L'Angelo della Morte | A Mafia Romance

♛03 ⥄ ❝ Cambio dei piani ❞

───♛─────────────

Welcome to the Devil's playground, you can tread where demons play

~The Rigs

───♔─────────────

Small bullets of water rained over me. They landed on my skin and chased each other to hit the tiles first. I groaned, the warm water easing some of the tension in my muscles. I combed my fingers through my long, knotted hair and massaged the blueberry-scented shampoo into it. It smelt fresh and reminded me of summer. Foam gathered between my fingers before it washed down my arms and slapped onto the floor.

It was only six in the morning when Vittorio had woken me up, freshly showered and in a new suit. He'd handed me a shopping bag from Gucci and told me to shower. It was Sunday. I'd have to convince him to let me go soon. Our trip to Las Vegas would start today.

I turned off the water and grabbed a fresh towel. I stepped out onto the tiled floor and grabbed the shopping bag. Inside was a simple, knee-length, black skirt, a cream-colored button-down silk shirt, and a pair of black leather flats in a box. At the bottom of the bag was another bag from Journelle. I skeptically grabbed the bag and opened it. I released a long sigh. It wasn't as bad as I'd expected. Inside was a caramel-colored high-neck, slightly see-through bra, and a matching thong.

I quickly got dressed and combed through my hair with my fingers once more. It fell around my shoulders in soft, copper-red waves that reached just above my hips.

"You done soon?" Vittorio didn't sound angry nor impatient when he knocked on the door. "We'll be leaving in ten."

I opened the bathroom door and came face to face with my devilish kidnapper. He was dressed in a tasteful, dark gray suit with a Prussian-blue necktie.

"You took your time." It was merely a statement as if he just wanted to inform me. "We'll grab food somewhere along the way. We've got a long drive ahead of us."

I followed him out the door. He was holding that same suitcase from yesterday. Right outside Michael's house, parked by the sidewalk, was a midnight blue Bugatti Veyron. Sixteen-year-old Carlissa Milan would've been jumping in excitement that she'd get to ride in a car like this. Eighteen-year-old Carlissa Milan would be hesitant to step into a car like this. Twenty-one-year-old Carly Beckett wanted to turn on her heel and run. Run from the dangerous man with the shiny car, the shiny house, and the shiny life. Shiny on the surface that is. On the inside are bloodstains and weapons and drugs – skimpily clad women, infidelity, and violence.

Vittorio dropped the suitcase into the boot of the car. "Get in, Darlin', we haven't got all day," he said and walked to the passenger side to open the door for me. I got in and let myself sink into the plush, leather seats.

Only a few seconds passed before he sat behind the wheel and the car came alive with a steady purr. He kept his eyes on the road as he pulled the car from the curb and began our drive. He looked younger from the side; with long lashes, only a shade darker than his hair. His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth; he was thinking. Pondering. His deep chocolate eyes were glued to the road and his jaw was relaxed. His hair fell across his forehead. It was a bit messy. Like this, he looked like a college student. A boy away from home for the first time. But he was older than that. Older and a lot more lethal. If you were to open that head of his and see his thoughts, desires, and memories, what would you find? He wasn't the first mafioso I'd stood before, and I'm almost certain the ones I had met were mindless robots, programmed to do two things: Kill and fuck. Maybe not in that order.