Shut Up, Viola!

"The purpose of art is to lay bare the questions that have been hidden by the answers."

—James Baldwin

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The morning after was a beautiful disaster. I dragged myself out of bed, still dizzy from the chaos of the night—Tiziano's cold touch, my mother's constant nagging, and Zee's confession. As I stepped into the kitchen, I was hit by a wall of noise—pots clanging, someone humming, and the overwhelming scent of pancakes and espresso.

I paused at the doorway, still dressed in the same bright blue top that screamed "Stop Staring," and my skinny jeans. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever this morning would throw at me.

It was a sea of faces—familiar ones, but also a few that definitely didn’t belong at a morning gathering like this. Zita, for example. I hadn’t expected to find her lounging in our kitchen, which was so grand it made our father’s study look like a closet.

"Zita?" I muttered under my breath. She was married to one of the family’s commissioners, who also happened to be our father’s mistress’s cousin. She was rarely seen in such normal settings, especially not with her three kids in tow.

Unless, of course, Elio had managed to avoid coming home—which, knowing him, was highly likely.

As soon as I entered, Zita’s eyes locked onto mine. Her little smile seemed to say she knew everything. The frown that followed told me she was silently warning me to keep quiet.

Damn her.

Snooping around, searching for a secret in a house full of people who loved meddling—this was what I meant when I called this family a mess of alphas, sycophants, drama queens, and submissive wives.

"Well, well, well, look who finally woke up," Nico’s voice cut through my thoughts. I blinked. Was he really here too? Nico, Aunt Rosa’s only son. He was rummaging through the fridge, rubbing his mustache like it wasn’t the most revolting thing about him. "The newlywed, how sweet."

"She’s not married," Vi shot back without looking up from the fantasy trilogy she’d been devouring for days. "Anything can happen."

"Shut up, Viola!" Mother snapped from the stove, and I winced. Vi had hit the sorest spot in our family. Tiziano and I were a raw wound, and any mention of him was like poking it with a sharp stick.

Mother glared at me for a second before going back to flipping pancakes. Her glare was enough to turn butter to stone. Honestly, I didn’t know if I should apologize or ask for a moment to breathe.

Her hair was pulled back in its usual tight bun—neat, controlled, rigid. Ginevra, our father’s mistress, was the exact opposite. Even after thirty years with our father, Ginevra’s hair was always wild, never tamed. It made me wonder if Father had ever been drawn to Mother’s restraint or if it was Ginevra’s untamed spirit that captivated him. But then I realized how absurd that thought was and quickly pushed it aside.

I trudged further into the kitchen. The housekeepers darted in and out, setting an elaborate spread of pastries in the dining room. All for Father, who’d never touch something so “common.”

Zita, sitting at the high chair, fed her baby with a patience I could never summon. The toddler giggled, grabbing at the spoon with tiny, flailing hands. It was the kind of scene I’d never have with Tiziano.

The chaos continued as my younger kids darted through the kitchen, their laughter echoing off the walls. They were always in motion, spilling things or tripping over each other.

Then the thought hit me—I'd be having Tiziano's kids soon. But first, I'd have to get in bed with him. The idea made me choke, and a few people glanced at me. I quickly brushed it off with a forced cough.

I glanced ahead and spotted Cosimo, slouched in a chair at the far end of the kitchen, nursing another hangover. His hair was a mess, and he looked like death.

"You look like you got run over by a bus, Cos," I said, and half the room laughed while others muttered about his drinking. "How many drinks did you actually have?"

Nico didn’t respond, staring blankly at his bottle of water, trying to drown his own misery.

"Not enough to feel this awful," Cosimo groaned. "Tequila’s out to get me."

I didn’t remember tequila being on the menu last night. I hadn’t exactly had the luxury of choosing anything that didn’t involve books or food.

Since every Benedetti seemed to be present, I asked, "What about Liv and Remo’s wife?"

Aunt Rosa waved me off. "Liv left early, didn’t say much more."

Before I could ask more, Remo strolled in, already dressed to the nines. He always stood apart from our father’s typical style, a fact that only made Dario—the eldest—seem even more like our father’s shadow.

Remo made a beeline for the kitchen island, popping grapes into his mouth. "Got an early meeting," he said, not stopping as he grabbed another grape. "Not that I’d stick around, anyway. Dodging the chaos is my specialty."

Aunt Rosa snorted. "Maybe your meeting will teach you some manners, Remo. Lord knows you missed every lesson."

Remo smirked. "Oh, Aunt Rosa, allow me to politely excuse myself—some of us are allergic to all the hot air you’ve been blowing for years."

Cosimo and Vi laughed, and Aunt Rosa’s eyes flashed. "Just like your father. Always running when the women get real with you."

Remo froze, his expression shifting. Everyone else stiffened, but not me. I knew I’d be the one to catch the pancake that slipped off mother’s spoon.

Aunt Rosa didn’t back down. She was the type who’d go toe-to-toe with anyone, including my father.

Remo, still processing her words, turned to Nico. "Once Allegra’s up, take her home. Nico, that’s you."

"Uh, yes, sir…" Nico muttered, eyes downcast.

And just like that, Remo was out the door.

Aunt Rosa’s comment had effectively ruined their getaway plans. Perfect. I could practically see the sparks flying between her and Mother now.

Cosimo, trying to defuse the tension, muttered, "Cinnamons are better than butter, right?"

"What?" I stared at him, confused. "That's not even a fair comparison."

Cosimo rolled his eyes. "I didn’t ask for your opinion. Beat it."

"Fuck off."

"Language!" My mother chimed from the fridge.

I bit my tongue. "Sorry, Mother."

Vi slammed her book shut with a huff. "I can’t concentrate with all of you around."

Aunt Rosa gave her a wry look. "Better off that way. That book will give you impossible expectations about men."

Vi barely glanced up. "No one’s coming to rescue me?"

I chuckled as I piled eggs and toast on a plate for Nico, who hated pancakes. "Just don’t let your fantasies interfere with reality, Vi. That’s a hard lesson I learned last night."

"What’s that about last night?" My mother’s eyes locked onto me.

"Uh, nothing, Mama," I quickly said. "Just... too much excitement."

Just then, heavy footsteps announced Father’s arrival. The room froze, the laughter vanishing in an instant. He looked around, scanning us with a calculating gaze, before leaning over the island.

His phone rang, and without another word, he was out the door.

Vi finished her meal and sighed. "So, what’s the plan for today? Who’s driving me to book club? Cosimo looks like he’ll be out of commission."

"I’ll drive you," Nico said, though his enthusiasm was lacking. "Not that I want to."

"You're my ride, not Vi’s!" I groaned. "Unless you're dropping me off first. I’m not being late again."

Cosimo snorted. "You’re both going to be late if you don’t hurry. And don’t look at me—I'm not going anywhere but back to bed."

Nico shot me a glance. "Actually, it’s the Sessie-Amalia drama I’m avoiding."

"I wasn’t even going to ask for your help, imbecile," I rolled my eyes.

Vi stood up, probably frustrated with Cosimo. "See you later, Aunt Rosa, Mother, Zee." She grabbed her book, slinging it over her shoulder. "Call me, Sessie, when you're done with class." After a quick kiss on my cheek, she dashed out, Nico in tow.

"And who’s taking you?" Mother asked, brushing a crumb from my lip.

"One of the men," Cosimo sneered. "If she asks nicely, they’ll linger and bring her back."

Mother gave me a knowing look. "Be careful, honey. Don’t lose your ring."

I smiled politely. "Sure, Mother."

Zita, picking up her baby, glanced my way. "Looking forward to the Matrimonial Retreat, huh?"

I wanted to roll my eyes, but instead, I simply nodded. "I’m sure it’ll be... enlightening."

Before I could slip out, Father stormed back through the door. "Elio’s been shot," he said flatly, as if reading a report.

Zita and I screamed in unison, the room erupting in shocked gasps.

Father’s cold gaze flicked to me. "Weren’t you supposed to be going somewhere?"

I nodded, hastily.

"Then why are you still here?"

I was an object, meant to dangle. I quickly grabbed my things, ready to escape the chaos.

I had to find something that didn’t involve the Benedetti name, but how could I? Zita’s husband had been shot, and yet I was treated like it was none of my concern.

This family wasn’t just sitting on a time bomb. We were the bomb itself.