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She looks at me with defiance in her eyes. “That a problem?”
“Not at all. It just makes me wonder about you. I can normally guess a person’s background in seconds but you? Your background is a mystery. I know so much since you turned eighteen. Living alone, estranged from your parents. But your past, what lies there?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Your childhood. Your dreams. Your fears. I want to know about you.”
With a hint of hope and nostalgia in her voice, she starts to open up. “Well, I’ve always had this dream of graduating from college. I’ve been taking correspondence courses in child development and psychology whenever I could afford them. Almost finished. Then I just need to find enough money to get hold of a building. I always dreamed of having somewhere families could come to feel safe, to play, to get out of the house.”
I lean in, genuinely interested, and ask, “Overcome your past by improving other people’s futures?”
“Exactly.” She smiles, a touch of passion lighting up her expression. “I’ve always felt a connection with children, especially those who’ve had difficult upbringings. It’s like I see a part of myself in them. My dream is to work with underprivileged children, to help them find stability and happiness in their lives.”
Her response strikes a chord within me, revealing a depth to her I hadn’t fully appreciated before. “It’s impressive, your determination,” I say, genuinely admiring her commitment to such a noble cause. “My business is all about making money, not helping people.”
“I thought mafia bosses granted favors left, right, and center.”
“I do what I can, but without money at the base of it all, I’d have no favors to grant.” I point my fork at her. “But your goal is a lot more noble than mine.”
Her cheeks color slightly at the compliment. “Thank you. It hasn’t been easy, but it’s something I’m really passionate about. I believe every child deserves a chance to thrive, regardless of their background.”
I find myself nodding. “You really do believe that, don’t you?”
“And you,” she asks, turning the conversation my way, “did you always want to be where you are now? Never had a noble goal?”
I pause, considering her question. “I fell into this position when my father died. I had no choice in it. Either I took over, or our rivals did.”
“So you’re trapped?”
I take a sip of wine before answering. “I run things differently to my father. He terrified people into obeying him. I try to reason with people when I can. Though not everyone listens.”
Fear flashes across her eyes when I say that. “Today wasn’t the first time you killed someone, was it?” she asks.
“Let’s not discuss that. We were talking about your dreams.”
“I’m done with that. What about you? What are your dreams? Your fears?”
“I have only one fear.”
She sets her cutlery down on her plate, giving me her full attention. “And what’s that?”
“I’m not used to discussing such personal matters but I have a fear of dying childless. Of leaving no legacy behind me. The empire ending with me.”
Her expression softens, a look of understanding crossing her face. “I’m scared of that too,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “The fear of never being wanted like when I was little, of never having a family of my own, no man ever wanting children with me.”
“Any man would be lucky to have children with you.” Jealous thoughts flare into my mind. The idea of her with any other man makes my fists clench around my knife and fork.
She glances at the chess set over by the window, a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. “Do you play?” she asks, her voice laced with intrigue, a blatant attempt to distract me from the conversation.
I pause for a moment, reminiscing. “A relic from my childhood,” I reply with a faint smile, acknowledging the nostalgia it holds.
“I’m too full to eat anything else. Fancy a game?” She walks over to the ornate chess set and sits down, her fingers delicately examining the pieces. “Are these solid gold?” she inquires, her eyes widening in surprise.
“Silver for the other side,” I respond, taking the seat opposite hers. “My father could be quite ostentatious.” I watch her with a certain amusement as she studies the opulent chess pieces, their shimmering surfaces catching the ambient light.
“Actually,” I continue, “he used this very chess set to teach me about the business. He had a unique way of explaining things, always using metaphors.”
Her curiosity deepens, and she leans forward, eager to hear more. “Metaphors?”
