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My mother leaned forward, her gaze intense. "Start talking. The sooner you do, the sooner you'll finish."
And so, I began to narrate the entire ordeal. With every word, I felt a mix of frustration and relief, frustration at the situation but relief at finally sharing the burden with my mother.
By the time I finished, I had already polished off my food and was on to my second serving. I watched as my mother's expression shifted from shock to anger and finally to disapproval. It was satisfying to see her react this way. It made me feel like I wasn’t overreacting.
"Those people," she muttered, shaking her head. "Such disgusting actions, and Mr. Gilbert... he should be ashamed of himself."
I chuckled despite the seriousness of the situation. "Tell me about it."
"Why are you still working there?" she asked with her brows furrowed.
I sighed, considering the question carefully.
"Actually, Mr. Gilbert wasn't my boss before. It was Mr. Adams, but I don't know what happened. Suddenly, Mr. Gilbert became the CEO of the law firm. I've been thinking of leaving for a while, especially after what happened, but I wanted to finish the Johnson case. It's a massive case, and I wanted to see it through. But now..." I trailed off, shrugging helplessly as I took another bite of lasagna.
My mother frowned, reaching across the table to gently pat my hand. "You've worked hard, Griselda. Sometimes, it's necessary to take a step back and reevaluate things."
"I know," I admitted, offering a weak smile. "I just needed to get this off my chest."
Before the mood could sour, my mother smiled and placed a hand over mine. She leaned in, her tone sneakily playful. "Hurry up, dear. I've also made your favorite dessert."
My eyes widened in pleasant surprise. "No way!"
She chuckled, nodding her head mischievously. "Yes, way."
With an excited gasp, I couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness. My mom always knew how to lighten the mood and bring a smile to my face.
As she stood up and made her way to the fridge, I couldn't wait to find out what she had prepared. I watched eagerly as she retrieved a dish and brought it to the table. It was tiramisu, the classic Italian dessert that she always made perfectly.
The tiramisu looked divine. The layers of creamy mascarpone cheese, coffee-soaked ladyfingers, and a dusting of cocoa powder created an irresistible visual, making my mouth water.
She placed a generous portion in front of me, and I couldn't wait to dig in. It was heavenly, and with every bite, I felt the stress of the day fade away.
As we enjoyed the dessert, the conversation shifted to lighter topics, and for a moment, everything felt normal. Time seemed to slip by until it was finally time to leave. My mom packed some tiramisu for me to enjoy at home, and as we stood by the door, she offered to drive me back. Although I was grateful, I declined, not wanting to tire her, especially when she would be driving all the way back on her own.
We embraced one last time, her hug lingering for a moment longer.
Stepping down the small set of stairs, I turned back with an afterthought - Fiore, Emilio's last name..
"Do you know anyone with the last name Fiore?" I asked.
The reaction was immediate - a frozen expression, widened eyes, and a smile that faltered. Something was off. The response came too quickly, too neatly, and the denial too strong—a reaction I had seen on so many clients.
"No," she replied, her smile returning, a bit too forced, "I don't know anyone with that surname."
Before I could push further, she turned back inside, an uncharacteristic haste in her movements. The door closed with a noticeable bang, and I was left standing outside by myself.
What the fuck?
Time seemed to stand still for a moment as I processed the strange encounter. It was obvious that she was lying, but why? Why did she have such a reaction? Looking at the closed door, I knew there was no point in trying to pry the answers from her.
I stepped onto the pavement and hailed a taxi. It pulled over, and I got in, stealing one last glance at my mom's house. There was a lingering worry in my mind.
"Bus stop," I told the driver, who responded with a nonchalant hum.
Something caught my eye in the rearview mirror. The driver was wearing sunglasses. It was strange, but I brushed off the oddity, assuming he had his reasons.
As we drove through the city, my attention shifted between my phone and the passing scenes outside. Thoughts danced between my mother's peculiar reaction and Emilio's mysterious life. However, my concern flared up when I noticed we'd been driving much longer than expected.
