Mafia Wars: His Sweet Angel

*** The name's Vicious. Angelo ‘Vicious’ De Luca. Things I hate? There's an endless list. I'd rather not get into that. Things I love? Easy. I love p*ssies. I love hardcore f*cks. I love guns, preferably when they're loaded and blowing off a f*****g skull. I love fast cars. I love the crime world. I love the idea of being the main boss someday. I love being a VICIOUS beast, who goes to any length to eliminate every bit of threat to accomplishing my dream. I love the game of revenge. Uh…I love California. I love my De Luca family. I love…wait, nah. That's not love. It's more of a morbid obsession. I'm OBSESSED with a girl. Yeah, f*****g obsessed. With the little high schooler who housed me that night while my gut bled from the stray bullet. I'm obsessed and there's nothing I can do about it. I wanna keep her. Much against her will. She's a fragile little thing, and I hate that she finds me terrifying. I try to convince her that she doesn't need to be scared of me. That I'm not the bad guy, but every action I take, everything I stand for, proves me so f*****g wrong. So maybe I'm the bad guy. I'm probably the worst thing that's ever happened to her. I'm gonna ruin her life with the darkness I carry around. I'm gonna impose my s****l kinks on her. She's gonna become the perfect target for my enemies. Her life will never be peaceful if she continues staying with me. She's better off far away from me and all the chaos I conjure. I know that. But I can't let her go. Maybe I'm in love. Maybe this is love…this pain in my heart whenever I think about setting her free. Maybe, in the weirdest way and at the oddest time, I found something so pure and so beautifully enchanting. I found what other men would kill for. And I'd be stupid to let go of it. Because a man like me can't be so lucky twice. If I let her go, I'll never find such a rare, pure attraction again. It's a once-in-a-lifetime s**t. I'll spend the rest of my life in regret and agony. And I don't want that. I already have enough regrets to last a lifetime. I don't wanna add to them. So I can't let her go. Jasmine’s mine. She stays with me, FOREVER. My little angel goes nowhere. CHAPTER 1. JASMINE “Who's…there?” I ask in a shaky voice, flashing my torchlight in the dark corner. With our electricity bills being overdue and our lights getting cut off, the whole outside is pitch dark. The aggressive raindrops mixed with lightning and thunder keep me from boldly stepping out of the front porch and going to see what's making that movement around the lawn. I stare longer, pinning the torchlight in the direction. There's no movement anymore; what if there weren't any movements to begin with? What if it's all just in my head? I hope so… With that conclusion, I step inside the house, shutting the door. The candles mildly light up the room, and I find my way to the small sitting room. Dropping onto the couch, I hug my shivering body. The whole house is chilly. There's no heater to warm it up. And that's why Aunt Lucia isn't home. She's probably at one of her male friends' places, getting all the warmth she needs. While she leaves me here to freeze to death. To starve, too, because I haven't eaten anything all day. The box of cereal was barely empty, and I just poured the little left into my mouth. That's all. Now I'm cold, hungry, and anxious. About tomorrow. About leaving high school tomorrow… What's life gonna be like for me after that? My classmates have all been going on and on about their plans, but I don't have an idea what I'm gonna do after graduation. Will I still be stuck here in this small town, slaving my ass off for Aunt Lucia? Will I get a part-time job? Certainly, going to college isn't in the books for me. I wish it were, tho. It'd be nice to go… A loud crashing sound at the door makes me flinch in fright. Slowly, I grab the torchlight and head for the door. “Please, God….let it not be one of those reptiles…” I've encountered quite a number recently. Living in the swamp and the most wrecked area of the city, with no security and no development, puts one at risk of literally any form of harm. I grab the doorknob and slowly pull the door open. “Aah!” I squeal, but in a second, the torch gets knocked out of my hand. A firm hand covers my mouth and pins me against the wall. A firm, tattooed hand. “Be quiet!” A deep, hoarse voice reprimands me. Breathing harshly, I stare wide-eyed at the person in front of me. Tall, very tall, and muscular. Rigidly handsome too. Not the type that makes your heart flutter innocently. But the type that makes your heart beat wildly, and your toes curl in fear. His short-sleeved black shirt and black pants are thoroughly soaked. His black curls hang in front of his face, and his hazel eyes dim with a blood-curdling iciness. His brows are full and dark, chiseled jaw lines, trimmed beards, a scar on his cheek… No. Wait, that's not a scar. That's a blood stain! My eyes pop as he winces a bit, releasing his grip on my mouth a little. I take the chance to peer at the floor. Oh My God. His gut is bleeding. The floor is stained with his blood. This is one horrible, terrifying sight, and again, I start screaming. But his hand muffles the sound. “I'm not gonna hurt you,” that voice says again, but it's calmer now. Way too calm. How did he go from aggressively hoarse to speaking softly? And that accent….he's not Spanish. He's American. Just like me. “I'm not gonna hurt you,” he reiterates, muffling a grunt. “Just pretend you didn't see me. Go back inside. I'll be gone before you know it.” Something about the sudden calmness of his voice reduces how much I'm freaking out. Our eyes are locked, and then his face squeezes in pain. “I'll let you go, but promise you're not gonna scream.” He says, staring intently into my eyes. I nod frantically. He doesn't even hesitate and just lets me go. I'm still stuck in the spot, watching him stagger to the corner and drop to the floor, panting heavily. His hand is placed on his bleeding wound, his teeth gritted in pain, and he shuts his eyes tightly. My fingers tremble uncontrollably. Every inch of me urges me to scream, but strangely, his presence doesn't exude any bit of danger. Not anymore. But then he seems like the kind of man I should never speak to or even look at. But here I am, contemplating whether I should talk to him. “You're staring too much. I don't like it.” He says, with his eyes still closed. How does he know I'm staring if he isn't even looking at me? “Ermm…” I clear my dry throat, fisting my skirt. “Shouldn’t you go to a hospital? You look pretty awful…” “I can't be in a hospital,” he groans, inhaling sharply. "I'm good here, thank you.” “Do…do…you wanna come inside?” His head rolls to the side, and his eyes open, giving me a pained look. I swallow a nervous gulp, forcing myself to continue. “It's raining and you're not in the best condition to be out here in the cold…” “You're not in the best condition to worry about me either,” he groans out, kicking a leg in pain. “Tell me something, do you always invite…ouch..! f**k!” He grits out, curling in pain, and I almost run to him. Almost. “Do you f*****g always invite strangers inside when they look injured and pathetic?” He completes, pinning his gaze on me again. “Are you that naive, reckless or you're just f*****g dumb?” “I'm just….I'm just…” Tears trickle down my face. “I'm just trying to help…” 1,000 303 times when someone called me dumb and naive. I've been counting since I was seven, and now I'm 18. And maybe the count isn't so accurate, but those words haunt me every day. They're the ghosts of my life. Being called dumb. Stupid. Poor. Helpless. Ill-luck. Wretched. I should be used to them by now, but I can't seem to be. They are always hurting me like it’s my first time hearing them. “Feel free to leave when you can.” I turn to head inside, but a hand wraps around mine, pulling me sharply to a halt. I turn, and he's the one holding my hand, giving me a softer stare now. “I didn't mean to be an ass. I'm sorry…” His apologies hit straight to my feelings, sliding down happy tears from my eyes. It's the first time someone ever apologized to me for being mean. The very first time. Minutes later, I help him to his feet and he leaps into the house. He's f*****g tall and has to bend to cross over the door frame. His weight is pulling me down, but I manage to drop him on the couch. He groans, wriggling his legs in pain. “Be right back,” I tell him, and quickly go into the bathroom to get the first aid kit. I return and find him still groaning. I hurried to his side, kneeling and quickly opening the box. He stops me, holding my hand. “Don't do that. You're gonna get your hands stained…” His pain-riddled eyes fall calmly on me. His voice is huskily warm. “You're bleeding too much…” I point out. “Except you know how to dig out the bullet in my guts, I'd prefer you just let me be.” I stare wide-eyed at his bloodied shirt, at the spot oozing blood. There's…there's a bullet in there? Makes me double curious to know who he is. But a voice from my logical side keeps me from asking. “I ran into some bad guys and they did this to me.” He says, like he can sense that I'm almost freaking out. Bad guys? So…is he the good guy? “I doubt your parents are gonna be thrilled with having a bloodied stranger in here,” he says with a wince. “How much trouble are you in?” How is he able to speak with so much blood already lost? Isn't he human? “I…I don't have any parents.” I say, panicking at the blood dripping on the couch. “But my aunt is gonna kill me.” “Then leave her.” Those words drop out of the blue, silencing me. “What?” “I said, LEAVE HER. You go to school?” I nod once. “I'll be graduating from high school tomorrow,” I add, unsure of why I'm even giving him that much information. “Even better,” he's struggling to keep his breathing at a good pace. “Go somewhere else after graduation. Live a different life. Don't put up with her bitchy ass any longer.” For a total stranger, he sure seems to have already figured out the unhealthy relationship between me and my aunt. But I'm more concerned that he's bleeding badly. I press my hands to the bleeding spot, hoping it'd keep the blood in. “I said, don't stain those hands. You don't f*****g listen.” He hisses, pushing my hands off. But it's too late. They're already covered with his blood. “It's painful watching you bleed so much,” I say in tears, placing my hand on the spot again. He doesn't protest anymore. He just stares softly at me and sighs. “You’re one hell of a stubborn ass, ain't you? But one heck of a beauty too,” he smirks slowly and then winces. My cheeks flush at his compliment “When you get away from your aunt, try to live a decent and beautiful life. As beautiful as you.” Again, for a stranger, he sure has a lot of words. And I'm weirdly affected by them. My heart swells happily. The first time someone ever worried about my future or said something nice about it. What a night I'm having! “You're..legal, right?” He asks, with a lopsided, dark smile that stirs my heart erratically. I nod slowly. Then, gasp as one of his big hands wraps around my waist, pulling me closer. His lips slowly touch mine, and I freeze. The kiss deepens as he pulls me even closer. His lips assault mine, and his tongue delves into my mouth. I moan and sob at the hunger he's kissing me with. My first kiss is with a bloodied stranger, and that part leaves me fighting to claim my lips back. He finally pulls away, panting slowly. My eyes are wet with tears, and he dries them off. “I'll probably never see you again. So I just thought I should taste those lips…they…they're gorgeous.” He smiles, then lets me go and turns the other way on the couch, still groaning and wincing. Flushed from the kiss and his words, I remain pale for minutes. Then I watch him longer before I doze off. Waking up the next morning, I find an empty couch. “Hello?” I call nervously, silently hoping he's somewhere in the house. But the silence ruins that hope, and my heart clouds with unexplainable sadness. There's a note though. On the couch. I hurriedly picked it up, reading the lines out loud. -If you don't have a place to go, then come to New York City. If you believe in fate as much as I f*****g do, then I'm sure we'll meet again– I read the lines over ten times, each word warming up my heart. New York City, huh? That's a thousand miles from here. Do I have enough guts to go that far alone?