My Mafia Mate
Ema said, equally as perturbed by the bundle of strings that Marina called a ‘swimsuit’.
“Good idea,” I said.
Grabbing an embroidered towel off the rack, I tightly wrapped it around my body, hoping it would provide some semblance of decency.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped out. To my surprise, Marina was there, waiting. And in her hand, she held my gun, a wicked smirk playing on her lips.
“I believe this is yours,” she purred, twirling it around her finger.
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