Noelle

I flip the newspaper and take a sip of my morning tea. It’s been a tradition since the youngest sibling was born to drink tea with mother in the morning. However, this morning, Jane left.

She didn’t wake me up to say goodbye, and I’m still angry about that. In a few hours, she’ll land on Russian soil, and I’ll call to scold her for it. Niko is nowhere in sight. I arrived home late last night, and his car was in the driveway, but there’s no trace of him. Who knows where he’s causing trouble this early in the morning.

It leaves me alone with my mother to pretend I like one of her new tea recipes that I struggle to swallow. The key is to drink it in moderation so she doesn’t get suspicious and realize I hate it. But drinking it cold is far worse than gulping down the hot beverage all at once.

“You did well last night, Noelle,” she compliments me, glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. “But your face was seen. What are you doing about it?”

It’s more of a threat than a question. She’s asking how I will fix this mess, despite me not even thinking of a proper plan. She doesn’t have to know that, though.

I smile. “Don’t worry too much. It’s all part of my plan.”

She raises a curious brow. “Is that so? It better not result in one of our own dying.”

“I’m not an amateur.”

“Good.”

That concludes our morning chat. It’s usually longer but since Jane and Niko are absent, I’m left alone to deal with her. I love my mother, I truly do, but she’s an odd one. Like a screw is missing from her head.

Well, who am I to judge? It’s not like I’m completely sane, either.

Mother takes the last sip of her tea and stands to leave. All I want to do is sigh in relief, but I control my muscles and act like I’m unbothered. She slowly picks up her tablet and stares at me for a moment longer.

“Be prepared. You’ll be accompanying your father and brother tomorrow."

I frown. “Where?”

She lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know.”

I nod in response and the moment she walks out of the living room, I pour the remaining liquid from my cup into the nearest flower pot. With a sigh, I return to the task at hand.

There’s nothing in the news about Franco’s death. They’re keeping it a secret, and it makes me anxious. It’s a big deal; the heir of the De Santis family had his throat slit—twice.

I’m frustrated. I expect them to strike twice as hard, which is why I’ve made sure the children of my family are kept under watch at all times. I don’t think they would aim for children, but you can never know for certain with those bastards.

All that’s left is to see what kind of attack Hudson De Santis will come up with.

I hope he doesn’t disappoint me.

THE END

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