AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Do I know you?”
I hand her a glass of champagne. “My name is Antonio. This is my mansion. I wanted to say congratulations on your graduation.”
In a moment, her eyes narrow before she takes the glass. “Thank you,” she replies politely.
“You must be very proud of yourself?”
“I suppose that would be the normal process, yes.”
I chuckle. Her eyes move to my mouth, then back to meet my gaze.
“Would you like to join me on the deck? I have a bottle of champagne on ice.”
She glances around, not finding whoever it is she is looking for.
“My friend was here a moment ago. I should stay and wait for her.”
It’s uncommon for me to be rejected.
I reach out and gently wrap my fingers around her wrist, pulling her ever so slightly toward me.
“Your friend will find you, I'm sure.”
“Um, yes, ok,” she replies with hesitation.
I smile. Then place my hand on her lower back and guide her toward the deck.
I gesture at the seating. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
“You don’t look-” she bites back her words.
“Neither do you,” I chuckle.
“My mother was Chinese,” she shrugs.
“My mother was Japanese, and my father was Italian. I never knew them, though. I was raised here.”
She eyes me closely, her gaze drifting over my features.
“I heard a story about a boy who was half Italian, half Japanese -”
The corner of my lip turns upward. “I'm sure there are many stories; you can’t always believe what you hear.”
“I never really knew my parents, like you.” Her voice drifts off, as does her gaze, leaving my face to look outwards over the crowds of people around us.
“So, you were raised by someone else?" Sadness shouldn’t overshadow her beauty.
“My grandfather, Muchen Hanoi.”
My body tenses up, the recognition immediate and chilling.
She's no stranger to me, not by any means. Rumors have swirled around her past, shrouded in a mystery that has never been officially unraveled. Whispers suggest the Italian Mafia's hand in the tragic fate of her parents. Her father, having whisked her mother away to New York, ignited the ire of the family back home. Their union, and the child it brought into the world—a little girl—was met with nothing but disdain. Her mother got killed, and she sent back across the ocean to Hong Kong to be raised under the watchful eye of her mafia family.
As far as I know, my father was responsible for her mother’s death. He was the one calling the shots at the time of the murder, so he would have put that target on her head. I'm indirectly connected to her mother’s death. I feel my jaw tighten. Her face turns back toward me. There is so much written in her eyes that it is hard to read her. She is a storybook that I want to know everything about, but now that I know I'm connected to her mother’s death, I feel as though I should walk away from her.
She sips her champagne. “What was it like growing up half-Italian in this city?”
“I suppose you could say it was a challenge. Or it had its challenges. But, as you can see, everything turned out alright.” I gesture around my mansion, and she smirks.
