Dress for breakfast
1019 Words
-Zavi Covillie
What. The. Hell.
She tried to kill me.
If I hadn’t instructed my men to load just one bullet, she could have blown my head off.
What a crazy little b***h.
The worst part? She defied me in front of my men. No one looks me in the eye, yet this tiny, sharp-tongued firecracker not only stared me down but also had the audacity to point a gun at my face.
If it had been any other girl, I would’ve let my men screw her to death. But she’s mine.
That thought alone was enough to piss me off.
I raked a hand through my hair and sat down, snatching a joint from the ashtray. Lighting it up, I inhaled deeply, letting the thick smoke curl in my lungs before exhaling. The room filled with the scent of burning tobacco, calming my nerves.
At least she’s got a strong grip on life. That means something to me.
A sharp knock interrupted my thoughts.
"Come in," I grunted.
The door creaked open, and Davina stepped in, head bowed.
"The injured girls have been patched up for tonight’s business," she reported.
The last few days had been a mess—one of my men had betrayed me, selling out the shipment of girls to the Russians. Wallace managed to recover them, but not without casualties. That bastard thought he could double-cross me. Now he’s dead.
"Leave," I said, my voice edged with impatience.
She turned to go but hesitated.
I narrowed my eyes. "What?"
"May I speak, Boss?"
I nodded, inhaling another drag.
"On my way here, I saw the men dragging Nora back to her room. Why?"
My jaw tensed.
"You ask for permission to speak, and then you question me?" My voice dropped an octave, deadly quiet.
She paled. "I-I’m sorry."
I sighed, rubbing my temple. "She’s trouble."
Davina frowned. "She seems like a nice girl to me."
I scoffed, exhaling another puff of smoke. "I don’t care what she seems like. Now get out."
She dipped her head and left.
Nice girl, my ass.
That girl speaks Italian. I knew it from the way she gasped—her reaction, the recognition in her eyes. She wasn’t just some lost, naive girl from Edinburgh.
The Italian mafia doesn’t tolerate outsiders understanding our language. If my men find out, she won’t live long enough to regret it.
She’s hiding something. And I intend to find out what.
---
Vanora Campbell
Monster.
That’s what he is.
Three f*****g days. Three days locked in this goddamn room, starving. My stomach was beyond empty, my body trembling from the lack of food.
I swear to God, I’m going to kill Zavi.
As if starving me wasn’t enough, he haunted my nights, too. The nightmares wouldn't stop—bloody, lifeless eyes staring at me, accusing me.
The door creaked open.
Davina rushed in, balancing a tray. She set it down on the bed, eyes full of worry.
"Oh, dear. I told you to be careful. Look at you—you’re so pale," she sighed.
I shoved the plate forward. "I look like shit."
She nodded.
I scowled and devoured the food like a wild animal.
"I’m going to kill your motherfucker boss," I muttered between bites.
She smirked. "Believe me, we’ve all said that."
I met her gaze, dead serious. "I don’t just say things. I do them."
Before she could respond, the door slammed open.
Wallace.
I hadn’t seen him since the night he threatened me. Three days of blissful silence. But now here he was, smirking like a damn vulture.
"I came to check on you. Seeing you this miserable makes my day." His voice dripped with cruel amusement.
I gripped the fork in my hand, twirling it between my fingers.
"I feel like gutting you like the pig you are," I said, my voice razor-sharp.
His smirk faded.
"Zavi wants to see you. Now."
I scoffed. "He can go to hell."
Davina gasped, clutching my arm.
Wallace’s face darkened as he stalked toward me, grabbing my shirt and yanking me close.
"You still don’t know who we are. Who Zavi is."
"Oh, I know," I sneered. "You’re mafia. And your master is the boss. Don’t waste my time with a damn history lesson."
His eyes gleamed with something dangerous.
"Then you and Zavi have a lot to talk about," he said.
Before I could react, he yanked me out of bed, dragging me toward the door.
"Let me eat, you bastard!" I yelled.
My protests were ignored as he hauled me down the hallway.
---
Zavi barely glanced at me as he tossed a bag onto the floor.
"Take a shower. Change into this."
Then he walked out with Wallace, leaving me fuming.
I opened the bag, pulling out a red spaghetti-strap dress that barely looked like it would cover my ass.
What the f**k?
Starve me for two days, then buy me clothes?
I swear, this man is insane.
---
When I stepped out, Zavi was talking in hushed tones with Wallace.
I gave them a suspicious look.
Wallace returned it with a glare before walking away.
Zavi’s eyes swept over me, slow and assessing.
The moment our gazes met, he cleared his throat and looked away.
"Put on your shoes. We’re leaving."
Leaving?
I looked down at the black stilettos waiting for me.
Where the hell are we going?
I slipped them on, and the second I was upright, Zavi grabbed my wrist and all but shoved me forward.
"Easy, Mr. Zavi," I muttered, biting my lip in frustration.
"Shut up," he growled.
He led me down the grand staircase, pushing through the main entrance into the garage.
My mouth nearly dropped.
Jesus Christ.
A garage full of expensive cars—Ferraris, Bugattis, Bentleys.
This bastard was loaded.
A sleek white Lamborghini pulled up.
Zavi shoved me inside, climbed in next to me, and slammed the door shut.
The car roared to life, speeding out of the mansion gates.
I crossed my arms, glaring at him.
"Where the f**k are we going?"
Zavi smirked but didn’t answer.
- Writer
