MOORED TO AN OUTLAW

Worse Than Friends

"The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance."

—Alan Watts

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Cosimo's silence was practically giving me a heart attack. And let's not sugarcoat it—he wasn't just confusing me, he was driving me up the wall. The tension was radiating off him like a bad smell, his mind burning up with anger, but for some reason, he decided to play the strong, silent type today. Usually, he'd c***k some stupid joke about his messed-up day or gripe about the traffic, but today? Not a word. He was off his game—edgy, distant, like he was holding onto something big.

I squirmed in my seat, stealing a glance at Amalia behind me. She was all zoned out, staring out the window, her phone tapping away like she didn't have a care in the world. But my stomach was doing flips because, knowing her, she could drop a bomb about my so-called "affair" and give poor Cosimo a heart attack while he's behind the wheel.

See, Cosimo wouldn't lose his mind over me sneaking around behind Tiziano's back; nah, he'd be pissed that I let Amalia outsmart me. Deep down, for all his tough-guy act, Cosimo wasn't unreasonable—he had a soft spot somewhere in that hard shell.

The little bathroom showdown between me and Amalia was still fresh, but that took a backseat to the thick, awkward silence filling the car. I tried to break the ice, if not with her, at least with my brother. "Cos, what's your deal today? You trying to get me all worked up?"

He barely even flinched, his eyes glued to the road. "Not now, Sessie. Just... not now."

Ouch. That shut me up quick. I crossed my arms, trying to block out the creeping sense of dread. Whatever was eating at him was serious, and that alone made my skin crawl. But I knew better than to poke the bear—the "don't ask, don't tell" rule for women was loud and clear. So, I zipped it, swallowing my questions and curiosity.

Instead, I stared out the window, watching the familiar city sights blend together in a blur. But something felt... off, like the whole world had hit pause, waiting for the other shoe to drop. And let's be real, when I got this feeling, it usually meant I was about to go into self-destruct mode—think reckless decisions, bad choices, and a whole lot of chaos.

Just as I thought I'd dodged the tension bullet, my phone beeped, sucking me into a fresh vortex of angst. Jake's messages were coming in hot, each one a tiny little grenade.

{JAKE: Why?}

Ugh Jake, I wasn't obligated to spill my guts, was I?

{JAKE: Thought we were better friends than that.}

My mind screamed: guilt trip alert!

And then the final one hit.

{JAKE: Say something!}

Just what I needed—another emotional landmine to navigate. I watched those little dots appear and disappear as he probably thought better of sending more.

I bit my lip.

Friends? Hilarious.

Who needed them when you had a built-in squad of nine siblings? I mean, sure, it wasn't like I had a choice in the matter, but still, it was convenient. Need a partner in crime? Sibling's got your back. Want some juicy gossip? Sibling's got the tea. Need a shopping buddy? You get the idea. I was set, whether I liked it or not.

Jake wasn't at all a friend, and the second my so-called "friends" found out about him, he'd be erased from existence. Staring at the screen, I felt a pang of guilt, but it was misplaced—more about getting caught than about protecting him from the truth. And no, I wasn't sorry for kissing him either.

In fact, I kind of liked it.

Instead of texting him back, I deleted every thread and erased his number. If Amalia stayed quiet for the week, I'd have a chance to explain everything to Jake. But if she blabbed before the weekend, well, there'd be no proof linking me to him. I'd make sure of it by pretending he never existed. Even if his lips were as soft as cotton.

Until then...

I slipped my phone away, glancing nervously between Cosimo, the city outside, and back to Amalia.

"Where are we going?" she snapped as Cosimo made a wrong turn. For once, we were on the same page—I wanted to know too.

Cosimo kept his lips sealed, and a few minutes later, he pulled over to the curb.

"Damn it," Amalia cursed, jumping out and slamming the door behind her. My eyes darted between her and my brother, my stomach tying itself in knots as she marched over to a Mercedes. The door swung open, and Young Dario leaned out, saying something I couldn't catch before she slid into the backseat, the door closing behind her with a dull thud.

As soon as the Mercedes drove off, Cosimo released a breath and loosened the top two buttons of his shirt. He seemed a bit better, but nothing close to normal.

"Why's Young Dario picking Amalia up along the road?"

Cosimo didn't look at me then, didn't even blink, as he ordered with a strained voice, "Bring me my gun."

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. I didn't question him—I couldn't. Not when he used that tone. My hands shook as I reached for the glove compartment, where I knew his gun rested. The metal felt heavy, ominous, as I handed it to him. He took it without a word, checking the chamber before shoving it into his waistband.

At this point, I couldn't take it anymore. "Cosimo!" I snapped, "What the hell is going on? You're scaring me."

He shot me a look that shut me up for a second, but I wasn't backing down. "You have to tell me something. Why is Amalia car-hopping? Why the gun out in the open? Where. Are. We. Going?"

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Just keep your eyes on the road. See anything, point it out."

Oh, sure. That'll calm me down.

I wanted to demand answers, to refuse to move until he told me what was happening, but the look in his eyes said that wouldn't end well. I'd seen that look before—cold, unyielding, the same look our father had when he was about to do something unforgivable.

We were only a few blocks from Mother's restaurant when he finally spoke again. "We're under attack."

"In broad daylight?" I choked out. Attacks were supposed to happen under cover of darkness. Attacks weren't this bad, where we had to run around like headless chickens. They were supposed to be dealt with swiftly by the family. Unless, of course, this attack had been carefully planned against us. "What do you mean—"

"Out of the car," he cut me off, parking so abruptly it almost threw me forward. "Out, now!"

He holstered his gun with practiced movements as we both jumped out. He pulled me close, one arm around my shoulder protectively, pushing me ahead. "Stay close."

I nodded, following him into the restaurant, my unease deepening as I noticed something strange. It was closed. That never happened—especially not during the day. They ran a twenty-four-hour operation, the restaurant up front and... other business in the back.

How bad was this attack that we had to come here instead of going to the bunkhouse? Normally, if an attack was severe enough to breach our security, Father would have us taken to the trench, where safety was airtight. But we weren't going there, which meant only one thing to me—we didn't have enough men on the ground to take us there. That's because the men were off doing something for the family.

Cos and I slipped through the kitchen doors to the back, where Father handled his... side business. The usual buzz of activity was absent. Everything—white powder, mainly—was left abandoned, like the news had hit the workers the same way it hit me. Suddenly, and they'd bolted.

The place was eerily silent, the usual hum replaced with a suffocating stillness. I spotted Vi, sitting at one of the tables, looking pale and drawn, surrounded by a small army of guards. She must have been brought here just like me.

Then I saw my mother, her face red but relieved as she rushed over to me, pulling me into a tight hug. "Thank goodness you're safe," she whispered.

"Safe from what... or rather—who?" I asked, my voice trembling like hers as I pulled back to look at her. "What happened?"

Her eyes darkened, and she glanced at Cosimo before answering. "The Santoros," the name felt like venom on her tongue. I didn't really need to hear her say, "They've attacked again," because it was obvious. That's why Elio had been shot earlier, why Cosimo picked me up sooner than usual, why he dropped Amalia off with Young Dario instead of taking her home. Why our guards were on high alert, ready to protect us at any cost.

The Santoros had been a thorn in our side for as long as I could remember. They'd caused the death of too many of our own, the fist of my father into a wall, the groans of a checkmated Consigliere. Every time we thought we had peace, they'd strike again, like a snake waiting to sink its fangs into us.

I didn't know the full story behind the feud between our families, only that it was about power, money, territory, and betrayal. A lot of betrayal.

"And Elio?" I asked, stepping out of Mother's embrace to face Vi. I dropped my bag on the table, and she rolled her eyes. "Is... is he going to make it?"

"Elio's fine," Vi replied casually. "It was just a graze, according to Niccolo."

"And Nico?"

Mother answered from behind me. "With your father. They're trying to contain the threat. Hopefully, this won't last long." She reached out to hug me again. "Tiziano was worried about..."

I stepped out of her grasp because now I understood the reason for her concern. It was about Tiziano's prized possession—me. She wasn't a bad mother, not really. She loved me, I knew she did. She just had a... unique way of showing it.

"Where's your ring?" Her eyes shot to my finger, and she gasped like I'd committed a crime. "Don't tell me you lost it—"

"I kept it safe," I lied, sitting across from Vi. "With all this chaos, I didn't want to risk losing it."

Mother's relieved smile told me she bought it. Thankfully. I would've sucked at spinning a different lie.

After kissing Cosimo on the cheek, Cos ran a hand through his hair and gave the men strict orders to keep everything secure before heading out.

"Where's he going?" I asked.

Vi scoffed at me. "To drag Zita away from Elio by the hair if he has to. If that'll get her out of the infirmary." She was so cold, so detached, just like Father.

Mother's ringing phone saved Vi from a scolding, I was sure. She stepped into another room to take the call, the rubber curtains blocking her from view.

"Sometimes I wish they'd just blow us all up and end this madness once and for all," Vi muttered, leaning back in her chair. "I'm starting to think the villain's side would be more comfortable than this hellhole."

Before I could argue, Mother rushed back in, her face flushed, eyes wide, phone gripped so tight it was a miracle she hadn't crushed it. But she wasn't glaring at Vi with that deadly look—she was glaring at me.

I stood up without thinking, and just like that, Mother crossed the room, delivering a stinging slap to my face. "w***e," she spat, her words cutting into me like a knife. The last part of her statement dropped me back into my seat and left my heart in bits and pieces: "What in the name of the Blessed Virgin did you do with that schoolboy?”