Gael has his eyes closed as he leans back against the backrest of the leather couch in my brother's office at the De Luca mansion, a shot of whiskey in one hand and a black cigarette in the other.
We grew up in this old house, our only home when we're not in Italy. The interior is consistent in all of the rooms, dark wood, leather, and intricate designs on the walls. It's about a century old, but this place always feels warm to me.
I moved out a few years ago, not because I don't like it here, but because it's convenient for me to be in the middle of the city center.
And I would never admit it to anyone, but I left this home on my terms. The need to control is in my blood and I don't like the nagging thought in my head that's telling me they could still kick me out of this home if I wasn't good enough. It's why I take matters into my own hands and left. Now, I come back any time…and still have a place of my own without feeling insecure when I leave the mansion.
