(Book #2 of the Satan's Reapers series)
"Can you be a good boy for me and stay quiet?"
"Only if I get a kiss."
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Remi Ramirez is known to be a cold-hearted, manipulative, skillful mafia boss as she rules bel...
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Have you ever realized just how fucking insufferable people are?
Because right now, I am severely regretting my choices. My choices being deciding I would sleep in, resulting in me being late to breakfast.
And now, here I am sitting at the dining table while mama scolds me for not waking up earlier.
My father is no help as he just sits there laughing, well - that is until she snaps her head towards him and directs her anger onto him for laughing.
Putting my elbows on top of the table, I bring my hands to my face an rub my temples, attempting to sooth the ache.
Can one person get a break around here?
I push my fork around my plate, picking at the egg and staring at it in distaste.
It's not until the dining room door opening softly, does mama stop yelling at father.
Their attention drifts promptly towards the person who entered.
But I already knew who.
We've kept our distance lately, but whenever he walks into a room – I already know its him.
Noah.
He voice drifts throughout the room, bringing my head up to look at him.
"Good morning. Sorry to bother you, sir. " He nods towards my father, who waves his hand for him to continue.
"The American's are getting pushy about the deal. They'd like you to sign these papers." He gestures the papers forward, completely ignoring my gaze as he waits for my father signal.
Very slowly, my father nods his head. "Very well then."
Noah walks towards him, placing the papers down and standing beside my father with his hands by his side.
I keep my gaze trained on the shy boy, clad in a black uniform, his black comprese shirt clinging against his chest.
I can't stop my eyes from wondering him, from his auburn brown hair, to his black combat boots with specks of mud on him.
Then, I study his face.
His breathtakingly beautiful brown eyes, the occasional freckle here and there, – and those dimples.
God help me when it comes to men with dimples.
And then like clockwork, his eyes flutter towards mine.
A small smirk tips the edge of my lips, our eyes maintaining eye contact as my father signs the paper.
