≫ A Dark Mafia Romance ≪
Francesca "Frankie" is undeniably stunning, her ethereal beauty drawing all eyes towards her. A fusion of classic allure and edgy charm. Francesca is fiercely skilled as a criminal defense lawyer. However, there's a cruel ed...
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Cold.
A bone-deep cold that seeped through my cracked ribs and radiated outwards, chilling me to the core. Peeking open my eyes felt like trudging through molasses, the white ceiling blurring in and out of focus. The antiseptic scent assaulted my senses, overpowering the smoky haze of the fight that remained a hazy memory.
Panic clawed at my throat. I remembered the fight, the ambush, the agonizing pain... but how did I get here? The question tore from my lips, a ragged whisper barely escaping my swollen lips.
"Noah?" I rasped.
The door flew open with a muted thud, but before I could react, a large figure filled the doorway. It was Sawyer. His face was an unreadable mask - a storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. I braced myself for the inevitable scolding, fully aware that it would be justified. Yet, to my surprise, he remained silent, not uttering a single word. Three years. We'd worked side by side for three years, but I could never penetrate his enigmatic facade. His stoic exterior remained an impenetrable barrier, obscuring any glimpse into his true feelings.
My gaze drifted to his knuckles, scraped raw and bloody. An image flickered on the edges of my memory - Sawyer, in moments of desperation, would unleash his fury on the wall with his fists.
"I... I fucked up," I croaked, the words leaving a trail of raw pain in their wake. The silence stretched, suffocating and heavy. Had he not heard me? Had the guilt gnawing at me become so loud it drowned out everything else?
Just as despair threatened to consume me, Sawyer surprised me. He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. Silence continued to reign, but this time it wasn't oppressive. It was filled with an unspoken understanding.
Then, hesitantly, he reached out. His touch, surprisingly gentle, traced the angry purple bruises marring my face. The contact sent a jolt of pain through me, but it was overshadowed by the warmth that bloomed in my chest.
"He'll pay," he muttered, his voice low and gravelly, laced with an unshakeable resolve. "There's nothing I hold sacred, Frankie, but I swear on my life, Luigi Pagano will pay dearly for this."
For the first time, his stoic facade crumbled. In his eyes, a storm of emotions flickered to life - worry, fear, and a white-hot fury that burned hotter than any fire. This wasn't just my bodyguard, my right-hand man. In that moment, I saw the man beneath the gruff exterior, the man who cared for me, who fiercely protected me - like a brother.
A wave of guilt washed over me. "I'm so sorry," I whispered, a tear tracing a salty path down my cheek. The apology wouldn't change what happened, but it felt necessary. I tried to sit up, to reach out to him, but a searing pain flared in my side, stealing my breath.
