Page 47 of Ruthless Rival

Adriano rubbed his chin as he glanced at the table. “Any room left for me?” he asked in a general fashion, but it was obvious his question had been directed at his father.

Alberto breathed in deeply before letting it go slowly. “You know that there’s always room for you at the table,” he finally said as he gestured to Adriano’s usual spot.

Adriano smiled ever so slightly. “Thank you, Papà,” he replied.

Alberto waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t thank me, mio figlio. Just sit down and pour yourself a glass of wine. You need to relax,” he said with a slight smirk on his face.

“Seriously. You’re as rigid as bulletproof glass.” Marco chuckled as he playfully punched Adriano in the arm.

Adriano knocked him back lightly, laughter erupting around the table as the two quarreled. He ruffled Marco’s hair before pulling his chair out.

I smiled and grabbed an empty wine glass from the middle of the table. I handed it to Adriano once he sat down. When he nodded his thanks, I nodded back and took a seat, placing my hand on Alberto’s wrist. “Everyone is where they belong,” I reminded him.

The more time I spent with Alberto and his family, the more I realized how important family was when everyone’s best interests were in mind. The Castillos constantly fought for power, even against each other. That wasn’t what the Mancinis were like. They fought for power together as a unit. They were unstoppable and I felt proud to be a part of them.

Alberto gave me a gentle smile and placed his other hand over mine. He squeezed lightly. “So are you,” he said. “Right by my side.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promised him. We were a unit as well.

Alberto chuckled. “I wouldn’t let you go in the first place, bella,” he assured me.

I rolled my eyes playfully before leaning forward to press my lips against his. The sound of his family talking and laughing faded into the background, as all I focused on was how right it felt to kiss him, to be with him. The diamond ring he proposed with gleamed on my finger, a symbol for our beautiful future ahead of us.

We had to venture through the storm first though to reach the sunshine and things were about to turn darker than ever before.

Gradually, I felt more and more at home in the plantation house. Alberto went to more lengths than needed to make the place also feel like mine, including converting a guest bedroom into an art room for me.

“It’ll be good for you and the baby if you do art again. It’ll relax you and make you happy,” Alberto insisted.

How could I argue with that? Since things with his family were getting better, there was less stress in the house. So I had a little more leeway to focus on other things. I bought new art supplies and restarted my passion from scratch. Canvases. Brushes. All sorts of paints. Everything.

It didn’t take long for paint stains, discarded, messed-up canvases, and old brushes to litter the room. I didn’t mind the mess, though. In a way, it was beautiful and creative, and that was what I wanted my life to be like.

Today, I felt a burst of inspiration as the sun glowed in the sky without any clouds to block its radiance. I got to work in my art room, turning on deep, emotional instrumental music to keep myself focused. With a large canvas in front of me, I arranged my paints and brushes next to me on a small table, preparing for a session of quiet soul-baring.

I enjoyed abstract painting, using powerful streaks of colors, specific shapes and strokes to portray the storm of emotions as well as the memories in my head. Black and red strokes crossed the canvas, representing chaos and darkness. I was so into my work and the music that I didn’t notice I had company until I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to see Adriano lingering near the doorway of the room. He must’ve been here for his dad, but my music could be heard from down the hallway.

Adriano didn’t say anything. He just peered at my painting.

I had plenty of things to say to him but like his father, actions meant more to him than words. I merely turned back to my painting to let him watch and decide what to do for himself.

After a few moments, Adriano grabbed a blank canvas and set it up on an easel. He picked out a few paints and a brush before sitting beside me. He seemed more practiced than I expected, carefully dipping his brush into the light blue paint. He dragged it over the canvas, creating a circle.

I smiled to myself as I watched him add swirls of color. It almost looked like an eye swimming with color and emotion. Art was subjective, though. It meant something to him that maybe I couldn’t understand, but we could agree on our enjoyment of the craft itself. At the end of the day, that was all that mattered.

Adriano paused and glanced over at me, our eyes meeting for a second. His shoulders sank down slightly, finally relaxing. His expression wasn’t as steely and the corner of his mouth curled up slightly.

I offered him another brush of a different size.

Adriano took the brush and nodded before going back to his painting.

He couldn’t tell, but I was bursting with joy on the inside. I turned back to my canvas and continued painting. We glanced over at each other and at our paintings every once in a while, but the room remained silent besides the music.

Our interaction felt loud in its own way. I treasured our quiet, shared session and the work of art that was our new connection.

For the first time in many years, I felt blessed.

Chapter Twenty:This is War

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