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So, when faced with my father's scrutiny, I stole glances at Carlo, hoping for a clue, but his gaze remained distant, his features unyielding - an impenetrable fortress, and I, the emotional wanderer, still seeking a connection that remained elusive.
It made me question if he had mastered the art of detachment or if he had given up on connecting emotionally within the dynamics of our family.
My father leaned forward, his eyes never leaving mine. He pulled something out of his drawer and, with deliberate emphasis, placed it on the table. The printed photos display frozen moments of my encounter with Griselda at the Lumière Heights Hotel.
Each picture spoke a thousand words, painting a vivid picture of an evening I had wanted to keep hidden from my father's prying eyes.
There they were—Griselda and I—captured in stolen glances and candid smiles. Her back was to the camera, a mysterious silhouette against the lavish backdrop of the hotel. But our closeness was undeniable.
The atmosphere in the room charged with tension. My father's eyes bore into me, assessing every flicker of emotion on my face. It was a moment of reckoning, a test of my ability to deceive, a skill honed in years of living under his watchful eye.
Carlo leaned in, peering at the photos with keen interest, adding a layer of pressure I could feel bearing down on me.
My father's stare grew more pronounced, a predator toying with its prey. This revelation was a threat, a crack in the facade that I had so carefully constructed. The consequences of this moment could be catastrophic, not just for me but for Griselda, too.
I tightened my jaw, stifling the emotions that threatened to surface. The fear for Griselda's safety mingled with anger at my father's intrusion into my personal life warred within me. It was a dangerous game we played, a game where revealing too much could be fatal. I took a breath, summoning the calm that had served me well in the cutthroat world I had been raised in.
"Emilio, hai idea del motivo per cui sei stato convocato qui? (Emilio, do you have any idea why you were summoned here?)", The sharp edge of my father's voice cut through the room, and I glanced at Carlo, seeking a lifeline, but his expression remained a stoic mask.
"Non preoccuparti di cercare risposte da tuo Fratello, (Don't bother seeking answers from your brother,)" my father barked, placing the incriminating photos of Griselda's back before me.
I managed to keep my face impassive as I looked back at my father. His sharp eyes bore into mine, waiting for an explanation.
"Eri in albergo con la tua donna(You were at the hotel with your woman,)" he continued with a sneer in his voice. "E la mattina dopo sono arrivati i membri di Mancini a cercarti. Perché non me ne hai parlato? (And the next morning, Mancini soldiers arrived looking for you. Why didn't you mention this to me?)"
"Non l'ho sperimentato(I didn't experience it,)" I replied calmly. "Ho lasciato l'albergo nel cuore della notte. (I left the hotel in the middle of the night)."
My father raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "So che ne hai sentito parlare più tardi, quindi non fingere di non saperlo(I know you heard about it later, so don't pretend you didn't know)," he snapped. He glanced at the photo, smirking."Preoccupato per la donna, eri? (Worried about the woman, were you?)"
I maintained my composure, not letting my emotions betray me. His insinuations were clear, and the danger of this revelation hung in the air like a noose. He leaned back in his chair, asking the inevitable question.
"E chi è lei(And who is she?)"
I could feel Carlo's gaze on the photo, and his interest piqued—my father's gaze, tinged with something more ominous.
Choosing my words carefully, I responded, "Non è una persona importante, padre(She is no one important, Father.)."
The lie rolled off my tongue with practiced ease, a skill honed through years of deception and maneuvering in my father's world. Revealing the truth was not an option; Griselda's safety was my paramount concern, and I would do whatever it took to protect her.
"She was just a one-night stand," I replied, my voice cool and unaffected—a shallow explanation, perhaps, but one that would hopefully satisfy my father's inquisition.
My father gazed at me, his eyes sharp and discerning. He wasn't one to be easily fooled. Instead of challenging me, he stood up slowly, his imposing figure dominating the room. His disappointment was palpable, a crushing presence that made it hard to breathe.
"Sapevi che i Mancini ti erano venuti a cercare. Eppure nemmeno una volta hai pensato che fosse necessario informarmi. Dovevo scoprirlo dal mio informatore. (You knew that the Mancini soldiers had come after you. Yet not once did you think it was necessary to inform me. I had to hear it from my informant.)" His words held a bitter undertone.
Memories of that day flashed through my mind—the anxiety, the fear for Griselda's safety, my mind consumed with worry for her. At that moment, I was oblivious to anything else, focused only on keeping her out of harm's way.
My father's accusations and disappointment made little sense to me, but I held my tongue, swallowing my frustrations and the urge to defend myself. I had learned at a young age that challenging my father was a futile endeavor, a battle I could never win.
Silence enveloped the room, heavy and suffocating. My father's gaze bore into me, and though I longed to express the conflicting emotions within, I remained outwardly composed.
As long as I remained in the mafia, my freedom to act according to my desires would remain an illusion, overshadowed by the loyalty and expectations of those around me.
I shifted my attention away from my father's unwavering gaze, seeking refuge in the room's surroundings. In the dimly lit room, my eyes fell upon a cabinet. My father, seemingly unfazed by the silence, opened the cabinet's door and retrieved a long, menacing whip.
He walked towards me with measured steps, the whip coiled and poised.
The tension in the room thickened, and I braced myself for the inevitable. My father was not a man to be trifled with, and the pain I was about to endure was a harsh reminder of why.
