Assassin [18+]

Some actual liquor

§Morgana Acampora§

"I've been awake for days, waiting to meet you," Cassian's mother handed me a glass of white wine. This won't do anything to me until the tenth glass; I need tequila, vodka, or whiskey. Some actual liquor.

"It's been keeping me up too," I threw back the alcohol and picked up the bottle to refill my glass. "Excuse me but I'm very nervous and chardonnay calms me down." No, it doesn't, I'm not a real housewife of Atlanta. There's Latin blood running through my veins, I was made to drink a whole chest of red wine and fuck until dawn but here I am...am I not?

"Don't worry," the woman judged me with her grey eyes and then looked at her son before saying something in German, I suppose. Cassian replied to her with a weird look on his face, as if he was satisfied but not enough. If he's talking about my sex — no, he wouldn't, he's too much of a prude for that. Boring. Next.

I looked over my shoulder to find Nina on her phone as Hanna was using her iPad; the movement of her left hand suggested she was sketching. She's a talented designer, my new favorite for sure.

My feet took me to the living room to hug Nina who has truly been a great support for me. As I reached her, she threw her right arm around me and hugged me tightly as she kept on talking to the person at the other end of the line.

Cassian was eyeing me from behind the dining table, screaming deep disappointment with his eyes. His mother was talking to the man who caught me outside when my dear future husband pushed past me and didn't even care to look back to check if I was all right.

Always stepped on.

This man is tall, dark brown hair, and this pair of mesmerizing blue eyes. He reminds me of Eros but without the visible tattoos, piercings, and the alluring Italian accent. He has the muscle though and his stubble gives him that edgy look. That fuckboy look I love on men.

I am a fuckgirl myself; I believe you've noticed that without me having to point it out constantly. Or have I been pointing it out? Anyway, opening my legs is therapeutic for me, sometimes it feels like some sort of rebellion against my doomed soul. Woah, I can get really dark in no time.