Bloodline // Mafia Romance

II

We've been in the car for over an hour. Other than a few ominous phone calls -- "Get it done" -- "You know what to do" -- Vitale sits in silence, eyes always looking straight ahead.

The driver keeps glancing back at me with a pitiful look. I try to ignore it, keeping my own gaze on the window.

We pull into a driveway leading to an antique mansion. My home costs tens of millions, but it's nothing compared to this.

Two men his age come outside, both dressed in expensive black suits. One is clearly American whilst the other has the same Italian tan skin as Vitale.

"I trust it went well," the American says, glancing over at me. I assume he's the consigliere - the only member of a mafia who is not born or married into it. "I'm Will," he turns to me. "This is Rocco, Christian's cousin and the underboss."

Rocco gives me a dirty side glance, looking me up and down with disdain. He mumbles something in Italian before rolling his eyes and walking away.

Vitale begins to walk towards the house, Will gesturing for me to follow.

Entering inside, we are surrounded by people. Men are dotted around the house drinking whiskey and smoking cigars. The older men are dressed in black suits whilst the younger men wear leather jackets and black jeans. Women, or 'whores' as father called them, weave between the men holding expensive, silver trays. Some hold bottles of whiskey and cigars, whilst others have white lines of powder.

But, the second they notice Vitale's entrance, everything stops.

The crowd falls into a suffocating silence as he enters the house. Pure power ripples from him in waves as the masses part, as if pushed aside by invisible forces. His presence consumes every corner of the room, air surging with an energy so dark even the older men seem to cower in his shadow. His walk is quiet, dominating the space as he makes his way to the grand stairs.

I realise he has no guns, no knives on show like the others - he doesn't need them. Because this is not a man. This is a monster.

He says something in Italian with fierce fervour - something that causes the room to fill with cautious murmurs.

And then the crowd turns to me.

But, my own glance remains on Christian. The way the looks at me - I can't decipher it. In a room of criminals, killers, it is only him that unnerves me.

I can feel the men undress me with their eyes. Their stares are animalistic, like predators who have spotted their prey. Not noticing or caring, Vitale makes his way upstairs, grabbing a whiskey from one of the girl's trays as he goes.

"Don't worry," Will whispers from behind. "They won't touch you. Not with that entrance."

"What do you mean?"

"Christian just marked you as his territory. They'll be terrified to even say hello."

Despite his words, I'm thankful for the gun hidden beneath my dress. Tuning in to the feel of the cool metal against my thigh, my heart rate begins to calm. I never thought a gun would be my greatest comfort.

Will shows me around the house, then guides me upstairs. My attention is instantly caught by the grand mahogany door that stands out from the rest. As I look in, I see Christian standing in the centre of the room.

A lady in lingerie wraps her arms around him, her hands travelling along the curves of his torso whilst she kisses his neck. He seems bored by her affections, almost irritated, throwing back his glass of whiskey in one go. His face doesn't cringe at the hard liquor, but remains still, as though he didn't feel it at all.