The Mafia Princess He Abandoned Became An Art Queen Chapter 02
I found an antihistamine and swallowed it with cold water.
The itching in my throat and the tightness in my chest slowly started to ease.
I sat down at my desk and opened my laptop.
WhatsApp lit up with new messages from Melissa.
Melissa was my art agent and my only friend.
The messages came one after another.
“Rossella!!!”
“The Aurelius Art Prize judging is starting! Are the last two pieces in your The Undercurrent series done yet?”
I typed back, “Almost. If all goes well, this one will get me into the Venice Biennale.”
The second I hit send, someone knocked on my door.
Irene walked in carrying a plate of mango pudding, her eyes still red.
“Rossella, I’m sorry about earlier. I made this for you myself.”
Her eyes shifted to my laptop screen, and she went rigid.
There were only two people in my WhatsApp contacts. One of them was Mario.
His profile picture was a selfie.
Crash.
The plate hit the floor, cream and mango splattering across the tiles.
Her voice shot up loud enough for the whole house to hear.
“Why do you have Mario’s WhatsApp?”
“Rossella, if you really loved Mario, I could have stepped aside, but how could you…”
Footsteps pounded down the hall.
Within seconds, Don Conti, Donna Conti, and Mario were all at the door.
Don Conti came in first, his face dark with fury. He raised his hand and slapped me across the face.
Half my face went numb. I tasted blood at the corner of my mouth.
“You shameless little bitch. Seducing your sister’s fiancé? You’re a disgrace to the Conti name.”
Mario stood behind them, eyes blazing.
He must have thought I’d opened the chat on purpose to force his hand.
He stepped forward and held out his hand. “Your phone. Now.”
I didn’t move.
He looked at me, didn’t repeat himself, and simply picked up the phone from the desk beside me.
He grabbed my wrist and pressed my thumb to the sensor.
Click.
The screen lit up.
Right in front of all of them, he opened our conversation.
Deleted it.
Blocked me.
Every movement was clean and decisive, without the slightest hesitation.
I wiped the blood from my lip and looked at each of them in turn.
My voice was calm, almost detached.
“Anything else? If not, I’d like to rest.”
Irene’s crying caught in her throat. Don Conti looked like he wanted to say something, but no words came out.
Mario stared at me for a long moment, something unreadable in his eyes. His lips moved, but no sound came.
Eventually, they all left.
The door closed.
I was alone.
I opened WhatsApp.
My contacts list was back down to one name: Melissa.
I stared at the glowing screen for a few seconds.
The year I met Mario, the anonymous art account I’d used for years had been quietly buried by the algorithm.
So I made a new one under Melissa’s ID and started over.
Mario had discovered my work through a gallery owned by the Galli Group.
He’d said, “Your style reminds me a lot of Brightness. I have high hopes for you.”
He didn’t know I was Brightness.
He told me he was the CEO of the Galli Group, that Brightness’s licensing fees were too expensive, and that he wanted to acquire one of my series for the Galli Collection.
That was how he ended up in my WhatsApp contacts.
Online, I was a completely different person.
Online, I was funny and lively. We talked about art first, then about our lives. Mario said talking to me was the greatest comfort in his overworked life.
I was happy to show him the version of Rossella I kept hidden from everyone else.
Later, he bought the rights to one of my short stories and invited me to help adapt the screenplay.
That was the first time we met in person.
He’d stared at the blush creeping up my ears and laughed for a long time.
“You’re nothing like your online self. You’re so shy you can barely speak. But…”
He leaned down until we were eye level, his voice low.
“…you’re very cute.”
I’d spent my whole life afraid to talk to strangers, and yet with him I felt relaxed. Safe.
On my twenty-seventh birthday, he told me he loved me.
When I agreed to be his girlfriend, Melissa said, “Mario runs with a crowd full of chameleons. You blush and stammer talking to the delivery guy. Do you really think you can handle that world?”
I hadn’t believed her then.
I signed up for public speaking classes and camera training. I forced myself to go to art salons. I practiced smiling in the mirror hundreds of times.
I finally cracked open the shell I’d spent my whole life hiding in, ready at last to step into his world.
And then he chose someone else.
Irene’s laughter floated up from outside.
I glanced out the window. Mario had obviously smoothed things over with her. He was leading her toward the garage, hand in hand.
I looked away and opened my email.
In my drafts folder sat an application to the Paris Academy of Fine Arts. I’d been hesitating over it for six months because of Mario.
This time, I hit send without a second thought.
Then I closed my email, opened the folder for The Undercurrent series, and got back to work.
Two paintings left.
I rested my hand on the graphics tablet.
Right now, nothing mattered more than my work.