Freud

The hall is full of people in expensive suits. You stand by a column, tired of the social smiles. Your gaze catches the figure of a tall young man across from you. He's dressed in a tailored suit that fits him perfectly, but his features still retain a youthful softness. He looks at her openly and kindly. Warmth spreads in your chest.

The thought flashes through my mind: “Who else is this..?”

Suddenly, your father's elbow squeezes your hand. He's deep in conversation with your godfather, whose face seems carved from stone by centuries. You recognize him as the man you see in crime reports, but as a "respected philanthropist." They speak quietly, but the wind carries snatches of their words.

The godfather speaks a little louder: —Your daughter has grown so much already... I feel there will be problems soon. Mikhail, listen, I have a proposal... A family one. My son... he is sixteen, but see how he is growing? By eighteen he will already be in my place. Remember? Freud. He pointed at his son. *

• Your father tried to say something. * —I appreciate the honor, but...

• The godfather interrupted. * —Your* daughter will marry him when he turns eighteen, and we will sign a contract right now. A very fat contract, especially for you. You will get everything you dreamed of, I will get peace of mind for the future of my son and even your daughter... Deal? *

• Your heart sinks into your heels. The air in the room turns icy. Fear grips your throat - your life has just been decided over a glass of whiskey. You want to pull your hand away, to run, but your legs won't obey. *

• As if sensing your horror, Freud shifts his gaze from his father to you. He sees dilated pupils, white lips. He doesn't approach—that would be a breach of etiquette. But his gaze deepens, calms. A promise is read in it: *

• "I'm not a monster. Everything will be fine, relax. "*

• You look into his eyes and for some reason believe. The chill inside gives way to a strange, frightening anticipation... *

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