Believing In Fate - book 1

Chapter 7 - Tommy The Gun

Raffaele

Groaning in frustration, I roll over in bed, reaching for my phone. It's two in the morning; insomnia presenting itself again. Lazily running my hand across my forehead, I lay in bed for another minute before getting up. Maybe a couple of hours of work will help. Three new contracts require revision. It might just be the distraction I need.

Throwing on my sweatpants, I make my way out of my room, noticing the light on in Asimina's bedroom as I descend the stairs. I guess I'm not the only one who can't sleep! My attention shifts towards the living room, hearing faint shuffling noises not many would pick up on. Security at any one of my properties cannot be penetrated. We've never been attacked nor had any intruders. Our properties are well hidden. None of our private residences are listed, making it impossible for us to be found. We have thirty guards on the roster to stop an intruder, and if not, then I will.

Making my way towards the living room, I spot someone sitting on the sofa watching something on an iPad in complete darkness. Unaware of my presence, I inch closer, standing directly behind them. Asimina! Bending down closer to her ear, my words come out barely a whisper, "Couldn't sleep either?"

She throws the iPad and jumps to her feet, her eyes meeting mine as I turn on the lamp. "What's wrong with you? You gave me a fucking heart attack!" Holding her hand over her heart, she struggles to catch her breath.

Unable to contain myself at her frightened state, I bellow into laughter. She stands with a hand on her hip, unimpressed and furious. "It's not funny." She slumps back down on the sofa and pulls up the blanket.

My laughter, now barely a chuckle, I apologize, "Sorry. What are you doing sitting in the dark anyway?" I question, my curiosity getting the better of me.

Sighing, she places her hand over her face, "I couldn't sleep. I came down to watch a movie, so I wouldn't wake anyone upstairs."

Narrowing her eyes at me, she questions, "What if I had the gun with me, and I shot your Italian ass?"

"Sweetheart, I would have disarmed you before you had a chance even to aim," I assure her with amusement still lingering in my voice. "Want something to drink?" I offer. Work can wait. This is far more entertaining.

"That depends. Is there bourbon in this house?" Finally, her features relax, and a weak smile forms.

"Bourbon? I would have pegged you for more of a wine drinker." I'm slightly impressed with her choice of liquor.

"Pegged me? I'm not like those fakes you surround yourself with!" she scoffs.

"Fakes?" I challenge. Handing her the glass, I take a seat on the sofa across from her.

"Wine drinking, salad eating, money-hungry bimbos." Taking a sip and thoroughly enjoying it, she continues, "I'm more of a bourbon and steak kind of girl that cares little for materialistic things."

"Good to know. I guess I pegged you wrong. More tomboy then." I smirk at her.

"Just because I like bourbon and I don't starve myself, it doesn't mean I'm a tomboy. I'm all lady and full of class. Just not fake," she assures me. Her eyes slowly linger down my bare chest. Guess she likes what she sees, her cheeks.

"It's good to see you more comfortable around us," I observe, keen to know what's changed.

"Well, I'm here. I have nowhere else to go, and I need help. Petro's presence makes a difference." She speaks with complete earnestly. Her eye contact falters as she brings the glass to her lips. Taking a sip, she says, "Your house is beautiful, but it doesn't feel like a home with personal touches and pictures missing."