God Of Vengeance (Kings Of Mafia)

I was on my way to Mrs. Falco’s sitting room so I could apologize when I overheard Damiano and Carlo’s conversation.

While I shamelessly eavesdropped, it again dawned on me that Damiano could’ve killed me twice tonight, but he didn’t.© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

It gave me the courage to confront him about my future.

Not that I got any answers.

Deciding to apologize to Mrs. Falco tomorrow morning, I head back to my bedroom. I feel too frustrated to talk to anyone right now. It’s been a week since Damiano brought me to New York, and my life is still up in the air.

He said he wanted to arrange a marriage between Dario La Rosa and me. I don’t know much about Dario, but I’m thankful he’s no longer available.

The last thing I want is to marry a stranger.

No, there’s one more thing that would be worse – returning to my parents.

Maybe I can convince Damiano to let me go. I won’t be able to live a life of luxury, but I make enough from my social media accounts to provide for myself.

Walking into my room, I head to the closet and grab my pajamas. I always sleep in a matching satin cami and shorts set.

I let out a sigh when I enter the bathroom, and while the tub fills with water, I think about everything that’s happened.

When I lost my temper, Damiano didn’t get angry. Instead, he seemed amused.

When a smirk formed on his face, I was shocked by how hot it made him look.

I know he was testing me when he brushed his thumb over the bruises on my throat.

Did he feel the attraction?

Or is he playing with me?

I shut off the faucets, and stripping out of my clothes, I step into the balmy water.

What would it be like marrying Damiano?

Not that it would ever happen, but I can’t stop my thoughts from going down that rabbit hole.

I would be safe.

I don’t think he’ll hurt me again, because it would upset his mother.

He’s hardly home.

I get along well with Mrs. Falco and Mrs. Accardi.

Soaking in the tub, my thoughts turn down another path.

What if he sends me back to my parents?

What if he gives his approval for Stefano to marry me?

My eyes drift shut, and I shake my head.

Dio, anything but that.

I won’t survive being married to Stefano.

A hopeless feeling trickles into my chest, and letting out another sigh, I start to wash myself.

When I’m done with my routine, I climb out and dry my body. I lather my skin with lotion before putting on my pajamas.

While I’m patting moisturizer over my cheeks and forehead, my thoughts are filled with worries.

I rub the remaining moisturizer into my hands, and walking out of the bathroom, my stomach grumbles.

Ignoring the hunger from missing lunch and dinner, I grab my satin robe and shrug it on.

As I fasten the belt, there’s a knock at the door.

I freeze for a moment before saying, “Come in.”

When the door opens and I see Mrs. Accardi, I let out a sigh of relief.

“I wanted to check on you before bed,” she says as she enters the room. Her eyes lock on my neck. “How are you feeling?”

Lifting my hand, I rest my palm on my collarbone. “I’m okay.”

Her eyebrows draw together, and she moves closer to me. “Really?” She lifts her arm and rubs her hand over my bicep to offer me some comfort. “From what I’ve learned and seen the past week, it’s clear you haven’t had an easy childhood. Tonight must’ve triggered you as well.”

Staring into Mrs. Accardi’s kind eyes, there’s a twisting sensation in my chest, and a lump pushes to my throat.

I swallow the emotion down and force a smile to my face.

“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m stronger than I look.”

A compassionate expression softens her features. “I’m here if you need to talk or just need a hug.”

A hug?

I can’t remember ever being hugged.

Before I can stop myself, I whisper, “I’d really love a hug.”

Mrs. Accardi doesn’t hesitate to pull me into her arms. Emotions crash through me, and I hesitate before I return the embrace.

She starts to gently pat my back, and it causes tears to burn in my eyes.

“You’re going to be okay, cara,” she coos, her tone motherly.

Dio.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and it takes all my strength not to cry.

When I feel my resolve crumbling, I pull away from her and say, “Thank you.”

“Try to get some sleep,” she murmurs, a soft smile on her face.

“I will.”

My muscles strain to keep the emotions from overwhelming me.

Mrs. Accardi walks to the door and opens it. Glancing at me, she offers me another caring smile. “Good night, cara.”

“Night,” I murmur, my voice strained.

The moment the door shuts behind her, and I’m finally alone, a breath bursts over my lips. I cover my face with my hands as a tear escapes.

From years of conditioning, I fight the emotion and refuse to let another tear fall.

It takes me a few minutes to calm down, and only then am I able to relish in how good the hug felt.

I wish I had Mrs. Accardi for a mother.

Letting out a tired sigh, I grab my phone and check my notifications. I try to stay busy so I don’t spiral down a path of self-pity because of the stress I’m under.

Hours pass, and when my stomach grumbles for the tenth time, I set down the phone and wonder if I should risk going to the kitchen.

I check the time, and noticing it’s past midnight, I feel it would be safe.

Everyone should be asleep.

I tighten the belt of my robe before I open my bedroom door carefully, so it won’t make a sound. I sneak out and quickly make my way through the dark mansion.

When I reach the kitchen, a smile tugs at my mouth as I switch on the light.

Checking the pantry, I find a tub of Nutella. I fix myself a sandwich, and while I’m enjoying it, I prepare a cup of tea.

Damn, this could become my favorite midnight snack.

When I’m done eating, I quickly clean after myself before leaving the kitchen.

Feeling better after having something to eat, I walk through the foyer as I head toward the stairs.

The tiny hairs on the back of my neck raise, and feeling like I’m being watched, I glance around me.

Not seeing anyone, I quickly dart upstairs, and when I shut my bedroom door behind me, I let out a sigh of relief.

“That’s enough stress for one day,” I mutter as I switch off the lights.

I take off my robe and crawl into bed.

Hugging a pillow to my chest, I close my eyes and start to count to ten so I won’t lie awake and overthink things.

Counting numbers doesn’t work, though, and soon, I find myself replaying the day’s events in my mind.