Honest

thirty-five

Giuseppe

My phone hasn't rung. She hasn't texted called. I smile cynically at myself. What a fuckin weakling I've become, huh?

But what can I do?

I've tried everything. I thought maybe, it was her chocolate skin. Maybe her deep brown eyes. Her ruthlessness. Maybe her raspy voice.

Maybe it was her figure, maybe it was her full lips.

But no matter what, what combination of features, it didn't suffice. I didn't get that high I get with her.

That's when I finally admitted it to myself. It's her. It's just her.

No one else.

No one else makes me feel the she does. Just a kiss, just a touch, and she takes me places I've never been.

It's not healthy. I know that. I always have.

I know she's not good for me. I know she toxic for me.

I just...can't find it my soul to give a damn.

I live for danger. It's my whole life always has been. The Mafia is a place where you live, or you die. The world is a place where you live, or you die.

I want to live, or die trying.

Her touch is electric. She shocks me to life. She knows it too. She knows what she does. She knows the power she has.

I have doubt she will take advantage of it.

Maybe, after a while, I'll be cured of her. Before it, before she kills me.

Does it matter?

Since the day I met her, I knew I'd never be the same.

And what the hell am I supposed to do? Give her up?

I scoff at the mere thought.

It's too late for that.

Far too late for that.

I do random paperwork, while I wait for her to text me.

My mind is whirling, unsettled, my body starved for her.

Three long years. How the hell did I survive without her touch?

My phone pings. I check it, finding a text from her with an attachment.

I smirk. So cold, as always. I love and despise her.

I click the attachment, finding the sample contract she drafted.

Basically, she states that she provides me with intimate contact, which she has every right to refuse. In return, I basically do whatever she wants.

If she needs my men, I provide them. If she needs my money, I give it to her.

The only stipulation is that she can force me to cause bodily injury to myself.

I smirk, signing my name, and sending it back.

It takes her about twenty minutes to reply.

I smirk as I read the words.

Meet me in your office at ten o'clock.