Desired

Hey One Question; What The Hell?

I awake the next morning with my head pounding and my stomach growling, turning on my bed as I recall how I exploded yesterday.

Yeah, not too proud of that.

My thoughts follow me to the bathroom, where I brush my teeth and take a shower, throwing on black jeans and a cropped blue sweater when I'm finished.

They even follow me as I comb my hair into a messy bun; to mentally exhausted to do anything else, it doesn't even faze me as it usually would, when a few unruly curls cascade down my face, breaking free from the scrunchie holding them together.

I don't give myself much time to think as I make the decision to head for the kitchen, listening to my stomach as it growls.

Emphasising my hunger.

"Okay, okay I heard you," I mutter to myself, opening the refrigerator and taking out a carton of milk.

I look through the kitchen drawers until I see a box of Cheerios on the very first shelf.

This morning can't get any worse.

I think, looking down at my height and then back up at the Cheerios. "Nope, can't get any worse," I say to no one, going on my toes and stretching my arms as I try and fail to reach the box, cursing my genetics for making me this short as I a angrily grab a stool to stand on.

Which only succeeds in making me a few centimeters taller.

The stupid box of Cheerios is still out of my reach and I stomp my foot in frustration, almost losing my balance before someone steadies me.

I look up to see Elijah staring at me with one raised eyebrow and one tattooed hand resting on my waist. "Sii accurato," he mutters as I jump of the stool, backing into the kitchen counter and jumping when a spoon falls and clatters against the black tiles, creating an awfully loud noise.

(Translation: Be careful)

Elijah looks at me with a frown etched into his brows. "Calmati," he finally says, grabbing the box of cereal and holding it out to me.

(Translation: Calm yourself)

"You going to take the stupid thing or not?" He asks, raising an eyebrow when I don't budge from my spot, a smirk growing on his face as I fold my arms and raise my chin in response.

"Pollastro," he says snidely and my mouth falls open at the insult. It is compulsory to learn two languages at my school and even though I may or may not have failed Italian, I know the word chicken when I hear it.

And no one calls Renée Rivera a chicken.

I think, taking a deep breath and squaring my shoulders determinly, as I walk up to him, taking the box from his hands with a s**t eating grin on my face.

"Who's the pollastro now?" I ask and he chuckles at what I'm sure is a bad pronunciation of the word.

"Stupid Italians and their stupid words,"

I mutter, deciding to ignore him as I empty some of the cereal into a bowl and pull up a chair, pouring in the milk before shoveling a spoonful of tart sweetness into my mouth.

Elijah starts the coffee machine and I scrunch my nose up at the horrid smell.

I apsoulutely despise coffee, the smell alone is enough to make me gag.

"I'm not going to leave your mother Amore and even if I did, I assure you she wouldn't go empty handed,"

(Translation: Love)

He says suddenly, pushing me out of my thoughts and making me all but choke on the goddamn Cheerios.

"What?"

"You were worried yesterday that I would leave your mother, so I'm telling you that I'm not going to," he clarifies, watching as I bite the inside of my cheeks when the guilt from earlier resurfaces.

Its not like my mother isn't pretty, saying that she isn't would be a boldface lie. Infact, she's freaking beautiful. How could she not be? With her blonde hair, green eyes and petite figure.

She could probably have any guy she wanted. I sometimes even think I look like her.....well if you look past the dark skin and curly hair I inherited from my father.

My mother is a beautiful woman, that goes without saying.

I didn't say what I said yesterday because I thought it was true, I know nothing of my mother's relationship with her gang friend. I said he would leave her because I was angry and I wanted to hurt her.

Again, I'm not too proud of that.

What I don't believe, not even for a second, is that he actually loves her. He's a freaking mafia boss for heavens sake, a mafia boss that she married with no prior relationship.

Of course I'm freaking sceptical.

"Too bad I don't believe you then," I whisper, watching as his jaw clenches.

"I see you like being difficult, Renée," He says through clenched teeth, making my heartbeat skyrocket and the saliva turn to coal in my throat.

"Thank you. It probably sucks knowing that you can't control everyone, huh?" I say rudely, swallowing my fear and making peace with the fact that he's probably going to kill me now.

"What do I have to say for you to believe me, Amore?" he says, surprising me with the amused smile on his lips.

Okay, maybe I'm not going to die after all.

"Why did you marry my mother?" I ask, wanting the answer to that question from the moment he walked through the doors of my house.

"And I don't want some bullshit reason like love at first sight because A; that s**t doesn't happen and B; I know for a fact that you do not love my mother," I say, pursing my lips when he smirks at me.

"You're very... spoken aren't you?" He says, his smirk widening when I fold my arms and lean back on the chair, waiting for the answer to my question.

"So you won't believe me if I tell you I'm in love with Rachel?"

"No,"

"Smart girl," he mutters, pulling up a chair to take a seat next to me, the simple action setting my nerves on edge as I try not to cower away from his close proximity.

I can even smell his cologne.

Oranges and leather and just a touch of........gun powder maybe?

Good Lord.

"Fine, I don't love Rachel," he admits, once again pushing me out of my thoughts.

"I needed a wife, and I needed one quickly.Your mother fit the bill," he says vaguely, making me even more suspicious.

"Why did you need a wife?"

"You don't need to know that," he says, watching as I roll my eyes.

"I will tell you however, that it was quite a shock when I found out about you," he says nonchalantly.

"My mother didn't tell you about me?" I ask with raised eyebrows.

This situation just keeps getting better and better.....NOT!

"No. Not until after the marriage, and then I meet you and it's...."

He stops speaking, seemingly searching for the right words.

"Well I think it's safe to say you came as a surprise," he says, finishing his sentence and watching me with an intensity that makes me squirm in my seat.

"Is me being here a problem?" I whisper, hating the way my voice wavers and hating the courseness in my throat, feeling even more on edge when he stares at me unblinkingly with a tilt to his head.

"Cazzo!" he shouts, looking away with a frown on his face and his entire body tensing.

(Translation: Fück)

"Well is it?" I ask again, ignoring the rapid beating of my heart and the voice in my head telling me to thread carefully.

"Just keep your distance, Renée,"

"Why?"

"Because I said so,"

"That didn't answer my question, Elijah," I say, getting frustrated with the evasiveness.

"Not all questions need answers,"

"My questions do! Why do I need to keep my distance," I yell, standing up so I look taller, and giving him the nastiest glare I can manage.

"I'm attracted to you, Amore!" he shouts staring at me with a murderous look on his face and effectively freezing the blood in my body.

"What? B-but, you're married to my mother," I squeak, barely managing the words past my throat.

"Thanks for the reminder, I completely forgot about that," Elijah says sarcastically. "Unfortunately I can't just turn my attraction off. Stay away from me, Renée," he repeats, running his hands through his hair and scowling in my direction.

"I'm only seventeen," I say, my mind scrambling to grasp the words leaving his mouth.

"Cazzo! You think I don't know that Renée. I'm twenty-eight years old, you're practically a fücking child," He says, anger radiating off his body.

"I didn't say my attraction was justified, baby," he says softly, looking at the exposed skin on my stomach as if to make a point.

"You're married to my mother!" I scream, ignoring the shivers running up my spin.

"Doesn't stop me from having eyes now does it?" He asks, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

"This is ridiculous," I finally manage to say, my breaths leaving my chest in harsh puffs.

"Just be careful, Amore," he warns, standing up from the stool and folding his arms, displaying his tattooed muscle.

"I am a man who's accustomed to getting what I want Renée. If I were you, I'd stay the hell away from me," he says, eyes never once leaving my lips.

"Oh I plan to stay the hell away from you! So far away in fact, it will be like we're living on different planets!" I shout as my temper flares.

"Good," he says with a grim look on his face. "Good," I mimic, resisting the urge to stick my tongue out like a child.

"Ciao Renée," he says simply, walking out of the kitchen and going to what I assume is his bedroom, leaving me to stare at his retreating figure with my mouth wide open.

Hey one question; what In the actual hell just happened?