Page 21 of Mafia Manipulator


Font Size:  

7

COLLINS

Miceli is infuriating.

Two weeks had passed since the incident in the kitchen. He’d been holed up in his office. No matter the day or time, he didn’t come out, or he stayed in the city. I was getting a complex. Then again, I should have known better. He was the bad guy. The ruthless killer—the mogul who ran his business with an iron fist. The dichotomy between both versions of him was striking. I didn’t know which one enticed me more.

Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde.

Therein lay the problem.

I shouldn’t be attracted to either man or the separate yet distinct personality of the man. I went to him so we could hide. Not to play house or get fingered in the kitchen by him—no matter how much my pussy craved his touch.

Miceli was a means to an end.

Period.

So, why did my thoughts always circle around to a desperation I couldn’t shake? Why did my toes curl or my heart pound wheneverhewas around? See, infuriating. I gave a mental shake of my head as I stepped into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. Rocca was working on her French lesson. She had videos and programs to help her, which also meant I had an hour to myself before her next class started.

The knock at the door drew my attention to the front room. It was mid-day, Miceli was at the office, which meant no one should have been there. Mrs. Petry glided past me, in her most prim and proper way. After our initial introduction, I’d grown quite fond of the woman. Her soft tone snared my curiosity as she opened the door. Peeking around the corner, I spied the two garment bags she held aloft. Both came from exclusive stores, specifically, the type of store, even though I had money at one time, they would have rejected my entry into their boutique. Of both of them, one was for a man the other practically dragged across the floor.

My inquisitiveness got the better of me. I stepped into the foyer, coffee mug in hand, questions swirling through my mind. White cards with Miceli’s name and that of a woman I didn’t know, were pinned to the bags—not that anyone could confuse one from the other. The aching rot in my gut churned up the coffee I’d cherished, threatening to spill from my mouth as I vomited on the floor. Of course. Stupid me. I was a child in his eyes. I was not in his league. She was probably the leggy blonde I’d witnessed exiting the garage with him.

“Did you need something?” Mrs. Petry said, forcing my gaze to hers. “Is something wrong with Rocca?”

I shook my head, afraid to speak, because I knew if I didn’t get this, whatever was wrong with me, under control, I would puke. I had to get out of there. Instinct said to run back to the cottage behind the main house and hide with my brother. Duty dictated I check on Rocca. Squaring my shoulders, I went back to the room Miceli specifically made for Rocca and her studies.

I had no right being angry or hurt. Putting his fingers in my vagina, bringing me to climax, was all a power play for Miceli. He liked hegemony—dominion over people. He used his reputation and money to get what he wanted. When he wanted it. As much as I needed him as a shield, I’d rather take my chances out on the streets.Thatwas the predicament I was in.

“You don’t look so good,” Rocca said, when I closed the door behind me. “Maybe you should lay off the coffee.”

This had nothing to do with the drink in my hand. “I’m fine.”

“Whatever you say.” Rocca shrugged. “This stuff is boring.” She wrote a few more words, then glanced over at me again. “If I have to find one more Germanic root word, I am going to throw my laptop.”

I smothered a laugh. “It can’t be all you’re learning.”

“For the last week, we have had seven hours of defining root words from the dictionary, and only three hours of actually learning French.” She huffed, closing said laptop. “I can only say, je m'appelle, Rocca. Où se trouvent les toilettes? J'ai faim. I thought I would sound cool by now. Daddy said if I could learn French, he’d take me to Paris. The benefits aren’t outweighing the boredom.”

“Well, you’ve got one up on me. I can’t speak French fluently.” I walked around the desk and took a seat. “You know, instead of looking through the dictionary, you could Google it.” It wasn’t technically cheating.

Rocca closed the giant tomb beside her and put her pencil down. “Cheaters never prosper.”

My mom said the same thing. “But is it, though?” I tilted my head. “You’re still doing the work, only you’re being smarter about it. Haven’t you heard the saying; “work smarter, not harder?””

“That’s actually a pretty good saying.” Rocca stood, then grabbed the dictionary. “At least the hour wasn’t a full waste.” She placed the book back on the shelf where she’d found it.

“Yep, when you get to Paris, you can tell people your name and ask where the bathroom is,” I teased.

Rocca snickered.

“So, is your father going out tonight?”Smooth transition. I’d give it a ten.“A courier brought over a couple of garment bags a little while ago.”

“Daddy didn’t say, but then again, he always goes to those things. You know? He has to, for his business.” She tapped a few keys on her laptop, then glanced at me. “Do you like my dad?”

“No. Pfft. Why would you ask that? He’s my boss.” I took another, deeper swallow of my coffee to occupy my mouth, so I wouldn’t say something incriminating.

Rocca narrowed her eyes. Always suspicious, this kid. “You sure?”

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
Articles you may like