Kidnapped By The Italian Mafia

"Have you ever seen such a pompous crowd?" Moira was grumbling, of course, as she always did. Inviting her to the art show as my plus one was not my best feat, but I had no choice after Connor declined because he wanted a go at Nazareth. It was just us girls now and we tried our best to seem interested in the bent scrap metal that was floating before our eyes. Whoever made this was either harbouring a lot of violence, or, wanted to appear like they did.

"Just smile and nod, M," I hooked our arms together and surveyed the crowd, trying to catch sight of at least one familiar face. The gallery was filled with people, but not people I knew. There were a few influencers and art critics in the crowd, along with regular art lovers and pretenders who tried to fake liking art. The person who had invited me, though, didn't seem to be visible. "Oo champagne."

Not one to turn down an alcoholic beverage during events that were so dreadfully boring, I grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and downed it completely. It was more fruity than I liked, but I wasn't about to be picky and tell the waiter to bring me a bottle of red or something. My taste had always been for the stronger drinks, but I quickly remembered that that was Katarina. Katarina liked bold wines and hard liquor.

I had to slip back into the Isabella mindset in order to complete my disguise. Isabella liked pastel colours, fruity drinks and making her own sea salt. It was like looking at the world through a new set of eyes. The beauty of compartimentalising.

My jumpsuit was starting to dig into parts of me that I wasn't pleased with, and if it wasn't for the sparkles on the rich black fabric deflecting all view, I was sure that everyone would be able to tell.

"Ah, the foreigner," Jean-Louis appeared out of nowhere and startled me. He wore a sheepish smile on his face to match his stylish outfit. "And she brought a friend."

"Another foreigner," I began with my telltale accent. Moira looked at me with surprise in her eyes. "An Englishwoman to be precise."

"Moira E Willoughby, pleased to make your acquaintance." Moira held out her hand for Jean-Louis to shake. She probably wasn't expecting him to plant a flamboyant kiss on the back of it, because honestly neither did I, but that's what he did.

"I'm delighted to meet such a beautiful lady." He smiled flirtatiously, something Moira raised an eyebrow at, then she looked at me.

"You don't flirt with me like that." Her eyes narrowed and she placed a hand on her hip. Way to put me on the spot, M.

"That's because I don't have to," was she forgetting our various rendezvous together? I barely had to put in effort for it. Moira was mine when I wanted her, plain and simple.

"Well it would be nice to see some effort," she mumbled. "In fact, no more. This body is completely off limits until you gather the ovaries to work for it."

I felt a slow smile pull at the corner of my lips. It was the kind of smile that made my opponents gulp and rethink their decision. "I like challenges, sweetness."

What was happening to me? This part of me was like a mix of both Katarina and Isabella's l.u.s.tful sides. Katarina, the original me, was seductive, to the point and liked to play rough. Isabella was flirty, teasing, and liked things slow and sensual. At least, that's the script I wrote for her. My ability to slip into either mindset and live my life naturally like that was beginning to freak me out.

"Wait, are you two…" Jean-Louis looked between the two of us, eyes widening slowly. We were both staring at him with confusion when he clarified. "A couple?"

"Oh! No, no no," dear God, no. "Nothing like that."

"We're close friends, we just like to… uh… experiment." Moira looked almost as panicked as I felt. The botox wasn't letting me reveal much expression-wise.

"Yeah, what she said."

Jean-Louis nodded his head with an understanding look on his face. If there was one thing the French knew, it was s.e.x.u.a.l indulgence.

"How are you enjoying the art show so far?" He led us to a place where there was a big sculpture, this one made of pieces of metal that looked like suspended particles in the air. "This one is mine. What do you think?"

It was a very impressive sculpture, and I enjoyed how it made me feel. Structured. Unsure, but structured.

"It's impressive. Are you selling?" Moira voiced my thoughts for me. I wasn't considering buying, but it was still interesting to know.

"Yes. There have been a few offers for it already. I also do paintings." He held out an arm towards a small crowd that was gathered around a canvas. Moira and I went to it so we could take a look. The canvas was blank for the most part, except for smaller areas that were filled in with colour at random. The colours were very uniform, though. They complimented each other and created a twirl of an experience.

"Wow," I breathed out. It was captivating. Annoying as he was, Jean-Louis was a very talented artist. The piece spoke to me, even though I didn't know why. It would go great against the sleek and minimalistic decor of my sitting room.

"I don't get it." Moira looked at the canvas apathetically. "What's this supposed to represent?"

"The monotony of life, but also how we experience its small p.l.e.a.s.u.r.es," at least that's how I saw it. I loved it. "I'm going to buy it."

Jean-Louis popped up behind me at that very moment. "This piece isn't for sale."

"Oh," was it sentimental to him? "Why not?"

"Well— okay, so, it is for sale, but not to you." He clasped his hands together and pointed in another direction when he saw my offended look. "That one is."

I turned to see what he was pointing at and saw a silhouetted side profile of a woman. It was a black and white painting, but the filled in shadows of the woman's face were painted in dark reds and blues, whilst the light hitting her face was painted in blacks greys and white. It was Isabella's face.

"You did that?" I was in disbelief. Nobody had ever painted my face before. "You? And you brought it to your art show?" He nodded.

"Do you like it?" We walked towards it and I leaned into the canvas to take a better look. "I was inspired."

"What did Claudette say?" I can't imagine him painting another woman's face went over well with his girlfriend.

"I encouraged him to do it." Claudette appeared out of nowhere again, a stunning vision in red with her hair in curls. "You are his muse."

"For now." Jean-Louis corrected and wrapped an arm around her waist. "I have a new muse every couple of months. It's really nothing personal. Women are incredible."

"I hear you." Moira agreed.

"And you are fine with hearing him say that?" I raised my eyebrows at Claudette who smiled knowingly at me and shrugged.

"It stopped bothering me long ago when I realised it does not matter." She didn't look like she was going to elaborate further, so I let it go and turned back to the painting.

"And you're giving this to me?"

"Oui," he agreed. "Free of charge."

"Thank you." Truly, I was very grateful. Nobody had captured my beauty before, even if it was my fake face. "Moira, isn't it wonderful?"

"Yes yes, very wonderful. Paintings simply aren't my thing, pardon my say so," she apologised to Jean-Louis, who waved her off. "I much prefer the palpable visuals that sculptures offer."

"You are fond of sculptures?" Jean-Louis perked up.

"Yes, I was considering buying that one." Moira pointed at the sculpture we were observing earlier. "How much for it?"

"Désolé, mon belle femme, but I have already sold that one. However, there are some other sculptures I believe you would like? Are you fond of centerpieces?"

Claudette rolled her eyes at him. "Jean-Louis, nobody wants to buy your stupid tabletop centerpiece sculptures."

"Let the lady answer for herself," Jean-Louis snapped, turning his sole focus back on my friend. "Well?"

"How eccentric are they?" Moira narrowed her eyes, to which Jean-Louis smiled widely.

At one point, I had stopped paying a lot of attention to the fascinating conversation they were having about centerpieces because there was something suspicious about the man standing near the window. I swore I had seen him before.

"Scary, isn't he?" Claudette leaned down beside me a bit and whispered. "Jean hired him to be the head security detail for tonight. I hear he has connections to the Spanish mob."

"The Spanish mob?" Two things were certain. One, Claudette knew way more than she was letting on. Two, that man most certainly did not work for the Spanish mob. I knew everyone my father hired in every country, and he hadn't hired anyone in France. this man, judging by his eyebrow structure, was most certainly French. "That's scary."

I couldn't let her know that I knew this was neutral territory. Mafias came here in peace searching for services, and this was basically a train station for trafficking, but no feuding was allowed in France. It was peace and good tidings to all or get the hell out.

"Yes, it is. They have a reputation of being ruthless and unforgiving." She was right about that. "Just seeing him gives me the chills."

"How do you know all this?" I arched an eyebrow at her, but kept looking at the man. He was as still as a statue, and I really wanted to know who he worked for. Did he work for Marco? The Austrians? No, he was a Frenchman, I was sure of it. Was he like Henri?

"People talk. Gossip is the most powerful force in the world, and here in Saint-Étienne, our residents have a tendency to idolise old crime bosses. They seem to think it's a fabulous existence."

It was. When you lived it right.

"Interesting. So is that how you knew that he was working for the Spaniards? I mean, allegedly, right? Nothing's concrete."

She nodded. "Oui. Gossip. I own a boutique nearby and heard some monsieurs speak of it. They also said The Spanish Princess was alive, even though I highly doubt it. That body the news showed was very mangled."

"The Spanish Princess?" I sounded confused, but inside, I was panicking. There were rumours that I was alive? This just wouldn't do.

"Oui. The heiress of that luxury airline? There was an article posted recently of her and the heir of an oil company. His family was arrested recently and there are rumours that they are the biggest crime family à Italie."

"Why would an heiress mix in with the Italian mob?" Over my dead body, to be honest.

"She is the heiress of the Spanish mob. Or so I hear. Maybe they are forging an alliance."

Hell no. Marco could rot in hell.

"Hmm… I hadn't seen any of that during my research the day I met you." I wonder why there were no articles about that? My father went to extreme lengths for all the nicknamed and mob associations to be seen as allegations in front of the world. As far as we were concerned, nobody could say "they are" because it would count as defamation of character. Now, Marco, on the other hand… he fed off fear. He was on a constant power trip and I was surprised he would want to hide his connection to the mob.

"I imagine gossip does not do well with serious news sites." Claudette shrugged. It was a vulgar move that she managed to make look elegant.

"Oui. Where are Moira and Jean-Louis?" I looked around, searching frantically for my friend she had completely disappeared with the artist, and I didn't even notice because I was so entranced by my conversation with Claudette.

"Jean took Moira to see his collection of tabletop centerpiece sculptures. That man and his ridiculous obsession." She rolled her eyes at her boyfriend's antics. "And he wonders why I won't marry him."

"He proposed?" If the botox had allowed it, my eyebrows would no longer be visible. "And you said no?"

"I had to, otherwise he would have sunk further into his obsession with decorative porcelaine." I gaped at her. "It's a long story," she concluded.

"Yes, I'm sure it is." I looked around the room again, before remembering something I wanted to ask. "Claud, what is the reputation I hear about Paris? Is it true?"

"Paris? Have you not been?" She raised an eyebrow at me. I shook my head. "The tourists find it to be fantastic. Personally, I don't enjoy it much, but that is simply my opinion. It is dangerous."

"Dangerous how? I thought that was simply a rumour." Someone had told me that in Paris there was a possible serial killer on the loose. I chucked it up to be nothing but rumour, but now I was reconsidering.

"It isn't. Paris is a dark place. If you go, be careful." Could she have been any more cryptic?

All the signs were pointing to the fact that I shouldn't go to Paris, that I should just stay put in Saint-Étienne, but my impatience had taken its hold and I had no choice.

"Ka—bella, you would not believe what Jean-Louis just sold me!" Moira looked excited as she came back to my side. In her hands was the ugliest sculpture I had ever seen in my life, and Jean-Louis was carrying to more. "Look!"

"How much did you pay for that?" And could she get a refund?

"Way too much," Claudette sulked. "Those stupid centerpieces are the ugliest sculptures I have ever seen."

"Shut up, Claudette."

"He scammed you," she said again.

"Babe, shut up!"

"Well I like them," Moira declared confidently. "This one is fabulous." She held up the sculpture in her hands, a bright yellow piece that was a cat with two heads. Rather, the head was split in half and each side seemed to act individually. From the inside halves, the brain seemed to spill out. It was… grotesque.

Claudette and I just looked at each other with dismay as Moira and Jean-Louis continued to talk animatedly about the sculptures. They even exchanged contact information at one point.

Unbelievable. I never knew Moira liked gross sculptures.