Page 29 of Toxic

"Solo," I admit.

"Don't tell me you broke up with Costanza?"

"Guilty," I confess.

She scrunches her face. "I liked her. What happened?"

She isn't you.

I curse myself again. Costanza is a nice woman, probably nicer than all the others I've dated. But she wanted more, and as much as I tried to make myself give it to her, I couldn't. I didn't love her. I shrug. "Not meant to be."

Sean steps up beside her with Fiona in his arms. I push her blonde hair off her cheek, kiss it, and he releases her. She runs off to find the other kids.

I shake Sean's hand. "How long are you in town?"

Sean replies, "A few days. I've got a fight mid-week."

"Who's it with?" I ask.

"A Polish guy named Darek. I barely took him out last time. He's a beast."

"How did he finally go down?"

"Left hook."

I hold my fist out, and Sean bumps it. "Nice."

"It was. But I heard he's been doing three-a-days."

"Jesus. He's either Superman or looking to kill himself," I state, knowing how hard two workouts a day are when you're training for a fight.

"Like I said. He's a beast."

The lights flicker, and we all turn. My father hands my mother a flute of champagne and puts his arm around her right as Arianna walks into the ballroom with whom I assume is Bee Rad.

"Fuck's sake," I mutter. He's got tattoos all over his neck, including his face. A hoop glints in his nose, and the gauges in his ears are at least an inch in diameter. He has bad-boy attitude written all over him, and my insides fume. Besides the fact I just don't like how he looks, I think he has to be in his twenties. His palm on my sister's ass only infuriates me more.

"Want me to toss him out of here, or are you going to?" Sean snarls.

"Easy," Bridget states.

Papà glances at Arianna and clenches his jaw. She's wearing the dress I told her not to. Gianni shakes his head at me from across the room. Arianna smirks at all of us.

Papà clears his throat and tightens his arm around Mamma's waist. He holds his champagne in the air and says, "Thank you all for coming tonight. Like always—"

Mamma gasps for breath, clutches her chest, and her eyes roll. She drops her champagne. My father also releases his. The glass bursts all over the parquet floor as he catches her right as her knees give out.

The room becomes loud and chaotic. Within seconds, my brothers, Arianna, and I are at the front of the room, watching as our family doctor, Silvio, gives Mamma chest compressions.

It's like a slow-motion horror movie. Everyone is screaming or crying. At some point, the ambulance arrives, but the paramedics' efforts are just as useless as Silvio's.

Mamma is dead. Her fifty-five-year-old corpse gets zipped into a black bag. Arianna sobs, and her body shakes in my arms as they wheel Mamma past us.

At some point, the guests leave, until no one remains, except Tully, Bridget, Sean, and the kids.

My papà returns to the ballroom, his eyes appearing as empty as I feel. Arianna runs to him, wailing, and I'm unable to look at everyone's faces anymore.

I take off, weaving through the house until I'm in my mother's library. I grab one of the books from the shelf and toss it as hard as possible against the wall. One by one, I throw all of them until there's nothing left, and I'm breathing hard, still holding back my tears.

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