Russian Roulette
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- Parts 8
Rus·sian rou·lette
/ˈˌrəSHən ro͞oˈlet/
n.
the practice of loading a bullet into one chamber of a revolver, spinning the cylinder, and then pulling the trigger while pointing the gun at one's own head.
•an activity that is potentially very dangerous.
::
You hear the stories of the ruthless Mafia boss falling in love with the damsel in distress, or even the spit fire in some cases.
But this story is a little different, there was no spit fire female who could hold her own against her future lover and there sure as hell was no damsel who needed someone to save her...
To be honest, there was no "her" at all.
Michelangelo D'Alessandro was no spit fire, he was cold hearted.
He was no damsel, he was the head of the Italian mafia.
He has never and will never need saving, so he damn sure doesn't need Aleksandr Novak, the Russian Mafia head who seemed to want nothing more than the Italian beast himself.
What came as a love hate "friendship" between two allied and powerful crime organizations soon began to tumble over a line they dare not cross.
It was a never ending game of Russian Roulette with an Italian lover...
::
"I don't fraternize with the enemy, Mr. Novak"
"Mr. Novak sounds too formal coming from you, Aleksandr is fine. Plus, I am not your enemy, Michelangelo." I told him, taking a swig of my vodka as I held his intense gaze.
"Why do you insist on saying my full, Is it not a mouth full?" He cocked his head to the side but his facade never wavered. He was the picture of clam yet cold as stone to anyone else, but I could read him like my favorite book.
"Would you prefer Angel?" I asked with a smirk, loving the reaction I enticed as his jaw clenched.
"I'm sure Sir would suffice." He replied stiffly.
"I'm sure too, especially when you scream it for me later on."
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