MAFIA POSSESSION ( Completed)

POSSESSIVE

Instead, the promise of dreamland was hauled away and my restful zone rudely interrupted by the sudden vibrations on my chest. Not to mention the loud ringtone much too close to my eardrums.

Startled, in my foggy haze, I registered that it was a call and not even bothering to look at the caller ID decided to answer it.

“Helloo?” My voice cracked through dry lips.

Silence….

“Hello?” I tried once more, my tone still raspy.

“Were you asleep?” Anthony’s deep voice questioned. My eyes widened in surprise and brought the phone to eye level so I could verify.

Yup, it read Ass-Wipe. Great, what a way to ruin what would have been a perfect trip to dreamland.

“I thought phone calls were off-limits?” Already I was annoyed. My anger hadn’t subsided despite the few days had passed since our last call. Unless he was calling to apologize I didn’t really want to hear it.

He sighed into the phone. “They are. I don’t want you getting the idea that you can call me regularly.”

Oh boy, he really was pushing my buttons. “Say something I want to hear or I’m hanging up...” I warned.

“Isabella, you’re being disrespectful,” he reprimanded.

Seriously?

He had to be joking. Anthony Romero was going to pull the disrespectful card on me? What was a girl even supposed to say to that? After the way he spoke to me the last time? He wrote the fucking book on being disrespectful.

“Are you calling to teach me manners?” I scoffed.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to a concert?” He ignored my question.

“I wasn’t aware you’d care.” That wasn’t entirely true. It was obvious he was a micro-manager. To the point even my brother warned me not to say anything.

“I saw your pictures.”

“I didn’t realize we were friends on Facebook.” I knew very well that we weren’t.

“You let him touch you. His arm was around your waist.” He sounded pissed.  And I seriously wasn’t in the mood for his possessive bullshit right now.

“You’re joking. He’s an artist and I’ll probably never see him again.”

“I know him— we’ve hung out a few times. And trust me when I tell you I don’t want his dirty little hands on you.”

God, he wasn’t joking. 

At his balls, I let out a hysterical laugh. “Oh my god you’re one two-faced son of a bitch,” I said in disbelief. Then added, “I’m busy Anthony, if that’s all you wanted I’m going to have to let you go now.”

Take that asshole.

“You’re mad, that’s why you’re acting like this,” He said it like it was the most ridiculous thing ever. Like no one ever got mad at him, like he was some fucking angel. “You’re upset about how we ended our last call.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Some may say I need to be afraid and probably shouldn’t speak to him this way, but honestly I didn’t give a flying fuck anymore. The decision had been made the last time we spoke that from now on he would get just as he gave.

Even if my father forced me to marry Anthony, that didn’t mean that I’d stop going after the things that made me happy. And right now, talking to him wasn’t making me happy. 

“I didn’t call to discuss your feelings,” he deadpanned.

“Then why the fuck did you call?” I’m sure he didn’t like my attitude.

“I don’t like other men touching you,” he admitted, but it sounded hesitant. Like he wasn’t sure why he even felt like that. Like that particular truth threw even him off.

“You’ve said that before.” Like only every single time I’ve ever spoken to him.

“Yet you don’t listen.” He had to be insane. No question about it. I felt like this was a pointless conversation. We were going in pointless circles.  What did he even want from me? It’s not like I could go back in time and magically remove Drake’s hand from my waist.

Plus, I totally digged Drake’s hand around my waist, if the man had wanted to kiss me, I would have allowed tongue.

That’s just how life was and Ass-wipe would just have to learn to deal with it.

“You can’t really control my every action, Anthony.  We’re not even married yet.” It was true. It was up to my father to decide what I could and couldn’t do.

And there was nothing wrong with taking a damn picture with your favorite artist— only someone psycho like my fiancée would read too much into it.

He made a frustrated noise and then spoke, “Before…when I told you not to call me again…” He drifted off, searching for the correct words to clear up a seemingly little misunderstanding. “I want you to know that you can call me if you are ever in any trouble, Isabella.”

This was just fucking perfect.

“Right…” My tone was highly sarcastic. “…Just don’t call you to talk about feelings, emotions, or anything that might indicate you actually have a heart…” 

Silence…. Because what could he ever say that would make any of this okay?

“Anthony. It’s late. I’m sleepy. I’ll see you around.” And I clicked. Just like that. For the second time in my life, I clicked on Anthony Romero, the hottest billionaire and most dangerous crime-lord in Los-Angeles.

Like I was a fucking boss. It was sort of liberating.

Our little calls were starting to quickly become the bane of my existence. Anthony was no longer just the future capo of Los-Angeles to me— no, he was now officially Ass-wipe in my eyes. And I was determined to give him a taste of his own medicine.

I just had to figure out how first. But where there’s a will, there’s a way.

My phone vibrated just then, but it wasn’t a call. It was a text— a text from my fiancé. And I could only stare blankly as my eyes read the message that came from the devil himself.

*Sweet dreams, princess.

-----00000000000----

Armando was gone. He’d been gone for months now. He had left right after Spring Break— right after Drake’s amazing concert. He told me he would be back soon, he said he’d call, he’d text, and he’d keep in touch.

He lied. It was now September and today was yet again the infamous date with the infamous Anthony Romero.

And where was my brother? In hell…or at least he would be once I got done with him.

It irked me that he could pull this shit on me. Even Annalise, who I didn’t like to call, wouldn’t answer her phone. No amount of begging and questioning would make my father give—I just wasn’t allowed to know. I didn’t understand it, what had I done to merit such secrecy? My family had a ton of secrets, but they had never made me feel like such an outsider.