SALVATORE BLOOD
1512 Words
-Salvatore Estate – Late Morning**
The air in the estate buzzed with quiet tension.
Mr. Salvatore stood in the center of the drawing room, flanked by Maximus and Meera, his voice steady and composed as he made the announcement.
> “Tonight, the Sicilian family will be arriving for dinner,” he said, his tone formal.
> “They’ve finally agreed to sit with us to discuss the engagement.”
Gasps rippled through the room.
**Viola smiled knowingly.**
**don't know why Fiona’s heart… quietly dropped.**
She stood still, lips slightly parted, eyes flickering toward Maximus—who gave her a strange glance before looking away.
Viola, beaming, looked down modestly.
“It’s… finally happening,” she whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Fiona stepped back, her mind racing.
She had no idea they were this serious.
Of course, it was **Viola's** engagement. It had to be. She had known Gio the longest. They fit on paper. They belonged.
A Few Hours Later**
Viola and her inner circle—Lysa, Rhea, and Misha—were already heading out.
“Red or emerald?” Viola asked, holding up two dresses.
> “Gio loves emerald on you,” Lysa chimed in.
> “Yes, but the red will match the announcement vibe,” Viola smirked.
> “Bold. Commanding. Final.”
Laughter followed her as they swept into the luxury car outside, headed to the city’s most exclusive boutiques.
Fiona’s Room-
Fiona stood silently by her wardrobe, running her fingers along soft silks and modest pastels.
Maximus had gone off on estate business, and she felt strangely… alone. The engagement dinner loomed like a shadow.
> *“I shouldn’t be this nervous,”* she told herself. *“It’s not about me.”*
A knock interrupted her thoughts.
Mrs. Salvatore stepped in, followed by a woman in a tailored dress and pearls—**Meera**.
> “You’ll need something elegant for tonight, Fiona,” said Athena salvatore her mother said warmly, though her tone was measured.
> “Something that honors the occasion.”
She placed a **small, glossy black card** in Fiona’s palm.
> “Use this. Get everything you need. Dress, shoes, dinner touches… and something new for your hair.”
Fiona’s brows furrowed.
> “I… I’m not even sure I’m supposed to—”
> “You are,” Mrs. Salvatore cut her off gently. “You’re a Salvatore. You *will* be present, and you’ll be dressed like one. No debate.”
After a pause, Fiona finally took the card. Her hand lingered in her mother’s before pulling away.
Mall – Early Evening**
Fiona, dressed in a simple white blouse and jeans, walked alongside her only true friend in this world—**Jenny Dante**, the daughter of a close family friend who was fiercely loyal and unapologetically real.
Jenny linked her arm with Fiona’s, grinning.
> “Foremost, we are *not* shopping like sad girls. Second, I swear if you pick one more beige dress, I’m burning your wardrobe.”
Fiona laughed.
> “I’m not trying to impress anyone, Jen. I just want something respectful.”
> “Respectful is fine. But boring? No.”
They entered **Armoire d'Or**, the most exclusive designer outlet in the city.
And just as Fiona was slipping into a deep forest-green satin gown—
**She heard it.**
The familiar high-pitched laugh.
The sound of clicking heels.
**Viola.**
Viola and her friends walked in like queens returning to court.
Her eyes scanned the room… and landed on Fiona.
Instant shift.
“Oh,” Viola said, faux surprise lacing her voice. “Didn’t realize we were letting *guests* shop from this section now.”
Jenny crossed her arms, instantly tense.
> “She has a black card. Same as you, I’d assume.”
“Black cards don’t buy class,” Misha muttered beside Viola.
Fiona stepped out of the dressing room, the green dress fitting her like it had been made for her. Her back straightened—but her eyes stayed soft.
> “We’ll be done soon.”
Viola’s eyes narrowed at the gown—**too flattering, too graceful, too… threatening**.
“You know,” Viola said loudly enough for the room to hear, “it’s sweet that you're trying so hard tonight. Even if you know the spotlight’s already taken.”
Jenny was about to fire back, but Fiona gently pulled her back.
> “Let her speak. It’s her day"
A pin-drop silence fell in the boutique.
Even Lysa blinked.
Viola’s lips parted slightly—but she quickly regained her composure, flashing a fake smile.
> “Enjoy your dress, Fiona. Just don’t confuse your seat at the table for a place in his heart.”
She turned sharply, and her friends followed her out.
Fiona stood still, the green dress shimmering softly under the boutique lights.
Jenny looked at her.
> “You okay?”
Fiona nodded.
“I don’t want the spotlight,” she whispered. “But I’m done apologizing for standing in it.”
Absolutely. Here is the **engagement dinner scene**, full of quiet chaos, elegant tension, unspoken glances, and emotions bubbling just beneath the surface—leading up to a pivotal moment in this high-stakes family saga.
---
Salvatore Estate – Grand Entrance Hall, Evening**
The Salvatore estate shimmered under warm chandeliers and golden sconces. A faint scent of white roses filled the hall. The air was thick—not with celebration, but with expectation.
Viola stood by the grand entrance, **poised, perfect, and glowing in crimson.
Her **red maxi dress**, tailored flawlessly, hugged her frame and stopped just above the knee—classy, bold, and calculated. A **diamond necklace** sparkled at her collarbone, matching earrings dangling elegantly, catching every flicker of light. Even her nails were the same deep red, lacquered to perfection.
Her smile was effortless as the **Corsican family** arrived—Gio in a black suit, open-collared shirt, his signature indifference masking any nervous energy. His mother, Mrs. Sicilian, carried grace and severity in equal measure, while his father looked less amused, more observant.
“Welcome,” Viola said softly, stepping forward.
> “We’re honored tonight.”
Mrs. Sicilian nodded politely.
Gio, however, didn’t spare **Viola** a glance.
His eyes swept the room slowly, subtly.
**He was searching.**
For what—or who—wasn't clear.
But both **Viola and Meera** noticed.
Viola’s smile wavered slightly. She turned toward her mother with a look of confusion before regaining her composure.
> “Please,” said Mr. Salvatore, walking in with command, “join us in the sitting area before dinner is served.”
The family gathered—small talk blooming awkwardly between Mrs. Salvatore and Mrs. Sicilian.
Max was nowhere in sight. Neither was Fiona.
Glasses of water and wine were served. Viola sat between her parents, perfectly posed, her ankle crossed over the other. But **Gio’s gaze kept flickering toward the staircase.** Subtle. Measured. Like someone trying not to seem desperate.
---
### **Scene: Upstairs Hallway – Moments Earlier**
Fiona fumbled with her earrings in front of the mirror.
> “I’m late. I shouldn’t be late. "I shouldn’t even be here,” she muttered, breath shaky.
Her hair was pinned half-up, loose curls framing her face. She wore adark forest-green maxi dress**, body-hugging and graceful. **Golden earrings glittered delicately at her ears, and on her wrist sat the **Salvatore heirloom bracelet**—a sign of belonging, of legacy.
Maximus stood by her door, arms crossed, watching her with quiet calm.
> “You look fine as wine,” he said simply. “They’ll survive.”
Fiona looked up at him in the mirror.
> “I shouldn’t be at this dinner.”
Maximus shrugged, then extended a hand.
“You’re not just at this dinner,” he said, smirking.
> “You’re **entering it like a Salvatore**.”
She hesitated, then slowly placed her hand in his.
Together, they descended the staircase—**not announcing themselves** with words, but in posture, pace, presence.
Downstairs – Dining Hall Entry**
The Corsican family turned.
**Gio’s eyes locked on her the moment she stepped down.**
His heart did something he didn’t expect.
He took her in completely—like a painting his mind refused to forget.
Her dress—**deep green, regal, bold.** The fabric shaped her like it knew her body’s story. Her waist, her shoulders, the way the fabric dipped near her collarbone. The soft gold of her earrings caught the candlelight like stardust.
And on her wrist—**his mother’s old family heirloom**, now resting on *her* arm, where it somehow belonged.
He didn’t realize he was smiling.
Not until his father leaned in and murmured, without looking at him:
> “Your face is giving you away, son.”
Gio blinked, composing himself quickly—but the damage was done.
His father had seen.
**And so had Viola.**
She stared at him.
Her smile was gone now.
Her hand slowly balled into a fist under the table, nails digging into her palm.
WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT ??????????????????????????????
- Writer
