The car stops outside a huge mansion about an hour outside of the city. There are dozens of men in all black carrying machine guns pacing the perimeter. The door to the car opens and I jump. The man who drove is standing there with his hand out.
Cautiously I take his hand and hop out of the car. The other two men materialize and I am brought inside the mansion. The exterior is nothing compared to the interior. Marble floors, gold accents, statues and classic art.
They bring me down too many corridors for me to remember until we get to a large, dark wood door. The man who had driven me knocks on the door loudly.
"Entra in," a deep voice says from the other side of the door.
(Come in)
He opens the door and pushes me forward. I reluctantly enter the large office and instantly feel so, so small. The walls are a dark maroon with perfect white trim. The dark wood floor is partially covered with a Persian rug. A large desk sits front and center in front of a wall of windows. And a terrifyingly handsome man sits in a leather chair.
His blue eyes are shocking even from across the room. His black hair is styled to perfection which only contrasts to the stubble across his sharp jaw. His perfectly tailored suit shows off both his muscles and his money. Tattoos dance across his hands and neck and I have to assume he's covered. And god damn does he look good.
"Ecco la sostituzione di Marco," the man who drove says with a chuckle, pushing me further into the room.
(Here's Marco's substitution.)
"Mi scusi?" The man behind the desk asks as he stands, anger radiating off of him.
(Excuse me?)
It seems as though they are not aware that I am fluent in Italian as they yell at each other. It would be entertaining if I was in any other situation.
"Ci stai mettendo in giro così con i russi?" the man behind the desk practically growls.
(Are you really fucking around like this with the Russians on our ass?)
"La vuoi o no?" the man who drove me here asks.
(Do you want her or not?)
Both men's attention suddenly snaps back to me. The one behind the desk blinks at me a few times before walking over slowly. I try to take a step back but hit the man who was holding me earlier. Unable to put space between us, I stand and watch in terror as he approaches me.
His eyes scan me from head to toe and I have never felt more naked in clothes before. It's as though his intense gaze can see clear through the fabric. Just like the other man, he raises his hand to my face. And once again I flinch back and squeeze my eyes shut. His hand gently tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear.
"Che cazzo le hai fatto?" he booms at the room.
(What the fuck did you do to her?)
"I swear we didn't do shit other than bring her here," the third man says, speaking for the first time since I've met him.
"Esci," he demands, taking a step back.
(Get out)
The room empties until it is just me and him. I finally open my eyes again and he has returned to sitting behind the desk. I look around the room, trying to figure out how the hell I can leave.
"Take a seat," he instructs, gesturing to one of the seats on the other side of the desk. I do as he says and sit in the luscious leather chair.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask, barely able to hold back the tears now. I try so hard not to be afraid, not to panic. But I can't.
He sighs and runs a hand through his perfectly styled hair causing a few strands to fall across his forehead.
"I won't say anything I promise. Just please take me home, I'll pay back whatever Marco owes," I all but beg him.
أنت تقرأ
The Don and His Angel
العاطفيةDon Luciano DiSilva is known for his ruthlessness. As the leader of the Italian Mafia, he is cold and callous. But then he meets her. Victoria Ricci was hidden from the world by her abusive father. When her brother makes a fatal mistake, he offers...
