Guilty | ✓

XX | Guilty

CHAPTER TWENTY | MEET THE ROMANO'S

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THE LOUD CHATTERING OF cameras and lights going off surrounded Genevieve and Elias as they carefully stepped out of the limousine. A crowd of paparazzi and news outlets swarmed around them, some extending microphones and asking questions while some continually snapped pictures of the adoring couple.

Genevieve smiled as she posed while walking down the red carpet, Elias awkwardly posing next to her, his facial features contorting in various different expressions.

When the crowd died down, the couple entered the Grecian-style mansion. Large beige-colored marble outlined the floors, a large antique looking staircase standing right in front of them at the foyer. Coats of soft off-white paints and black architectural trimming framed the walls, and a series of different statues were positioned in corners—old-fashioned paintings next to them.

Elias couldn't help but breathe in the manor, it was certainly beautiful. He had visited various different mafia locations, one being the bidding in Dubai while others was the cocktail party at Gates Manor—but he definitely reserved the title for the Greek-styled home.

"How could you not like this?" Elias asked when he noticed Genevieve's distasteful look for the palace-like home. "It's amazing."

"I suppose it's alright," shrugged Genevieve, her mouth puckish, "it's certainly better than Mick Jagger."

He gave her a weird look, "Mick Jagger?"

Genevieve in response scrunched her eyebrows together, entwining her hand with his while the other flipped around. "That's what I call the abandoned buildings in Dartford, England—I mean, they're both wrinkled, old and both are in Dartford."

"Why would you call it Mick Jagger anyway, who names a building 'Mick Jagger'?"

"Well, I can't call it Johnny Depp can't I," Genevieve shot back, "he's too beautiful to be compared to an old abandoned building."

Elias gave his girlfriend a look; he never understood what it was with women and 80's men. He wouldn't call them attractive, but he couldn't deny the British actor was in a certain and in a straight manner, "good-looking". But it got old after some time, growing up in a household filled with women it was a usual for them to gush over a certain actor or singer—though, without a doubt Elias hated when he had to give up his weekly, Sunday Nights Football, for his mother and sister to watch reruns on their twentieth-century soap operas; that in his opinion were the most disgusting show someone would watch.

"How do you women get obsessed with the same men, I mean you probably never even met him!" Elias exclaimed, trying desperately to get her to quiet down.

Genevieve raised an eyebrow towards him, "Don't act like you wouldn't kill for them, I bet if you had to pick 80's Cindy Crawford over me; you'd take the latter."

"It's Cindy Crawford for fucks sake!" Elias uttered, his arms flailing around.

"'It's Cindy Crawford for fucks sake,"" Genevieve mocked, her hands raising while her fingers bent in quotation marks. "Well, then I can have Johnny Depp for myself then, dumbass."

Elias frowned, instantly regretting he ever mentioned the name of the 70's model. But could anybody blame him, it was Cindy Crawford, she was like the Megan Fox of the eighty's—in his defense the only reason he even knew about the model was for one of his high-school friends, Ben, who was coincidentally obsessed with Playboy magazines and the 80s.