Chapter 52: Chapter 52

ANGELIC...

The truth is that we are sinking. My dad would never say how much, but I know. Margot didn't buy too much this week, staff numbers were reduced and Elliot Donneli's campaign all but came to a halt. For a politician, it is the bottom. Margot even tried to have afternoon tea with her friends - politicians' wives - today, but to no avail. Only five were present.

I walk over to the dining room table, where my dad and Margot are seated, and take a seat to his left. I grab the towel and place it on my lap.

"Good night," I said. The mood around the table is gloomy.

"Good night," Margot replies. She takes the towel and places it on her lap, quite abruptly. My father sighs.

- What's new? I ask. Gradually, the hunger I felt when I left the room disappeared.

“Tell him,” insists Margot.

I look from one to the other, trying to pick up something. Ever since my father was diagnosed, the problems have kept cropping up. He remains one of the most important figures in the world, but with an end in sight. I'm very surprised that Margot is still with us.

“Things are going to get tough,” is all my dad says.

- Hard? - Margot sniffles, ridiculing - It's hard to have to choose a pair of shoes for every occasion. Our situation is far beyond that.

– Financially? I ask.

“Not only that,” he whispers. Elliot rests his elbows on the table and slides his hands over his face. He seems to have aged ten years since yesterday. His suit is creased, his hair is disheveled - Detective Pierce has gone deeper into his investigations and uncovered more than he should have. He suspects I was involved in the fabric factory fire in the Bronx.

Five years ago, while my father was still campaigning for the second term of office, a fire broke out in the Bronx neighborhood at a fabric factory that created jobs for more than two hundred people. . Ten people died, some were injured and hundreds more were out of work. My father took care of the families of the deceased, offered jobs to the unemployed and restored the factory so that it could function again. He won the election outright. After that, I don't know what happened to those people.

- But... - I am unable to formulate a sentence.

"Our accounts are blocked until the end of Elliot's term," adds Margot.

- It's just a suspicion, isn't it? You... - I lower my voice - You didn't do that.

My utensils are still intact on the table. My heart beats in my chest. Elliot's silence unsettles me. I'm used to Margot's bad temper and futility, but my dad?

"Angélique is the least of our problems", breathes Margot.

My patience evaporates. I was still a child when she arrived, filled our house with her expensive things, threw my mother's things in the trash, and called herself Mrs. Donneli even before the wedding. I watched, no questions asked. However, dealing with his screaming personality is not something I want to do right now.

“Your biggest problem is not having a new dress to wear for the occasion, Margot. My voice rises. Margot shrugs, not denying it. I turn to Elliot – Dad, tell me. You did it?

- Of course not! - he responds immediately

"Let's hope the media doesn't find out," murmurs Margot.

Clear. The worst that can happen is for the media to find out.

“For once in your life, can you stop being so superficial?

“Angelique…” Elliot growls.

- I lost my hunger. Good night!

I push my chair back and stand up. My dad opens his mouth to say something, but I give up and fill it with a sip of water. I run up the stairs to my room. If this hadn't been my mother's home since she was a child, I swear to God I would have given it all up.

Minutes turn into hours and I lost as much sleep as I lost my hunger at dinner. I lay my head against my window pane and think about what I heard. It doesn't surprise me what Margot said, but Elliot... he never cared about being the best person in the world - or the best father - but he seemed to try very hard when my mother was alive.

I feel my phone vibrate in my hand. I was researching recent news from President Elliot Donneli and so far there is no news. It's a call from Skyla.

- Hello - I answer.

- Glad you're awake. What are you doing? – At the sound, I realize that she is chewing gum – Forget it. I'm in front of your house. Want to take a ride?

-Skyla...

“I want to show you something before your father marries you with Vicente.

“Vincenzo”, I correct. She knows that fucking name.

- No matter. We will do it! You don't need to change pajamas.

I look at my outfit. Fine knit shorts and buttoned shirt. If I don't have to get out of the car, great. At least I really hope she has a car.

"Okay," I finally confirm.

Party girls don't get hurt

I feel nothing, when will I learn?

I push it down, push it down

I throw the phone on the bed and leave the room. At that time, all cell phones in the house were tapped. The detective does not want to leave a void in the largest possible investigation of his career. I walk slowly down the second floor hallway, glancing around to make sure there are no night guards around.

All the lights are off and only the garden lights are reflected in the hallway. I tiptoe down the stairs, scanning the first floor. No sign of security and thank goodness Marcos only works during the day.

I'm an adult, I'm not old enough to run away at dawn, yet the least we expect from the president's daughter is discretion. I can't do what I want, appear in the media as a rebel. Absolutely everything in my life was designed to honor Elliot's political life.

I run into the kitchen to exit through the back door. I pass Geneviève's room, the door of which is closed, and I go out through the garden doors. I run to the third gate of the property, the staff entrance and exit. I try to pull the latch, but it's locked. It's clear!

"Damn," I mumble.

"Let's get changed," I hear one of the security guards say from somewhere in the garden. Then I see his flashlight flashing, indicating that he is walking.

Suddenly I'm fifteen again and running off with Skyla to her boyfriend's house. Good times, by the way.

The security guard walks to the kitchen doors to switch shifts. At this point, I take a deep breath, think a second time, and make up my mind. I'm going to jump over the door. I can't hold on for too long, so I grab the bars with both hands, put my right foot in an opening, and climb.

The door is higher than I imagined. Damn it. I keep climbing to the top, then swing my legs to the other side. I look down, but the darkness doesn't allow me to see the ground. I try to put my foot in the opening, but it goes down and I slip.

- Oh! - shout. I manage to stabilize my hands on the bars and not fall slumped on the ground. I look around the property to make sure they haven't heard my scream. I do not think so.

More carefully, I finish going down the gate. When my feet hit the asphalt, I rushed down the street. It wasn't that difficult. Skyla's Porsche 911 is parked across the street. I look both ways and cross.

Now that I've gotten over the youthful urge to run away from home, I'm beginning to feel the cool morning breeze ripping through the silk of my pajamas. But, I confess, I wouldn't trade this moment for my warm bed.

Arrived at its height, I open the door of the car and get on board.

- You really haven't taken your pajamas off - Skyla laughs.

I look at her, with her auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail, her tight jeans and her T-shirt. She's up to something, but what exactly?

- You told me not to.

She nods and, without more words, begins to drive. The heating is on, pop music plays on the radio. If I didn't know the friend I have, I'd say it's just a walk.

- Where are we going? I ask.

"Bronx," she replies matter-of-factly.

- Because?

- You will see.

– I've never been to the Bronx. This is where the factory was – I am commenting. I know it's a very poor neighborhood and it has a high crime rate. However, I have never seen more than one photo of the Bronx.

- Yes it is. But we won't see any tragedies there. I mean, maybe some, but that's not the intention.

Skyla is different from girls our age, in our social status. She is not like her mother, although she learned a lot from her. Skyla isn't the type of woman to get married, have kids, and run a mansion, and every time I'm around her, I wonder if I am. Skyla is a free spirit, a force of nature.

– The streets are unlike anything you have ever seen. People have nothing to lose, so they always play dirty,” she says. I frown. Does that mean Skyla visits the Bronx often? No problem, of course, but what are you interested in?

I won't ask any questions. I want to see the answers with my own eyes. I watch the streets as she drives. We crossed all the boundaries of New York that I had never seen before. My heart pounds in my chest with impatience.

The town is not very crowded, especially when crossing the bridge. The Bronx neighborhood is unmistakable. On one side, the billion-dollar buildings. On the other, small poorly finished houses and dark streets. As we enter the neighborhood, Skyla slows down.

My eyes are wide open, absorbing everything around us. In all my escapes – which have been few – I have never been in a place so forsaken by God.

Skyla heads for what appears to be the furthest part, an area surrounded by railings. But despite the fence, the doors are open and the Porsche passes through them. Fear and emotion are mixed feelings in me.

Gradually, I begin to hear music playing. As we get closer, it becomes more audible. I can see the group of cars and headlights in front of me. I look at Skyla, worried about how she came to know this place. By the way, what place is it?

Skyla stops her car next to a few others, all parked in the middle of the street. Although, I think this area is not open to traffic.

“Pray that they never know who you are,” she whispers.

- Nothing else?

- Caution. It's an addictive life.

I have to remember to debrief Skyla later. She's never been a good girl, really, but all that...

I nod my head in confirmation. The forbidden life is probably the best of lives. She gives me a wink and, without further ado, opens the car door and gets out. As if it were possible, my heart beats faster. What am I supposed to do now? Go, stay or wait?

My hand shakes as I grab the doorknob, but after stepping through the gate to my own home, I use the same courage to open the door. In the same second, the music explodes in my ears. I smell the street, the asphalt and the tires, and it's not really bad.

Skyla walks around the car and catches up to me. His smile crosses his whole face. As unlikely as it may seem, she is at home.

- Why do you do that? I ask.

“For the same reason you would.

“If my father suspected that I knew the Bronx, he would die. I shake my head, almost amused.

"Your father or Vicenzo?" - she teases. I roll my eyes.

I look around me again, then my pajamas. Here, people look at us without scruple. They don't look away or hide, because they know they're in their habitat, and I'm not. The women wear short clothes and a lot of make-up, most accompany a man. I just don't want to be prejudiced by saying that they look like call girls.

"I need to settle something inside." Skyla points to the building behind us. I turn to look. Interestingly, this is the fabric factory that was burnt down and restored, although it doesn't seem to have done much after the renovation – Can you wait for me here?

"Yes, I...of course I can," I stutter, in a clumsy attempt not to show my fear. She smiles.

"They won't play with you," he guarantees. Skyla kisses my forehead - You are beautiful in a bad way.

She heads for the old factory, leaving me alone, surrounded by dozens of strangers, probably capable of terrifying me with just two words. I start rubbing my goosebumps from the cold and lean against the car, because I hope they know it's her car, and I hope they know who she is.

My stomach churns in anticipation, but for some reason I don't want to leave. I want to live it. This place reminds me of the first time I saw Bruce Campbell, the man I've been avoiding thinking about for a few hours, because that kind of emotion, experience, is against all laws. The danger that calls is the same as the danger that burns, and all of this makes me feel alive.