Mafia's Obsession [18+]

7.

Sofia

I get off work two hours early. And yes, there's no sign of him or his men in the parking lot. So, I take a cab and go home. Like I should.

Mom is in the kitchen as I bypass it, but her cute little Pomeranian immediately runs to me and nuzzles against my feet. I stop at the bottom of the stairs to pick her up.

"Hello, cutie." I kiss her nose and she snuggles to my neck.

"You're already back from Milan?" Mom asks, her perfect brow raising knowingly. I ignored her texts yesterday, but I still feel like she already knows everything. Rumors may circulate in her uppity circle.

"Yes." I reply. She grins. Right. She definitely knows.

My mom is like another me, minus the height. We have the same long dark brown hair and brown eyes. She's in her mid-forties, but sure as hell looks like my older sister.

"There's new collective exhibition in my gallery. You should come this evening." She says, taking back Lola from my hands. Mom is a patron of the arts. My late nonno was a sculptor and my grandma used to be a painter. The gallery is her way to pay tribute to them. She's indeed a busy woman.

"Can I ride with you?"

"Okay, but I'm leaving in an hour."

I nod and walk upstairs to my room.

✖️

I take a quick shower and put on a Sicilian-print poplin dress from Dolce & Gabbana. I style my hair in a bun and clasp a pair of gold earrings. This is very Italian of me.

I and my mom end up showing up thirty minutes late. Partly because of the way she drives. But again, Maria Fiori is never on time.

As soon as we walk into the gallery, I take a separated way from her. I know the deal. Mom will be busy greeting any other socialites, showing the collection around while I stand there, bored. So years ago I learn to enjoy this alone. Besides, I can't stand her so-called friends.

I start from the painting in the corner which no one seems to mind. It's an abstract painting with seemingly deep interpretation. I wonder what the painter was thinking of when he/she created this. It's beautiful. I love it.

A call interupts my thoughts. I check my screen to find unknown number.

"Who's this?" I say as soon as I put it over my ear.

"You don't even save my number?" his ice cold voice is chilling my bones. God, even without his presence here, he can still affect me.

I clear my throat, trying to remain calm.

I can almost picture how his jaw clenches. And yeah, I forgot to save it. But it's not like we formally exchange phone numbers, right? He only calls when he wants to terror me. "Where are you? I have waited here for half hour."

Of course, he's picking me up from work.

"I went home early." I say quickly, grimacing as he clickes his tongue in disapproval. He's furious.

"Unbelievable." He mutters.

So, I do the dumb thing in a fight or flight situation.

"Um, what? Hello? Sorry, signal problems." With that I hang up and place my phone on airplane mode.

I don't want to deal with him right now. His anger can wait. Because this evening I will be enjoying arts and champagne.