Mariella grew up in the foster care system, abused every day until she found solace in the most unexpected form; Mateo, the son of an Italian mob leader.
Fate brought the two together, but when it tears them apart, how is she supposed to cope? Espe...
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I am almost 100% that the brooding Irish guy who loves to hurt me woke up on the wrong side of the bed. No, actually, not almost. He most definitely woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
You can practically see flames in his eyes. His stare is like a never-ending hell that you can't escape, not to mention the gun that's currently pressed into my scalp. The cold metal of the firearm invades my space as it digs firmly at my skin. There is absolutely no way I can escape this situation.
With his face directly in front of mine, the chunks of old- probably smelly- food in between his teeth are perfectly visible. The crookedness of his not-so-pearly whites really amplifies the chewed food, not helping his case. What a slob.
I bet he's eaten a person before. Probably children. If you were to picture a pedophilic, cannibalistic Irishman, he is the most accurate face for the job. Hell, he probably even munches on innocent little puppies, drinking their blood for a breakfast smoothie.
Gag.
As he repeats himself over and over, nagging me on topics I have no idea about, I can't help but let my mind wander. And hey, it's not my fault that my brain has taken some dark turns in the past few days.
I involuntarily flinch as a glob of slimy spit flies right out of his mouth and directly above my eyebrow.
"Are you listening to anything I'm saying?" He rages.
I simply nod my head, which takes much more energy than I'd like to admit.
His sadistic chuckle echos through the dingy cemented room. He shakes his head with something between a smirk and scowl printed on his mouth. Quite frankly, it looks like he needs to take a shit.
"You really are useless, aren't you?" He spits, standing up but not removing the gun that still faces me like a harsh reality.
"I guess all them lies your little hubby told us weren't so false after all..." He trails off, muttering gibberish to himself. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
Unfortunately, the acts of bravery I made before will not cut it. Not if I want to see my babies again. I definitely do not plan on dying before the age of 30.
I'm not entirely sure how rolling my eyes would make him react, but I'd rather not take the chance.
The slight shifting of my body catches the attention of the psychotic man in front of me, and he stops mumbling. I'm sure he would make an excellent zombie sound effect.
His eyes narrow as he draws closer to my paralyzed body. Something about the way he moves makes me freeze up, and I'm more terrified for my life then I have been during my few days locked here. It's as if he's some sort of wild animal, slowly stalking after it's prey.
