Page 6 of The Mafia And His Angel: Part 1 (Tainted Hearts 1)

Red hot anger. I glared at her and pointed my gun at her again. Her eyes widened and she let out a cry, her hand coming up to her chest.

She shook her head repeatedly, her mouth opening and closing silently as if she wanted to say something.

“Who the fuck are you and why are you here?” I growled at her, my voice low, but my tone dangerous. It spoke volume and it was obvious the girl understood it.

If she didn’t give me an answer that I was satisfied with, I would shoot her without a second thought.

Chapter 3

Ayla

I stared at the man standing in front of me, my body shaking with indescribable fear. When he pulled me from under the bed, I didn’t notice his face. I was too scared to look at him.

But when he ordered me to look up, I was surprised. He took my breath away. For a minute, I stopped thinking that he was about to shoot me. I stopped thinking that I was supposed to run away.

All I could do was stare into the bluish-steel eyes that reminded me of the midwinter sky.

When he took a step toward me, my heart stuttered. His steps were powerful and hard. He moved confidently. I tried to take a step back, but he stopped me with his gun.

His presence was one of a leader. A dangerous leader. The air around him felt frigid.

As he came to a stop in front of me, our chests almost touching, my body trembled both in fear and in anticipation. I should have been screaming and running, but something about him caused me to remain immobile.

His touch felt electric. My body hummed in response and I no longer felt cold. His warm hand caressed my cheek and I wanted to rub against his palm like a kitten craving attention.

I realized how big he was. Compared to my small size, he was gigantic. My head only came to the middle of his wide, muscled chest. I felt fragile and small next to him.

But for some unknown reason, my body was warming up in his presence. Even though fear coursed through my body, I didn’t mind him being near me.

I hated when Alberto was near me. My skin was always crawling in disgust and fear, but with this strange man, I only felt comfort. Even with his gun pointing at me, I felt oddly safe.

But that changed when his face turned hard and then angry. I jumped in surprise as he took a sudden step back. His whole body tightened and he pointed the gun back at me. My eyes widened and my heart beat faster.

Was it all a game? Did he act like he was softening up to me, just to calm me down so he could shoot me?

Tears fell down my dirty, bruised cheeks.

His eyes were trained on my tears. His gaze followed the drops. When they reached my chin, I saw him smile. His mouth quirked up to the side, but his smile looked dangerously malicious.

Oh God. This man was going to kill me.

“Who the fuck are you and why are you here?” he growled deeply, his voice low but the tone dangerous and angry. I knew that tone.

Alberto used it when he was about to kill someone. He used it on me too, whenever he took me against my will…every single night.

I shivered in terror, my distress likely evident on my face and the way I was trembling. I felt my pulse beating in my ears, blocking out all other sounds except my gasping breath.

I felt myself growing colder. His hard eyes were penetrating mine and I had to lock my knees together to stop myself from taking a step backward. I knew if I moved, he would shoot me.

He took several steps backward, the gun still pointed at me as he waited for my answer. When he reached the couch, he sat down and crossed his right foot over his left knee. The gun was still pointed at my chest.

“I…I am…my…” I stuttered, finding it hard to talk. Alberto and my father had many enemies. What if he was one of them?

“I won’t repeat myself, so you better start talking. You have thirty seconds,” the man said. He was losing patience. It was evident in the way his face twisted angrily with each word.

“Ayla. My name is Ayla,” I said in a rush, my voice raspy.

“Ayla,” he whispered, my name rolling off his tongue as if the word itself had been laced with molasses. His voice was deep and it vibrated throughout my body.

“Ayla,” he said again. I hated to admit it, but I liked how my name sounded when it came from him. I liked how he said it, almost gently.

Get yourself together, Ayla. This man is about to shoot you. Stupid, Ayla. Stupid. Focus.