The Two Families

Chapter Eight

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

The alarm sound pulsed into my brain, making me groan. I used all my willpower to push myself up, smashing my alarm clock, until it shut up. I wrapped myself in my duvet, covering my head. I couldn't go back to sleep because the dehydration I felt was too apparent. My stomach lurched and gurgled. Maybe if I had some painkillers, it would help. I raised my heavy eyelids halfway only for them to fall shut. I raised them again, eyes burning, and swung my bare feet onto the cold marble floor.

"Ugh," I groaned, stumbling into the bathroom. I flinched at the brightness of the lights when I turned them on. My eyes were barely open; I struggled to open them to see myself in the mirror. My lipstick was smudged, my eyes were red, my face was puffy and my neck...

"Fuck!" I swore. I ran my hand over the hickeys, trying to remember what happened last night. Zara. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. My head still pounded as I splashed cold water on my face. I stumbled out of the bathroom, opening my phone. 

"Oh fuck," I yelled, slapping my head, which made it hurt even more. It was 8:30 am. I was already half an hour late. I ran around the room, grabbing whatever clothes I could find, throwing them on and spraying dry shampoo in my hair. My mouth was so dry and my stomach churned but now was not the time to worry about that. I grabbed my bag and a protein bar from the counter, along with a bottle of water. I wore a black turtleneck to cover the hickeys, tucked into plaid pants.

Stumbling down the hall, I pressed my temples to try to ease the pain. The smell of alcohol was so intoxicating last night, however; I knew it would come back to bite me in the ass. I reached down, unable to see Julian. I cursed audibly. 

The sound of traffic and people made my brain pound. It felt like someone took out my brain, rearranged it and put it backwards in my head. Luckily, I found a taxi.

"Marino Investors," I informed.

I leaned my head against the seat, squeezing my eyes shut. I took out the water bottle, draining half of it to soothe my irritated throat. I devoured the protein bar and had my pain killers. It was 8:45. I bounced my leg in worry of what Luka would say. In the four months I worked for him, I was never late. Surely he wouldn't get mad. 

The driver stopped in front of the building and I shoved whatever money I had in his hand. I ran into the building, tripping over my own feet. I bumped into every single person in that building. I don't think there was a single person I didn't hit. I went into the elevator, tapping my foot in anticipation. I greeted Sienna, who shot me an annoyed glare and opened Luka's office door. 

"Good morn-" I started. He wasn't there. I went into my office, taking out the planner to try and figure out where he was.

Friday: 8:45 am, meeting.

I shut the planner, pushing my door open and making my way into the meeting room. I rubbed my unfocused eyes, trying to focus them while pushing the door open.

"How many kilograms of cocaine will you deli-" Luka stopped, staring at me.

My eyes were blurry, but I could make out what was happening in front of me. Briefcases stacked with money were displayed on the table, but that wasn't something out of the ordinary here, however; what was out of the ordinary was the numerous amount of weaponry on the table. Pistols, rifles, shotguns, grenades, knives, and a lot more I couldn't name. White powder in bags was placed on the table. I looked at the glass walls of the meeting room only to see that they were tinted. My eyes widened as I slowly turned my gaze to Luka. Oh, if looks could kill, I would be dead right now.

"Leave," Luka growled at the people in the room.

Could I shoot myself with one of those guns? 

I was too hungover to process the sight in front of me, but every inch of my body was screaming to run away, and that is exactly what I did. I ran. Well, I didn't run, I tried to run, which I failed misreblely at because there were people in front of me and I was extremely hungover. I felt arms go around my waist. I spun around, to see Luka, who threw me over his shoulder. I felt the bile rise in my throat. Oh, this isn't a good time to be upside down. 

I kicked around, "put me down!"

He kept quiet, getting into the elevator. I pushed against him, trying my best to get away from him. He carried me into the garage, passing by many people who didn't even react to the sight in front of them. I felt my cheeks grow hot at the thought of me being slung over Luka's shoulder; he walked around like I weighed nothing. He got out his car key, unlocking the car, as I gave my final attempt to get out of his grip. He shoved me into the seat, bending down and strapping the seatbelt on, before shooting me a last glare and locking the door. He ran to the driver side and drove off. 

"Where are we going?" I asked, head spinning.

Nothing.

"Luka!" I yelled.

His eyes flicked to me, dark, cunning, calculating. I messed up; I knew I messed up. The one rule he had given me, I broke. I began to process the scene in front of me. All the people in the room were the investors in the files I had in my office. Was that cocaine on the desk?  Luka was talking about cocaine when I opened the door. Why was there drugs on the table? What about the weapons? What? 

I looked over at Luka, whose jaw was tight, not uttering a single word.

Who is Luka Marino?