Reckless Games (Reckless Mafia #1)

Chapter 3

Angela

I stepped through the entrance and was immediately enveloped in an aura of luxury. Every inch of the space exuded money, from the intricately crafted tiles adorning the floor to the exquisite canvases gracing the walls. Each stroke of paint seemed to shimmer with wealth, while the golden staircase soared elegantly.

My eyes danced from one decadent detail to another, taking in the surroundings with a mixture of awe and disbelief. Every corner boasted meticulous decorations, each piece more extravagant than the last, as if a symphony of riches played out before me. It was a scene straight out of the most lavish of fantasies, surpassing even the wildest dreams I could conjure.

Lost in the splendor of Lorenzo's home, I failed to notice his attentive gaze fixed upon me, a subtle smile dancing at the corners of his lips as his hands rested casually in his pockets. A wave of self-consciousness washed over me, fearing I might be unwittingly drooling under his scrutiny. But can I really be blamed? It's not every day a girl like me, raised without parents from a tender age, scraping by to make ends meet, finds herself immersed in such grandeur.

His house could easily accommodate dozens of houses like mine, perhaps even more. But who's counting? A nervous cough escaped me as I finally tore my gaze away from the opulent surroundings to meet Lorenzo's amused expression. "Sorry." I felt the need to explain myself for being too caught up with my surroundings. "It's just that... your house is absolutely stunning."

"Good. I'm glad you like it, actually." His words left me puzzled, a furrow forming between my brows as I struggled to decipher his meaning. Before I could inquire further, Giovanni’s arrival shut me up. Lorenzo tensed noticeably at his entrance.

"Maria!" Lorenzo's voice echoed through the room, drawing attention as a woman emerged from the dimly lit hallway.

"Yes, Mr. Martinez?" Her voice was a gentle melody, hands clasped before her as she waited patiently.

"Serve Miss Angela dinner," Lorenzo's gaze flickered momentarily towards me. Was he going somewhere? "I'll be late," he added with a hint of reluctance in his tone.

"Of course." Maria's response was immediate. Lorenzo's gaze lingered on me again for a while—maybe just seconds. But the intensity made me almost believe he didn't want to leave me alone. As if his eyes longed for something. But who was I kidding? I was reading too much into it.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," he explained. "You must eat.” I nodded in response. Without another word, he left.

"Follow me, ma'am." Maria's voice broke through my thoughts. Hungry or not, I trailed after her. This way, I could at least tour his house.

***

Lorenzo

I stared out of the glass window of my secluded office. Situated at the far end of the house, away from the main living area, this space offered me the privacy I craved.

"How did it happen?" My words were laced with simmering anger as I addressed the matter at hand. “Was it the Russians?” The mere mention of the Russians igniting a deep-seated animosity that had long festered between our factions. The bratva, my most formidable rivals in the underworld, had been a thorn in our side for generations. Their constant invasion of our territories was a clear offense to our authority, showing their insatiable greed.

"We're not sure, but all signs point to them," came the grim reply, confirming my worst fears. The thought of the Russians setting Angela's house on fire filled me with a sense of dread. That's what Giovanni called me for when I was on the way to drop Angela off at her home. And I had no other option but to bring her to my place. Anywhere else wasn’t safe for her anymore. Which reminds me, I still have to break the news of her house to her. Fuck! She will be devastated. They had crossed a line, threatening her safety. And anyone foolish enough to even consider interfering with Angela will find themselves inviting the wrath of war upon them from me.

For the past year, I have kept a vigilant watch over Angela, ever since the day she saved me that night. It was an admission I dared not utter aloud—that I had become fixated on her, consumed by an inexplicable obsession that defied reason. I knew it was madness, but I couldn't help myself. My thoughts were consumed by her, and my actions were dictated by the need to protect her at all costs.

I knew everything about her—how she had tragically lost her parents in a car accident when she was eight, how she had been thrust into the foster care system, and endured a tumultuous upbringing at the hands of indifferent guardians. Thankfully, they weren’t harsh on her. Or else I would have to hunt them down to have a little 'meeting' with them. When she turned eighteen, she had legally inherited the property and a car her parents had left behind. From that moment on, she toiled tirelessly, working as a waitress at the club where our paths had first crossed. She also enrolled herself in a medical college since she wanted to become a surgeon but couldn't afford it with her tireless shifts and negligible amount of savings.

Angela had moved on to Gloria's Cafe after the club was destroyed, forging a new friendship with Emily along the way. Of course, I ran checks on Emily's background to ensure she posed no threat to Angela's safety.

Angela loves lasagna and every other kind of pasta that exists. She absolutely despises summers and is more of a winter girl. From her favorite hobby being reading to her not liking makeup, I knew everything I needed to. Such was the extent of my obsession, my unwavering dedication to safeguarding the woman who had unwittingly captured my mind, heart, and soul. And I was ready to go to any lengths for her.

"What do you want me to do now?" Giovanni's voice broke through my thoughts, bringing me back to the present moment.

"Keep an eye on the house. Look out for any suspicious activity. Was the fire put out?" I inquired, my mind already racing with possibilities.

"Yes, the neighbors called the fire department once they noticed the blaze engulfing the house. They believe it was caused by a hair straightener left on by Miss Angela before she left, causing an electrical malfunction. But upon closer investigation, I found this," Giovanni revealed, producing an intricately designed metal lighter from his pocket. I took it, scrutinizing every detail for clues. My gaze lingered on a familiar symbol etched onto its surface—the Joker from a deck of cards, grinning mockingly at me as if taunting my inability to prevent this chaos.

"What does it mean?" Giovanni asked, confusion evident in his expression as he studied the symbol. But to me, the meaning was all too clear. The one who gets the Joker in the game of war wins.

"It means war." My voice was low and tinged with a steely resolve. This was no coincidence; it was a deliberate message, a warning that the game had begun. And I had no intention of sitting idly while my enemies made their move.

“Get the footage from the cameras,” I said. Of course, I had installed cameras around Angela's house for her safety. I wasn’t taking any chances when it came to her. She, however, didn’t have to know about any of that.

“They were tampered with. But we are trying,” Giovanni said.

A loud crash shattered the stillness outside my office, prompting my eyes to snap up to the monitor displaying footage from the corridor. Angela appeared on the screen, grappling with the aftermath of a shattered vase. Its pieces were scattered haphazardly across the floor. Without a moment's hesitation, I bolted out of my office with Giovanni hot on my heels.

As I reached Angela, I found her cursing under her breath, frantically gathering the broken shards of glass. "Shit, shit, shit. This must be so expensive. Way to go, Angela! Your clumsiness will come to bite you in the ass! You should have just stayed in the living room after the freaking dinner." She hissed, berating herself in the middle of the scattered shards, oblivious to my presence, until I caught her by the arm and pulled her upright with a single motion.

"What are you doing?" My voice emerged sharper than intended, not driven by anger at the damage she had caused, but by concern for her safety. The sight of her handling the sharp glass sent a pang of worry coursing through me—the last thing I needed was for her to injure herself.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do that," Angela's words spilled out in a torrent of apologies. "I just lost my way after dinner. I tried to look for Maria, but I think she might have retired to her quarter. I was looking for you since it was very late, and I needed to go home. But I didn't know which way to go, so I got lost. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to break it. I can pay for it, I swear." Angela's voice trailed off in a frantic stream of apologies, but my attention was drawn to her injured hand. A splinter had pierced her skin. Blood began to seep from the wound.

Ignoring her frantic protests, I guided her swiftly to the kitchen. "I'm really sorry. I swear, I didn't mean it." She continued to babble, her words falling on deaf ears as I focused on tending to the wound. If only she knew the broken vase was the least of my concerns compared to the potential harm she could have inflicted upon herself.

She only noticed the injury once I retrieved the first aid kit from the cabinet. Confusion flashed across her face as I carefully removed the shard from her skin and began cleaning the wound with cotton. She glanced at me before fixing her gaze on the simple task at hand. I couldn't help but notice how often she watched me, a habit I found oddly endearing. She didn't know yet that she belonged to me from the moment I set my eyes on her, just as I belonged to her.

Angela winced when the antiseptic-soaked cotton touched her skin. "Sorry, it'll sting a bit," I murmured, surprised by my own apology. It seemed like a lot of things were a first since she entered my life.

After bandaging her wound, I tucked the first aid kit away, resisting the urge to indulge in darker desires. The desires that were screaming at me to lick the blood clean off her skin instead of using the cotton. But I pushed them away. She was innocent, and I couldn't risk frightening her with my own impure thoughts.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" I inquired, breaking the silence that had settled between us.

She shook her head, emerging from her thoughts. “No.” I sighed, glad at the revelation. "Um, so about the vase..." she began tentatively. "Can you tell me how much it was?" Her innocence tugged at something within me, and I decided to play along. "I got it from my trip to L.A. It was a limited edition design that cost me seventy-five thousand dollars," I replied, maintaining a serious expression as her eyes widened in disbelief.

"Oh," she breathed after a moment, her voice laced with apprehension. "I see. Can I pay for it in installments, then? I don't have seventy-five... uh, thousand dollars on me right now." She said after much thought.

Suppressing a smirk, I reassured her, "It's fine. I was kidding. You don't have to pay. It actually only cost a few hundred dollars." Lies. “Wouldn't make a dent in my account."

She chuckled awkwardly. "Are you sure, though? I can afford a few hundred dollars," she insisted.

"I'm sure, Dolcezza ," I assured her, slipping in the endearment to gauge her reaction.

"Huh?" Confusion flickered across her features, and I made a mental note to see if she would look up the term later. "Okay, if you say so," she acquiesced, her mind clearly preoccupied.

"What is it?" I prompted, sensing there was more on her mind.

"Um, can you take me home now?" she asked, her fingers fidgeting nervously. Anger surged within me as I remembered the painful truth I had to deliver.

"You can't go back home, Angel.”

***