His Kryptonite

Chapter 22

Laila's POV

It's been a week since the complete mess, and according to Michael, while things are still tense and unresolved, they're moving in the right direction... or so he claims. But I can sense his tension, especially when it comes to my safety. He checks up on me obsessively, and if I don't respond immediately, all hell breaks loose. He's definitely overprotective, but I can't blame him.

I haven't left this building since I got here, and I'll admit, I miss being around my crazy family. But I don't want to stress Michael out even more by acting like a demanding brat, especially since I still feel guilty about everything that's going on.

That being said, it's probably best that I don't confront my family in person right now. The whole "Michael choosing Laila Scorsese over Gabriella Gambini" bomb hasn't been dropped yet, and I can only imagine my family's reaction when they find out that little old me is the reason this whole situation is still unresolved.

But I can't regret my decision. I just can't. Every day spent with Michael makes my heart race. I know I'm lucky enough to see a side of him that few others do, the side he hides from the rest of the world. When he comes home to me, he lets his guard down.

Just the other day, he made me a promise that once he got home, we'd catch a movie together. But when he arrived, I could see the exhaustion weighing on his entire being. Nevertheless, he kept his word, settled in, and shared a bowl of popcorn with me as we dove into the movie of my choice. I opted for "And Justice For All" starring Al Pacino, a captivating legal flick because those happen to be my favorites. I could see him battling fatigue, his eyes narrowing but resisting the temptation to shut them.

Eventually, he succumbed to sleep, his head initially landing on my shoulder. As soon as he realized it, there was a fleeting moment between dream and reality where he repositioned himself, gently resting his head on my lap. I observed him slumber peacefully, taken aback by the sudden vulnerability he radiated. A weary man opting to sleep on his girl's lap instead of comfortably in bed. And in that instant, I fell head over heels for his vulnerability.

The following day, in the kitchen, he stood by the stove, cooking up eggs and bacon for me, just like he does every single morning since he's an early riser. "There's my sleepyhead," he greeted me as I entered the room.

Sporting no shirt, I teasingly remarked, "You can't be cooking shirtless with all that sizzling grease around. You might scar that gorgeous body of yours."

"Have you seen all the scars I already have? A few more won't change a damn thing," he retorted.

And he was right, his body bore numerous scars. Intrigued, I began asking about them, and his responses were straightforward—resulting from encounters with guns, knives, and fists. But then, I couldn't help but ask about a prominent scar on his knee. "What's the story behind that one?" I inquired, pointing to it.

"Bike," he simply replied.

"Bike?! Such a massive scar! Did your papà push you down a hill during your first biking attempt?" I playfully quipped.

"If my dad had been the one teaching me how to ride, that's probably exactly what he would've done. I had to figure out biking on my own, and that got me into some fucked up accidents."

In that moment, it dawned on me how challenging his upbringing must have been, growing up with a rough father like Vito Rizzuto and a mother who turned a blind eye to the abuse while numbing herself with too many Xanax pills. It was at that precise moment that I realized I wanted to be his sanctuary, his refuge—a place where he didn't have to maintain a tough exterior all the time.

Yes, he can be rough around the edges and easily irritated, but goodness, that guy knows how to be affectionate too. Not a single day in the past week has gone by without him finding a way to touch me in some way as I pass by him in the house. It could be a gentle kiss on my hair or forehead, or he might go all out and give me a smack or a cheeky grab on the ass. Honestly, I enjoy the anticipation of not knowing which one I'll get. Amidst it all, I've fallen in love with both his tender and rough sides.

During this past week, I had the pleasure of hearing his laugh for the first time. I always manage to come up with something witty to say, and every now and then, instead of telling me to shut my non-stop talking, he lets out a laugh. It's a deep, warm, and undeniably sexy laugh that I find myself yearning for again and again. It's become a little game for me: Will I be able to make Mike laugh today? It starts with him giving me an annoyed look, but then I see the corner of his mouth curl into a smile, as if he's trying to hold it back. The playful evasion, the slight shaking of his head, and then, out of nowhere, he bursts into a full-blown laugh that completely took me by surprise the first time I heard it. Each time he laughs, my love for him deepens, drawing me in further and further.

There are moments filled with laughter, but there are also times when he seeks solitude. He sits on the rooftop terrace, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his gaze fixed on the sky. I can sense a whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind, thoughts I long to unravel, yet he keeps me at bay. When he returns, his expression has completely transformed, and he casually asks if I need anything: food, sex, money, clothes, a massage. Anything. It's almost as if he's making amends for shutting me out. He genuinely cares for me, and that's something I love about him.

We spend a lot of time watching the news. It seems to be his go-to choice. But then, every now and then, I'll enter the living room to find one of my random TV shows playing, and I know he does it purposefully, just for me. I've fallen head over heels for his attentiveness.

Every day, he reveals another facet of himself that makes me fall deeper in love. I'm well aware of the challenges that lie ahead, but there's no turning back for me. I'm standing by his side because my heart already belongs to him.