Sold to the mafia boss

Layla’s P. O. V.

My father always said that life is what you make of it. What you mould of it. It’s your own story to tell and you’re the one writing it, moulding it, until it fits the way you want.

I’m writing my own story now. My life is my own manuscript, a composition of thoughts, wishes, and fears, all shaped into thoughts until I’m content with what I’d brought into my mind. Sometimes those thoughts reshape on their own, though. Sometimes, the story I’m composing finds its own rhythm. Just like tonight.

A new chapter in my life had opened the night I walked into my own home to meet guns pointed at my parents’ faces, to meet Logan standing tall and intimidating, waiting for my arrival. The day I’d last saw and spoken to my best friend and ex boyfriend. That chapter of my life had ended there that night.

It was like I was reborn into the arms of Logan DeAngelo. Over the course of months I’ve spent with him, knowing him and growing fund of him, I’d been his and somehow he was mine. The feeling when I looked into his eyes were ones I’d never be able to comprehend. I saw need and lust in his eyes. But no love.

I’m starting to wonder if I really wanted to escape from here. He was all I knew in months and all I got. He was correct about that.

I like to believe that whatever I do, letting my heart race after him was part of my plans of escaping in the nearest future. Get him to trust me, then I’d run off right in the open.

As I sat next to the new book I was reading for the late morning, my legs propped up on the center glass table, I couldn’t stop smiling. I had the chocolate box next to me. I’d eaten a couple of pieces of it last night. After having breakfast, I didn’t know what better way to enjoy it than reading my book with it.

I heard the sound of the door bolting and clicking open and I looked far to see who was coming in. I knew Logan wasn’t gonna be home today or any day soon. I also knew Dani wasn’t going to check me this early in the morning from wherever he crawls out from.

I saw black leather heels walk in and I followed it to find Antoniette’s face, smiling as she walked in, all dressed up.

She’s dressed in green checkered blazers that fitted her tall height, stopping at her calf, halfway through her leather boots. She’s carrying a big brown box in her arms as she walked in, half of her face hidden behind the box, only looking through the side to give me a smile as she approached.

I smiled back. I couldn’t feel any more glad to be seeing her here right this moment. Antoniette had left just like that. She’d cared for me when I’d first arrived into this mansion and then I didn’t see her anymore and Logan wouldn’t tell me where she went. If she came back now, it was only Logan who made that possible.

“Layla” she calls, setting down the box on the table.

She probably hadn’t expected what I did next because I threw myself at her, hugging her tight like I’d known her all my life.

“Oh! It’s nice to see you too miss Layla”

Releasing her, I asked ” where have you been?”

“I know Logan asked you to leave,” I said as soon as she tried to reply my question, cutting her off before she even started. “He wouldn’t tell me why”

” There wasn’t a genuine reason needed, Miss Layla. I served my time and needed to leave to my own life”

“You don’t work full time for Logan like the rest of his men?”

“Well, ” she steps back towards the box, caressing it’s edges with her long fingers “I’ve been working for him for over six years now. my work isn’t permanently here. I only come to cook and do some cleaning, leave, repeat and help with some other jobs outside this place. Pretty easy ”

I thought of all other questions to ask but stopped myself. I’ve been wanting to see this woman for months and now that she’s here, bombarding her with useless questions wasn’t the best way to spend our time.

” So why did you come back now? I thought you left for good?” I asked, feeling spirited once again.

“Ah, yes. Mr DeAngelo phoned me yesterday. Asked me to go to Paris and pick something up for you. Here it is”

My eyes follows her pointed finger towards the large box.

“What’s that?” I asked as I started walking towards her.

“Why don’t you find out?” She replied, pulling off the handgloves from her other hand.

I reached for the box, unsure of what to do before carefully opening it. I found white crispy substances on it, a black wooden frame appearing underneath. I dug my hand inside it to feel it. It was a frame of s picture. I carefully retrieved it, turning it around to find something that would blow my mind, leave me stunned and eyes peering open like saucers.

The frame was a large image of a woman, painted in beautiful details with brush strokes that told stories to the one who knew how to read paintings. Logan knew she loved art, paintings. She had hinted him that at their last dinner. And he’d brought her this. The image of a tall, slim woman in a blue flowing gown whose face is thrown to the side, one leg protruding from the slit in her dress. An African emerald comb beautifies her hair like a crown sitting on her brown hair. She looked beautiful.

As I held the image staring at it, my heart beat rhythmically. I didn’t know why but it did.