Serendipity

Chapter 3

Elodie

What the actual hell? I mean, I'm not sure what I expected the leader of a mafia to look like but it sure as fuck wasn't this. The movies tricked me, okay? Where's the fat, old, crusty-looking jerk in his grey suit when I need him, huh?

But this? No. I mean, the guy on the other side of the bars holding me prisoner looks around my age. Maybe a little older. In his early twenties, max. There's no suit. Instead, a black, fitted shirt and cargo pants. And he's wearing jewelry! He looks ordinary.

Well, more attractive than ordinary, just objectively speaking. I mean, the tattoos snaking their way all over his defined arms and up his neck are something. And- Never mind. Nope. Shit, hell no.

This is a joke, right? Someone's messing with me. They must be.

It took all of me not to gape when he arrived. I'm supposed to act clueless. But luckily, I managed to squeeze out some crocodile tears so I think we're good. The skepticism I think I saw in his eyes at first has morphed into annoyance.

But the longer he looks at me, the more a shimmer of hope makes itself apparent as if me being here is somehow intriguing to him and my stomach tightens. No matter his looks, he's still a criminal so my guard needs to stay up.

"Do you know what your father worked as?" the man, whatever-his-first-name-is Marino, goes on, speaking slower now. I wish I knew what was going on in his head because he seems to turn colder, more distanced, and professional by the second, letting me get a glimpse of the man my father so often described as a monster.

Good, I want him to be everything I expected. For a second, I almost had doubts about this, thinking he might be alright. But he's a murderer and I am here to make him pay.

I shake my head a little, widening my eyes a tad to look more frightened and gullible. Internally, excitement rushes through my veins though. This is it. Games, trickery, and pretense. That's the shit I was trained for.

I want to know where this is going, to see how he'll react and deal with me. I focus on the little things as he studies me; the cross hanging around his neck- is he religious or is it just jewelry- the way his eyes keep darting to the faded scar along the right side of my face and how intensely he searches my eyes as if they'd reveal anything to him.

They won't.

The man makes a sound in the back of his throat at my denial and a slow smile tugs at his lips. It's not comforting. Quite the contrary, with his eyes cold as steel, the gesture makes him look a little more feral. I love it, relishing in each little part he reveals to me and everything that makes him more the monster I'm looking for.

"Interesting," he muses to himself. "Neither did I. Not for a long time. I thought he worked for me, saw him as one of my best employees, even. Always polite and professional, hardworking and eager to complete any tasks I gave him," he tsks. "If only he had really done it for me."

I pretend not to understand, letting the cool of this cellar seep through my clothes to help me shake "in fear" as he speaks. He notices. I can see him mentally taking note of my goosebumps and shaking hands. Then his eyes dart to my lips, which I assume are turning a little blue, and the weirdest thing happens. For the second it takes him to look away, I stop feeling the cold. A foreign churning in my gut, warm and uncomfortable, taking my attention instead.

I waver, clenching my hands but quickly shake myself out of it. Still, I know he must've seen my reaction because one of his brows rises in silent amusement.

Son of a-

"You see, the architecture industry is tough and I have a rival. Multiple ones, in fact, but one of them is the biggest pain in my ass," he mocks me. Architecture industry my ass. I know it's just a cover to hide in plain sight but the girl I'm pretending to be doesn't.

So I act confused.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to help you get your father back. Luckily, you can help me find the things he stole from me," he finally says.

"He- I don't understand. He stole from you?" Add the first small sob. "Please, this must be a mistake. My father is a good man. I just want to find him." Talking about him in the present digs the knife a little deeper into my chest but I push it aside, blocking any thoughts that aren't about this game to the side.

And there it is, the tiniest flicker of doubt rushing through his eyes as I lay on the performance thick.

Noticing it exhilarates. Then again, I hate that it's there in the first place. Monsters don't care about others, not even sobbing, innocent little girls.

As quickly as it came, it disappears again and he goes on as if I hadn't said a thing. "I'm sure you know where he'd keep sensitive, highly important documents. A safe in the house, maybe? A hole in the wall behind a portrait?" he asks.

"No, I- I don't know. We never talk about his work," I insist shakily. He makes a displeased sound.

"That's okay. Just tell us your address and we'll take care of it."

"Our- You can't search our house! You're not the police. If something was stolen from you, just tell them," I protest weakly, knowing damn well that's the last thing he can do. While I'm sure he has moles in high places such as the police, if those documents came into the possession of the wrong officer, he'd be done for.

Now, I know he's torn the place my father told him he lived at apart looking for everything but that was only a cover. Since my father led a whole secret life, he had to lie about his address.

At this point, Marino must've figured out that my father had another home. He's probably wondering how much he didn't know about the man he killed, how much I'm aware of, and maybe even doubting some of his other employees. Because if one man could trick him so easily, who's to say no other can?

I love planting the seeds of doubt in his mind.

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Here's the chapter of the day:)) My schedule will be one a day so stay tuned!

Hope you like it so far and have a great day<3