L'Angelo della Morte | A Mafia Romance

♛17 ⥄ ❝ Tranquility ❞

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So I'll light up a cigarette I'll — drink it down till there's nothing left. 'Cause I sure can't get no sleep and Lord knows there's no relief.

~ Sam Smith, Yebba

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That night, sleep didn't come easy. Even with Vittorio's presence next to me, my mind wouldn't allow me to drift off. I tossed and turned for what felt like an eternity before I finally huffed and glared at the digital clock on the nightstand.

4:13 A.M.

I rolled my eyes and slowly got out of bed, careful as to not wake Vittorio. I tiptoed downstairs and made it to the glass doors that opened to the backyard.

The pool lights were on, and I'd only gotten to grab the door handle before I realized someone else had a similar idea; Romeo sat on the edge of the pool, his calves submerged in the water as he smoked.

The moment I opened the door, the overwhelming smell of weed wafted in my direction, but Romeo didn't react. He kept his back to me, his head tilted back as he looked up.

The cold evening breeze cooled my skin and my lungs welcomed the crisp air. Crickets could be heard in the distance, their sounds bleeding in with those of the pool.

"Can't sleep?" I asked, slowly approaching. Startling a heavily armed, trained hitman was a recipe for disaster.

"Nah," he muttered and glanced at me as I sat down next to him. "Want some?"

I shook my head at the joint and looked down. "I don't smoke."

"Boo," he muttered, and I almost missed the 'you whore' that followed.

I chuckled. "Why are you up this late?"

"I could ask you the same."

"I asked first." I gave him a pointed look, but I couldn't help the small tug at my lips.

"I'll be leaving for some work shortly," he said, a tired smile playing on his lips. I found that his goofy persona vanished when he was tired. "I have to still keep up with Fiorino; he does think I'm still under his command."

I nodded slowly.

"Why are you up, bella?" He looked at me with tired eyes, but mustered his usual smirk, the devilish glint not quite reaching his eyes.

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "Nerves? Plotting someone's death is new to me."

He gave me an almost knowing look but his smirk didn't waver. "I can't say the same," he huffed through a cloud of smoke.

"How do you do it?" I looked into his light eyes, a frown pulling at my features. "How do you kill someone and go about your life just forgetting about them?"

"I don't."

His response caught me off guard; this man had impaled someone's throat and went straight to offering me ice tea before the body was even cold, and then he expected me to believe this?

My face must've tipped him off about my thoughts because he spoke again. "I don't just forget them." Romeo rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and presented his forearms to me.

My eyebrows dipped as I stared at the intricate patterns inked into his skin. They were beautiful and took up the majority of his arms and chest, not much of his pale skin left untouched. But then I saw it. I wouldn't have seen it at a first glance, or at all if I hadn't been studying them; Romeo's intricate tattoos were made up of letters. Initials.