GOING FOR DAMIAN

We have less than an hour. I can't afford to fail my father on this wish, however cliche it seems to me. Knowing him, he will throw a fuss until he gets what he wants. He will never agree to get into the theater without seeing Damian. I need to do something.


I peek through the window. Well, the senior witch in the mask of my father's wife seems to be taking her time with her husband. The way she is caressing his face, speaking with so much worry as if she cares. What is the title of this soap opera they are casting again?

I would peek through this window the whole day and enjoy this drama because I am dying to know what she is telling my father, who is playing deaf and mute to her, but I know that this witch has peels and peels of fake masks. I do think I can study them in a single day, and this isn't the right time either. There will come a day when I will unveil the real monsters behind these masks she and her daughter wear. I will peel those masks off their deceitful faces one by one someday, but for now, I need to do this for my father.

I hike to the parking lot, where Mark is patiently waiting in the car. It is not like he had a choice anyway. I don't even wait for him to open the door for me. I slop into the car.


"Let's go, Mark," I say.

"Where to, miss?" He asks as he ignites the engine.


"To the Riccaforte's mansion. And please hurry. It is very urgent," I say, and Mark doesn't say another word. He is always understanding. He understands and does his job perfectly well. He knows his work, and he respects me and his job so much.

We drive out of the hospital and hit the road to my fucking betrothed's home while I fiddle with the ring on my finger. Why am I even still wearing this thing? The funny thing is, no matter how many times I have asked myself this question, I have not found the courage to take it out of my finger. Even now, I know I will just play with it, tilt it round and round, and then I will forget to take it off.

He doesn't want to speak to me? He doesn't want to see me? He is punishing me? Whatever his justifications for not picking up my calls are, I don't care, but I need him for my father. I will drag your ass to the hospital if need be and at whatever cost. Damian Almeda Riccaforte!

The sound of that name stirs my anger. I am so mad at him for lying to me. He made a good fool out of me. No wonder he was so mad at that friend of his at the hotel.

"Does she know...?"

It rings a bell now! He wanted to ask Damian if I knew who Damian really was. If I knew that Damian was my betrothed. That was why Damian cut him off and walked me out. What a smart jerk! He played his cards well.

How could I not have noticed? Why didn't I know that all his fears and insecurities were rooted somewhere? But I sensed it, only too late. I mean, his actions spoke volumes. I was beginning to feel like I needed to do something to understand where all those fears he had for me were coming from. But this had to happen—Papa's ailment. And the truth had to slap me in the face this way, and I hate Damian for doing this to me. It sucks!

He fucking stinks!

"We are here, Miss Ellie!"

Damn it! I didn't even know we had already arrived at Riccaforte's mansion, and my chauffeur had already gotten out to get the door for me. Screw this jerk called Damian for messing with my brain and my sanity this way. To think that I called him my sanity. But, indeed, he actually is, because I wouldn't be this messed up if he wasn't! I can only hope that he is inside. The worst would be to find out that he has gone back to Mombasa. That would kill me. What would I tell my father?

I step out of the car and tap my feet on the sparkling marble-tiled floor. Just like us, the Riccaforte's security stinks! Guards are sprawled everywhere like flies, and the reason we weren't stopped at the gate is simply because our families are so close. I feel like I am walking inside a detention cell with maximum security as I make my way to the doorway. There is no way I am going to bring up my kids in this kind of environment. Men, I would be quivering in fear if I didn't know how this felt.

"Greetings, Miss Riccaford!" A guard greets me at the doorway.

Well, I think I should retrieve my statement about comparing the security here with ours. Theirs is way too much because I don't remember us having a dozen of watchdogs at our doorstep.

"Greetings. Are the bosses inside?" I don't want to say that I am here only for that Damian jerk.

"Yes, miss Riccaford. They are all in. Welcome," the security guard responds nicely while the rest stays on guard.

He opens the door for me, and I saunter inside, hoping to be greeted by a serene, tranquil environment like what the beauty outside this mansion exudes, but on the contrary, I am welcomed by reverberating yells coming from the dining area.

I stop in my strides as the door slams shut behind me.

Two raging lions are at each other's throats, ready to tear each other into the tiniest pieces—Damian and his father—while Mrs. Riccaforte is sneaking her way between them to stop them from going physical. They are like the two antagonistic lions, or two mafia lords in a cross-fight—bold, dangerously daring, and boiling in fury!

Goodness! What the hell is just happening here?