Dangerous Devotion

Chapter 5 : 𝓓𝓪𝓭𝓭𝔂 𝓘𝓼𝓼𝓾𝓮𝓼

ᴀɴᴅ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴍʏ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ɢɪʀʟ
ɪ'ᴅ ᴅᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴅᴏ
ɪ'ᴅ ʀᴜɴ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪᴅᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ
ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏᴛ ᴅᴀᴅᴅʏ ɪssᴜᴇs,
ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴅᴏ ᴛᴏᴏ

ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇɪɢʜʙᴏʀʜᴏᴏᴅ

𝙶𝚒𝚘𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚒

I wasn't getting any sleep today, not with the weight of this godforsaken life pressing down on me like a steel trap. The clock on the wall ticked away, each second reverberating in the oppressive silence of my office, a dim fortress of secrets and lies. Shadows clung to the corners, thick and suffocating, where the flickering glow of my laptop offered the only reprieve from the darkness outside. Ivanova was moving in with me tomorrow, a decision that churned my stomach and twisted my gut like a knife. I hated the thought of sharing my sanctuary with anyone, let alone a woman who seemed hell-bent on challenging the world I navigated with cold precision.

But she was an enigma, and I had always been drawn to puzzles. The allure of understanding her, this woman who defied the odds in a man's world, gnawed at my mind. I wanted to slip inside that sharp, unpredictable head of hers and uncover the chaos beneath her amused smirks and occasional flickers of confusion.

My thoughts spiraled, caught between the allure of her spirit and the looming reality of my responsibilities. I had orchestrated this fake marriage, lured her into my chaotic world, and now there was no backing out. The irony tasted bitter in my mouth; I was playing house with a woman whose hands could just as easily draw blood as soothe a wound.

Tomorrow night would see me amidst the revelry of Franco’s welcome party, a facade, an illusion. I’d rather drown in paperwork than endure another moment under the spotlight, knowing my father would scrutinize my every move, waiting for me to slip. How could I possibly skip the party when my father’s wrath threatened to eclipse even the darkest of nights? I was the fuck-up son, perpetually mired in trouble while the real men, cowards with their smiles, sipped champagne and celebrated.

My father loathed me for being emotional. But emotion didn’t equate to weakness; I was good at what I did. The bloody business of the mafia was my calling, my birthright. I had always known when to play my cards close to my chest and when to unleash the monster I’d become. I wasn’t some puppet, dancing to the whims of the men who thought they could control me.

Now, I had to coexist with someone who would draw her weapon without hesitation, a woman who thrived in chaos. But that chaos was a comfort; it reminded me of everything I had fought against, the spoiled princesses of the underworld who turned a blind eye to the brutality around them. Ivanova was different, and that thought sent chills racing down my spine.

My mood soured further, festering like an open wound. Fatigue clawed at me as I opened my laptop, desperate for distraction. The screen blinked to life, casting light on the dark thoughts swirling in my mind. An email flashed across the screen, pulling my attention away from Ivanova.

'I don’t have anything against the cosa nostra. Just keep your underlings away from the camorra and stop interrupting my business. Take this warning and save your people. If you don’t, your cosa nostra will shake again. ~Ace.'

A cold rage settled in my chest as I read the message. Should I care about the cosa nostra if they couldn’t respect me? No. I had to focus on what lay ahead, this charade of a marriage was my chance to reclaim control. I wouldn’t let it slip away because of some punks who thought they could rattle my cage.