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THEREFORE I AM

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BILLIE EILISH ___________________________

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS FRENCH AND IT IS IN ITALLICS. ILL TRY TO PUT THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION IN BOLD

I STAYED silent the whole ride over to his house. Not because I had nothing to say no, I had a lot of shit to say but I was smart enough to know when to open my mouth and not to. Antonio barely even glanced at me through the mirror. My eyes stayed glued to my phone.

The group chat was raging. And by the group chat I mean Val. Malakai was tracking my location. The path went from city, to neighborhood, to going up a hill far from the houses and trees.

Finally we arrived to black wrought-iron gates that loomed ahead, flanked by imposing stone pillars topped with lantern sconces that cast a soft, flickering glow against the evening light. Beyond them was a long, cobblestone driveway lined with cypress trees standing like silent sentinels. Their narrow, pointed silhouettes reached skyward, casting faint shadows over the manicured hedges that bordered the path. At the end of the driveway, a grand estate sat in the distance, its white façade barely visible from here, shrouded by the evening haze and the trees.

The fuck was this? Jumanji?

The car drove forward, its tires crunching softly on the stones as the path gently curved toward the mansion. The air seemed to grow still as we approached, the estate ahead finally coming into view.

The house was enormous, more palace than home—a basic need for a home built for someone in the mafia— its grand architecture imposing in the dim light.

Tall, arched windows gleamed faintly, while warm, golden lights spilled from the balconies and cast soft reflections onto the expansive grounds. Stone chimneys rose high above the steep, slate-gray roof, and intricate carvings adorned every ledge and column. At the center of the sprawling structure, massive double doors marked the entrance, flanked by elegant lanterns flickering like sentinels.

In side of the house, a pristine pool mirrored the dusky sky, framed by sleek lounge chairs that sat empty in the fading light. The lawn stretched wide and dark, perfectly trimmed to showcase the opulence of the estate.

I was guessing to make it harder to run away. Awesome choice dumbasses.

It was the kind of place that demanded reverence, where money wasn't just spent—it was flaunted, as though the house itself stood as a testament to power.

Clearly designed by a man. He did a fairly decent job I'll admit.

The car came to a stop. Antonio finally looked at me, his expression unreadable. "Get out." The command was low, gravelly, and edged with enough menace to make anyone who hadn't grown up with someone like my father to shit their pants

"Abruti." I muttered, slamming the door shut behind me. "dickhead."

Before I could take a second breath, staff materialized from the house, moving like clockwork to retrieve my bags. They left me with only the one slung over my shoulder.

A tall man with white hair and the stiff poise of someone who'd spent decades serving the rich approached me. He looked to be in his late fifties or sixties and extended a hand.

"Albert," he introduced himself with a subtle bow.

I took his hand, feeling the briefest pressure of formality in his grip. "Celine."

He gave a small, knowing nod before gesturing for me to follow. With a quiet efficiency, he led me through the massive double doors and into the house.

The kitchen was immaculate—marble from floor to ceiling, gleaming in the soft light spilling in from enormous windows. Everything looked pristine, untouched, as though this was less a space for cooking and more a showcase for wealth. Every surface sparkled, reflecting sunlight and wealth in equal measure.

"Your room is in the left wing of the house, first door to the right, Ms. Luciano," Albert explained, his tone calm but precise. "If you need anything, I am only a shout away." He gestured to the group standing behind him. "These are my understaff."

He motioned toward five maids, a chef, and another butler, listing their names in quick succession. I tuned him out almost immediately. My attention drifted to the house, soaking in the view. The decor was grand and deliberate, every detail screaming wealth and precision.

If I could scale the wall and climb out the window.

"Ms. Luciano?" Albert's voice snapped me back into reality.

"Oh." I handed him the bag slung over my shoulder. He passed it off to one of the maids, who hurried away with it, likely heading to what would be my room. The rest of the staff followed her in silent, efficient unison, leaving me alone in the cavernous kitchen.

I wandered around the room aimlessly letting my hand trail along the cool marble countertops. Everything gleamed, polished to perfection.

"Décent pour un homme," I said. "Decent for a man."

"Your room and mine are in the same hall," Antonio said, his tone flat. "I won't be sleeping with you. Not until I have to."

I tsked, feigning offense. "Jusqu'à ce que vous en ayez besoin? Je sens la chatte." "Until you need to? I smell pussy."

He ignored the jab, continuing as if I hadn't spoken. "Don't wait for me to come home for dinner. I eat at my office."

"Je ne savais pas que les vampires mangeaient de la nourriture," I quipped, rounding the counter and sliding my hand along its edge. "Didn't know vampires ate food."

His patience snapped. "You can speak English, Celine. I don't have time for this." I could feel his irritation with me.

I should stop now.

I turned my back to him, raising my middle finger lazily over my shoulder. My phone beeped, cutting through the silence like a warning.

Then I heard it—the unmistakable, metallic click of a gun being cocked.

I spun around without hesitation, pulling the gun from under the counter and leveling it at his chest. My movements were swift and precise, the sharp crack of the shot echoing through the kitchen. Antonio stumbled back, hitting the floor hard.

Albert stood in the corner, unfazed, his expression as calm as if I had just adjusted a picture frame instead of shot someone.

"He'll live," I said, handing the gun to him as casually as if I were passing off a wine glass.

Albert gave a small, courteous nod. "Your room is on the left."

"Thank you, Albert."

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Celine shooting her fake fiancé not even an hour in his new house was not on my 2024 bingo card 😭 Albert's lowkey so real for not even being faxed over it he's a real one. Antonio in for a ride lowkey.

anyways hope y'all like this chapter !! Remember to eat !!

-zio 🍸