Mafia King

I ignored his movement and instead asked him another question. “Why does Avery call you Angelo?”

He stopped midway, almost hovering me. He leaned back only to sit beside me and annoyingly too close for my comfort. He rested his back languidly on the backrest, placing his right arm behind me.

“Everyone who knew me calls me Angelo, a nickname that grew on me. My men call me capo or don and there are some who call me Sol. As for the answer to your question, I have my men here but I try to be discreet and not give away who I am. They are blending in and trying to act like normal citizens here. But if something goes wrong, they will in no doubt act instantaneously. And they basically just await my orders.” He shrugs. “Trust me, amore, you don’t want to know or see them.”

“Oh.” I answered rather blankly. He’s right. If I see them, I’m pretty sure I’ll be scared shit of him again. “Is Angelo your surname?” I asked again, deciding to let go of the topic of his men. I remember him reciting all of his names.

“It’s Di Angelo. I’m pretty much the prince of the family thus everyone calling me Angelo.”

I snorted a laugh. “That’s so ironic considering what you do. You should be called diavolo.”

He smirked playfully. “So you knew italian for devil and yet not for amore.”

I glared at him. “It was some random fact I read from Ethan’s book.”

He frowned. “Ethan again.” I rolled my eyes. “You can only roll your eyes when I fuck you, amore.” I flinched when I felt his mouth close to my ear. I immediately jumped back at the same time my heart did.

Why does he always do that? It’s uncomfortable and it freaks me out.

“Will you stop doing that?” I warned curtly.

“I will if you let me taste those lips again.”

“You’re disgusting.” My face creased.

“Since when is kissing disgusting, amore?”

“Obviously when you don’t like the person.” I retorted with an eye roll.

“Should I assume that the only one you wish to kiss is that boy who was now six feet under the ground?”

I glare at him. I don’t appreciate him including my best friend on our banter. My mood dulled at the mention of him. Ethan was a very touchy subject for me. Whether he knows or not, it’s pretty much obvious that you avoid talking about sensitive subjects knowing how much it means to someone.

“What? It’s obvious that you love the guy.” He shrugged. And apparently this guy didn’t get the memo that he was already walking on thin ice. I mean what do I expect from someone who takes away lives?

The room was suddenly quiet. I could feel him staring at me. My sight naturally avoiding him and only staring at the blank wall. I was angry and I was holding myself back not to lash out on him. I was still rational and for me to even rebuke him would only send me directly to hell.

He scoffs. He then leans his mouth to my ear, his body leaning to mine, chest brushing against my shoulder. “You think I care about your feelings. You think I’d stop just because you’re angry. You see, amore… I don’t give a damn about you pining over some dead guy-”

“Shut up!” I stood abruptly, making him jerk back. I didn’t look at him. I dare not. I know when I take a single glance at his empty soul, I would only crush the remaining light he has. I was beyond angry and I was beyond hurt.

Dante chuckled. I could feel him stand, his height and warmth hovering mine. “Look at you, all feisty and…” He suddenly stopped. His words trailing off.

“Hailynn…” He uttered my name for the first time. And it was the first time I heard his voice, soft and warm… with a hint of apprehension and guilt.

His very warm hand pressed against my cheek. He slowly raised my head, letting my eyes and attention to him. Thumbs wiping the fallen tears. His lips moved to speak but I didn’t let him be.

“You’re a dick.” I spat. Letting myself get out of his grasp and walk away.

—

It’s been hours since I started staring at the wall. I realized that I can only do limited things here. I wasn’t in the mood to continue the book. The penthouse was already shiny and clean, every nook and cranny of it. Dante was out and I didn’t mind asking him where he’s going cause I’m pretty sure he’s going out on a hunt again. I didn’t have the guts to sneak out cause he’ll know and I don’t wanna know what he’ll do to me if I ever did escape.

I really regretted not bringing my materials. Ever since his death, I never had the mood to paint or even draw again. He was my muse. Every work I’ve done there’s always hints of him.

Every little thing my eyes see were always my inspiration. The flowers, the sky, trees, the landscapes, the people we randomly see, the animals, just everything. He used to bring me outside, sometimes beyond this city. I would bring my sketchbook and pencils, sometimes I’d bring watercolors, acrylic or charcoal, depending on the mood I feel like doing. Ethan on the other hand would simply bring his laptop. People’s chatters and laughter, birds’ chirping, the breeze and the clicking sounds of his typing were peace to me.

And now everything is just dull.

Perhaps part of the reason why I sold those paintings was because it just reminded me of him and every time I saw those paintings, my heart ached. Ethan knew well that I always have a hard time letting go of my works. The third room in our apartment was practically storage for my artworks and sometimes my studio when I decided to paint with a canvas as huge as walls.

If I ever lose my mind, I’ll just paint this whole bedroom. I didn’t have any paint here but Dante’s blood will do for sure.Property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

A knock on my door pulled me out of my reverie. I looked at the time and realized he was home early. He always goes home beyond midnight and sometimes wakes me up when he’s hungry.

“Cook dinner for me, amore.” He said from the other side of the door.

I sighed and got up from the bed. It’s not like I have better to do here. I’ve been sitting on my bed for hours thinking about many things in my life. Well, it’s also not like I have a choice either. I hope someday his excellency realizes that he won’t get anything from me and that I’m only a liability.

I decided to cook risotto for him. Well, obviously because the food is from where he came from. He’s lucky I have a talent for cooking.

Ethan used to tell me that I have a future for being a housewife. I have practically all of the skills. He once joked that it was the reason he stuck by me. I was simply a natural. It really wasn’t a compliment for me because he knew all I wanted was to be a well-known artist. Not necessarily in the whole wide world, I just wanted my works to be recognized and I wanted myself to be recognized by others and that as an artist.

“Do you want me to apologize, amore?”