Mafia's Woman

38- Broken Glass

I was going to miss Italy when we left. It had been an amazing trip with Arsenio. Even if it was selfish, I was happy that all of his attention was on me, and not his work business.

"Stop looking at me like that," I scolded. All day he had been staring at me with this look in his eyes like he wanted to eat me right then and there.

"How could I possibly stop? After seeing you naked last night."

I groaned and hid my face in his chest, embarrassed as I thought about last night.

After Arsenio told me to move my hand, we got out of the jacuzzi within ten minutes, no longer able to suffer through the tension between us. He got out first and I made him turn his back so he wouldn't see anything when I got out.

When I tried to get out, I slipped on the floor and fell, making a slapping noise echo through the whole room.

Of course, Arsenio turned around and made sure I wasn't dead or hurt, which I wasn't, but that meant he also saw all of my body, much to my embarrassment.

I tried to get away from him afterward, but he kept me pinned to his body and kept telling me that I was beautiful. His words did help soothe me, but I was still embarrassed.

"It's humiliating!" I yelled.

He shook his head and then rested his chin on top of my head. "You have nothing to be humiliated by," he whispered and placed a kiss on the top of my head.

Reaching for the remote, I turned the television on, and ironically enough, The Godfather was playing. Specifically, a scene in which someone was murdered.

"Arsenio?"

"Yes?"

"Have you... killed a lot of people?" I asked, seriously changing the mood. I wanted to know. I wanted to know what he did, what his life as a leader was like. It wasn't a normal conversation to have, but my boyfriend was a mafia boss so normal conversations weren't exactly the status quo.

He stilled but nodded soon after. "Yes."

"More than a hundred?"

"Yes."

I nodded my head as I sucked in a deep breath. I knew Arsenio wasn't exactly a pure man and when I first met him. In fact, there was a short time I was horrified of him, in the very beginning, and especially after reading the letter he had written to the person who owed him money.

I wasn't afraid of that part of him anymore. Sometimes I heard him having discussions in his office and he would yell and say dreadful things to the other person, but it didn't scare me. He hurt other people yes, but not me. He hurt people who deserved the pain, and while I didn't want to be a part of that, I was proud that he was.

I couldn't be afraid of the one person that took care of me, showed me affection and kindness, and taught me how to value myself. There were dark parts of him, but I liked them just as much as the lighter parts.

"I don't want you to be afraid of me," he said as he lifted my head from his chest.

"I know. I'm not," I replied.

He traced his thumbs across my jaw before he dug his hand into his pocket as his cell phone started ringing. He moved my body off of his and stood up.

Walking back the hallway to his office, I heard as he answered the phone saying, "Che cazzo vuoi, Ermanno?" (What the fuck do you want, Ermanno.)

I followed after him a few minutes later. He seemed angry when he picked up the phone, I wanted to make sure he was alright.

I stood a few feet from the door. It was cracked open slightly so I could hear his gruff voice. He didn't sound happy. When he hung the phone up, I stayed in the hallway for a bit longer in hopes he would cool off a little bit.