*Previously named Sinner's*
They're both Sinner's.
So horrible, yet so perfect for each other.
So horribly perfect.
Mara De La Riva.
Daughter to the capo of the Spanish Mafia. A cold-hearted killing machine raised to perfection.
Her purpose in life...
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"How is she doing, Pierre?" I questioned my chief doctor as I stared at my wife. She remained unconscious since yesterday.
The blast had ripped her from me amongst the chaos. I hadn't lost consciousness, but she had. Dante reached her before I could and ran with her limp frame all the way back to the car.
Debris from the warehouse had been scattered across the concrete as I rushed after Dante, eager to make sure she was ok.
Pierre told me she had a wound to her head from where she had made contact with the ground and a minor concussion.
"There's nothing to worry about boss, her body is just taking its time to heal." He scribbled something down on his clipboard after checking her vitals and left the room.
I slumped back down into the chair I had occupied since she had been brought in here. Albeit, it wasn't very comfortable but I didn't want her to wake up alone.
I had never seen my mother move as fast as she did when she saw Mara's body in Dante's arms. She became rather hostile when a nurse tried to deny her access to the room when my wife was initially brought in.
God help anybody who stands in Bianca Moretti's way.
I had all but dragged her into the next room as she was due another round of chemotherapy today.
I had left the room twice, to shower and too check up on Mamma after her chemo. Isabella had nearly dragged me towards the shower, complaining that Mara would choose to not wake up if I smelt like I had.
I sat in the chair beside her bed, her frigid hand interlocked in mine. I had to manoeuvre her hand so the IV attached to her wouldn't be pulled tightly.
I fidgeted with the wedding band on her ring finger as she rested. Our relationship and marriage had blossomed into something I wasn't sure how to put in words. We still bickered daily over small things, such as my socks on her side of the bed or the fact that I had eaten the last square of her chocolate.
Everything was my fault lately.
But still, compared to the hatred she had for me at the beginning, where we were now was a miracle. The attitude that was directed towards me since that contract had been signed had long since diminished, only reappearing when she was on her period or I when had really pissed her off.
I felt a slight shift in her hand, my attention snapping to her.
I saw her brows furrow as they met the harsh lighting of the infirmary.
