Special thanks to @jiyoungmochi for the cover!!
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❝𝐀 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲, 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥. ❞
Renata Vartanov had been through hell. Sold to a brothel and thrusted into prostitution at thirteen along with her then toddler...
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❀𝓡𝓮𝓷𝓪𝓽𝓪❀
𝑂ℎ 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑡.
I thought, as I turned around in the chair to face him. Tall, broad, muscular, and colder than the iceberg that sunk the 𝙏𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙘, Vincenzo Romano.
He looked down on me, so close that I could smell his dewy-woody cologne as it penetrated through the fabric of my sweatshirt.
He placed a hand on the side of the counter, directly between where my elbow rested, while the other swerviled on the opposite side, almost touching my waist as he stepped a little closer. His body was practically caging mine between him. I held my breath, hoping I wasn't sweating profusely, and that he would stop whatever he was doing when....
𝐶𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑘. The sound of glass on glass as I spun the chair around to see what he was doing.
He retrieved a glass cup from its upside down position and slid it beside me, removing his arms from where they were at either side of me.
A part of me sighed in relief and another much smaller, dumber part actually felt...disappointed?
What the fuck? No, that couldn't be it.
He got a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet of drinks, and poured himself a generous amount.
"You didn't answer the question," he said deeply, taking a sip.
𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛?
"𝑬𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔?" He had asked when he'd gotten here.
"Yes, very much, sir. Thanks for asking." I said politely, taking a sip of apple juice and trying not to watch him as he sat down beside me.
"Vincenzo." He started.
"What?"
"You're going to be staying with us till god knows when, so call me by my name." He finished, taking a sip of his whiskey.
I looked at him, puzzled, before I finally opened my mouth to say his name aloud. "Vincenzo," I said. His name rolled off my tongue with much ease than I expected.
He nodded in approval and played with his glass in hand.
I had no idea why he was suddenly being so nice when he'd spent the entire time at the airport glaring at me like I'd just killed his dog.
𝑁𝑜𝑝𝑒, 𝑛𝑜 𝑑𝑜𝑔 𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑠.
I corrected myself. Catalina had told me he had three dogs, and it felt criminal to use that comparison in this situation.
