Adelaide's Song

000

ENRICO ROSSI:

Slitting someone's throat seems like a fun thing to do right now.

Sitting in my damn office, surrounded by piles of papers, I'm trying to write this bloody business proposal to convince someone to merge companies. It's a colossal pain in the fucking ass, let me tell you.

This someone is Francisco Tamchanco. A renowned business magnate whose name echoed through Asia's corridors of power and influence. Specifically, the Philippines.

Francisco Tamchanco, a figure I had admired from afar, was more than just a successful businessman. He was a visionary, a philanthropist, and a symbol of what could be achieved through hard work and determination. He was also a practical and beneficial mob boss who could be a great ally whenever going against the Germans.

I start typing, trying to sound all confident and shit. "In this fast-paced world, collaboration is not just a choice, it's a shit necessity," I mutter under my breath, my fingers dancing on the keyboard like they're doing a damn tango.

I delve into my company's strength, boasting about our financial stability, top-notch products, and a team that's been through more battles than a Sicilian mobster. Each sentence is like a punch, aimed to make this fucking guy sit up and take notice.

Then comes the tricky part – painting a rosy picture of our shared future. "Together, we can conquer the business world and leave our competitors sucking on dick," I type, my eyebrows furrowed in frustration. I sound like a motivational speaker on steroids, but it's what these corporate types want, right?

As I tackle potential objections, I try to be diplomatic. I erase half of the shit paragraph I wrote because it didn't even make sense, as I do, the telephone starts ringing.

I let it ring for a few seconds till I answer.

"Enrico Rossi speaking." My tone is hard and cold.

"Good evening, Mr. Rossi, this is the Head Chief of the NYPD, Pedro Armas. I am truly sorry to bother you but with the events your sister has been-" Sister? Sister?

I cut him off, "Sister? What are you on about, Armas?"

"Miss Adelaide Dior?"

No way. No fucking way.

Addie is dead.

Addie is dead.

Addie is dead.

Suddenly, I hear another voice. "This is Richard Hastings, the Devyn's lawyer. CPS has done DNA samples from Adelaide-" I don't bother to listen to the rest of what he is saying because all I'm focused on is how my baby isn't dead.

My baby is alive.

My train of thought is cut off when I hear him say some shit about a baby. "Baby? What baby?"

"The Devyns have officially adopted a toddler," Richard continues, his voice tinged with urgency and exasperation. "His name is Hiro. But with the Devyns gone, he's currently in the care of Adelaide."

I blink, trying to process the information. "Adelaide? As in Adelaide, my...?"

Richard nods solemnly. "Yes, your sister Adelaide. She's been taking care of him since the accident, but it's not a permanent solution. She is a minor as well. We need to decide what to do next."