Mafia's Art of Love

Arielle's POV 

As soon as the traffic congestion eased, my hands tightened on the steering wheel while I attempted to get back into the flow of traffic. A sleek gray car made a sudden stop in front of me, and before I could swerve, I ended up colliding with it. My heart sank as the sound of crunching metal filled the air. 

"Oh no!" I mumbled. The car looked really expensive and I knew I couldn't pay for such damage.

The driver, a tall blonde haired man, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit came out of the car. His eyes blazed with annoyance as he inspected the damage. 

He muttered something in Italian, then his sharp eyes fell on my scared form inside the car. 

I leaped out of the car, apologetic. "Oh no! I... I'm so sorry," I stuttered an apology as I took in the sight of his damaged car.

"What is wrong with you?" he bellowed, walking towards me. "Can't you see I hit the brakes?"

"And I'm sorry about that. It was an accident," I said.

"You urchins are good at spoiling one's day."

My eyes narrowed at the insult. "That doesn't give you the right to insult me. You know it wasn't really my fault. You stopped all of a sudden," I objected. 

"Your dull head simply can't signal to you when to stop. You will surely regret this incident."

"I'm sorry," I apologized again, batting my lashes and hoping that my charm would work on him.

This man obviously had the money to repair the damage but he was bent on making this day worse than it had already begun. He just wanted to prove a point that he was wealthy and didn't want to lose his stance.

"Save the apologies for my boss. You will be one hell of a lucky person if he spares you," he said.

Boss? Did I hear him correctly? A man like him, with a sharp tongue, talking about having a boss? My curiosity was piqued. Who could his boss be?

"Where is your boss?" I asked.

"Meet him at the backseat," he replied, a sly smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, as if there was trouble awaiting me.

He was just a driver, yet he acted like he was the owner of the car, taking matters into his hands. I rolled my eyes at him before walking towards the backseat of the car.

Before I could reach the car door, it opened and a man stepped out, his expensive shiny shoes catching my eyes first.

As I raised my head, I bumped into the man, my face colliding with a hard chest.

My eyes began to wander from his shoes, his impeccable three piece suit up to his face. My breath caught in my throat as I beheld the man whose height towered over me.

I took in his appearance — perfectly jelled black hair, high cheek bones, full brows, and his eyes, covered with sunshades.

There was something about him that screamed power and danger. I mean, impending doom.

"Idiota. Sei sempre così goffo?" He hissed in a neat Italian accent, breaking me out of my reverie. [Idiot. Are you always this clumsy?]

"I'm... I'm sorry," I apologized even though I didn't get a word that he said, but I knew I had to apologize for bumping into him and for... bumping into his car.

He scoffed, removing his dark shades, and I came to behold a pair of the most captivating blue eyes I had ever seen.

His eyes hovered over me, and then at my car. "Great, just what I needed. A careless driver with a worn out car," he muttered under his breath, his face tightening.

My admiration became short lived. I felt a sting from his arrogance, my initial fascination replaced with annoyance. "Excuse me?" 

"Give me one solid reason why I should spare you."

I restrained myself from rolling my eyes. "I'm sorry. I also apologized to your driver. I... I don't have enough money to repair this, so please, spare me."

"Not good enough. How about I revoke your license?" he said flatly.

My face burned with irritation. I already rendered an apology and he wasn't having any of it. At first, I felt guilty but his attitude was something else. The accident wasn't totally my fault in the first place.

"Fine. What is the cost for the damage?" I asked confidently, even when I knew my whole savings wouldn't be able to fix it.

"The cops would let you know," he insisted.

"What?" I paused and bit my lip. The man's expression was serious and he didn't look like he was going to change his tone anytime soon. "Not like you would want to know but I have an urgent package to deliver. It would be best for us to solve this amicably."

He chuckled darkly. "I know you're used to parading the city with a damaged car. I'm not used to that so this has to be fixed."

I ignored the insult. "You know this whole thing was an accident, and I believe you can fix it. Please, don't be such a jerk about it."

I watched something burn in his eyes, but I didn't bother. I turned and walked away, confidently taking slow steps back to my car and silently wishing he wouldn't say another word.

As I got to my car, I turned to see him making a phone call. The police obviously. How could someone be so inconsiderate? I wanted to get into the car but had a second thought to watch his reaction.

"Okay, Doctor,"  I heard him mumble. His eyes darkened, his chiselled jaw tightening as he ended the call then stared into space. He had a really troubled expression. 

After waking from his reverie, he sent a quick glare at me before getting into his car. Soon, the car zoomed off.

I stood there wondering why he left that way. The phone call must have been of utmost importance to him. The way his expression changed when he received that phone call was what really got me. It was as if the call had enervated the arrogance out of him, leaving him almost vulnerable. 

However, he was a stranger, an arrogant one at that, so I just overlooked it.

With a shrug, I got into the car and tried igniting but it didn't respond. That man was right, after all. It was my aunt's old worn out car.

Igniting several times, it finally picked up, and the engine roared to life. I sighed and drove off to my destination.

After delivering the package, I decided to use my spare time on my sketch book since my shift at the art gallery where I worked as a secretary was tonight. They would be exhibiting some of their collections and the owner of the art gallery tasked me with the job of a gallery guide. 

Grabbing my sketch book and pencil from the bedside table, I curled up on the couch by the window. My pencil began to move effortlessly across the paper, gradually capturing the world outside the window; the garden at the backyard with colourful flowers and green grasses even the tall trees across the path.

After the first sketch, I turned the page to draw something new, then my mind drifted to the arrogant stranger from this morning. Fully absorbed in my creativity, I began to sketch, and didn't even realize I was drawing him until his annoyingly perfect facial features appeared on my paper, his piercing eyes staring back at me. 

How could his face still be so fresh in my mind?

A shiver ran down my spine as I stared at the sketch. How was my subconscious able to depict his various facial expressions; his haughtiness and even the little sting of vulnerability in his piercing eyes? My memory retention was top notch, and I blamed myself for that. 

Feeling uneasy, I quickly closed the sketch book, cradling it tightly in my lap. Out of all the inspirations in the world, it had be the face of an arrogant stranger I met today.

With a sigh, I dropped my shoulders weakly and stood up from the couch, walking back to the bedside table to return the sketch book. I vowed in my mind never to make that mistake again.