I can’t remember anyone offering me wine the last time I was here.
Pin pricks touch the back of my neck and I turn my head to find Enzo watching me. His eyes flick to the glass before moving back to me and he gives the barest of nods.
I take the glass, sipping the wine. Flavor explodes over my tongue.
“Good, isn’t it?” Daria asks, holding her own glass.
“It is.” I place the glass down on the small table next to my chair, not wanting to indulge too much too quickly.
“How’s the wedding planning going?” I ask her as the worker lifts my feet into the footbath.
“Exhausting,” she says with a long sigh.
“That’s because you’re letting your bitch of a stepmother drive you crazy,” Isabella says, her face back in her magazine.
Daria peers over at her, an amused look on her face. “That’s your aunt you’re talking about.”
“Aunt by marriage, but even if it was blood, I’d admit that she’s one evil little bitch, not to mention racist.”
I raise a brow, looking at Daria. “Racist?” I ask.
Daria cringes. “Most people have a problem with the fact that my dad kept his mixed daughter, but Vivian has a special distaste, since technically my mom was my dad’s mistress.”
I remember Enzo telling me something about their family situation the first time I saw Daria but I still lean in, waiting for more information.
This is the most entertainment I’ve had in months.
Other than the fight.
Isabella scoffs, lifting her gaze. “As if it’s just because of your mother boning Uncle Alvize, she’s just a bonafide racist.” She looks over at me. “Abramo’s baby mama was black and I’m convinced that Aunt Vivian had her killed.”
Daria rolls her eyes. “Really, Isabella, you don’t know that. It could have as easily been Abramo.”
My eyes widen as the face of the man I met last week flashes in my head. He hadn’t exactly been mean or cruel, even though I knew he was dangerous. “Wait, your brother had his baby mama killed?” I ask.
Daria’s eyes flicker down to the worker doing her pedicure. The woman is doing her best to pretend she’s not listening but her head is inclined just a little too high. “It’s unconfirmed. All we know is that she washed up in the river one day and no one is sure who put the actual bullet in her skull.” She gives a casual shrug.
My mouth drops open as I try to figure out a response. They’re both talking about a woman’s death so casually.
“How old is the baby?”
I was in my teens when I lost my mother and it was a lot. I can’t imagine Abramo having a kid that old though, considering he didn’t look to be middle aged yet.
“Baby,” Daria chuckles. “Fabi isn’t a baby, he’s four going on forty.”
“And as evil as his pappy,” Isabella says.
“I’m pretty sure he gets the evilness from Frances,” Daria corrects her.
“Who’s Frances?”
“My brother’s second and a pain in my ass.”
“Frances is a pain in everyone’s ass, it’s the only way he knows how to get off,” Isabella adds in, a twinkle in her eye.
My brows pull together as I try to figure out how we even got to this point in the conversation. “Your wedding,” I muse out loud. “What is your stepmother making difficult about it?”
“Everything,” Isabella supplies the answer before Daria can.