Morituro - Book 1

12

| CHAPTER TWELVE |

    DARKNESS SURROUNDS ME like a weighted blanket, keeping me locked in the cage of my own mind. I'm drifting and floating in the darkness. I can't see anything, can't hear anything, nor can I feel anything. I've been floating for what feels like years. I can't remember how I got here, I can't think of anything other than darkness.

But, then I hear it. The tiniest whisper of a voice. I can't tell if it's a woman's or a man's, hell I don't even know what they're saying.

The whisper grows louder into a quiet murmur. With each passing second the fog is clearing, revealing the light and pulling me out of my dream like state. It's a man's voice, "Lay... wake... call... drive..."

I recognize the voice almost instantly once the fog clears all the way. Raphael's voice has always had an affect on me, it always will. His voice grips onto my subconscious, pulling me to the surface. Like someone flipped a switch, my senses are back and hit me all at once.

The bright daylight stings my eyes behind their lids, causing me to squirm and press my eyelids closer together in hopes the light will go away. Upon doing so, I realize I'm laying on something warm and hard.

"Layla, don't try and move." Raphael's voice soothes me and he rubs my hand with the pad of his thumb. The cars exhaust roars with life, getting louder then quieting down only to repeat the process.

I somehow find the strength within me to open my eyes. The driver swerved and if Raphael didn't have such a tight grip on me I would've flew to the right of the car. The speedometers red arrow points to a number well over the speed limit. I gulp, my dry throat aching.

"What the hell is going on?"

There better be a good explanation to why I have woken up in a speeding car with no recollection of past activities, and sitting on Raphael's lap.

"You never said rosso. Why did you not say rosso?" His whisper tickles my ear as presses his forehead against my hair.

"Why would I have to say-" Yelling, screaming, Don Luhessa. Little pieces of memory invade my mind. A black gun, blonde hair, smoke. I can smell the gun powder, the lemon disinfectant and brandy.

I almost died.

Tears well up in my eyes when I think of what could've been. No, I don't remember just how I survived, nothing goes further in my memory than when that deranged man fired his gun. But I do remember hearing screams and yelling from the men around me before everything went black.

"How did I get out of there?"

"I carried you out. You banged your head, don't try to think too much." His arm holds onto me tighter as the car swerves onto a highway.

"Where are we going?"

Raphael's hand travels up my arm from my waist, his thumb rubbing my smooth skin. "Back to the condo."

I want to ask why it would be a better idea to go to the condo instead of the hospital, then realize that would only make matters worse by stirring up questions, I don't have any answers for, regarding my condition.

"Sleep, Layla. You need the rest."

-*-

The sun was just setting when my eyes peeled open. The room was fairly lit with the suns glow streaming through the massive windows. I was back in the expensive condo, wearing one of the many satin nightgowns in place of my red dress. The thought crosses my mind of who might of changed me but I quickly turn down the thought, knowing it'll only bring me embarrassment.

I take a deep breath before standing up from the bed. My limbs ache and quake as I stretch and pop my joints. I feel as if I jumped from the roof of a twenty story building and survived.

I hear pots and pans clanging from downstairs, followed by a delicious aroma. It smells sweet yet savory with a spice. Not having to think twice, I race down the stairs.

I stop dead in my tracks as soon as my gaze falls on Raphael. His jacket and tie are off, leaving his white shirt unopened at the top revealing his hard chest. A gold chain hangs around his neck hanging down under his white shirt. I can see the veins protruding from his forearm where his sleeves are rolled up, his strong fingers gripping a knife as he expertly slices bell peppers.

He looks up at me, wearing a cool smirk, "I thought you would've slept longer than that," he looks down at his Rolex, "It's only been a half hour."

I try not to shiver at his delicious accent. "Mm," I don't want to risk him hearing my quivering voice.

He peeks up from slicing the pepper to give me a curious glance. "How are you feeling?"

Without thinking, my mouth asks the first question that comes to mind. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

Raphael whips his head back to let out his roar of laughter. It's a gift everytime I get to hear it, which isn't often, so I enjoy it while it lasts. I take a seat in front of the island where he's chopping the pepper.

He shakes his head, chuckling to himself, "You ask as if my kindness is rare."

"It is."

It's silent for a moment as if Raphael is truly stunned that I think he isn't a saint on earth. I just now take notice of the soft piano melody playing throughout the kitchen.

As the gears in his head turn, I study the way his hands slice away at the bell pepper. It's sweet aroma filling my nose. I absolutely love bell peppers, they are my favorite vegetable. So, instinctively I reach out and take one of the long slices.

Raphael looks up at me once more, about to protest, but stops when he sees me already put the tip in my mouth. I bite it, flashing Raphael a smirk.

"Solo tu, Layla." I see his adam apple bounce, before he takes the rest of the sliced pepper and slides them off of the cutting board into the searing hot frying pan. They sizzle and crackle as he seasons the vegetable and stirs them around.

I'm fascinated with his every movement. The way he walks around the kitchen with such grace and confidence, as if he knows I'm going to love his cooking. I love the way he wipes his hands on a rag then effortlessly throws it onto his shoulder, looking back at me with those eyes of his.

Oh, how I'm attracted to this man. Attracted to a killer.

He stirs the vegetables with a look of content on his face, no harsh lines adorn his forehead or mouth, he's at peace. He's even humming. How can he hide his demons so well?

Raphael puts a tortilla on a plate, smooths sour cream in the middle of it followed by cheese, hot sauce, vegetables, and of course chicken. He folds the tortilla before putting the plate in front of me.

There are many things that are odd about this situation. Raphael being nice to me is one of them, but what I'm really stuck on is how he made me a burrito.

A burrito. Not Italian at all.

I bite my lip, holding back my laughter. Raphael gives me questioning eyes, wondering why I haven't eaten the delicious smelling food in front of me yet, as he leans against the island waiting.

"A burrito?" I can't help the smile to grow on my face.

"Sì," His eyebrow raises, "What's so funny?"

I shake my head as a few chuckles escape past my lips, "The Italian Mafia Don just made a burrito."

He's quiet for a second before he erupts in laughter.

——-

Hello beautiful lovelies,
I'm sorry for how long it took for me to update and how uneventful this one is, this chapter is just a filler. I thought throwing in a cute little moment between the main characters is what this book needs.

Chapter questions:
Does anyone know what "Sono tu," means? Why did Raphael say that to Layla?

Anyways, don't forget to like, comment, and share.

Until next time,

Bella.
*