My Surrogate, My Love... (Mafia Romance, 18+)

Chapter twenty four.

"I am lain on Leandro's chest, inside his room in the private jet. Costello and Giovanni are, of course, travelling with us.
"Leo, can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead, àmórè," he speaks, stroking fingers softly through my tangled curls.
"What happened to your dad after you-uh-left your house?"

He takes in a deep breathe, as if contemplating whether or not to respond, remains completely immobile, and for a moment, I actually start to regret raising the topic.
"So, you've heard the story? It doesn't matter. I heard from around, that my old man passed. Murdered by some guys he owed some money, and since he wasn't able to pay up, he was killed," he replies, ends with a humourless chuckle.

"When I was young, his name for me was 'bastard.' I recall him burning my toes with a hot iron, starve me for days, said that since I wasn't his son, he wasn't obligated to feed or clothe me. Then one night, he came home drunk, staggered his way into my room, hurling insults and screaming profanities. I was asleep at the time, and was woken by a hefty blow across the cheek, accompanied by heavy, brutal beatings, that left me with a badly broken arm, humerus and radius disjointed.

My patience had run out, so I decided to escape. Treading down cold streets, I felt alone, I was alone, and happened to witness a murder during that time of solitude. I watched as a man got shot multiple times in some dark alley, and by the time I realized that the murderer had caught sight of me, it was already too late. Wrong place, wrong time.

I recall how he walked up to me, gun aimed in my direction, and gave me an ultimatum. Death that very minute or joining the mafia, I chose the latter. Was the sane choice to make. Four years down the line, and I had worked my way to the top, became leader of the Italian mafia. Another two years, and the American mafia became part of my empire.

I've lead the mafia for ten years now, that is my truth, Eva. I am a fucked up man, who's destroyed and wrecked havoc in the lives of many. It's rather ironic that you are not petrified by my mere name. However, I do not seek your empathy or pity. Pity is an equivalent of vulnerability," he explains, voice monotone, whilst he rubs my upper arm smoothly.

"Leandro, I've accepted you just the way you are. I can't walk into your life, compel you to change your lifestyle, demand that you quite the adrenaline rush. It's already in your blood. You've been doing this almost all your life, so what right have I, to force you into becoming someone your not?

Like I said, I do not support you killing at all, but I most certainly don't except you to switch behaviors, switch occupations overnight. I know it's not that simple to just change, it never is. Habits are like a second skin. Everything will happen in due time, at your own pace."

Not knowing what more to add, I fall mumm, tracing the outline of the tattoo plastered on his skin.
"You might find it rather cheesy, and slightly difficult to believe, but in this dark life of mine, you are the only light I possess."
"And this light will not go out. I'm all in, Leandro, and don't you forget it."

************
I am seated on one of the leather seats in the hotel lobby, awaiting Leandro to finalize the booking process. The receptionist is a fine young lady, who apparently, can't seem to keep her teeth as well as her 'seductive' smile to herself. Shamelessly, she throws her head back in pearls of laughter, while Leandro comments on something, acting oblivious to what's actually going on. See, that right there, is what I like to call a power move.

Costello and Giovanni are both staring at the screens of their phones, so they don't take notice of what's happening. I eye the receptionist once more, observing as she tilts her head, causing her long, neatly curled purple locks, to sway to the side. The nerve of this bitch. I am sorry, but that just about does it. I rise from the seat, walk over to the reception, stand right next to Leandro, with my palm resting over his shoulder.

"Babe, the kids just called, said they miss us so much. Carlo wanted to talk to you, but I had to explain to him, that you were rather busy."
My eyes travel to meet the receptionist, and my smile fades instantly. Gazing at her, with brows lifted, I watch as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat, clearing her throat.

"Hun, do what brought you to work, lest you lose your job," I speak, then offer an innocent, yet provocative smile.
Yes, I am possessive, and I am sorry, but I don't have any fucks to give.
I look up at Leandro, and the man seems to be holding in laughter.
"Uh, here are the keys to the three rooms, sir," she rashly chokes, handing the keys over to Leandro.

Oh, so now she's all professional and shit? I can only roll my eyes irritably, as I make my way back to my seat. Leandro follows behind clutching a set of keys, tossing Costello and Giovanni their set, and in another minute, our luggage is picked up by four bellboys and wheeled away.

"What was that, àmórè?"
"What was what, Leandro?" I question in turn, before proceeding to walk away without another word.
We take the elevators to our floor, and soon, we are right in front of the doors leading into our hotel suite.
"So, you like it, àmórè?" Leandro questions once we glide past the doors.
"Uh, yeah, this place is cool."

My feet glide into and out of every room, eyes taking time to appreciate the decor and blend of colours employed in each. The bedroom offers a magnificent view of the New York, since the walls are made of glass, and for the briefest of nanoseconds, I stand glued to the floors, staring out into the darkness of the early morning.

After taking a long shower, both Leandro and I, he prepares us a decent meal.
It's only seventeen minutes past three in the morning, so I decide to prepare him some coffee, grant him the quiet he needs to handle business on his laptop.

"Will you be up long, Leandro?"
"An hour or two. I need you, on the other hand, to rest, àmórè," is his only response, before he tips his mug, and sips the coffee.
"Say less, baby. And by the way, my feet are swollen, so I better get going."
His gaze travels down to them, then up to me, before he proceeds to shut his laptop, rest the mug against the table, and rise from the seat.

"Why are you getting up?"
"Come with me, Eva."
He pulls me to the bedroom, sits me on the bed, then retrieves some coconut-oil bottle from his suite case. Sitting cross-legged before me, he takes hold of my foot, kneads and massages tenderly, until my head is thrown back in raw, unfiltered satisfaction.

Switching attention to the other foot, he oils it, squeezes softly, rubs smoothly, then rises on his feet, and rests the bottle aside. I almost snap at the loss of contact, but manage to keep my mouth shut, and drag my drowsy body into bed, pulling the duvet covers over me.

He cleanses his hands, makes his way over to the bed, tucking me in without a single word.
"Thank you so much, Leo. I needed that so bad," and with those few words, I press a chaste kiss against his forehead, gradually feeling myself drifting into slumber...

Please don't forget to comment and click the little star at the bottom ❤️❤️