Chapter 11 (Kylie)
I didn''t know that the Famiglia epted men that were only half Italian, but what do I know about the
Mafia, not much.
The stubble on his jaw is new. The dead look in his eyes as he approaches me isn''t.
We never had much of a rtionship.
Content rights belong to N?velDrama.Org.
Vincent was raised by his mother and until a year back he was only a name attached to a teenage boy.
But ever since that day in the restaurant I wanted him to notice me, like I noticed him. That day he
wasn''t just a guy with a name,
he became more,
even after he ignored me, pretending that I was nothing.
But why try so hard to pretend unless it could be something right?
It is no secret that I want to have a close rtionship with him but not like the one I share with David
and Michael, I want more. He knows that. I know he knows, because I told him recently. However, it
would never be. I have epted it.
What other choice do I have, when all he ever does is remind me I am nothing to him. I’m aware that
my feelings for Vincent won’t just shut off.
It can''t die without being med, because to kill something it would have to be rooted- a lifeline, a living
thing.
My penchant for Vincent Stone has none and I''m sure his hatred for me, or ‘deep disregard’ as Reno
put it, stems from that mere fact.
He wants me to whither, disappear but unfortunately for him I am front and center. Reno’s death came
at a high price and soon the Famiglia would know who killed their own.
It wouldn''t be long after that when they figure out why.
Taking in the crisp sour air, that mixed with the stench of dposed flesh I don''t take my eyes off the
six foot three inch man as his muscr thighs swallow up the distance that separates us.
He stops next to me, the roughened texture of his suit jacket brushing my bare arm, eliciting shivers
down my spine.
“What the fuck are you doing here Kylie? Go home! I’ll bring Diamondter.”
His eyes crinkle in what I can say is certain HATE.
Nostrils red in disgust.
His mouth, his sulent mouth, his finest weapon, shattering me with just words.
I can spend hours talking about the times Vincent has hurt me with his skilled tongue,
but now,
today as I stand here with so much on my tinum te, that statement,
his statement rips me.
I am weak in this moment, so frail. And as my tears threaten to spill even I too hate myself.
Robbing me of what little bit of self morality I have left.
My knee length dress feels like it''s getting stripped off, leaving me naked, vulnerable , freezing in my
pacific of torment.
I despise that my emotions give him so much power to hurt me, but it sickens me that he does it over
and over again.
When will I learn to be strong enough to control my treacherous heart.
I am a strong person, I am tough, but why with Vincent Stone do I feel worthless and small.
“Marco and Deno were kind enough to extend the invitation to me,” I say.
My eyes focus beyond him, trying not to look at him, attempting my best to keep this voice of mine
strong, “Reno was my friend, so please just, just leave me be Vincent.”
His eyes widen a mere fraction, the only evidence to his surprise.
The person in front of us turns around, her wrinkled face frowning, taking us both in- Vincent''s angry
scowl and my doughy eyes on full disy. We shouldn''t be having this conversation where we''re
standing.
Vincent has the same thoughts as I do and it isn’t long when I feel the bite of his fingerstching into
the naked flesh on my arm, pulling me further away until we’re blocked by a tree a good few meters
from the grave-site.
The sad thing about it?
I don''t even care a dime that he''s pulling me roughly, that there''s no affection or deeper meaning to his
actions.
I am like a deprived child given that which it craves, for that child it could be a dummy or milk, for me
it’s Vincent Stone’s hand on my skin.
With a tiny step back, he drops my arm like it is infected. The action isn''t enough to jolt me out of my
stupidity I always possess in his presence.
Will anything ever be enough?