Bred In Violence (A Mafia Romance Book One) #𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝟏

Chapter 45

From the first time I saw you, I've belonged to you completely. I still do. If you want me.
~Cassandra Clare~

*Unedited*

Sophie

At exactly 8 pm, there was a knock on our door, causing innumerable butterflies in my stomach. I stared at my image in the mirror; my face looked perfectly made up with a touch of pinkish lipstick on my lips, my blue eyes shining in excitement and expectation I had for this date.

I walked to the door, impulsively brushing my dress like I was trying to straighten invincible creases while, in truth, I was doing it out of nervousness.

Raphael stood at the door, his hands on both sides of the door leaning in, smiling a secret smile—a knowing smile, his eyes on me. He looked like I felt, which was to drag him in and have my way with him, and he knew it.

At the hotel, he sat beside me, one of his arms resting behind my seat. He wore a suit as usual—a dark one and a pristine white shirt; he kept leaning over me, smiling, his fingers caressing my cheeks as I had dreamed and imagined. Once in a while, he would reach out, pull out a lock of my hair and twirl it around his index finger.

I wore a floral dress, 3 inches high heels that brought me almost to his chest, my hair down the way he liked it, accessorized by diamond earrings, and an Armani watch that he bought me after I left him.

I stare at him, thinking of how handsome he looks and how much I love him. He kisses my right cheek. "It's me and you, Cara," he says, and I close my eyes as I feel flutters in both my heart and stomach.

I watch him as he switches off his phone for the evening, and suddenly I realize what he meant when he said it was him and me. It was our time, without any disruption, and I loved it.

"What do you want to eat?" he asks me; I look at him over the menu I was holding up, covering half my face.

"I haven't decided yet," I tell him. He brings his hand to my menu, touching the right tip of it, I look at him, and our eyes meet. "I can't see your eyes when you're holding this thing up to your forehead" I smile shyly, letting him place the menu on top of the table.

Will I ever get used to his smile, his touch, or his eyes on me?

Finally, I decided what to eat; this time, I didn't let Raphael order for me, not because he didn't know what I liked but because he knew me too damn well. I wanted to order for myself, partly because I wanted to show Raphael that I had at least become sophisticated as opposed to the beginning of our relationship when he had to do almost everything, including showing me how to hold the fork and knife up until this moment in my floral dress, months later and a baby later.

His brows lift as he regards me in surprise. I don't really understand it— his surprise, that is.

I wonder if his wish is always to want me to depend on him, which in retrospect, I probably will, considering who he was.

"What? You're surprised I can order for myself without your help?" I snap at him, and he gives me an almost sad smile before he takes a sip of water. He doesn't say a word, neither does he look at me, which makes me feel bereft, but it doesn't last long, just when I thought I had spoilt our night out, I feel his hand on my palm, I look up, our eyes meeting, his mischievous and mine relieved.

"I'm not surprised that you can order for yourself; I'm just a little disappointed that I can't do it anymore."

"Is it because you want me to be dependent on you?"