107

Isabella

The lady had called it a manor, but I called it a castle. After all, it was a castle. I hadn't remember seeing it when I was younger, but I remember my father speaking of it once or twice.

"Who was the previous owner?" I asked the lady, whose name was Marie. She was a middle-aged woman with salt and pepper blonde hair that was pulled back from her face into a professional-looking bun.

She was dressed in a black skirt suit that stopped at her knees, as well as a pair of black pumps that made clicking sounds as she walked the marbled hallways of the castle.

"It belonged to the previous mafia king, Marcel Montenegro," she said. "Of course, this means that it was mostly lost and auctioned after your uncle came into power, but the current mafia king bought it."

Suddenly, my eyes caught a portrait. It was of a meadow that reminded me of the one that my father used to take me to when I was much younger. It was dusted with lavender flowers mixed with others that I didn't remember wh