Married to the mafia boss Series

It is surprising to see Anastasia dressed and ready before I even wake up. She is tying her shoelaces as I sit up from the couch, hair full of bedhead, rubbing my eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Come on,” she signs.

Groaning I stretch my arms and back, sore from sleeping on the cramped couch. I miss the soft comfort of my bed but there’s no way Anastasia will trust me sleeping next to her. Truth be told, I don’t know if I would even trust myself. And there’s no way I’m letting her take the couch while I take the bed.NôvelD(ram)a.ôrg owns this content.

I groggily walk over to the bathroom and stare at myself for a couple of minutes. I’m exhausted. The bags under my eyes are dark and the whites of my eyes bloodshot. I cup my hands under the faucet and let cold water fill it as I splash it on my wash hoping it’ll wake me.

The majority of the night I spent awake with my hearing aids in waiting to hear Anastasia snore. It took her not enough an hour before I heard the loud guttural sound that came out of the back of her throat. I listened to it for a while, it made me feel at peace. I’ve been so accustomed to being alone-especially at night-it felt good to hear another person with me. So, I stayed awake listening to her snores as if it was my favorite in the world and in that moment last night, it was.

I text Christian and Piero to tell them to take care of things and that I won’t be in the office today. I grab a more casual suit and over my shoulder Anastasia is watching me like a hawk, her one eyebrow raised.

“What?” I sign.

“You’re going to wear that for shopping?”

“Yes,” I shrug. People recognize who I am in public and know I am the face of the Mafia. Know I am the Don. Ruler of Boston. No one would take me seriously if I went out in jeans and a t-shirt.

At least I’m wearing my casual suit. Navy pants and a white button-up shirt. I grab my Rolex watch from my dresser, my phone and wallet and I’m good to go. I slept with my hearing aids in so I obviously don’t need to put them in.

Once I open the door, Anastasia rushes down the hall and down the stairs, when I slowly make my way down, I see her standing in the foyer impatiently.

“No. Breakfast first.”

The grumpy look on her face almost makes me laugh but with a heavy sigh, she sits at the dining table with me as Isabella finishes making french toast.

“Slow down. You’re going to choke,” I watch as Anastasia devours her plate, taking big bites.

“The sooner we eat, the faster we can get out of this place.”

I frown. “What’s wrong with being here?”

“I should rephrase that,” she shakes her head. “I mean going out to the mall or out in general-it’s more freedom and I’m starting to feel a little stir crazy.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “I’m going to be holding you on a short leash I hope you realize.”

She mimics me by narrowing her eyes back at me. “I won’t ever forget that you’re the man who kidnapped me. Don’t worry.” I can sense the spiteful tone in her sign language.

My driver meets us outside my building and Anastasia and I pile into the back. She’s wearing her hat and sunglasses, her long red hair flowing down her chest. Unrecognizable.

The car ride is silent, like all of our car rides seem to be. The hostile tension once again making us both squirm uncomfortably. Our situation isn’t ideal, but at least I am trying to make the best of it.

But no matter what I do she will always come to the same conclusion; I am the man who took her.