Ugly Ronney: mafia romance [English]

Chapter 18-1

Abigaëlle closed the door behind me and with a nod, indicated the first floor. I headed for the stairs, but voices from the living room caught my attention. I slowed down and started to listen. Camilia was apparently talking with a man and a woman.

"There is only one way to cover it up. We have to prevent them from talking!"

I didn't see Camilia, but I perceived in the sound of her voice a great annoyance.

"We are working on it," said the female voice.

"It's all the media has been talking about since the weekend, not the charity event. It's considerably tarnishing our image!"

"It's just a few days. Believe me, the inhabitants of Sheryl Valley don't care about these few criminals murdered in the middle of the street," added a deep voice.

With authority, Camilia declared, "Get my son here! I don't care if he's busy or not."

Hearing footsteps coming down the hall, I rushed upstairs before I was caught eavesdropping.

I found Peter in the last bedroom. He was hanging up clothes at the entrance of the dressing room. When he saw me, his eyes roved over me, up and down, and he sighed melodramatically.

"What were you expecting?" I said, rolling my eyes. "That I would show up here on my first day in a miniskirt?"

"What's certain is that I didn't expect to see you wearing a Casimir costume, either."

"I love this yellow sweater with big polka dots! It always brings me luck."

Peter preferred not to respond to my comment and invited me to move closer with a wave of his hand. Then he declared, showing me one of the outfits hanging on a hanger, "You're going to wear this. This gray strappy jumpsuit with a white undershirt is somewhere between a classy businesswoman and a slightly slutty secretary. It's just perfect for you!"

There was a long silence. I crossed my arms over my chest and raised an eyebrow.

"No way."

"Cut the crap, Ronney, and put it on. It's not a lucky charm, but at least this jumpsuit will make you look almost unnoticeable when you're out with the Khan daughters."

I tilted my head and continued to stare at Peter. He raised his hands in the air.

"Okay, well, it's true that it's going to be hard to go unnoticed with your 'weird' appearance."

He began to list all the reasons why I should wear the eccentric disco outfit, which was similar to something worn by the band Abba. As he spoke, an idea popped into my head.

"Very well! I'll wear it."

Peter froze. Wary, he squinted his little brown eyes, waiting for me to continue.

"On one condition."

He nodded, a grimace on his face.

"Tell me about the shooting on Saturday night."

Suddenly very busy, Peter began to tidy up the mess that was cluttering the room.

"It's nothing. The media loves to dwell on little things that don't matter."

"Nothing? People died!"

Peter rolled his eyes.

"Wars have always been part of the history of this world. It has quite different aspects at all levels, I grant you, but the points remain the same: conflicts, mutinies, treaties."

"Camilia seems very upset. I heard her talking with some people downstairs."

"Tess Lawrence, a tough journalist, is about to release an article on Rosa Negra and Mitaras Almawt. Apparently, the article will be a real bomb if it were to be published."

I remembered the woman's visit to my house and turned pale. What fate had been in store for her? A shiver ran through me.

Peter continued. "Fortunately, Camilia knows powerful people. She is, at this very moment, with the managers of The Daily News, as well as her lawyer, to find an agreement with them."

Peter rubbed his index finger against his thumb to specify that the deal would be settled with a financial agreement.

"And Yeraz?" I asked.

I tried not to lose control of my breathing. I had been in a kind of fog since I'd heard about the shooting, and I hoped that Peter would finally give me some real news about him.

"His mood probably isn't at its highest, but I can assure you, he wasn't injured in the attack. It's the little soldiers that the leaders of these organizations send to the slaughterhouse. Mr. Khan, Mr. Saleh, and the others give the orders, but they rarely get their hands dirty."

Peter forced a laugh. There was tension in the air. He handed me the suit and the blouse with a fake sorry look. I took the jumpsuit, grumbling.