Episode 8

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Carmen,” he expressed, his voice husky, deep, and dense.

But it seemed like there was something off with him, as if he didn’t want to act that way and yet remained impassive, hiding whatever feelings he might have behind the mask of a cold and indifferent mobster. I could recognize that. I lived long enough with my father to understand his nuances, both the one he used only with me and the one he showed to the rest of the world.

“Likewise,” I simply said, clearing my throat.

Well… at least I wouldn’t be forced to marry an old, decrepit, ugly man. Dominique exuded power, beauty, and dominance wherever he went. And, if he wasn’t as psychopathic at home as they said he was on the streets, our marriage could be peaceful.

I forced my body to look away from Dominique, but there was a magnetism that drew me to him, as if I needed only him.

“How are you, Carmen?” Nery said.

Nery was so… different from his brothers. He possessed a softer aura; he wasn’t like the mobsters I was used to being around. He was handsome; his hair and eyes followed the same pattern as his brothers’. He was also as tall and muscular as they were. Only Nery was light and presented himself as a true gentleman.

Was there still time to switch grooms?

With Nery, I was sure the marriage would work out, but I didn’t have the same feeling about Dominique.

One exuded peace. The other exuded chaos.

And I was already chaotic enough. I didn’t need a partner to keep me company in this.

“Well, let's go downstairs to greet the guests, and in the meantime, Dominique and Carmen will have some time to talk,” Dad said, touching my lower back with the palm of his hand and subtly pushing me toward the door.

“Lucky we were doing business in my office or we wouldn't have made it in time.”

Now it made sense why they came to my rescue so quickly. I wasn't expecting any of them; I just wanted to cause a dramatic damsel-in-distress scene.

“Yes, and we need to talk about this, Enrico. They went too far. Carmen is in great danger,” Gilliam said.

My father gave me a look that shone with pride disguised as feigned concern. He knew that not for a miserable second while I was alone with the intruder was I in any danger.

“That’s why I insist on interrogating the intruder myself,” he warned.

I felt Dominique's eyes on me, so deep and fervent that it made my skin tingle and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

He was analyzing me, as if he was trying to figure out how much of the conversation bothered me, how much I knew, and how much I could bear to hear about torture.

My father never hid from me what he did in the mafia, not even when he came home drenched in the blood of others. So it was nothing new, but…were all men like that? Should I show that I wasn't fazed or would I need to feign tremendous horror?

I sighed audibly.

Damn. I needed to ask some questions tonight and there was nothing better than naive girls my age to answer each one. And only then would I begin to mold my mask, the one I would wear always, in every moment of my life, except when I was alone or with my family.