"These moans of yours, Zemira, they tend to tamper with my head. They're making my mind a haywire, 𝓜𝓸𝔂 𝓿𝓪𝓶𝓹𝓲𝓻." He whispered into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. His dominance was giving me power to show my dominance.
If he wants to...
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2 days later...
Blood. Death. Loss.
The people in the Mafia do not get affected by these things, moreover, they do not let themselves get affected. But, when they do, it ruins them, breaks them, becomes their doom. People like me, people with my profession, people in the Mafia are not like bones which once broken, can be healed. We are like glass vases.
When a vase breaks and shatters itself into pieces, it will remain beautiful since it is the same glass which never looked more beautiful be it broken or joined but the danger it poses increases. Just like that, when people in the Mafia break over something, we become dangerous than ever, no matter how much beauty our face possesses.
There may be no tears, no emotions, no movement but that's the beauty of reading one's eyes. You can show nothing in your behaviour but the eyes can't lie, they despise it, and reading them is a boon to the people in the Mafia. We'll mourn when we're alone but at no cost will we be weak in front of others yet I wanted to pour myself in front of Canzone, like he was a part of me.
Not sleep, not crying, not weakness, none of them could take the picture away from my mind but he has a way of making it faint, a way of making it disappear for the moment, for the time he's with me, sitting beside me like my lover, reading my favourite revenge book making no eye contact with me.
The knock on the door pushes me out of my thoughts, the door opening when I didn't say anything. Mama walks in the room, the room which neither belonged to me nor was it familiar. It has been two days since we've reached Russia, without saying a goodbye to Ysabel who was unfortunately sleeping at the time. I wonder how infuriated she might be right now.
The days have gone by with me sitting in this bed, the dent starting to show itself. I didn't have any will power to go to my house, the house with too many memories, so, I had been doing work from the bed itself while my men took over the field work. It's been two days since I have said any words, the last ones being the plead to Artur. I haven't seen anyone other than Mama, simply because I didn't want to.
The smell of the pancakes mixed with whipped cream and blueberries, the toppings I've grown to like from the day I watched Rio, fills the room. Mama comes to sit beside me, the plate of mouth-watering food placed on her thighs as she sighed at the lack of my speaking and starts cutting the pancake.
"Ty dolzhenvybrat'sya iz etoypeshchery, ditya." (You have to come out of this cave, child.) She sighs again, stuffing the pancake in my wide open mouth as I shake my head no.
"YA ne khochu, chtoby s toboy chto-nibud' sluchilos', dorogaya. Ne snova." (I don't want anything to happen to you, dear. Not again.) She caresses my cheeks, the tears rolling out of her almond shaped eyes. Guilt surrounded me, making my hands wipe her tears and give her a kiss on her forehead. My inability to show affection to my own mother ate me from inside.
