L'Angelo della Morte | A Mafia Romance

♛19 ⥄ ❝ Baciami ❞

This one's a big one!
I hope you're as excited as me,
because I'm excited!

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I'm in love with an angel who's afraid of the light.

~ Theory of a Deadman

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I mumbled a few adult words when I messed up my eyeliner for the fourth time and drove my hand through my unruly hair.

Shortening my hair had seemed great at the time, but styling it was a task I hadn't expected to be as difficult. That – and my blocky winged liner – was dragging the frustration out of me.

After a few more attempts and a lot more curse words, I finally managed to perfect it. I huffed, deciding to let my hair look wild, and moved on to putting on my shoes.

As soon as I plopped down on the edge of my bed, a series of knocks tore my attention from the task at hand.

I looked towards the open door and knitted my brows together.

"I thought you were on a business trip."

Romeo pressed his full lips together, suppressing a smile, and glanced off to the side. "I got home early."

He stood in the doorway. His hands were holding onto the top of the doorframe, supporting his weight as he leaned forward a bit. The muscles in his arms were flexed, every defined muscle clearly outlined. His shirt rode up a bit, giving a glimpse of the abs that were no doubt a result of countless hours at the gym.

"Need a hand?" He slapped the top of the doorframe, sauntered into the room, and approached me – a devilish smirk playing on his lips. Before I could respond, he knelt on one knee; his slender hands engulfed my ankle and pulled my foot onto his knee. He nodded toward the pumps. "You looked like you were ready to beat these into oblivion."

I looked down and I'm sure he could see my face grow redder by the second. "I'm just a little..."

"Agitated?" He gently slid the shoe onto my foot, his fingers easily securing the thin strap around my ankle before moving on to the other shoe.

"Yeah," I bit my lip. "Vittorio found the phone this morning."

Romeo glanced up at me through his dark lashes. His curls were pulled back in the usual small bun, but a few strands had whisked over his forehead. He was in a black, sleeveless muscle shirt that hugged his torso beautifully and a pair of faded black jeans that hung low around his hips.

Lord have mercy.

My eyes focused on the tattooed backs of his hands as he secured the strap around my other ankle. They swept past his defined forearms and lingered on his muscular upper arms. To think every line of ink – every inch of his arms and chest contained initials of his past victims.

"How did he react?" Romeo's tone was as neutral as it could be; almost as though he already knew the answer, but his eyes still found mine. "He hurt you?"

I shook my head, but not even I was convinced.

"Where?"

His no-nonsense tone was enough to convince me and I hesitantly slid the tight sleeve of my black off-the-shoulder dress up my arms.

Romeo's tongue skimmed over his top row of teeth and he let out a huff that sounded more like a joyless laugh.

"He apologized though." My voice was almost too soft for me to hear, but I knew he heard me. I knew from the fire that ignited in his mismatched eyes.