Death Between Your Lips

Sober Tragedies

I held my breath as I dropped the dress I was wearing, then stepped into the bath. Everything in the bathroom was black, and it held a deep, lingering scent of lavender. The same lavender that I had smelled earlier against Leone's chest.

I closed my eyes as I leaned back into the bath, willing myself to forget about everything that had happened today. Not just today. Ever since my life was tipped over ten years ago.

It wasn't easy when the person who had been the most affected by my cowardice all those years ago was the person who had shielded me today. Not when his scent was engraved in the walls around me, and now, my skin.

I sighed, then got out of the bath and dried off my hair. I wore the shirt, then looked around. There wasn't a single mirror in the entire room, and I wondered if that was a choice or...

With Leone, everything was a choice.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my chest heaving hard. Now that I was here, what was I supposed to do? This was by no means my home, and even after we got married, it probably never will be.

I turned to the portrait of Leone above the bed. Slowly, I stood up, then covered the distance till I could see it clearly.

It had a small writing that was rough enough for me to know it was done by hand.

"Happy birthday, son! You are my biggest blessing."

I swallowed, my eyes lifting to the rest of the portrait. I could see a single ring on his right thumb, and the black and white colours did nothing to take away from the cold intensity in his eyes.

A knock suddenly came on the door, and I turned, my heart jumping to my throat.

"C... come in."

The door slowly opened, and a woman, probably in her thirties, walked in. She was carrying a tray of food, a small polite smile lifting her lips.

"Here, ma'am. Is there anything else you need?"

I looked down at the tray. Croissants, a slice of tiramisu, white wine. I closed my eyes for a brief second. Just how much does he know about me?

"No," I managed to say, forcing a smile. "Thank you very much."

She nodded, then walked away, leaving me alone yet again.

My gaze flickered to the portrait again, and I felt a knot tighten in my stomach.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, my voice low. "Why are you making me feel even more guilty?"

There was no answer. I doubted there would be an answer even if I was talking to him directly. Maybe he didn't know why he was doing this either.

I ate in silence, pushing away each and every thought. My mind was more than tired, and the only thing I wanted was silence, even if Leone was the one offering it.

I picked up the plates and tray, then slowly made my way downstairs. I knew how to get back up, so it wouldn't be an issue, but from how clean the room was, leaving dirty plates there most probably would be.

"What are you going to do when Don Matteo comes for her?" It was Don Luciano.

I stopped walking, my eyes wide. They both were in the massive bar, with Leone leaning back on the wall, a glass of wine lodged between his fingers, his eyes dark.

Don Luciano was sitting on the bar stool, his eyes watching Leone keenly.

"Would it be strange for me not to know right now?"

Don Luciano sighed. "You hate the girl, Leone. Ten years. You lost your sight. You learnt to walk. To talk. You had to relearn everything except her. That is because you hate her, isn't it?"

My eyes slowly dropped to the floor as his words filled my mind.

'And if I ever needed to love you, I wouldn't need to learn it again.'

He hadn't been bluffing. He hadn't meant it as some metaphor. It was real.

Tears stung the back of my eyes, and my vision immediately blurred. f**k, Ginevra, what have you done?

"Yes. I can barely stand the sight of her. But if there's someone I hate more, it is her father, you know that."

"Then why did you bring her? Why didn't you let them deal with it? She obviously knows her father. They did that to you together."

Leone's chest was heaving slowly, his eyes darkening a little as he brought the glass to his lips.

"Because I am twisted like that. If something were to happen to Ginevra, I want the stain to be on my hands. If she were to die, I would want the blood on my gun and no one else's. Not even her father."

I closed my eyes, tears running down my cheeks steadily. It did make sense. It made enough sense. I was no saint, and if he was possesisve about the ability to hurt me, I couldn't blame him at all.

"Is that the real reason you wanted to marry her? You already know what's happening with the Matteo's clan, and you absolutely don't want to help. Are you marrying her to hurt her?"

He gave a shrug and dropped his wine glass.

"Leone," Don Luciano said, getting out of his stool. "You hide nothing from me. You don't hide a thing from me, Leone. Talk to me. Is that why?"

Leone was silent for the longest time, and I slowly started to back away.

"No," he said finally, his voice firm, yet low. Like he was ashamed. Like he hated to admit it.

I turned, and he was looking up to Don Luciano, his eyes wide, and for the first time since I met him again, the ice seemed to have melted from his gaze.

"Leone," Don Luciano sighed, his fingers lacing in Leone's hair.

Leone didn't resist as the older man pulled him closer, his face resting in Don Luciano's chest, his eyes wide open.

I stood there, tears filling my eyes rapidly as I watched them. I never had that with my own father, and I might never have that with anyone else.

It was as sobering as it was tragic, and I started to turn away when I caught a glimpse of something.

I turned, and sure enough, Leone was looking straight at me.