Capo Dei Capi (Secrets of the Famiglia Part 1)

Chapter 69 (Aliyana)

“There is nothing more I can say to you. I am sorry Yana, I should have said something yesterday.”

Sorry is a simple word, if said so many times before, it loses its magnitude.

It doesn’t give you the same feeling.

In this case, my sister doesn’t have a need to apologize. She is in an arranged pairing with Leonardo. I,

however freely kissed the guy she wanted. Twice.

I could not have been with Leonardo. My sins and secrets with his brother tainted it, altered my

feelings. The part of me that made me Russian, further made the chance of him and I ever marrying

zero to none. Marco, the same. I woke up this morning knowing that my anger toward him isn't

warranted. He kissed me twice and before then I didn't even know he existed. Camilla and him have

history.

I am the other woman, not her and as painful as it is I need to let my feelings toward him go.

“It is okay, Guilia,” I tell her for the umpteenth time.

I won’t confess the truth to my sister even if it means ending her guilt.

My lies are piling up, and soon I am going to have to admit my sins to someone before it explodes, but

she is not going to be that someone.

I am the one sorry Guilia.

“How was your day yesterday?” She asks me as I look at the ceiling.

“Yesterday started out great. I spent it with my friends. Diamond is doing well. She still misses him, we

all do.”

“We all deal with death differently. I know that better than a lot of people,” Guilia says.

“I know.”

“How was the party?” She asks again not allowing our conversation to turn sour.

I spent the good first hour peeping through a window, watching Leonardo from Kylie's house, chatting

up a random girl not knowing the decisions made in my home.

I don’t say that, I smile and look at my sister, “It was memorable.”

I frown as I think of Knight, and the other guy Storm. Their question about Vincent.

And Leonardo, what is he like if he takes off his mask. Is my sister safe with him?

My Papa always told me that when you invite people into your life you invite their problems too.

Leonardo's problem is his love for women. He is a player and growing up I wished he'd play me. But

that wish came tumbling down, dying a gruesome death when his brother put his hands on my body.

Did Marco seal the deal to spite me?

“Deno asked for you yesterday when you didn’t show after he called your name.” He called me too, 5

times.

“What did you say?” I ask my sister.

“Filippo said you were at your friend’s house, enjoying the college experience.” I smile.

“I am sorry Yana, when Papa told me yesterday, I begged him not to.”

“It is fine Guilia.” My sister was always going to marry Leonardo Catelli. Ren’s death prolonged it. I

knew it before. And there is nothing anyone can do to change it now. The Catelli’s want our bloodline to

mix with theirs. Power can be a cruel thing.

“We should get up,” I declare as I do just that and head straight to my bathroom. Today is going to be a

long day, might as well get started.

An hour later we are finally changed and ready for our day.

Marco is sitting with Deno and my father while my sister’s face looks as scared as she once did when I

talked her into going sailing with me. Leonardo is on the other end, quiet with his hands behind his

head, waiting to talk to Guilia.

The men are wearing black slacks and cotton shirts, dressed for business. They must have something

going on today that is important, if Papa is joining.

My sister’s sulky face, and sappy eyes stare at me for answers that I don’t have. I feel sorry for her.

She shouldn't be so miserable.

I have known this was going to happen the day I kissed Marco on that roof top. The day Ren fell into an

early grave. If I am honest, I have known for much longer than that.

“Don't whine, how was Papa supposed to know I liked him?" I scold her, because she is making it

obvious, and Leonardo likes her. Right? He must if he wanted to marry her. She should give him a

chance.

What more can I say? I don’t like him! I have feelings for his brother who had his tongue in my mouth 6

months ago. Ya, that was not going to happen.

"I don't want him, I want Marco," She whispers as Marco looks this way sensing that we are in fact

talking about him.

I roll my eyes, making light of the fact that my father just handed the man I crushed on for five years to

my sister on a golden platter and the brother whom I wanted was older than me by many years and not

interested.

No, he is only interested in a brunette headed Italian big boob, tall woman. The complete opposite of

me.

Men

It is Ironic, how I, the lucky girl don't feel so lucky after all. Looking at Marco with an equal measure of

hate and love, I know I should let him go.

"Marco is with Camilla now, they are engaged. Leonardo and you are a good match, and he is a Catelli. © NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

You can fawn over Marco from a far." I chuckle, aware I have repeated these words hundreds of times.

The laughable part is I repeated them to myself more.

My sister doesn't notice when I get quiet. She's too busy feeling regret, thinking she got the wrong

brother.

Well, that is what I tell myself as I walk away from her and out to the back garden. It is better than the

alternative. I love this place, the garden of my mother.

My mother spent most of her mornings in this garden filled with rose bushes, ferns and white pebble

walkways. Papa told me she had refused a bench or seating area in it. She always sat on the grass.

Papa said when Guilia was small my mother would play hide and seek with her here and hide

underneath the very white rose bush I am standing next to. It once hurt when he brought up a memory

because I knew they were fond ones and none of them had me as the one she played with, or laughed

at.

Over the years I guess I have grown to realize that I didn't have the memories of my mother but I did

have ones of my father. Something that none of my siblings had much of. Yes, I am my father’s

daughter in more ways than blood. This should make me happy.

This knowledge should make me happy, that I, a daughter of Consigliere Sartini Capello has witnessed

the love he has to give. The feel of his arms wrapped around me as he spun me around. How his eyes

crinkle when he is proud of me. The tug of his firm lips when I showed him a piece of my art.

I should be proud, that I know him, from the scowl on his face when he is going to kill someone, to the

way he holds a gun and shoots when he is ready to take a life. I should be happy.

My father is not a good man, it is hard to even picture it. But my father is a powerful man and I know

without a speck of doubt that for all his lessons past upon me that tainted me, made me, corrupted me,

he will turn this world upside down if anyone does me harm.

Yet, even knowing all of this as I stand here in a garden of a mother I will never meet, happiness

remains a missing piece of me. The cool breeze whispers over my face and I close my eyes and

breathe in the deeply scented air. Alone again

So much beauty, so pure and soft, calming. So many happy memories lay here, but not one pure soul

has ever touched upon its beauty. No innocent child has blessed this garden, as they ran along these

rose bushes laughing with that rich loud giggle as her mother chases behind her. No, even as children

we are born with blood on our hands. Cursed.

I inhale, chest expanding, enjoying this peaceful place I call mine. The wind touches me, my senses

alert, awoken to enjoy all the goodness it can get. I am starved for this. Feeling.

“What happened Yesterday, you didn't show up with your sister.” I gasp, heart racing, ears absorbing

his words, my brain shocking itself on alert. No, not now, please just leave.

“Don't fucking ignore me Aliyana, where the fuck were you?” Marco's voice is loud, accusing. I know

that tone, not from him, but I know that tone. He is in a mood.

I keep my back to him. His shoes hitting the ground with every step. I recall our evening in the

greenhouse, where I heard only one step before he was behind me. Now I hear every step as it walks

from Pebbled flooring to grass and back to the stones. His steps loud, not stopping until he is right

behind me. He is surrounding me, his body, presence. The mad man who is made.

“You invading my personal space,” I snipe, angry that he is so close to me, searching me out, 6 months

after he kissed me. Yet, it feels like he still has a claim on me. He is standing here, his body heat, his

aura, his surroundings, my surroundings now one. This makes me angry.