A Week Ago
The Florida sun, a burst of tangerine against the cerulean sky, was just beginning its ascent as I steered my sleek black Audi down the curving road that led to our estate. My fingers tapped a gentle rhythm against the leather steering wheel, keeping time with "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac, a song that always managed to soothe the knot of nervous anticipation tightening in my stomach. The air, thick with the scent of salt and plumeria, carried the playful chirps of unseen birds.
Reaching the wrought-iron gates, I punched in the familiar code. The heavy metal groaned in protest before swinging open with a reluctant creak. Pulling into the sprawling driveway, I parked my car alongside a fleet of other luxury vehicles, each a testament to the Rizzo family's extravagant lifestyle.
Taking a deep breath, I inhaled the familiar scent of manicured lawns and freshly cut roses, a stark contrast to the nervous tremor running through my hands.
The grand foyer of the Rizzo mansion echoed with the quiet click of my heels as I padded towards the kitchen. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, a sharp contrast to the floral fragrance clinging to my clothes. It seemed everyone else was still enjoying the luxury of sleep on this beautiful morning.
Rounding a corner, I found Mama leaning gracefully against the marble countertop, a steaming mug cradled in her hands. Her smile, warm and genuine, could light up even the darkest corners of the house.
"Buon compleanno, tesoro!" Happy birthday, sweetheart! She chirped in Italian, her voice as bright as the sunrise filtering through the window.
A jolt of surprise shot through me. My birthday! Completely forgotten in the whirlwind of nerves churning in my stomach. A sheepish grin spread across my face.
"Grazie, Mama," Thank you, Mama. I replied, returning her greeting in the same language.
Opting for my usual tea over the coffee, I grabbed a mug and headed towards the hot water dispenser. Caffeine wasn't my friend, leaving me jittery and anxious. Mama, in all her fierce independence, was a walking contradiction to my own temperament. Where she was strong and decisive, I was soft and brimming with a naive optimism that bordered on naiveté. It was a quality I cherished, this ability to see the good in everyone, even in the devil.
As I carefully poured generous amounts of cream into my tea, Mama spoke up, her voice laced with curiosity. "Did you take a drive earlier, Raelynn?"
My hand, holding the cream pitcher, froze in mid-air. Shame prickled my cheeks. The truth was, my 'drive' had taken me nowhere near the scenic outskirts of Miami. My destination had been the charming, albeit slightly cramped, pet store downtown. A pet store that housed not only adorable animals but also the object of my recent affections - a guy named Simone with eyes the color of the Caribbean Sea. An infatuation I'd been nurturing in secret, well aware that Papa wouldn't take kindly to me associating with someone so… ordinary.
Disappointment gnawed at me. My hopes of catching a glimpse of Simone before breakfast had been dashed by the dark 'Closed' sign hanging lopsidedly on the shop door. Swallowing hard, I forced a smile and fabricated a story.
"Oh, just a quick spin around the neighborhood," I mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant. "Needed to clear my head a bit."
Mama's gaze held a knowing glint for a beat too long before she softened. "Of course, darling. Birthdays can be overwhelming."
Mama added "Oh, and Mark is coming over in the afternoon, tesoro." Sweetheart.
The news felt like a lead weight settling in my stomach, couldn't he wait until tonight. I managed to suppress a groan, the sound catching painfully in my throat. Mark, with his designer clothes, cocky grin, and hair styled to look perpetually windblown, was everything I wasn't looking for in a partner. More like a caricature of a wealthy playboy, he was the son of a close friend of Papa's, and apparently, in everyone's eyes, including Mama's, we were a perfect match.
Memories of the last frat party at Mark's college surfaced – a sea of bodies pulsating to deafening music, the acrid smell of cheap beer, and the disgust I felt as I watched him sidle up to a random girl snorting off a suspicious white powder from the girl's chest. I'd retreated to a corner, feeling utterly alone and out of place.
Mark was the antithesis of Simone. Simone had a quiet strength hidden beneath a broad frame adorned with a few tasteful tattoos, and a passion for animals that rivaled my own. Sure, he didn't exactly fit the mold of someone who worked at a pet store, but that only added to his charm.
"That's… lovely," I mumbled, forcing a smile that felt strained even to me.
Mama's brow furrowed slightly. "Speaking of things progressing," she continued, "the seamstress will be dropping off your dress later this morning."
My stomach clenched. The dress. The infamous birthday dress, a yearly tradition meticulously planned by Mama. This year's creation was supposedly a masterpiece, crafted by one of the country's most sought-after seamstresses. Patience wasn't exactly Mama's strong suit, but the dress, apparently, was worth the wait.
"Wonderful," I mumbled, trying not to sound too unenthusiastic.
"Wonderful?" Mama echoed, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Raelynn, this is your twenty-second birthday! Tonight, we're having a small celebration." Her definition of "small" always seemed to translate to a guest list longer than my arm, filled with distant relatives I barely recognized and family friends who mostly used the occasion as an excuse to corner Papa about business deals.
The prospect of the evening already weighed heavily on me. Between enduring Mark's arrogance and navigating the social minefield of the guest list, all I craved was a quiet evening curled up with a good book and a cup of tea, maybe even a replay of "Dreams" on repeat.
"I know, Mama," I said, forcing another smile. "It's going to be a night to remember."
With a quick peck on Mama's cheek and a murmured "Mi rinfrescherò" I'll freshen up, I took the grand staircase two steps at a time, eager to escape the suffocating expectations that seemed to cling to the air.
Reaching the hallway, I turned to walk towards the familiar oak door leading to Nonno's (grandfather) room. Before I could reach down the hallway, a door swung open with a surprising force. In the doorway stood Andrea, my stoic bodyguard, his imposing figure clad only in dark briefs, a menacing black snake design tattooed across his chest. I'd once had the a teenage crush on him during highschool which he'd dismissed with a gruff. Of course, I knew Papa won't be pleased if he found him anywhere is little firecracker.
A jolt of surprise shot through me. My breath hitched in my throat and my cheeks flushed scarlet. I wasn't exactly familiar with the sight of a shirtless man, and seeing Andrea like this, so raw and exposed, sent a shiver down my spine. An unwelcome comparison crossed my mind – I wondered how Simone looked without his usual work uniform.
Clearing my throat awkwardly, I tried to regain my composure. The memory of the woman's muffled moans echoing from his room the previous night – a testament for my room being next to his'. I was certain about one thing, the woman had the best night of her life.
" G-Good Morning..." I managed to stammer out a greeting, Andrea spoke, his voice laced with a gruffness.
"Happy birthday, Raelynn," he offered, his gaze cool and professional.
Despite the awkwardness, a grin tugged at the corner of my lips. He remembered. After all, I'd spent the last few weeks strategically dropping not-so-subtle hints about my birthday, ranging from strategically placed birthday cards to leaving a calendar open on the 'important dates' page.
Andrea muttered something under his breath – probably about my relentless reminders – before turning and disappearing back into his room with a final curt nod.
Shaking off the encounter, I walked towards Nonno's room, a familiar warmth spreading in my chest. Knocking lightly, I pushed the door open to find him perched on his bed, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose as he battled the morning news with a furrowed brow.
"Who still reads newspapers?" I teased, a playful smile tugging at my lips. The digital age had bypassed Nonno completely, much to the amusement (and occasional exasperation) of the rest of the family.
His head snapped up at the sound of my voice, and a broad grin broke through his usual stern facade. "Happy birthday, my favorite grandchild!" he boomed, his voice as strong as ever despite his advancing years.
Walking towards him, I accepted his invitation to sit beside him on the plush bed. "Did you take your medicine, Nonno?" I asked, a gentle reminder that always seemed to spark his playful rebellion.
He grumbled, a twinkle in his eye. "What good is medicine? Can't a man die in peace?"
This was a well-rehearsed dance. Nonno hated doctors and medication with equal passion, never failing to send the family's doctor scurrying with his dramatic pronouncements.
"Not today, Nonno," I countered, returning his playful smile. "Today is for birthday cake and good company, not pronouncements of imminent demise."
He chuckled, a rich, rumbling sound. "Spoilsport," he muttered affectionately, reaching out to ruffle my hair.
Nonno's playful facade faltered for a moment, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. "You're the only one who seems to care, bambina," he grumbled, using the Italian term of endearment for "little girl." "The rest of them, they just wait, circling like vultures, waiting for the old man to kick the bucket and leave them with a bigger pile of money."
A pang of sympathy stabbed at me. Nonno, the man who built the Rizzo empire from the ground up, the foundation upon which Papa now reigned supreme. He was the one who pulled them up from their humble beginnings, the one who made us 'new money' as society liked to label us. Despite his stern demeanor and the way he never hesitated to lash out at Papa or even Luca and Marco, my older brothers, he held a soft spot for me, a tenderness reserved only for his "favorite grandchild."
Pouting playfully, I swatted his arm. "That's not true, Nonno. We all love you."
He snorted, a hint of amusement returning to his eyes. "Love? Maybe. But love doesn't put food on the table, does it?"
Knowing I wouldn't win this argument, I changed tactics. "Fine," I conceded with a sigh. "But at least take your medicine for me? How will you celebrate my birthday if you're feeling under the weather?"
Nonno grumbled under his breath, a mumbled curse followed by a resigned sigh. Reaching into the nightstand drawer, he retrieved the offending medication and popped it into his mouth with a grimace, chasing it down with a glass of water I offered him.
"There," I said, patting his arm in mock satisfaction.
I planted a quick peck on Nonno's cheek, the warmth of the moment lingering on my skin as I stepped out of his room. My haven, my bedroom, awaited, painted in a calming shade of blue. Although Mama had vehemently suggested pink, a color that never quite resonated with me, I'd fought for this space to reflect my own unique taste. A twenty-two-year-old deserved a room that spoke of her, not a lingering childhood.
My gaze swept across the familiar collection of ice skating trophies, each one a silent testament to a dream shattered by a sprained ankle and a single, harsh pronouncement from Papa: "Never again." A flicker of sadness tugged at my heart.
However, those trophies now shared space with an array of canvases – vibrant expressions of emotions poured onto the fabric with a passion that had only grown after the ice rink became a forbidden zone. There were awards too, gleaming for my contributions to community service during high school. The perfect daughter, the good girl, the embodiment of all their expectations.
Suddenly, a soft flurry of movement caught my attention. Ember, my ginger cat with a personality as fiery as her fur, rubbed against my leg. Papa hadn't been thrilled when I'd brought her home, but a few well-placed tears and a dose of puppy-dog eyes had secured her place in our life – albeit confined to the boundaries of my room. Ember was a gift from Simone, a surprise delivered on my twentieth birthday, the first one I'd celebrated since knowing him.
A pang of something akin to longing shot through me as I thought about Simone. My gaze drifted to my phone lying on the dresser.
Disappointment pricked at me as I picked up the phone. No message. No birthday greeting from Simone, a tradition we'd established over the past two years. Perhaps he was now swamped at the pet store.
The truth was, I knew very little about his life outside those pet store walls. He was an enigma. There were times he'd come to work with a smattering of bruises or reddened knuckles, his explanation always a careless tumble or a mishap with a playful puppy. My gut, however, whispered a different story .
With a sigh, I dropped the phone onto the dresser.
Turning towards the bathroom, the promise of a warm, soothing bath beckoned. Steaming water, scented with calming sunflower oil, would be the perfect antidote to the whirlwind brewing outside my door. For now, I could steal away in a cloud of fragrant steam, allowing myself to dream of a world where expectations were replaced by shared dreams and the gentle touch of eyes that held the color of the Caribbean Sea.