*Weekly updates*
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When Ella Zanova is forced to marry the cruel mobster Grayson Hall, she does the unthinkable to escape. Her life is in danger now, but things change when she meets the not-less dangerous Axton Dark.
In the middle of a mafia war...
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Ella's footsteps broke the silence. She sat down at the table across from me, but I continued to eat my breakfast without looking up from my plate.
"Good morning," she said.
I couldn't tell that the morning was good. At all. I woke up—although the one hour didn't feel like sleep at all—pretty mad.
Mad at Ella, indeed.
I was mad that weeks after I got shot, she made me smile. I was mad that she distracted me from everything important. Mad, because she made me create a chaos of food on the floor. I was mad that she messed with my mind so very often since she appeared in my life.
But now, I had to focus on the crucial stuff. I wanted her, I got her. And that should have been all.
"O-okay," she mumbled, and after that, only the sound of her fork and knife over her plate was heard.
"I have a meeting at lunch in the office room."
Before I could continue, she said, "Okay. I won't interrupt." Well, at least she knew what I was going to say.
I didn't wait for her to finish breakfast and went back to my room. Which didn't make anything any less irritating while I kept thinking how peaceful she looked when she fell asleep on the couch—pretty exhausted, yet in peace. And how good I felt her in my arms while I was carrying her to her bed, and even for a moment, fuck these damn moments, I thought to bring her into my bed.
Fuck off these moments, and fuck off this girl!
***
Just at noon, I went out to meet my guest—the only damn reason I got back to this residence. He was a man, apparently aged about sixty, with greyish hair and prescription glasses, under which one could see quite a few wrinkles, but with a confident gait, radiating nothing but self-confidence.
"General Mitchell," he presented himself, extending his hand.
"Axton Dark," I answered, shaking his hand.
Of course, he knew who I was. Obviously, he had had contact with my father that I didn't know about and now, my uncle put me in touch with him. Although I still wasn't enthusiastic about this meeting at all, I knew how people like him—especially those with this high rank— expected others to treat them. So, I had to show respect since he respected my relatives.
"A beautiful house. Let's take a look inside."
"Of course. Over there," I replied, pointing to the front door.
General Mitchell went ahead, and I followed him.
I let the general take a quick tour around the living room, and then we entered the office room—spacious and sophisticated enough, with a quiet background noise coming from the small fireplace. The annoying sunlight that filtered through the curtains and reflected on the machagony furniture didn't match my mood, but that was me. Obviously, General Mitchell liked precisely that—he passed around the massive wooden table with the leather chairs and settled in one of the armchairs by the windows.
