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1
Christian
I raise my arm and throw the snifter of whiskey against the wall. The glass shatters, and the amber liquid taints the wall; just like Xander's blood had stained the ground when I dragged him from the car, which had caught fire after the car bomb had gone rogue.
My twin's gone. He's really gone, and he's never coming back.
I turn to the bar counter, grab a bottle of Macallan, and fill up another glass. I take a sip and the alcohol blazes a trail of warmth to my belly. He's gone. My twin brother is no longer here to share a drink with me. Fact is, I can't recall the last time we had a drink together. He'd been busy, focused on his painting, and I... I had been consumed by my role as theConsiglierefor theCosa Nostra.
The last month had been a bitch with my asshole of a father trying his best to destabilize Michael, my oldest brother. Michael had finally managed to kill him and take over as the Don... The person who had been hurt most in the process? Xander. My twin, my other half... My soulmate from before we were born... We had shared a womb, but we hadn’t shared our thoughts with each other since moving to Los Angeles.
What I remember most about that time are the overwhelmingly bright days, the blue skies, not being able to walk anywhere, playing in the backyard with our brothers Massimo, Luca, Seb, and Adrian; while Michael was already at university. I also learned to paint, something I quickly found I had no aptitude for, while Xander? He took to it like it was his life.
We used to ride the school bus back home to eat the leftovers Nonna had left us. Often, she would be off at some meeting or another, while our older brothers already had girlfriends and football games.
We’d eat, and I'd watch Spiderman on TV, while Xander much preferred to sit in the back garden and gaze at the leaves.
Even then, he was already a dreamer, my little brother.
As we grew older, we finally decided to move to different rooms. Or rather, I decided to move to another room, because it felt like… Well, we needed privacy to jerk off, if you must know.
Still, whenever I stayed over in his room, he’d lend me his guitar—I don’t have a single musical bone in my body—and to placate him, I’d pick at the strings. His room was always spotless. And mine? I hated picking up after myself. Nonna grew tired of asking me to straighten out my room. Instead, when she couldn’t bear it any longer, she’d ask Xander to put my things away, and he’d oblige.
I’d return from baseball practice—yep, that’s how American I had become—to find everything back in its place. Then, I’d be unable to find anything and would have to holler at Xan to help me out. Which he would.
That’s how good-natured my little brother was.
The diagram of our life was a complete circle. After yet another bout, when he picked up my damn room again, I would reciprocate by making him peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
We gamed together, shared our love for weird songs; he had started to paint while I had moved on to consuming the kind of online content which is strictly off-limits to a teenager but the kind of stuff a teenage boy thrives on.
It's not that we never fought, but it wasn’t often. We were two wild kittens grown into cats who, at first, were consciously caring and kind to each other. Enough that he told me when I wasn’t me.
But somewhere along the line, as in the case of many siblings, we had grown apart, and I never realized it. Not until I found out later that he had secrets in his life which he didn’t feel like he could share with me. My twin, my soulmate, my brother. We were each other’s life partners and also lifesavers… Until we weren’t. Until I failed him.
Now he’s gone. My twin is gone, and I miss him. On the other hand, it's good thestronzois no longer here. If he were around, no doubt, he would talk me out of the plan I intend to implement.
2
A day later
Aurora
"Open the door!" The banging on the front door reaches me. I stare at the coffee table wedged against it. That and the bolt I had dropped in place is all that's preventing the asshole on the other side from getting through to me.
It’ll hold the door, surely, won’t it? I glance around the living room space but don’t see any means of escaping. Not that I haven’t checked every inch of this house in the last few weeks that I have been held here as a prisoner. Every window is barred, and the door to the terrace on the first floor is sealed tight. The only way in or out of this house is through the front door. The door upon which the man who is trying to enter is currently leaning his weight.
Shit!"
The door creaks as he puts his shoulder to it.
"Open the fucking door, Aurora, or I’m gonna break it down."
"Who"—my voice cracks, and I clear my throat—"who’s there?"
"You know who it is. Who else comes to this house, except me?" Christian’s lowers his voice to a growl. "When I get through, I’m going to teach you such a lesson you aren’t going to be able to sit down for days!"
"Oh?" My stomach trembles. "OH!" I blink as the full meaning of his words sinks in. My heart rate ratchets up, and moisture laces my core. I should not find that so hot. Why do I find that such a turn-on?
