Don

9

DiAngelo's narrowed black eyes bored holes into Kelly's light brown ones.

He sat in the armchair across from her, his ankle crossed over his leg, his fi supporting his chin.

He knew her from somewhere...

Somewhere...

"Are you...going to stare at me all day?"

He even recognized her voice...

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Uh..." Kelly trailed.

"Uh. Nice name. Got a middle name with that? Preferably one with more than one syllable?"

Kelly just smiled. This could go one of two ways: she could lie and get called out on it.

Or, she could tell him her name and just convince him he never met her.

"Kelly." She grinned, choosing option two.

If she lied she'd just look suspicious as f**k and he'd place her right away.

"Kelly..." He mulled thoughtfully, "I've heard that name before. Have I met you?"

Kelly waited for half a beat before shaking her head, a grin pasted on her face.

She made sure she paused to indicate she was thinking, but not long enough to invite suspicion that she was thinking of a lie.

If she shook her head too quickly, he'd guess who she was. He knew her back when she was a horrible liar.

"No! Don't think so. Why?" She c****d her head, grin still pasted.

It hurt to smile that much and make it look that real.

But hey, it was what was.

DiAngelo still didn't buy it. He knew this girl, he knew he knew her. He just couldn't tell if she knew he knew her.

"Forgive me for my crudeness, but have we f****d or something? Cause I highly doubt I'd forget you if we did."

Kelly faltered but didn't let it show. Instead, she looked him over, not having the fake attraction.

"I doubt I would either."

"Have you ever been to Italy?"

Finally. An answer she could give truthfully.

"No, but I'd love to go."

DiAngelo thought back to when he could have met her. He knew it wasn't on campus, he'd never seen her there.

He and his brother just moved to America about five years ago to start college. Well, for Pietro to start college, he was already a sophomore.

So when was he in America before he moved?

Kelly kept her smile but deep, not too deep.  By now, she was getting anxious. She was getting anxious because he was getting close.

It was going to be hard to convince him once he figured it out; she was gonna have to lie her ass off.

But she couldn't afford the past to creep up on her.

Not now.

DiAngelo closed his eyes tightly, the answer dancing on the tip of his tongue.

Ah!

His eyes burst open in realization.

Oh s**t, Kelly thought.

Ah, merde, DiAngelo thought for a completely different reason.

He'd placed her.

She was a far better liar than she was ten years ago.

"Miranda." He said, pointing to her.

Kelly's smile slightly strained. "Kelly. You're off by a lot there."

"Cut the bull, Miranda," he dismissed her nonchalantly, "I remember you now."

Kelly tried one more time.

"Look, I know my name-"

"Your name is Miranda, your last name is Kelly," he smiled bitterly.

The bitter smile turned into a bitter chuckle. He tapped his nose twice,

"Smart thinking."

.

Kelly said nothing. She wouldn't confirm unless she absolutely had to.

"Why so quiet, Miranda?" He mocked, trying to provoke her.

He knew she probably wouldn't give in, but he'd give it a shot.

"You know, you're a much better liar than you were ten years ago," He smiled, getting up and disappearing into her kitchen.

Rummaging through her cabinets, he found a bottle of jack.

Perfect.

He was entirely too sober to deal with this.

Coming back into the living room, he sat down, taking a swig from the bottle.

"I don't know if that warrants a standing ovation or a mental evaluation."

Kelly kept her poker face intact and just let him rant.

At her silence, he c****d his head.

"Both?" To her silence, he nodded, "Yeah probably both."

"So, do tell me, tesoro," Kelly winced at the term of endearment, "Where the hell is your Brooklyn accent? And your eyes have changed color."

He chuckled taking a larger sip of Jack.

"You're an evolving species of your own, aren't you tesoro?"

Still, though she was wailing on the inside, she kept a straight face and remained silent.

"I can tell this is going to be a one-way conversation, so I'll just keep talking."

He threw back a larger sip of jack, "And drinking."

"So, here's what I'm wondering. You'll most likely sit there stony-faced, but I thought I'd ask anyway. How did you get this good?"

Looked her in the eye.

"You have never been able to lie to me, Miranda," He frowned at her, for her, "What happened so bad, that you learned how to?"

Kelly said nothing in reply. She smiled a half smile. She was breaking down.

"I'll get you a cup, you need to pace yourself."

She got up, intent on fleeing to the kitchen, but he was there in the blink of an eye holding her back.

"You mean you need to compose yourself so you lie to me some more."

Precisely, she thought, Now let me do it.

"Why to fight when you can run, right?"

DiAngelo shook his head, drained. He did what he wanted to do since he realized who she was.

Dipping his face into the crook of her neck, he nuzzled his nose against her.

"I missed you, Miranda," he whispered, his tears finally falling, "I missed you so much, tersero mio."

He broke down, but she doesn't have that privilege.

She silently cried like she did every day.

Ten years ago...

DiAngelo and his brothers walked down the block.

They moved to New York on a trial basis, their Padre said.

DiAngelo was sixteen, Pietro was 15 and Salvatore was 9.

This was their first trip to America, a break from the borgota, Madre said.

They don't speak much English, in fact, out of all them, their parents spoke English best.

DiAngelo supposed that was because of the Borgata.

The boys split up to reconvene in a few hours at Antonio's.

Pietro took Sal to a pizza place, whereas DiAngelo decided to walk the streets and sightsee.

It may've seemed strange, even neglectful of their parents to let them wander around the streets and slums of Brooklyn, but they could hold their own.

Even Lil Sal.

Their Padre was a Don; they had no choice but to be trained to a certain extent.

DiAngelo walked down 23rd and 9th, grimacing at the ostentatious pizzeria signs and smiling at the libraries.

He loved to read. He soon found himself strolling into a library, browsing through the mysteries and psychological thrillers when he saw a girl.

Not just any girl.

A lonely girl.

She was a little lighter than him, so he figured she was mixed or something.

She was reading a book, but what intrigues him was her attire and demeanor.

It was summer in Brooklyn, and that Tuesday was a particularly sweltering day.

This girl though had on jeans and sweater.

Even in a centralized air-conditioned building, that outfit was too hot.

Her eyes were green when he looked at her closer; he hadn't seen many green eyes at home.

She also seemed stiff in an alert type way. Like he was in enemy territory.

"Hey!" He called. He was proud of that hey; it was one of the few words he had down packed.

"Hello." She said softly, in a barely-there whisper.

Her voice was soft and private, she was telling you a secret.

"What are you watching?"

She quirked a brow over her book, glancing at him.

"You mean reading."

"Ah! Sì, yes! What are you reading?"

"You're not from around here are you?"

The glitter in her eyes at that prospect made him bit nervous.

"No...I am, how you say..." The word he could think, "foreign."

"Where are you from?"

"Italia! I mean, Italy," he chuckled self-depreciatingly.

"What is your name?"

DiAngelo watched her stiffen, and for a moment, he thought he'd said the wrong thing until she relaxed.

"Miranda," she whispered.

"Pleasure, Miranda. I am DiAngelo."

"Of Angel?" She quipped curiously.

"Of Angelo." He grinned. "My father's name is Angelo. It is like your country's junior."

"Oh! So you're Angelo Jr."

She laughed at his scrunched up face.

She laughed a secret laugh too, he noted.

"Non mi piace. I am DiAngelo."

(I don't like it)

"Okay DiAngelo, would you...like to sit 

down?"

He nodded eagerly, sliding next to her on the sofa like a chair at the end of a bookshelf.

Miranda then ignored his existence and continued reading.

He didn't mind though, it gave him time to study her.

"I will call you tersero," he announced.

Miranda glanced up from her book.

"What does that mean?"

"It means treasure. It is a...term of endearment in my country."

Miranda blushed.

"And am I dear to you?"

"No," he shook his head thoughtfully,"but I have a feeling you will be."

⚪⚫⚪

Present day...

DiAngelo placed a gentle kiss on her neck.

"My Miranda." He murmured placing a kiss on her throat.

"DiAngelo...no."

She knew where this was going. They'd done this before.

"Please? Before you leave me again?"

She hung her head.

I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry, she chanted to herself.

DiAngelo spun her around, lifting her chin, and looking into her eyes. Then he kissed her. Gripping her hair tightly, he kissed her.

He claimed her lips as his own and dared her to disagree.

Her tears fell shamelessly as she threw her arms around his neck, the salt from her pain mixing into the kiss.

It was punishing, brutal kiss. He kissed her hard, bruising her lips.

Not breaking the seal, he walked them to the kitchen table.

He ripped her shirt in two, taking his off, he took off his shorts and boxers, while she shed her pants.

Before she could remove them herself, he tore her panties in half.

She didn't complain.

Taking a fistful of her hair, he bent her over the table, entering her swiftly from behind.

"Ah!" She cried out but said nothing else.

DiAngelo turned her head to look her in the eye as he punished her.

Because that's what he was doing; punishing her.

And she deserved it. Besides, it wasn't as if she didn't enjoy it.

Glaring into her eyes, he pulled out of her completely before burying himself to hilt inside her; hard.

Her body lurched forward at the force, his soft grunts of effort filling the air.

Every stoke was slow, deliberate and painfully pleasurable.

DiAngelo let her hair go, clutching her throat instead, forcing her back to arch and her head to tilt up toward him.

He swooped down for another brutal kiss, pushing her back to his thrusts as he did.

Soon he was f*****g her in earnest, her hips banging against the table every time he pushed in.

"Hurting?"

She nodded.

He walked them to the sofa, bending her over that instead.

"Better?"

She nodded once more.

With not another word, he resumed his speed and force, only the cushion of the chair was softer in her hold when her body was thrust forward.

DiAngelo was angry; that's why he was angry f*****g his Miranda.

But more than angry, he was hurt. And he missed her.

He realized this wasn't just about punishing her. He wanted an apology. And he'd f**k it out of her, and have fun doing it.

Miranda knew something was different when his pace slowed and his force increased.

He drove into her harder than before, the hardest he'd done till then. He'd drive into hard, pull out, wait and thrust into her again.

Now her body wasn't just lurching forward; she was damn near flying from the force, his grip in her throat keeping her on the ground.

Miranda had been silent the whole time, but she couldn't anymore.

Every thrust made her cry out breathlessly.

"I want you," Thrust. "To apologize."

He drove her harder than before, making her dizzy with pain, pleasure, and guilt.

DiAngelo was a strong man-a very strong man.

Miranda knew he could f**k her straight in a wheelchair if he wanted.

She wasn't getting it nearly hard as it could be..

"Miranda?" He prompted, stilling inside her.

"I'm so..orry. Ah!" He thrust into her making black spots appear in her vision while she spasmed in a violent orgasm.

"I didn't hear you, tersero."

"I'm sorry..." She gasped. DiAngelo pulled back ramming into her one last time, this time harder than anything she'd ever experienced, exploding inside of her.

Black overtook her vision, and she passed out.

DiAngelo stared at his Miranda's 

the sleeping figure, closing his eyes regretfully.

She'd be gone soon, he knew. She had restless feet, one foot in the door in case her past came knocking.

He scooped up her exhausted body and took her to what he assumed was her room.

It was full of books, a bed, clothes and a suitcase in the corner.

Yep, he thought, definitely Miranda's room.

He cleaned her up in the en-suite before laying her under the covers and snuggling up to her warm body.

Miranda faded into consciousness briefly before fading into sleep.

"Miranda?" He called.

"Hm?" She answered to her name.

Maybe just maybe, she would stay.

"Nothing."

DiAngelo had a choice to make. He could hope his seed planted itself deep in her womb, or give her a morning-after pill.

Though he knew it was wrong, he couldn't help but think maybe a baby would ground her, keep her with him.

But he knew that was wishful thinking, especially with his tersero.

If Miranda wanted to run, she'd run.

And Miranda always wanted to run eventually.

C O M M E N T

V O T E⭐️

F A N