Chapter 65: Chapter 65

ANGELIC...

My feet hurt every time they hit the ground, but I refuse to stop running until the two fucking miles. That has to be my best quality: perseverance. I run like my life depends on it, but I pretend I don't feel my lower muscles burning. I hum along to the music playing in my headphones, paying attention to something other than fatigue.

Holy curiosity. Why did I go to the Bronx? Why did I need to see LeBlanc being mean to be sure he was mean? Now my head is spinning around the same topic.

I try to focus on the lyrics that are screaming in my ears, but honestly, it's hard not to think about the feeling stirring inside me. It's new, it's strong, it's hot. And all this is even more intense around him.

However, I am a religious girl. I believe in God's plans, and I know he would never plan LeBlanc for me. I believe you deserve better. He's an attractive man, and all the neighbors can confirm that, but that doesn't mean I want to have him. It's just curiosity.

Inevitably, I come home. I pushed myself to the limit as much as I could. I step into the marquee and spot Bruce's Bugatti – as if that's his real name – just ahead. And unsurprisingly, the married neighbors, unfortunately for themselves, also decided to go for a walk.

They use what suits them best. If they contain silicone, wear short, tight tops. If they have liposuction, they make it a point to show off their flat stomach.

I slow down as I climb the front steps, but I deny that I do so to analyze the details of the car. I'm just tired from running.

On the other side of the sidewalk, two young women are on bicycles. Well, they definitely have breast implants and liposuction, because they're wearing clothes that would raise Father Bee's rosary in their sight. The women chat casually, as if they haven't stopped outside the Donneli mansion to be seen casually by LeBlanc as he leaves.

One of them is Maria Glyn, a very young woman who married a very old man in the late seventies. There are those who say she has a financial interest, but the truth is that no one but her could stand George Glyn's arrogance, so she did him a favor by accepting his marriage proposal.

The two women chat for a few more seconds, then start pedaling away from the house. Of course, they can always come back tomorrow at the same time.

I finish climbing the stairs, I open the door and I enter. I turn off the music and remove the headphones, leaving everything on the hall table.

My mind keeps replaying the scene from last night. He punched Max, but it wasn't for me, it was to reassert his power over everything going on in the Bronx. It couldn't be more ridiculous.

I'm about to go up the stairs when I see a figure moving outside the house near the pool. By the traditional colored shirt and black pants, I recognize Vicenzo Mares.

Deep breath. I turn and walk towards him, through the large glass doors. I haven't forgotten our last conversation, so I want to throw it in the pool. As my etiquette teacher would say, the fun is in the present.

As I approach, I notice that he is talking on the phone. I stop at a good distance so as not to invade his privacy. I am not like him. Vicenzo sees me and waves at me, holding out a finger to indicate that it will only take a minute.

- Right. We'll make up later – he ends the call and puts his cell phone in his pocket – Angelique – waves. He's smiling, and I never know if he's seeing someone he loves or just seeing the dollars he's going to make. Probably both.

- Vicenzo.

- My father is in a meeting here. You know, we never got into the really big stuff.

He acts like he wasn't an asshole yesterday.

Vicenzo slides his eyes over my body, something he's never done. Or at least, I've never seen him do that. It makes me sick just to think of what he becomes to please his father. I zip the sweatshirt up to the base of my neck out of respect for myself. I'm wearing a black cotton set and a white top.

- Well, I'm going to take a shower. If you want, you can wait for your father in the living room – I suggest that, because I was brought up very well.

- Thanks. But I would like to talk to you - he lowers his head - You know I was an asshole yesterday.

I analyze the situation. He wants to pass the ring on my finger before the election, because a married candidate is more popular than a promiscuous candidate.

- Its good. I'm going to take a shower first.

I leave before he has a chance to ask me to undress here. I enter the house, climb the stairs and go to my room. Then it occurs to me that Senator Mares and the liar Bruce Campbell are here, meeting together. Until yesterday, Vicenzo said the senator hated the way Campbell was taking over the city.

The rest of the house is empty. It seems that Elliot fired all the staff for confidentiality reasons during his meeting. The silence is sepulchral.

I take a quick shower in my bathroom, pin my hair on top of my head, and choose a bikini. This time, the one that covers me decently. I vividly remember the day I met LeBlanc in the living room and he saw the child-sized bikini I was wearing. I take a towel, wrap it around me and go downstairs.

On the first floor, back to the swimming pool. Vicenzo is sitting on a deckchair, under a parasol.

'I'd like to talk about…' I'm cut off.

- Marriage, I presume.

- The wedding? I almost laugh, but he's staring at me so seriously that I freeze in place, my smile slowly fading.

- I'm just kidding. Sit.

I sit down on the deckchair in front of him.

- Yesterday you had something against Le... Bruce, and today you're here, waiting for him to decide something important with your father.

- It's politics. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Does it hurt you? Or something else ?

Well, I have a long list of things that bother me, but they would take up all of our time, so I shake my head.

- Nothing bothers me, I don't think.

- What are you thinking, then?

Vicenzo's eyes sparkle as he looks at me, because he's absolutely sure I'll never confess anything serious. I am an obedient lamb, made only to be a copy of what your mother is to your father.

- During our last conversation – I take a deep breath. No more thinking and never saying - Even if Bruce was a criminal, a maniac, you had no right to try to direct me, let alone hang up on me. I don't know what you think you are, but your dad's just a senator. A. Not the only one, let alone the most important – I pause to see his expression deflate – And, yes, my dad would probably do anything for public support and money, but so would you and the senator. Even your mother did. Don't judge me, and don't judge my family, because we're all the same futile, despicable thing - I see him holding the phone in his hands - And I'd rather spend the rest of my life under one roof like Bruce Campbell than to use his ridiculous surname.

Vicenzo stares at me as if he could vent his anger.

- Angelique - he begins, low and deceptively sweet.

However, we heard the doors open behind me and we both turned around. Senator Mares walks towards us, a smile crossing his face.

- Angelique, honey. It's always nice to see you.

- Senator - I stand up when he joins me and we shake hands.

Mares is short, a little taller than me, bald and has a bulging belly. The size of your ego would never fit into your body.

- We've done something big now. Why don't they come and drink? - The senator looks from me to his son, just behind him.

- Of course - Vicenzo agrees, and I hear him get up.

The senator lets go of my hand, but only to place his on my lower back and propel me forward. I'd say I need to dress more appropriately for the occasion, but the truth is, I don't care now. I feel like this is all going to crumble in no time, and my years of trying to look exemplary will turn to dust.

- Tell me honey. See you at mass tomorrow? – Mares asks.

- Maybe I can't go, because I have an etiquette class.

- You can always come back at the next mass. Don't worry, Angelic, you're a golden girl, and I know it. he said smiling warmly.

We entered the house, with Vicenzo close at hand, and headed for the meeting room. I feel disgusted by the part of me that the senator touches. Not only is he a physically ugly old man, but he is such a repulsive man that he would do anything for more power. Anything. I could run, if it didn't look so incriminating, so I walk.

When we pull up to the door to the conference room, I wrap the towel more tightly around me. I don't know how many people, and which ones, are here. For the daughter of a businessman, this is nothing new. I grew up with men in suits and extremely formal women filling the house. The senator knocks on the door and then opens it.

The meeting room is spacious, with a large table surrounded by chairs. There are four people in the room, including Elliot and LeBlanc. The others are the senator's assistant and a woman I don't remember seeing. All of their MacBooks are open on the table.

Suddenly look at the towel I'm using. I feel shivers and discomfort run down my spine as the senator pushes me inside. The people in this room look like predators.

- The boys were in the pool. I toasted them,” the senator said.

He goes to the corner of the room, where the flutes and the bubbles are. People stop looking at me when they notice me blushing.

The woman, a tall redhead who is still wearing heels, leans over and says something privately to LeBlanc. However, he is still taller than her. I don't know him, but seeing his arched eyebrow in an almost ironic expression, I know he doesn't agree with what is being said.

I don't want to watch him while he's in his world, doing what he does best, but I do. LeBlanc slides a hand through his hair and knocks the strands out of alignment. He shakes his head in denial and says something I can't hear.

- Good - the senator comes back with two glasses, handing them to me and to Vicenzo, who is next to me. Strangely, he seems to be the most harmless here. I accept the crystal goblet.

The woman moves over, takes two glasses from the corner table and comes back, handing one to LeBlanc. The assistant to the senator is at the service of others.

- Today we signed a good peace agreement. And more than that, a friendship. America and Europe have never been so close – murmurs Elliot raising his glass.

- Towards the future – the woman raises her glass.

- Towards the future – everyone says in unison.

I hate bubbly, but I hold my breath and take a sip when the time comes. Through the glass of the goblet, I see the woman toasting with LeBlanc. Good God, I don't care.

I look, almost instinctively, at his hand. I remember how warm and cozy they were. That hand, which finally held mine en masse, is the same one that made Max's face bleed.

When I lower the glass, the liquid is practically intact. I still leave it on the conference table.

- Thank you for this moment, madam and gentlemen. Now I'm going to let them celebrate, I say, already turning to leave.

I refuse to look at LeBlanc one last time. I know your eyes are on me. I feel. But I won't do it for him.

"I'll go with you," I hear Vicenzo say. No matter.

We left the meeting room as we entered, without any importance. I notice that the sun has already set and dusk is slowly falling. Fatigue from the afternoon run hits, and all I want is my bed.

- I'm going up. Thanks for the discussion, I whisper.

- I hope you will hear me, another time.

- We'll see, right?

I turn around the corner to access the stairs, not paying attention to anything Vicenzo might have to say. However, I stop dead when I see LeBlanc. Not exactly a surprise. Part of me knew he would come. I think what made me stop and widen my eyes was the anticipation.

He approaches. I move away, by instinct of…survival, perhaps. However, he continues to approach slowly. The shiny shoe hits the ground elegantly, without any haste. Each step multiplies my heart rate.

- Sir... - I barely have time to finish a word. He walks quickly towards me, and pushes me against the wall, placing a hand on my lips.

I catch my breath as my back hits the home plate behind me. God bless me.

LeBlanc walks up, very close, and doesn't stop until our chests are two inches from touching. He covers my sight, because he is taller and more robust than me.

I feel you at each of the four poles. This exquisite fragrance, with a touch of import. And even if another man wore the same perfume, he wouldn't smell like him. It wouldn't be LeBlanc.

My heart beats wildly. His eyes lock on mine until I decide to lower my head and look away because I feel warm, uncomfortable. Has he lost his mind?

"There's someone in the house," he whispers.

I shake my head. I don't trust him. I do not believe that.

- Last time, was I wrong? - asks LeBlanc, I remain silent. He approaches, intrusively, even more, making me press my body against the wall, in order to sink the marble. His eyes are dark, almost hiding the green. If I was better at reading people, I could tell he's pissed off. Very, very angry – Where's your room?

I'm not going to deny it, the way he talks to me scares me. Maybe because no one has ever treated me that way. Not even the rudest person I know.

I nod towards the stairs. In the White House bombing, he really wasn't wrong.

He slowly pulls his hand away from my mouth, still convincing himself that I'm not going to scream. His large body takes up considerable space in my opinion, as he is a very tall man.

As LeBlanc takes my hand and begins to lead me up the stairs, I see a dark figure circle the corner of the hallway. Everything is happening very quickly before my eyes. He's a man, and he wears black clothes and a mask, covering his whole face.

The man is armed, and as he approaches us, he cocks his long gun, making every hair on my body tingle. LeBlanc lets go of my hand. He kicks the Man in Black in the chest, sending him slamming his back against home plate. The weapon falls to the ground next to you.

I observe the static scene, as if in this way I could make myself invisible. LeBlanc slams the other man's head against the wall, and he falls to the ground. The stain on the marble takes on a red stain.

- To go up! - The LeBlanc orders. It only takes me a second to comply.

I run up the stairs. I look back, seeing the man in black lying on the ground in a position impossible for someone alive. Oh my God! He is dead?

When I reach the first step, I look up to see another man stepping down. He is dressed exactly like the first, including the mask. My lips part to scream, but before they do, I hear a gunshot. The man at the top of the stairs falls from the blow which lands in the middle of his forehead. His body rolls down the stairs and stops in the middle of the stairs, staining everything with blood.

I look back and see LeBlanc with the gun drawn. He nods nonchalantly, as if he hadn't just killed someone.

I force my legs to work and run upstairs. I pass the man in the middle of the stairs, tears in his eyes to have seen this, but forbidding me to stop.

LeBlanc comes up right behind me. At one point he takes the lead, keeping me behind. Upstairs, he arrives first, looking around to make sure of the perimeter. I don't trust him any more than I trust those dead men upstairs, but I'm out of options.

- What is the door to your room? - question.

“ The… second,” I stutter, shaking with fear.

We walk to the second door, he opens it and enters. I follow your steps. LeBlanc grabs my wrist and pulls me to the bathroom. I almost refuse to go, however, he knows more about survival than I do.

- Lock yourself in here. If someone comes in, jumps out the window and leaves with my car – he takes the key card out of his pocket and hands it to me.

LeBlanc puts me in the bathroom and stands outside. Lock me up. Jump out the window and flee with the car. What madness is this?

"Just in case," he mutters, dropping the gun on the bathroom floor.

'I can't… I can't,' I whisper.

- Do as I say.

I fall into despair. Now, out of control, tears are streaming down my face. I saw a man die!

- You fight... and you know how to handle a weapon. Who are you?

- It doesn't matter now. Stay alive – that said, LeBlanc closes the bathroom door. I only hear his footsteps moving away, then closing the bedroom door as my eyes fix on the gun he left on the floor.