Chapter 14

I cursed softly, it was instantaneous, and the men's laughter was too. But Picasso remained serious. Someone who used the size of his dick to call it aka shouldn't be laughing at others. He, unlike the rest of the men sitting, raised his hand to me.

He also had tattoos on his fingers covered by the English punch. All shapes were aggressive and resembled skulls and sordid drawings, but at least they matched his tanned skin tone and the thick hair that grew on top.

I took your hand before anyone could stop me, and squeezed it hard. A little more strength than I needed, and one of Picasso's eyebrows stood up.

“Juju of what? "He asked again, still holding my hand, with the calluses of his palm rubbing against mine.

"Juliana Moreira," I replied, sketching the beginning of a smile. Picasso let go of my hand. He didn't outline any reaction. Of course I wouldn't. He didn't know my father's name. He didn't know what he had done and destroyed in my life. He just had to