The Devil's Little Angel

CALISTA.

The amber liquid in front of me was a mix of different alcohols, I drank it down in one burning shot.

Then I shifted the glass aside, joining the other five empty ones.

“Another” I slurred, banging my weak hand on the counter.

I met my reflection in the row of bottles. My eyes were puffy and my face was swollen.

I looked as I felt.

I had stood in the doorway of my fiance's home, frozen, blinking rapidly. Hoping that I was imagining the scene before me. But it was real. Matteo and my stepmother... Together. A tangled mess of limbs and moans.

Matteo flinched when he saw me, but instead of remorse and shame, annoyance flashed through his jade eyes. It was at that point that I knew I couldn't stomach this anymore.

It was at that point that everything snapped.

I didn't think, I acted. Matteo's gun was on the bedside table. I took it, cocked it, and aimed at his disgusting face.

“Don't you dare!” he had threatened, which only fueled my rage. My stepmother curled herself behind him, her eyes wide.

I wanted them both in hell.

I pulled the trigger and a bullet landed in Matteo's arm, drawing an agonizing scream from him, and then, like the coward I've been called my entire life, I ran.

I ran away from Matteo and the evil look on his face that promised to pay back; I ran away for the life of misery waiting for me at home.

I didn't stop until I was in our enemy territory—Chicago. This was the last place Matteo's hounds because of the man who ruled it.

I've never seen him once and I don't know what he looks like, but I've heard stories, and whispers about how he thrives in blood and war.

Romano Cappellucci. The Capo of Chicago Mafia. And the only man Matteo is dead scared of. It's why I ran here, because Matteo won't dare come, but his was also the easiest place I could get killed.

What a fool I am

I glanced around the bar I had wound up in. It was nearly empty, a good place for me to drop my head and cry, but so far, since I walked in on Matteo, not a drop of tears had slid down my face.

I have felt pain before—it was when my mother kissed my cheeks, and an hour later, I was staring at her corpse. Rejection, I've experienced that too, when my father told me I was worthless in front of our entire mob famiglia. I've known fear; I lived in it all my life.

This, however, is something I've never experienced; it's hollow, a feeling of nothingness, of emptiness, like my world had been put on hold.

I banged on the counter again. “Another shot”

The alcohol was good. The alcohol could numb my feelings for a while.

“I'll take another shot. Of everything you have.” I shouted, my voice hoarse from all the drinking.

If God is merciful today, I might drink myself to death before Matteo and his hounds find me. How quickly can the liver burst from the intake of excessive alcohol? I hope it happens in under two hours.

A rich timber reverberated in the small bar. “Give the lady water.”

That voice was like a ray of light in my darkness. I felt it down to my stomach, and that's not good. Voices are supposed to stop at the ears; why did this one make my stomach flutter?

I swiveled round, and if I thought his voice had shaken me, his face instantly put me under a spell. The man's eyes were the colour of whiskey; his face was glorious to look at. With a chiseled jawline and full lips. Brown hair and stubble that added to his rugged beauty.

The flutters in my stomach turned crazy. I forced my voice not to shake “And you are?”

Although I was mesmerized by his handsome features, he had no right to choose what I did and did not drink. I'm twenty-two fucking years old. I'm legal.

The man's eyes narrowed at the bartender who hastily rushed to get me water.

“Whatever issues it is you have, if you want to kill yourself with overdrinking, do it outside my bar.” he sneered in an icy voice that made me shudder. The bartender placed a bottle of water in front of me, ducking his head to avoid the man's gaze.

What did I need water for? Water wouldn't ease the pain I felt. I needed strong liquor before I lost what was left of my sanity.

“Hey. I need alcohol, not water.” I hollered at the bartender who paid me no heed.

Fine, whatever.

My legs shook as I stood up, willing myself not to cry. I'm not going to cry in front of this bar owner who ordered me to take my miserable life elsewhere.

I started walking with my head up high till I reached where he stood. His face was a mask of perfect boredom, muscular arms crossed, his biceps flexing as he watched me like a hawk.

“Fine. I'll take my sorry ass elsewhere." I retorted, looking him dead in the eye. I was made to walk past him when he called out to me.

“He doesn't deserve you.” He said, his voice softer this time. My steps faltered.

“W..What?” Trepidation began creeping under my skin. Does he know who I am? This bar is under the protection of the Cappellucci family. If this bar owner finds out my identity, he would take me to his Capo and then...

This is stupid; I shouldn't have risked coming here; I should have stayed where it was safe.

The sensible option would be to bolt for the doors and escape while I could, but there was something about his gaze that pulled me closer and closer till I was standing mere inches from his giant frame.

“How did you know what was making me upset?” I asked, locking my eyes with his

He put his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His black shirt did little to hide his perfect abs. My breathing turned shallow as I drank in the sight of him.

The bar owner tilted his head. “I can tell,” he stated. “If he did something that hurt you, leave him."

I sighed, pulling my lower lip into my mouth and chewing on it. "You're right. It's because of a man, but I can't leave. It's not that simple."

He studied me for a moment like he was reading my soul. His gaze felt like a soft caress. I wondered how his touch would be.

Jesus, Calista, get a grip on yourself.

“Why can't you leave him?” the man asked carefully.

My throat bobbed. That was something I couldn't reveal to anyone, least of all a man from the enemy territory. But the presence of this stranger provided a comfort I haven't felt since Mom's death.

And so, I did something that could cost me my life. One word to his Capo— Romano Cappellucci. The man who people talked about with fear and in hushed whispers, and my head would be delivered to Matteo in a box.

But regardless, I wanted to spill it out, to let go of the truth weighing me down; maybe then my heart could be at ease, even though for a short while.

And so, I told him

“I'm the bride of Matteo and the daughter of Vitale.” I gulped and the man's nose flared.

He uncrossed his arm. “Lucas Vitale? Our longest time enemy?”

I didn't know how I managed to stand still when his eyes narrowed and darkened on me.

Something dangerous flashed in his face and then he growled. “You shouldn't have come here”