Flavours Of Love

Camiela's Perspective:

"Ms. Rodriguez?" The rhythmic tapping of my fingers on the computer keyboard paused as I pulled out my earphones, turning my attention to the office entrance. My head tilted, and I raised a brow inquisitively.

Olivia stood there, a friendly smile on her face. "It's getting late, and I was heading out. I thought I'd pop in and let you know."

A sigh escaped me as I stretched in my seat, checking the wall clock directly in front of me. "Oh, damn," I exclaimed, "it's seven. Has The Fortress opened already?"

She nodded. "They just opened a few minutes ago."

"Then I should drop by on my way home," I decided, rising from my chair and collecting my belongings, neatly tucking them into my purse before shutting down the computer. "Don't give them a warning," I warned with a playful finger pointed at her.

"I'm sworn to your secrecy," she teased, putting a finger to her lips.

Scoffing jokingly, I walked toward her. "Funny how you said the same thing last time. I just can't find loyalty around here, can I? First Mr. Job-"

"Our lovely janitor," she mused.

"Now my assistant. The betrayal is getting too real, Olivia," I shook my head.

"So are your extra working hours, Camiela. You run one gallery from nine in the morning to seven in the evening and then open up the other one from seven in the evening to four in the morning."

"I don't stay there until four in the morning," I explained, closing my office door and hearing the lock click before we walked down the hallway toward the elevator.

"You would if you could," she argued.

"Well, I couldn't even if I wanted to. Joke's on me," I chuckled.

"I will never understand you or your business. Who owns two galleries and runs them at alternate hours like this?" she questioned as we got in the elevator.

"Me. One for the day birds in this city and one for those who stay up all night," I shrugged, grinning. "Equality."

"Practicality," she agreed.

"And money."

"Of course, money," she chuckled with a nod.

As we reached the lobby and headed toward the exit, we went our separate ways. Olivia left, and I lingered to make sure security locked up the main gates. Crossing the empty parking lot to my black Mercedes Benz, I unlocked the car and got in the driver's seat. I locked the doors, released a quick breath, tossed my purse in the passenger seat, started the car, and played music with a soft hum. "Let's go," I mumbled to myself, buckling up and driving off to my second gallery just five minutes from the first.

The Fortress and Zion were both my galleries but entirely different. Zion was for the first half of the day, bright and light, with a polished sugarcoat on everything inside. The Fortress operated later in the day, with dark interiors, paintings hiding secrets, and nothing but silence and stolen whispers.

I parked the car in the partially busy lot and got out, tossing my keys to our valet, Jacob. "Keep those for me, Jacob," I smiled.

"Yes, ma'am," he grinned, saluting with two fingers as I walked through the gates and into the building, swiping my ID through the staff's entrance. My heels echoed on the polished marble tiles as I walked to the escalator that brought me out of the basement and to the first floor of our gallery.

Both galleries followed the same idea-each floor had a different theme.

Slowing down, I strolled through the crowds, mostly people who had come alone. Going up each floor using stairs and escalators, I reached the private elevator that only Olivia and I had access to, leading straight to my office here. Before I even got on it, my phone rang.

I've been waiting for that.

Taking my phone out, my finger tapped the back of my phone for five beats before I answered. "Dad," I greeted.

"Why haven't you left yet, Cammy?" He sighed in frustration and I could picture him pinching his nose as he paced his bedroom in his pajamas.

"I'm at work."

"It's getting late."

"It's hardly past seven, Dad. I'll be fine. You don't need to send anybody," I replied, rolling my eyes.

"You shouldn't be staying out late, for the time being, we went over this, Tesoro," he scolded but it sounded more like whining to me.

"I can't skip out on work because of your work, Dad. I'll leave in an hour at most anyway, I'm tired today," I lied halfheartedly, crossing my fingers in front of me. "Look, I need to go but I will let you know when I'm leaving and when I reach home, okay? Love you, bye."

"Ti Voglio bene," he said softly as I heard my Mom in the background.

"Fernando, I'm trying to sleep here!"

I bit back a laugh and hung up before pressing the button of the elevator.

"Ms. Rodriguez!"

I spun around as Leah, an agent at the gallery, came rushing over and panting. "What's wrong?" I frowned in confusion, glancing behind her.

"There are clients demanding to see you."

"See me? You know I don't meet buyers without appointments, Leah."

"I know but they're two women. They want to buy Mirror of Fatality. They're arguing over the painting and tonight is-"

"The last night it's on display," I finished for her. Staring off, I contemplated whether going down and trying to argue with two frustrated clients would be worth it. "Sell it to the highest bidder among the two and offer the other woman a different painting as an apology. Whether she's smart enough to take it or storm off, leave that up to her."

Leah nodded quickly and rushed back downstairs.

After waiting for a few minutes, I headed downstairs anyway to make sure nothing went wrong. Going by unnoticed, I walked around the floor, observing the exchange between our agent and the two clients. Luckily, without too much chaos, the matter was settled and both women walked away satisfied with their purchases.

Once the spot was empty, I walked to the painting and stood in front of it, staring at the painting as it displayed a woman with her back tilted towards the viewer with a golden framed mirror on the other side. While we saw the sharp and beautiful half of her face, the mirror showed an ugly, rotting side.

"I wonder how much money she makes running these galleries," someone mumbled as footsteps walked past me.

I glanced over from the corner of my eye as two girls whispered, strolling around and gossiping.

"Probably more than she needs. She's Fernando Rodriguez's daughter, how much money could she possibly need anyway? Princess has her Daddy's money as it is," the other girl scoffed.

"And how much money does Daddy's Princess need, exactly?" I asked, stopping at the painting beside where they stood. They stopped abruptly, spinning to face me as I kept my hands behind my back, my heel tapping on the floor as I waited for an answer. "How was Milan, Nancy?" I questioned with a smile.

"It was good... Camiela," she mumbled hesitantly.

"Good," I nodded. "Are you here for another painting?"

"We uh, we're just looking."

I hummed. "Go ahead. Look."

They hesitantly retreated before turning back around and walking away.

I huffed in annoyance, glancing around the place, my gaze getting caught on a man who stood at the other end of the room, staring at a blank spot on the wall left from a painting that was sold earlier tonight.

My eyes traveled across his clothes, from the black slacks to the black button-up that stretched across his broad shoulders. He almost turned around as if he felt my gaze on him but instead, walked to the exit without giving a glimpse of his face, and left.

My phone rang again in my purse, snapping me out of it. "Dad," I answered, suppressing my annoyance.

"At home, Camiela. Now," he ordered.

I glanced at my watch and rolled my eyes. "All right. I'm going." I hung up after saying bye and walked back out of the gallery, immensely agitated.

"Leaving so soon, Ms. Rodriguez?" Jacob asked, unlocking the car for me with a little frown.

"Daughter duty calls, jacob. I'll see you tomorrow, goodnight." I waved him bye and started the car, driving off to my apartment straight away.

No matter how hard I tried, my life was hardly mine to live. With parents and an older brother constantly on my ass about my safety and whereabouts, and people all around me trying to tell me what to do, there was only one thing I could do to shut them out. Give them all a big 'fuck you' and just keep doing what I did best. Run a business and make a lot of money. Oh, and have a bit of fun along the way.

I'm here anyway, right?

Stefano's Perspective:

The front door clicked open, and I pulled it ajar, blocking the entrance. "Tara."

"Stefano," she greeted, "you should show up when your father asks to see you."

"You shouldn't, though," I retorted, holding my ground in the doorway. "It's nine in the morning; it's only been a few hours since I got back to New York."

"It's been long enough. Your father wants to see you; he's been asking since you landed."

"Right... What was it, at four in the morning?"

She sighed, giving me a pointed look. "Stefano."

"Tara," I responded blankly, maintaining eye contact.

"Just do as I say, all right?"

"And why should I do that?"

"Mother's benefit," she shrugged.

I raised a brow. "Good thing you're not my mother."

"I'm your father's wife. Step-mother benefit," she smiled, reaching up to pat my cheek. "You've been gone for nearly eight months, and now you're back. At the end of the day, he's your father; come see him. Hmm?"

My jaw ticked as I continued to stare at her. "Fine. I'll drop by his little party tonight," I reluctantly agreed.

"Looks like you still listen to me after all," she mused.

"You may not be my mother but you did raise me." I stepped aside and held the door open. "Come on in."

"It's nice of you to finally invite me inside, but I said what I came to say, kid. Dress nice. The party's not so little."

"Of course," I exhaled, nodding once, suppressing my annoyance.

She walked back to the elevator at the other end of the hall and I shut the front doors to the penthouse, hearing the digital lock click in place with a beep once again.

I've hardly been back in New York for five hours and I already want to leave.

This was exactly why I spent most of my time in Brasov rather than New York. Away from social obligations, away from social gatherings and parties, and most importantly, away from my father. I flipped the coffee machine on and dropped a shot of espresso in it, pressing the buttons for the largest size before placing a cup underneath and moving to my bedroom, grabbing my phone off the nightstand and dialing a number very well known to me.

"Hello?" A familiar voice answered.

"I'm in New York," I announced, pulling open the doors to the walk-in closet and placing my phone on speaker, on top of the Chester table as I searched for a suit for tonight.

"How long are you staying this time?"

"I don't know, Mason. Depends on how much you've missed me," I sighed, grabbing a suit and tie.

He scoffed in response.

"Are you coming tonight?" I asked.

"No. Your Dad's little party has nothing to do with me."

"Really? I heard you're the agent he used to buy that hotel though."

"And my work there is done. Beyond that, your father should cease to forget a man named Mason Castro exists. Not just him but anyone else involved... isn't that right, Stefano?"

"What do you want me to do? Kill the man they caught eavesdropping, pretending to be building security?"

"I wouldn't know, Stefano. This is way out of my league and I'd like to keep it that way, please. Whatever you deem best."

"If I'm your criminal agent in all this, I'm unaware of it. And not getting paid at all, apparently."

"Have fun hosting with your father. I'm sure everyone will give you a nice warm welcome," he snickered, "even the people who just got out of prison after your last visit."

"Goodbye, Mason," I ground out, taking my phone and heading back to the kitchen downstairs to get my coffee. By the time I was finished with that little cup of espresso, a reminder for today's brunch was going off on my phone.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, I was out the door, heading straight to Nova, a restaurant infamous to New York's corrupted underworld society. People had most meetings there, if not as someone's residence. Not to mention, a lot of women loved to host their lunches at Nova.

As I parked my car and got out, adjusting the black suit and unbuttoning it, I recognized a few women, mainly wives of the men I had worked with or against in the past, exiting the restaurant after brunch. Once I was inside, I headed straight to the table my reservation was confirmed for; a table secluded and towards the curtained half of the restaurant at the back.

Change was constant and uncomfortable but after a certain point, you learned to feel comfortable in discomfort too. Staying in New York, no matter how long it was, was always that way. Bothersome, exhausting, and frustrating. With one too many rules to follow and people preaching things they never believed in, my job was turned into some advocacy for justice in our twisted world.

I was no angel of justice, in fact, the words made me scoff. Being a lawyer and criminal agent for the corrupt shaped me into being anything but ethical and moral; I was all fifty shades of immoral from the inside out. I was in no world of bringing justice, merely in the business of law. Law was a business as much as any other- it was money and that was all I needed.

"Sorry, I'm late."

I lifted my gaze from my phone and my eyes met my father's. I nodded to the empty seat before me. "Take a seat."

He cleared his throat, taking a look around. "Welcome back to New York, Stefano," he said.

"It's never a pleasure," I replied, going back to sorting my emails. "What can I do for you?"

"I couldn't get a hold of you since your last visit."

"I was working. I doubt that you had to send Tara to tell me you need me there tonight."

"You listen to her more than you do me. How was Romania this time around?"

"Work was fine, if that's what you're asking," I answered without looking at him.

"Do tell."

I met his gaze and lifted a brow, tilting my head to one side as my thumb traced my jaw. "Confidentiality is the key to staying alive when you do what I do, Dad. You understand that, don't you?"

He stared at me for a beat and then sighed in defeat. "Fair enough. Keep your mysteries to yourself, if that's what you want."

"It's my job."

"If you say so."

I ignored the way he tried to get on my nerves and called a waiter over, lifting my hand.

"Two menus," my father ordered.

I glanced at him and then at the waiter as the kid nodded in understanding, "I'll be right back with those, sir." He smiled before going back to grab them.

"You called me back to New York this time, I'm sure it's not just for a party you're hosting," I said, putting my phone screen down on the table. "What do you want?"

"For starters, I want to see my son more than a few times a year," he scoffed.

I shook my head. "That can't happen. I have work to do. What is it that you need?"

He paused and took a look around before clearing his throat and leaning forward. "I-"

"Sir, your two menus."

An annoyed sigh escaped my father as he glared at the kid and then took the menu wordlessly.

"Thanks," I said to the waiter, "we'll let you know when we're ready to order."

"Sure thing, sir."

"Your patience still wears thin," I noted, opening the menu and reading through it.

"I called you for a friend."

I bit back a scoff. "I'm surprised you still have some of those."

"Stefano."

I continued flipping through the menu.

"It's serious."

I paused, tracing the edge of the page with my finger. "I'm listening."

"Diego Deluca-"

"Tech company CEO," I added, "someone's stealing money from him and the people he owes are starting to come after him after a year of him dodging payments... isn't that right?"

He blinked in surprise.

"I keep tabs on your friends since they tend to need my help so often," I clarified. "Why does he need my help?"

"That's for him to tell you."

"Sounds a bit boring," I replied, shaking my head.

"He's willing to pay you fifteen million."

I watched in amusement. "And is that where his negotiation starts or ends?"

"Starts," he responded, lifting his brows.

"I need to meet the man. No deal if you'll play mediator like this."

"I'm just the messenger. He'll be there tonight."

"Then you can tell him to find me there. The fried rice and chili chicken look good, don't they?"

"What?" He blinked in confusion as I gestured to the waiter again. I placed my order and handed him the menu before my father hesitantly did the same.

"Khan!" My eyes drifted over to a familiar voice before I spotted a woman standing at a table, her back facing me while a little kid sprinted over to her, blond curls bouncing over his eyes as he grinned and giggled giddily before clutching onto her legs and jumping in place, peering up at her.

"Oh, there's Shirley," Dad mumbled, nodding towards the woman who trailed behind that boy, her blonde hair matching her son's as it was pulled back into a bun.

Looking back at the woman I couldn't see, I now had a pretty good idea of who she was.

And I know damn well I want nothing to do with her.

Camiela's Perspective:

"You're coming tonight, aren't you?" Shirley inquired, and Khan hopped off my lap, circling the table to sit beside his mother. She assisted him into the seat, handed me the menu, and then proceeded to fix his hair.

"Tonight?" I questioned, arching my brows.

"Don't play dumb and act like you missed the invite. I saw Nancy giving it to you myself," she snickered.

I attempted negotiation. "I'll make you a deal. If you act like you never saw anything-"

"Nope. I would rather be anywhere else than at one of Richard Castro's parties, but if I'm going down, I'm taking you with me."

I sighed in frustration and returned to reading the menu. "I have no interest in going to any party," I mumbled.

"Hmm, but your Dad has all the interest in the world in showing you off as his little princess."

I glanced at her over the menu. "I hate that word."

"Princess?" she asked slowly, trying to provoke me further.

"Yes," I replied, snapping the menu shut in my hands. "Something about the man just... irks me."

"He's not so bad from all the times I've spoken to him, but just knowing what he does..." Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head. "I can't approve of it."

"Me neither. Yet you, my dear Shirley, married Derek Rodriguez."

"He's different."

I lifted a brow.

"He's hot," she grinned, turning to Khan. "Isn't he?"

Khan nodded with a bright grin.

"That's your Dad. And my brother," I said to Khan, scrunching up my nose.

"Khan knows just how handsome his Dad is," Shirley chuckled, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Plus, your brother's a good man, unlike most others in this circle."

"You're biased to your husband," I scoffed, rolling my eyes and taking a breadstick, biting off a piece.

"You know your brother's a good man," Shirley replied knowingly.

"He's done things just as bad as other people have." I put up a finger gun and shot out the window, closing one eye to act like I aimed before I blew on my fingers and looked at Khan, winking. He giggled, mimicking me as my eyes slid to Shirley's, giving her a pointed look. "He's done worse too."

She sighed and leaned back in her seat. "If you think you can grow up and live life around these kinds of people and still find a husband who would be any different, you're nothing but a hopeless romantic."

"I'm a realist," I scoffed.

"You're a total dreamer. I found the best with what I had and got lucky because there is nobody in this world better suited to me than your brother. I can't picture myself with any other man because no other man I've known could ever love me like Derek does."

"Gag me," I sighed under my breath, pulling the napkin into my lap, both of us pausing our conversation to place our orders. "I'll take the fried rice and chili chicken, please," I smiled.

"I'll be right back with your orders, ma'am. And sir," the guy smiled at Khan before walking away.

"What was I saying?" she asked, grabbing the water bottle and pouring some into Khan's sippy cup, securing it, and handing it back to him. "Right, men," she concluded.

"Useless creatures, really."

She shot me a pointed look.

"What? Men suck," I scoffed in ridicule.

"No, Camiela, boys suck," she emphasized. "I found a man," she then added with a grin.

"Rub your relationship in my face one more time, Shirley. I dare you."

She watched me in amusement before leaning back in her seat. "All right, sorry." After a long pause, she leaned forward with interest and curiosity swarming in her eyes. "What about you, then? Any interesting gentlemen in your life?"

"I've met a lot of men and I can't say any of them were gentlemen," I answered, rolling my eyes.

"Well, that's unfortunate. Anything interesting you've heard then? Since that's all I have to entertain myself these days," she sighed in exhaustion, munching on a breadstick.

I shook my head, dusting my hands. "I don't listen to any of that crap unless I'm forced to. And that means unless I'm at parties like the one we're attending tonight."

She chuckled softly. "You know what I've heard though?"

I stared at her blankly when she didn't continue. "Oh, tell me, please. I am dying of curiosity," I said dryly, holding her gaze.

She huffed in annoyance, "You're no fun. Anyway, you know who's coming back to town?"

"Yeah, I know. That's why I'm asking, isn't it?"

Her gaze narrowed at me. "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, my dear Camiela."

"That's not the full quote, my dear Shirley," I mocked.

"Then what is?"

My gaze fell to the floor as my elbow hit my purse, causing it to tumble onto the ground and send all my belongings pouring out. I groaned in annoyance and stood kneeling down to pick it up. "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit-"

"But the highest form of intelligence."

I glanced up as polished shoes came into view belonging to the deep, smooth, and dark voice that finished my sentence, sending chills down my spine momentarily. My movements slowed to a stop as the devil himself stood above me, hands tucked into his pockets in rich Tom Ford attire.

"Oscar Wilde," he nodded, "charming, Ms. Rodriguez." Stefano glanced at me, his face giving nothing away, and then continued to walk away, exiting the restaurant without a second look.

"I guess the rumors are true," Shirley said, eating another breadstick. "Stefano Castro's back."

That can't be good...

"Camiela?"

I snapped out of my daze and looked away from where he stood seconds ago.

"You... okay?"

"Yeah," I exhaled, zipping up my purse and returning to my seat.

She looked out the window at Stefano as he got in his car and then drove off. "Something wrong?"

"No," I shook my head.

"Something about Stefano?"

"No, Shirley," I chuckled dryly.

"You get weird whenever his name comes up."

"Absolutely not. I don't know one thing about the man. Not even his middle name."

She shot me a knowing look.

"Okay, but that's only because everyone knows his middle name. He's a stranger to me," I shrugged, "and I have no interest in getting involved with a man like him. Everyone stays away from him, there must be a good reason."

"Don't judge a book by its cover, Princess," she taunted, "he's tall, mysterious, and handsome. It's enough to send the ladies drooling."

I rolled my eyes. "You're ridiculous. I'm hungry and really busy, so let's just eat and head out. I need to get back to the gallery."

"All right," she mused, "as you wish."

»»----　➴　----««

I watched the crowd entering The Spectrum Hotel, where tonight's party was, and I immediately wanted to drive out of this parking lot and back to my apartment.

It wasn't that I didn't like socializing or being around people. To be honest, sometimes, these things were pretty fun. Sometimes. I was a fairly social butterfly, but tonight I was not in that mood.

Maybe because I know Stefano will be here.

I had nothing against the man, I truly knew nothing about him beyond his name and occupation, but something in my gut just told me that it was better to stay away from men like Stefano. Men who had power radiating off of them, who had everyone's attention in any room they walked into. Stefano was one of them and he only ever made business deals with people.

Making a deal with him would end up in my loss; I would owe him something much greater than money and I would probably end up paying for it with my life. So it was in my best interest to dodge him like a bullet.

I leaned forward, resting my chin on the steering wheel, and whined loudly, letting out a startled gasp when someone knocked on my window. Jumping upright, I looked out and saw Derek standing there, watching me in amusement. I rolled my window down just an inch and snapped, "What?"

"Are you going to spend the entire night in your car?"

"I'm mentally preparing."

"You might want to join us inside before Mom and Dad find you. Unless you want to enter with them..." he offered.

I opened the door, almost hitting him with it, and climbed out quickly, locking the car behind me as I adjusted and smoothed out my creamy champagne-white satin slip dress. It was a classy dress that stopped at the floor and had thin, delicate straps that crisscrossed at the back, meeting at my tailbone since the dress was backless.

Derek and Shirley strolled ahead while I walked in a few paces behind, letting out a soft breath. "It's just one night. You're always skipping out on these things anyway, Camiela. What's one?"

"Camiela!"

I halted, looking over my shoulder and spotting my parents as they walked towards the entrance, locking their car behind them. "Dad," I greeted, giving him a quick hug as he beamed at me.

"You look gorgeous, la mia Principessa," he chuckled, calling me his princess yet again.

I chuckled halfheartedly before facing my mother. "Honey," she grinned, squeezing me tightly and reaching up, brushing away the two loose strands I curled to frame my face while the rest of my hair was pulled back in a low bun. "How pretty," she sang, touching the tiny pearls in my ears. "A little small though, mi Amor," she mumbled quietly with a pout.

"Mom," I scolded, linking my arm with hers before we followed my Dad inside the hotel and towards the hall where the party was being hosted.

"Dio mi aiuti," I grumbled, my nose scrunching up naturally. 'God, help me.'

"Camiela," Mom nudged me, "smile."

And believe me, I. Fucking. Grinned.