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HERE

♧

ALESSIA CARA

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THE COUCH had done more than a fucking number on my back, but I refused to let Celine's little bitch stunt get to me. Sleeping outside my own fucking house? I'd decided to let her have her little victory. She'd be lucky if I didn't come home tonight with a padlock on her damn closet.

The cold air from the shower jolted me into clarity. I needed to be sharp—family breakfast wasn't exactly a warm gathering of loved ones. It was politics disguised as eggs and espresso, and my father never missed a chance to remind me of my place in the grand Genovese plan.

I dressed with precision, pulling on a crisp navy suit and knotting my tie like I was preparing for battle. The reflection staring back at me in the mirror was calm, collected—a perfect mask for the simmering frustration beneath.

Downstairs, Celine was draped over the arm of the couch, sipping coffee like she had all the time in the world. Her legs were bare, her robe tied loosely at the waist. She looked up, her expression smug.

"Running late, Genovese?" she asked, the emphasis on my name laced with mockery.

I grabbed my keys without looking at her. "Don't wait up."

"Wasn't planning to."

I smirked, pausing in the doorway. "Careful, princess. You might actually miss me."

She raised her mug in mock salute. "I'd miss my knives more if you took one to the neck."

♧

The dining room was a perfect blend of old-world Italian elegance and modern power. The table stretched nearly the length of the room, polished to a mirror shine, and framed by tall windows that let the early sun pour in. My father, ever the picture of authority, sat at the head with his paper folded neatly in front of him. Silver trays lined the table, steam rising from scrambled eggs, roasted vegetables, and fresh pastries.

"Antonio, sit," my father ordered, not even glancing up from the paper.

I pulled out my chair, careful to keep my movements slow and deliberate. Alessandro and Emilio were already eating, their smug grins barely concealed behind their coffee mugs.

"Long night?" Alessandro asked, his voice dripping with amusement.

I ignored him, reaching for a croissant instead. My father didn't look up until I was mid-bite.

"How is your wife?"

I swallowed. "She's fine."

"Fine?" He arched an eyebrow, his tone sharp. "The marriage wasn't arranged for 'fine,' Antonio. You know what's at stake. We need heirs to secure the line and cement the union."

My jaw tightened, but I kept my voice even. "I'm handling it."

My mother swept into the room, her silk robe trailing behind her like a queen's gown. She kissed my father's cheek before taking her seat, her diamond earrings catching the light.

"Handling it?" she repeated, her lips curving into a sly smile. "Darling, I hope by 'handling it,' you mean making me a grandmother sooner rather than later."

"I thought you liked her," I said, more as a challenge than a question.

"I do," she replied smoothly, buttering a piece of toast. "But liking her and wanting her to give me grandchildren are two very different things."

"Don't disappoint her, Antonio," Emilio chimed in, smirking over his espresso.

I shot him a cold look. "Eat your damn eggs."

The table fell into silence for a moment, save for the soft clink of silverware. But the tension never fully dissipated. My father folded his paper and leaned forward, his gaze piercing.

"We built this empire on control and precision," he said. "And you're a Genovese, which means failure isn't an option. Not in your marriage, not in business, not anywhere. Understood?"

"Understood," I said firmly.

My mother sipped her coffee, her expression pleased. "Good. Now eat something, Antonio. You'll need your strength for whatever it is you're off to ruin next."

After a long pause, my father shook his head in disapproval. "I'd never let myself be locked out of my own house."

Before I could respond, my mother, with her usual flair, casually spoke up from her seat next to him.

"Well, darling," she said sweetly, "that's why I set it on fire while you were still inside."

Her nonchalant delivery left the room momentarily silent. My father, ever the picture of control, turned his eyes toward her, but there was a flicker of something—amusement, maybe—before he caught himself.

"See? That's the difference between us," he continued with a sly grin. "I can make my own exit when necessary."

"Or you just have social anxiety and cannot bear to be without her," Tabby quipped, her tone light but laced with mischief.

My mother arched a brow, her lips twitching ever so slightly. "And here I thought it was my sparkling personality."

"Personality?" my father murmured, not bothering to look up from his paper. "You burned half a villa down when you thought I was late for dinner."

She smiled sweetly, leaning closer to him. "And yet, you're still here, darling. How resilient."

Tabby chuckled, setting the teapot down. "Well, if nothing else, you've set quite the example for Celine. A marriage built on theatrics and minor arson—it's almost romantic."

Oh God, why am I here?

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ahh chat y'all see what I did with the little lyric and the last line 🤭🤭 im so sorry for not updating I was so busy but now I'm on break and WILL be updating chat promise. the only time I know I will stop uploading is when I have to continue writing for burn for me because I have seen y'all's complaints and I'm sorry 😔 this was lowkey a filler lol but hope you enjoyed

please remember to eat well !!

-zio 🍸