Chapter 44 - Parallel Lines

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Chapter 44

 

 

It was about an hour after Vito finished his call. During this time, Taotie clutched a basket of cookies, positioning himself as close to Serg—and as far from Migu—as possible. His gray eyes, usually wandering aimlessly, remained fixated on Migu's small face as she nibbled on her sandwich and veggie sticks. His silent actions created an invisible barrier, ensuring that Serg stayed well out of Migu's reach.

 

Serg couldn't help but wonder: Did Taotie and Migu not get along? But judging from their conversation, they actually seemed quite close. Taotie showed genuine concern for Migu's well-being, asking about her life with meticulous detail, right down to what she ate every day.

 

"I forgot..." When the questioning reached breakfast from thirteen days ago, Migu scrunched up her little face, pushing up her oversized, constantly slipping glasses. She bit down on her salad fork, thinking hard for a full three minutes before finally shaking her head with a distressed expression. "I think I ate bread! Celine baked it. She meant to save it for the flight, but I might have eaten it for breakfast instead."

 

Taotie nodded, finally letting go of the menu interrogation. He silently munched on his cookies. "Why did you come to America?"

 

It sounded like a casual question. By now, the cookie basket was empty, and Taotie, still unsatisfied, was licking his fingers. As usual, he pulled Serg's hand closer, bringing those elegant, beautiful fingers to his lips.

 

"Mr. Taotie..." Serg tried to withdraw his hand, but his two attempts were futile. Taotie lifted his gray eyes slightly, his steady gaze causing Serg's already flushed face to heat further. Finally, Taotie let go.

 

"Like cream," he murmured.

 

"Like the cream on a chocolate chiffon cake?" Migu asked with eager curiosity, raising her hand while her pink tongue licked away a bit of salad dressing from the corner of her lips. Her expression was pure bliss. "I'd love to taste it too! But it's a pity—you belong to Taotie."

 

There was definitely something wrong with the logic of that statement. Serg gaped at the naturally cheerful Migu, his entire body flushed with embarrassment, unable to argue. If he had to be honest, he did belong to Taotie—as long as their contract persisted, whether as a chef or otherwise... He was, indeed, Taotie's.

 

The doorbell's chime arrived as a much-needed rescue. Serg quickly withdrew his hand and cleared his throat. "Excuse me, I'll get that."

 

"I'll come with you. Migu?" Taotie stood up, naturally wrapping his arm around Serg's waist—a protective gesture, as if worried Migu might suddenly pounce on him.

 

"I'll—cough, cough, cough! Ah—" Gulping down cold milk too quickly led to Migu choking. She scrambled up to grab tissues to clean the mess on the table, only to trip over the chair and fall backward.

 

"Migu." Taotie sighed, crossing the room in a few long strides. He lifted her off the floor as if she were a chick. "Don't move."

 

"Cough... S-sorry..." Head hanging low, Migu stood by the table, rubbing the sore spot where she had hit the floor.

 

The doorbell had stopped. The kitchen wasn't far from the living room, and without many obstacles in between, they could hear the commotion. High-pitched, delicate Italian rang out, filled with agitated cries and Vito's gentle, comforting murmurs.

 

Then, a flash of crimson burst into the kitchen—a girl like a flickering flame.

 

"Master!"

 

She wore an adorable, fiery red dress, her soft black hair tied into a ponytail with a red ribbon. Red boots completed her look, and her delicate face was touched with red-toned makeup. It wasn't garish—instead, it perfectly expressed her unique style and charm.

 

"Celine!" Migu squealed with delight. She moved to rush forward but was immediately held back by Taotie's firm hand on her shoulder.

 

"Stay still." He was busy tidying up the chaos on the table, including the spilled veggie sticks and salad dressing from Migu's fall. The sandwich, fortunately already eaten, had only left the plate flipped 180 degrees.

 

Celine, however, showed no hint of Migu's joy. With hands on her hips, she tilted her small face at a sharp 45-degree angle, letting out two dismissive snorts through her nose before launching into a tirade.

 

"Ah, uh... Eh... Um..." Migu was utterly overwhelmed, unable to find a gap to respond. Her small face wore an awkward smile as she scratched at her soft, chestnut hair.

 

"Celine." Having finished cleaning, Taotie finally spoke. The girl immediately stopped, taking two deep, exaggerated breaths.

 

"Young Master Taotie, I sincerely apologize for startling you and your guest." Her English was heavily accented with Italian, but the pronunciation was clear enough. Serg hadn't expected to be addressed and could only manage an awkward smile.

 

"No, please don't worry." He shook his head gently, his expression soft as he cast a sympathetic glance at Migu, who now hung her head pitifully.

 

"You and Peter have worked hard these past two days." Taotie reached out, giving Migu's long hair a good ruffle. His tone was calm, but his sincerity was unmistakable.

 

"No, Young Master Taotie, please don't say that. This is a watch-dog's duty. We should never have trusted the master's sense of direction." Celine shot Migu a fierce look, letting out a disdainful hum. "Apart from work, our master is completely useless. I will never again trust any of your promises."

 

"Eh... B-but, I am the master! You're supposed to learn to trust me!" Migu cleared her throat, her voice thin and weak as she tried to defend herself.

 

"Oh? Trust you in what way?"

 

"Like... um..." Migu tilted her head, diving deep into thought. Her big, dewy eyes swirled left and right, visibly struggling with the difficult question.

 

"Celine, why did Migu come to America?" Since he hadn't gotten an answer from Migu earlier, Taotie directed his question to the flame-like Celine.

 

"Well, perhaps you haven't heard, but a week ago..." Celine paused, her large eyes shifting toward Serg.

 

"Excuse me, I'll step out." Understanding they were about to discuss their mafia affairs, Serg turned to leave. If he needed to know, he could always find the information himself.

 

"No need. Serg is not an outsider." Taotie halted his steps, ruffling Migu's hair once more. He moved past her and returned to Serg's side, wrapping an arm around his lithe waist.

 

"He's Taotie's chocolate, like Rosaline's chocolate pie." Migu helpfully added, her enthusiasm only deepening Serg's embarrassment.

 

"Oh." The worst part was Celine's understanding nod.

 

Serg began to regret using himself as a bargaining chip. Though Shuai Zhaomin could not return his feelings, his decision had been an impulsive, almost self-mocking attempt to cope. He hadn't expected it to bring him such shame.

 

This wasn't just self-inflicted—he was testing the limits of his own tolerance.

 

"What happened a week ago?"

 

With Serg nestled against him, Taotie sat on the counter, pressing his cheek to Serg's as if to demonstrate their closeness—to prove there were no outsiders. Or, perhaps, he just wanted to catch the scent of toasted bread.

 

Knowing Taotie too well, Serg remained rational in his mind, yet he couldn't stop the heat rising to his cheeks. His beautiful, dark eyes lowered to avoid the reactions of those around him, which might only add to his embarrassment.

 

"A week ago, the old patriarch announced at the family meeting that Tengshe would be the next head of the family—unless Tengshe were to die."

 

Celine's casual tone, as if merely discussing the weather, left Serg momentarily stunned.

 

The Brelini family always spoke of such dire matters with unnerving nonchalance. So, this was serious, then?

 

In other words, Tengshe was now in immediate danger, and Shuai Zhaomin, who was with him...

 

Serg's body tensed abruptly. The man behind him seemed to sense his unease, his warm lips offering gentle reassurance with a soft touch to his cheek.

 

"I thought... I thought the position of head wasn't assigned by appointment."

 

The spot where Taotie's lips had brushed burned like fire, a scorching heat spreading through him. Serg struggled to keep his voice steady, yet a hint of hoarseness slipped through.

 

He shouldn't let Taotie's natural, unreserved gestures unsettle him so much. He should have grown used to this by now...

 

No. How could he ever get used to such things?

 

From the initial finger-licking to now, where Taotie would grab him at any spare moment to lick, nuzzle, and kiss him—if it were mere affection, Serg could try to remain composed. But lately, he increasingly felt like he was being "devoured."

 

He didn't dislike Taotie, but he had never intended for things to go this deep... yet it seemed his boundaries were being pushed further and further.

 

"Yes, generally, the Brelini family's leadership isn't determined by designation. The old patriarch did provide everyone an equal opportunity. If they truly don't want Tengshe to become the head, there is only one option: prove they have what it takes."

 

Celine responded with meticulous respect, yet her demeanor remained as if discussing something trivial.

 

"Has Qingji arrived as well?" Taotie's voice dropped slightly, a heavy pressure lying beneath his calm tone.

 

"Yes, Young Master Qingji left Italy a day before our master. His whereabouts are currently unknown, and it seems he hasn't visited Zhuque's residence."

 

"Taotie, do you think Qingji would kill Tengshe? I heard Zhuque's dog is already dead." Migu took a cautious step forward, only to shrink back under Taotie's calm gray gaze, offering a dry laugh and standing rigidly in place.

 

"Migu, are you deliberately trying to make me answer that?" Taotie's steady, almost ethereal murmur brushed warmly against Serg's cheek, his lips grazing his soft skin as he spoke.

 

Migu adjusted her glasses, her wide, doe-like eyes darting around, avoiding a direct answer to Taotie's question.

 

"Peter and I believe it's only a matter of time before Young Master Qingji makes a move against Young Master Tengshe. But may I ask what you intend to do, Young Master Taotie? My master has no desire to compete for the head position, nor is she suited for it." Celine, ever loyal, stepped in to shield her master, though she couldn't resist a hint of sarcasm at the end.

 

"Oh, Celine! Why do you look down on me like that? I also have..." Migu's attempt at a retort faltered under her sharp glare. She chuckled awkwardly, scratched her cheek, and hung her head, showing none of the authority a master ought to possess.

 

"Young Master Taotie?"

 

Taotie's arm circled Serg's waist, his hand fitting perfectly against Serg's side. His fingers traced slow, gentle lines along Serg's waistline, reminding him of Taotie's habit of caressing his drink cups.

 

Serg's body shivered slightly, and Taotie immediately paused—only to resume his gentle touch after a couple of seconds.

 

"What do you think?" But who was he asking?

 

Serg and Celine both shared the same unspoken question, their eyes meeting in mutual uncertainty, neither daring to respond first.

 

"You want Shuai Zhaomin to be safe, don't you?" Taotie's question clarified who he was addressing. Without hesitation, Serg nodded. "Then this is another deal. I'll give the weapon to Fitch, but I can't guarantee Shuai Zhaomin's safety."

 

"What do you want?" Despite the kisses on his cheek and the caresses at his waist making Taotie's intentions all too clear, Serg forced himself to ask with a feigned calmness, though his face burned red.

 

"Not just the chef—I want the whole Sergi bin Lama Muhammad."

 

Serg heard Celine's gasp of disbelief and Migu's knowing snicker. His mind buzzed, his cheeks ablaze as if on fire. "If you insist, I have no objections."

 

Why did he agree? He might never find the answer to that.

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