Suo Angelo

four

THE NEXT DAY GIOVANNI woke up alone in bed. He had listened to his mother's adamant advice, choosing to lie only with himself. Despite his libido, Giovanni chose not to go behind his mother's back. Sometimes he felt responsible for her stress, he knew he was constantly on her nerves. So, for the night, Giovanni simply went home and slept. Alone.

He cringed as the sunlight attacked his eyes. It had been a long night, a long day, for him yesterday. Without the company of one of his many playthings, the day just seemed to drag on endlessly. It almost felt excruciating, but Giovanni knew that boredom would always be. And, if he wanted to put himself back into his mother's good books then he'd have to listen and do what she says. No matter how difficult or painful it is.

He almost opened his mouth to order a girl out of his room. Realizing what he was about to do, he shook his heavy head and swung his legs off the bed. Giovanni slowly began to establish the same mindset of his mother, understanding how terrible his constant desire for sexual release. Especially if he was so used to barking out orders every morning he awoke to the whore beside him.

The hardwood flooring was cold against his feet, and he resisted the urge to shiver. He had opted to just wear a pair of briefs to bed, and that ultimately bit him in the ass. His room was freezing and, in return, Giovanni allowed small cusses to escape his lips. Goosebumps almost rose on his skin, but before they could he had already walked towards the bathroom.

Taking a quick glance in the mirror turned into a deep conscious stare. He surveyed his features; a strong jaw, prominent cheekbones, an aristocratic nose, plump rosy lips and slight facial hair shadowing his face. Giovanni wasn't one to be over obsessed with his vanity, he had his own insecurities. For example, the slight scar that ran from his temple down his neck. Or the scars that littered his skin, covered my tattoos that swirled up his arms and across his pectorals. A tribal design crossed over his upper back and, at times, peaked out from the collars of his shirts.

It was this time in the morning, the dull and quiet awakening of day, that was the hardest for him. The morning once he had awoken was the time he felt the most alone, the most vulnerable. Giovanni had always wished to find someone who would make his life worth living, but his lifestyle just didn't permit that. He couldn't bring it upon himself to shove away work for even a moment and actually search for 'the one.' Despite his mother's constant pushiness on the subject, Giovanni had never gone out to meet a woman.

The days where he sat in his office, the weight of murder riding on his conscience, Giovanni questioned if he was even worthy of such a thing. He was a monster, he was the devil incarnate. His past, his present, and his future was littered with blood and gore. After all, he had first killed a man when he was only thirteen. His entire life he had been reaped of emotion, never having the chance to cry or experience true feelings. Giovanni had been forced into this lifestyle and to grow up much faster than he had wanted to.

Unfortunately, the mafia was all he'd known. Yes, he did own a few businesses on the side; a law firm, a few five star restaurants, and a chain of hotels. Other than that, he didn't know the basics of love other than platonic. He knew he loved his mother and father, that he--despite his stupidity--loved Antonio. Giovanni loved his job and the privileges he had earned because of it. He loved that, other than inheriting his family's established mafia, he had built his own empire. Giovanni felt pride when he thought of his success outside his inheritance.

Breaking from his thoughts, Giovanni returned to his daily routine; shower, dress, eat, work. It had been like that for years now, ever since he had became the mob boss with his father retiring. He never really had the chance to change anything up, his schedule was much too hectic for that. Some days would include organizing shipments and adjusting his vast drug cartel. Other days would be devoted purely to expanding the fear attached to his image; killing and torturing.