.

"Did you ask Anton about my mother and Gabriella?" Marcello scowled and tensed, and Liliana felt compelled to add, "I know nothing can be changed, but she was my mother, and I've already been deceived too much on the matter. I deserve to know."

This was important to her. With her father's deceit coming to light she had to understand all she could of her mother. She could not bare for anything to ruin her mothers image in her mind but the thought of more lies clouding her judgement pained her.

"I did." He sighed. "It turns out your mother was well aware of your father's affair while it was occurring. Gabriella had taken to taunting her by sending her notes and phone calls. It doesn't surprise me, she's always been such a selfish, petty woman. I know if she had never fallen pregnant with Giovanni then my father wouldn't have married her."

If it was possible to despise the woman more, Liliana did so. How little respect did Gabriella have to have for her mother to taunt a pregnant woman with the affair of her own husband? If she had stooped to such lows before, what was to say Gabriella wasn't playing more disgusting games now?

"So it's Gabriella sending these letters?" Liliana breathed, eyes wide.

"It seems likely. She's already proven that she's capable of something like this. She clearly has no quarrels with emotional torture," Marcello sneered.

"And what are you going to do about it?"

"I need confirmation that it is her, before I act. Regardless of how much I despise that woman, she is still my father's wife. Any action taken against her will not be taken lightly." Marcello paused, seeming conflicted for a moment, before he continued on to say, "Do you see now why I have been as strict as I have about your safety? All these letters, and then the break in, and even now we still don't know for sure who is behind it all."

"You think the two are related?" Liliana asked, surprise evident in her tone.

Marcello raised a brow, "You don't?"

"I don't think that man was there for me, I don't think he was prepared to see anyone at all in the house. And none of the letters have threatened me at all; they're nothing like the usual blackmail and threats I've received."

"You've received threats before?" Marcello asked sharply, expression darkening.

"There's been more than a couple attempted kidnappings too. I've told you this before. I'm no stranger to the dangers of being a woman in the mafia. I'm certain my grandfather has far more enemies than you do, and being his only granddaughter, I've always been in danger. The fact that I'm now married to you, and I can no longer be used to strengthen alliances with other Italian clans, means I am probably less of a target and much safer than I have ever been."

He sucked a sharp breath between his teeth, eyes narrowed contemplatively. "I was wrong to dismiss your perspective, I can see that now. Perhaps our marriage up until now would have been better, if I had taken into account your experience with things like this," Marcello said tightly, looking uncomfortable as he spoke. Liliana said nothing, lips pursed. "But you understand now why I had taken such measures?"

She did understand, but that didn't excuse keeping her in the dark about it.

"If that was your reasoning behind locking me up in the house then you should have told me."

Marcello heaved a heavy sigh, "I didn't want to worry you. It's my job to keep you protected and I felt that because of your marriage to me, you were in danger. I saw the break-in and your injuries as confirmation as such; I was terrified, I still am, that one day you will be killed because of who I am and who you are to me."

It was not Marcello's fault that she was born into this life, and Liliana was under no allusion that she could ever escape it. He could not be held responsible for the dangers that came her way because of it, but she would hold him accountable for his own actions, and how he chose to respond to such dangers.

"What are we going to do?"

"We aren't going to do anything," Marcello stressed. "I don't want you anywhere near that woman Liliana, she's ruined your life enough."

"Exactly, it's my life, my family that has been effected. You've already tried to keep this from me before and look where it's left us," Liliana argued. Suggesting they continue on as they had before would be ridiculous.

"It's late, we'll sort this out tomorrow," Marcello insisted, checking his watch. "Do you need a ride back to Alessandro's?"

Liliana checked the time on her phone, and folded her arms around herself as she uttered, "I was hoping I could just stay here considering the time."

A slow smirk stretched his lips, as her husband leisurely stood up from the sofa.

"That's fine by me."

***

"You're back late," Liliana said to Giovanni quietly, sometime after midnight, eyeing him as he crossed the foyer. She wrapped her cardigan around herself tightly, folding an arm across her chest, her other hand gripping a mug of herbal tea.

As soon as Mercello had fallen asleep, Liliana had been quick to flee from the room, needing desperately to be alone for a little longer and reflect on everything that had happened today. It didn't help that being back in their bedroom, only steps away from where she had nearly died, she felt smothered. It was as she was leaving the kitchen, cup of tea in hand, that she noticed Giovanni entering through the front doors.

"I didn't realise you kept a track of my whereabouts."

Liliana rolled her eyes, taking a long sip as she eyed his disgruntled state. It was hard not to notice the creases in his shirt and the lipstick staining his neck.

"Enjoy yourself?" She teased with a wry grin but all she could thing of was Sophia, and how she would feel about this, not that it was her place to pass judgment. Giovanni and Sophia were both adults, and their history together had nothing to do with her; whatever Giovanni wanted to do in his spare time was his prerogative.

"So what if I did," Giovanni grunted, working to loosen his tie as he stalked straight for the staircase, not in the mood for chatting. "My personal life is kept private for a reason, I don't want you nosing about in it. I can do what I like with whoever I like and I don't appreciate your judgment."

Liliana pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes on her disgruntled brother-in-law. "I wasn't judging, I just thought..." she trailed off and shrugged, any humour falling from her features.

Her brother-in-law turned to her, close enough that Liliana was incredibly aware of how short she was in comparison as she craned her neck to look at him. He seemed impatient, shifting on his feet and continuing to glance towards the staircase.

"I know you want to ask about Sophia," he said gruffly. "And I can't think for the life of me why you haven't. I didn't take you for one to keep your silence, I know how much you enjoy speaking up."

"Giovanni-" she paused, ignoring his sharp jab. "It's not my place to know what happened between you two, even if it is clear that you both still hold feelings for each other."

Giovanni huffed, "Sometimes it takes more than that to make it work. Can I go to bed now?"

Liliana hesitated, causing Giovanni's scowl to deepen. "How close are you to your mother?"

Giovanni stilled, eyes meetings hers steadily as his mouth pulled taught. "Why are you asking?"

"I know about her and my father, and I know the extent of her relationship with my mother during the affair. I want to meet her properly and try to understand what kind of person can live with doing such a thing, and the consequences that followed. She hated me when I first came to this house; she knew exactly who I was as soon as I stepped into this house - no matter how much she pretended otherwise - and she hated me."

"I'm not going to defend her if that's what you're expecting. My mother is who she is, she gave birth to me but she didn't raise me, I'm not responsible for her actions nor can I explain them."

"Will you take me to see her tomorrow? I want to talk to her."

Giovanni scoffed, "You really don't." He shook his head, and began ascending the stairs. "Be ready to leave at six, I have a busy day."

***

Marcello awaited his wife's return, arm bent behind his head as he laid awake in bed. He hadn't noticed when she had snuck out of their room, but Marcello was a light sleeper and usually would awake at multiple times throughout the night, and noticed her missing almost immediately upon waking. He didn't know where she had disappeared to and hoped she hadn't escaped the manor like before.

He wouldn't chase after her this time, not when he knew she would be cared for at Alessandro's. But it would bruise his ego to know she had left him in bed for a second time. If his wife had to sneak out in the dead of night more than once, it didn't reflect well on him as a husband; the fact that it had happened even once embarrassing.

Thankfully it wasn't long since he awoke, and his thoughts were not given much time to wander, before he heard the familiar click of their bedroom door and soft footsteps across their bedroom and Liliana crossed the length of the room to her side of the bed. He felt the mattress dip under her weight as she curled beside him beneath the bed sheet, and heard her soft exhale as she settled into a comfortable position.

"Where did you go?" He uttered, disrupting the quiet of the room. He felt Liliana startle from beside him, apparently surprised that he was awake.

"I needed a drink," she whispered. "I couldn't sleep."

Shifting in the bed so that he was laying on his side, facing towards her, Mercello's arm curved out around her waist, fingers outstretched to lay flat against her stomach. His nose buried in the back of her neck.

"I thought you had left." His words were murmured against her heated skin, breath dancing through the hairs at the nape of her neck.

She didn't pull away from him, and that in itself was a miracle. Her own curled around his, resting comfortably on top rather than pushing his hand away. She squeezed it gently before moving it away, as she said, "I was given the choice to leave or to stay, I don't need to sneak out."

He smirked against her neck, hand stroking the bare skin of her stomach gently as her silk bed shirt rose to her chest. He felt her stomach tense.

"Will you come with me, when I go to Italy?"

Marcello's hand paused briefly, before resuming its slowly path back and forth across her warm, smooth skin. His throat tightened and he had to clear his throat before he could respond. The movement caused Liliana to glance over at him through the darkness.

"I though you wanted time away from me?" He asked, brows furrowed.

"I don't know what to expect when I get there, and... I don't want to be alone."