𝖫𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖺 𝖽𝗂 𝖬𝖺𝗋𝖼𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗈

sette║seven

↬ a d r i a n n e ↫

Since that moment, I barely got out of the room. I felt embarrassed about how easily he got to me and how he knows he did.

Though I plan to take it as a challenge, it's more to prove to myself that I can be in control of the attraction I have towards him than to tie him up and lead him on.

Both options, I can prove. Simultaneously.

With the same clothes that I have worn for the last two days, I feel disgusting, I reek of everything but my expensive perfumes and body lotions.

I need my shit.

"Get up, I will take you to your apartment to get your stuff, " he barges in as if he were reading my mind.

I smile at his face. He is serious, yet I feel the playfulness emitting.

"I thought you were coming here to fuck me, " I fake pout, getting on my feet.

"You're the last person I'm thinking of fucking," he says with that thick Italian accent that drives me insane.

I roll my eyes and begin striding in direction of the door.

During the ride, all I kept thinking was a way of running away. Any opportunity I get I'll take. As much as I would love to taste that man, I got my shit to deal with and I'm scared to death about what can go wrong in this game I think I'm good at.

I'm messing with the mafia.

Although those are my thoughts, I can't keep my hands to myself. It's like every time I hear him speak or peek at him, something inside of me twitches a bit. Not in an unpleasant manner, it's the opposite. I like how it feels.

It's dangerous, secret, challenging. All the things I'm good at managing, all traits I look forward to in a man.

I shake my head, coming out of my daze.

I see my neighborhood, but I'm not even going to bother asking how they know my location.

"You're allowed to take merely underwear, your paperwork, and a couple of clothes, " he, with a gruff voice, indicates me. "I'll have my colleagues watching you, so don't try stupid shit."

I scoff and roll my eyes.

Once we're inside my beloved apartment, his men just begin going through my stuff. They don't wait after properly feel comfortable in my home, they just barged in picking and choosing what they want.

Do I look like an investigation? Does this place look like a crime scene? Because the last time I checked... Well...

Yeah, my clothes are still scattered all over my living room area and following a path to my bedroom door. A crime definitely happened here.

And what an outstanding crime!

Memories of that night begin to fog my vision, and I have to shake them off to not lose myself against these men.

"Excuse me, che cazzo pensi di fare?" I ask, bringing my hands to my hips. {what the fuck do you think you're doing}