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Infectious.
Her entire presence had a way of infusing life into any situation.
She had a gift.
I had to hand it to her.
She was probably the life of the party for anyone who didn’t consider her their sister. Because to me, she was also a bitch.
Viola reached into her jacket pocket, revealing a shiny metallic flask. Without any prompting or even waiting for anyone’s approval, she took a giant swig.
One that said that she didn’t have a care in the world.
"Good thing I brought my own supplies," she quipped with a playful wink as she made a face, the liquid that had just hit the back of her throat burning. "It's time to celebrate!"
I chuckled, a sense of excitement washing over me as I watched her revel in the atmosphere. "You always know how to bring the party, don't you, sis?" I asked, smiling.
A laugh escaped from Dimitri. “Our brother is leaving us!” he exclaimed. “Let’s toast!”
She looked at me for a moment, a gleam in her eye.
I could tell she knew, but I could also tell there was emotion there.
She nodded carefully and smiled. “To my dumbass older brother,” she said, holding the flask in the air.
Dimitri laughed. “To Luca. The club looks amazing, and the family is better than before. Thank you!” He grabbed the flask from Viola and held it out to me. “And thank you for leaving it with us. We will do you proud. Here’s to your new adventures with your wife-to-be.”
He put the flask to his lips and took a swig, making a face.
“What the fuck is in this?” he groaned, handing me the flask.
I looked at it, my brows furrowed, and then to Viola.
“I’m not drinking if he’s making a face like that,” I said.
She laughed. “Don’t be a bunch of pussies,” she said, swiping it from my hand and chugging back a big drink. “Tonight, we toast to new beginnings, to love, and to living life on our own terms!"
With that, she took another swig.
Her contagious laughter filled the room and the weight of any doubt I had dissipated.
Everything was going to be OK.
38
ANNABELLE
As the irongate of the prison closed behind us, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions churning in my gut. Dad had been released. I should be elated.
But there was still so much clouding my mind.
Sure, I knew that Francis Lasiter wasn’t him.
I knew he had nothing to do with me being shot.
I knew he loved me.
I knew in his twisted version of fatherhood and manhood, he thought what he did was for the best.
