An endless day full of tasks, meetings with unbearable people, not a single break to play sports or eat something: that was what awaited Marc that Monday, and he could only celebrate that it was. It was a unique quality of his. Nobody with two legs and a functional brain would applaud his schedule being full of commitments until almost midnight. He knew he was a weirdo in that sense, because he wasn't just a workaholic, unlike what his peers thought. The question went much further. He did not love his job, nor did he ever say as a child that he intended to go into law. It wasn't the dream of his life being in college, and even when he'd placed sophomore in his class, he felt like it was the last thing he wanted to do for the rest of his life. But it was convenient . What would give him safe work, in which he would always stand out. Whether he liked it or not, whether he went to bed with a smile on his face and satisfied with his work or the opposite, was the

Marc did not value his work. He knew that he was a racketeer and a mobster, and that he got everything through his wit and contacts. He used his physique to get people out of the way, as he was already showing that he was going to do, and he tried to ensure that no one associated any hero story with his figure. He was the opposite of a respectable guy or one to admire, he could admit it: in all his life he had boasted of only one thing, and it was his ability to overcome adversity. Nothing more. He neither considered himself superior as his character required him to show, nor was he so narcissistic as to not see his flaws. Unlike. They were seen so much that they used to be his drive. If he'd been lucky enough to think he was the best, he wouldn't be threatened by a six”foot” tall geisha and sticky notepads, nor would he be thinking about how to destroy his personal life. Five blondes, three know”it”alls, ten brats hooked up by their father and one extraordinary girl later, it was th

"Nothing was broken." The system is made like this to jump in corridors and rooms without technological equipment “he replied with a robotic voice. He turned, finally looking into her eyes. She couldn't tell if he looked sad, or uncomfortable, or outraged… Or just vulnerable. Really? Marc Ambani? "Hey, I don't choose who walks through my head," he defended himself in a moderate tone. The last thing she wanted was to make him more angry. "Neither you nor anyone," he mumbled, returning to protect himself from everything and everyone behind his desk. He added, in a low voice, "If it could be changed, life would be less unpleasant." "I already told you I'm sorry." It was childish and stupid, I admit. “And as childishness or mischief, what proceeds now? Punish yourself without recess? Not speak to you for the next twenty”four hours? Yuri sighed. What that man always had to endure from all his employees, colleagues and friends was not even reasonable. He made a lot of money, and yet no

I asked for it, but it sounded like an order. And he liked it that way. “I have work and you already have the help of your driver. “Please. Another fucking rule: Ambani don't beg. "And what do they do when they want something?" “They get it without hindrance. His fingers slid lazily away from her wrist and tugged at hers, nearly entwining them. I assure you that with this face it would not occur to me to try something with you. "I would agree anyway." “I'm not one to leave a poor sick man in the lurch He resolved at the end. She stepped inside and closed the door, feeling Marc's gaze on her. Now yes, put on the seatbelt... She caught him outlining a grateful smile that was soon filled with more complex, less human nuances, and that made his expression somewhat unreal. "No need," he replied calmly. I already feel protected. Yuri smiled, somewhere between shock and tenderness. He had sounded almost, almost vulnerable, like he needed her to move through the world. And that was

"Sir, this is a hospital. Please behave yourself. “A hospital? I'm sorry, maybe the allergy makes me have hallucinations... “She lamented, making lamb eyes. The loudspeaker interrupted them for a second. "Rebeca Hervás, go to query number three." The girl who went by that name turned out to be a traitor, as she stood up, winked at Marc, and saluted. "You haven't fulfilled part of the deal, so... “What? I mean it? Yuri snapped. You are perfectly fine! You know he's worse...! "Enough," the receptionist snapped. Come with me. Allergic reactions take priority. "No... six hundred dollars can't go down the drain." "Don't worry, they haven't gone anywhere," Marc replied, coming up to her. He coughed a bit before continuing to speak. Thanks for defending me, but there's no reason. I haven't paid him a penny. "Thank God... I was starting to think you're going around bribing everyone." “I don't bribe, I blackmail or lie. They are different things. The moment you have to pay to keep you