Chapter 2

• I tried to open my eyes, blinking it countless times, as I felt my senses finally regained. My head ached so much. It felt like I had drunk my night away and ended up with the major hangover ever the next day.
• But it wasn't exactly a day when I realized as soon as my eyes completely opened, I was met with darkness. The only light present were the city lights outside.
• I groaned while slowly getting up, pulling away the softest pillow and the softest quilt. The bed was the most comfortable I've ever lied on too.
• Wait a minute. I stopped rubbing my eyes.
• This isn't my room.
• A pair of clear water eyes were staring right at me.
• I jumped back from surprise, my back hitting the headboard. I covered myself with the blanket out of defense mechanism. I realized later that what I did was in vain. He wasn't moving at all. He stayed seated on the sofa only a meter beside me. His head was resting on his fingers, elbow propped up on the armrest of the seat. How the hell did I not notice him first?
• And then I remembered something.
• "You destroyed my painting." I spat. I made sure that my anger was conveyed.
• "How much?" He spoke finally. There I noticed its deepness and masculinity. It was guttural and yet very calm at the same time.
• My head unconsciously tilted to the side, wondering what he meant.
• "I'll pay for it."
• "And you think you can afford it?" I retorted sassily.
• He raised an eyebrow. I was surprised that he wasn't insulted by my retort. "How much, ragazza? Name the price and I will give it to you." He leaned his elbows on his knees, making him lean forward towards me. His face was now somewhat visible. The lights from outside erased some of the shadows. The curves and contour are highlighted.
• "Even if you have billions, mister. You will never be able to afford it." His once calm face was replaced with a scowl.
• "Don't test me."
• "I'm only stating the truth. No amount of money can afford memories."
• He replied with a silence. He was staring at me and I stared back. I wanted to paint his eyes. It was surreal, making my hands itch to work on a white canvass. I haven’t been in the mood to do that for a while. Our stares went on for a minute until he decided to break it.
• "You know I finally decided on what I'd do with you." He paused for a moment, letting the space as an opportunity for me to question him but I didn't. And I just remembered something in between.
• Shit. I forgot that he was a fucking criminal... and that I saw him killing a man. Fear crept back in my spine.
• "You're going to be my whore, Amore."
• ---
• "Please, please, let me go." My hands pressed together, praying and begging him to allow me to go out. I hope my puppy eyes work though.
• I kept following him all around his penthouse until he stopped by the kitchen. He was putting the guns in its holster. I gulped at the sight. Maybe it's a bad idea to pressure him with my request. One sound of that can send me to heaven... or hell.
• There was a vague smirk on his face before speaking. "You're quite brave, aren't you?" He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. My sight was shifting between him and his guns.
• "Please let me go just this time. I'll behave after that. Please." He didn't answer. He was only looking at me with no intention of answering my plea. "Look, if I don't go out and sign those documents then those paintings won't be delivered. No paintings mean no money. No money means no donation for the kids."
• He still kept his silence. The only respond that I got was him adjusting himself against the counter.
• "I'll do whatever you want."
• A smirk that holds a lot of plans breaks his face.
• "I'll do whatever you want but nothing sexual." I added.
• "Ah, amore. You have ruined my plans." My face gave nothing away. I intend to let him know that I am serious with my decision. "You are my whore. It's only fitting that I do you like my very own puttana." His fingers brushed my cheeks towards my lips and chin. His thumb pressed my lower lip. His skin was grazing my teeth.
• "I am not your whore." I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists, holding back my displeasure. He withdrew his hand and went back to crossing his arms against his chest.
• "Were you the one who made those paintings?" He asked, changing the topic.
• "That includes the one that you destroyed." I scowled at him.
• He only chuckled. "You really have the gall to stand up against me." He pulled away from the counter and stood straight to face me. His height devoured mine and I ended up looking up at him and him looking down at me. "Do you even know who I am?"
• I replied, not intending to withdraw my glare. "Someone who deserves to live in jail."
• He chuckled. Deep and throaty. "You have no idea, amore." He stepped towards me, closing our distance but I didn't stand back. I know he has two guns to kill me but I can't seem to shake off the memory of how he ripped my painting. Ethan and I's painting. Something that we both made before he died.
• He leaned down. His left cheek pressed against my right. His pink plump lips hovered against my ear. I could feel it grazing it.
• "Have you ever heard of the Mafia?"
• I think I just gulped down an invisible apple.
• ---
• So apparently he's in the mafia. Not only that... he's literally a mafia boss. A fucking Italian mafia boss.
• I am toast.
• I am screwed.
• I am fucked.
• Holy shit. Ethan, please come and get me. I don't think I can stomach the thought that I'm hanging out with a crime boss.
• "You seem nervous, amore. I thought you are just going to have a meeting with your friend." He had a mischievous smirk right in his handsome face.
• Yeah, unfortunately the italian mafia boss is a god. A greek god. A greek italian god. Am I even making any sense?
• He was sitting right across the table. He was annoyingly relaxed and here I am freaking scared of his existence. I wish I didn't know. I wish he didn't tell me who he really was. My bravery flew right out the window when I realized that he's the very top of a crime list.
• At least he was nice enough to buy me a coffee paired with blueberry cheesecake.
• "What do you plan... on doing with me?" Gulping down my fear while asking. I couldn't even have the guts to drink or eat the treat he ordered for me.
• "Eat now, amore. You haven't eaten anything since last night."
• Hello, my name is not Amore. "Why do you even care?"
• "I care cause as I said..." He put his elbows on the table and leaned towards me. "You are now my whore. I will not enjoy my puttana all skins and bones. You will not be those women I came across who would defy me by thinking I would care if they don't eat. I will not hesitate to kill if I find you unnecessary, ragazza." His italian was thick yet he spoke perfect english.
• I swallowed an imaginable lump. I adjusted my seat as if to settle my uncomfortable and anxious self. "Can you just let me go? Please just let me go. I would even forget about the ruined painting. I promise that I never seen you kill anyone." I plead.
• He chuckled. It was mischievous and cunning. "And you think that is the reason I'm keeping you?" He leaned to me even more. Our noses were inches apart. I could see those eyes that reminded me of clear waters. It was near grey. My hands were itching to draw him and paint him right after. The wave of his hair had a specific direction. It was almost curly and though it looked black, highlights of brown could be recognized under the sunlight. He was truly beautiful.
• "The moment you walked into that room, you have surrendered your life to me. No one and I mean no one gets away from these eyes, ragazza." He was no longer smirking. His eyes held depths of seriousness and I knew. I knew that I'm in the deepest of trouble.
• Ethan, I take it back. I don't want to follow you. Not like this. I don't wanna follow you in the afterlife, killed by this crime boss.
• "Hailynn!"
• Our yearlong gazes were suddenly broken. He leaned back to his seat while my head turned to the source of the voice.
• Shit. Avery's already here.