"What?" I say.
"It's a masquerade party. You're supposed to wear a mask," she points out.
I exhale. "Go back to your father, Chiara."
"No, thank you," she says. "I prefer your company. If I go back to his side, he's going to introduce me to more old men."
"Did you just call me an old man?" I ask. She opens her mouth to answer, but I cut her off before she can confirm or deny. "Actually, don't answer that."
I'm about to walk away from the girl when I spot the other fathers and their daughters in the periphery, circling like vultures around their prey. I'm reminded once again of why I don't attend these events.
"Can I ask you a question?" Chiara asks.
"I guess," I reply, running a hand down my face.
"What are you doing here?" The girl puts her hands on her hips and peers up at me like some amateur detective. "I know it's not to socialize. I have a feeling it's not for theauctioneither."
She says the word “auction” like she knows exactly what happens at these events.
“Think whatever you want of me,” I say, turning to look at the paintings on the walls. This feels like a pivotal moment for some reason. I can't shake the feeling that everything is about to change today.
"Do you want to know a secret?" the girl pipes up.
"Are you still here?" I ask, exhaling slowly and turning toward her.
She leans in and whispers, "There's a reason I'm here today. I'm about to put a curse on everyone here."
"A curse?" I repeat, sure that I misheard.
"Yeah, don't tell anyone, but I'm practicing witchcraft," she confesses.
I sigh. "Of course you are."
"Don't worry, you're safe," she says, smiling sweetly. "For now."
I'm speechless.
Mafia princesses are expected to be meek wallflowers, but this girl is something else.
"Are you planning on buying anything here?" she asks, her eyes flicking to the paintings and display cases around us.
Most of the people gathered here today are only invited to the art auction. The second auction is only for a select few.
"I haven't had a chance to look around yet," I say. But even if I did, I would never pay millions for a painting.
"You should see the Rembrandt," she says, tipping her chin in the direction of the painting. It's only a few feet away from us.
I glance at the painting on the wall.
"Do you know the history behind it?” she asks.
I shake my head. She walks closer toward it, and I follow her.
"Storm on the Sea of Galileeis Rembrandt's only seascape," she explains. "It was stolen from an art museum in 1990 and remains one of the most valuable pieces of missing art to date. The museum still hangs the empty frame as a reminder of the heist."
I stare at the painting.
It depicts Jesus and his disciples on a boat in the middle of a raging storm. I don't know anything about art, but there's something about this piece that makes it hard to look away.
