Falling Angel | a Mafia Story

Chapter III

"Head full of poison, the Devil in your eyes,

You're a dark toothed liar and you're caught up in smoke"

My brain was foggy, my vision hazy and unclear when I finally managed to hold onto my consciousness.

There was a continuous ringing in my ear every time I tried to concentrate my senses, making me even more disorientated and irritated as a gravelly voice cut into my brain.

"Wakey, wakey."

A low chuckle erupted from somewhere near me, but I had trouble detecting where it came from exactly.

Just trying to lift my head up had cost all the energy left in my body and it took an immense effort to simply keep my breathing steady, so with a low groan I rolled my head to the side trying to make out the person sitting opposite of me.

It was indeed the same amber eyed man, dressed in the same suit with the same bloody smirk on his ridiculously handsome face.

Slowly my head became clearer and I took in my surroundings, gingerly moving my head, but as I tried to move my hand to run over the tense muscles in my neck, I found them bound together on my lap.

This just keeps getting better and better.

We were sat opposite of each other in a small windowless room with a dim lamp that was hanging from the ceiling offering the only source of light.

The air was thick with tension and I couldn't quite make up my mind which situation would be worse, my opponent being a Caressio or a D'Angelo.

"Who are you?" I croaked, my throat dry and burning like a sandpit.

Way to fucking go, Anabelle... could you sound any more pathetic?

The man stood up and approached me, leaning down to level our faces giving me a cold glare.

"The question here is, who are you?"

His long fingers clenched my chin in a tight grip, yanking it left and right so he could study my face better.

The sudden proximity sent fiery chills over my skin, making me want to bring distance between the two of us, but the only thing I could do in my constraints was lean back in the chair as far as possible.

"You know, bella, something about you seems familiar, but I just can't quite put my finger on it, yet."

Nervously, I looked down at my hands that were tied together on my lap, my shaking fingers clenched into tight fists because the anxiety in my stomach was growing with every breath that I took.

I had not tried to escape the Mafia all those years ago without a reason. No, I despised the kind of people its power brought forth.

And the tall, dark haired devil in front of me practically reeked of power.

His fingers snaked under my chin forcing me to look up into his face, which was twisted into a sickly-sweet masque as he leaned even closer to a point where I could smell his expensive cologne oozing off of him.

"Maybe you're just one of the many faceless whores I've fucked!" he sneered, still eying my face closely and trying to figure out who I was.

But his comment made my stomach boil in anger and my pride overpowered my reason in a stupid moment of courage, so without thinking I straightened up and spat him right in the face, not breaking eye contact for a second.

My courage faded quickly, however, as his eyes, while face completely emotionless, started burning with unbridled rage and within a heartbeat his hand shot out to slap me across the face.