Transplant

Roxana had always been the one with fire in her belly. She spat it like the dragons in the books they had read – although that had always been something so distant from the wolves and the demons. Creatures out there in the world who could fry Emiliano with a single breath. They could have been rid of Emiliano in an instant then, the King turned to ash. Of course, that would have left all of his good little heirs scrambling in those ashes to try and end up the one in the big chair. No matter the consequences Giorgia imagined her sister would have done it as that as a livid eight year old – the temper that spilled out so full of heat.

Giorgia tilted her head now, clucking her tongue as her arms remained spread, like they were pinned there by that narrowed eyed glare Roxxi had aimed at her. Instead of trying to destroy a man who was probably indestructible at this point – although Georgie hadn’t taken after his old man that way, had he? – Roxana had run. Bolting from a town and the rest of her family like they were little better than the man who’d taken them in and had ruined numerous lives.

Oh, she wasn’t the only one who had lost there. Being under Emiliano’s roof had tainted that first love – snap there though. Instead of bolting before or after her sister had she had allowed herself to stay under that vile thumb until it wasn’t only the first love. Excuses, excuses, thrown with that sweet, diligence at that man, left in her rear view as she too had finally bolted.

Sighing, Giorgia drifted down that last step, swaying lightly on her heels as she drifted forward. She pressed her tongue to the sharp edge of her teeth, smiling around the quick nip of it. Suspicion radiating. Had her big sister come to tear this down finally like she’d only been allowed a head start not a total escape? Giorgia pursed her lips, making a low sound. ”Così acido.” Crooned like she’d muscle in and pat that pretty cheek like a chiding grandmother. She kept her fingers to herself, last thing she needed was news getting back to the DA’s office that campus security had to break up a bitch fight between the two of them.

She stopped in front of the desk in the end, one hip shot, her arms crossed over her chest as she finally smiled sweetly at her sister again. ”Anybody would think you weren’t happy to see me, pulce.” Their father had always been the one Roxana had been stuck to like glue, his death leaving that volcano like heat inside of her she was never afraid to let the rest of them feel. Giorgia finally dropped her arms, tapping her palms lightly against her thighs as she shrugged. ”I can’t just come and visit? Not even after you refused to come home?” For the wedding, as pointless as it had been. Perhaps Roxxi had already seen what she hadn’t been able to. Those invisible hooks caught in Patrick’s flesh, the wandering eye she had been oh so blind to.

The thought was a knife to the gut, far sharper than the jabs Roxxi was trying to get it now. Like one verbal blow sharp enough would have her staggering back to New Orleans. Oh no, sorellina, it wouldn’t be that simple. Giorgia twisted on the spot, looking down at her ass, inspecting the curves clad in tailored black wool, then up behind her at the door she’d strolled through, like she was looking for a tail. ”All of us? Do you see anybody else trailing me here? No.” The denial rolled on a chuckle, just a little too sharp. ”You think I’m gonna disturb that with a little visit? Always too paranoid, Roxana.” Giorgia took slow steps closer, fingertips reaching out to trail over the edge of her sister’s desk before she looked at her from under her lashes again. ”I can’t just come and catch up with my sorellina after all these years?” Not when you were an Agnelli. There was always an ulterior motive then, minds like Emiliano’s spinning fast enough to pour smoke from their ears – although they were never smart enough for that smoke to become fire.

Tagged: ROXANNE BRASCHI * Word Count: 722
Translation: Cosi acido - so sour, pulce - flea, sorellina - little sister

The glob of saliva failed miserably as a line in the sand she wasn’t supposed to cross. The time for leaving Roxxi to hunker down here like some hermit in a self-made cage had long passed. Roxxi could spit over it now, volatility spilling out in a way that might have kept Emiliano and the rest of the family at a distance, but that ring of fire was one Giorgia planned on joining her in. She wouldn’t stay in New Orleans in her own cave, fingers curled around the bars, looking out at a world that wasn’t controlled by her step-father. She wouldn’t watch both of the men she’d loved happily pinned beneath Emiliano’s thumb, or smile vacuously at the world like she hadn’t caught that puttana draped over Pat. She still had some pride left and that would carry her right into another spewed fireball.

A new job, a new town, a fresh start even if Emiliano believed that the shackles he’d put around her would stretch that far. Roxxi might end up fighting but a do over for the two of them too. Once upon a time they’d been sisters, not these two bitter strangers throwing accusations at one another. Emiliano had destroyed that as surely as he had Roxana’s first love or any light that had once been in Nemo, glittering like the foil wrappers on the gum he’d share with her.

Confident that she’d stride through the steps of that plan like she did through a case, leading the jury with her, Giorgia had bent over that inscribed line, arms crossing. Nothing but confidence shone through until Roxxi nodded to the hand gripping her right bicep. In an instant the line was there, stamped like it had been driven into the ground like a falling anvil. Giorgia flinched, the question a verbal slap. She didn’t rock back on her heels with it but she did shift her weight, her body stiffening. ”Your sister’s happiness is a waste of time, hmm?” A sharp sourness spread over Giorgia’s tongue as she peeled her fingers off of her arm, curling them into a fist she wouldn’t use to blacken her sister’s eye.

It would’ve given Emiliano all too much satisfaction to see the two of them scrapping over all of this, like he still had a hand in twisting up the life of the one child who’d seen fully through his screens of lies and had torn herself free of them. Giorgia doubted she would be able to leave that world behind for long but for the moment it was just her, Roxxi and the damned Buckleys here. It gave the smug weight of honesty to her words as she tossed a question back at her sister.

Giorgia crooned, trying to claw her way back into the upper hand. She tipped one foot back, twisting her heel in that cheap industrial carpet as Roxxi rose up in front of her. ”We’re cockroaches now?” The laugh bubbled up throatily, her shoulders shrugging. ”I guess Emiliano would survive an apocalypse.” Nobody had managed to stamp him out now. Giorgia clucked her tongue, hurt, half-feigned half-real, pulling at her features. ”So soon? Per favore, pulce..” Like the plea would do anything to soften the rock in her sister’s chest.

Perhaps if her own had hardened the same way she still would’ve been in New Orleans, shrugging off what had happened to move on there instead of cowering in this backwater, refusing to look at the shattered pieces of the life she’d built for herself. Giorgia pursed her lips, reaching over that desk to grip her sister’s elbow, her thumb working soothingly over a lean bicep. ”There we go,” she crooned. ”Look at us finally talking.” Smiling, the expression little more than skin deep, Giorgia let her hand fall away. ”I came for a job. Distract attorney in Charlottesville. You seemed to like the place and I needed a change of scenery. Honestly, reconnecting with my little sister was just a side benefit. You won’t really turn me away, will you?” When your sister’s hurting, Roxxi. Heart aching, pride stinging, looking at another brick wall being thrown up to keep her penned in with those who’d left her that way to start with.

Tagged: ROXANNE BRASCHI * Word Count: 710
Translation: Per fervore, pulce - Please, flea