The Sweetest Oblivion (Made, #1)

by Danielle Lori

“Do you know what assuming gets you?” “Killed?” I breathed. His eyes fell to my lips. “Smart girl.” The words were deep and soft, and a strange part of me felt like I’d done something good.

Her hair was a weakness of mine: black, silky, and long enough I could wrap it around my fist twice. The thought had flitted through my mind unwillingly. And at church. Jesus.

And I am my idiot cousins.

“Boxers or briefs?” “Commando,” I lied.

Who knew how many men Elena had been with? I was Don. If I married a woman who’d been fucked by a few others in the Cosa Nostra, it would look bad. And, honestly, I never was that great at sharing. I’d have to kill all of them and I already had enough on my plate.

She looked tense when she stood up to me, like it was new for her, like she expected me to wrap my hand around her throat and squeeze. A thought I’d had, though probably in a different context.

I hated when someone told me to smile, as if a smile of mine belonged to them and not me.

Big mood

“The littlest problems seem so great to those who are young,” she lamented. “I used to worry like you, you know. Do you know what it got me? Not a thing. Do not waste your time on things you cannot change.”

He laughed. Softly, darkly. The kind of laugh that has no good intentions. The kind of laugh the walls don’t forget.

“You put your lips on another man’s and suck, it’s never platonic.”

I wanted to know what she did during the day and what kind of thoughts consumed such a pretty head.

“The girl that just came in here?” I gave my head a shake. “Wrong girl, David.”

I can’t believe I’m a fan of arson

I didn’t ask to get manhandled by Nicolas Russo, by my sister’s fiancé. But the one unfortunate truth I was scared Benito might read on my face was . . . I liked it.

A certain reality settled on me: I didn’t have a spellbinding love story to bring to this world. The honest truth was, I only forced myself to enjoy tragic endings because I knew mine wouldn’t be far apart.

Non può provare il dolce chi prima non ha provato l'amaro. It was a way of telling me there was no room for regrets in this world, that a man had to taste the bitter before he could taste the sweet.

“I swear to God, Elena, if I find out you’ve let some man touch you, I will deliver his hands to you in a box.” I swallowed. “And I do not. Fucking. Bluff.” He slammed the door behind him.

Elena Abelli was my vice, and fuck if I’d let it kill me.

“You look like a slut in that dress, Elena.”

Right here is where every morsel, every crumb, every particle of feminism in my body evaporated.

Through it all, I still saw the calculating expression on Nico’s face, still felt the caress on my skin. And I knew it like the sky was blue, he’d been thinking about me.

“I said I’ll never hurt you, Elena, but if I find out you’ve touched another man, there is nothing in this world that could save him.”

That was thoughtful of him . . . and I hated it, because I couldn’t remember the last time someone had thought of what I needed before I had to ask for it.

“True love stories never have endings.” —Richard Bach

I almost didn’t hear him over how shirtless he was.

Without hope, there’s nothing to lose. With it, we’re nothing but dominos waiting to fall.

I wanted to be the best thing he’d ever had. To make him burn as much as he made me. I wanted him to want only me with a raw ache.

I always was a bit of a perfectionist—if I couldn’t do it faultlessly, I hesitated to do it at all.

“You can’t blame gravity for falling in love.” —Albert Einstein

Damn, she was too beautiful. It fucking hurt to look at her.

I would make this girl want me, need me, love me, because fuck if I was going it alone.

“You’re enough for me.”

“If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.” —Oscar Wilde

She also said she had to stay home and make sure Adriana was okay, but really, I thought it was just an excuse so she could maintain her eight p.m. bedtime.

Relatable

“Love is a strange dark magic.” —Atticus

I’d always imagined love as a concept—a genuine smile, a couple holding hands, a life partner. Now, I knew it was more dimensional; a maddening, possessive, and overwhelming presence that bloomed in your chest, with the power to make you feel so alive or shatter you to pieces.