DISCLAIMER: This chapter contains minor talk of rape and other graphic content like a little bit of smut. If this makes you uncomfortable in any way, please scroll past it.
R E G I N A
Of course, I would respect this man's privacy. I'm not a monster. I wouldn't want someone peeking through my things, so why would I do the same? It's incredibly invasive and discourteous. And although it is compelling, I know my place.
I'm currently sitting on the couch in front of Ambrose's desk with his laptop on my lap. He told me the password, so I wouldn't have to ask later, but there was no point. I could have gotten in anyway.
It's been an hour since we got back from the work of Anthony Carmello, and I've been working since. I can't sleep. For some odd reason, my body is drained but my mind just won't give it a rest. I can't stop thinking about Carmello. The way he works is so uncoordinated, and the way he kills is so neglectful. His moves are incredibly predictable. It's as if you gave a child the leader seat and let him run around the guns and ammo. So I can't quite comprehend why or how he's so feared.
Getting bored and fed up with coming up dry, I decided to plug in my headphones and blast music from my phone while I work, praying that it'll help me focus. It always had, but tonight may be an exception.
I don't know how long it had been, but I was so immersed that I didn't even notice Ambrose walking into the office. I look up to see him pacing back and forth between the desk and the couch. He's on a phone call, but I can't make out what he's saying. Or shouting.
"Are you okay?" I ask, taking out my earphones. He doesn't even spare me a glance. He just roars at the person on the other side of the phone in Greek. "Den díno máti! Pós cháneis énan evdomínta chronóo!?" (I don't give a fuck! How do you manage to lose a seventy-year-old man!?)
"Ambrose?" I try again. This time he turns around and glimpses down at me. "I don't care. Fix it." He hisses before hanging up the phone, wandering to his desk, and dropping down on the chair. He combs a hand through his hair and then down his face in frustration. "Are you good?" I ask for a second time. This time he acknowledges me and waves me over to him. "Why? What do you want?" Again, he doesn't answer and looks at me like he's aggravated
He waves me over again. "Just come here, please. We need to discuss some things." His tone is weary and in no mood to argue, so I reluctantly get up from my cozy spot on the couch and stride over to his desk, sitting at one of the chairs. "What do you wanna talk about? Did you dig up anything on Carmello?" He shakes his head still looking at me, not once breaking eye contact.
"Do you know who I am?" He asks after a few still moments. What kind of question is that? "Yeah? What are you getting at here?" I ask, bewilderment laced in my tone. Why would I not know who he is? It's kind of difficult to forget him. After a few beats of him gaping at me with something that looks too close to admiration, he slowly stands and walks around his desk to sit in the chair opposite of me. "Do you remember anything from your childhood or teen years?" He finally asks.
Huh?
Confusion isn't a strong enough word to describe what I'm feeling right now. How does he know about my childhood? What does he know? I mean I know he knows I was... forced, but what else does he know? Why would he bring it up? I don't know what my face is displaying, but he sees it and guilt begins to cloud his face.
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His Greek Love | 18+
Romance"You- you were him," I say, flabbergasted. He doesn't say anything but the look on his face gives him away. "Why didn't you say anything?" I ask, now getting angry. He knew all this time and didn't say anything. "I didn't say anything because I didn...
