★★Mariella's POV★★



✧✧✧✧✧✧

The seat of the private jet is ridiculously uncomfortable. I keep shifting in the seat, trying to find a more comfortable spot. Santino glances up from his phone, raising an eyebrow. "Do you have a rat up your ass or something?" he asks.

I stop moving and shoot him a glare. Great, he's recording me. He chuckles as soon as I see the phone in his hand. I flip him off, giving him my best deadpan look.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announces with an over-the-top Austrian accent, his voice dripping with mock seriousness, "what you're witnessing right now is an extremely rare, exotic creature. Behold, the dumb ugly bitch. Proceed with caution when approaching this wild specimen—it can be highly dangerous."

He lets out a laugh, clearly pleased with himself, as he hits replay on the video. I grab my fluffy sandal and throw it at his face.

"Ow! Stronza!(Bitch)" he yelps, glaring at me.

I raise an eyebrow, smirking, and say, "Oh, what? I thought I was the wild animal here."

He glares harder, but I roll my eyes and lean back in my seat, staring out the window.

The clouds stretch across the sky, soft and fluffy, like a sea of cotton. Their edges glow with the warm light of the sun, and I can't help but smile as I watch them drift lazily by. Some of the clouds take on shapes that look like angels—delicate wings, serene faces, arms reaching out as though offering a quiet embrace. It feels like they're painting a picture in the sky just for me. For a moment, I feel something stir in my chest—like my mom is watching over me from heaven. Her presence feels so real, so close, as if she's telling me everything's going to be alright. It's comforting, like I'm not really alone after all.

I spent all of last night debating with myself, weighing whether I should even leave and pack to go back home. It feels like I'm walking away from unfinished business. I didn't want to go back, not really. Home... home reminds me of Mama. Every corner of that house is filled with her presence—her laughter, the way she used to move through the rooms, the smell of her perfume lingering in the air. It's all still there, haunting me in the most bittersweet way.

I need to finish what I've started here, but the pull to go back is suffocating. I know I can't stay here forever. My father would drag me back if I don't go on my own. He wouldn't care if I felt like I was leaving something behind—he'd make sure I returned. But leaving unfinished business, it feels wrong. Like I'm betraying something deep inside of me, something that keeps pushing me forward, even when I don't feel ready.

After a few hours into the flight, I managed to drift off to sleep, letting it pass the time. But that peace didn't last. The sensation of someone shaking my shoulder pulled me from my slumber. At first, I thought it was just part of a dream, but the pressure was real. My eyes snapped open, and instinct took over.

Fight or flight.

Without a second thought, I grabbed the hand and twisted it sharply. A scream ripped through the cabin.

"Ahhh! Che diavolo?! (Ahhh! What the hell?!)" Santino's voice cracked as he yelped in pain.

I blinked, finally grounding myself, and realized it was him. He squirmed in my grasp, his face twisted in agony. Realizing there was no actual danger, I released his hand, muttering under my breath. He clutched his wrist, rubbing it with a dramatic grimace.

I sat up, shaking off the remnants of sleep, and glanced around. The plane door was wide open, the stairs already lowered. Enzo was walking down them calmly, as if he hadn't noticed the little scuffle behind him.

Santino glared at me, still nursing his hand. "What the hell was that for? You almost broke my wrist!"

I smirked, brushing past him. "Payback for the shit you pulled earlier," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Without waiting for a response, I strode toward the steps and descended from the plane, the cool air hitting my face and waking me up completely.

An SUV waits on the tarmac, flanked by a couple of other vehicles with guards stationed around them, guns holstered at their sides. My attention shifts immediately to Giovanni, who is already watching me, his dark eyes unwavering. He stands tall and composed, exuding the kind of quiet authority that makes people step aside without him saying a word.

He moves toward me with purpose, his stride confident, as though he's been waiting for this exact moment. Oh god. What am I supposed to say to him? After leaving him behind and jetting off to an entirely different continent without so much as a warning, and under his watch too. The last thing I want is this awkward confrontation.

Fuck me, dude.

By the time I reach the bottom of the steps, he's already there, his hand extended toward me in a gesture that's far too calm for the storm I'm feeling inside. His lips curve into a faint smile, the kind that feels like both an acknowledgment and a warning. "Signorina De Angelis, (Miss)." He greets me smoothly, his tone polite but carrying an edge I can't quite place. He waits patiently for me to take his hand.

I roll my eyes and scoff, but there's no getting around it. With an exaggerated sigh, I place my hand in his. His fingers glide smoothly against mine, his grip firm yet gentle, as though mocking my reluctance with how natural it feels.

"Giovanni," I say flatly, keeping my tone short, like I'm not affected by his presence at all.

Up close, his features stand out even more. Soft, curly black hair that always seems perfectly disheveled, sharp cheekbones, a chiseled jawline, and broad shoulders that give him an air of intimidation. To be honest, he looks more like he belongs on the cover of a high-fashion magazine than standing here as my personal bodyguard. And yet, here he is, assigned to shadow my every move.

Lucky me.

He smirks, that same irritatingly smug expression he always wears when he knows he's getting under my skin, and gestures toward the SUV. "Da questa parte, (This way,)" he says, escorting me to the car like the gentleman he pretends to be. When we reach it, he pulls the door open, waiting for me to step inside.

I glance at him one last time, and that's when he drops the bomb. "Enjoy your ride, bambina.(little girl)"

I whip my head toward him, glaring daggers at the sound of that nickname. God, I hate it. He knows I hate it. He says it for no other reason than to rile me up. His smirk widens, clearly pleased with himself, and before I can snap back with some choice words, he leans down and helps me into the car.

I shake my head, biting back my irritation, and settle into the seat as he shuts the door behind me.

I exhale sharply as Giovanni makes his way to the car behind us, his confident stride grating on my nerves. Whatever. I turn my attention elsewhere, desperate for a distraction. In the front seat, Enzo is busy typing away on his phone, his face illuminated by the screen's glow. Beside me, Santino has headphones on, nodding slightly to whatever music or podcast he's lost in.

Typical.

Then my gaze shifts to the driver, and for the first time today, something actually brings a genuine smile to my face. Leaning forward, I call out, "Alfonzo! How are you?" My tone is bright, carrying a warmth I rarely let anyone see.

Alfonzo glances back over his shoulder, his wrinkled face lighting up with a full, heartwarming smile. "Miss! I'm well, thanks for asking. Are you doing well?" he asks, his voice rich with familiarity and care.

I smile warmly, leaning forward slightly. "I'm well. Happy to be back now that I'm seeing you," I say, my tone genuine. His presence always manages to bring a sense of comfort, no matter how chaotic life gets.

Alfonzo has been the family's personal driver for as long as I can remember. He's been with us since I was just a little girl, and he's always given off those comforting, fatherly-grandpa vibes. Out of everyone in this crazy life, he's probably the nicest person I've ever come across.

I grin at the memory that suddenly surfaces. "Do you remember how I used to beg you to take me to the ice cream shop whenever I'd sneak away from those boring dinner events?" I ask, leaning further forward, my tone teasing.

He chuckles warmly, his laughter filling the car. "How could I forget, Miss. You used to bribe me with your 'fortune'—what was it? Two bucks and a handful of fake coins?"

I laugh, the sound bubbling out of me naturally. "Hey, that was was my life savings!"

Alfonzo shakes his head, his smile never fading as he refocuses on the road. For a moment, the tension of the day melts away, and I'm reminded of simpler times—back when life was filled with stolen ice cream runs and the kindness of someone like Alfonzo.

After an hour and a half of driving, we finally make it. The familiar wrought iron gates creak open, flanked by guards stationed at the entrance. Their sharp eyes follow the SUV as we roll past. The long, winding driveway snakes through the vast expanse of vineyards, the rows of grapevines stretching endlessly across the rolling hills. The sun casts a golden glow over the lush greenery, giving the scene an almost ethereal beauty.

As we ascend the hill, the estate comes into full view, and I can't help but feel a mix of nostalgia and heaviness settle in my chest. The mansion stands tall and regal, an architectural masterpiece of Italian elegance. Its façade is adorned with warm beige stone and intricate iron balconies. The red clay roof tiles glimmer faintly under the afternoon sun, and tall cypress trees frame the house on either side. Large arched windows give the place an inviting, yet imposing, charm.

To the left of the mansion, there's a sparkling turquoise pool surrounded by lounge chairs and shaded cabanas. Beyond the pool lies a state-of-the-art gym encased in glass walls, overlooking the expansive gardens. Speaking of the gardens, they stretch out on the right, a labyrinth of roses, hydrangeas, and neatly trimmed hedges. A stone pathway weaves through the flora, leading to a serene fountain at the center, where water cascades melodiously.

The estate's grandeur is rounded out by a massive terrace with a panoramic view of the vineyards, perfect for family dinners or late-night drinks. It's a place of luxury, but it also holds the weight of countless memories—both good and bad.

We come to a full stop in front of the house, the engine's hum fading into silence. I let out a small exhale, trying to steady myself.

It's fine.

Just act like I haven't left.

Be nonchalant about it.

It's not like I disappeared for three months or anything.

"Siamo arrivati, ragazzi. (We have arrived, kids)," Alfonzo announces with his usual warm smile, turning slightly in his seat.

"Grazie," my brothers and I respond in unison, the familiarity of the exchange easing some of my nerves.

Just as I'm about to open the door, my personal thorn in the side beats me to it. My archnemesis, Gio, is already there, holding the door open with one hand extended toward me, his face a blank slate.

I glance at his hand, then at his face, and scoff audibly.

Nope, he can suck it.

He can keep his fake chivalry to himself. Without a word, I step out of the car and brush past his hand as if it doesn't exist.

Behind me, I hear the unmistakable sound of his low chuckle, and it only fuels my irritation.

Great.

Just great. He loves to see me pissed off.

And people wonder why I left, I guess you can say he's one of the reasons. Bro is practically breathing down my neck.

I look up and see Lucia standing at the top of the entrance steps, flanked by the maids. But that's not what catches my attention. My breath hitches, and before I can stop myself, I start screaming—really loud.

Everyone turns to me with alarmed expressions, like they think I've just seen a ghost or been stabbed. But nope. It's not that. It's Mellow.

There she is, my adorable, fluffy white kitty. My ride-or-die. My baby. My platonic soulmate—if a cat can even be that.

Without a second thought, I sprint up the stairs, hands outstretched, ready to scoop her up. Mellow lounges in Lucia's arms, her fluffy tail swinging back and forth lazily, as if she's unbothered by my dramatic reaction.

"Hi, Mellow!" I practically squeal as I grab her, cradling her like a baby. She lets out a soft meow and nuzzles her head against my neck, her warm fur brushing against my skin.

"My Mellow baby," I whisper, holding her close like I never want to let go. She meows again, the sound almost conversational, like she's saying, Hey girl, where have you been?

It's like the last three months never happened. In this moment, everything feels right again.

I glance around and realize everyone is staring at me, their expressions a mix of confusion and amusement. I raise an eyebrow at them and shrug. "What? I missed her," I say defensively, holding Mellow closer to my chest as if to shield her from their judgment.

Enzo chuckles softly, shaking his head before walking past me and disappearing into the house.

Santino, of course, can't help himself. "God, Mari. I think you might've scared the neighbors," he says with a smirk.

I scoff, narrowing my eyes at him. "You sure it was me they were scared of? I don't know, judging by the way you look, I'd say otherwise." I roll my eyes dramatically and turn on my heels, striding toward the house with Mellow still cradled in my arms like a queen.

Behind me, I catch Santino's faint, incredulous voice. "Did she just call me ugly?"

I chuckle under my breath, shaking my head at his wounded tone. Classic Santino. Always walking into verbal traps he can't get out of.

I step into the house and immediately take in the familiar scent—a mix of aged wood, fresh flowers, and a hint of citrus, like someone's just polished the place. The interior is classic yet warm, with terracotta tiles sprawling across the floor and high, wooden-beamed ceilings. Light pours in from large arched windows, illuminating the cream-colored walls adorned with family portraits and antique sconces. A grand spiral staircase dominates the entryway, its wrought-iron railing intricately detailed, leading up to the second floor.

The living area to the left is cozy but refined, with a plush, neutral-toned sofa and a stone fireplace that stretches up to the ceiling. On the other side, an open doorway leads into the dining room, where a massive oak table sits under an ornate chandelier. Everything about this house screams "De Angelis," steeped in elegance and tradition.

Before anyone can alert my father that I'm back, I decide to make a break for it. Holding Mellow tightly in my arms, I quietly slip off my shoes to avoid making noise and dart toward the stairs. My goal: get to my room before I have to explain my absence to him.

Maybe if I'm lucky, he won't even realize I'm here just yet.

As I'm about to take the third step up the stairs, a rough, deep voice booms behind me. Ah, dammit.

Mission unsuccessful.

"Mariella Maria De Angelis," my father's loud voice echoes through the grand entryway. I close my eyes briefly, muttering a quick prayer under my breath, then turn around slowly, clutching Mellow tighter as though she's some magical shield against his wrath.

"Papà! Ehi... non ti avevo visto lì! (Daddy! Hey... didn't see you there!)" I say with my best innocent smile, trying to channel all the sweetness I can muster. My nervous chuckle only seems to amplify the tension in the air.

He stands at the base of the staircase, arms crossed over his broad chest, his face a portrait of anger and concern. His sharp eyes pierce right through me as if peeling back every excuse I might attempt.

Mellow, completely unfazed by the drama, nuzzles against my arm. Good. At least someone's on my side. If he kills me right now, I'd like my funeral to be filled with white lilies. No, scratch that—sunflowers. Yes, sunflowers everywhere. And play "Another One Bites the Dust" for dramatic effect.

But before I can overthink my untimely demise further, his expression softens, and he sighs. "How was your flight, beauty? (Com'è andato il volo, bellezza?)" he asks, his tone turning gentle, catching me completely off guard.

I blink, caught off guard by the sudden change in his demeanor. Well, scratch what I said earlier. Looks like I'm living another day.

Mission successful?

I cock an eyebrow, skeptical but cautious. "So... you're not going to send me to a detention center for troubled, runaway daughters?" It's all I can manage to say.

What can I say? I was prepared for a trial, not a pardon.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with my sarcasm, but I catch the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. Maybe Mellow really is my lucky charm.

"What? No, silly." My father chuckles, a sound that's both familiar and reassuring. I slowly make my way down the stairs, stopping right in front of him as he stretches his arm out, signaling for a hug. A smile spreads across my face as I set Mellow down, and she lets out a small meow in protest. I ignore her little protest and run to him, leaping into his arms.

He grunts, almost stumbling back under the sudden impact, but somehow manages to hold us both steady. We laugh together, the sound filling the grand hallway, as I wrap my arms tightly around him and rest my head on his chest. The scent of his cologne—earthy, familiar, comforting—fills my senses.

He rests his chin on top of my head, and for a moment, the world slows down.

"I miss you, Papà," I mumble, my voice muffled against his shirt.

"Mi manchi anche tu, bellezza,(I miss you too, Beauty)" he says softly, his voice warm.

I pull back slightly to look up at him, my heart swelling with a strange combination of relief and emotion. A small tear falls from his eye, and my breath catches in my throat. "Oh, no, Papà. Don't cry." I say, suddenly feeling a rush of worry. I gently wipe the tear away with my hand. "I promise I won't leave again. I'll stay with you forever."

He sighs, breathing in deeply, then pulls me back into another tight hug. "No, bellezza. (Beauty). I'm fine," he says, his voice a little shaky, "I just missed you."

He kisses my forehead, and I close my eyes, savoring the warmth of his embrace. "Now, let's go eat, yeah?" he suggests with a small, playful smile.

I pull back just a bit, a hesitant look on my face. "Is it okay if I skip dinner?" I ask, feeling a little guilty. "I'm just really tired from the long flight."

He smiles kindly, nodding. "Of course," he says.

"Thanks, Papà. Enjoy dinner," I say, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

As I turn to head toward the stairs, he calls my name.

"Mariella?" I stop in my tracks, looking back at him. His expression is serious now.

Oh.

"Tomorrow morning, I need you to do me a favor," he says, his voice uncertain.

I pause, bracing myself. "What is it, Papà?"

His gaze sharpens, eyes darkening with quiet intensity. "You owe Giovanni an apology—for disappearing on him without a word."

A cold wave washes over me, and my stomach drops.

Someone, please, bring me a gun—just for experimental reasons, of course.

I manage to put on a fake smile, my teeth gritted. I chuckle harshly, though it sounds more like a growl.

"Don't worry, tomorrow, bright and early, Papà."

He gives a small nod, his gaze lingering on me as I turn on my heels, grabbing Mellow, who's been waiting patiently by the stairs.

I walk up toward my room, my mind racing.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Goddammit.

✧✧✧✧✧✧

Lollll

Well how'd you think the "applogy" is going to go?

Also why is gio....kinda...



Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡