The Boy I Used To Know (The Mafia Family #1) [REWRITING]

chapter three

"I'm Evangeline by the way." I reach my hand out for him to shake as I introduce myself before remembering the old bloody gauze on my knuckles. I didn't have time this morning to change them, but Emiliano always has extra wraps in his office. "Oh, sorry you probably don't want to touch these, I wouldn't blame you." I laugh, not even giving him the chance to think about reaching out to take my hand before I rip the wraps off and stuff them in my pocket.

"It would've been okay to keep them on, I didn't mind," he mutters, taking my now unwrapped hand in his tattooed ones. "These are pretty gnarly...you sure these are just from fighting?" His thumb gently traces over my wounds as he looks up to me with his dark chocolate eyes.

"Y-yeah, they're just from fighting." The way he narrows his eyes at me makes me feel like he knows I'm lying. Like he knows the extra cuts are from what my father did to me last night.

"I see," he hums, pulling out his phone to send a quick message to someone before it's put back in his pocket. "So, little fighter, who did you fight to earn these hm?"

"Well I mean it technically wasn't supposed to be a fight, but I got carried away and let my emotions take over the demonstration." He hums again, now taking my other hand so he's holding both of them in his. The way he touches my wounds so softly and carefully sends shivers up my arms with each pass of his thumb. "So what–"

Before my question makes it fully out of my mouth, the conference room door is swinging open. A man who looks to be a similar age to myself walks in with a box in his hands. He sets it down next to the man holding my hands then quickly leaves.

He releases one of my hands so he's able to open the box and grabs what he needs. I watch as he pulls packages of gauze, hand wraps, and some wipes out of the box before closing it.

Silently, he opens all the packages then takes one of the wipes and begins to clean the skin around the wounds. "I'm sorry," he quickly apologizes when I hiss in pain and my hands jolt away from his touch. "It's supposed to be an alcohol free wipe."

"It's okay, I don't think it was the wipe. The cuts are still a little tender so even the slightest amount of pressure makes them hurt." He mutters another apology while gently taking my hands back in his. "So...how old are you?" I blurt, using the first question that came to my mind as a means to start a conversation.

"I'm twenty-one," he answers shortly, still trying to rid my skin of the old blood. "And you are?"

"Oh, I'm twenty..." I trail off letting my eyes stray to his face where I am now able to get an up close view of him. There's something about him that I can't quite put together. Something that seems so familiar yet foreign.

His wavy black hair is messy at the same time neat with his bangs reaching just the middle of his eyebrows. The lower half of his face is covered in a light scruff that looks to be trimmed and shaped to perfection.

He's dressed to impress in a nice suit that almost looks to have no one wearing it. Pressed and ironed perfectly with zero wrinkles. His black dress shirt looks to be silk with the top couple buttons undone allowing his tattooed chest to peek through.