Fatalé (18+)

Chapter thirty four

Ilaria

If my job didn't consist of taking lives, perhaps I would've lived a normal life.

I keep saying this, when I know it's not true. I belong to a mafia family, who is wealthy and criminally advanced. Where I belong, has always got a huge chunk of my life, no matter how hard I try to run from it. Normality never exists here, we don't know what that is. People may think I was oblivious to the fact that the Lombardi's were not perfect people, but I knew a lot more than what I lead on. I know we weren't perfect. I know my family kill people, I know we manipulate people, I know we can make things disappear just like that because that's who we are. People are intimidated by us and we have no shame to it. Without that, we wouldn't be a mafia. A crime family. Without that, my Papà wouldn't be where he is today.

I wouldn't be where I am today.

Sometimes, I think to myself if there was any way I could've avoided this situation. But the more I dwell on the thought, the more impossible it was for me to be convinced that I could've avoided this situation. Only because Ricardo hunted for me, and targeted me. Either way, he would've got to me and taken me when he wasn't supposed. No matter what lie he poisoned me with, or what could've been done to prevent this, I was still going because I was told a lie. I was blinded by the truth, that truth was my Papà never wanted me to leave his home or his side. The truth was he never gave me up. Ricardo took me from him and got me involved in a trafficking ring.

I inhale a breath, suddenly aware of my surroundings. I was losing myself deep in my thoughts, with a cup of coffee in my hand and a huge man sitting in front of me. Currently, I was sitting on my balcony floor with Nico a few feet away from me. It was early morning, the sky hadn't even cleared yet from the previous night but it seemed like every living creature had awoken the city which never dies. A cold breeze brushes past my skin, leaving a shiver to run along my spine. It was cold, too cold that my gaze wandered over to Nico who sat with me, shirtless. He wore just his cream trousers from yesterday's event, nothing covering his huge and overly tattooed torso. Though I wanted to use this opportunity to be studious of his tattoos, I felt that I shouldn't because Nico might catch a cold. There was plenty of times I'll get to discover every meaning behind his tattoos, just not right now.

I set my coffee mug to a side and rose to my feet, to go back inside to grab a blanket for him, Nico doesn't follow or even watch me. It seemed his mind was too occupied to notice that I wasn't present at the balcony with him. When I returned, I wrap the blanket around him, barely getting the material to cover all of his skin because he was just so huge. But I managed to cover the majority of it, enough to satisfy me that Nico won't get a cold. Nico snapped from his reverie and glances at me, confusion sparks him as his muscles jerk.

"It's cold." I mumble, holding his gaze. Nico blinks at me but doesn't say a word. For instances like this, I wish I had the ability to read people's minds. I wanted to know what he was thinking because since we settled down on this balcony, Nico has been awfully quiet. He spent the rest of the night here after he tortured me in the elevator, he tortured me more in my foyer, my kitchen, the corridor to my bedroom and finally, in my bedroom, keeping his promise.

I blink at him, reading his expressions, trying to figure out if he wanted to be here or if he wanted to leave. My throat closes up as Nico continues to stare at me, like he too was reading my expression. My nipple hardened again beneath my robe as a gust of wind hits me again. When Nico doesn't speak, I move away but Nico reached for my hips and drew me closer to him.

I gasp as he pulls me closer to him until I'm straddling his huge thighs. This man was huge, too huge that he made me feel small. I wasn't a small girl, I was five foot and eight inches, twenty six years old and have killed over hundred people in my life but when Nico stands next to me, all that means nothing. He was much taller, around or about six foot and five inches, packed with muscles and most definitely has a kill count of nearly a thousand. I wasn't intimated by the thought, I was impressed because it made him just the perfect criminal.