Leaving a pleading and trembling Garcia, like we have done much more than just slap her twice, we headed to leave. I was about to go left towards the back exit but I restrained from doing so, to avoid seeing... I took a deep breath to avoid going that way, mentally and physically. Anyway, we used that back exit to not alarm Garcia. Now that I've met her, I know for a fact that she is fretting over her next move. She doesn't have any contact to call for help. Someone else is pulling the strings.
This isn't about some rich old pervert making porn videos at home. It's a bigger nexus. Whoever is behind this already knows I am after them. Will be difficult, enticing. But, every day going by another kid will be hurt. My nostrils flared in anger, fists ball in a tight grip at the thoughts.
Walking down the corridors, my gaze roamed over the paintings on the wall, like Mickey Mouse had thrown up in here. Even the tiles on the floor have numbers and tables on them. My strides became even faster to escape from this tiny land.
Near the exit, I heard the delicate clank of heels resonating in the hallway. Being attentive to your surroundings is the key to avoiding getting killed. I always have to be vigilant about who I am around. As a result, I have developed a reading of footsteps. It can't be Garcia. She wasn't wearing heels, and it wasn't expected of her to run after the devil herself.
Some girl was calling after me. The sound of heels turned faster and closer, but yet they were not less graceful. Interesting.!
"Hey, Armani.!!!" All of us halted in our tracks by the feminine voice. No one has ever called the Armani name this disrespectfully before. But this woman had the audacity. I could smell the excitement radiating off of Emiliano. I pivoted around with a murderous look on my face.
Cazzo Madre di Dio! My breath got caught in my throat. Miss Honey from the garden was standing before me. This ragazza is even more beautiful up close. Thick arched eyebrows and lashes so long and beautiful, I bet they are false and a cute little button nose.
She stopped a step away from me as I study her from head to toe. The length of her dress hid if she had toned legs, judging her breathlessness after covering a short distance, she doesn't run. She squirmed under my scrutiny, blinking and swallowing in nervousness. Her chest was carefully moving ever so slightly, her breathing rate was not natural. She was worried, intimidated, and yet she stood her ground.
Whatever she had in mind, she had forgotten. Perhaps the school had taught them to ask for a donation from every man who visits. Especially when they are dressed like us. Except for Soto. He looks like a fucking clown in them.
I smirked and tilted my head at her. "What can I do for you, Cara?" I purr. Cara-Dear in Italian.
"Zara." she snapped, frowning at me.
I smirked and roamed my gaze over her again. She was wearing a brown-coloured dress that stopped just below her knees. And high heels, the end of the heels were covered in dirt. The design of her dress and the layers in her skirt hid her exact figure. But I liked what I saw.
I raise my brow. So she would say it again and expectedly, her mouth pinched in anger. Feisty!
"It's Zara, not Cara." She answered sharply and straightened her shoulder.
A snide remark was on the tip of my tongue. Instead of that, I blurted,
"I am sorry, Zara." Merda! What the fuck is wrong with me. I don't call girls cara. The girls I meet just want to fuck. No foreplay, no fucking sweet nothings. Be it a high society chick or a whore from one of our establishments. From the corner of my eyes, I saw my men stiffen. Coming on high alert. Especially Soto. He would assume it's one of my impromptu actions to initiate an attack.
I take a step towards her, but she didn't step back, only her upper body swayed and came back again. Even with her heels, I was a few inches above her. Her flowery scent enveloped me, but I notched it down.
"Speak." I say in a clipped tone, gnashing my teeth.
Her eyes held a challenge as she slightly lifted her chin, as though saying 'You're asking for it'
"Fine. One of you used foul language in front of my student. And... it is not acceptable." She spoke as confidently as she could, but her voice slightly shook.
Foul language. I had to bite my tongue to suppress my laughter. I hummed and nodded, prolonging my answer to see how she reacts. Zara looked irritated. But still stood in patience, her eyes moving from my left eye to right, my lips, and then back again. Her breathing was shallowed. Being patient is a part of her job. But an admirable quality nonetheless.
"What exactly are you stating here, Zara." I drawl, drinking in her beauty with my eyes as I dismissed the others with a flick of my fingers. Her eyes followed the gesture, her mouth gaped, watching them leave.
"So it was you... Mr...?" she trailed, crossing her arms over her chest. I smirked. She read me like a magazine. Called Armani by the brand of my suit.
"Gian Armani." I say with smugness. It sounds arrogant, like those rich fuckers who think their father is our business associate. Equals. They can never be equals. The Armani family has been ruling over California for decades. We will celebrate our 100 years of pride and glory next year.
Her lips parted. I stifle a smile. I am gonna love hearing an apology from her silvery voice. Hear her moans, when she will writhe under me in pleasure, take me in her mou-
"Well, Gian Armani. You should be more careful about your surroundings next time. I know there is a dearth of decent behaviour in public places, but muttering curse after curse in a kindergarten, seriously." She deplored, giving me an incredulous look, and rolled her eyes after her last words. She fucking rolled her eyes at me.
I scrutinized her expression, and I was perplexed to find her disappointed in me. Jutting her chin, she whirled around and broke into an almost run. Even now, her steps were no less confident and my eyes remained glued to her hips, swaying in rhythm.
When she disappeared around the corner, my anger bounced back. I draw long breaths and grit my teeth. I have broken several bones on a whim. Killed and tortured. But I have never felt my tongue-tied. My blood simmered, but not enough to rush into my head to act on it.
Turning to leave, I dial the number and growl, "Zara, from Pumpkin Patch."
*****
Soto had the car ready at the entrance and sped off as soon as I climbed in. I turned around and punched Lorenzo. Blood oozed out of his nose, but he didn't ask why I did it. I violently wipe the blood off of my knuckles. My gaze flitted to streets passing by. When we reached one of the underground places, we have. I got out first, my nose flaring in fury.
Remo ran this one, along with some tech-savvy teenagers he had found during online gaming.
Raking his hands over his blonde hair, Remo staggered towards us. His blue eyes widen momentarily. "Gian, I...." he began carefully. Motherfucker, read my body language. My expressions were fucking readable.
I pinch my eyes closed in frustration. Hearing Lorenzo laugh like a maniac behind me, I flung my hand to smack him again.
"Please don't, Gian..." Remo requested, walking towards us.
The hand I raised to smack him dropped. Instead, I punched Lorenzo with my other hand. The coalesce of typing on keyboards stopped, the computer geeks sucked a sharp breath in unison. None of the skinny fuckers breathed as my gaze skimmed through them. I thunder towards the office, with others closely following behind.
I am their underboss. They take orders from me, not the other way around. Especially when the others are around to see me treat them like friends. I have to make an appearance. Remo should have known it and Lorenzo. He still kept laughing.
Remo reached for the first aid kit to aid Lorenzo. But he slapped Remo's hand away and poured himself a generous amount of vodka, drinking in the bitter liquid along with the blood dripping inside his mouth. Emiliano and Soto drank their protein shakes. Remo threw the kit back, shaking his head in disappointment at the bloodied version of him.
Lorenzo and Remo Bianchi were identical twins. When I was eight, 4 years older than them, Piero Bianchi, their father, a close associate of my father, came to my house. His face was full of joy and a triumphant smile was plastered on his face.
He had identical twins, he only held them once for taking pictures to hang them on the wall. As years passed, he noticed, they were not just any other identical twins, they were clones.
That day, Piero Bianchi sealed his kids' fates. He decided to make Lorenzo a killing machine. Because he didn't catch cold more often than Remo. And caged Remo like an animal to pull off his magic act. My father had said he didn't need to do it. We were untouchable, but Piero had made up his mind, so he convinced my father.
As a result, Remo does not exist in the eye of law. Piero Bianchi turned out to be a psycho visionary, we all understand that now in the age of social media. When everyone has a camera, where everyone takes a video of what pathetic food they are eating today.
Whenever Lorenzo has to attack someone on short notice without any proper arrangements, Remo goes to a cafe that has good security cameras and stays there until Lorenzo is finished. The down part, Remo, has to be as ripped as Lorenzo. He has to have the same scars as Lorenzo. In the body parts that can be seen over his suit.
Lorenzo rubbed his hands together, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief, waiting for Remo to get hit like he was.
"It's not gonna leave a scar, Cazzo." I growl, pouring myself a glass of bourbon.
"In the afternoon, Gian." Lorenzo taunted from behind me. I whirled around and threw the glass near his feet. None of them flinched, and Lorenzo had a fucking smirk on his face. The others busied themselves with food and drinks. While he watched me crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes perceptive.
I was 14 when we were doing fight practice. Lorenzo couldn't duck out in time, and I ended up dislocating his jaw with my high kick. He was in pain, but I didn't feel bad. Lorenzo was a connatural bastard. His remarks always got under my skin. The same day in the evening, Piero came with Remo and Lorenzo. I had to kick Remo with the same intensity as I had Lorenzo. And I did. My father, Peiro, and the other soldiers watched.
Lorenzo pushed off the wall and poured himself another glass, chewing the pizza they had ordered. He still hadn't bothered to wipe the blood off his face.
Giving him a warning look, I avert my gaze, focusing on the amber liquid. I took a large gulp, then hissed at the burn in my throat. I snatched the bottle, not bothering to pour it into the glass. I want to forget that day, wipe it off my memories.
Even after witnessing men getting tortured before. Something inside me broke that day. Watching Lorenzo's dirty tear stricken face and Remo as he stood there, his body shuddering in trepidation. But he didn't ask for mercy. They all had seen it, my soft side that was capable of sympathy. They locked them in their memories so they could use them against me someday.
The dislocated jaw didn't leave any permanent damage or scar, and they had already known it. It was a warning for Remo, who had sneaked out when Lorenzo was in school, and for me to check where my loyalty lay. The famiglia came first.
A few months later, I saw Emiliano's fight. Cosa Nostra's youngest fighter, one of the best at 14. Nobody at that age was in control of their emotions like he was. Those days, all I used to think about was getting a whore to fuck. After watching one of his fights at our smaller establishments run by the enforcer of Emeryville, I became attentive to his moves. I brought him to San Diego. Practiced with him, studied him closely. The storm in his deep blue eyes was the aftermath of his early life as a scrawny kid. Then the soldiers beating him until he fought back, did that to him. He had always looked older than his age, more mature. Soon, I succeeded to dawn a cold mask. Became a ruthless and calculated man like him.
And today, 12 years later, that mask slipped off. All because of one kindergarten teacher, Zara.
*****
To those of you asking questions about why Gian had punched Lorenzo. Well, I thought that after reading the later chapters some would come back and you know leave a comment like "Oh, now I know why" but that didn't happen. So, Gian did it because Lorenzo was the one who cursed since Soto and Emiliano were with him. So that's why he punched him.
*****
Hey, honey.!!! Thank you for reading. Please don't forget to VOTE ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐for the chapter and leave your COMMENTS below.
I would love it if you check out my other stories, 'Aurora's Aura' 'Married To Become Mr. & Mrs. Billionaire' & 'Violet Hues'. The story link is on my profile.