Floored 'N Floured- A Mafia Love Story

CHAPTER TWO- SOPHIA

It's beautiful…

That's it. This. Is. It. I'm staying here. Goodbye Chicago, Istanbul is going to be my new home. The idea of going to Turkey for a couple days vacation time hadn't really sit well with my parents but f**k if I don't love it here! They were always fussing over me, their one and only child, the apple of their eyes… blah… blah…

Hate to break it to you my mommy and daddy dearest, your daughter is old enough and this ship has sailed.

My dad is honestly still okay, but my mom? I'm lucky she didn't tie me to the bed in order to keep me from getting on that plane. This urge to travel and learn about cuisines has been there inside of me since forever and now that I'm finally living this dream, I feel like the happiest person on the face of the earth.

My sweet and slightly salty Guru, Rudi Rodriguez always said, "kid, you're going to go a long way. You just need to keep eating and then keep feeding. Now get back to the pastry dough or you'll ruin that s**t!" God I miss him...

Rudi used to be our neighbour in the suburban neighborhood I currently live in back home. I used to love going to his place and getting sweet treats of various pastries and pies everytime I did. My mom would be furious at him because of the sugar rush I'd be sporting for the entire day after, but honestly, it was so worth the firing. It was Rudi who gifted me my first ever chef's knife, taught me how to use it and he's the one who's made me whoever and whatever I am today. We would just sit, talking for hours on end and never get bored of it. Despite the age difference between us, him being in his early 30's we got along like best friends.

Not like my parents didn't do well to bring me up or anything, they're the best but he is who made me a woman of substance, the free spirited, slightly eccentric person I am today. It broke my heart into small little pieces when he announced to me one day, three years ago that he was going to be leaving for New York. Something about filling in for his late uncle in some wealthy man's mansion or something. I hated him that day, hated him for leaving me. I watched from my bedroom window as his head full of long brown curls, tied at the bottom in a sexy little ponytail, left in a sleek black car never to return… taking away a piece of my heart as well.

I'm ashamed to admit the fact that I didn't bother keeping in touch with him, but can anyone blame me? I was fifteen when he left, raging with teenage hormones, utterly upset and heartbroken. For me, my bestfriend left me and I was going to be mad at them for however long I wanted to be. He did try… genuinely try. He sent me flowers and handmade chocolates all the way from his new workplace, old fashioned letters. Even sss post messages and the only thing I ever gave back were the many public posts on ** with captions about how I was enjoying my highschool life (not really), and dollar store gift cards on Christmas Eve.

I f****d up. I know.

Maybe I'll send him a postcard from right here… Turkey? Maybe I'll apologise for being the worst friend ever…

With newfound determination to make things right, I move around the streets of Istanbul trying to get hold of some nice and quirky postcard to send to my friend and also to devour all the street food available.

It's around five in the evening by the time I get a good card and locate a nice local market to walk around. The place is pretty crammed up but I love it. Back in Chicago, we didn't really have a lot of local or farmers market near my home so this place makes me feel like a kid in Disneyland. I've always been weird that way, preferring to travel around rather than playing house with dolls and Rudi only added fuel to that fire.

It was quite the cluster f**k all around the small lanes of the market, making me take unnecessary detours after which I found myself on a crossroads of some sorts. What I saw there was complete and utter chaos. This poor bicycle rider was on the street having rammed into a wall a short while ago, no one was helping the guy out instead they were busy complaining about the traffic jam that had resulted. Having none of this bullshit, I made to move forward to help him out when suddenly the area cleared up just a bit and all of a sudden a mad rush of people just bombarded the area. In a hurry to get to him I ended up tripping over someone's leg and crash into someone else.

God! This is so embarrassing.

Fearing a nasty fall I didn't dare open my eyes but then a minute later I realised, 'hey! No ugly fall here buddy. Way to go…" and I finally opened my eyes to be met with the hottest, sexiest sights of my life.

There I am, in the middle of a crowded marketplace, in the arms of the world's most handsome, charming, f*****g sexy man alive and no one can convince me otherwise.

His sharp grey eyes already trained on my face as his hands grip my frame securely across his broad and muscular chest. He's wearing this super expensive suit (judging by the fabric that I've clutched in my arms) and god he's handsome. I shamelessly ogle him for the few fleeting moments I get to be in his arms and all I want to do is to bury my hands in his dark black hair, tuck my face in his neck and snuggle up in that massive chest of his.

Ooh yeah! This guy is definitely going to be the subject of every single one of my wet dreams henceforth. Yum! Wet dreams about getting down and dirty with a hot stranger…

Oh man, focus. Backlava, cheesy sweet goodness, shawarma… no hot men only hot food for me. Urgh!!!

It takes a whole lot of effort to get out of his insanely good and tempting grasp, with his scent still trying to pull me in and with a heavy heart and flushed cheeks I walk away from the place, my heart hammering like crazy in my small little chest.

***

I should've known this was a bad idea…

After my very brief and very hot encounter with the sexy stranger in that small alley, I rushed back right out of the market area and for the first time ever my body decided to not calm the f**k down. Like seriously? One small, teeny-tiny run in with Adonis and what? I'm in love or something.

Finally after a few deep calming breaths and a bottle of some local flavored soda, I felt back to normal and continued with my foodie journey. One particular item actually- Kunefe.

Kunefe is this sweet and extremely cheesy dessert, a speciality here in Turkey. It intrigued me, how cheese would taste like, as the main component of a dessert, and by cheese I mean the gooey and stringy mozzarella, not cream cheese or anything. I wanted to eat it, experience it and hopefully learn and perfect it myself.

My lucky stars seen to be shining bright today!

Not only did I manage to eat one of the best Kunefe in town, I also managed to get to speak to the owner of the small stall selling them. Mr. Ahmed, or Faraaz as he asked me to call him, was more than willing to give me tips and some of his secret tricks on how to make the dish. He was incredibly nice and told me how the recipe was passed down from generations, father to son.

Finally! I feel accomplished. Rudi would be proud…

It wasn't until a little late in the evening, when things started to go horribly wrong. I mean 'f**k my life' kinda wrong.

I walked back to the place I'd parked my small rented car in a side alley of sorts, about fifteen minutes away from the marketplace, not expecting what I found once I did reach there. I know it was probably stupid of me to park the car in a sort of isolated spot but hey… not a local here. It was blood I spotted first thing on the bonnet of the car, clearly in the shape of a handprint. More of it was on the street, going further into the alleyway.

Crazy as it sounds, I felt worried for whoever this blood belonged to and I wanted to help…

Carefully, as though approaching an explosive device, I follow the blood trail for a few seconds and am met with a horrifying sight. A man lay there, his back facing me, drenched in blood. With a sick feeling in my stomach I realise that it's the same man from before, the uber sexy, walking wet dream… who resembled a walking nightmare right now.

All thoughts flew from my head and I rushed to him. Carefully turning him over a bit I'm overjoyed at the fact that I'm able to detect a pulse. I tap lightly on his face a few times and when that doesn't work I slap him hard and finally hear a small groan escape his mouth.

"Sir? Hey, buddy? Let's get you up okay? You need a hospital yeah?" I try to tell him and get him back on his feet.

Even as I say this to him I realise just how dumb I am. This guy, who's practically half dead- in my arms, is wearing an expensive suit, was walking around with some other people in expensive suits and is now lying in his own pool of blood. He couldn't have been doing anything legal to end up this way and getting him to a hospital will only make matters worse for me.

What if he's some gangster? What if his men think I did this? What if his men kill me because I got him to a hospital and he got arrested or something?

Fuck!

Making a split second, extremely stupid, downright dangerous decision, I manage to haul him back to his feel, with him leaning heavily on me and get him to my car. I guess we'll see just how much Grey's Anatomy has taught me now…

I quickly spread some sheets I had bought from a vendor all over the front seat and went back to the bloodied man. Carefully, as though handling precious cargo, I put one arm around his waist while the other took hold of his neck, and proceeded to lift him up and into the awaiting car seat. Once he was settled in, I strapped him carefully with the seatbelt and inclined the seat a bit backwards so as to provide comfort and stability to his neck and head.

Then the short drive to my accomodation began.

I parked the car as close to the main door of the place I had rented as possible and rushed out at once. Opening the door to the passenger seat, I pulled the half conscious man to myself and then out of the car, with a lot of care and concern.

He held onto me as if I was the very oxygen he needed, and stumbled up the few stairs before the door. Making short work of the keys, I pushed the door open and together we stepped inside, steps matching each other's.

"Hey? Mr. Suits, look at me please…" I whisper softly, making him look up and try to focus on my face.

He smirked. The f*****g, dying bastard smirked at me and at my concerned face. Then in this very soft and broken voice he says, "I love it when you call me suits all soft and breathy. Makes me wanna take you right here on this couch baby…"

Before I can blast out at him for his shameless flirting I have this moment of enlightenment- he's injured. With the amount of blood this man is sporting, there's a high chance he's got a concussion in the long list of banged up mess he's in and if that's the case then well, all this stupid talk is just fine.

I need to check where all he is hurt…

Grabbing a small washcloth from the bathroom I hurry back to the kitchen area, with a shout of 'stay awake! Stay awake' every few seconds so as to keep the man awake. I heat up some water and transfer that to a bowl, adding a good amount of disinfectant liquid to it, picking up a huge wad of cotton and gauze and a container full of turmeric powder, I get back to him and join him on the couch.

"Can you please tell me where it hurts?" I ask softly.

"Everything hurts, Cara"

Who the f**k is Cara? Not the time Sophia!

Realising that I may have to get him out of his suit, I go back to the kitchen and grab a big ass knife I'd purchased here a day ago.

"Hmm a bullet couldn't kill me, Cara. You think this pathetic little knife will?" He says in an amused voice. Can't he understand how serious this situation is?

"It's not to kill you, mister." I say and begin to tear apart his suit jacket and the undershirt together.

"Ooh! Someone's getting handsy…" he slurs and that s**t alarms me immediately. If he's having issues with his speech that clearly means his condition has worsened. Maybe he's lost more blood or the concussion is deeper than I thought initially.

Thoroughly freaking out, I start to check him over for any wounds, ignoring his comment's about me taking advantage of his incapacitated state. Finally the two winners meet my eye, both in the glorious back of this man- one on his shoulder blade, a deep gash, like a stab wound that's still bleeding and the second, a small bump on the back of his head that is matted with dry and wet blood.

I need to stop the bleeding… need to stop bleeding… need to stop…

This is the only mantra I keep chanting and hope to god that miraculously the blood stops flowing out of the open wound. Unfortunately it doesn't. Even after the good cleaning, application of generous amounts of turmeric powder- that enticed a series of slurred curse words from the bleeding man, and a huge blob of cotton kept there with added pressure from me, I still see a few trickles of blood seep out.

Now the next thing that happened had me worried even more than before… This man is suddenly… running a fever. Great! Now his body is probably going into shock or his wound is about to get infected- both leading to his death.

'What do I do? What the f**k do I do???' I mutter under my breath and pull at my scalp rather roughly.

"You know, when I first planned this trip… I had this fixed itenary- eat, sleep, again eat, repeat. You just floored your way in. What are you doing to me?" I whisper, softly stroking his midnight black hair away from his face.

I'm not gonna let him die.

Pushing every last cell in my brain to the maximum, I finally come up with a horrifying plan, credits to all the crime drama shows I'd been watching recently- Hawaii 5-O, SVU, CSI…

I take the knife back to the kitchen and hold the blade above a roaring fire until it is, quite literally- red hot. Oh I'm such a horrible person… I should've just taken him to the hospital.

Silent sobs wreck my body as I stand patiently waiting for the metal to heat up enough, preparing my mind and body for what was coming next- burning his wound. Once the blade glowed bright red, I moved back into the living space and sat back down on the couch in front of him, knife behind my back and away from my body.

I move forward until we are nose to nose, our lips a hair-breadth away, both of us breathing in each other's air, equally intoxicating for us both. I know what I have to do in order to save this man's life and I guess, in some part of his now addled brain, he knew if he looked away from his fiery haired angel now, he might die.

As we both drank in each other's presence, the knife in my hand grew steadily uncomfortable. With all the courage I could've ever mustered, I pulled him up a little by his collar and smashed our lips together, one hand still firmly gripping the knife. The man, despite the mind shattering pain, blood loss and just general immobility didn't let go of me, instead managed to hold on tighter.

This kiss was rough, hot and passionate, and something I had never done or experienced before. He was my first kiss, not during the most convenient times but it was just as magical as I thought it would be.

Carefully, I move my hand from his collar up to his face, grabbing a hold of the side of neck as I continue to hold him hostage with my lips, the other hand moving slowly and steadily to where he had been stabbed and the blood was still gushing out. It was just one second of hesitation, just a hitch in my breath that could've signalled something being wrong, but that was it. Then I pressed the hot knife to his back and swallowed all of his screams.

His teeth dug into my lip, hands formed a bruising grip on my body but I didn't let go… neither did he...

I promise, I will never let go.

Soon enough, the blood stopped flowing out and he succumbed to his injuries and tiredness, falling into a deep slumber, leaving me with a giant mess to get myself out of.