The Sweetest Oblivion (Made 1)

Papà handed it to Dominic, who began searching through it.

“We’ll find out who it is, Adriana, so you might as well tell us,” Marco said. He was starting with a softer approach, but my papà wasn’t going for it.

“You’ll tell us, Adriana. Now. Or I swear to God you won’t see daylight again.”

My sister crossed her arms, her eyes flashing with defiance. That strategy would never work with Adriana, and Papà knew it. I thought one day he believed she would magically become compliant.

“We won’t kill him,” Marco said. “There’s a baby involved, it’s different.” He didn’t say it, but we all heard it: Different than me. Different than my situation.

When hope flickered in Adriana’s gaze, my stomach twisted.

“He’s lying,” I blurted.

Angry male eyes shot to me.

I swallowed, giving Nicolas a glance, but he still seemed to be a mile away.

Uncle Marco shook his head. “No, I’m not. We’re not going to kill him, Adriana. I promise.”

The glint of hope in her eyes grew a tiny bit more.

Panic flooded me. I knew that look in Benito’s gaze, in my brother’s.

Lie. It’s all a lie.

“They’re lying, Adriana,” I urged. “Don’t believe them.”

My pulse leapt into my throat as the back of Manuel’s hand came toward my face. I flinched, expecting the blow. When only a brush of air touched my cheek, I opened my eyes to see Nicolas’s hand wrapped around my uncle’s wrist.

“Hit a woman in front of me and you won’t be alive to do it again,” Nico growled.

Seconds passed before Manuel ripped himself from Nico’s grip and took a step back, his face red with disdain.

Papà watched the exchange with neutrality, but something close to displeasure played behind his eyes when he looked at Nico. My papà had never hit me—his distaste was for another reason than Nicolas stepping in, but I wasn’t sure what.

My mamma’s brothers had always been mean, except Marco. He was gentle, reserved, but at the slightest infraction, he was nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing on the hunt.

“Elena,” Papà barked. “Leave.”

I had never stood up to my papà before. However, I knew my sister; she was tough but gullible. She wanted to believe in her fairy-tale, so she would. And it would be the death of her prince.

I didn’t move.

“Elena.” My papà’s tone was colder than the Arctic and tinged with disbelief.

I was pulled by the desire to listen, yet my feet were frozen to the floor. I now stood on cheap apartment carpet, watching a similar scene play out before my eyes.

Papà flicked a gaze to Tony, who, with a look of contrition, came around the couch to me.

“I’m not leaving,” I protested.

“Come on, Elena. Let’s go.” Tony reached for my wrist, but I jerked it away. He sighed, before wrapping an arm around my waist and lifting me.

“Adriana, don’t do it,” I pleaded as Tony half carried me, half walked me with one arm to the door. “I promise you they’re lying.”

I knew the kind of guilt this carried around—let alone the heartbreak—and I couldn’t allow Adriana to live with the same.

Once my feet were in the hall, Tony shut the door, leaving me alone on the other side. I let out a noise of frustration, before smacking the wood with my palm. Sliding down the door with my thighs pressed to my chest, I listened to their voices seep through the cracks.