OWNED BY THE DON, CLAIMED BY THE QUARTERBACK!!

(NORA’S POV) The smell of Chemical from the hair dye stung my nose but i welcomed it with Joy. It was the sweet smell of freedom and while I basked in it, I struggled with disbelief as well. Is this really me? Have I really done this? I stared at the mirror unblinking . My striking red curls —the hair Dante called his—was gone. In its place was short blonde hair. One that I know Dante would terribly hate. Don’t think of him! Don’t think of him! I bite my lower lip, almost a reflective punishment for thinking of my husband, whom I have just run away from. I took in a deep breath trying to supress my screaming nerves as I met my golden flecked emerald eyes in the mirror again. My hand reached to spray my hair before brushing it gently and patting firmly. Then my hands drop down and I take some steps back to stare at my reflection. Below a plain silk blouse was a Calf-length skirt, that I found to be extremely hideous. I am now Camille James. No more Eleonora Vesperi. No more Donna Rossa! “Is this even real?!” I muttered to myself for what could have been the hundredth time as I headed out of the tiny bathroom attached to the hotel room. It was the best i could get on such short notice in such a small town. Brook-Haven. My new home. Thousands of miles away from Italy. Away from Dante. Don’t think of him! Don’t think of him! But I knew that I would think of him if I stayed here in this room. Doing nothing. I had arrived only forty minutes ago and yet I was restless. Damn it Girl! You’re supposed to be celebrating not thinking of the damned devil! I should be celebrating after having achieved my seven year goal. But instead of dancing around in my underwear and stuffing chocolate in my face, I’m scared, nervous and anxious. I have been since the burst of adrenaline that shot through me when the plane lifted in to the air and I realized I was actually leaving the country. You won’t blame me though, Dante has owned my life for the past thirteen years. Even though I longed for days when I would be far from him, I now can’t imagine him being absent in my life. “He doesn’t know where you are, Nora and if by any slight chance he does, may amnesia befall him. ” I assured myself just before I wore a pair of geek glasses and stared at the little mirror hanging on the pale wall of the small sized hotel room. ‘My perfect face’ as Dante liked to say stared back at me unable to be hidden even by the ugly glasses. Dante always said I had a face like never before. One that can never be forgotten and one that is almost too good to be true. According to him, it was the reason why he demanded my hand in marriage. Don’t think of him! Don’t think of him! “Damn you Dante! I’m finally free from you but you still taunting me like the demon that you are.” I hissed staying up and throwing on a coat. Without giving it another thought, I picked up the phone and dialed the number that Alex, A chatty Cab man had given me. I am certain he can help me find a bar! ——— The bar Alex drove me to was called "Violet Hour." The name glowed in neon script against dark velvet curtains at the entrance. It wasn't the noisy town bar I’d hoped for. It looked a sanctuary of secrets. "For a beautiful woman like you, Miss Camille, it is the only place," he had said with a bright smile when he pulled up. I stepped inside and it felt like the world muted. The air was cool and carried a mixture of sandalwood and bergamot. The lighting was purple, a twilight haze that pooled in corners and gilded the edges of everything it touched. The main area was a maze of private nooks, each one secluded by partitions of frosted glass that shimmered with the violet light. It screamed luxury but there was some strange energy about it I could feel….. and it had nothing to do with the fact that there was no one to attend to me. The place looked empty and felt empty too. Any normal person would hurry out but I am no normal person and I am in dire need of some booze, so I kept going. I moved past the main counter, a long sweep of polished ebony, and saw a slight gap in one of the frosted glass sliding doors. I slid it open and slipped inside without giving it a second thought. It was a private room, a show of intimate luxury. The walls were dark, polished cherry wood, and the leather on the custom banquettes was so soft and black it seemed to drink the purple light. In the center stood a pristine, marble-topped bar where crystal glasses hung like frozen diamonds, each one catching and fracturing the purple glow into a thousand tiny sparks. The place looked overly tidied and like everything was perfectly kept in place. I know I was definitely trespassing. My conscience screamed at me to get out but I could not move. I had just seen the bottles on the shelves—nice looking liquors that reminded me of my husband’s private cellar. It was a taste of the life I had run from, without the shackles. Like a starved woman that I was, I went straight to the bar. I poured myself a scotch and downed it fast. Then another. And a few more. Now this is a good way to handle a day as heavy as this. The cheap wine from the hotel room was dull; but this gave a burn that made my anxiety fade immediately and made me relax a little. The expensive liquor worked quickly. I could feel myself getting pleasantly fuzzy, my muscles relaxing. I slammed my empty glass down with a sigh. I really needed this. I straightened my posture, time to leave before the freedom turned into recklessness. I reached into my pocket and pulled out an a small wad of crumpled dollars—my payment for my trespass. I had only planned on stumbling in to a regular noisy town bar or I would have brought more money with me. I smoothened the cash out and placed them on the marble bar. Just as I wanted to make my escape, I felt a presence and spun around immediately. And then the world stopped. A beautiful young man just emerged from a doorway that i had thought was only an art painting. The irony, He was a work of art himself! He was Tall, built like a statue, with a perfect face and ebony hair that was messy but still looked styled. He looked pure and reckless at the same time, wearing a gray t-shirt that stretched tight over his muscular frame . He was holding a glass of amber liquid while he just stood there, watching me. I felt a sudden, dangerous rush of heat. His eyes—intense blue, moved over my face, lingering on my own eyes. His perfect face was unreadable but his energy instantly said a thousand things. He took a slow, deliberate step toward the bar, his eyes never leaving mine. "I don't know who you are, but you're the first thing I've focused this hard on since I was thirteen…"