Chapter 13- His Angel

Leone is going to destroy me. 

I definitely recognize the motions; I see the signs. And he knows he has me too, mind and body. My attention is his, and my interest is piqued. Like a scientist eager for new discoveries, desperate to thread where no one else has been, I want to study him piece by piece until I am reeling from the knowledge. I want to slip through the multiple and complex layers of this onion of a mob boss, maybe even slip under him and move my hips while we're at it. Who am I kidding? Not a 'maybe.' I want to. And that scares me for a whole lot of reasons.

I'm definitely not supposed to feel what I do for him, as confusing and disorienting as my tangle of emotions are. Whether it's a primal, animalistic, and non-committal drive for him to get me laid, or a mere, yet not any less disturbing amount of sexual attraction, I shouldn't feel either for him. Because Leone is going to ruin me. And when he does, my stupid, raging hormones are not going to save me. Falling for him in any capacity doesn't sound like a smart plan at all because the asshole is crazy. He told me himself; he wants to break me. Now, what kind of a person tells another person something like that? A total psycho, that's who. 

While he's welcome to nurse his fantasies, I don't plan to stay here long enough to watch him actualize them on me. I'm definitely escaping before things head south. And though, right now, I can't decide if Thirteen was smart or dumb to have signed off her life to a man like him, I do know that I am going to breach the contract. 

It's some minutes past midnight when I slip into a black body suit- the better to blend in with the darkness- matching boots and a thick hoodie. The only weapon I carry is a kitchen knife, lodged inside one of my boots. I don't take a gun because I have to sneak into the weaponry for it, on top of all the sneaking around I still have to do. Plus, if I have to use the firearm, it would draw just too much attention- too much noise- without a suppressor. Heaven knows I don't want to have to sneak into the weaponry looking for both a semi-automatic and a suppressor for the noise. Every second matters. 

As I make my way out of the Dollhouse, gliding down connecting hallways, taking the grand stairs and finally appearing at the lobby, my head is down and my hands are in my hoodie pockets, clutching my phone- the only other item I had taken with me before leaving my bedroom. The main doors are locked from the inside when I cross the foyer to reach them. And while knowledge on how to pick a lock is buried somewhere in Thirteen's brain, I don't need to use it because the keys are hanging by a hook close to the paneled oak twin hulks. So it takes me only a moment to roll out of the house and burst into the night air.

After nearly a week here, I can't say I know every inch of the place, but at least I'm sure which way leads to the exit. I take it in the moon-lit darkness. And as minutes pass, I walk as quickly as I can, my boots scrunching softly on the gravel floors, over dried leaves, as I head for the gates up ahead. I know I might have to scale them, but I have time, and I have an amazing set of acrobatic skills courtesy of Thirteen's training here and elsewhere. Said maneuvers help me as I slip along the darkness, avoiding the areas covered by security cams, leaping and rolling as I move quickly. 

And for a while, I am successful. I reach the first gate… even though it's difficult for me to shake the feeling of being tailed. It doesn't help either that every time I look back, there seems to be no one there. But with the amount of experience at my grasp, courtesy of inhabiting an assassin's body, I already know that someone is on to me, so I keep the blade in my boot out and my guard up. Does this stop the tiny hairs at the base of my head from standing on end? No. 

When I finally hear a set of obviously heavier feet land behind me, I turn at once and slash at the figure without remorse. The man is able to dodge my strike- even though it's by a hair's breadth- but the kick I send his way catches him straight in the face. Yet he doesn't retaliate; just defends. I find this odd, because to me, it seems as if he is reserving my punishment for… someone else to handle. Said person must have given him the orders to. And I know exactly who it must be. 

As more men join the first one, I realize a few things with numbing clarity. One, Leone knows I'm trying to escape. And two, these people must be the men from the Boiler Room facility- the male assassins the asshole talked about. Why do I care about that? Well, because they're about seven six-foot-four-and-above monsters surrounding me and I hardly see that as a fair fight even though on a good day, given the time, I would easily body three. 

But this realization doesn't stop me from slashing at whoever dares approach me with a vengeance that could only be classified as cinematic… not until the knife is kicked out of my hand, and the breath knocked from my lungs. Still, I fight like a crazed woman, lethal strike upon lethal strike as I stand in the center, surrounded... until a blow to the side of my face makes the moon to begin to spin, just before it all darkens. 

The cold is what stirs me awake. It is unrelenting, uncomfortable, and prickles on my skin- right over the delicate goosebumps that have begun to rise. Why I feel so cold is what has my eyes flipping dramatically open. And the person seated across from me makes me wish I was still unconscious. 

I gulp as he folds his arms across his chest, eyes on me. "Good morning, sunshine."

It's still dark outside, obvious from the view of the sky I get from the window to the side, from where the chilly air comes from, making me shiver. But it is also important to note that I wouldn't even feel this chilly if I weren't tied to a chair, naked before Leone Andreotti. 

I don't even realize when my breathing starts to become raspy, harsh. But I do know that he notices; that his gaze follows the rise and fall of my bare breasts with each intake of air. Does it stop there? No. It moves over every other part of my exposed flesh, over the ropes that are tied along my shoulders, lower arms, waist, calves and ankles, which are enough to stop me from wriggling free yet unobstructive enough to expose me totally and completely before him.

For a moment after his greeting, I can barely say a thing in response; can hardly function. I just sit there breathing hard, watching, like my tongue went on a commercial break, even though I have a lot to say. But where do I even start from when his darkened gaze, furrowed brows and the way he looks like he is exercising the most amount of self control he has ever had to makes thick, viscous liquid slip out of my folds, nearly betraying me but for the fact that my thighs are tightly pressed together. 

"Those ropes definitely look beautiful on you," Leone finally says in the silence that stretches between us.

"Assho-"

The word is barely out of my mouth when a bucket-full of ice-cold water drops like a shower, drenching me from inch to inch, draping my body in shivers that have my teeth chattering.