How To Own A Mafia Boss

7.

Azrael's POV

I've never been in the business of lying to myself, so I admit it immediately it happens.
I'm confused. And I've never been confused in my life before, so permit me to believe this is the onset of a midlife crisis.

My brother that I thought would not be a problem to me ended up being the knife stab needed for my downfall. He organized the perfect rebellion, made sure I killed the uncles that might have posed a problem to him, and overthrew me. My body is punctured with perfectly-placed bullets from his gun, and if I wasn't so angry, that boy would have my respect. He learnt well.
From me, damnit.

While his betrayal stings a lot, it's much more dimmed by the pesky realization of what is going on right now.

I'm attracted to the curly-haired woman who saved me.

Before you call me crazy, hear me out. By all the fires of hell, the woman is beautiful. I lived in the heart of London where the most flawless women in the world were paraded in my face the whole time. None of them had even close to puncturing the haze of my subconscious like this one did.

I watch her now as she fusses over me, adjusting my blanket and straightening up my bedside. She's a fierce protector, and it's her inner fire that makes her all the more interesting. Her skin is a soft shade of gold that catches all the lights. Like what sunshine would look like bottled up in a five feet something woman. Eyes, lips, ears, chin, all perfectly carved, it's practically unreal.
I don't like it.

If I were in any position to flee from this situation, I would without thinking twice. How am I feeling like this, a teenager without a control button? Even my wife did more than smiling and being agreeable to get my attention.

Therein lies the cause of my confusion, because I don't understand what is happening. Sure, she's a good Samaritan that can't stand to see a human die. Sure, I pleaded with her to hide my identity, and she had to agree because she doesn't want me to die. But why is she taking me into her home? Why's she so graceful and peaceful, and why is she so. . .soft?

She doesn't know me. She doesn't know how I'm the last person deserving of this honour.
It makes me more angry. Do people take advantage of her because of how kind she is? The rational part of my brain tells me no, I've noticed how the nurses talk and relate with her, so gentle and enthralled. Like they know they're in the presence of divinity and want to be careful with it.

But still, why didn't she say no to me and push me to the curb? Why didn't she leave me to drown? And for god's sake, why does she have dimples? They pop up everytime she smiles at me — which is a lot — and it drives me fucking insane.

I'm weak and practically infantilized. I have no business feeling like this, but maybe it's just because she saved me. Like Stockholm Syndrome, but for a good person. Yes, that's it. If she hadn't saved me, I wouldn't give a flying f*ck about her.

"Joe told me that if I want to really make you angry, I should call you 'glow-in-the-dark.'" I say this mostly to distract from the quick nosedive of my thoughts, but I really can't imagine this woman angry.

I'll kill whoever makes her angry.

And where in the fuck did that thought come from—

She smiles again. Jesus, what's she trying to do, being all perky and sweet like that? Give me diabetes?

"I don't like that one because it's false. I don't glow in the dark. I'm not a bloody lightsaber."

I look at her skin again. Yep, she definitely glows in the dark.

"Why don't you like your name?"

Her smile dims a bit, making me instantly want to take the question back. "Well, I don't hate it. It just brings back a lot of memories."
"What kind of memories?" My question is innocent, but the violence it wrings is anything but. I may be ill right now, but nobody better have hurt her.

She shakes her head as if to dislodge her thoughts. "Look at you, trying to gain information when you won't tell me anything about yourself."

"AJ," I say, a little warning in my tone. I want to know who hurt her, even though I probably don't deserve to ask anything of her.

Her chin lifts up in quiet defiance. I'll try to explain what happens to me in this moment, so sit tight. You see, from the moment I opened my eyes to see her asleep and cuddled into herself, down till this point, my attraction had been innocent.

Till she gave me that look, burning and telling me everything I need to know about this woman. I'm not very familiar with her kind, but I know what they can do. She'll do whatever the hell she wants to whenever she wants to. She won't be submissive. She'll defy me at every turn. She's a challenge.

It turns my blood to lava. And suddenly, I'm lusting after a woman I've known for all of forty-eight hours. And that's before she says, "If you want to know anything about me, you'll divulge something first," in a tone that books no argument.

I'm a goner. I've always had a thing for dominant women. I know that if she ever hands all that spirit and fire to me, I'd have earned it and proven myself worthy a hundred times over. It'd mean I could take possession of her body and her soul.
But she'd own me, too, a small voice reminds, and that's what makes me pull back in the end. You have to be very smart to be at the top of the food chain, and being smart means you learn from recurring behaviors.

I have a taste for things that could cause my downfall. Look at my brother and ex-wife, for example. Danger is my catnip, so if this woman is doing it for me this early, then it's going to end very badly.

I'm jefe mafioso for god's sake. I'm a murderer and criminal. People like me don't have time for stupid schoolboy crushes. And at any rate, I can't stay here forever. I have to find a way to return to London, take back what rightfully belongs to me, and do what I wasn't able to three months ago.

Kill Mateo Michigan.