♡ MEET THE PROBLEM ♡
♡ MARIAN ♡
"You're an Angelini?" The intensity in the man's gaze caught me off guard, he was looking at me like he wanted to swallow me whole. From what I had been able to determine from their dressing, their demeanor, and most undoubtedly, their guns. I could conclude that they were Mafias.
All those dark and ridiculous stories Angel had told me had suddenly felt more real than my fictional imagining.
I had often dismissed her obsession with dark romance novels as mere fantasy, but now, faced with the puzzled guy in front of me, annoyance evident in his furrowed brow, I couldn't help but wonder.
"Chi cazzo è questo?“ {who the fuck is this} he groaned in frustration once more. "Who made this mistake?" he demanded angrily, his thick Italian accent filling the silence that previously engulfed us.
His eyes flashed with annoyance. I remained unfazed.
No, I was highly fazed, I just had no time to dwell on the reason why he was the one pissed off while I was the one they kidnapped. I couldn't understand why I was expected to stay calm while he seemed on the verge of a breakdown.
He reached for a button on his desk, massaging his temple with his other hand. "Vieni subito!" {come here right now}
It was very clear that we weren't on the same page. And my mind was still grappling with the realization that every Mafia story I had ever heard might be true. An Angelini was staring right at me like I was an unidentified talking object.
The main character of the story Angel spent two years obsessing over, the myth of the modern world was sitting right in front of me.
Damien Angelini
And he was everything I said he could never be...
"How did I get here again?" I asked, feeling like I was trapped in a surreal nightmare. "Am I going to die?" I kept asking rhetorical questions, which the man found irritating.
He already said he hated chatters, but with the way he was staring daggers at me, eyes dark with no promise of hope, I knew he could kill me at any moment. "Silent!" he snapped, but I continued talking to myself.
"Yes, I agreed to go to the club like we do every Friday. Oh, good lord, I'm dead," I muttered to myself.
Even if I wanted to stop myself from rambling, it was my coping mechanism. I couldn't help but babble whenever I found myself in a predicament.
And I am sure this can be classified as a predicament.
I looked up at the Angelini man. "Are you going to kill me, slowly and painfully?" I asked, my voice shaky but confident. My mind was reeling and thousand scenarios were running through me. I needed assurance before I spiral into another panic attack.
"I need you to answer. If you're not going to kill me, I should keep calm because my heart is racing a mile a minute," I rambled on, hoping he would say something.
"Cazzo! Didn't you hear me tell you to shut up?" {fuck} he snapped. "Yes, I heard, but I can't stop myself from rambling whenever I'm in potential danger," I explained.
"And I am sure I'm in danger." He looked so done with me.
"You haven't shed a single tear since you have been taken." My eyebrow lifted in question, why does he want me crying? Was that some twisted fantasy of his. I didn't reply him.
"Whatever you think I did, I didn't do it," I insisted. "I've never been involved in any crime in my whole life." I took a deep breath, about to start negotiating.
"I don't know why you kidnapped me, but I'm getting something out of this. I must have been mistaken for someone else." I snapped my fingers, realization slowly dawned on me.
I knew he was interested in what I was saying, even though none of what I was saying made sense to me.
"Most people will be begging for forgiveness now." he said, staring at me like I was a bad TV show.
Why should I beg?
They were the ones that made the mistake, they were the ones who disrupted my night of fun, they were the ones who needed to apologize for the mix up.
I was bold but I wasn't stupid, I knew even though my mouth was a leaking faucet at this point–I still needed to watch it.
"So, I know you can't kill me," I concluded. "Good. I'm safe for now," I nodded to myself.
He didn't say anything as I came to my conclusion.
My loud heart finally settled down. I took a deep breath, finally taking my time to notice where I was.
The office was dark—dark like the man sitting accross me with his eyes trained on me like a predator studying its prey's next move.
His eyes matched the colour of his suit, black and soulless. His hair was sleeked back, his tie undone like he had just came back from an exhausting meeting.
My eyes trailed his rolled up sleeve, down to his veiny hand that gently tapped on the table.
I swallowed.
I spent my whole life hearing about attractive men, not regular ones, the ones that made you look again, the type of beauty that was dangerous. The type that made you curious even if every sensible option was to run.
He cleared his throat.
Then he stood up.
He was tall, extremely.
"Usually, I thought Mafia bosses were potbellied short devils, but you are tall and handsome, devilishly handsome," I remarked, my hand flying to my mouth instantly.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
I shouldn't be noticing how handsome he was, this wasn't the time for that, I should be pleading for my life like he had suggested.
"Look at your features. My, it's been a long time since I've seen such a beautiful person. You know, for being a Mafia boss, you don't look rough around the edges. You just look like a normal adult," I walked closer to him. "A normal supermodel adult." He chuckled.
"How old are you, Mr. Angelini? If I guess from what my friends have told me, you're probably around 36 years old, am I right?"
Oh My God.
Kill me now.
He chuckled, I think he had decided to humor me.
"Tell me, Marian, how old are you?" I was surprised he asked.
"Twenty," I replied. "You said that so quickly, as if you were expecting that question," he observed.
Yes I was a good liar, but in front of a mafia man?
"Technically, I'm not lying. I would be twenty in a month's time," I said, walking around his office as if I owned the place. "You have no fear," he remarked.
"Yeah, right. I'm shaking right now," I deadpanned. I was being serious, but I sounded so sarcastic.
He didn't take that well. He started walking towards me, slowly, purposefully.
Each step he took had me cowering into the corner, as if just realizing the gravity of the situation.
"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice less steady. "Vieni a prenderla e tirala fuori. Put her in the guest room," He instructed over the phone.
The guest room? Weren't they supposed to just let me go when I was the wrong person?
"Why are you putting me in the 'guest room'? You're supposed to send me back home. My parents are going to be really worried. I've been here for more than five hours, and you've taken my phone and everything," my breathing had became shallow, my vision was slowly blurring.
At first it was very subtle, like someone had tied a rope around my lungs and decided to start pulling it.
Each breathe became shorter than the last, like my body had forgotten how breathing worked. "Are you okay?" He asked, hardly concerned. I started gasping for air, holding my chest as I tried to call for help. "Inhaler," I rushed out.
"You're asthmatic?" He shook his head. "Such a hassle."
I was too deep in the suffering to say anything.
He beeped someone to bring my bag.
The guy he called Martini brought the bag in a hurry, emptying the contents on the glass table. He handed the inhaler to me and I took a drag in a hurry.
It felt like I was finally free, that cold air setting my lungs free.
As soon as I caught my breath I ran to Damien, holding on to him. "You can't hold me in here, I have drugs at home that I need to take."Damien, with no pity, pulled my hand off his clothes, earning a disagreeing grunt from Martini. I stumbled backwards
Martini gently took me out, showing me into a guest room. I was trying my best not to break down. I sat without saying another word.
I was defeated. Maybe it was the seizure I had just had. I just wanted to stay alone.
The room felt big, but as soon as he closed the door, locking me in there, I felt the walls shifting in. I hugged my legs, shaking uncontrollably as if just weighing the gravity of the situation. I suddenly felt claustrophobic as I screamed silently.
ns216.73.216.66da2
and then Add to home screen.