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He raised both arms in surrender.
Rafaello joined us to say in a stage whisper to Arcangelo, his breath smelling of vermouth and gin, "It's a touchy subject."
"Vaffanculo, tutti e due," I growled.
Rafaello rubbed his hands together as he surveyed the bocce court, where shadows from the orange and lemon trees began to lengthen across the shell surface. "Where the hell is Arabella? I want to start."
Always with impeccable timing, my little sister arrived.
She slid her hands up the doorjambs of the French glass door, long black waves framing her face with its high cheekbones and distinctive beauty mark under her right eye.
"I have arrived!" she announced.
As her older brothers, we were used to her dramatic entrances.
With brotherly devotion, we all offered the appropriate compliments on her new Gucci ensemble. She had been training us to do so since she was a toddler teething on our mother's designer leather purse straps.
Rafaello muttered to himself, "It's about time."
She gave him a side hug. "What's the matter, brother? In a hurry to lose?"
We had been playing bocce in this courtyard since we could walk. The teams were always the same. Arabella and me against Rafaello and Arcangelo.
Like in life, I rarely lost.
Arcangelo called out from the bar, "What'll it be, Bella? An Aperol spritz or something stronger?"
Arabella flipped her hair over her shoulder and took the pallino from my hand, her rings glinting in the sunlight that filtered through the fig trees lining the eastern wall. "I'll take a Nero Chinato."
I snatched the pallino back, my fingers brushing against hers. "I'm throwing the first pitch."
She grabbed it back with surprising strength. "You threw last time. It's my turn. Besides, ladies first."
I bowed and swept my arm out, the gesture encompassing the courtyard with its stone benches nestled among pots of rosemary and lavender. "The court is yours, my lady."
There was nothing we wouldn't all do for our little sister…except let her be a part of the House of Diamanti.
I knew it was a source of constant annoyance to her, but the diamond business was too cutthroat, too ruthless, especially in Rome where our family's name commanded respect and fear in equal measure.
The same industry that had stained our ancestors' hands with the invisible blood of conflict stones had hardened my brothers and me into the men we'd become. Behind our business’s legitimate façade, we controlled the world’s diamonds from our headquarters in the Eternal City with brutal efficiency.
Arabella possessed a perfect eye for diamonds—it was in her DNA, just like the rest of us—but her talent would remain untapped within our empire. She would never sit at the table with the other families during territorial disputes.
It was our job to protect her from all that.
From the threats we received from competitors willing to kill for market share. From the constant power plays that required us to maintain our ruthless reputation.
Her skill at detecting flaws and grading color surpassed even our most experienced gemologists, but I'd rather see her talent wasted than her spirit corrupted by the family business that extended far beyond precious stones.
Arabella positioned herself at the end of the court, concentrating as she gauged the distance. The flawless diamond pendant at her throat caught the waning sunlight, each facet throwing dangerous fire—a reminder of what we controlled and what we protected.
With a graceful flick of her wrist, she sent the pallino sailing down the court. It landed perfectly just off center, leaving a small divot in the oyster shells.
"So am I finally getting to meet the elusive Sabrina tonight?" she asked, eyes sparkling with mischief.
I didn’t answer right away.
"That depends on whether she plans to come willingly…or if I have to remind her what happens when she doesn't."
