The Mafias King unbridled Love

Tears rolled down my cheek profusely as I hugged my knees. I feel betrayed. It hurts so much that I cannot take it. He lied to me. Everything with him has been a lie all this while. 

He is a Mafia but I never knew. When I first met him, he looks like every normal men and the best part of it was, he loves to read book. 

It was an instant connection and attraction from the both of us but when I found out my real identity, it felt as if my whole world came crashing down.

How did I find out? Let me tell you how it all started.

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“No, no, no; you are doing it all wrong.” My ballet instructor Gigi huffed. She walked over to me and adjusted my hands, “Keep your hands light but firm. You should be doing an arabesque. Au lieu de cela, Vous Vous debates comme un poulet.”

(Instead, you thrash about like a chicken)

Gigi has been my ballet coach since the first minute I took an interest in it. Her dark hair is always pulled in a chignon at the base of her neck and she has sharp hazel eyes that can bore into your soul.

She used to be a dancer at the Paris Opera but a bad injury to her back ruined her career. Now she trains girls like me; a lot of people don’t like her because she comes across as mean and bitter but she is just a perfectionist.

“Je suis desole, Gigi.” I mumbled sheepishly, she hasn’t reprimanded me like this in years and I feel bad for upsetting her.

(I’m sorry Gigi)

She sighed, “Come here,” I dropped the pose and made my way over to her, “What’s wrong? You are usually my star student; what happened to you today?”

“I’m just a bit out of it today, that’s all.”

 “Well, I think you are done for today.”

“But-,”

“Don’t interrupt me, girl,” she held up a finger, “Go take a shower and go home. If you practice like this then you will hurt yourself.”

“I’m sorry.”

 “Don’t apologize,” she told me, “Just make sure that when you come back; you are at your best. Understood?”

“Yes, Gigi.”

“Good, now go take a shower; you smell like a Parisian sewer.”

I stifled my laugh and hurried over to the studio showers. An advantage of having a one-on-one class is that the showers are always empty and I can take my time.

I took a long hot shower and changed into leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. I don’t have my blow dryer with me so I settled for towel drying my hair and pulling it up into a ponytail.

“Au revoir, Gigi,” I called out.

(Goodbye)

“Au revoir mon étudiant vedette; prends soin de toi.”

(Goodbye my star student; take care of yourself)

When Gigi first started teaching me she would speak nothing but French. I was so upset but she told me that if I was not willing to learn French then I should get out of her studio. A lot of people would say that is a mean thing to say to a five-year-old but it helped.

Now, I am proud to say that I am perfectly fluent. I stepped out of the studio and debated on going home now or finding somewhere to bide my time.

The latter won out and after putting my duffel bag in the car, I found myself at the door of Tina’s Café. I found it when I was still in college and they make the best lattes and scones.

I paid for my coffee and scones but frowned when I couldn’t find an empty seat. It’s not uncommon for the café to be busy but I have never seen it this full. I was about to leave when I noticed an empty seat at the back.

I made my way over and slowed when I noticed a man sitting just opposite. It’s no wonder people aren’t sitting here, he has serious ‘get away from me vibes’.

His hair is as black as night and I can’t see his eyes because they are hidden in the pages of a book- a familiar book.

“Hi,” I said softly, “Is this seat taken?”

He looked up and my breath hitched- he is beautiful. His face looks like it could have been sculpted from marble; with his sharp jawline and cheekbones and not to mention the intensity behind his dark eyes. It is almost like his eyes are searing into my skin.

“Not at all,” his voice was like gravel and I forced myself to swallow as I took the seat opposite him.

 “That’s a nice book.” I said not wanting him to ignore me for the book, “I read it a few months back.”

He was holding a copy of ‘The Fault in Our Stars by John Greene.

“I haven’t gone so far in.”

“It’s heartbreaking but it’s a good read,” I told him, starting a conversation when I warned myself not to.

“So I heard,” he stated, “Did you cry when you read it?”

I flushed pink at his words and nodded, “In my defense, I wasn’t expecting the plot twist. You’ll be surprised to see that you cry as well.”