≫ A Dark Mafia Romance ≪
Francesca "Frankie" is undeniably stunning, her ethereal beauty drawing all eyes towards her. A fusion of classic allure and edgy charm. Francesca is fiercely skilled as a criminal defense lawyer. However, there's a cruel ed...
"There is a certain justice in revenge as there is in the law."
- Edgar Allan Poe.
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Some believe that secrets can occasionally be harmless or even beneficial, depending on their purpose, whereas lies are generally considered more malicious. Yet, they both operate in the gray area of truth, ethics, and morality.
Morality.
What did I know about morality?
The concept was almost foreign to me, a twisted irony in the complex web of my life. By day, I stood as a criminal defense lawyer, bending laws and twisting sentences to serve the interests of those who operated in the shadows of the Irish mob, crafting a form of justice that danced on the edge of ethical lines. By night, I embraced the darkness fully, a silent reaper dispensing final judgments upon those foolish enough to threaten the empire I swore to protect.
What did I truly understand about morality? It was a word that held no weight in my existence.
'You're a woman with a conscience,' papa often remarked, his voice tinged with a mixture of pride and warning. But the reality was far removed from his beliefs. I had effectively silenced any whisper of conscience within me, numbed it until it ceased to exist. It was buried deep within the abyss of my soul, rendered insignificant. In my world, to possess a conscience was to admit weakness, to harbor a heart was to expose oneself to vulnerability, to be marked as an ideal target.
My lack of remorse was not just a fact but a necessity for survival.
Secrets and lies danced around me, each holding its own shade of deceit and justification. Yet, they were mere tools in my hands, nothing more.
Secrets.
The reasons for keeping them can vary greatly, from wanting to protect sensitive information, to avoid hurting someone's feelings, maintaining privacy, or gaining strategic advantages.
Yet, the rationale behind Salvatore's decision to conceal his relationship with my father from me remained elusive, leaving me in a tangled mess of emotions.
Did I trust him? A part of me was walking slow, cautious steps towards it, yet another part kept shoving me back with a strong pull to get me as far from it as humanly possible.
How did he even come to know my father?
Piecing together this puzzle proved more challenging than anticipated.
As I leaned back into the embrace of my office chair, I realized I was gripping the photograph tighter than necessary. It depicted my father, youthful, maybe only seventeen, with his arm casually slung around a teenage Salvatore. I wouldn’t have recognized Salvatore if not for the unmistakable tattoo on his hand, unchanged through the years.
My thoughts felt like a tangled mess, threatening to ignite under the strain of incessant contemplation. Ever since I discovered this baffling piece of history from my father's past last night, my mind had been in turmoil, struggling to make sense of it all.
