"I don't know what are you talking about, Marconi, but I can assure you, your cousin is in good hands!" I growled darkly.
I heard him scoffed. "Since when the devil became compassionate?" he mocks. I scowled into the distance, gripping the sleek machine tightly.
"Don't tempt me, Marconi!" I threatened. I heard him growled loudly but nothing came out of his mouth. "You are lucky, your cousin is sexy as hell, I can spare her life," I sneered causing his temper to bust.
"Don't fucking toy with my cousin, Vitale! I will kill you!" he threatened, his harsh breathing could be heard, and I know I've provoked him damn much.
I let out a long humorless chuckle. "You think you could touch me, Marconi?" I sneered, "You're dead before you can," I stated menacingly.
"You forgot who you are talking to, Vitale," he counter stated, with the same dangerous timbre.
Of course, a deadly Marconi, but why would I give him satisfaction. I'm not afraid of death. The hell he'll get on my nerves.
"Of course, the devil itself," I said smugly. Provoking him actually were very amusing. "Well, just to remind you, Marconi. I have your cousin," I stared at the bottle of Blackwell in front of me as I shifted in my seat, my right elbow propping against the granite counter. "I must say, she actually piques my interest."
I could smell his raging temper over the phone. I smirked.
"FUCK YOU, VITALE!" he growled loudly and I let out a humourless laughter.
"No, thank you, Marconi." I let out a half-hearted laughter. "I'd rather shag your cousin," I goaded, and he exploded.
I ended the call, tired of his sickening tantrums.
"Fucking pussies," I scowled as I grab the bottle of Blackwell and downed it. Ignoring the bitter taste of the alcohol.
I spent another hour or so, thinking about Carmine Castellano, and what would Leone gonna do when he found out his father is still alive.
I've been racking my brains all day, I couldn't fathom how did he survive? Unless it was all a show.
Yes, maybe it was all a show. But why would he do that?
I can't even think of any reason why would he fake his death?
It was past midnight when I felt the exhaustion kicking in my system. I decided to head back to my bedroom, then it hit me. Angel is sleeping in my bed. My fucking bed.
I never felt so excited going to bed until tonight. I quickly hop off of the stool and strode rather staggered towards my room.
After brushing my teeth, I gently crawled on the bed, quietly slipping under the thick blanket, not wanting to wake her up.
My head felt so heavy, my eyes feels droopy. I've never felt so sleepy in my entire life. The bed feels so cozy and I scooted closer to her, gently wrapping my hand around her soft body, I snuggled beside her.
No sooner, had I fell into slumberland.
I woke up feeling so hot and sweaty. I felt something heavy on my chest. When I stirred, I realized, long big legs were intertwined with mine.
My eyes snapped open when I realized it was a man. My eyes scanned the room and I realized it's already night.
How in the hell I got to his bed.
He carried you, stupid. My head snapped and I incredulously look around the room, unconsciously. The room was lit with a golden glow coming from the light outside, coming through the slit of the drawn curtain that encompasses the whole wall.
YOU ARE READING
Falling For Her NightmareRomance
Warning: Contains graphic scenes, mature languages, and swearing. (Sequel to His Wicked Ways) He's lethally cold, impassioned bastard and she loathed him. He's the reason of her father's death. But why her heart stutte...