#seiabbastanza

At least, that’s what he told himself as he sat in the corner of the kitchen, arms wrapped around his knees and his chin resting on top. Two sets of eyes were on him, warm and brown from both observers but one set felt like fire on his skin, burning through his flesh and into his soul. “Angelo…” He didn’t raise his eyes at the term that would be deemed affectionate by anyone watching. To anyone else, the woman standing in front of him seemed gentle, concerned, loving. But to him, her very presence fouled the air around him. He forgot to breathe. “Aren’t you going to greet your mother?”

Serafina watched with a frown, noting the way her nephew retreated deeper inside himself. Maybe they got along worse than she thought. “Isabelle, leave him alone. Come, you were supposed to help me set the table.” From beneath the veil of his eyelashes Luciano would see her kitten heels, red as sin, turn and head away from him. The boy breathed out a sigh of relief and hugged himself tighter, burying his face into his knees.

“He was always such a quiet one. Never wanted to speak up or anything. Always coming home at odd hours at night, dripping blood all over my floor.” Isabelle tsked, following her sister to the stove and grabbing the pot of pasta, carefully carrying it to the table. “Ridiculous. You’d think he’d learn by now.”

Well, she was right about that. He never could pick up her lessons. Luciano sighed, remembering being awoken with the business end of a mop to clean up the mess. It was always dripping wet and bitterly cold too. Speaking of being cold– he had forgotten that he left his hoodie in the Ascendants club. Zia would kill him if he went outside without something warm on…he had to bite the bullet.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket he carefully dialed Feliciano, putting it to his ear as soon as he heard ‘hello?’ on the other end. “Hey Feli- Uh, Feliciano, could you bring over my sweatshirt? I left in the-” “Luciano! You can talk to people on the phone but not me?” He cursed inwardly and hid his phone. “Locker. Please be quick.” And with that he hung up.

“Luciano! I was on an 11 hour flight to come see you, dolcezza. The least you can do is say hello.”

Words were failing him. His throat was closing up and he felt light headed. “…Hello.” He said quietly, trying to ignore the pungent scent of cigarettes and perfume that filled his nose when Isabelle leaned over him.

“There you go! Now was that so hard?” She shook her head, hand already digging in her pocket for a cigar. “At least you learned to talk. I wouldn’t have been able to get an inch with you, considering you don’t know how to read. Sheesh. You were so problematic as a child and not much has changed…”

Once again Serafina found her eyes drifting from the table she was trying to set to Isabelle and her son. Initially she had thought that Luciano was a troublemaker, but good at heart, essentially. She loved the kid after all. But this… “Isabelle, don’t smoke in the house. Didn’t you tell me he had asthma? That can’t be–”