Here's a long chapter for u guyz.
also I made a spotify playlist for this book its 'ruthless obsession' (:
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The fire is still going when I wake up. Angelo sits in front of it, stirring it occasionally.
It's pitch black outside. It must be early in the morning, maybe 2:00 or 3:00.
There's a soft blanket placed on top of me; one I don't remember having when I fell asleep.
For a while, I look at Angelo's back, not saying anything, or alerting him to my changed state in consciousness. He's changed from his earlier clothes--the ones he put on when he heard the intruder.
Now he's wearing sweatpants and a loose white shirt. He never looks this casual, even around the house, he's always in business attire.
"What are you doing up?" I ask quietly. He doesn't flinch or give any sign that he heard me.
"Thinking." Is all he says to me after a moment. I hesitantly get up from the couch with my blanket around my shoulders and I sit next to him in front of the fire, making sure I don't sit to close.
"What are you thinking about?" I say in my quiet, morning voice.
He doesn't answer.
His eyes are alarmingly red rimmed, and his face is pale. He's drinking another coffee, which confuses me because it's night time.
"You look like you haven't slept in days." I croak, humor slightly lacing my voice.
He shrugs,"I haven't."
"You haven't?" I say pensively.
He shakes his head lightly, eyeing the fire and stirring it. "Why haven't you?" I ask.
"Too much work." He says, resigned.
"That's unhealthy you know."
"How so?" I have a feeling he already knows, by the condescending grin on his face.
"Because, not getting enough sleep can lower your life expectancy." I say quietly, leaning my head on my knee, looking at the crackling fire.
"I'll probably die young anyways." He pauses, all the humor gone from his face,"Why are you doing this?" He asks.
"Doing what?"
"Talking to me, after all the things I've done to you." He doesn't say this in a remorseful way, he says this like it's something he's genuinely displeased about, like wants me to hate him, or he thinks I should and he's mad that I don't.
I don't even know what to say.
"I don't deserve your kindness." He says quietly retaining his gruff voice. He means it, he thinks he's undeserving.
He is undeserving, he's a horrible monster and he's probably killed more people than I can count on two hands, but I can't say I'm accustomed to being a mean person. My attitude is purely reactionary--and almost always decided in the moment.
In the back of my mind I will always remember that he is who he is--that we will never be friends--or anything else for that matter. Sometimes I may forget, but something tells me I won't forget for too long.
"Maybe not." I say, glumly. He seems satisfied with this answer, like my so called 'kindness' is some kind of internal torture for him.
I shouldn't try to empathize with him, but sometimes I just can't help myself. The thought makes me hopeful--me being who I am despite my circumstances is what's keeping me alive. It's what wakes me up every morning. It's why I can sit next to him and have an undeserving conversation with him.
"I hope you're not mistaking my loneliness for kindness." I say, almost jokingly.
He pulls out a joint and a lighter from his pocket, "Misery loves company." He smiles, sticking the joint in his mouth and lighting it.
"Unfortunately, company doesn't love misery." I say, a grin piercing my face.
"I disagree." He says, obviously amused. "It's entirely possible for two people to be miserable together. They both just have to consent to making each other miserable." Angelo says, inhaling the smoke from the joint and releasing. He passes the joint to me and I wrap my mouth around it, sucking and recycling, my nose crinkles in response.
"I'll consent if you will." I say.
He laughs,"That's easy for you to say, when you don't know what you're consenting to."
"Sure I do." I say, handing the joint back to him. "A dreadful existence, inflicted by the person I'm forced to spend all my days with, until my short lived--probably tragic--death." I say dramatically, staring into the fire.
"The best form of self inflicted torture--in my opinion." He states comedically.
"Is it still considered self inflicted torture if you ask someone else to do it?" I say, playfully.
"Is suicide still suicide if you ask someone else to do it?"
"Depends on your perspective."
"And what are the perspectives in question?"
"The justice system. Duh."
"The justice system is shit." He blows out more smoke.
"Okay, well, what about the final moments? The suicider in question could reconsider, they could pussy out and that decision would save their lives, but since it's someone else doing it, that choice is taken from them."
"A deals a deal." He says, passing me the joint.
"You're proving my point." I laugh, taking the joint from him.
"How's that?" He says, curiously, but resigned.
"Different people have different perspectives, but you know that." I say, sucking and inhaling, letting that familiar taste glide down my throat.
"So what's your perspective?" He asks.
"People change their minds, it's human nature; we can hardly fault them for it."
"Maybe they should have thought about that before making the deadly deed."
I chuckle at his seriousness, which makes his face soften.
"Let's go somewhere." He says enthusiastically, interrupting my chuckling.
"And where would we go at 3 A.M.?" I say playfully.
"It's a secret." I eye him suspiciously, "What? Don't you trust me?" He grins.
"Yes of course I trust you. What a silly question Angelo." I say sarcastically.
"That's what I thought." He stands up offering his hand, I don't take it, careful to not inflate his ego anymore then I already have. He smiles, I think it had the opposite effect on him.
Angelo and I go into the kitchen and before I can ask what he's looking for, he pulls out a bottle of brown liquor, which makes me giggle.
He and I speed walk to his garage, with alcohol and extra joints in hand.
His Tesla's sit in a line, practically begging to be used. "Can I drive?" I say, even though I already know the answer.
"Over my dead body."
"Oh come on, I thought you liked taking risks."
"I'm not suicidal." He says reasonably. We both climb into his black Tesla's, shutting the doors and starting the car.
"Is it really suicide if you let someone else do it?" I repeat his question from earlier.
"I'm not too keen on you murdering me either."
"Technically, we would both be dead."
"You would probably find some way to survive--roaches and all that." He says.
"I'd say nice things at your funeral."
"I'm sure you already have a whole speech planned." He says.
"Are you implying that I would kill my own husband." I scoff, putting my hand to my heart, in mock shock.
"I'm not implying it." He grins, merging onto the highway.
"People would say it's a crime of passion."
"Either that or life insurance." He smiles, turning up the radio and rolling down the windows, sweater weather by the neighborhood is playing. I relax in my seat, appreciating this high for what it is.
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He parks the car next to a huge, abandoned building. It's charming, old fashioned, not modern, but also not old. I have to lift my head to see the top.
"Here?" I ask.
"Yes."
I step out of the car and am met with the slightly windy, Miami heat. Angelo and I walk to the building. My steps are slow, as I appreciate the tall frame. He unlocks it with a master key, motioning for me to enter. It's dark at first, until Angelo turns on the light.
It's like some kind of huge, secluded storage facility and I don't dwell on what's inside all the boxes and packages, because if I do I'll ruin all the fun and I haven't had real fun in so long.
We quickly make our way to the elevator. He presses the button that will take us to the roof. I stare at the elevator door, side eyeing him every couple of seconds until we get to the top. He unscrews the cap to the alcohol, as the elevator opens to the top floor, handing it to me. I take one large gulp and hand it back.
My nose scrunches up at the hot burn of the liquid gliding down my throat.
We quickly make our way up the stairs to the roof door and as Angelo opens it, that silky, slightly chilly, Miami air greets me once again and I'm fascinated with the view that greets me.
I walk towards the railing, placing my hands on the edge. And holy shit, the view from here is amazing, I can see all of Miami.
So this is why we're here.
"Shit Angelo, this is beyond words." He smiles, glancing at me, swiping the bottle from my hands and bringing it up to his mouth.
"I knew you would like it." He whispers.
He gives me the bottle again, propping one of his legs over the stone railing, and hoisting himself onto it.
He pats the spot in front of him, motioning for me to join him.
"No way." I say.
"Oh come on I thought you liked taking risks." He repeats my words from earlier.
I peer over the building,"What if the wind blows really hard and I fall."
He laughs,"I won't let you fall."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
I slowly lift my leg over the ledge, positioning my body on top of it. I face Angelo, our knees touch slightly, which sends a slight shock through my body. Goosebumps appear on my thighs and arms. It's way windier than it was down on the ground.
We both take turns, silently sipping from the bottle, watching the city and watching each other.
"It's getting dangerously close to my bedtime." Angelo remarks.
"I thought you never sleep."
"Nothing slips past you, little detective." He remarks.
"You'd have to wake up pretty early in the morning to get anything past Ruth Giovanni."
He grimaces, face hardening, "That's not your name."
Shit.
"Ruth Giuseppe." I correct, resentment laced in my voice. "Nothing slips past you." I whisper, drinking more from the bottle. My passive aggressive tone is more vibrant than ever.
I feel light and airy. Did I even eat yesterday? I don't remember. My hands fumble with the bottle, as one of my legs slightly bangs against the side of the railing.
The bottle clumsily slips from my hand, falling hundreds of feet down to the ground. After looking over the edge for way too long, I lean my body way too close, feeling dizzy. Angelo holds my upper arms tightly, looking down at where the bottle landed.
"You should be more careful." He whispers, inches away from my face and I can feel his soft breath on my cheek when he speaks. His silky hands travel down my torso towards my thighs, rubbing lightly, making the goosebumps spread. My breath hitches and I sit frozen in place, as his face slowly advances toward me, he pauses, holding his lips centimetres from mine.
Angelo kisses the right corner of my lips gently, then the left. He pecks the top, just below my nose, then finally he kisses me, gently, like I'm glass and he's afraid he will break me.
His mouth tastes like mint, weed, and bourbon.
I lean into his lips and he deepens the kiss when I start kissing back. It's a gentle passionate kiss, nothing like I've ever had before.
His hands tighten on my thighs, pinching hard, harder than I care for, but he's trying to be gentle with the kiss, he's trying to pace himself. I don't know if he even realizes how tight he's squeezing.
My hands hesitantly tangle in his dark curly hair.
Drunk Ruth strikes again. What the hell am I doing.
The kiss gets harder and faster and I welcome the sting his stubble gives my mouth, savoring every minute of it.
I hate that I'm kissing him. I hate that I can't stop. I'm completely and utterly overwhelmed with the hate I have for this man and I'm taking it out on his lips, his soft, plump, perfectly positioned lips.
Suddenly his phone buzzes in his pocket, relieving me of the growing self hatred I'm feeling.
He scowls, breaking off the kiss, and I'm cold again, almost shivering at the loss of his touch. why?
Why am I always so self destructive with my actions? Is it really that hard for me to enforce my morals? Why do I get so flustered and red when he touches me? How hard could it possibly be to not kiss the one person I hate most in the world? All valid questions. All questions I can't seem to answer.
He pulls his phone from his pocket, in a rush and puts it up to his ear,"What?" He barks, face hardening,
"Shit... yeah, we'll be there in 30 minutes." He says after a few minutes of blabbering from the other line.
Angelo hops off the railing. He offers his hands to help me get down and we walk in sinc towards the door. His face is hard and focused.
The tension in the air is completely confusing and frustrating.
He seems to be dealing with some sort of internal conflict. His face is devoid of emotion and it makes me shiver.
"Who was that?" I ask, lightly, trying not to overstep.
"No one." He can't meet my eyes.
He's back. Finally, the cold, unforgiving Angelo is back. His face has resumed it's usual scowl and his eyes gravitate anywhere, but me.
I'm beginning to feel the alcohol to its full extent, as we walk down the stairs that lead to the elevator. I grip the railing, calculating my next steps so I don't trip.
Once we make it to the elevator, we slip inside. Angelo presses the buttons silently. I lean my back on the wall opposite of the elevator doors, holding the railing that borders it. I close my eyes, trying my best to regain my sober composure.
The silence is suffocating and depressing.
I'm so drunk, I feel like crying and screaming and running a cross country course. I feel so stupid. I feel everything and it sucks.
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The car ride was inevitably quiet and Angelo clearly has a speeding problem because he did not hold back on those highways.
I think he's the kind of person to speed when he's mad.
Angelo and I walk to the front door hastily. his eyes dart in all directions, like he's looking for something, or someone. And his eyes display slight panic, but he's controlling it.
I wonder what that call was about.
He unlocks the door, cracking it open wide and we are met with several looming men, they stand within view in the living room. Which startles me at first, but then I look a little closer and a few familiar faces greet me. Mob men. Specifically Angelo's mob men.
I feel woozy and uncomfortable with them all staring at us. Some of their faces display confusion—why is he out with her at 4 in the morning?—is what they are all thinking right about now.
Do these people ever sleep?
I try taking a few steps toward my bedroom, but Angelo grabs my arm lightly, pulling me towards the men in the living room.
I throw a questioning look towards him and he merely ignores it and continues moving closer to the men.
"Angelo. Mrs Giuseppe." One of the men greets us. I don't recognize him, but he clearly knows me. He slightly smiles my way, unreasonably chipper for 4 in the morning.
The man is dressed cleanly, he's shaved and his brown hair lays perfectly on his head.
Angelo nods his head, as my confusion grows.
"Angelo, may we begin?" The man says, picking up a large briefcase and setting it on the coffee table.
What's going on?
Angelo nods,"Clear the room." He commands. The men surrounding us quietly and quickly leave the room.
The stranger, Angelo, and I are the only ones remaining.
The stranger opens the briefcase, showing a multitude of things that look like torture devices.
"What's going on?" I ask, glancing between the stranger and Angelo.
Angelo suddenly turns to me, his eyes are hard and convicting,"Was this your plan all along? Huh? to get my family to agree to an arranged marriage and then come into my home and spy on me, all for the sake of gaining power." He whisper yells.
Now he's gone mad.
"What are you talking about?"
"Don't play dumb with me Ruth, I know all about your fathers plans!" He yells.
"Angelo I don't know what-"
Angelo grips both my arms in a rush of anger and turns me around so my back is touching his chest and I'm facing the stranger.
"Do it." He commands, in the strangers direction.
I struggle in his grip, shell shocked and drunk. What the hell is going on?
The stranger removes items from the briefcase as Angelo forces my body to be still against his.
"Are you people crazy!" I say.
The stranger chuckles, moving towards me with one of the objects from the case.
"Don't you dare put a hand on me!" I scream.
The stranger eyes Angelo as if to ask permission before lifting up my shirt. My entire body backs up into Angelo trying to distance myself from the stranger but it just makes me get closer to Angelo. I squeeze my eyes up in horrified anticipation of whatever he's about to do and tears inevitably leak from my eyes.
He can see my scars and I struggle even more against Angelo's grip when I realize this.
How dare he.
I don't think i've ever been this angry before.
The machine-like paddle beeps—inches away from my skin—several times and the stranger moves it up and down my torso and I open my teary eyes. It's a scanning device.
I sigh in relief.
They think I'm chipped. What the hell did my father do?
The stranger inches the device intricately up and down my belly.
My body lays slack against Angelo's and the strangers hands still hold my shirt bunched up against my chest.
"I need access to her-" The stranger motions to my chest. He wants me to take off my shirt.
"You can't!" I yell.
I tilt my head to look up at Angelo,"Please don't let him do this!" I plead with Angelo's vacant humanity, staring into those cold eyes.
The boy who took me up to the roof and kissed me is gone, I realize.
"Tell me where the chip is and this will all end."
"I don't have a chip! I swear. please believe me!" I beg.
He sighs,"Ruth just tell me where it is and you won't have to take it off."
"I swear, I was never chipped!" I scream at him.
Fuck. He doesn't believe me.
Angelo flips me around so that I'm facing him and he presses me tightly to his body. My head is sideways across his chest as I sob, realizing what he's about to do.
His hands find the bottom of my shirt and he lifts it up over my arms and head.
It doesn't exactly bother me that I have to take off my shirt, but what does bother me is that I have no control of any of it.
"I hate you." I breathe into his chest.
"I know."
My bare chest lays against his tear stained shirt, as his hands find my arms and grip them like before.
Thank god for bras.
The scanner moves up and down my back.
"She's got a lot of possible entry points, there's hundreds of scars here." The stranger remarks, unbuttoning the back of my bra.
Angelo leans over my shoulders, studying the scars on my back.
"Fuck." Angelo's hands tighten on my arms slightly, as I silently lay my head against his warm chest, listening to his heart beat speed, which calms me down.
"Stop." Angelo commands the stranger after a second. "Just get out."
The stranger stiffens at his command, only surprised for a second, but he quickly moves toward his briefcase, placing the surgery-like items back into the case and shutting it.
I sigh in relief.
Thank god he's leaving.
The stranger doesn't question Angelo. He leaves the room with the briefcase in hand.
Angelo let's go of my arms and clasp my bra back together, his fingers make my skin tingle. He pulls my shirt back over my head quickly, sighing to himself.
I can't seem to move from my spot when Louis stomps into the room, his target is clear. "You're just gonna let him go Angelo?!"
"Yes, I am" Angelo steps in front of me, almost protectively, but I think I know better.
Understanding crosses Louis's features,"She's a rat Angelo! Don't have sympathy for her!" He barks.
"Did I say you could speak to me like that, little brother!" Angelo yells.
Little brother? Louis is Angelo's little brother. That's new information.
"Wait until I tell father about your sympathy for the trader!" Louis pauses. "You know what has to be done." Louis says.
Angelo shakes his head in disagreement.
"I'll tell dad if you don't," A smile crosses Louis's face, "and you and I both know what will happen if he finds out."
Angelo debates,"Not tonight Louis, I'm tired." He pauses, deep in thought,"And I'm not even sure she's involved." He says through gritted teeth.
"Then how did her family find out the extent of our plans? Huh? How the hell did they slip past our radar so effortlessly?"
"Louis," Angelo says in warning.
"No, I want to hear your explanation."
Angelo merely stares at Louis. He doesn't have an explanation and neither do I.
"That's what I thought." Louis remarks. "Do it, or I tell father."
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To be continued...
kinda hate Angelo ngl.