Going After Heaven (Mafia Romance)

Chapter Seven

HEAVEN:

Day one of project LID.

I scribble in my journal, letting my mind around the possibility that I'm counting down to my death date.

I have a fucking date with death.

I sip the last of my coffee, espresso with enough rum. I drop the leaf-green mug and saucer on my working desk. I exhale and peer out the floor-to-ceiling window of my bedroom.

My bedroom is monochromatic. It's just one color. Gray. Like I dipped the room in gray ink and left it to dry.

From the sofas lining the walls to the work desk I'm now munching chocolate cookies from, to the armchair a little away from the desk but by the window so it gives me a perfect view into the city when I want to go on a reading spree.

To my bed frame, the luxury sheet and comforter covering my bed, my polyester curtains, the limited edition art frames on the walls, the little tables by the sides of each sofa, the rug stretching out from under my bed to under the desk.

Every damn thing is gray. Different shades, but the same range.

The only thing with a different color in my room would be the books in my library. And maybe when I open my walk-in dresser.

I bite down a mouthful of chocolate cookies, catching the crumbs with my other hand.

I finish my cookie and start to struggle with the tangled lace of my black gym shoes for a while.

Next, I wriggle out of my gym clothes. Folding them up. Black yoga pants and emerald gym bra.

I dump them in the steel gray laundry bag close to my see-through bathroom and strut into my bathroom.

I turn on the shower and as soon as the warm water hits my body, my mind wanders. It's been a quiet weekend. A weekend spent in the confines of my bedroom reminiscing.

I place my palms flat on the gray marble tiles in front of me and watch as shimmery liquid splays.

Of everything I have to do today, one is very unusual and probably the most important. My meeting with the special bodyguard that is otherwise known as the Bishop to Gael and me in project LID.

I wonder who would take that job. That's signing a death warrant. Yes, the money is really good. Too fucking good, I'm talking millions of dollars good.

But the end is death. I might make it out alive. The Bishop won't. It's a given. The Bishop is meant to be my shield and the shield gets hit. A thousand times even, before the fall of the one wielding it.

I start to apply my organic shampoo on my hair when I hear a beep, signaling that someone just opened the door of my bedroom.

The only person that can do that while I'm still at home is Javier. We don't share a room. I have no idea what his room looks like and quite frankly I don't even want to fucking know.

I dip my manicured fingers into my frothy waves and start to massage them.

There's another bedroom connected to my bedroom, only separated by a door. Javier could have taken that bedroom, but he said he needed an entire floor to himself.

Done with rinsing my hair, I turn off the shower. I reach for a white fluffy house coat hanging on a rail close to my bathtub and walk to the hair dryer attached to the wall of my bathroom.

I fasten the strap of my white fluffy house coat as I dry my hair.

When I'm sure my hair is fully dry, I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the conversation that brought him to my room. We didn't talk after Friday night dinner with Helena. When we got back, I just went straight to my room and that was it.