L'Angelo della Morte | A Mafia Romance

♛14 ⥄ ❝ Romeo ❞

I'm excited for this one, and I hope you are too! :D

Happy reading 

~ E

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The law ain't never been a friend of mine, I would kill again to keep from doing time — you should never ever trust my kind.

~ Royal Deluxe

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A cold breeze hit me when I stepped out of Vittorio's car. I eyed the small house we'd pulled up in front of. This was by no means a nice neighborhood; I'd never dare walk there alone.

The small front yard was unkempt – grass tall enough that it was falling over on itself and the trash can was knocked over, black tied-off plastic bags spilling out. A shiny black motorcycle stood parked near the house.

I swallowed the growing lump in my throat and followed Vittorio towards the front door. He knocked but after a few moments had passed with no response, he sighed.

"For future reference," he muttered, "never do what I'm about to do."

He tried the handle and the door slid open quietly. Vittorio gave me a look before he slowly stepped inside. He was impressive, really, as quiet as a shadow. I couldn't assume sneaking into the house of an unstable assassin was the best course of action, but Vittorio didn't seem too concerned.

I followed close behind and held my breath for a moment when the smell of weed reached my nostrils. The small T-shaped hallway was dark, only the light seeping through the tinted windows in the front door illuminating it. We continued forwards slowly.

The hall split in separate directions, leading to a single door on one, and two doors on the other.

I followed Vittorio to the left; the side with two doors. He carefully pried one open, revealing a small, dark bathroom. It smelled like cologne and a fruity shampoo in there.

Trying the other, Vittorio revealed a small living space functioning as a bedroom. A large mattress was thrown on the floor off to the right and a loveseat sat against the wall on the left. A small coffee table stood slightly crooked near the loveseat; a bong and a dozen empty beer cans stood on top.

I took a step further into the room and concluded that the weed smell originated there. It mixed with that same, spicy cologne. It was a nice cologne – one that begged you to do a double take. It would turn heads if it blew by you on the street.

"Bold of you to bring her here."

I whirled around in the direction of the voice and came face to face with the owner of it.

He was tall, about Vittorio's height, and muscular. So muscular. His hair was dark brown and curly – long enough that it was pulled back into a man-bun. He was shirtless – wearing only a pair of gray sweats, and a semi-automatic assault rifle dangled nonchalantly in his right hand. Intricate tattoos stretched from his pecs to the back of his hands, forming beautifully detailed sleeves. Compared to Vittorio's sun-kissed complexion, this man looked like he hadn't seen the sun in months.

I stumbled back. His eyes met mine; breathtaking. One was the same deep, dark chocolate color as Vittorio's – the other icy blue. They held the same fierceness as his brother's, but there was something different about them. Something unpredictable.