Their Rivalry

7

I may look calm, but in my head, I have killed you three times.

Madrid, Spain ~ Ava's POV

I woke up in the morning to an empty bed, Leroy was gone. I sat up and glanced around. My mind raced with memories of what went down between us last night as I did so. After I had requested that he stay, we ended up naked under the sheets, our legs tangled.

I reached over to grab my phone, unlocked it, and sent him a quick text. I noticed that I had a few more hours left till the driver was here, so I got off the bed and entered the bathroom for a cold shower. I dressed up before leaving the suite to go get breakfast. Apparently, the establishment didn't do room service.

I had walked past a certain room left ajar, but stopped to head back there when I heard a pathetic plea. Thanks to the mafia, I was fluent in a lot of languages, Spanish included.

"Por favor, dame más tiempo. Encontraré una manera de conseguirte el dinero." A voice begged. (Please, give me more time. I'll find a way to get you the money)

I leaned in closer so I could hear more clearly, careful not to touch the door. Pushing it any further might reveal my figure to whoever was in there.

"El Don te dio suficiente tiempo. Ahora pagarás tu deuda con tu vida." Another voice, probably the captor, snarled. (The Don gave you enough time. Now you will pay your debt with your life)

I listened to the useless pleas of the debtor, which the captor was definitely not paying attention to. The dark chuckles here and there said it all. When the pathetic begging came to an abrupt end, I concluded that the debtor had been killed.

I made a move to leave, but I felt a warm hand wrap tightly around my neck with a painful squeeze. That was sure to leave a mark later. I was forced into the room I had been eavesdropping on to see a guy holding onto a gun and another bleeding to death.

The poor plush carpets were getting partially soaked in blood. I rolled my eyes as the hand around my neck tightened, and soft lips lightly traced the outline of my ear.

"¿Sabes qué es lo que más detesto en mi hotel? Perras entrometidas. Es una pena que seas tan hermosa, pero ya no puedes vivir más." The man whispered hoarsely, while his lips continued to brush up and down the curve of my ear. (Do you know what I hate most in my hotel? Nosy bitches. It's a shame that you're so beautiful, but you can't live anymore)

The only thing I picked up from his rant was that the hotel was his. Interesting. I watched the captor with a bored expression as he raised his hand to aim the gun at my head. I stared at my manicured nails with unfeigned interest, and waited patiently for the seemingly inevitable.

When you were involved in the bloody mafia, you were to treat every moment as if you were seconds away from death. Being in the mafia alone was a bloody death sentence. You could be anywhere, and a sniper assassin would take you out in mere seconds. You could die at the annual masquerade ball.

You could die if you were present when the police succeeded in raiding an illegal property or business. You could die in a never ending feud between rival mafias. You could even die by disrespecting a Don or Boss.

I had honestly never given much thought to how I would die.

I hadn't even thought about the when or where. What I did know was that if I was going to die under such circumstances, I'd rather not without putting up a fight. My father raised me better than that. For me, it would always be to kill first and die last.

Using the guy holding my neck as support, I shot a leg in the air and power kicked the captor in the head. The bullet changed course due to the sudden jerk of the gun holder. The man cursed out in Spanish as his weapon flew under a sofa.