You're dead to me

Chapter twenty-eight: Parlare

Giovanni's POV:

After she ran away, I drop back into bed and sigh frustrated. Fuck, she's not only fucking my hand, but also my mind. I want to lock her out. She doesn't belong there.

I hear the water running in the bathroom. I rub my eyes awake and start sorting out my outfit for today. I'm clenching my jaw and scrunch my nose up. Do I regret it, am I disgusted with her or myself? I can't answer those questions, instead I stay in the same place, until the water stops and I hear her getting downstairs. I breath out, I haven't even noticed that I held on my breath. I don't know why, but I went into her bathroom and the second I step in I see my clothes peeking out of the bin.

I press my lips into a thin line and narrow my eyes together. I fist my hand and jerk them out. Such a bitch, so full of herself and blaming me.

***

I come downstairs where she already is eating her breakfast on the sofa. With one glance over her face, I see nothing but her cold self again. On one day again.

She sees me and finishes up her food, gets up and bends down to fill the dishwasher with her dishes. Her black long-sleeve-turtleneck top moves a bit back and I see freshly scratches on her arm. I glare at her with an empty expression. She stalks past me and I catch her by her injured arm, holding it close to my eyes, my grip his hard and steady.

I shoot her a death stare.

"Who did that to you?".

She remains quiet and just tries to get pass me. "Oh no, you won't start acting like the brat you were at one day". I squat down and grab her under her ass and throw her over my shoulder. I march into the office downstairs and she begins screaming at me, cursing some Italien words and punching my back. "Don't hurt yourself, I'm out of metal". She snorts unamused. I push her down onto the office chair and tigh her with my hands on her arms, fixing on the armrest. I bend down to her eye level.

"Parlare!". (Speak).