L'Angelo della Morte | A Mafia Romance

♛09 ⥄ ❝ Dye & pizza ❞

Hi loves!

I'm here with yet another chapter. I hope you're enjoying the book so far; if you are, please vote and leave a comment or two – it's super appreciated!

Another chapter or two will be up later today!

~ E

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Don't you know that I cried tears of gold for you?

~ Faouzia

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When I woke up, the tears of last night's crying session had dried on my skin, making my face feel stiff and puffy. The sickness hadn't faded. It was still spreading through my stomach like poisonous butterflies.

I got up off the bed and dragged myself to the shower where I sat under the hot water as it pounded down on my skull. The loud water chased my thoughts away just long enough for me to breathe.

Once I'd gathered up the courage to get out of the shower, I dried myself off and braided my still wet hair. Everything seemed to move so slowly as I gradually got ready to face the day.

I finally made my way to the door and as soon as I pulled it open, I stopped in my tracks. On either side of my door stood a suited man, rigid, tall, and armed. Neither of them even spared me a second glance.

I reluctantly moved forward, exiting my room, and made my way to the elevator. As soon as the doors swung open I hurried inside and smacked the close-doors button. I leaned back against one of the walls, my heart pounding like a galloping horse.

Not until the elevator stopped at the ground floor did I manage to catch my shallow breath. I made my way to the small bar and ordered a light breakfast, before making myself at home at one of the tables.

I jumped back when something smacked down flat in front of me. Wide-eyed, I looked at Vittorio who was in the process of pulling out a chair.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to frighten you."

I blinked. Then I blinked again. Vittorio sat in front of me, dressed the same as the previous day, except the suit jacket was missing. His shirt almost looked like crumpled paper and his hair was the most disheveled I'd ever seen it.

"I'm not gonna keep you in the dark. You're probably curious about the guards." He nodded towards the folder in front of me. "Open it."

The sinister look on his face brought my heartbeat to a sprint. Slowly I reached for the folder, eyeing Vittorio warily. I flipped it open and when my eyes fell on its contents, my racing heart stuttered. Photographs. Photographs of a man turned away from the camera as he was getting into a slick, black limousine. The most noticeable feature being the bleached, white hair.

"Is he –"

"They weren't able to see his face. But these photos were taken here in New Orleans." Vittorio looked at me almost expectantly; with a question he wasn't asking.

"It's him," I whispered through the lump in my throat, "I'm sure of it."

He nodded. "That's why I placed security outside your room."

I leaned back in my chair and ran both hands through my hair. I wanted to scream. The frustration in me was brewing to a dangerous boil. One I couldn't control much longer.