I was distracted the whole time as the old man in front of me keep staring at the huge frame in my office from time to time. I anticipated this kind of reactions on it from the moment I hanged it days ago, but not to the extent of disrupting even my own focus.
He was running an interview with me about the upcoming Japanese Grand Prix for next week's issue of Allure en Prestigio, together with the launching of my company's new sports car under Raffa— RB Razon— for advertisements.
But aside from his curious eyes, I can only sense his disinterest in this whole meeting.
My head aches from seething anger as he wastes my time. He probably didn't realize that his mind's wandering in the depths of a black hole.
My piercing eyes stared at him intently, never hiding the distaste from his action. The old man shiver as he finally caught on the coldness in my office; I purposely dropped the temperature of the air conditioner.
And with that, he slowly turned his head on me and finally met my gaze.
"I-I was just wondering who she is, Mr. Berlusconi?" he defended in a tone like he's been meaning to ask me that ever since he got into my office; as if he did not make it so obvious from the very beginning.
"She's Mine."
Gunshots resonates the corners of the room as I empty the bullets of my gun. The range officer immediately assisted as he provides more bullets for me to load its magazine.
After the frustrating meeting with Antonio, I had come straight at Libertà —a private firing range that is commonly used by mafias; also serves as a truce area of the organization; outsiders are allowed if met certain qualifications: like money, prestige, and connection.
I held the gun tight and refocused my aim before firing. I could even imagine a clock being shattered from the bullets as it reached the bull's-eye.
Antonio, right after he heard my answer and is satisfied of his fished information, he said his congratulations, bid his goodbye and delightedly walked out of my office; completely ignoring his initial purpose for our meeting.
I even thought, it would be a decent meeting since he came personally. Yet, the old man just wasted my precious time that I could spent practicing on either my blockings or rather racing.
If he wasn't my mother's friend and I failed to decipher the real reason behind our sudden meeting, I wouldn't have let everything passed. I'd let it go because part of me kind of expected him to come under my mother's errand. Even so, it can't save me from the frustration over my wasted time.
On the other hand, he was no different from the people I have had meeting with these past few weeks. All of them had a common denominator of being distracted by that portrait; understandable, as it was indeed an exquisite piece of art. It made me wonder if I should regret putting it up for people's eyes instead of my bedroom.
But the bigger note about this whole situation is about the rumors going around and my hopeful and expectant mother of my so-called upcoming grand wedding; all caused by that angelic and ethereal woman in painting.
It was an inheritance I got from my grandfather; a prized possession from the Ryusei family. The painting was the most valued of my grandfather as he says it resonates the Ryusei clan's personality; it was commissioned personally for our family by a trusted friend of his and is a renowned painter for his hyper-realistic works.
I know, that there is so much more to it than meets the eye. I can clearly remember my grandfather staring at that painting most of the time, especially when he's lost in thought; he loves it the most, I'm sure.
It wasn't that long since that painting came to Ryusei's manor, just 8 years ago; the painting process even took longer than it has been with our clan, 15 years. It was said that the last to be painted on it was the woman's facial features as it took a while for the painter to find the perfect embodiment for it; the lady was a real person reference. Since, she wasn't part of the Ryusei clan by now and the painting was given to me, that made me erase my doubt that my grandfather was obsessed with a 16-year-old lady; it made me relieved. Counting the years, she is already a woman by this time.
The painting was hyper-realistic that it looked like a candid shot at first glance of a young lady on a picnic with a flying scarf being reached held by her; and an eagle at a tree-branch from a distance at the background. The longer you stare on it, the more you get immersed to it; the longer you look, the more you understand it; and when you finally thought, you have totally understood it is the moment you will have another understanding of it.
Not many will notice it as a painting and even if they did, they would have doubt; even under the magnifying glass, the details are of a photo than a painting. That's why I don't blame people if they thought it was the portrait of my wife, especially that the name of the painting was quite possessive; which is the lady's name as well.
The problem now, is that Antonio was the owner of Vero Group which revolves around media that focuses on luxury and lifestyle outlet; I expect no less than a day for the news about me to circulate. I'm no wrong.
A sudden interruption from Thomas stopped my shootings when he brought me my buzzing cell.
They sure are efficient, I thought as I saw who was calling. It's sure less than a day and only took minutes to reached her.
I shifted my gaze to my watch and my secretary understood; we have to go. He brought me my coat and assisted me to wear it.
I walked out of Libertà with an entourage of my men in black; I wonder why they all dressed like they were about to attend a funeral.
Just before I reached the outside, I had come across my older brother Ruid. He looks so healthy for someone who is sick from his past accident.
"I don't think it's now good for you to be here." I said in full concern. It'll be bad if our mother learns about this.
"Worry not about me, Fra. I'm no child for you to babysit." he answered in his usual warm tone. "Grazie, but I know that you have a lot on your plate including your wife that I think you failed to speak your marriage of." He chuckled.
I noticed even the news reached his ears, even much informed that any other. It wasn't hidden in his knowledge that the woman people are fussing about is the lady in painting; he's very much aware of her existence. I expect no less from our grandfather's favorite.
"It'll be not long for her to know." I said to him as a matter of fact; the news has its wings anyway. My head aches by the thought, I can even imagine her frightened look.
His proud laugh on me echoed to my ear even after I left him.
As I reached the entrance, the cars were lined-up and one were already opened and ready to receive me. I hopped inside and the door beside me closed. Thomas occupied the passenger's seat; he looked me in the back and extends the still buzzing cell. We then departed.
"Pronto, Mamma." I greeted, finally answering her third call.
"Ciao, figlio mio. A news reached me about your wife I was not informed of." Straightway she announced never minding her ignored calls.
"I'm no surprise when you purposely sent your friend to my office."
"I'd heard of it even before I sent him! I only asked him for me to confirm." she defended in visible annoyance.
"You could've come yourself, Mamma." I said as a matter of fact. The Vittoria Berlusconi I know would storm in my office the moment she hears about the news. Only if she came herself this time then she wouldn't have to be so hopeful of a daughter-in-law. "Where did you hear it from?"
"You should've known, Raf. It's been the talk of your employees for days since you hanged her portrait on your office wall. It's hard for anyone not to noticed when you made that fuss during their office hours. And also, it has been the talk on every social gathering I've been into these past few days. It's harder for them to ignore it when you held your meetings in your office." That confirms my hunch that she wasn't aware that it was the painting from her clan that I hanged. She probably had it hard being constantly asked of questions she don't know how to answer.
"I want to meet her," she declared. "So, I want you to tell me, who is she?"
"Didn't your friend tell you? She's Mine."
"I already know that!" her voice rose in frustration. "I was asking about her name."
"Mine. That's her name."
A short silence resonate between us before her voice was heard.
"Don't tell me it was—" a sudden realization hit her that made her end the call.