"What a fool," the mafia girl quipped with a smile.
"I knew I shouldn't have crossed your path and bothered you. I knew people like you wouldn't appreciate it," the guy tried to gesture with his hands to dispel his embarrassment. "I wanted to show that I'm in charge here and that I should submit. And that was a big mistake. Most of all, I want to apologize to Miss Deimy, who was the most disappointed in me."
"What a clown show," Mrs. Mort's brother whispered, eyeing him.
"I apologize for making you angry and spoiling your fun with your friends. I also apologize for allowing myself to touch you," he raised the can again. "From now on, I will do everything to earn your forgiveness because I owe it to you. And now we will drink to you, mi lindo angel."
"Bastard," the brunette hissed, and in response, she raised her soda. Everyone followed suit, and the room erupted in applause.
"Did you hear what he said?"
"No."
"Do you know what it means?" Mort couldn't contain himself.
"No."
"As a sign of apology to the entire school, I persuaded the principal to cancel all exams and classes for today. To celebrate, I've arranged a party at a restaurant for everyone who's there now," the guy smiled. "And now I could offer you two options: either go home and relax or stay with me for an awesome party, where the icing on the cake is a car race around the school parking lot!"
Everyone cheered and erupted in applause. That's how Vesper's speech ended. He jumped off the table, and loud music filled the room again. I cringed, and Mort and I headed to the classroom.
* * *
The entire school reverberated with booming music, confetti strewn across the floor, and various accessories scattered about. New students from different schools had also joined the festivities. Vesper had gone all out, procuring food, hiring DJs, and nearly transforming the school into a raucous carnival. But he wasn't alone; there was help and support at his side. He managed to change the entire school's perception of him within just a few minutes of conversation, except for one person – the mafia girl. In this grand and splendid scheme, she saw an opportunity to get closer to the principal's office, and that was exactly where she was headed.
With swift, purposeful movements, the girl slipped into the office and quietly shut the door behind her. Her sharp gaze swept around the room. The cameras were off, and everything was proceeding perfectly as planned. The brunette swiftly donned black leather gloves and then turned her attention to the mechanical owl on the desk. The absence of a blinking red light simplified her task considerably. Deimy started by checking under the couch, searching for a concealed lever or button, then scrutinized the floor and lifted the rug for hidden compartments. Her nimble hands meticulously examined the books, and she subsequently turned her attention to the cabinets within the principal's desk.
Pausing for a moment to gather her thoughts, she began to inspect the window. Through its pane, the girl noticed a view of the parking lot where students were gathering and engaging in spirited car races. Meanwhile, Julian and Grace had promptly departed the school as soon as the party commenced. Carner had no fondness for such revelry, and Grace's headaches flared up in response to the blaring music. Like two close-knit brothers, they had opted to escape to a nearby sushi bar, leaving behind the so-called "lessons," if one could even call them that.
Hidden from everyone, Miss Mort secretly rejoiced in her brother's newfound happiness. Even though she had been abandoned four years ago, she had observed how Mort longed for companionship with friends his own age. He had been tired and impatient back then. However, now it seemed like he had breathed life back into his days and had even taken up reading!
Regarding the blond boy, the mafiosa's emotions were a mixture of conflicting feelings. He was an extraordinary young man with a calm demeanor and an infectious laugh. Her curiosity about him had ignited when she spotted Julian, engrossed in his project. He was sketching, talking to himself, scribbling, and crossing out. Deimy felt irritation, fascination, and a subtle tenderness for this boy, and at times, even a hint of jealousy. As many poets had mused, "Women are jealous, even when they don't love."
One thing was clear to her: she needed to put him to the test.
"I knew it," a voice chimed from behind, and the brunette swiftly turned, her hand reaching for the pistol grip. Marcelo leaned against the door, eyeing her intently. Just moments ago, he had been boxing in the parking lot, entertaining the students. For a fleeting moment, she contemplated doing something similar in front of the crowd. However, she quickly banished that thought and resolved to stay focused solely on her mission. Work, work, and more work.
"What are you doing here?" the brunette inquired.
"I could ask you the same question," Vesper replied with a smile, taking a few steps and gracefully settling onto the dark leather couch. "Don't you enjoy the party? Or are you simply bored?"
"Everything's fine, and it's none of your business."
"You're the same as always," he remarked. "If you'd like, I can make the party even more thrilling. Just say the word."
"Why have you suddenly become like this?"
"Like what?"
"Strange. Friendlier. Kind? "- the brunette began to enumerate. - But I can see it's a facade.
"What are you saying, Mafia Princess? I used to be like that." - Marcelo laughed, but the laughter sounded insincere.
"No, you weren't."
"Alright. I'll be honest. You allowed me to start fresh. You know, sometimes a conversation can work wonders. You helped me, and now I owe you. So, you can ask for anything you want."
"No, thanks." - Deimy huffed and moved toward the door. Caution and a sharp mind were the commander's best assets, aside from her cold-bloodedness. He seemed too suspicious. Marcelo Vesper had become a threat to her.
"Weren't you looking for documents?" - the brunette stopped right in front of the door.
"How do you know?"
"Everyone's been looking for them lately."
"Do you... do you know where they are? And who they are for? All of them?"
"Of course, I do. Under the third painting. Want to see for yourself. "- he casually nodded. Deimy slowly approached and touched the gilded frame but quickly recoiled and took a few steps back, glancing at the brunette.
"I want you to do it."
"You're cunning." - Marcelo flashed his teeth and approached the painting, lifting the frame, and a facial scanner immediately lit up. He put on a smile, and a green light flashed. The passage was partly cleared.
"The code? "- mumbled Deimy, but the king was already entering the numbers. - "But how are you doing this? Did the director just trust you with such important documents? Did he use your birthdate as the code?"
"Oh, you know." - the boy laughed and handed the documents to the girl. - "These are it. Everything. Are you satisfied?"
"I didn't get an explanation. "- she replied sternly. -" I would like to hear that."
"Your word is law." - Vesper laughed and sat in the director's chair. -" Where should I start?"
"Start with yourself!"
"You just don't like me, Deimy. That's your reason. You've grown skeptical of trusting people, and now I seem strange to you. You don't want help. You want to appear strong in front of everyone, taking on things that are beyond your capability."