𝟑𝟑. 𝐅𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

Warm light floods inside the room and I roll over, hiding my face with the pillow. But the mattress is too soft... I drag my arm around, the bed has grown in size too.

Confused, I groan and crack an eye open. The unfamiliar surroundings jolt me awake. I sit upright but instantly regret moving so fast. The room sways before me and I squeeze my eyes shut. Last night's memories crash down into my consciousness. A shiver crawls down my spine, and my eyes fly open.

I survey the room. On my left, an entire wall is made of glass, with curtains drawn to the sides, overlooking the most vibrant garden I've ever seen. In the center, a doorframe is cut out, leading to a balcony. The walls are colored baby pink, with delicate white and golden painted flowers decorating it, and the bed is king-sized.

The door on my right at the far end of the room is white, and a few paces away from it is a wide library made of white wood. A vanity table is in between the bed and the door. The wall across from me has two doors, too.

A white wool carpet is laid in the middle of the wood-paneled floor. A frameless canvas painting is hanging on the wall across from me. It's a picture of a woman with hundreds of vibrant colors spattered over it, bringing out her hair and the shape of her face as she looks into the far distance.

It's almost like a room fit for a princess. Behind me, over the headboard, hangs a gigantic canvas covered with light purple and light blue colors swirling together, some parts outlined with gold, forming a beautiful abstract art.

My frown deepens and I slowly stand up, steadying myself with the nightstand.

I plod to the closest door and peer inside. It's a gigantic bathroom, screaming money from the spotless white marble of the ground, a stone basin atop a wide, light grey cabinet. The glass shower is in one corner and across from it is an enormous bathtub.

Whose room is this?

I leave the door open and hurry to the other ones. The second one leads to the hallway, five men are stationed nearby; and the third one, closest to the glass wall, is a walk-in closet almost every girl dreams of. It's huge, with countless racks ready to be overflown with clothes, shoes, and accessories.

I head to the bathroom and quickly shower. By the time I'm out, a tray of breakfast is placed on top of a nightstand. Upon closer inspection, a few medicines are neatly stacked beside the plate of a pastry too.

Gazing out of the glass wall, I eat my breakfast, not permitting a single thought from last night to obscure my mind. I need to have a perfect grip on myself before finding Elio and figuring out what the hell is going on.

Once I've downed the coffee, I step out of the room; two of the guards perk up. They all look alike, muscular, bulky forms, dark skin and hair, and clad in black from head to toe.

The hallway's wider than the one my other room was connected to and a mahogany door is a few paces away from the room I came out from. Landscape paintings hang on the wall across from me.

I set down on the way, to a hall. The sound of shuffling footsteps notifies me the men are following me. Two of them.

I suppress my sigh and pick up my pace. I have to remind myself it's for my safety and it's unreasonable to get pissed over having bodyguards, but their presence makes me queasy.

The hall at the end of the corridor is wide and leads to two different paths. Damn these outlaws. The house is a freaking maze.

However, Marco's rushing form pulls an involuntary smile across my face.

"Cerrise!" he exclaims, throwing his hands up before engulfing me in a bear hug. I giggle and pat his back. "You'rre still alive," he says and pats my shoulder.

I laugh. "Yeah, your men need to try harder than to get rid of me."

He chuckles, shooing the bodyguards away, and draping his arm around my shoulder, guiding me down the right hallway.

His face turns serious. "How're you feelinga now?"

"The best I can be after what happened," I mumble. "Is Elio around?"

He nods.

"Can I meet him?" I hesitantly ask.

A corner of Marco's mouth twitches upwards. "Hi'm taking you to 'is rrooma." Marco halts at the edge of the corridor and turns to me. "Theengs hare nota gooda. Let me 'andle eet huntil we geta to Elio's room, hokey?"

They almost barbecued me alive, and things are not good for them?

I purse my mouth but decide against arguing, giving in with a curt nod.

We descend the first flight of stairs and, to my utmost displeasure, Slava and Pietro are standing at the foot of the staircase arguing. Slava is talking in rough Italian while Pietro is patiently nodding, occasionally replying.

I slow down and Marco's hand grabs mine in an attempt to usher me to the other side of the staircase, to the left-wing.

I frown with confusion, but Slava abruptly stops, making me glance at her and instantly regret it.

Her eyes are slightly puffy, and the rims are red as though she's been crying. But why? Her face twists with rage, lips pulling back in a snarl. Instinctively, I retreat a step.

"You!" she screeches. I flinch away.

Marco comes forth, holding his hands out as if facing a distressed lioness. "Comare*," he cautiously says, stepping in front of me on the staircase's landing.

Slava ignores him, planting her right foot on the first step, gripping the railing as she jabs an index finger in my direction. "Ty dolbanaya suka," she screams. "I vill kill you. I won't let you get in zat rroom everr again!"

"Comare, per favore," Marco pleads.

Pietro is shooting daggers at me as he places himself next to Slava. "You desrrve to die," he glowers.

My heart pounds so hard, it echoes in my ears, drowning every thought in my head. "Oh, so you two are pissed that your man couldn't get the job done? What's wrong with you people!"

Marco throws an exasperated look at me. I huff and look away at the gigantic living room visible from my point of view.

Pietro starts, "Because of you Zuia-"

"Pietro, non anche tu, per favore!" Marco desperately says.

"Listen, suka," Slava growls, moving to climb up a stair.

Pietro gently holds her back with an apologetic expression, then sending another glacial glare at me.

She rips her hand out of Pietro's grasp and waves her fist at me. "I lost too much because of yourr hooy morzhovy faterr. I vill neverr let you steal my son frrom me, I vill kill you. Just waeet." She moves her hand in a circle. "Vhen zis mess is overr, I vill make you crry tearrs of blood." She climbs up a stair and I retreat a step, staring at her with wide eyes. "I vill torrturre you until you beg me to keell you, I vill make you scream and crry in paeen so loud it vill be ze only sound in zis house. I'm not Slava Morozova Mariano if I don't do zis."

By the time she's done, over a dozen men have gathered around the place, watching us with wide eyes.

Slava stalks away. The men in her path part way for her as she pushes past them and exits the house.

My mouth stays agape as I stare at the spot she disappeared from.

"I weel celebrrate the day I killa you," Pietro spits. "Palermo will celebrrate your deatha. Hand thata day weell be the starrt of destrroying the Campbell famiglia." He scowls before going after Slava.

I blink a few times, realizing I've stopped breathing and I'm trembling from head to toe. Marco's brows are furrowed, and his lips are pressed into a thin line of concern.

I open my mouth but nothing comes out.

"Cosa state guardando? Uscire!" Marco barks at the men, still staring at us.

My eyes bug out of my head. I've never seen Marco raise his voice, let alone use an authoritative tone with such force. I'm further surprised when everyone in the room scrambles to leave.

His shoulders drop once they're gone, and he heaves a sigh.

"What the-"

"Hi told you, theengs hare nota gooda."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." 'Not good' is a freaking understatement.

He cocks his head in confusion.

"Sorry," I mumble and rub my face. "What was up with her?"

"Elio will hexplain." He glances to the other side before looking at me again. "Hi nid to talk to Pietro, can you-"

"Yeah, sure, hopefully, I won't be attacked," I grumble and step past him, heading to the stairs leading to the left-wing.

"Elio hand I will fixa heverrything," he promises and descends the stairs as I climb them up, going straight to Elio's study.

As I reach the corridor, my heart rate picks up again. Raw fear scraps through my veins, growing more prominent with each shaky step taking me further into the narrow hallway.

I dare to lean over, firmly pressing my palm to the wall, and peer at the room they'd given me. The marble tiles are tinted black, so are the surrounding wall. The door is missing too.

I focus on my breathing, to calm myself. Wringing my fingers a few times until their shaking subsides, I knock on Elio's door.

Instantly he calls out, "Come in."

Gingerly, I open the door, first peeking my head before walking in and shutting the door.

Elio is sitting on top of the edge of the black armchair's backrest. His shoulders are hunched and his skin lacks the usual golden glow it always has, and dark circles are smeared underneath his eyes.

"Hi?" I weakly mumble.

He runs his fingers through his hair. Inhaling sharply, he faces me. The hollowness is making his sharp features stand out more. His chestnut eyes are empty, lacking the usual fiery intensity.

For the first time ever, he doesn't look like an imposing, arrogant capo and despite my better judgments, my heart clenches for him.

I like to believe it's because of how unsettling it is to see the only person protecting me appear so exhausted and resigned, but deep down, I know that's not the entire truth.

I shuffle my feet as I awkwardly stand in the middle of the room, playing with the tips of my hair.

"How are holding up after last night?" he asks.

I clasp my hands in front of me. "Okay, I guess." Uncertainly, I venture a step toward him, leaving a few feet of distance.

Another suffocating blanket of quietude falls over us.

Pushing my shoulders back, I dare to say, "Your mother is in a strange mood today."

His brows draw together. I continue, "I saw her, she was remarkably angry... without being provoked."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "What did she say?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, just a bit more violent than usual."

He waited expectantly.

"She just said she'll torture me until my shrieks of pain ring in the hallways of this place... with a little different wording, but pretty much in the same context."

"What!" his back straightens as he gapes at me. "When?"

"About three minutes ago, give or take."

He groans, throwing his head.

"Pietro seemed to concur with her... a bit more than usual."

He releases a blow of air, cursing under his breath.

"Can I know what's going on? Because I'm damn sure in the last twelve hours, I've not done a single thing to provoke such a dramatic reaction from either of them."

He heaves a sigh, blankly staring at the wall across from him. "Not today, Cerise." He faces me. "Just know that Franco and his men have been taken care of and you're completely safe for now."

"You cannot possibly think that half-ass explanation is going to be enough. I want to know what the hell is going on." I stop at an arm's length from him.

"And I'll tell you, but not today. I ne-"

"Why not?" I interject and his lips press into a thin white line.

Elio glares at me, and I match it with ease.

"I was seconds away from being burnt alive. Give me one valid reason topping this and I'll leave this room without another word."

His glare wanes, and he rubs his face.

"Right now, your mob has no reason to treat me so poorly after the hell they put me through. I mean, look around, the house doesn't even look like a side of it was on fire last night."

"They'd drenched the ceiling of your room and the walls around to keep the fire limited to the room," he blankly states.

I grind my teeth. "That's it? And what's up with this new room?"

For a flash, his eyes widen before he composes himself and plasters a confused look.

I squint at him. "Your mom said I'm not allowed to go in that room again."

"Ignore her."

I wait for him to go on but after wasting over fifteen seconds, I probe, "Well?"

Keeping his gaze fixed on the wall in front of him, he begins, "I've started a war between the Mariano clan and the Esposito... because of you." From the corner of his eye, he glances at me and I look away.

He exhales a long sigh. "Franco was one of my most loyal men, one of the best in his work. He was Pietro's right hand too... in fact, Pietro had sent him between the street gangs of New York to gather information... do you know how much I had to waste money and energy to get him out?"

I purse my mouth, resisting the urge to tap my foot on the floor.

He shakes his head, gazing at the statue in the room's corner. "I told- ordered, everyone to not harm you, to protect you. Sure, you didn't consciously do anything, but after the stunt you pulled off with Gianni, it was the last straw for Franco. He thought he should take the matters into his own hands."

Elio clenches his jaw, a muscle flickers as his lips tug downwards. "He went against my word to get rid of you. If I hadn't punished him, others would've gained the dare to complete the job."

I shift uncomfortably.

"Last night, I had to choose between you and my men. I had to choose between what my men expect me to do and what I believe is the right thing. Of course, I don't expect you to give a flying fuck about the fact that I have to pay the price for each of your mistakes. That I'm losing my grip over Cosa Nostra, and my respect as the capo... sure, these things are none of your concern, you want us all dead or behind bars. But maybe if you were more aware of your actions and had thought it through, we wouldn't be here right now."

I gawk at him; sudden anger flares up in me. "You cannot possibly be serious! You're blaming everything on me?"

"You're not faultless, Cerise," he monotonously says, his gaze flickering to me.

"If you hadn't treated my men like a bunch of rabid animals, hadn't avoided them like the god damned plague, maybe this mess could've been prevented. But don't worry, I won't bother to ask you to try to get off my close men's top ten people they want dead, because I know you'll stay you, stubborn, and prejudiced. We're criminals and you're a prosecutor. Not for one second, you've bothered to even pretend you don't despise us. The only person you treat like an actual human being is Marco, and now everyone is pissed at him too, calling him all sorts of bullshit."

"So you're simply blaming it all on me, just because I wasn't nice to your men. Who on Earth tries to burn someone alive just because they weren't nice to them?" My voice raises an octave in annoyance.

"You could've handled the situation wiser from the start." He squares his shoulders and faces me. "Did you ever once bother to show up to one dinner, treat one person as a human being? No. You don't even acknowledge the girl who brings your meals to your room. You look down on everyone, frown at them for what life has forced them to do just to survive and keep a roof over their families heads. They've lost a lot because of a Campbell, either your grandfather, your father, or yourself. Don't you think it would've been smart to try to pretend you're no longer an enemy?"

I stare at him speechlessly. He has a solid point. The things thrown at me in the past few weeks have been so insane it never crossed my mind the impression I'm leaving on these mafiosos can backfire terribly.

The least I could've done was to get Pietro to stop hating me, perhaps if I'd tried to win him over, last night never would've happened.

Elio fixes his hard glare on the wall. "Last night, I put three bullets in Franco's head... because of you." A beat later, his eyes lock with mine as I stumble a step away from him.

I cover my mouth as I gasp. "You killed him?"

"I had no other choice."

The way he's so plainly admitting to his crime is baffling. My hand drops to my necklace's pendant.

"Till last night, it was impossible to find one man in Mariano Cosca to not respect me and now, some of them are openly questioning me." He huffs a bitter chuckle.

"My cousin." He taps his chest. "The man who has supported me more than a brother is now considering overthrowing me and taking the title of the capo." Elio tilts his head back and stares at the ceiling. "Do you know what that means?"

❈ ☯︎ ❈

*Comare: In Italian mafia slang, this expression is used for a mafia mistress (the American form is Goomah or Goomar, which you might have heard in series like The Sopranos [no, I have not watched the series, but it's in my to-watch list lol) [there you go, your daily dose of fun fact xD].

Hmm... well do you guys know what it means Pietro wants to overthrow Elio? 👀 vote if you do! xD

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, thank you for reading, comment your thoughts about Slava and Pietro's behaviour and Elio's little speech claiming all of this could have been prevented, do you agree? Or was it inevitable?

Oooh and what are your thoughts on Pietro thinking about becoming the capo?

And any guess in whose room Cerise woke up?

Anyways, thank you so much if you've stayed up until this point, and I hope you stick around till the end :")

Stay safe, lots of love, happy reading

Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: AzTruyen.Top