"He would have died eventually, you know! I dream of him lying dead there with his blood leaking out, and I can't even call it a nightmare," she began, and instead of responding, I fixed my gaze on the bartender behind the counter.
More like glared at him, silently hoping—for his sake—that he was making my cocktail first. I was confident that even if Bianca got her drink, she still wouldn't leave.
My social battery had died a long time ago, even before I stepped into the building. I was grieving and a prisoner. Socializing wasn't even on the list.
"Nice to see you, Bianca," I said casually, fully aware of how much she hated being called by her name.
"Don't you have somewhere better to be? A widow, dressed in black, covered in ashes… or you don't even know how to do that?" I asked, turning to her with a smile that only widened when I watched hers disappear.
"Mother!" she corrected sharply, the word biting off her tongue while fire flashed in her eyes.
"Step-mother," I replied calmly, staring straight into her eyes. Something about that title was going to change soon anyway.
Looking at her now, it was still difficult to imagine she would have found the courage to kill Father.
She had beaten the hell out of me before, yes. But Father had beaten everything out of her for years, sometimes simply because he found pleasure in doing it.
Father wasn't a good man. He never pretended to be. Sometimes he was the devil himself. But he was still family.
He didn't deserve to die like that.
My eyes burned with anger as I looked at her, convinced she knew something about it.
"Did you hear anything?" I asked, a trace of hope slipping into my voice. "…The security cameras had been wiped," I started to explain, but she didn't let me finish.
Bianca stepped forward suddenly, closing the distance between us until she was standing so close that the scent of her expensive strawberry perfume filled my lungs. It was everywhere—clinging to the air, sharp in my nose, almost suffocating.
"I don't care how he died! I'm just happy someone had the guts to do it!" she hissed through clenched teeth, her lips barely moving as she spoke.
"…If I could, I would have done it myself!" she added, her eyes as hard as steel while her jaw tightened.
"Stay away from my son. Whatever plans you have, toss them."
"Nico was the one who bought me," I clarified flatly, in case her memory had somehow gone to shit.
"You should be speaking with him," I added with a smirk that I didn't bother hiding. It was satisfying to see her so easily riled up.
"…You are nothing but a plaything to him," she warned.
My smile widened, and I tilted my head slightly, giving her a sly look.
"You should be relieved then. If it's exactly as you say, then you have nothing to worry about."
I met her gaze again, but this time she was the one who smirked.
"Call it a favor to my husband's memory," she whispered, her voice dropping lower like she was sharing something private. "You've only known Nico for a few years while he lived with you. My son was a monster before… now he's a demon."
Her eyes gleamed faintly as she leaned closer.
"If you give me information about his organization, I might even—"
But I didn't let her finish.
Her words immediately made me think of Vera, my maid, and the uncomfortable possibility that she might be working for Bianca.
"Help me? You? You'll help me?" I scoffed in disbelief. "Thanks for the love."
I didn't believe a word she said. Whatever Father's will contained would determine exactly how fast she wanted to see me burn.
I opened my mouth to speak again, but the bartender chose that exact moment to interrupt us.
"Your drinks are ready," he announced, gesturing awkwardly to the two cocktails he had just finished preparing.
I immediately grabbed the one closest to me and took a slow sip, letting the cold liquid settle my anger as I turned to leave. But clearly Bianca still had more to say.
"Don't be foolish, Carmen," she whispered behind me as she lifted her own glass and took a delicate sip. "…Nico will use you until he's tired of you. That's all men are good for, and you know it. Especially when they have it all. Men like your father—they are not loyal."
She pointed out something I already knew.
Why would men like them be loyal when women—and sometimes men—threw themselves at them everywhere they went?
"Think about it," she said, turning to leave before I could respond.
I immediately scanned the room for Nico.
He was no longer speaking with the mafia dons. Instead, he was standing with a woman who was practically throwing herself at him if her body language was anything to go by. She leaned too close, laughed too loudly, and kept touching his arm like she had already decided she belonged there.
If Nico wanted to fuck her right there and then, she wouldn't refuse. And for some reason, the sight annoyed me more than it should have.
I drank the rest of my cocktail faster than before, ignoring the burning cold spreading across my tongue until nothing remained in the glass. Then I dropped it back onto the counter and headed toward what I assumed was the back door leading to the restroom.
I figured peeing might relieve some of the anger simmering in my chest. But the moment I stepped through the door, I realized it wasn't the restroom at all. Instead, it was a small back room that opened directly outside the building. An outdoor lounging area and it happened to be completely empty.
I couldn't help it.
If escaping had been somewhere in the back of my mind before, standing outside suddenly pushed the thought right to the front.
Wouldn't I be imprisoning myself if I continued to stay chained here without any chains around my neck?
My heart began racing faster than my chest could comfortably hold.
I could see it so clearly. I had enough money tucked inside my small purse to get onto a bus. I could disappear into another city before anyone noticed. Nico hadn't put a tracker on me yet—nothing like that.
Wouldn't it be smarter to leave before he ever decided to do something like that?
My hands trembled as I struggled to make a decision as quickly as possible. I even took a few cautious steps toward the back street before suddenly freezing. I gritted my teeth and turned around. Then I walked straight back inside.
It was a risk I couldn't take. It felt too easy—almost like stepping straight into an invisible trap. Somehow Nico had just happened to bring me to a charity event with barely any guards after spending a fortune on me? I didn't believe it.
Shaking slightly, I pushed the door open and stepped back into the building, letting it slam shut behind me as I returned to the event.
My gaze swept across the gallery walls, glaring at all the artwork displayed around me. Every piece looked pretentious and ugly, colors clashing in ways that were probably supposed to be profound.
Tears burned in my eyes as the anger inside me boiled over.
I found a quiet corner and stood there alone, trying to steady myself. I knew it had been the right decision to come back. I knew that logically. But I was still furious at myself.
There was nothing more psychologically debilitating than being a willing prisoner.
When had I stopped taking risks simply because I was afraid of the consequences?
I balled my fists tightly, trying to push away the creeping fear that gripped my chest. Even then, I couldn't ignore the truth. If I had been caught running… with Nico's reach, the odds of surviving the aftermath would have been staggering.
Until my debts were paid, everyone would shun me. It was the rules.