The Devil Wears Red | Mafia Romance |

09| Cries or a Drunk Woman

IMPORTANT A/N: I am changing the pov from third to first, just a little warning in advance!!

Aerons POV:

When my phone buzzed, and the name that has been on my mind the whole week, I fumbled to read the message. I had been in meetings after meetings all day, and needed a break as soon as possible—and if I didn't, I was probably going to flip out on someone.

The message was simple, and it was an unspoken code we made—short sentences that don't have any elaborations are emergency's. This has probably happen twice this week. Both times by me. Bentley still doesn't know about my fathers abuse, and I like the idea of being a whole other person in front of her. But sometimes, the agony gets too painful to keep bottled up.

Even though I had another meeting after this, I didn't care. She had been the only person to care for me in. . .ever. Grabbing my keys, and hopping in my car, I tried my best to make as little noise as possible since I didn't want my father having someone follow me.

As I make it to the location, I can already see her leaning up against her car, arms crossed, and chest heaving. I barely park correctly, hopping out to go over to her. I didn't comment on how her outfit didn't match, how her sneakers didn't go with the business outfit she wore. But I had to comment on her wrapped hand.

"What happened?" I question softly, still holding her as she cried into my shoulder.

"I really fucked up, Alex," she muttered, tears flowing down her puffy eyes. I wish she didn't call me Alex, I wish in her vulnerable state she'd call me my name. But I can't risk it. I can't put her life in danger.

"Tell me so we can maybe solve this," I try to compromise. Her body was tight around me, and I didn't seem to want to let her go. I had a thing for wanting to fix other peoples problems, made me feel as though I could actually do something right for once.

She sighed, her breath against my chest. "My. . . Father he just won't listen to me. Everything I say. And the other day, the day I came home late after spending the evening with you, he lost it on me. The morning he wouldn't stop yelling about me sneaking out, then today just toppled and made it worse." She ranted and all I could stare at was the blood on her knuckles and the dirt all over her blouse.

Where the hell was this girl that caused this?

"Shh, it's ok, mi vida," I coo. I've recently got comfortable enough to start speaking Italian to her.

She shook her head as I rubbed her back, the rough material of her blouse against my hand but I couldn't care less. "And then he just sat there, while everyone laughed."

My confusion hit like a freight train. "What people? Why were they laughing?" She suddenly tensed in my arms and I excused that as her remembering the moment.

"It was a. . . a gathering and no one took me seriously, like I was just some dumb girl. I've spent so much time trying to prove myself as equal, but I just keep getting stepped on like an unwanted thing." Her words hit a sensitive place in my chest, and ache too big to rub away.

She reminded me so much of me, but so different at the same time. I have to kill someone in less than 24 hours, and here I am, comforting the girl I've been obsessed with and none stop thinking about for days.