The Mafia's Queen: Entangled With A Psycho.
The hall stretched long and wide. Grand just like the rest of the places in that building, holding up to its prominence. Buenavista tech, a company that was partners with Alexus and also the owner of the building which was now used as a children's foundation.
With the building being a seven-storey structure, it had working elevators used in transporting people from the first floor to the last. Almost everyone preferred using elevators, they were quicker and easier to utilize. Everyone visiting the place made use of them, everyone but Johnny. Well, he did use them too but always got off the third floor, to look.
Quietly, he ambled down the hallway, his concentration on the walls— the frames that hung on them. The paintings. The place was empty, not a single soul which he appreciated. Just him in tranquil stillness, giving him enough time to have his fun and leave without anyone noticing.
Lips slightly sunder in awe as he let himself wander around the gallery, exploring it for the millionth time, his eyes and mind taking in the splendor. Relishing the art, its beauty. Plus in the desolate hall, there was no one to see him, to watch him expose a part of him he had kept locked away for years.
His love for color.
A flash of hue amidst the dull, pall background, made him halt and stare. An upheaval of color and texture compelled him to study the glided frame.
It was a still-life portrait: a glass vase embellished with flowers drooping over its narrow top. Different colors. Different flowers. Morning glory, roses, tulips, blossoms, maiden's lace. Varied shapes and sizes.
It must have taken real skill to make it look so lifelike, to make it more than lifelike. It was just a vase with flowers against a dark background but at the same time, it was more than that. The flower appeared to be vibrant in their light as if in defiance of the shadows creeping around them. Yet it still shone brightly. The dexterity needed to make the glass vase hold that amount of light, to bend that light with the water within, as though the vase did undoubtedly have weight to it upon the stone pedestal at which it sat. A sploosh of color.
Incredible.
Next to it was another sploosh of color. His sploosh of color. This one was nothing like the first one he was gawking at. It also wasn't as calm and mellowing to look at like the first. No, this one was different. Aggressive. An expression of rage. Pure, unfiltered passion but somehow it— at least in his eyes— still lacked the finesse the first painting had. To him, every work he had ever created lacked one thing or the other. There was always something he felt was missing.
He remembered the day he painted the portrait in front of him. He just incurred an argument with his father, curses flew in the air, tables banged, doors were slammed. They fought so much back then, it became a frequent occurrence.
Johnny recalled locking himself up in his room. Blood seething with rage and frustration, he stood in front of his canvas, paint beside him and a brush he clenched on to so tight, it almost snapped in two. With that, he began to paint, relinquishing the anger that ate at him. He wasn't just painting, he was communing with his work, speaking with his canvas and his language was the paint. He only stepped out of his room when he was done and by the time he was, he couldn't feel his wrist anymore, his clothes were tinged with paint.
No one ever saw his paintings, not even his family, not even Becca. He did let Navaya see them though. She understood him. He understood her. He would always smile as he listened to her long funny rants about how aggravating her parents were. And he couldn't help loving how similar they both were. Though he never went on diatribes, his paintings did so for him.
Why is the painting so… angry?
The exact question Navaya asked him when he showed her this exact painting he was staring at. He smiled as he thought back to how she ran her fingers along the streaks, how she traced her finger down his body.
His eyes shut as he reminisced the sensation her touch gave him, the way she set him ablaze, the way she explored his body while he did the same, exploring hers.
" Navaya." He whispered.
It wasn't until three years ago that he finally decided that it was time to stop hoarding. After the death of his wife and his baby, he felt a part of him shut down automatically. He might not have loved Nicky romantically, the way she wanted him to, but he still cared about her. They had known each other since kindergarten. She was like family even before they got married.
He chose to donate all his paintings to this same foundation after her burial. Little did he know that the management would filter out the bests out of the pile and hang them up in this hallway for everyone that passed to marvel at. It was their way of showing appreciation for his kindness, only they had no clue he was the one who painted them. Johnny never said a word about it, never tried to claim credit but it didn't stop him from always sneaking in here to look at them. Both the ones that were his and the ones that weren't. That was how the foundation's art gallery was birthed. From Johnny's work.
The sound of heels clinking against the tiled floor drew closer, snatching him out of his daze. He glanced to his side and saw Alexandria Buenavista approaching him. She was the same woman he sat next to during the launch of Atlas magazine. She was also the owner of this place, she took over it after her father's death while her older brother took the family company. Johnny met her through Franco Buenavista, her father.
" Mr. Ramus, I thought you left already." She smiled and he did so as well out of courtesy. His excuse for always coming here was that he had gotten so attached to the children and their sweet smiles. It was true, he had gotten attached to those adorable miscreants but deep down he knew that wasn't all it was about.
" Funny how many times I have seen you coming in here." She neared and stood next to him. " You must really like art."
" I guess so." He turned back to face the portrait. " They are nice to look at." Johnny's voice was drenched with nonchalance that didn't do his aestheticism any justice. He didn't just like art, he was obsessed with it. Even when he didn't want to be, it still called out to him, spoke to him. It always told an elaborate story that usually either left him in awe or in pain.
It was funny to think that there was once a time that all he wanted to do in his life was immerse himself in craft, let it swallow him whole but guess life had other plans for him.
Alexandria stayed silent for a while, watching him stare at the painting, the admiration twinkling in his eyes was identical to the one cloaking his face as he gazed at the vice president of Atlas. When he stared at that painting on the wall, it looked like he was gazing at Navaya. Everything else just fades away.
Pain pricked Alexandria's chest at the sight.
" About what happened at that event held at Atlas." She finally spoke, her light brown eyes focused on him and only him. Brown hair— the same shade as his— fell to her back in waves. Beautiful, healthy olive tone, perks of her lineage.
" It's okay," Johnny said without averting his gaze from the painting, still taking it in. "Sometimes when we are overwhelmed, we tend to get… confused."
Alexandria blinked at his words. Confused, huh?
" Still, I would like to apologize. I had no idea of the situation."
Johnny tossed her a glance, cocking a brow. " Situation?"
" Yes, with that model. The vice president of Atlas. You like her, right?"
Wrong. She was so wrong. Johnny, just like with art, didn't just like Navaya, he was obsessed with her but he wasn't about to start breaking down details of the passionate love they shared in the past, or even tell her about how he still clung onto that passionate love despite everything that had happened. He deemed their past sacred to even reckon to disclose it.
He let out a sigh. " It's complicated but she will come around."
Alexandria smiled despite the tight knots forming in her chest.
" Woah, it's the optimism for me." She let out a little laugh. " I'm taking my staff out for lunch in a few minutes, wanna come? You're invited."
Johnny's brows furrowed slightly as he stared at her. " Miss Buenavista."
" Alexandria. Most of my friends call me Andrea."
" Alexandria it is then," Johnny said and her smile faltered a bit. " Alexandria suits you better."
Her smile rekindled instantly.
" Really?" Her eyes gleamed.. " I guess Alexandria it is then."
Chapter 135: (Hundred) Thirty Four: Art
With the building being a seven-storey structure, it had working elevators used in transporting people from the first floor to the last. Almost everyone preferred using elevators, they were quicker and easier to utilize. Everyone visiting the place made use of them, everyone but Johnny. Well, he did use them too but always got off the third floor, to look.
Quietly, he ambled down the hallway, his concentration on the walls— the frames that hung on them. The paintings. The place was empty, not a single soul which he appreciated. Just him in tranquil stillness, giving him enough time to have his fun and leave without anyone noticing.
Lips slightly sunder in awe as he let himself wander around the gallery, exploring it for the millionth time, his eyes and mind taking in the splendor. Relishing the art, its beauty. Plus in the desolate hall, there was no one to see him, to watch him expose a part of him he had kept locked away for years.
His love for color.
A flash of hue amidst the dull, pall background, made him halt and stare. An upheaval of color and texture compelled him to study the glided frame.
It was a still-life portrait: a glass vase embellished with flowers drooping over its narrow top. Different colors. Different flowers. Morning glory, roses, tulips, blossoms, maiden's lace. Varied shapes and sizes.
It must have taken real skill to make it look so lifelike, to make it more than lifelike. It was just a vase with flowers against a dark background but at the same time, it was more than that. The flower appeared to be vibrant in their light as if in defiance of the shadows creeping around them. Yet it still shone brightly. The dexterity needed to make the glass vase hold that amount of light, to bend that light with the water within, as though the vase did undoubtedly have weight to it upon the stone pedestal at which it sat. A sploosh of color.
Incredible.
Next to it was another sploosh of color. His sploosh of color. This one was nothing like the first one he was gawking at. It also wasn't as calm and mellowing to look at like the first. No, this one was different. Aggressive. An expression of rage. Pure, unfiltered passion but somehow it— at least in his eyes— still lacked the finesse the first painting had. To him, every work he had ever created lacked one thing or the other. There was always something he felt was missing.
He remembered the day he painted the portrait in front of him. He just incurred an argument with his father, curses flew in the air, tables banged, doors were slammed. They fought so much back then, it became a frequent occurrence.
Johnny recalled locking himself up in his room. Blood seething with rage and frustration, he stood in front of his canvas, paint beside him and a brush he clenched on to so tight, it almost snapped in two. With that, he began to paint, relinquishing the anger that ate at him. He wasn't just painting, he was communing with his work, speaking with his canvas and his language was the paint. He only stepped out of his room when he was done and by the time he was, he couldn't feel his wrist anymore, his clothes were tinged with paint.
No one ever saw his paintings, not even his family, not even Becca. He did let Navaya see them though. She understood him. He understood her. He would always smile as he listened to her long funny rants about how aggravating her parents were. And he couldn't help loving how similar they both were. Though he never went on diatribes, his paintings did so for him.
Why is the painting so… angry?
The exact question Navaya asked him when he showed her this exact painting he was staring at. He smiled as he thought back to how she ran her fingers along the streaks, how she traced her finger down his body.
His eyes shut as he reminisced the sensation her touch gave him, the way she set him ablaze, the way she explored his body while he did the same, exploring hers.
" Navaya." He whispered.
It wasn't until three years ago that he finally decided that it was time to stop hoarding. After the death of his wife and his baby, he felt a part of him shut down automatically. He might not have loved Nicky romantically, the way she wanted him to, but he still cared about her. They had known each other since kindergarten. She was like family even before they got married.
He chose to donate all his paintings to this same foundation after her burial. Little did he know that the management would filter out the bests out of the pile and hang them up in this hallway for everyone that passed to marvel at. It was their way of showing appreciation for his kindness, only they had no clue he was the one who painted them. Johnny never said a word about it, never tried to claim credit but it didn't stop him from always sneaking in here to look at them. Both the ones that were his and the ones that weren't. That was how the foundation's art gallery was birthed. From Johnny's work.
The sound of heels clinking against the tiled floor drew closer, snatching him out of his daze. He glanced to his side and saw Alexandria Buenavista approaching him. She was the same woman he sat next to during the launch of Atlas magazine. She was also the owner of this place, she took over it after her father's death while her older brother took the family company. Johnny met her through Franco Buenavista, her father.
You are reading story The Mafia's Queen: Entangled With A Psycho. at novel35.com
" I was just about to." He said and Alexandria's gaze traveled to what he had been staring at. The paintings." Funny how many times I have seen you coming in here." She neared and stood next to him. " You must really like art."
" I guess so." He turned back to face the portrait. " They are nice to look at." Johnny's voice was drenched with nonchalance that didn't do his aestheticism any justice. He didn't just like art, he was obsessed with it. Even when he didn't want to be, it still called out to him, spoke to him. It always told an elaborate story that usually either left him in awe or in pain.
It was funny to think that there was once a time that all he wanted to do in his life was immerse himself in craft, let it swallow him whole but guess life had other plans for him.
Alexandria stayed silent for a while, watching him stare at the painting, the admiration twinkling in his eyes was identical to the one cloaking his face as he gazed at the vice president of Atlas. When he stared at that painting on the wall, it looked like he was gazing at Navaya. Everything else just fades away.
Pain pricked Alexandria's chest at the sight.
" About what happened at that event held at Atlas." She finally spoke, her light brown eyes focused on him and only him. Brown hair— the same shade as his— fell to her back in waves. Beautiful, healthy olive tone, perks of her lineage.
" It's okay," Johnny said without averting his gaze from the painting, still taking it in. "Sometimes when we are overwhelmed, we tend to get… confused."
Alexandria blinked at his words. Confused, huh?
" Still, I would like to apologize. I had no idea of the situation."
Johnny tossed her a glance, cocking a brow. " Situation?"
" Yes, with that model. The vice president of Atlas. You like her, right?"
Wrong. She was so wrong. Johnny, just like with art, didn't just like Navaya, he was obsessed with her but he wasn't about to start breaking down details of the passionate love they shared in the past, or even tell her about how he still clung onto that passionate love despite everything that had happened. He deemed their past sacred to even reckon to disclose it.
He let out a sigh. " It's complicated but she will come around."
Alexandria smiled despite the tight knots forming in her chest.
" Woah, it's the optimism for me." She let out a little laugh. " I'm taking my staff out for lunch in a few minutes, wanna come? You're invited."
Johnny's brows furrowed slightly as he stared at her. " Miss Buenavista."
" Alexandria. Most of my friends call me Andrea."
" Alexandria it is then," Johnny said and her smile faltered a bit. " Alexandria suits you better."
" Really?" Her eyes gleamed.. " I guess Alexandria it is then."
You can find story with these keywords: The Mafia's Queen: Entangled With A Psycho., Read The Mafia's Queen: Entangled With A Psycho., The Mafia's Queen: Entangled With A Psycho. novel, The Mafia's Queen: Entangled With A Psycho. book, The Mafia's Queen: Entangled With A Psycho. story, The Mafia's Queen: Entangled With A Psycho. full, The Mafia's Queen: Entangled With A Psycho. Latest Chapter
NOVEL35.COM – READ BEST NOVELS ONLINE FREE
Novel35.com top 1 website in the world. In here We are offering thousands of free books online read! Read novel updated daily: Action novel, Romance Novel, Adventure Novel, light novel translations, web novel, chinese novel, japanese novel, korean novel, english novel and other novel online. Wish you have relaxing reading sessions at Novel35.com
