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My eyes open with a loud gasp, body jolting in the bed and I feel my hair stick to my forehead with the sweat. My palms grasp the bedsheets like it's my lifeline, heavy puffs of breath leaving my lips as I try to look around in the dark room. My chest heaves heavily, a sheen of sweat covering my body.
It's always the same. The exact same dream. Every once in a while. And I hate it.
It's like reliving that moment over and over again and fuck does it feel real. I've been reliving it for the last 20 years and every single time I think I can do something. Save him. But I can't. Every night I wake up and tell myself it's not real but, it was.
It was real at some point.
My palm rubs at my chest trying to relieve the burning ache that is spreading throughout my body. My throat feels tight as images of that moment reel through my mind like a movie. My clammy hand reaches out to the side of my bed, fingers flicking on the lamp, warm yellow light lighting up the dark room.
My gaze falls to the body-length mirror on the wall right in front of my bed, a sigh leaving my lips when I take a glance at my sweaty chest and forehead, golden blonde hair is a mess on top of my head, strands spread out everywhere.
"Fuck." A low curse leaves my lips as I contemplate whether I should just go to sleep-which would take hours- or if I should roam around the house like a lost dog. After a few moments of thinking, I decided on the second one.
It's better to walk around the mansion than lay in bed, overthinking everything, even though I know I can't do shit about it. I look around the room for my trousers and the shirt that I tossed here somewhere.
After ten minutes of looking for the disappeared clothes, I'm finally dressed in a grey sweats and a black shirt that my baby brother likes to call a compression shirt. I'm not sure what that is and I don't plan on finding out either. Alex says girls dig men who wear compression shirts. I don't give a fuck.
As I step out of my room and walk toward my office at the end of the hall, my thoughts wander around, trying to think of something to take my mind off of this. Last week's events pop up in my head, all the shit show, trying to find the guy who could be a possible lead to whoever did this.
Rio Willis.
A shitty little spy for the Americans. That shithead tried to snoop into our warehouses. He didn't steal any shipment or do any damage, but he was there. In one of my warehouses, doing fuck knows what. We tracked him down, found out he'd be at the club, and had a plan to get him there but he just disappeared into thin air.
One minute he's in front of our eyes talking and flirting with random girls and the next moment he just disappears out of nowhere. Maybe he knew we would be after him but how does one sneak away from three Italian fucking mobsters.
My steps come to a halt in front of my office, the door slightly creaking as I open it and walk into the dark office. The bright lights turn on and a low groan rips from my throat, my eyes tightly shutting immediately.
