Page 11 of Ruthless Mafia Daddy

“I’ve never seen a sponsor look so uninterested in his own event.” Enzo’s voice reached my ears before he materialized before me, a glass of whiskey in hand.

“If I hear Mr. Ivanov one more time, I’ll set this building and everything in it on fire.” I hissed.

“You shouldn’t have come then. You’ve done a great job ignoring these events.”

My reply died in my throat when a lock of blonde hair and a very familiar laughter caught my attention. I followed the sound to find her eagerly shaking hands with Xavier and posing for a picture.

She looked even more beautiful than she did two weeks ago, with her hair neatly pinned to the side, enhancing her facial features.

“New mark for tonight?” Enzo chuckled, following my gaze.

“Something like that,” I replied, making my way towards her.

“Isn’t it breathtaking?” She asked as my footsteps slowed to a stop behind her. She was currently standing in front of a giant canvas, holding a champagne flute and staring at the piece like it held the key to eternal life.

“The artist called it the blank canvas because it is perceived differently by all who come across it. Our interpretation of it is flawed by the realities of our lives, but I like to call it the mirror. Whatever you make of it is a reflection of your life.”

I looked at the swirl of color before me, appreciating the strokes and swirls of the brush. It was also the first piece to capture my attention when I walked into the room. It took no particular shape, but it did have a harmony to it. It could be beautiful if you were happy at the same time. I could also see the swirls forming a string of daunting, depressing loops.

“I think it portrays the artist’s struggles to balance the different emotions in life. You only see that which resonates with you, but it doesn’t mean the others are absent.” I could see her shoulders stiffen beneath the silky drapes of her black dress before she turned to face me.

“Mikhail? Didn’t expect to see you here.” She said, a look of surprise briefly crossing her eyes before being replaced by something I couldn’t place.

“That makes the two of us,” I replied, taking my position beside her.

I watched as she took a sip from her glass, my eyes following her lips wrapped around the rim of the glass to the soft bop of her neck as she swallowed. She was absolutely mesmerizing.

“You think this is more about the artist than it is about the viewer?” She questioned, returning her attention to the piece.

“There’s a bit of an artist in every work of his. You can’t have the art without the artist,” I replied, observing how she did nothing to give out the fact that just a few nights ago, we had our tongues deep down each other’s throats.

No blushing or stuttering, she stood perfectly poised, appreciating the work before her.

“So, you’re saying when we purchase art, we purchase a piece of the artist?”

“I’m saying art is a form of expression, and what you pay attention to is what resonates. It’s like those quotes you find on the internet. Some of them feel like they were tailor-made for you, and you might find yourself saving them, but they weren’t. The writer was merely expressing what they were feeling at the time, but you found it years later, and it resonated with you, so you saved it. It’s the same with art.” I replied, holding her gaze.

“Mr. Ivanov, I’m glad you could make it. They’re some people who would love to thank you for your generosity,” Nora, the event host, appeared out of thin air, wearing a ridiculously wide smile. “Not interested, Nora,” I replied, my eyes not leaving Arielle, whose eyes bounced between Nora and me like she was trying to fit the last piece of a jigsaw.

“This is your event?” She finally asked with furrowed brows as the clink of Nora’s heels receded.

“Is there a problem?”

“Oh, not at all,” she replied, swirling the drink in her glass. “I do have a question, though.” She seemed to have a lot of those tonight. She was a lot different from the woman I met in the club. In place of the playful and teasing siren I met at the club was a poised woman who seemed to be in control of all around her.

It felt like we were involved in a dance of some sort. I pushed, and she pulled back. I wanted to peel back every layer she had until she was completely bare before me, not just her body but her mind, too. I wanted to pick her apart till I found what made her stand out among every other woman in the fundraiser.

“Go on.”

“Why children? There’s a lot of charities to support, so why pick children,” She asked, peering at me intently.

Her question took me off guard. It was a question I never saw coming. No one asked the reason behind these events. Some of them barely knew what the fundraiser was for. All they saw was an opportunity to showcase the extent of their wealth, and they seized it.

“Kids are the only innocent members of society, and I don’t think they deserve to suffer because someone decided to bring them into the world without preparing for them.”

It was the only answer I could come up with. Old people already lived their lives and were going to die regardless of what they did. The same can be said for terminally ill folks. But kids, they just got here.

Sometimes, I wondered what would’ve become of my life if my grandfather hadn’t taken me up when my parents abandonedme for a life of pleasure, hopping from country to country while I stayed home patiently waiting for their short annual visits.

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