The Billionaire’s Pet
For the first time since I'd been with Mr Blackwood, he was paying no attention to me.
My eyes skimmed over the physique of this Ricardo man. He was tall, taller than even Mr Blackwood, if that was possible. He had on a suit—heck, all mafia lords wore suits. What I thought was him being bald was merely a buzzcut, scraped so low to his scalp. He had cryptic tattoos snaking up the back of his neck, and what I could see of his hands were covered in inky tattoos as well.
Nice, I thought. Very mafia-like.
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