Chapter 4 Claimed By The Don.

Vincenzo p.o.v

He woke up each morning with the desire to do right, to be a good and meaningful person, and to be, as simple as it sounds and as impossible as it was, Happy.

And during each day, his heart would descend from his chest into his stomach. By early afternoon he was overcome by the feeling that nothing was right or nothing was right for him, by the desire to be alone.

By evening he was fulfilled, alone in the magnitude of his grief, alone in his aimless guilt. Alone even in his loneliness. I am not sad, He would repeat to himself over and over.

I am not sad.

As if he might one day convince himself or fool himself, or convince others. The only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad. Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room.

He would fall asleep with his heart beneath his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the mid-afternoon, he was again overcome with the desire to be somewhere else or someone else.

Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not, the silence that follows when he step foot in the café was a painful reminder of what others think of him.

Ruthless and cold.

Often, we call a man cold when he is only sad, that's the bitter truth of life. No one cares to know what happened behind closed doors, they only judge by what is done on the outside.

His only regret is he couldn't change the past or what it turned him into, creating loneliness in his heart. Millions of people want to be near him but only a few truly care about him.

His family (father, mother, two brothers, a sister, and his son, are his family not, that claim to be relatives) Every other person only wants something from him, mostly his life.

He never believed his heart could beat again until he saw her.

A fragile, timid, and gentle girl who has caused his heart to beat for the first time in years.

She had a sculpted figure which was twine-thin. Her waist was tapered, and she had a burnished complexion, a pair of arched eyebrows looked down on sweeping eyelashes. Her delicate ears framed a button nose.

A set of dazzling, Angel-white teeth gleamed as she blew gently on her carmine-red fingernails. It was a pleasure to see her flowing strawberry-blonde hair, Her enticing, constellation blue eyes gaze at him over her puffy heart-shaped lips.

She looks like a demi goddess in his eyes, her delicate figure tempting him to lock her in his arms for ever. And when she smiled, he almost fainted from lack of breath. Her voice is so sugary it could melt any stone-cold heart, even his heart which is made of rocks seem to melt by just her voice.

Who is she, he thought to himself.

An Angel, he replied himself.

He wanted her, and the thought of her being with another made his blood boil. She could erase the loneliness and bitterness he felt, He could just drag her home but decide against it. She deserves better than that but in his heart, he knew she wouldn't be with him willingly.

He is the Mafia's Don, after all, a girl like this Angel won't be with him, and that's why he would have her by force.

He would do anything to keep her by his side and no one could stop him.