Chapter Twenty

The three men escort me inside a massive home. This mansion popped out straight from a magazine. There's an enormous fountain right in front with fish swimming in the pond at the bottom. Every single detail is illuminated. It's night, but it could've easily been daylight.

A woman in a pencil skirt and silk top opens the door for them when one of the men ring the doorbell. Her movements are gracious and elegant, her voice is as smooth as honey. "Gentlemen, Don Bianchi is waiting for you."

The interior is even more lavish than the outside. Golden chandeliers, white sofas, paintings that must've cost a fortune. We walk all the way to the other side of the mansion, and every room is different, yet all the different shades are harmonious. I’ve never seen anything like this, except in home decor magazines. It’s a remarkable sight; and it makes me wonder how the hell I’m related to such people when our cottage barely had enough furniture. It’s incredulous that my mother grew up in a place l