A Taste of Darkness

Chapter 12: Lessons of Proximity

Scarlett

There was no way I'd willingly put myself in a situation where I had to be close to him again like that time where I had to fight him the boxing ring. "No," I refuse, turning my head away from him in frustration.

"And here I thought you'd jump at an opportunity to punch me," he teases, trying to persuade me otherwise in a smile. I couldn't say that he was wrong, I did really want to punch him.

You know what? Maybe punching the very source of my anger and frustration will be much more efficient than taking it out on a random punching bag.

"I certainly would," I assure him. Even though I hated the thought of giving him what he wanted, at least I could have the chance to leave a couple bruises on that annoyingly toned body of his. "Fine, one fight and that's it. After, you leave."

"Deal," he agrees, leaning over me with a clear smirk on his face.

He takes a couple steps back as we ready ourselves into fighting position. I put my left leg behind my right and bent my knees slightly in order to achieve the most steady and firm position possible. I needed to be strong if I wanted to succeed in my plan of injuring him after all.

Wait a second. . . isn't he supposed to be resting? Didn't he just get shot yesterday? And now he wanted me to fight him?

My eyes travelled down to the stitches on the side of his lower abdomen. They were still perfectly intact, thankfully I'd done a good job. But if he worked his body too much, they could rip just as easily, and for some odd reason, I didn't want that to happen. I didn't want to see the horror of his blood rushing out of his body once again.

The reason was probably just because I knew that things wouldn't end well for me if it was discovered by his members that I was at fault for the death of their oh-so-precious boss. Nothing else.

I drop my fists and take a deep breath once my eyes catch sight of his wound once again. "I'm not fighting you," I conclude, turning my head back up to meet his eyes once again.

He looks at me quizzically, confused at the sudden change of mind after I'd seemed so eager to punch him earlier. "Scared, la mia rosa?"

And there he goes with that annoying nickname once again. And he would assume that I was scared? Fucking annoying jackass. I could feel that sense of hate building up in my body once again and rising all the way up to my throat, begging for release.

"Only in your dreams, asshole," I correct, rolling my eyes in utter annoyance, "And no, it isn't because of that," I add.

"Then what is it?" he asks, curious.

"You're injured," I remind him, irritated at his clueless act. The way he acted like he could never be hurt, like he was forever invincible, always made me furious.

"Never stopped me before," he smirks, looking deeper into my eyes. I wished I could pick up his cocky act and squeeze it in my hand until it disintegrated into ashes and disappeared. I hated it. I think I hated everything about him.

Why am I saying "think"?

"Now I know why you live here with so many people. You need them to look after you otherwise you'd die of denial," I mock while looking directly into his eyes to show him that to me, he wasn't a powerful, intimidating, terrifying mafia boss. Instead, to me he was just any other ordinary person.

A chuckle escapes his lips in response to my comment, a very rare sight judging by what I've seen from him so far in the time that I've known him.

He takes a step closer to me. Now that the distance between us was significantly shorter he had to angle his face down more to look into my eyes, it allowed me to see every one of his individual features all the more clearly. There was something warmer about his expression and brighter about his eyes, which I didn't think was possible considering how bright they already naturally were. A minute of silence passed between us as we stayed glued to our positions, before he finally spoke.