Vicenzo Ferrari Hernandez is a devilishly handsome mafia King. Despite being cold hearted and beyond cruel, he has fallen in love with the woman of his dreams.
But can he hold on to her? Or will he lose her because the threats he faces all come wit...
TRIGGER WARNINGS: EXPLICIT LANGUAGE SWEARING VIOLENCE/GUN VIOLENCE ALCOHOL/SMOKING
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The dimmed interior of the plane coated everything and the small shaft of evening light that cut through one of the many round windows was precisely positioned across his jaws, lighting up his face, his dark unruly hair being tousled backwards. His eyes remained fixed on the gun he took care in assembling atop the table, his fingers moving with such ease, it was like second nature to him. Impressive would be the word. Impressive was what others girls would have thought.
But not me.
I lay rested back in my seat, my nails tapping the armrests of the faux leather seat. Tapping the ceramic charger ports. It was an effort to not think about the reason we were flying. Would it be even worth it? But I would only have to remember Enzo's face again to be reminded about why I was doing this. For him.
"Can you stop doing that?" Raphael stared at me, through his lowered gaze. I immediately stopped rapping my nails against the ceramic and smiled innocently. He shook his head before getting back to assembling the dark handled gun in front of him. Yes it was impressive but there was no way in hell I would tell him that.
I huffed a breath, leaning forward and placed my crossed arms onto the table, watching him clean out the bullet chamber of his favourite gun. "You missed a bit." I pointed out, knowing full well that I was being annoying. It's been hours, I was bored as fuck and I was hungry. The nuts and tiny bags of chips on the plane did nothing to satisfy me and I felt idiotic for not bringing a bit of prosciutto with me. Alessia had brought some of the cured thin pieces of ham for herself and I shamelessly ate it all finding the texture nice.
Raphael let out another breath and said something in Italian. Profanities. "You asshole. You know I can't fully understand you when you mutter in Italian." The frown on my face made him laugh, a glimmer flickering across his eyes. "Understand this." He shoved his two middle fingers quite close to my face.
I scowled and batted them away. "Idiot." I sighed and pulled out my own gun. It was as black as the night, no sheen would grace the weapon so it would never be seen until it was too late. I laid it flat on the table and watched him stare at it with raw appreciation, of it's deadly beauty. "Clean it..please." I smiled softly.
He didn't make a remark and carefully picked up my gun, feeling it's very even weight and the small grooves in it's very expensive body. "What if she says shit to you?" He asked cautiously as he began to disassemble the gun and clean it with a lint free cloth.
"About me? It's probably nothing I haven't already heard." I shrugged my shoulders. I've been dragged through the mud by many women and men alike, none of whom who could ever upset me. "No about Enzo." He glanced at me briefly.
"Well then, you'd better find her a coffin." I wanted to smile but found myself grinding my teeth. She can call me names but she can't drag Enzo, I won't stand for it. Raphael asked about what price I would sell my gun for. I was thankful he changed the topic because even he knew how pissed I was. I'm sure he knew I would be unpredictable too. Even I didn't know what I would do when I saw her again.
