AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I nod. "They were close-minded. I didn’t sway them, but at least I stuck up for myself."
"Damn right."
I turn around. "Tell me aboutyourlife."
Something in the atmosphere changes. Medici’s eyes go dark. They flicker with an emotion I can’t place, something that makes my soul tremble.
"No."
ChapterEleven
Medici
I raise the ax over my shoulder and slam it on the log.
Crash.
Wood splinters fly in the air as sawdust drifts onto the ground.
I yank the blade out, then pick up the split trunk and toss half in the firewood pile.
My entire extended family and I are planning a bonfire tonight. We intend to roast Italian sausages, make espresso, and even a traditional rustic Sicilian dessert.
We haven’t done this since I was a boy. When Nonna told me this would bring us all together, I volunteered to chop the firewood.Thank Christ for dead olive trees.
Sun causes sweat to bead on my skin. I wipe my forehead with my handkerchief, then thrust it in my pocket.
"Goddamnit," I snarl, tugging my flask out of my pocket and sitting on a log. "Thisisn’thow I wanted the day to go."
I’m grumpy for one reason—my conversation with Mattie. God, I can’t believe I ended it the way I did.
What a bitch move.
For the past twelve years, I’ve prided myself on my ability to remain open-minded. That’s what prison taught me. Everyone’s locked up for different reasons and you should never judge someone simply due to what’s on their rap sheet.
They could’ve had life circumstances that led them to make the choices they did. Perhaps they were young. They didn’t have a fully developed frontal lobe and couldn’t gauge the consequences of their actions.
I especially pride myself on the improvements I made in therapy. Before I went to prison, I wascompletelyshut off from my emotions. Speaking to anyone about what was in my heart was a nonstarter.
With Mattie, my old self conquered my new. Try as I might, I couldn’t push past the fear that bubbled up inside me when he asked me about my life.
Speaking about my past requires me to tell Mattie about my twelve years in the joint. My murder and kidnapping charges. The shit I did to survive. And Trevion. That’s something I’m NOT ready to discuss.
A butterfly swirls around my face. I grumble as I blow it away with a breath, then swallow a shot of limoncello, which as an Italian, is what I always keep in my flask.
I cross my arms over my chest. "Mattie shouldn’t push me to open up. It’s not fair."
Someone plops onto the log bedside me. "Muttering to yourself, I see."
I turn to Romeo. "Hi, Uncle Romeo."
My uncle’s face is twisted in knots. His usually attractive chiseled jaw is clenched tight and his brow is furrowed. Scruff lines his cheeks and his eyes are slanted, a fitting complement to the bags beneath them.
He eyes my flask. "Give me a shot of that."
I hand it to him. "Knock yourself out."
He takes a swig—then spits it out. "Who the fuck fills a flask with limoncello?"
