Art House III
I force myself to brush it off by biting my tongue.
However, all I want to do is strangle the person who came up with that irrational slur.
I wasn't her little patatino.
There was word that someone was stealing her little patatino's crap, so he wouldn't be heading to the docks to check on his drug and firearm shipments.
Her little patatino would have no need to store three stacked firearms in the control center close to her knee.
Additionally, her little patatino would not then be on his way to recruit a competitor's arms dealer to work for him at one of his clubs.
She had complete delusions.
However, I keep my mouth shut and give her this. despite the fact that I was unable to convince myself to tell her to stop.
As a result, as she had been doing to me over the past few weeks, I lean forward to bid her farewell.
I give her a kiss as I kiss her lips. I didn't like to kiss.
Never tracked down the huge allure.
Unless they were too loud and obnoxious, I only kissed the women I fucked frequently to silence them.
I did not kiss my family to express my love.
Something that I had deemed meaningless from the beginning was pointless.
But it had some significance for Camila.
I didn't want to focus on how precisely it affected her since I couldn't have cared less.
It was a tactic to silence her, so I wasn't misinterpreting it.
"Caio, Prime Minister."
When I get a text from one of my guys at the docks, I mumble as I move away and grab my phone.
I could return to work sooner if she left sooner.
I turn to see her flushed face staring at me when I don't hear her leave. I raise my head.
"Are things in order?" Before she quickly glances away, her eyes immediately turn to mine.
"Y-yeah."
Before struggling to get out of the car, she murmurs softly.
Disappointed, I observe her.
She makes around two strides before I end my quietness.
"Camila." After rolling down the window on the passenger side, I snap.
It appears as though the action raises the bottom of her already short dress as she spins.
"Yes, Alessio? Her voice is airy and out of breath.
She had just left the car and was already out of breath, Christo.
I considered speaking up, but I was already nervous.
"Clean up your skirt."
My voice is raspy as I speak.
She smoothes down her sides and grimaces down at the little material that scarcely covered her skin,
"Why? What is the issue with it?" I hold my breath.
Try not to say it, don't say it, don't say-"Your butt is out." Her expression is more amused than anything else as she takes a moment to look up at me.
"In the first place, why are you looking at my ass?" I needed to pay attention to the voice in my head because of this.
She rolls her eyes once more as she pulls the bottom of her dress down,
"There. Blissful at this point?"
No, in light of the fact that all that does it pull the forward portion down, displaying considerably more cleavage, yet I wouldn't even come close to saying crap.
I hold on until she's inside prior to hurrying off, my mind-set souring.
She attracting attention to herself was the last thing I wanted, but I should have known better.
Camila attracted attention wherever she went, and I wouldn't be surprised if she sought it out and received validation from it.
She was a nuisance. One who suddenly appeared in my life and turned it upside down.
But I wasn't going to try to fix it, and neither could I.
I could only try to comprehend and keep up with the girl, who was brash and irritating at one point but considerate and tolerable at another.
When I press the answer button on the incoming call, Ethan's voice immediately fills the car.
"Can I kill the rat, or are you still interested in doing so?"
"Abbassa i toni, stronzo. Camila avrebbe potuto essere ancora in macchina." I respond swiftly, pulling onto the freeway and increasing my speed. (Tone it down, stronzo. Camila could've still been in the car.).
I didn't want to ruin the safe haven we'd given Camila, even if it would cause more harm than good.
It was good that she didn't know what we did.
She wouldn't be able to deal with it, and neither would she be able to look at us in the same way. the same for me.
I also didn't want her to see me for who I really was and label me a monster for some reason.
When I caught sight of the way she would look at me or all the ways in which her life was doomed from the start, I wanted to remain in the little bubble of ignorance she brought with her because then I wouldn't have to think about all the baggage that was surrounding us.
I could just enjoy the brief ease for a while longer before she realized that I wasn't the man she'd been thinking about.
Since regardless of her flaws, she was extraordinary.
She would one day make a lucky man very happy. . . . There was just something single more awful than getting blood on my shoes. splattering my shirt with blood.
As I walk closer to my car and further away from the dock, the stench of fish and human blood gradually fades as I return to my vehicle.
When my phone rings, I look down to see how many texts I've received in the hour since I dropped off Camila.
The first was a bit by bit projectile rundown of all that she'd done, and the sheer measure of detail let me know that she was doing it to bother me intentionally.
However, in fact, it was doing the opposite.
When it comes to liabilities, you can never be too careful working in my field.
Additionally, Camila was merely a liability.
I had two men stationed outside the house to keep an eye on her because she always needed to be accounted for.
When she sends me another text, my phone rings.
Can you come? need a lift? I'm drained. I glance at my watch; I still had other things to do, and if she seemed bored, she was probably safe.
Still active.
You'll have to need to stand by.
After that, I put my phone in the passenger seat and move toward the trunk, removing the button from the bloody shirt and reaching for a clean one.
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