Married to the mafia boss Series

Anastasia

“Trust me,” he tells me.

I feel out of place here, in a fancy Italian restaurant. I’m used to eating things like Solyanka and Pirozhki. When I was younger, those were my mothers two recipes she cooked the most-mainly because I begged her to make it all the time. Never in my life have I had majority of the times in the menu.

Nor have I had this red wine which is listed as well over a thousand dollars on the menu.

But, I’ll trust him. Only because I’m starving.

Still, as I’m dressed in casual comfy clothes, I feel as if the entire restaurant is talking about me. Even though Angelo and I have a private table in a secluded room, I feel out of my comfort zone.

“What else do you like besides movies?” Angelo asks.Material © of NôvelDrama.Org.

“I like cooking and baking.”

“I should have just taken you home so you could have cooked for us,” he jokes.”I’m glad you brought us here,” I sign before thinking. “I like being out of your apartment.”

“Because it makes you forget that you’re my prisoner?” He sits back and take a large sip of his wine.

I give him a sad look and before I can respond, the waiter comes with a large tray full of food.

“Baked Ziti,” he answers my unspoken question. “Try it.”

I grab my fork and take a small bite. I chew savoring the different tastes. The tomato sauce, meat, cheese and noodles. All of it combined to make a wonderful mixture. My mouth is salivating for more. I take a bigger bite and Angelo smiles watching me. He hasn’t even touched his food yet.

“What did you get?” I ask as I put my silverware down and pat my mouth with the cloth napkin.

“Osso buco.”

I jerk my head back, “what’s that?”

He cuts and stabs a piece and reaches over with his fork urging me to take a bite. I open my mouth and chew the piece. It was different than anything I’ve ever had. I can’t put my finger on the exploding flavors in my mouth. “It’s good!”

“See, you can trust me,” he gives me a brief smile before hanging his head low and playing with his food.

I shake my hands to grab his attention but he blatantly ignores me.

In an instant the world becomes chaos. I see people in the main part of the restaurant scurrying from their seats, mouths open probably screaming in fear. Angelo whips his head around to look at the chaos. Men barge into our private section, they have guns and they aim at Angelo.

It is my father. He doesn’t notice me. He wouldn’t notice me. Not while my signature blonde hair is gone and the sunglasses cover my blue eyes.

Angelo quickly takes out a pistol from underneath his suit jacket, he aims at my father. Angelo screams something at me, hands too occupied to tell me what to do. I take cover knocking the round table on its side and hiding behind the wood. It’s probably what he wants me to do anyways. My heart is beating fast, I’m more worried than I am terrified. I watch Angelo who is hiding from behind another knocked over table on the other side of the room, he pops his head out occasionally to shoot at my father and his men. It doesn’t take long for Angelo’s backup to arrive, hiding behind the threshold of the entrance into the private room. The place is thrown into even more mayhem.

Angelo’s wide eyes tell me danger is near, he rushes for me, getting shot in the process. I scream as blood leaks from his shoulder. He picks me up shielding me with his body. His men surround him, covering him. I feel Angelo’s body jerk getting hit with another bullet.

Everything happens so fast. My mind a jumbled mess, I can feel the warm blood oozing from Angelo’s wound. We pass by dead bodies and I am mortified, I bury my head into Angelo’s chest wishing for it all to be over. I didn’t even realize it, but I’m sobbing, tears leaking down my cheeks.

Through the back door, a car is waiting for us. Angelo places me in the back seat and I scoot over as he climbs in with me. He shouts something to the driver and the car starts moving.

“You’re hurt!” I hover over him as he takes short rapid breaths, clearly in pain. He winces as he tries and fails to sit up.

I put my hand to his wound. There is so much blood. So much.

“We need to go to the hospital!”

“No,” he signs simply.

I know the rules of the Mafia, they are essentially the same as the Bratva. No hospitals. Gun shot wounds means getting the police involved. I can’t even tell the driver to take us to the hospital-not that he would listen to me anyways.

I keep my hands on his wound, putting as much pressure as I can. I start to tear up. He looks so pale. I’m afraid his stubbornness is going to get him killed.

He lifts his hands, it takes a lot of effort, he’s so weak. His hands are shaking as he signs. “You could have went with your father, why didn’t you?” He pushes a straggling piece of red hair behind my ear.

Why didn’t I? I could have jumped out, ran to my father and he would have had his men take me out of the resturant and back home.

No, not home. In his house, under his care and protection. Never again left out of his sight.

When I look out the window, I notice we aren’t at Angelo’s apartment building. We’re in some strange place, a warehouse maybe. I begin to panic, all sorts of horrible thoughts running through my head. Until, some of Angelo’s men come out of the building and open the door, they pay no attention to me as they carry their Don out of the car and into the warehouse.

They shut the door and the driver starts taking off. “Wait, no! Where are you taking me?”The driver doesn’t understand a single word I’m saying–or signing.

I look out the back window until the warehouse disappears in sight. I have the worst feeling in my gut. A nauseous feeling. I’m sick to my stomach.

Arriving at Angelo’s apartment I am greeted by a man in a black suit wearing dark sunglasses. He escorts me into the elevator and even punches in Angelo’s code to get into his penthouse. When the elevator opens Isabella is standing there with warm open arms. She says something to me but I can’t read her lips. I look over my shoulder to see the elevator door shut and the man who escorted me here gone, too.

Isabella has her arm wrapped around my waist helping me up the stairs to Angelo’s bedroom. I wasn’t hurt, but I’m still in a state of shock. She takes me into the bathroom where she gets the bathtub ready. I look down at my new pale yellow sweater ruined by a copious amount of Angelo’s blood. I start to feel sick again. I rush to the toilet and release the contents of my stomach into it. Isabella rubs my back and patiently waits for me to finish before helping me into the warm bathtub.

I wash with a soapy washcloth she grabs for me. I clean the blood sticking to my skin. It is on the side of my face and neck, my hands and arms. The clear water turns pink and I take it as my cue to get out. I don’t want to linger long anyways, the water was turning cold and I’m shivering. Isabella leaves me alone in the room and when I walk toward the door, it’s locked. Probably per Angelo’s orders.

My bags from shopping are still in the corner of the room. I haven’t gone through them all. Angelo rushed me early this morning so I grabbed the first thing I could find in the plethora of bags. Now the outfit is ruined. Isabella took them away from me, probably to burn them or who knows what, but I know I won’t see them again.

I grab the bag from Victoria’s Secret pulling out a pair of underwear. The pair I pull out is the black lace see through pair that Angelo was taunting me with in the store. I chuckle to myself, sniffling as my eyes start to tear up again. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on his face nor will I forget the warm feel of his blood on my skin. In the bag are a few pairs of underwear I definitely didn’t pick out. They’re all sexy. Another pair is seafoam green, it’s a small silky triangular patch in the front and just a string in the back. It doesn’t look like a very comfortable thong, but then again, I gather it’s not meant for wearing very long.

I put on my pajamas and crawl into bed. It’s eerily silent. Silent not in the way I don’t hear anything, but silent as in the energy in the room is gone. The way people create noise not wither mouths, but with their presence. The disarray of life is gone and I am alone. It’s an empty feeling. I pull the covers closer to my body and stare at the ceiling. I won’t be getting any sleep tonight, not until Angelo comes home.

I think long and hard about the question Angelo asked me in the car.

“You could have went with your father, why didn’t you?”

Why didn’t I?

After an hour or so I finally come up with my answer.

Because even though you kidnapped me, I am more free with you than I ever would be with him.