The Midnight Mafioso [#2]

08|how to use you

-unedited-

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My father was not the type of person to give up. Because if he was, he could have given up the day Mum fled.

I watched him fight so hard to provide. He worked in a postal office where he started as a mail carrier. He then grew his wings, got promoted and years of patience later, he became a postal inspector.

I believed it was hard for him to quit, which changed the moment he disappeared. Deep down my heart was a wound that began bleeding when he left. It was a wound that Mum left in me, it refused to heal, but I had years without feeling its pain until Dad left.

I stared at the full glass of margarita that I planned to clear. But then the only face I would see when lifting the glass was Cole. The reason being that, even with that one glass, I could be hospitalized for a stomach problem.

The last time I drank that much was back in London, the shit I went through was much more painful but it helped me forget the heart pain. At least it felt refreshing to forget my life, but I stayed in the hospital for a week.

I was trembling as I directed the glass to my lips. Either from the loud ear-wrecking music blaring at the stereo or the nervousness.

I held it midway, stared at it, and then sighed. "Fuck, I need this." I groaned in annoyance. I really needed something to help me ease my stress.

My eyes darted to a persona seated next to me. There was an empty stool separating us. His hands were leaning on the clean bar counter. His fingers gripped the glass of whatever he was drinking.

I examined him silently and noticed he was not just an ordinary man, he screamed richness. He was clad in a neat tuxedo suit that fitted him impeccably. His hair, which was dark in color, was well set full on his head, giving out a bossy vibe. He was currently twitching his jaws while facing the glass he was holding.

The guy probably felt my eyes on me, he turned in my direction and I quickly looked down at my drink. "Fuck." I mentally cussed then decided that a sip would ease the moment, especially the redness building up on my cheeks, judging by how my cheeks warmed up.

"Lev Pertov." He managed to make me hear him in such a loud, busy club.

I blinked in confusion. "What?"

"My name." He pointed at his chest. "I'm Lev Pertov." He added thus delivering his point.

I nodded then set my glass on the slab. I wiped off my hair from my face then tilted my head to him. He was sipping his drink but his eyes were on me, he had ash-painted eyes.

"You don't have a name?" He asked after a moment of realizing I was not gonna talk.

"I do." I flipped my hair, God, the things I would do when my hair is undone would make me look like a total bitch. That's why I loved it in a ponytail or a simple bun. "I just don't want another grown-ass rich man in my life." I blurted and to coat that, I took a sip.