Page 61 of Runaway in the Mafia
His nostrils flared as he gritted his teeth. His glare zeroed in on me. Telling me we were anything but done. His gaze lifted tothe ceiling. “Fucking cockroaches,” he hissed. Then he pushed off the wall and stormed out of the room, leaving me dishevelled and Lia confused.
“Did he at least shoot it?”
Lia was watching me. Innocence in her eyes, but something veiled behind it. I mutely shook my head.
“No wonder he’s pissed off.” She dropped the coffee cups on the bedside table and took something from her pocket. “You might want to get that dress looked at.” She opened her palm. “I found like three buttons downstairs.”
I stayed awayfrom him like he was the gasoline to my oil. I used Lia as my human shield and stuck to her like super glue. His death glares that roasted me into a million pieces, I ignored. Well. Tried to, at least. I lasted through breakfast, and then I announced a migraine from hell.
“Well, I’ve got one myself,” Lia announced for the tenth time. Thankfully. “Can we just go home, Vitale?”
Yes!
I didn’t hang around for his opinion. I packed fast enough to break a record. Before the two of them were out, I was ready, in the car on the back seat.
The passenger door flew open, and Lia popped her head in. “Why don’t you sit in front?”
I scrunched my forehead and ran a line along it. “Nah. I just want to sleep it out here.”
“Okay.” She hesitated for a second before she moved to the boot with her bag. She was good. Really good. But suddenly I knew it. She knew what was going on. I didn’t have time to register that before the door beside me pulled open, and heloomed over me. Dark, angry with a chip on his shoulder, rage in his eyes. “Not going to win an Oscar with that performance.”
“What performance?”
“You don’t have a fucking headache, Ahana.” He shoved his hand into my hair, fisted it, and yanked me close to his face. The seatbelt snagged. My breath hitched. “That’s not the way you scrunch your forehead when you have one of your actual fucking headaches. If you’d asked me, I would have given you a lesson or two. On acting.” He nodded towards my shocked face. “Among others,” he muttered before he shoved me back.
“I don’t need lessons.”
“You don’t have a choice. Those lessons are fucking coming.”
He slammed the door so hard that I thought I might actually get a headache. But I didn’t think it was wise to tell him that. His glare burned me from the rearview mirror as he started the engine. I decided there was an easier solution. So I closed my eyes and pretended for the entire ride home. Worked on those acting skills I apparently needed.
Coincidentally, my eyes snapped open the moment the engine cut out. Without a single word, I stumbled out and raced up the stairs to my room. Exploding into the room with a sigh of relief, I locked the door and slid against it to the floor. It lasted all of three minutes before dread sank in. Two things became apparent. One, the heavy, deep thud on the floorboards coming my way, I knew all too well. Second—Shit. Shit. Shit.
The door rattled on the other end, and a murderous growl followed it. “Open the fucking door, Ahana.”
He must have been furious. His voice must have been loud. But it sounded like I was far below, under water, gasping for breath.
Mistakes screamed at me.
A trill on the far end and an angry conversation on a phone.
“Fuck.”
He must have punched the door because I slid forward from the force of it.
“We’re not fucking done, Ahana.” He must have crouched down because suddenly his voice was close. Too close. “And don’t you dare run away because I swear to God you do not want to meet the fucking monster in me.”
He waited. I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Could hardly breathe in my panic-crowded chest. Finally, his footsteps retreated. I was only half aware of it.
I had to run. I had less of a choice than last night. Because then I’d been too lust-induced. Too naïve to realise what had bothered me. He’d been inside me. Raw. Three times.
If Rajesh found out, he’d put me through a grinder and shred me into a million pieces. The six times he’d beat me to a pulp would look like child’s play.
He wouldn’t. I was going to make sure of it.
Because I realised a third thing. I was in too deep. This shouldn’t be about me. It should be about them. It was time I put my family before myself. It was time I realised this life wasn’t meant for me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
