Gang Leader's Princess ✓

lii.

C H A N E L

I woke up to the bright sun in my eyes. Memories from last night resurfaced my mind and I smiled.

I felt happy.

Giovanni and I never had sex last night. It wasthe first time I felt a man didn't want me for my body.

I was slowly tracing the tattoos on his skin as I watched him sleep. He looked so beautiful. He looked so innocent.

He had so much ink on his body, I wondered why he got so many. I wondered what they meant.

His eyes poked open and he squinted, adjusting to the light of the sun.

"Good morning, princess," he spoke in his husky morning voice.

My heart swelled. I couldn't believe he was mine.

I smiled, sheepishly. I was still so nervous around him. He made me like this.

I stared at my fingertips tracing his tattoos and I mumbled. "Good morning."

"What are you doing?" He asked. He motioned to my hands on his tattoos and I looked at him.

I removed my hand quickly. Was he angry? Did he not want me touching his tattoos?

"Woah, calm down, princess. I didn't mean it like that," he chuckled.

I sighed in relief. "What do they mean?" I asked softly.

"Nothing," he answered.

"They mean nothing?" I asked. My voice came out shaky. "Aren't tattoos supposed to have some meaning to them?"

I didn't know why I was stuttering. He made me so nervous.

He chuckled, deeply. It sent shivers down my spine. My heart jolted at the sound of his laugh.

"Why are you stuttering, baby? Do I make you nervous?" He asked, teasingly.

Baby. He called me baby.

I cowered away from him shyly. I felt my cheeks flush. Why does he have to point it out?

"No," I denied. It was true, though and he knew it. "Back to your tattoos," I told him.

He snickered at me. "Not really, I just got them."

"Not even one, once doesn't have a special meaning to you?" I asked.

He hesitated. He looked at his tattoos. He touched one on his chest and stared at it.

"This one," he said. His hand rested on it. I placed my hands on top of his.

The tattoo was angel wings they had a name in the middle of them written in cursive.

It was a name.

Angela.

"That's my mom's name," he explained. His voice held so much pain.

"You miss her?" I asked him, softly.

"Everyday," he said. His eyes watered. He looked so torn. He looked so pained.

I bit my cheek to refrain from crying. He was so sweet, he had just been hurt.

"How about you?" He asked me.

I knitted my eyebrows in confusion. "What about me?"

"Do you miss your parents?"

"My mother, yes," I answered. I froze, before continuing to answer. "I know I shouldn't miss my father, but I missed what we were before everything took a turn. I miss my family."