Worse Than Friends

"The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance."

—Alan Watts

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Cosimo's silence was like a ticking time bomb, and it was driving me insane. He wasn't his usual self, the one who'd crack jokes or gripe about traffic. Today, though? Nothing. Not even a grunt. His anger was radiating off him, and he was just… brooding.

I shifted in my seat, glancing at Amalia. She was zoned out, lost in her phone, acting like everything was perfectly fine. Meanwhile, my stomach was in knots, wondering if she'd spill the beans about my little "affair."

See, Cosimo didn’t care about my mess with Tiziano. He cared about one thing: me letting Amalia outsmart me. That would send him over the edge. Deep down, he had a soft spot—though good luck getting him to admit that.

I could still feel the tension from the bathroom confrontation with Amalia, but right now, it was like an invisible weight in the car.

I tried breaking the silence. "Cos, what's going on today? You trying to get me all worked up?"

He barely flinched, eyes locked on the road. "Not now, Sessie. Just... not now."

Well, that shut me up. I crossed my arms and bit my lip. Whatever was bothering him was bad. But poking the bear? Yeah, not smart. The “don’t ask, don’t tell” rule for women? Never truer.

I stared out the window, trying to ignore the growing sense of dread. Something was definitely off. And when I got this feeling? It usually meant disaster was on the way.

Then, of course, my phone beeped. Jake’s messages. Great. Just what I needed to deal with.

JAKE: Why?

Ugh. What was I even supposed to say to that?

JAKE: Thought we were better friends than that.*

Guilt trip? Hardly a surprise.

JAKE: Say something!

I stared at the screen. Friends? That was a joke.

Jake wasn’t my friend, and the second my so-called “friends” found out about him, he'd be erased from existence. Not sorry for kissing him. Not at all. It was nice, if I was being honest.

I deleted the entire conversation. His number too. If Amalia kept quiet for the week, I'd explain everything to Jake. If not? Well, he’d never even know about my existence. I’d make sure of it.

I tucked my phone away and glanced at Cosimo, then back at Amalia.

"Where are we going?" she snapped as Cosimo turned the wrong way. Finally, someone else wanted answers.

Cosimo didn't answer. He just kept driving, grim-faced. A few minutes later, he pulled over to the curb.

"Damn it," Amalia cursed, slamming the door and storming off. I watched as she marched to a Mercedes parked by the street. Young Dario leaned out, said something I couldn't catch, and then she slid into the back.

As soon as the car drove off, Cosimo exhaled sharply, loosening his shirt. He didn’t look quite as tense, but I still felt like something was wrong.

"Why’s Young Dario picking Amalia up on the side of the road?" I asked, my voice shaky.

Cosimo didn’t look at me. He didn’t even blink. His voice was tight. "Bring me my gun."

I froze. My heart hammered. "What?"

"Now," he ordered, his voice low.

I didn’t argue. I reached for the glove compartment, grabbing the gun. It felt cold, heavy, like a warning. I handed it to him, and he checked the chamber before sliding it into his waistband.

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. "Cosimo!" I snapped. "What the hell is going on? You're freaking me out!"

His eyes flickered toward me, cold and unyielding. "Just keep your eyes open. If you see anything, say something."

That did nothing to calm me down. "What do you mean by that? Where are we even going?"

He rubbed his face, looking tired. "We’re under attack."

"In broad daylight?" I nearly choked. "How—how is that even possible? Why aren't we handling this like we normally do?"

Cosimo’s jaw tightened, and for a second, I saw a flash of something I couldn't quite place. "It’s been planned. Carefully. We’ve been set up."

That’s when I realized: this wasn’t just a random hit. This was something much bigger.

I swallowed hard, my mind wasn't stable. "So, what’s the plan?"

Cosimo just stared ahead, eyes sharp as a hawk’s. "Get ready. This isn’t going to be pretty."

"Out of the car," Cosimo barked, yanking the wheel into a sharp turn and slamming the brakes.

I grabbed the dashboard, stunned. "What?"

He was already out, his gun holstered at his side. He leaned in, voice low but firm. "Out. Now."

I scrambled, following his lead as he reached back to grab my arm. "What's going on?"

"Stay close," he ordered, glancing down the street like he was scanning for threats.

We crossed the sidewalk quickly, his grip tight on my arm. The restaurant door loomed ahead, but something felt off.

"Why are we here? Shouldn't we be at the trench?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Cosimo didn't answer, just pushed the door open. The front room was dark, empty—eerily so.

"It's closed?"I frowned.

He shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Not for us. Come on."

We passed through the kitchen, the usual bustling energy replaced by silence. Pots and pans sat untouched. No workers. No sound. Just us.

I hesitated. "Where is everyone?"

"Out," he said curtly, pushing forward into the back room.

There, I spotted Vi sitting at a table, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. A handful of guards stood nearby, their eyes darting toward Cosimo as we entered.

Mother appeared from the corner, her face pale but set. The second she saw me, her shoulders dropped. "Oh, thank God." She rushed forward, pulling me into a tight embrace.

"What’s happening?" I asked, my words muffled against her shoulder. "Why are we here?"

She pulled back, her hands gripping my arms. "The Santoros attacked again. Elio was hurt. Your father is handling it."

My heart skipped. "Elio? Is he—"

"Alive,"Vi cut in, her voice cold. "Barely a scratch."

I turned toward her. "You couldn’t have led with that?"

Vi smirked faintly, twirling a ring on her finger. "Didn’t seem urgent. Unlike your dramatic entrance."

"Enough,"Mother snapped, her gaze flicking between us. She turned to Cosimo. "Did you see anything on the way here?"

He shook his head. "Nothing yet, but we need to be ready."

Mother nodded and then glanced at me. Her eyes narrowed suddenly. "Where’s your ring?"

I froze. "It’s… safe," I said quickly. "I didn’t want to lose it in all this chaos."

She let out a breath, relief washing over her face. "Good. Tiziano will—"

"Where’s Cos going?" I interrupted, watching as he barked orders to the guards before heading toward the door.

Vi snorted. "To drag Zita off Elio. She’s glued to his bedside, probably sobbing her eyes out."

I frowned. "Why is she even there?"

Vi shrugged, leaning back in her chair. "Because she’s Zita. She cries. She clings. She’s exhausting."

Before I could respond, Mother’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, frowning at the screen. "Stay here. Both of you."

She disappeared through the rubber curtain, leaving me and Vi in the suffocating silence.

"This is insane," I muttered, sitting across from her.

Vi raised an eyebrow. "Welcome to the family, Sessie."

I leaned forward, voice low. "Do you know how bad this is? Why didn’t they take us to the trench?"

Vi waved a hand dismissively. "They’re dealing with it. Don’t overthink it."

I glared. "How can you be so calm?"

"Because freaking out won’t help." She smirked. "Besides, I’ve got a front-row seat to this mess. I might as well enjoy it."

I opened my mouth to argue, but Mother burst back into the room, her face flushed. Her eyes zeroed in on me, blazing with fury.

"What did you do?"

I blinked. "What are you talking about?"

She crossed the room in three strides, her hand snapping out before I could react. The slap stung, sharp and sudden.

"Whore," she spat, her voice shaking with anger. "What did you do with that schoolboy?"