His Kryptonite

Chapter 9

Michael's POV
Two days later

As I stand in the center of the grand hall, surrounded by my family, irritation gnaws at me. My nephew, the innocent cause of this commotion, coos in my big sister Violeta's arms, blissfully unaware of the turmoil he's incited. It's his christening and Mamma insisted we capture the perfect family portrait to send to Papà in prison.

My eyes scan the room, taking in the chaos unfolding before me. The photographer tries to snap the photo, but mischievous laughter of those little kids echoes through the hall. They dart around, their tiny feet pattering against the marble floor, weaving through the legs of my closest men. My gaze hardens as I watch my family members attempt to corral the little ones, failing miserably.

"Stay still!" I mutter through gritted teeth, my frustration skyrocketing. I clench my fists, the urge to shout and restore order raging within me. "I swear I'm fucking done," I announce to everyone, my voice seething with annoyance.

"Michael, per favore, your papà wants a nice picture!" Mamma pleads with me, her voice tinged with desperation.

"Then get it under control, and fast," I retort, smoothing out my tie. My eyes narrow as I meet the gazes of my family members, silently urging them to bring an end to this madness. "I give them five seconds," I mutter, my patience wearing thin.

Gianna, my younger sister, stands beside me, chuckling and shaking her head. "Just relax, brother. Those are all your nieces and nephews. What can you possibly do? Just smile," she replies, clearly amused.

I look at her, annoyed, and force a smile onto my face, concealing my mounting agitation. It's evident that I don't like not being in control.

I glance over the entrance of the hall where some people have just made their entrance. It dawns on me that Francisco has arrived with his whole family... including Laila.

Surprisingly, my heart skips a beat at the sight of her standing there, looking stunning in her pink satin mini dress. She never attends these gatherings, but it seems that my plan to expedite her marriage is being executed. Our gazes lock, and a mischievous and mocking smile plays upon her lips. She doesn't need to say a word for me to understand that she finds amusement in the situation, where I find myself powerless against a group of unruly kids.

My expression darkens, and with a commanding voice, I assert, "Enough! Everyone, gather around! We will have this photo taken in an orderly fashion."

Silence befalls the hall as my words carry authority and power. The children freeze, their innocent eyes meeting mine, instinctively sensing the weight of my command. Slowly, they obediently move towards the designated spot, their laughter replaced by hushed whispers. The camera clicks, and at last, those damn photos are captured.

After the chaos subsides, everyone scatters across the hall, and the kids resume their playful antics. Without even realizing it, my eyes involuntarily search for Laila once again. Meanwhile, a couple of my men gather around me, offering a glass of whiskey as if it's the elixir of life.

And there she is, at the bar, deep in conversation with some schmuck. I already know she's unleashing her sharp wit and charm, and a twinge of jealousy courses through my veins as I witness the poor fool succumbing to her allure.

Two days ago, when I bumped into her at the firm and she had the audacity to call out my name, I should've been annoyed that she felt so damn comfortable around me, rather than trembling in fear like the rest. No one else would dare, but she did. And strangely, I let it slide because it felt fucking right. It's like she had the right to approach me because, with the amount of time I've been obsessing over her in the past two weeks, she doesn't feel like a stranger anymore. It's becoming harder and harder to resist the urge to touch her. When she attempted to lock us up in her office, I stopped her because I didn't trust myself to maintain control when trapped in a confined space with her.