≫ A Dark Mafia Romance ≪
Francesca "Frankie" is undeniably stunning, her ethereal beauty drawing all eyes towards her. A fusion of classic allure and edgy charm. Francesca is fiercely skilled as a criminal defense lawyer. However, there's a cruel ed...
"Power is given only to those who dare to lower themselves and pick it up. Only one thing matters, one thing; to be able to dare!"
- Fyodor Dostoevsky
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The first sensation that reached my still-slumbering senses was the irresistible smell of ricotta pancakes cooking in the kitchen. I blinked my eyes open, registering that my wife Barbara was already wide awake and moving about in her vibrant, morning glow.
"Buongiorno bellezza, (Good morning, beautiful)" I greeted and found my way towards her, nestling close to her warm body.
I peppered her exposed neck with a tender kiss, tasting the faint remnants of the vanilla lotion she loved to use.
Her smile came easily, the radiant light within her beaming through. "Buongiorno, amore, (Good morning, love,)" she crooned, her words gentle and musical to my ears. "Hai dormito bene la notte? (did you have a good night's sleep?)"
"Ho dormito come un bambino, (I slept like a baby)" I said, stretching for a final time before turning my attention to the newspaper spread on the table before me. My interest was perked, however, when I caught a glance of the scrumptious breakfast before me. "Non vedo l'ora di assaggiare quei pancake. (I can't wait to dig into those pancakes)"
"Oh, questi non sono per te. (these are not for you)" A flirtatious wag of her finger left me groaning.
"Per mamma? (for mom?)" I ventured, watching the concern flutter over Barbara's features at the mention.
"Yes, (sì,)" Barbara conceded, the honesty of her words undeniable. "Odio vederla così giù, mi si spezza il cuore. (I hate to see her this down, it breaks my heart)"
I knew why. "Gliele porterò, (I'll bring these to her)" I offered, eagerly hopping off the chair.
As I entered the room, I couldn't help but feel a sense of melancholy wash over me. My mother had been silent for as long as I could remember, her words stolen from her many years ago. Yet, she always seemed to hold on to a spark of life within her.
"Buongiorno, mamma, (Good morning, Ma)" I smiled warmly as I approached her. "Ti ho portato la colazione. (I brought you breakfast)"
I sat next to her on the floor and watched as she sipped her coffee, her eyes fixed on the rain that pattered against the window.
"Mi dispiace di non aver potuto portarti un po' di sole oggi, (I'm sorry I couldn't bring you some sunshine today)" I chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.
The silent stare she directed towards me was heavy with feelings she could no longer voice. But I understood what it conveyed.
Our unique connection meant no need for words. Her expressive eyes, I knew, told me everything I needed to hear. I cherished this.
The breakfast tray found its place on her nightstand, and as she indulged in her espresso, I rested beside her, intertwining my fingers with hers. Sharing each other's heartache, we sat in comfortable silence.
