The Mafia King's Rebel

Chapter 7:

Camilla:

“Tell me, Camilla, what has my grandson been up to lately?” My mother asks, completely calm as she takes a sip from the glass of wine on the table.

I place my hand on my lap and sigh. “He has been quiet lately, mom.”

The grandfather clock on the wall ticks absentmindedly as I hold my breath, waiting for her next words. It has always been like this between us—this quiet cat and mouse pull.

“He's an ungrateful bastard, after everything I did for him, he shows up to the gala with a girlfriend and storms away,” my mother huffs, “he gets it all from his mother.”

I don't say a word.

“He has this twisted version in his head that we hate him, and do we? I mean, after his parents died, your father and I took him into the West mansion and raised him to the man he is now.” She shakes her head, and sighs.

I just nod my head in agreement…when is she going to remember that it's my thirtieth birthday today? Ever since she dropped by for a glass of wine, she hasn't said a single word about it.

I clench my knuckles into a fist. I was twelve when I was adopted into the West family. I thought it would be everything I have dreamed of: new family, new friends, new everything but instead, all I got is a family who's obsessed with wealth that they would discard anything that's an obstacle.

My mother looks up at me and a smile gracefully touches her lips. “Beatrice's birthday is next week, right? Please remind me to send her a self-care package, that woman has been working too hard.” She says, referring to my sister, her blood daughter.

All the hope inside me deflates, I'll always be a stranger in this household. When you've always been neglected, you learn how to say the right words that will please your mother, or do whatever it is that I'm asked to do.

My mother stands up, and dusts her hand against her cream trousers. At just seventy-four, she is the star of West Media, the iron-fist lady who takes no nonsense, everyone envies her, she has everyone wrapped around her finger.

“I have to have dinner with one of my directors in twenty minutes.” She looks at the wristwatch on her wrist before watching me slowly. “Oh, darling…I couldn't help but notice that your husband has been missing family lunches quite more than often.”

“He has been busy.” My posture turns stiff as the words come out from my mouth.

The look my mother gives me is intense. “Oh honey, every man is busy. You have always been a beautiful woman, Camilla, but beauty requires maintenance.” Her gaze stays fixed on my blouse. “If he has his eyes outside, then you have to bring it back inside.”

Did my mother just suggest that my husband is cheating on me blandly to my face? Why does smacking the truth in my face hurt so much? Zion has been busy more than often, he always comes home with a woman's perfume on his suit, and whenever I'm nearby, he hides his phone away from me. The last blow was him forgetting our anniversary dinner because he was stuck in a meeting with his ‘assistant’

“Mother—” I try saying.

“Zion is an important asset to the West family, try to fix what you broke. A marriage is like a film, if the audience loses interest, someone else becomes the leading lady.” Her smile is emotionless, “have a lovely night.” She excuses herself from the living room, leaving me sitting there.

My chest tightens as I pick up my phone and see no new message from my husband. It's 10pm and there's not a single happy birthday message, he had left me in bed early this morning, and there was part of me–still hoping he will remember.

Zion and I met when we were twenty-three, mother had arranged a blind date. We aren't in love but at least, we like each other enough to remain faithful to each other.

I check my phone again: there's not a single message from dad, neither from my two sisters, my phone screen is blank.

I want to yell, to slam something against the wall. At this moment, I feel like a frightened thirteen year old, trying to please everyone. Not tonight, I can't please anyone right now.

I take my keys and grab my coat. If I am going to cry today, then I'm going to do it surrounded by alcohol and music. My stop is the Golden Retreat, one of the most expensive bars in New York City. I spot an empty VIP spot, and I swirl the amber liquid drink in my hand.

One glass turns to two, then three. The edges around my eyes are already starting to get blurry.

I can feel an intense stare on me, and when I turn, a pair of dark brown eyes greets me from across the room, he continues making eye contact from the stool at the counter, not even bothering to break it. His hand is around a glass of wine, and he swirls it lazily.

Something about that intense stare makes my stomach clench. He drops the glass on the table and makes his way towards me, slowly.

My breath hitches when he finally reaches my side and takes a seat without asking.

“Celebrating?” He asks, his deep voice sending something like dread to the pit of my stomach, even though I'm drunk, I access this man, he has chestnut brown hair, with strands falling lazily over his face, he doesn't attempt to push them back up. Tattoos swirl around the nape of his neck, disappearing into his shirt.

“Yes,” I finally gather the courage to speak. “It's my birthday, but no one remembered.” It sounds pathetic coming out like that but it's the truth, if this stranger is going to judge me, then I might as well be drunk to see it.

“Even your husband?” His eyes are glued on my huge wedding band sitting delicately on my finger. Shame presses heavily into me, because it's true. What kind of husband doesn't remember his wife's birthday?

“Yes.” I swallow the lump of tears that's already building in my throat. Damn it, everyone knows me as strong, I access, observe and do things right, but this stranger's attempt to make me into an emotional crumpled mess is working.

“What's your name?” He asks.

“Camilla.”

“Then…happy birthday, Camilla.” the way he says it…so familiar. I look away before I can dwell on it.

“Thank you.” I say, this man's presence is intimidating and yet, I don't want him to leave me alone…maybe it's because I have been alone all my life.

“My name is Nico.” He's still staring intently, watching my every expression.

Nico.

Something in me stumbles. My brows knit together, can it be..? No, I haven't seen or heard anything about him in twelve years.

“Nico Rossi.” His gaze flickers up and down my face as relief and disappointment envelopes me all at once. “Something wrong?” He asks.

“I used to know someone named Nico.” The confession slips out of me before I can stop it.

“Used to?” Under the lights, his brown eyes are dark, it's drawing me in like a magnet. Even though soft music is playing in the background, my body is drawn to this man.

“It was unfortunate.” Is the only thing I say, before taking a huge gulp of the glass of whiskey. He doesn't tell me to quit drinking, he just keeps staring at me so intensely.

When was the last time Zion looked at me like that? Like he was still interested in me. We were not madly in love, but at least, we had something.

“I think my husband is cheating on me.” I blurt out and I swear I can see his eyes darken from beneath the light.

“That's unfortunate, you should file for a divorce.” He knits his brows together.

“It's not that easy.” I am not a normal woman working a 9-5 job who can divorce her cheating husband however, I have a family's legacy to uphold to, mom would hate me forever. Whenever I don't do what she wants, she punishes me with silence.

The memories overlap, slamming into my head at once.

‘You don't always have to steal food. You could always say you're hungry.’ I tell him, standing in the kitchen doorway, while placing my hands on my hips.

The sixteen year old boy smirked at me from the counter, shoving a chocolate bar into his pocket. ‘Who’s going to listen to the chef’s son?’

‘I would listen.’ I say, watching the way his eyes gleam with amusement. I know I shouldn't be talking to the chef’s son. If Beatrice, my elder sister, catches me, she's going to tell mom and I can't allow that.

‘That’s because you like me.’ He grins hard.

The memory shifts.

I had just turned seventeen, and I was feeling daring that night as I barged into his room.

‘Cami, you aren't supposed to be in my room, what are you doing here?’ he stood up from the bed as I strode towards him.

‘You’re too slow, dumbass.’ I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss. My first kiss. It was everything I've wanted and more.

He pulls back, looking at me with panicked eyes. ‘Cami, we can't do this. My mother works for your family, people will talk if they find out, she'll lose her job.’

Of course I understand the consequences, my mother made it a rule that we're to have no relationship with any of the staff, but Nico was different, he got me. He understood me. He made me laugh, he wasn't like those snobby kids at my high school academy who cared about getting the latest car, or the latest designer bag.

Nico didn't care about all of that, he was passionate about his mom, he was passionate about a lot of other things.

‘I have been obsessed about you for months, nobody needs to know. Don't you like me?’ I ask gently, my heart beating so loudly.

‘My soul, my body, my heart belongs to you. You're the first thing I think about and the last thing I want to admit. I hate what you do to my head. Does that answer your question?’ Nico exhales roughly, his dark eyes piercing into me.

The memory shifts into an uncomfortable one.

Everyone gathered in the West’s family mansion main hall, Miss. Romano, Nico's mother in the center, on her knees begging.

‘I saw her trying to poison mother, Camilla saw her too!” Beatrice, my elder sister yells, rain drops drip against the glass pane. I was standing there, trembling, watching Nico on his knees.

Malakai, my cousin, was staring intensely.

Evelyn West’s icy stare meets mine. At that moment, I know my mother could be scary as hell. When I was adopted into the family at the age of thirteen, I didn't know that this was what awaited me. I was excited to get out of that hellhole only to be thrown into another hell, the difference here is that everyone pretends that the fire doesn't burn.

‘Camilla, is this true? Whatever you say now determines what happens next.’ my mother says. Nico looked at me and I saw the raw, desperate pleading in his eyes, but I can't look him in the eye.

Instead, I hold my chin up and say. ‘It’s true, Nico’s mother tried to poison you.’

‘Camillia—’ Nico fires.

‘Don’t speak to me. Also mother, Nico has been trying to make advances at me for the past couple months. I told him that I'm not interested, but he keeps persisting.’ My voice trembled, but what could I do? It had already been done. Betrayal churned at my stomach violently, and I didn't want to look at his face.

Because damn it— I can't bear to look at him.

‘That settles it then, throw them both out of my mansion into the rain, blacklist her from ever working with a family ever again, and strip them of everything they have, let them take nothing with them!’ my mother yells.

The next day, I woke up with my first ever panic attack.

Tears are blurring around my edges, every day, I try to press the memory to the ground, as though I can burn it all into ashes, but I can't…because it's always going to be there.

I drop the glass of whiskey on the table and grab my purse. I can't do this, it's my birthday tonight and the only thing on my mind is how I kissed Nico by this time, thirteen years ago.

“I have to go.” I tell the stranger who bears the same name as the man I betrayed. “Have fun tonight.” As I walk out of the bar, I stumble in my steps, the tears slipping down my face. Tonight, I'm allowed to be weak, I'm allowed to forget that I have a cheating husband, and I'm allowed to forget that I'm thrown into a family who only cares about themselves.

I can be weak today but tomorrow, I'll pick myself back up.