ABSOLUTE INSANITY: A forbidden bond
Chapter 67: ★Was I really that bad of a grandchild★

Chapter 67: ★Was I really that bad of a grandchild★

~Chapter 67~

°ROMEO°

Slamming the car door open, the sound bits through the night air as I stepped out onto the driveway.

The cool night breeze greeted me as I strode towards the main house door.

At the corner of my eyes, I caught a glimpse of Katya being carried by Antonio out from the back seat and her feisty friend was being dragged along by my bodyguard, James.

The two of them disappeared into the elevator, leaving me to face the awaiting problem within my estate.

Mine! The soft glow of the chandelier above, dwelled on my tried face as I took a deep breath.

My fun with Katya and her new found friends had been exhilarating. Their fear was intoxicating, and I reveled in the power I had over them.

But, just as things were getting into the better and more fun part. A problem at the estate had interrupted the festivities, forcing me to cut our amazing game short.

"Il mio bel nipote. Myhandsomegrandson." I turned my attention to the warm, raspy voice, that cut through my thoughts.

The old woman words were laced in both affection and reproach, a familiar tone that grated on my nerves.

And as always, I forced a bright, artificial smile onto my face, one that hid the annoyance simmering beneath.

"Nonna. Grandma." My voice was cheerful, as I strode towards the old lady sitting in her wheelchair, her frail frame a reminder of the weight of our family’s legacy.

Slowly, I approached, already seeing the hint of a scolding in her eyes, a well known glint that I’d grown accustomed to over the years.

Apparently, as we can see, my grandmother was the source of the problem at the estate, a fact that didn’t surprise me in the least.

She had always been a force to be reckoned with, a whirlwind of opinions and demands that could leave even the most patient person reeling.

Antonio’s words echoed in my mind, "There’s a problem at the estate," and I couldn’t help but agree.

My grandmother was a master manipulator, using her age and frailty to get what she wanted, when she wanted it.

I bent down to her level, wrapping my arms around her in a small, perfunctory hug. It was a gesture born of habit and a desire to avoid conflict, rather than any genuine affection.

Planting a kiss on her cheek, the scent of her old but expensive perfume wafting up to greet me.

I knew that if I didn’t show her the proper respect, she would pinch my ears, a painful reminder of my childhood.

She could see right through my facade but she didn’t say shit. I straightened up, my smile still plastered on my face, and prepared myself for the inevitable lecture that was to come.

"My bel nipote, Myhandsome

grandson" she repeated her reproach and I flashed her another fake smile.

It was a smile that said "I’m so happy to see you" while hiding the "Get the fuck out my house"

"What are you doing here, Nonna?" I asked, backing away from our hug and looking down at her.

She reached out with her frail hands, grasping mine and pulling me back down to her level. I slowly bent again, allowing her to draw me closer.

"Non posso venire a visitare il mio unico nipote? Can’tI justcomevisitmyonlygrandson?" she asked, somehow annoyed by my question.

She knew exactly why she was here, and it wasn’t just to visit me. She had always had an agenda.

My nonna’s bony fingers stretched out to my neck and I flinched. She wiped at something on my skin, and I felt a shiver run down my spine at her cold hands.

She showed me her hand, and I saw the faint smudge of blood on her fingers. Her eyes narrowed, a stern look quickly taking over on her face. "What’s this?"

Here we go, I gazed at her hand, realizing that she had wiped away a small droplet of blood from my neck.

The blood had already begun to dry and I knew exactly where it came from - Biggie’s lifeless body, his head shattered by my bullet.

The memory flashed through my mind, making me almost giggle as I recalled the splatter of blood that had erupted from his wound, some of which must have landed on me.

"Merda!" (Damn it!) I muttered under my breath, annoyed that my fun evening had been disrupted.

My nonna’s eyes bore into mine and I was getting irritated, knowing that my fun had been interrupted by her unexpected arrival.

"Where are you coming from?" my grandmother asked, sighing, her shoulders sagging slightly as she carefully wiped the blood onto her handkerchief.

"Work," I replied as matter-of-fact, daring her to question me further. But my grandmother’s expression remained serious.

Like seriously this old hag doesn’t know when to back off. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she scrutinized me.

Her wrinkled face getting more crease, as if the very mention of "work" had triggered a cascade of concerns and doubts.

"What?" I asked, my tone neutral. I knew exactly what she was insinuating - that my "work" was something sinister, something that I shouldn’t be proud of.

But I wasn’t about to apologize for who I was or what I did. My grandmother knew exactly what our family’s business entailed, and she had never been naive about the fact that our wealth and power came with a price.

I held her gaze. I wasn’t lying when I said I was at work; it was the truth, no matter how unpalatable it might be to her.

And I knew that she knew it, too. She had always been aware of the darker aspects of our family’s business, even if she chose to pretend otherwise.

"Piccolo," my grandmother cooed as she used the stupid nickname she had reserved especially for me.

The nickname meant "little one". It was a nickname that had been cute when I was a child, but now it just felt condescending.

I’m a grown man. Discreetly rolled my eyes, careful not to let my grandmother see my reaction.

Instead, I forced a bright smile onto my face and asked, "Grandma, have you eaten?" I was desperate to change the subject.

Nonna’s eyes had begun to sparkle, a sign that she was about to launch into one of her infamous lectures, about the importance of family, loyalty, and tradition.

I had heard it all before, and I had no desire to hear it again. So, I interrupted her, cutting across her as I asked, "Grandma, have you eaten?" I infused my tone with a concern that I didn’t really feel, hoping to distract her from her intended topic.

My grandmother’s eyes flickered with surprise, clearly taken aback by my question.

Was I really that of a bad grandchild?