Luciano | Book I ✓

Chapter Forty

FUN FACT: 90% of the time I spend writing a chapter is used to pick a font on Word.

I haven't been feeling well this whole week so this is probably one of the shorter chapters so I deeply apologyize.

you should follow me on twitter - @tkxo_official

again, sorry for any grammatical errors.

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"If you even dream of beating me, you'd better wake up and apologize." – Muhammad Ali

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Vincenzo, Vincent, Vinny. He was fifteen times scarier, ten times more intimidating, and five times more attractive in person then on screen. The black bandana that he had tightly wrapped around his head was pushed up on his forehead, keeping his dark brown curls on top his head. His skin was perfectly tanned and lacked any type of age defining wrinkles. His eyes were like two black holes, but the only thing that truthfully defined his age, was the facial hair. He kept it perfectly shaved, not too low, but not high enough that made you question whether or not he owned a razor. His facial hair connected to his sideburns and covered his entire chin, only branching off to cover his upper lip also.

I was expecting to see him wearing an expensive, well-tailored suit with custom made shoes and a thousand dollar watch; but I was wrong. Vincent was dressed as casually as he possible could. He wore a black muscle shirt, similar to what I saw him in the first time we met. A G-Shock watch, nothing too fancy, clung to his wrist and other than the evident shine of the necklace that he had tucked into the collar of his shirt, he wore no other jewelry.

The sound of Vincenzo tapping his long, bony middle finger against the wood desk was almost mesmerizing. It was louder than the chatter that echoed in from the hallway and even louder than the whispering that was going on behind me between Peter and Xavier. It was louder to me because I had zoned in; I was staring and I was staring hard.

It wasn't until Vincent's dark, stormy looking eyes snapped to me that I actually came back from my daydreaming. I let out a breath and took a subtle step back out of surprise. Xavier's palm pressed into my back like a knife, keeping me from leaning back even more. His expression was unreadable as his eyes skimmed over me; once, twice, then three times.

The thin line that his lips had formed broke as he tilted his head and smiled at me. "My mother was African American," He addresses me in a deep, accent laced voice. His Italian accent forces him to emphasize every word, even if he doesn't mean to. "My father is Italian, born, raised, and bred." I gulp as Vincenzo shifts in his seat, forcing it to groan under his weight. "You were staring," He adds, explaining why he had told me about his parents, "I can always tell when people are trying to figure out my ethnicity."

My mouth fell open and I struggled for a response. I was still trying to process the fact that he was actually sitting in front of me, sitting in Peter's chair, in Peter's home.

"Thank you for that wonderful history lesson, Professor," Peter answers for me with a sarcastic response of him own. The owner of the home takes a step forward, clutching his own weapon at his side. Two fairly large men come jogging into the room a second later, AK47's strapped to their backs. They slow to a stop as Vincenzo's attention snaps towards them. "Now," Peter Corinelli claps, "Get out of my seat, or better yet, get out of my house."

"Or what?" Vincenzo challenges. "Are you going to beat me like you beat my son?" The drumming of his fingers on the wood stop. My eyes flutter over his large hand, taking notice of his ring-less ring finger. The relaxed position he had been in was overtaken as he sat straight up and leaned forward. There was no harsh glare or squinting of the eyes for intimidation. Vincenzo kept a straight face with pursed lips and relaxed eyebrows.