I stood, adjusting the lapels of my coat as I glanced down at Marceaux.
He sat there, his glass of whiskey still in hand, watching me with that same unreadable smirk.
"Thank you," I said, with calm but firm voice, making sure that was no emotion, since he warned me about that. "For everything," I added
His smirk grew, but darker, eyes gleaming with something knowing. "Don’t thank me yet, bambina. You haven't won."
Bambina.
It has been years he called me that, a name only he was allowed to call me.
It meant, baby girls, and I couldn't argue with it.
I was his baby girl after all, and he was also a special person to me, after my father.
Speaking of which, I missed him alot, and I couldn't help but sorry how he was coping with mother.
However, that wasn't the main issue at hand, I
