𝑳𝑰𝑩𝑬𝑹𝑻À

𝟎𝟐. 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐬

CHIARA:

My heart is now pounding.

Quickly but cautiously, I turn my body 180 degrees to view the face that carries the strong, Italian accent so well.

A part of me was almost comforted by the accent of my mother tongue—the tone I was surrounded with during my childhood. I guess it wasn't until just now that I realised a part of me missed hearing the way we roll our R's, and deliver each word with a significant harshness, deliberately or not.
But this js not the time to reminisce over a language, so I snap myself back into reality, it being: that I am practically standing at deaths door once again.

I brace myself , and spin on the balls of my heels.

Luscious dark locks, well tamed beard, honey skin with a few dents on his left cheek, 6 foot 3 inches on a good today and a stance that's stronger than all three of his men combined.

Whoever he is, he's respected. It's practically oozing out of him. The expectation to be obeyed.

I can't gather much more information in regards to his build, due to the fact that his suit covered everythijf well. Like—tailored to fit every last curve.

It's different from his minions ones though, modelling a charcoal grey blazer with matching slacks and a tie, it's classier, it's less dark, it's just better. He moves his arm and I almost flinch, preparing for a fourth gun to be pointed my way but nothing appears, unless the muscles bulging from behind the seams of his blazer counts.

My eyes drop to his hands next, large and beautifully tanned. His veins protrude and his fingers are decorated with rings: A single gold band wrapped around his left pinkie finger, and two other shiny silver rings spread across his right index, and ring finger. they look heavy, real, and no doubt, expensive.

I thought my life, in this moment, couldn't get any worse until we I pulled my pupils back to his face, and his eyes clung to mine like Velcro.

I couldn't stop myself. I was already there. I was lost in his eyes of emerald, jade, malachite. A forest with no escape, but I didn't mind. His eyes almost offered me the peace I've been searching for since my father died 11 years ago, and I'd do anything to hold onto this moment—catch it even, store it in a jar and treasure it for the rest of my life.

Because for the first time since my father took his last breath, I felt a sense of serenity, tranquillity, ease.

"It's rude to stare." And it's funny how these moments can be broken in a singular second.

I drop my eyes to the ground below me faster than I can even blink.

"And it's rude to creep up on a woman who is clearly already very busy." I reply whilst motioning my hand back towards the trio of chunky men standing behind me.

I don't really know what I was expecting him to do next, but it sure wasn't laugh. And there's nothing more terrifying than an angry man laughing, it's like the calm before the storm. Except, I just can't imagine him storming for some odd reason.

"Leandro." he introduces himself to me, and that's when I call this whole thing some unrealistic act of cosplay, and deny his handshake.

He drops his hand, I almost feel bad.

"And these men sweetheart," he points towards the three rather scruffy looking men in comparison to himself. "Alejandro De Maria."  The one on the far left. "Lorenzo De Maria." the one on the far right, "And Mattia." he finishes whilst pointing at the man standing directly in the middle. "Or as we both clearly like to call him Curly Sue."