A/N: Welcome back everyone! I hope you're enjoying the story. I love my fantastic Beta's RB. Simon. You should too ;) (She has to Beta this later, though)
As promised, here is some EPOV!
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.
(Edward POV)
I pace back and forth, in front of my family. My brother Emmett is sitting on the black leather recliner in the mansion's living room with his girl, Rose, on his lap. She's blonde, six foot, and has legs longer Jack's beanstalk (don't be perverted either). Her ruby red lipstick makes her lips large and pouty. Completely Emmett's type.
On the white loveseat are my dad and ma, Carlisle and Esme. They're great parents, you know for being in the mafia and raising their kids to be thieves themselves. Except for Alice, she's the bait usually. I look over at her and her boyfriend, Jasper, sitting on the large white couch and cuddling.
Like always.
Alice is my twin, though we look nothing alike. I'm six foot three and she's four foot ten. Yeah, that's how different we look. Fraternal twins. Her little pixie hair is spiked and the natural black look to it makes her pale skin stand out. She has thinner lips - nothing like Rosalie's - but still dresses them up in a glossy pink. She's the most stylish girl you could ever meet, yet also one of the smartest. She's tricky and clever and quick. She's the perfect bait when we need help. Of course, her Jasper really doesn't like her involved with this at all. He's been around for years, being our mum's adopted nephew; he pretty much grew up with us. He's like our brother. Well, except to Alice. They're always doing that kissy-faced junk.
Jasper is Italian, so he blends in with this family well. Don't ask me how we got the name Cullen and his last name Whitlock, because it just runs through our genes. My dad's ma was fully Italian and was a Fencill until she got married to my grandpa Andrew Cullen. Either way, everyone in this room has Italian running through their blood.
My ma and I are the only ones with green eyes, the rest of the family have dark blue eyes, including Jasper. Rosalie - who does have Italian in her roots somewhere, Emmett's convinced - has blue eyes as well. She could pass for Jasper's twin in the face, hair, and eyes. Both of them are six foot, too.
"Edward, you're making me dizzy." My ma scolds and I stop, midstride to face her.
"I'm dizzy. My mind is dizzy. I'm losing it!"
"Clearly." Alice snorts and when I shoot a glare at her, she gets up and walks over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. "It's okay, Eddie. I love you. We're all okay."
"It's not right."
"What's the worst that can happen?" Emmett pipes up. "Get a little article in the paper saying what happened at Tiqued? The chick didn't even see us. We didn't break in, we didn't steal, and we didn't even touch her. We're not even described; no one knows who did it."
"There are many people in town that will match your description if that's the case." My dad adds. "Calm down, we've been through far worse than this."
"Like witnessing Luca Berchi's death and his family still accuses us of doing it." Jasper shakes his head then looks over at Alice. "Alice is right, Edward. It's okay. We're all fine. Nothing went wrong. We just have to keep looking."
"If Berchi were alive we could just get him and make him tell us where he put it." Emmett huffs. "But of course, nothing is ever that easy. His kid doesn't know where anything is either, Valentino." Emmett makes a disgusted noise after Valentino's name.
"I think he's looking just as hard we are." Jasper adds in. "He wants his father's things too, but his father didn't trust him enough to get them."
"They were put in a storage unit. Berchi dies a few months ago and the payments are kept up. His son doesn't know about this unit. So when the owner gets tired of storing the stuff for free and no one came to claim his dead client's stuff, he gets rid of it." Emmett shrugs saying the story yet again.
"But where?" I ask. "We're getting involved with the innocent here."
"Aren't we always?" My mother sighs. She leans back against the white couch and looks around the expansive room. Antiques are everywhere. Her eyes settle on my grand piano and she smiles. She got me that herself when I turned twenty.
"It's not right. We don't break into innocent people's places. We scared the poor girl." I argue.
"You never get this worked up and we've broke into homes." Alice mutters into my shirt. "What's going on with you?"
I wrap my arms around her shoulders and squeeze my sister close. Her scent of Princess Perfume makes my nostrils tingle. "Those people were criminals. Like the Berchi's. That whole family steals precious items for income and we get them back."
"Yet we're still called the mafia." Emmett does air quotes. "It's gross, we're helping people here."
"It's because of the pay." Rosalie tells him and cups his cheek with her hand. "We're getting rich from it. They're jealous."
"Of your looks." Emmett winks and gives Rosalie a long and wet kiss. I look away instantly. Alice gets herself out of my grip and looks up at my face.
"And this time it's different. Berchi stole from us. We caught it on camera."
"I knew we shouldn't have had that storage unit out in the country. It's too... obvious." I look over to my dad. It was his idea.
"We were moving and I had nowhere to put our items. It seemed better there than in a storage unit like Berchi did."
"But he still found it. He still got the Golden Age."
"It's not my fault."
"Of course it is!" I step back from Alice and let my rage out. "It's all your fault. Or Grandpa's or great-great-great-great-great-whoever that started this mafia shit! You hate this, you've seen death, and grandpa was killed by the Berchi's cousins! And you're bringing your kids into this shit. We're raised to be in this. I can't have a normal fucking life. I hate this shit." I storm off, and run down the hall, upstairs and to my room. I slam the door, lock it and walk over to my black, leather sofa.
I look at my wall of music. My room is huge, just like the other rooms in this house. My room could easily be the size of a classroom at any high school. I have a king sized bed since mom insists every bed must be its biggest. I have a wall covered with shelves of music. I have another wall covered in bookshelves. I have a baby grand in my room, the best technology, the softest sheets, the best view of the woods, and I'm still unhappy. I'm miserable. I hate it. No amount of money can help, because I've tried.
I'm too young to have a midlife crisis. But it's not just that; I was never happy. I was born and raised like this and I don't take the luxury for granted (except sometimes), I really don't. I'd rather live in a house with creaky stairs and two bedrooms and be happy than be where I am.
I don't get why I'm so miserable. I have it all. The money, cars, the thrill of a job, any woman I want I can have, if I want a new car, then I'll get a new car. If I want a house in Rome, I wouldn't get it because I already have once, but if I wanted another one, I'd get it. I eat the best meals, have a maid, and don't have to do anything. And I hate it.
Everyone in the family likes antiques, their value, their looks, but only a few in the family like the history. I like collecting music, books, antiques, and everything in between. I like knowing stories. I am an aspiring musician, but I could never become famous because I'm a Cullen. We stay hidden from the public eye. That doesn't mean I can't and do go out drinking and to bars and clubs, because I do. I just can't get into the media, get the police on my ass, get even more enemies. I can't.
That doesn't bug me.
But if I want to be something like go to college or get a profession, my family is against it. I have it made, why should I want more? Why do I want to work? Why do I want to be normal? It makes no sense.
My thoughts are halted when I hear a knock on the door. "Edward, it's me, ma."
"Mamma," I get up and unlock my door letting her in. "I'm sorry."
"Well my name isn't Esme Sofia Marino Cullen if I don't think you should be." She says and closes the door behind her. She walks over to my bed with its gold comforter and bronze footboard and headboard. "I raised you to be a gentleman, did I not?"
I walk back to my couch and set down, pulling my legs up to stretch out along it. My walls are a cream colour - chosen by my ma - and the floor is oak. "You did," I look down at my socked feet. "And I try to be. I don't like flipping off."
Manic moments my ma says, but I disagree. "Son, why are you so unhappy? What can I give you?"
"Nothing, I just don't know what I want yet. It's very stressful lately." I try to assure her. I hear her sniff and my head snaps in her direction. I leap up and over to her, pulling her in a tight hug. "No, no, ma. Don't cry for me." I place my head on her shoulder.
"My son, my son." She chants and hugs me back. "You're so unhappy. I can't help you. I can't give you what you want. Freedom, desire, I can't give you that. You have no passion in life and you isolate yourself. You have no one."
"I have this family. That is enough."
"No, no." She shakes her head and pulls back. She grabs my face in both her hands. I sit down on my knees in front of her on the bed so we're looking eye to eye. My hands grip her wrists, holding her hands to my face. "You need so much more."
I feel myself grow angry again and I try to lock away. Her hands are a vice grip though, and I'm forced to stare at her. I look into her green eyes the way she looks into mine. "I have everything already. Don't feel bad for me."
"You never ever brought a girl home to meet me." She suddenly says. "But don't think I don't know that you have brought women home, even just for the night."
"It's always just for the night." My cheeks redden.
"Edward you are much like your grandfather, my father. He didn't marry until he was thirty eight."
"Why are we talking about Papi?" I ask angrily. "And marriage? I'm twenty six. The youngest. Go tell Emmett to hurry up with Rose if you want an elaborate wedding and grand babies. I sure as hell don't."
At first I think she'll scold me for my tone, but instead her eyes grow very soft. "Just like my Papi." She sighs. "He didn't want to bring anyone else into this... life. He was very soft and sensitive much like you."
What man wants to be called that? "I am not." I insist.
"But you are. You never dated, never made close friends. You don't want to bring anyone into this place because you yourself hate it."
"How can you like it?" I ask quietly and my eyes search her face for answers. "It's horrible."
"I don't. My Papi was part of it, just like your father's papi. Then I met your father and I knew that I was in forever. He makes everything worth it."
"Don't you get scared?"
"Oh every day!" She lets out a humorless laugh then her face hardens and she releases her hands to place them in her lap. "When he went out, I was always worried. He carried those weapons, took those cars, and his intention was to take back from criminals. Many of them wanted him dead. Now it's my own boys and my little daughter. My nephew." Her eyes glisten. "Every time you leave, I pray, I pray the Lord that everything will be okay. When you get back it is. Even though criminals are out there, even though they may want to come after our family now, it's okay because we have each other."
"I wish I could leave."
"I wish you could, too."
We both know it's impossible. People will always be after me even if I stopped being in the mafia. My family will be part of it, so I will. My ma is right; I don't want to bring anyone into this life, so I don't. I isolate myself. Even if I left and met someone or became something, my past and family will always be there to stop it. I'm a Cullen, a crook, a thief, even if it's for the good in things. No one likes the mafia.
"I wish more though, that you'd open up and let some light in. Don't let the surroundings ruin you."
I look around my room. "This should make me happy." I stand up and tuck my hands into my jean pockets. "But it doesn't."
"Because you know where I come from." She gets up and stands beside me. "I'm sorry this is who you are." She kisses me cheek and leaves.
...
It's not that, it's not the stealing part. It's the innocence I felt like I stole. That poor woman with the wide brown eyes had no idea what was happening. Even if she had the Golden Age, she wouldn't have known that it was stolen. She was scared, frightened, I saw the fear and I still do every time I close my eyes. Her full lips are frowning and she has shallow breathing. I was there, I caused that. That will always be with me.
That's the worst part.
A/N: Well, you're in Edward's mind now. He seems a little sweet. Poor guy.
Please leave a review!