I Paid A Mafia Boss For Our Night

Chapter 14 Mad Father

Chapter 14 Mad Father

"Hello, Miss Corsetti," said the real estate agent, dressed in a crisp suit and tie, as he rang my doorbell. "You can call me Austin."

I stepped aside to let him in. "Feel free to look around. I hope to get an appraisal as soon as possible."

"Of course, we're all professional and you can definitely trust us." With my permission, Austin began to inspect the first floor to facilitate the appraisal. During this time, I received a call from Bert.

Nico's nonsense was infuriating, but it didn't affect my relationship with Bert, who was a very good friend of mine.

"Sienna, I heard from my father that you're planning to sell the paintings you stored in his studio?" Bert asked as soon as I answered the phone. "This isn't like you. Are you in some kind of trouble?"

I didn't want Bert to know about my current predicament. I knew Bert's family was financially stable, but $80 million was not a small amount I could simply ask my friends for-it could be a bottomless pit.

"Indeed, there's a situation, but it's not trouble," I said, stepping quietly away from the living room to avoid Bert hearing the agents' conversation. "My sister Valentina is getting married, and I want to give her a wedding gift."

"What kind of wedding gift needs that much money?" Bert sounded skeptical.

I chuckled bitterly. "I'm not Professor Dom, Bert. My works don't sell for high prices."

"Don't put yourself down, Sienna. My father has always said you're the most talented student he ever taught. Your work is not inferior to anyone's; you just lack fame," Bert paused, then continued, "Formal notification hasn't come through yet, but I can give you a heads up. The Brera Academy of Fine Arts in Milan is planning a joint exhibition in New York, and Boston University is one of the co-organizers. They will provide three spots for current students and faculty to exhibit their works."

"Brera Academy?" My God, what did I just hear? The Brera Academy in Milan was a place I dreamed of going.

If there were a mirror in front of me, I could see my eyes light up instantly.

"Is this true, Bert?"

"I wouldn't lie to you, Sienna," Bert assured me. "If they use your work, you might also make it onto the school's exchange list for a two-year program in Milan. That's been your dream, hasn't it, Sienna?"

"Yes, but I..." I clutched my racing heart, imagining my works gaining applause and praise at the exhibition, earning me a spot to study at the Brera Academy-my dream school. But reality forced me to sober up; such rare opportunities don't just fall into one's lap; they belong to those who are most talented and willing to pay the price.

"I don't know if I can," I pinched my thigh, using the pain to dispel unrealistic fantasies from my mind. "Are there any conditions?"

"The universities co-hosting the exhibition spots plan to run a three-month intensive course. Top-ranking students get exhibition eligibility. The cost for this intensive course is about $30, 000. Your scholarship has been approved, so paying this fee shouldn't be a problem," Bert explained. "This opportunity is very rare, Sienna."

"I know, but I..." I wasn't sure if I could participate. The intensive course meant no contact with the outside world for three months, which was too long. If Antonio couldn't find me, there's no telling what he might do. And $30, 000 was a significant amount for me.

"You need to think this through, Sienna," Bert urged. "This opportunity is really rare. If you want to achieve your dream of studying in Milan, you must seize it."

How could I not know? This was probably the closest I'd ever come to my dream, to the Brera Academy. But the steep tuition, a debt of $80 million, and Antonio were like mountains blocking my path, keeping me from moving forward.This material belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

My hesitation worried Bert. He urged me to think it over carefully, and I promised I would, thanking him before hanging up.

The weather today was beautiful, the sky blue with a few white clouds. I sat in a wicker chair in the yard, staring blankly at the flowers and plants.

I wasn't really thinking about

anything; my mind was blank,

unaware of time passing. I must have sat there for a long time, the midday sun brighter than in the morning. I squinted my eyes, and suddenly, loud arguing came from inside the house.

It was Dad!

I jumped up from the wicker chair and rushed inside.

My father looked like he hadn't slept all night, still in his clothes from yesterday, his hair uncombed, looking as disheveled as a homeless man, but he was strong, and when he got angry, no one could hold him back.

ret

"Who the hell wants to sell the house? Who gave you permission to sell my house? Get out! All of you, get out!" My father was extremely rude as he kicked and punched, grabbing Austin by the hair to drag him out, but his erratic gambler's schedule made him stumble, and he staggered about to fall.

He plopped down on the ground and started to rant, "You pushed me. You're going to kill me! You damn bastards, thugs, bandits! You break into my house just to rob me. I'll call the police. I'm calling the police!"

"What are you doing now?" I couldn't stand to watch any longer, I ran in to stop him from embarrassing himself further. "Where have you been drinking all night? Go and take a shower, sleep it off, and stop making more troubles."

"Let go of me, you're not my

daughter, you don't care about me, you get out all of you get out!" Dad shoved my hand away, pointing at my nose and cursing, "No manners, bitch, you don't care if your father lives or dies, what right do you have to sell my house. You became a mistress, and then what? You think that makes you some high-class lady?!"

Being insulted like this in front of others, I was so mortified that tears welled up in my eyes. Antonio must have told him. I clenched my fists tightly to keep from losing it.

"I'm very sorry, Austin." I apologized to Austin. "We'll stop here for today, I'll contact you another time, okay?"

"No problem, Miss Corsetti." Austin straightened his tie, which my father had yanked askew, and gave a perfectly measured look of concern at my father, who was now sitting on the ground.

"Sure, sorry. He prefers sitting there." I forced a smile and saw him out the door.

When I returned to the living room, my father seemed even more intoxicated, slumping on the floor bonelessly, spewing infuriating drunken gibberish.

My chest heaved with anger, and I turned and walked into the kitchen, fetched a full basin of water, and threw it right in his face.

"You're looking for death!" He wiped his face, cursed with a dirty word, and charged at me furiously.

He aimed a slap at me, so I swung the basin from my hand onto the floor, "Come on then, kill me if you want. Who else will pay off your gambling debts if you kill me!"