To betray the mafia king

Chapter 4

Love?

An infatuation in this world of changing order and fake lovers.

Hatred?

A permanence in this world of growing betrayers.

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"Sir! It's important!"

Vincenzo's gaze didn't leave the paper in his hand.
Showing John his hand,he was ordered to wait.

While John shifted his wait from one leg to another in anxiousness,Vince didn't pay much heed.

Once done he pushed back his seat and gave John his full attention.

"Speak"

"Sir....I was informed but I....your wife...I mean Mrs Alessa ...she...still went outside without security .We tried stopping her but-"

Vincenzo face showed indifference.
Sighing he picked another paper from the table.

"Where?"
His body leaned forward to pick up a pen and sign on the sheets.

"That....I.....I should have told you earlier...but you were busy....she went to see her father"

Vincenzo's hand stopped as he looked up.
His grip on the pen tightening.

"And?"

"And they talked for an hour or so .She looked uneasy when she came back."

Vince simply nodded and dismissed him.

The pen rotating between his fingers as he decided to set new rules for his wife.

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He came back to eerie silence.
His block heel hitting the tiles,the only sound that was being heard.

A young house helper came forward to take his coat and he removed it from his muscles shoulders.
The action making his bicep muscles to flex and the housemaid's eyes to divert away.

"Where is she?"
His question direct as he picked up the glass of water she offered.
Gulping it down.

"Miss Alessa is in the kitchen Sir...she refuses to rest."

Her answer making crease to appear on his forehead as he looked at her through narrowed eyes.

"And why are you here for? Didn't I tell you stay with her at all times?"

She started rubbing her hands together in anxiety.
Her words coming out as a mere whisper.

"I...I am sorry Sir..but ma'am asked me to leave...I..."

He didn't pay much heed to her.
Moving towards the kitchen he dismissed her.

There he saw his newly wed wife baking oatmeal cookies while limping on one leg.

Her hands moving like a pro as she kneaded the dough.
He could see some drops of sweat covering her forehead as she moved up her arm to clean them.

He leaned against the threshold,watching her silently.

He looked down to see her wearing his clothes.
His favourite t shirt to be exact which was 2 size bigger for her and shorts 2 inch longer.

He couldn't help smile.
He has filled her wardrobe with top brands and still she preferred these.

Spoiled brat.

Isn't this what people say about her.
But then why this girl here disregarded brands like waste?
Don't they generally live for these expensive clothes?