The Sweetest Oblivion (Made, #1)(13)

My sister’s expression hardened.

All right, maybe I spoke too soon about them working well together.

“You know, Nico,” Nonna started, “I don’t blame you at all for shooting Tony. He’s had it a long time coming and his papà hasn’t done a thing.” Papà grunted, apparently now listening to the conversation. “That boy has shot four of my vases. Don’t know what I’d do if he ruined another.” She sounded like it was the most grievous thing Tony had ever done.

“Glad to hear it,” Nicolas drawled.

Mamma shot her a dark look, and my nonna smiled triumphantly at her plate. These two were all I needed to see to know I would never live with my mother-in-law.

I chewed my lip, hesitating. I’d been waiting for the right moment to ask Papà something and now seemed like the best time. He was always easier persuaded around other people, most likely because he didn’t want to come off as a controlling jerk.

I’d hardly left the house for anything but dance in six months. Surely he couldn’t punish me forever?

“Papà,” I started, “one of the dancers is having a pool party on Sunday in celebration of the Summer Recital. And I was wondering if I could go . . . ?”

“Which girl is this?” he asked.

I shifted under his eagle-eye stare. “Well, actually . . . his name is Tyler.”

Nonna harrumphed. “Since when are you into beta males, Elena?”

I shot her a look for giving Papà the wrong idea.

She pursed her lips and focused on poking at her food.

The table went quiet while he gave it some thought. I swallowed as Nicolas’s gaze warmed the side of my face.

Papà took a drink and set his glass down. “I want the address and the owner’s information. And you’ll take Benito.”

I let out a small breath. Was I being forgiven? Guilt pierced through my chest because I knew I didn’t deserve it. “Thanks, Papà.”

“I’m going inside before I melt,” Nonna said, getting to her feet. “This was the worst day to eat outside, Celia. Don’t know what you were thinking.”





“We don’t break our captains. We kill them.”

—Vincent Gigante





“MERCY.” MAMMA GRIMACED, AS I’D just explained the plot of her book club novel. “I don’t even feel bad for not reading that one.”

She hadn’t read a single one of them—I had.

“Okay, I have to go,” she said, putting a heel on with one hand and an earring in with the other. “Your papà and Benito are out, but Dominic is in the basement. Oh, and help your sister pick out her cake flavor. Tua zia Liza needs to know today. Please, Elena!”

I sighed and climbed off my parents’ bed.

“Leaving!” Mamma’s voice drifted out of the room.

I heard a faint “Finally” from my nonna as she passed the doorway with her servant Gabriella in tow. She’d gone on her afternoon walk, or, more likely, sat on the patio for five minutes of fresh air while gossiping.

A couple of moments later, I pushed the kitchen door open. Adriana sat cross-legged on the counter with two plates of cake before her. Her elbows rested on her knees and her fists were under her chin, while only wearing her yellow polka-dot bikini.

“What are the flavors?” I asked, coming to stand before the island. The sun was the only light in the room, casting the windowpane reflection across the counter.

“Pink Champagne and Luscious Lemon.” She said it like the options were really Tasty Garbage and Rotten Apricot. She was going to drag this out for as long as she could. Asking my sister to make a decision was like requesting her to write out the equation for time travel.

I tried both by scooping some up with my fingers. “Definitely the lemon,” I said, opening the cupboard for a glass.

I didn’t normally have dance practice on Tuesdays, but with the recital coming up we’d had it every day. My thighs burned as I stood on my tiptoes to get a cup from the top shelf. Benito and my other male cousins were all taller, yet they always took the glasses from the bottom shelf just to annoy the girls in the family.

“I was leaning toward Pink Champagne,” Adriana groaned.

“Then Pink Champagne it is,” I said as I filled my glass from the fridge water dispenser.

She shook her head. “No, now it doesn’t seem right.”

“The lemon, then.”

“That one doesn’t seem right either.”

I sighed. My sister could drive a saint to curse. I leaned against the fridge and eyed her over my glass. “Why are you in your swimsuit?”

“Was on my way to the pool, but Mamma stopped me and said I can’t leave the kitchen until I decide.”

After a moment of thought, a smile pulled on my lips. “Mamma left.”

Adriana’s gaze, warm and hopeful, popped up from the plates.

An hour later, with the cake flavor still undecided, Don’t Stop Believin’ played on the pool radio. The sun was hot, sparkling off the blue water as my head emerged from beneath. The cool liquid ran down my shoulders as I waded to my sister, who wore sunglasses and lay still on a floaty. She was a diva in the pool. In other words: boring. I tipped her.