Dark Grasso,
An eldest Son.
An heir to the Grasso business and industry.
A head of Italian mafia transportation.
A sociopath.
Moon Diaz,
The daughter of the Diaz mafia.
A doctor and psychologist.
An empath.
When Moon runs away from her home...
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Twenty seven minutes.
Twenty seven minutes, Miss Diaz wasted my twenty seven minutes with foolish and unnecessary questions.
.
Where are you going? Why are you going? When will you return? Why are you so dressed? What's in your pocket? Was black tuxedo necessary? Is that a condom? Is that a date? Are you going to buy roses? Do you like Lilith? What kind of friendship you had with Lilith? Why didn't you ever mentioned her to me?
.
For twenty seven minutes, I was answering Miss Diaz instead of leaving for the Rosella restaurant where Miss Berenguer and I will be having a meeting over a dinner.
Now that I'm here at the restaurant, waiting for Miss Berenguer to arrive, I wonder what Miss Diaz would be doing in the house. I told Light to keep an eye on her because, she has tried to run away several times before.
Though she promised me to not leave, I cannot trust her intrusive thoughts. That little woman was about to climb the cocaine container.
"Good evening, Dark." A sweet and confident voice appeared from behind me and broke my thoughts. I stood up the moment I saw Miss Berenguer walking towards our reserved table.
Green silks, long open hair, bold red lipstick and high heels. Miss Berenguer looks powerful as always.
"Good evening, Miss Berenguer," I offered my hand to her, nodding once as she smiled. I pulled a chair for her and waited for her to sit comfortably.
"It's been long for we've been to any dinners." She said as I slide her chair forward and took a seat in front of her. "Nearly three to four years if I'm right."
The moon in the sky shone brighter as the restaurant is on the roof. Jazz playing in the background, yellow lights covering the place and scent of wine filling the air. It's a way romantic restaurant for business meetings.
"Right," I nod, placing my hands on my the table. "It's been years." Miss Berenguer and I have been friends but not so close. We barely meet for dinner and talked about business and money. Nothing more, nothing less but,
"Remember the time when we danced?" Miss Berenguer affirmed with her dimple smile, her brown hair waved with the wind and eyes shone brighter under the yellow lights. "In this very same restaurant?"
"I'm not fond of old memories." I answered, calling the waiter to serve the wine. The waiter served us the Chateau Lafite 1869 wine, my favourite one. I wonder why Miss Berenguer know about my favourite wine because I don't remember telling her.
"But, I am." Miss Berenguer said, sipping on her wine leisurely. "I am fond of old memories, rather, I live in old memories more than I live today." Her eyes stabled on my face with a small smile.
I am friends with Miss Berenguer because she is one of the only woman I know is truest. She is cruel but reasonable, she is rude but factual, she is an entirely different person when is off of the world's eyes.
