6

"My family is of no concern to anyone, their names won't be mentioned again," I state indifferently and with confidence, it's disrespectful to mention family either way and I won't accept him doing it either. He knows it's disrespectful based on the confidence on his face, this is my business with his. He sits down on a couch in the corner and taps his fingers twice on the dark leather fabric. His shady eyes are as emotionless as mine, unusual to witness a man as deranged as myself. "I'm Martinelli, sí."

"What brings you here?" He speaks in a deep and serious tone. "You cut me last time we saw each other, now you forced one of my men to break omertá."

"You see," I say and circle the couch, my finger grazing the back of it and getting dangerously close to his exposed neck. "I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Romano."

"All bad I presume?"

"You would be correct."

"Brillante," I hate him knowing Italian, it fucking frustrates me not having the language as an advantage. He would understand anything I said, hence me not indulging in that language at all. "You avoided my question."

"How many do you have out there protecting you?" I ask simply and walk into his line of sight, standing powerfully in front of his seated frame.

He raises an eyebrow at me and scans my body intensely, "Why do you ask?"

"Answer the question, Mr. Romano," He stands up and my body presses against his, the friction threatens to have me breathless, but I tilt my head to the side with a smirk instead.

"No one orders me to do anything. Careful," His dark eyes are angered and no part of me feels terrified of him, he can't bring harm to me. Not anymore. His fist clenches in rage and his eyes turn into two black pools, the sight humors me. His skin is too easy to get under.

"At least I understand the rules before I break them," I tell him and match how tightly our bodies are pressing against each other. His black eyes are trained on my emerald ones, a certain heaviness fills up every crevice of the room.

A knock sounds on the door and none of us move when he orders them to come in, a man steps into the office and tries to hide his flustered cheeks. He pulls a guy with him who has blood dripping from a wound to his head, it looks painful and I smile at the sight of him wincing.

"Boss, he messed it up with Dracona, I barely managed to fix the situation," The flustered guy speaks and throws the wounded man onto his knees before us.

"Zanto, don't make me regret trusting you," Mr. Romano speaks dangerously and steps closer to the man on his knees. The sight of him shaking under the stare of his boss humors me. I'm no better than Mr. Romano, but I refuse to go down before I have him begging like a puttana in front of me. "Speak."

Zanto looks towards me in a desperate plea for help, not knowing that I'm just as bad as his boss. It's quite unfortunate for him. Mr. Romano punches his face roughly and the man falls limply onto the ground, "I never allowed you to look at her. Now fucking tell me what you think you're doing by destroying my work with Dracona."

The punch messed up his features, Zanto's hands are clenched tightly in anger, the emotion clearly displaying on his face. He probably knows his time has run out, "Fine! Dracona was my one way into the rink of dealers, he would offer me a position if I managed to catch his attention."

I can't help but scoff in humor and his eyes cut to mine, "Pathetic."

He scowls at my words, "Who the fuck are you to tell me what I am?"

Grabbing the gun from my thigh holster, I point it at him and pull the trigger instantly. As the bullet pierces his delicate skin he screams in fright and pain, my aim landing perfectly on his knee. Stepping closer to him, I tilt his chin upwards with my gun, his eyes now a true replica of pure terror.

"Probably shouldn't underrate the inventor of immorality, darling," I tilt my head to the side and smile in mock sadness at him. Slamming the gun against his temple, knocking him out on the spot.

The guy who dragged him in here scatters from the room instantly, leaving me alone with Mr. Romano. Turning towards him he gives me an indifferent stare, crossing his strong arms in front of his beastly frame, "Let's hope you haven't killed him, he deserves torture, not some easy death."

"If I wanted to kill him, I would've hit him anywhere else. He's perfectly fine for your wicked pleasures, don't question my abilities here."

"You showed up to my house while armed?" He questions, raising an eyebrow at me.

Crossing my arms, "Don't be dramatic, I killed your men that night and had to be prepared for an attack. Those guys at the party deserved to die."

"My men aren't any of your business."

"Sad. I can't bring myself to care."

He takes a dangerous step closer to me, my heart accelerates and I ignore it, "You need to end this charade, you're in my house and I can just as easily kill you off."

"Please do," I say with sarcasm dripping from my tongue, trailing my finger down his strong and defined torso. Our position is quite naughty and having a wounded man lying beside us has me humored, none of us regard him. Too busy challenging each other.

"Tell me, amore," He starts and grips my wrist tightly in his rough hand, our eyes still locked in an intense gaze. "Who are you really?"

His words catch up to me and I realize he's on edge about me, not being able to read my intentions and why I'm getting between him and his mafia. Roughly ripping my hand away from his grasp, I step over the wounded man on the floor and walk to the door. When I reach the hallway I turn towards Mr. Romano one last time with a small smirk, "I'm everything you can't control."