Purest Sin | mafia romance [18+]

01

ELENA

I truly despise Mondays. Especially when I have to wake up at 7 AM to work till 4 PM and then listen to my Art Direction & Design teacher ramble for hours about the relationship between art direction and design.

I want to become a fashion designer one day, to open my own fashion line but I didn't leave my home country for this.

I mean technically I didn't leave Spain but my parents did, when I was 13 and they moved back after 5 years but I was not going to leave the city that had one of the best Fashion Schools in the world.

"Elena? May you answer the question I asked?" Ms. Adams said and I finally snapped out if it.

Shit! I wasn't listening to a single word.

"Oh! Umm. What was the question?" I fucked up. This is one of the hardest subjects and I wasn't paying attention.

She stared at me with a disappointing look and shook her head.

"How do you balance the design aspects of a project with the strategy aspects?" Charles repeated the question smirking at me clearly enjoying my misery.

"A firm grasp of business strategy is necessary for an art director to be successful. Ad campaigns cannot be successful if they do not fit within the overall brand strategy. Design has to serve that strategy. Rather than seeing design and strategy as potentially opposing forces, the best candidates will see the strategy aspects of a campaign as a positive challenge to flex their design chops. Look for art directors who embrace strategy alongside design and view the two as interlocking parts of a cohesive whole." I said smiling ironically looking and Charles' direction.

He scoffed and turned around.

"That's correct."
                                        ...

The rest of class went like always. Nothing interesting, nothing to talk about and nothing that I studied about, well except that question.

"Goodnight!" Ms. Adams said and left the lecture hall.

Finally, I'm really looking up to a hot shower and sleep like a newborn. Then my stomach started rumbling reminding me I had to eat.

I left west 27th street and headed to the nearest Brooklyn bagel & coffee company. After I got the most delicious empire state bagel I ran down New York's busy streets to go home.

My feet were killing me as I entered my neighborhood. FIT was so far from home but the fashion degree is worth it.

I was walking up the stairs when I heard some strange sounds followed by a loud thump. My brain was telling me to run and not look back but my instinct told me otherwise.

A strange symphony penetrated the air, culminating in a visual crescendo that stole my   breath away – a bloodied man, a tableau of violence etched in my surroundings.

Quickly, I came to my senses and ran to my apartment. I closed the door and ran to close all my windows too.

I don't know why I did that because I live in the  third floor of my apartment building but it felt right.

As I closed the last window I cursed at myself because this was not how I planned my evening to go.

For fuck's sake it was 10 PM and I was so tired to be worried of witnessing a crime.

I really hope no one saw me. What if they barge into my apartment and kill me while I sleep. What will happen with my parents? They'll feel guilty the rest of their lives for 'abandoning' their daughter in New York and moving back to Madrid without her.

What about my little brother-

My thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock on my door. I hurried into the kitchen and grabbed my sharpest butcher knife.

As I was walking towards the door. The realization, a quiet revelation, trickled into my consciousness – my door, not securely locked, standing there as an unwitting invitation.

"Shit" I whispered walking in small steps towards my door.

"Shit indeed." A deep baritone voice resonated behind me.

A raw note of terror reverberating in my cramped apartment.

I screamed dropping my knife to the ground only to have a gloved hand clamped firmly over my mouth keeping it shut.

"Not a sound." The man behind me murmured. He was so close I could feel his hot breath sending chills through my back - an accent Italian-

The air, thick with tension, quivered with an unspoken threat.

"Now turn around." he whispered - again very close - taking a step back leaving an indelible imprint of intrusion over me.

The ground beneath me seemed unsteady, a stage where the final act of my existence was about to unfold.

I closed my eyes not ready to face the man who was going to kill me and turned around shaking.

Then, a commanding voice, sharp and demanding, sliced through the oppressive "Open your eyes!" The command, laced with urgency, pierced through the atmosphere, compelling me to defy the refuge of darkness. As my eyes fluttered open, the dim room unveiled a chilling tableau—the tall man, his face still cloaked in shadows, wielding a knife that pressed against my vulnerable throat.

Before me stood an imposing figure - etched against the inky shadows - a looming presence that transcended the limitations of mere stature. The room, enveloped in darkness, concealed the defining features of the tall man.

"I'm sorry! Please don't kill me!" The words, laced with vulnerability, hung in the air.

He chuckled "I'm not going to kill you principessa." he declared, his voice carrying a strange blend of amusement and assurance.
"Did you see anything?" he asked.

Trembling with fear I looked up to him to at least catch a glimpse of his face as the moon reflected to it.

Fuck me.

His eyes a brown so dark yet so mesmerizing . His jaw so sharp it could cut through anything and his hair - it was cut short but long enough to run my fingers throw it.

Bitch snap out of it! He's going to kill me not have sex with me

"I did, but I'm not going to say anything to anyone!" I uttered, the words stumbling out like an anxious confession. "I swear!" The desperate pledge, an attempt to better up the situation like it's going to help me.

"I know you won't. Or else we wouldn't be having this situation," he remarked, his voice a blend of certainty and an unsettling understanding. The weight of his words lingered in the air, an acknowledgment of the unspoken pact forged in the shadows.

A tender touch, unexpected yet oddly intimate, cupped my cheek as if to emphasize the gravity of the unspoken agreement. His departure, a silent retreat from the confined stage of the encounter, left behind a warmth on my skin—a paradoxical imprint in contrast to the cold steel that had pressed against my throat just moments ago.

The room, now devoid of his imposing presence, seemed to exhale a collective breath, releasing the tension that had woven through the air like a sinister thread. The enigma of the tall man, still veiled in darkness, left me standing in the aftermath of an encounter that defied conventional boundaries, his departure a lingering mystery etched on my skin.

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First chapter! Hope you liked it. 💗

-nels