Page 29 of The Don's Proposal

Camellia

“Rocco?”

The last person I expected to see today was my brother. In truth, I never thought I’d see him again.

Yet, here he is. Looking rougher than I’ve ever seen in my life, with the scent of alcohol staining his clothes. No, I’ve seen him this way once before. Back when our father died. For a week, he was so torn and ruined, he looked like this.

Like a man whose life is falling apart. Despite his sisters and mother being there to mourn with him, he shut everyone out. Once our mother ran away, giving up on the chaos that comes with her husband dying, he sobered up.

“You’re alive?” He says the words with an eerily calmness as his eyes stare at the bags in my hand. “Looking more comfortable than I was expecting.” He sniffs and tears his eyes away from my direction to stare at something else more interesting. “And Eliza?”

“She’s okay.” My voice wavers, and I grimace at how this all must look in his eyes. However, I notice the way his shoulders relax. “They haven’t done anything to us.”

What they have done isn’t really something I want to tell my older brother, anyway. I probably shouldn’t tell him that our sister is now married, either. He looks like he’s already standing on a ledge here, and I’m not going to be the one to shove him over.

Santino might, though. The way he grabs my arm and tugs me back so I’m pressed to his chest makes my brother’s eyes narrow on him.

I recognize the heat of anger behind his stare, and the way he clenches up like he wants to fight the man who is gripping me hard enough to leave a mark.

It’s like Santino thinks I’ll catch the next gust of wind and fly away from him.

When I wince, he curses under his breath and loosens his grip on me, but his fingers remain locked around my limb.

“You two seem to get along well enough.” There’s this tone to his voice that I don’t recognize. There’s no way that he’s feeling betrayed. Not him, not with me. He wanted me gone.

Heat prickles up my neck at what he’s implying. Of course, he’s not wrong. I can’t help my feelings. They formed all on their own.

“I can explain,” I start, hoping I can reason with him. Remembering that there are plenty of Bertelli men willing to shoot what little family I have, I don’t want him to do something crazy.

Plus, there have been some skittish pedestrians. I’m sure someone has called the cops by now.

“You don’t have to explain anything,” Santino snarls behind me, offended by the very thought. All I have to do is look at him, and he’s gritting his teeth.

That makes Rocco snort and show the first sign of emotion I’ve seen today that isn’t pain. Unfortunately, it’s a sarcastic laugh.

“Look at me, Rocco.” Pleading softly, his brows knit together, and his frown grows. “Please.”

His jaw works, and his fingers curl and uncurl at his sides. Finally, he shakes his head. “I can’t.”

My heart aches in my chest as he refuses even to glance my way. He’s always been that way, never able to hold eye contact for long.

It’s my eyes, I know it is. He’s always hated my eyes. I don’t think that will ever change. Even when I had those pesky eye contacts in, it wasn’t enough. It’s like looking at me physically leaves him in pain.

“Let’s put an end to this fighting.” Putting the offer out there, I know Santino wouldn’t agree to such a thing. He’s got a grudge against my family. I could see it in the way he reacted to me, revealing who I was when he’d first caught me.

He’d be happy to wipe the Parada name off the face of the earth.

“Please. We don’t have to keep clashing like this. I know… I know I understand little about this whole thing, but I don’t want anyone else to die.” I swallow thickly. “I don’t want you to die.”

Even though he’s treated me like I’m not a person, kept me locked away and everything else that has made me into the person I am today, I don’t hate him.

He’s still my brother. Somewhere deep inside, he’s still the guy who was loving and caring. My brother who wouldn’t dare let anything happen to me.

Slowly, he looks at me. His face pains up like it hurts him to even look my way. He doesn’t last long, he never does. His eyes lower to look at Santino’s shirt I’m wearing, and he blinks.

“Do you want to come back home?” He asks the question low enough that I’m not sure if I’ve misheard him or not. I must’ve.

“Why in the fuck would she want to return?” Santino is one step away from grabbing him, and my nails dig into his arm hard enough to ground him. To ground me as well.

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