"Deymiara Mort," I replied in a concise tone.
"Alright," she opened the door and left, and I called out, "Thank you."
The last image I caught was the girl's smile as she closed the door. I shut my eyes momentarily, preventing a sudden stumble, then stole a glance at the mirror. In just a matter of minutes, I emerged from the stifling restroom and made my way to the classroom.
"Carner! Well, I certainly wasn't expecting that from you!" the history teacher exclaimed upon my entrance. "You're half an hour late! What kind of misconduct is this?"
"I'm sorry, I encountered some unforeseen issues," I explained.
"Alright, this is forgiven for the first time," the woman nodded, and I took my seat.
"Where were you?! You said you were going to the bathroom! Did you get into a fight? And where are your glasses? Can you see? Is everything okay? Why are you silent? What's in your hands? And your face?" Grace Mort bombarded me with questions.
"I'll tell you everything, absolutely everything. Just make sure you shout loud enough for everyone to hear and start spreading rumors," I responded.
"Alright," he grumbled, "but Julian, I promise you, one day I'll definitely get back at you!"
"For what?"
"Maybe you could have been my first, relatively decent friend, but know that I was almost going crazy when my sister told me you almost died. Why do you put yourself in danger, you idiot? Damn bastard!"
After the class, in the restroom, I recounted the entire ordeal as it happened. Grace occasionally erupted in anger, threatening to strangle Luke with his own hands. He was on the verge of exploding. At times, his gaze flickered to his phone, where messages from Damara were likely pouring in. Immediately after the assassination, she had gone to the mafia headquarters to change clothes and rest.
She wouldn't have returned to school, still covered in blood.
"That... she killed people in front of you?" he asked incredulously.
"Yeah, but she saved me," I shrugged.
"And afterward, did she threaten you?"
"No."
"Told you not to say a word?"
"No."
"Weird," Mort barely said. The brunette assisted me with my wound, and I was immensely grateful. The boys who had been banging on the locked doors in the restroom had riled him up, and he left to teach them a lesson.
When we were back in class, as Karen had put it, Gray asked, "Julian, how could you change so quickly? You look better."
Throughout the lesson, they whispered and glanced at me, and Karen's voice held a hint of suspicion. "Did you see Luke? He had a summary to give me, and he disappeared."
Mort and I exchanged a glance and nearly burst out laughing.
* * *
The Mort family mansion was grand, bordering on colossal. It was cloaked in dark hues, reminiscent of the mafia style. Some parts of the building resembled an ancient palace. The mansion's grounds were vast, not even accounting for the garden, the combat training area, the parking lot, the underground bunker, and the adjacent forest.
The mansion held over 50 rooms, not counting the living room and the dining room, which were the largest. The lighting in these rooms was always subdued to prevent damaging the eyes of family members. It almost felt like every corner was adorned with gold-framed paintings, sculptures, and statuettes, giving an air of opulence. A grand fireplace and various trinkets adorned the space.
On the large table, beside each family member's seat, stood a wineglass. A glass of wine, which they had been accustomed to drinking since the age of 10. It was a Mort family tradition. Two extravagant bouquets of crimson-red roses graced the table, filling the room with their fragrance.
"Grace hasn't arrived yet?" the girl in the elegant, dark green dress asked with concern. Her lips were tinted with a delicate shade of pink, courtesy of an expensive balm. Her eyes, a mix of blue with a touch of dark blue, matched her slightly wavy, black hair. Her name was Wendy, the oldest but not biologically related girl in the family. The boys' mother had decided to take her in, raising her like a princess.
"Why isn't he here yet? This isn't like him at all," she continued.
"Ask Deymiara, she's in the same class as him now, though it's surprising she came this early," Michael chimed in, sipping his wine. He had a tousled mane of wavy chestnut hair and dark green eyes. He wore glasses, not because of poor eyesight, but simply because they suited him, enhancing his appealing appearance. Known as "The Rich One," at 19, he already owned numerous places (restaurants, etc.). Furthermore, until Deymiara reached adulthood, he took charge of his father's dark business.
Wendy cast a disapproving glance at her sister, who sat with a game controller in her hands. She seemed engrossed in her game, occasionally muttering to herself. "What kind of stupid level is this?" "Oh God, who came up with this?" "You don't get everything right away."
Danny, seated next to her, stuck out his tongue in response. He was playing with her and occasionally triumphantly exclaimed when he won.
"Hey, girl! Enough staring at your phone, your eyes will fall out. Hey!" Wendy cried out, rapping her fingers on the table to get the brunette's attention. However, she remained unfazed. "Where's Grace? Answer."
The brunette shot a cold glare at her sister, who fell silent. Danny turned off his phone and placed it on the table, sensing that something was about to unfold.
His intuition had been right; the younger sister was getting on his nerves. The young man himself was a famous blogger, maintaining the mafia's reputation. Within the mafia circles, he was quite renowned as a clothing designer.
Deymiara mimicked her brother, crossed one leg over the other, and locked her eyes onto her sister, like an eagle on its prey or a sharp blade on a tree bark. Wendy couldn't endure such a piercing gaze and lowered her head.
"What, lost your vigilance?" Deymiara asked with a sigh. "Couldn't keep tabs on your beloved little brother? What a shame..."
Michael approvingly glanced at his little sister. He, too, didn't care much for Wendy; she was just an extra. She had a negative impact on their family and didn't bring any benefits. Essentially, Mr. Mayu was supposed to inherit the positive side of their father's business, but his persistent mother demanded that the non-biological child receive 20% of the shares. And Michael wasn't very willing to give away something of his own without receiving anything in return. Hence, his subsequent plan was to reclaim those shares. If family members were against the raven-haired girl, she always thought the opposite, going against the grain.
"Why are you making a fuss? I just asked a simple question," she exclaimed and placed her right hand over her chest, showing feigned concern. "No manners whatsoever. I just can't believe it."
Suddenly, Grace entered the dining room with a helmet in his hands. He smiled cheerfully and waved his hand in greeting. Wendy sweetly smiled in response and stood up, inviting him to sit next to her. However, the brunette ignored her invitation and sat down beside the younger sister. Angrily, the raven-haired girl sat down, thinking, "Well, you'll come running to me eventually." The brunette, once seated, immediately took Deymiara's hand, who was about to pull away. She wasn't accustomed to physical contact, like hugs, kisses, and the like. But when the young man whispered something in her ear, she stopped resisting. The brunette's expression changed to one of curiosity.