Milan, Italy.

Six years ago, I roamed the streets of Milan. Business as always for me, a mere watch dog for an idiot without a leash. With only a half of beer in he slumps over the counter of the bar, groaning and whining at how about his usual problems. Frankly I tire of listening to him speak, mixed reactions and glares all around the bar taunting at his childish acts.

"When will he see me as a man?" he groans like a drunken man. Speaking out loud assuming there was someone nearby him that can give the answer he searches for. "Hmmm, I am the one that picks out the best of the best guards, gives him ideas and even organizes some of his best proposals.

Two lies and a truth.

Only thing he has ever been good at was sleeping with a multitude of international women, scams, however I will pay him respect for his some of his underground plans. As much as I hated to admit it, there was a way he articulates schemes that makes even well-known mobs slip. If only he can actually use that same IQ to manage a way to gain his father's respects. Perhaps that was for the better.

His groans only deepening garnering the attention of a few Italian men in a corner, dressed in black and dark looks of annoyance, my jaw ticking with a boiling aggravation at the symbolic tattoos on one of their knuckles, just what I needed; to deal with the Italian mafia over some spoiled idiot that couldn't handle not being invited to the club.

It was the same in Sweden.

Every time I want to remain discreet, there he goes bringing us attention.

"Let's get going sir,"

Like a lazy dog he groans to sound of my voice, head buried in between his folded arms before he lifts it an inch, looking over to me. "Hmmm?"

I feel the glares of the same men watching the scene with intensity, I'm cautious, trying to keep him as steady as possible. Gazes of women and men around, how embarrassing.

"Nasir," he breathes respiration irregular, though unsteady he rose up to his full height, emotions too overwhelming and he stumbles down. I have done best to avoid touching him at all costs, but to my misfortune my hands flew up to catch his frame.

Through the peak of his eyelids, he leers up to me. "You know, my life maybe bad" a hiccup at the end of the sentence but he continues on, "but I'm glad I didn't end up like your dead friends." Baring his ivory teeth in a cockish manner.

As always, he strikes a nerve. My fingers thirsting to break his neck but instead I blanket the emotion chuckle. My way out the bar couldn't come any faster enough, his body weight only slowing me down, the bottled anger boiling to an unbearable degree, dark eyes of the men linger on us until we were finally out of sight.

***

Darkness blankets through the horizon yet the city still sparkling with lights, life still radiates despite the late hour. Prince Gunter was asleep, and the King hasn't requested my presence, I was free for the night, but how would I spend it?

Never have I stepped foot in Italy before, and my demeanor could attract the wrong crowd, A once in a lifetime opportunity but it is best I spend it in my room. Just down below in the bunks was me and Ray's room, despite us working in the successful mob; we weren't granted the same luxury, or at least have not yet earned the rank.

The thought of laying down welcomes a strange exhaustion.

I walk into the room, a blue hue of the moons ray seeps into the cracks of the worn-out blinds dimming out our little space. Two queen beds on each side of the wall, with a view. Ray wrapped in his blankets head to toe already fast asleep, hopefully it can be easy for me.

Envious I am.

It never dawns on me how many layers of clothing I wear during the day until I remove them at night; dress suit, shoes, socks, two bullet proof vests and my dress shirt leaving me down to only my unbuckled trousers.

Clicks of the belt jingle around my waist as I walk over to the long mirror, been forever since I had a moment. The reflection of my sturdy arms flexing in the mirror, curly hair loosely swaying with every swift turn of my head, who did I resemble most, mother or father?

Any little vision I had of their faces long faded from my memories. My brother's ghost has stopped visiting me, a painful reminder in it itself, though fully grown, I lived the remainder of my youth as an orphan.

Ray's body shifting in the upper corner of the mirror, I chuckle. Maybe I am not alone as I think.

The clock Strucks one and I am laying on my back, head resting on an arm with the other leaving feather like touches on my stomach, tracing light circles onto my abs, goosebumps prickling all over my skin. Bones quavering as they beckoned me for more until I'm gliding them lower to the bands of my grey joggers. Discovering any hidden pleasures and prod them for a sweeter sensation.

Calloused fingers slipping through the rubber of my boxers until I feel the shaven swell of the organ and hissed wrapping my cold fingers against the heat.

As always, morning and night, he was insatiable, erected and throbbing. Veins pulsate with urge. No matter how many seeds I spilled he didn't get enough. Barely gripping around it fully. Heavy to the touch, imploring to be submerged in a throat.

Now that I held it, I couldn't help but stroke it, but to whom? it has been years since I have last touch the softness of a woman, despite traveling to many countries, the women for sure were very pleasing to look at.

But none made my heart beat the way one of them did, silly to think a thought. I know she is a grown woman now, yet my troubles are wondering how she has flourished. It was difficult but only thinking of it further will anger the organ in my palm, he pulsates with need I couldn't provide.

Italian women are indeed very beautiful, luscious midnight hair to the olive tan, down to the curves and long sturdy legs. One glace of those sharp eyes and any man could fall to their feet, but I refuse to step out just to find a local and get her into bed like some of my peers, they are not prostitutes. Rather women who deserved fine dining and it was the time I did not have.

Sleeping it off is my best option.

***

"Hey Nasir, look she is back!"

I groaned, the sound of my name is a whisper and I peel them open, blurred vision before heightening after a deep blink, to a naked Ray. Standing up to look out the window.

"Look Nasir, the star is back, she is calling me." his enthusiasm soaring as he looks back and forth to me and the sky. The blue hue illuminating his naked physique, sometimes things are best left in the dark.

My chest rises and I force my eyes not to roll with annoyance, he didn't take his meds before bed again, "Ray go back to sleep." My voice groggy, deep tone rumbles my chest instead of sound. Barely audible for even I to notice what I just said.

"No, look Nasir -" he giggles. "Evangeline is back, she came back."

"That's good Ray but -"

"Look, please, come."

My dearest friend never recovered from his PTSD's, for as far as I can remember Charlotte and I have kept it a secret from Gunter and everyone else, including him. We supply him with medications to at least calm it down, but as a side effect when he does not take them, he creates persona's to where he truly believes that he is visited by an angel named Evangeline, she is his long-lost lover and waits for him to die so they can reunite. The only way for him to do so is strip naked and either jump from a balcony, or impale himself with a blade, severing any vital nerve.

Countless of cuts I have endured from him alone simply by stopping him, hence why sleep can be hard for me. Luckily my only leverage is he likes to wake me up when she arrives, so that gives me a heads up.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, forcing the remainder of sleep to fade along with the bubbling annoyance. And now I have to be fully awake and it's only four o'clock in the morning. "I'm coming Ray, let me see her."

"Look there she is." he points up to the twinkling star, the brightest of them all.

A beauty indeed but it unlocks a memory for me, a rare diamond that burns millions of miles away but twinkles like a firefly in the blanket of darkness in the sky, if she can be seen all the way up in Europe than I know someone else was watching her in New Orleans down in America. "She is very beautiful ray, now let's go back to bed."

"I can't she -" I yank him by the arm, away from the window, bolting it behind me. His shaft swinging and I am careful it doesn't touch me. I want to forget this night as soon as possible.

Pain evident in his voice, "But Nasir she was calling me, I can't jus-"

Down I lay him, throwing the duvet above to his neck, "It's ok, I know she is, but she said she won't come back if you don't take these pills."

A look of disagreement in his eyes, "she doesn't want me taking those Nasir, she says they are bad."

I left one child for another, little by little his sanity slips, but these pills are not only a best possible way to somewhat control the mental illness, but they are laced with a powerful sleeping drug. It will knock him out for the night but waking him up is always the issue, how many excuses could I tell before he is investigated. Luckily Charlotte stalls them long enough.

***

The Jim Beam bourbon races down my throat leaving me to wince from the burn in my throat, still exhausted and now semi delirious from the alcohol. I sit on the bar stool in the kitchen, in only my joggers. After 45 minutes of struggle, Ray is now officially asleep.

I am so broken it hurts; I want to end this misery. But I know some things in my life are incomplete, I am only 24 years old but worked like a dog, a mysterious ache in my chest leaving me hollow. A part of me wants to go back to the drugs, just for a temporary freedom, but my body has grown accustomed to the adrenaline it furnishes to me now leaving me with nothing.

Just as I take another sip of my bourbon came a sniffle from a nearby maid. Light toned and curvy, firm legs. Unknowingly my eyes were locked on her to the point she couldn't look up. Tight curls bouncing on her shoulders but maintaining its density.

Perhaps it is the alcohol streaming through my veins that makes the idea of a slight conversation amusing, a temporary escape from my problems and walk through someone else's shoes.

Or.

Is it the angry throbbing in my trousers that makes the sight of the woman before me so delicious.

Shamelessly I sweep my eyes down the small of her backside, the firm of her legs and claves were evident of the sculptor of her body hidden underneath the minuscule of her maid attire, she bends over to reach something and the edge of the dress lift, showcasing an all-black garner belt unstrapped. The thin line of her thong disappearing in between those juicy ass cheeks. I pictured my hands sinking into the meat of it while I eat her pussy backwards.

My urges roar to pounce, but then she suddenly sniffles before slightly sobbing to herself, and the predator in me recede. A woman is crying and all I thought of was sprawling her onto the table and claim her body like a feast.

What happened to hello? or fine dining, all women deserve fine dining. She was no different.

I knew best to mind my own, but her sorrow hits me like a blade. Alone and in pain, I would remember such feeling. "Why do you cry?" I question.

The rumble of my voice shook her softly, breaking whatever memory that brought her despair. The mane of her curls falls to her face against her cheeks as she looks down, not wanting to look me in the eyes. Living with the mafia, it was hard to tell who you could gaze up to and live to tell the tale, trust no one.

"It is alright, I am no threat." I make my voice soft, but the deepness of it sounded darker.

She sniffles, "I-I am sorry Mr. Nasir -" she finally turns, her soft words were staggered, they fall from her tongue lacing with dejection. She was unwell, never have I seen her before, but her body language spoke volumes.

"Turn to me."

Her pace leisure, an obvious hesitation. But eventually her slim, thick body rotates. Dark curls glimmer in the kitchen light but they hover over her eyes, I swallow. Eyeing those succulent pink lips, glossed. It was than her head rose and whatever lust I felt diminished at once. Caramelized skin tainted with a massive purple bruise, patched around her right eye.

Overwhelmed by my staring, her gaze lowers until she shy's her head away, lowering it in shame.

My fist clenched. Struck like a man, with no medical aid. Anger bubbling in my chest inspecting the awful purple discoloring of her face, she could have been a friend, a family. Or her.

Men who hit women are scum, a small corner of my lip curved into a smirk as I gulped the remaining bourbon welcoming the burn. "Who did this to you?"

She looks back up to me showcasing an expression, questioning why the concern.

"I don't like repeating myself," I chuckle.

"Casper," she exhales in one breath. The widened of her eyes hints her regret.

Of course it be him. Head of the coordinates, the man simply could not fathom rejection. Only his pride mattered and when it was shattered, he strikes. And it is usually towards those he felt were weak. This woman did not stand a chance.

Sternly I looked beyond, darkness swirling in my orbs. Tonight wasn't my night, first a drunken idiot, then Ray, and now a pervert. The boiling anger crinkles my skin like an empty bottle ready to erupt.

The visible rise and fall of my chest foreshadowed how I will spend my night and the young woman catches on. Just as I rose to my feet, she cries out to me, "Bu-but wait ple-"

"Wait here."

***

I returned several moments later; she washes my bloodied knuckles with warm water. Sanitizing my wounds, taking her sweet time as those slender fingers feel the callous and bone. Hungry eyes discreetly looking over to my chest, studying the lean physique of my body and the robust of my arms adorned with dark tattoos.

"My name is Nala" she says. Voice coats with trust.

"Nasir" I respond.

Since that night, she healed in my arms. Her trust fully earned, and consent given. Our hands refused to keep away; she would find ways to sneak into my cabin no matter where we were, and I would turn her body inside out. Her pussy clench deliciously around my dick salvaging the hunger that he contained. She gave me temporary purpose, a being that cared for my cuts and wounds.

I have dived into her embrace, falling for the beauty and intelligence. Was it all a delusion? even after it all; my temporary will to keep living even plotting to escape and go create lives. A part of me felt I treaded too close to the poison, after months of our episodes those feelings moved forward to something more sincere, at least to her. I still felt that empty feeling in my chest. Hallow, nothing but an abandoned shell on the beach, whilst sensing her emotions grow.

Then one night, it came to light.

"Thank you, Nasir," she told me. We lay naked on the ruined floor of my kitchen. Scattered with shards of dishes, slippery from her convulsion. Our chest heaving as we recover from the sudden session, her body strangely warm, limbs still jerking from my tongue and dick. She reaches to me, and I watch as she entangles her fingers into mine. Tiny manicured slender fingers against my massive, calloused ones. "Thank you for everything ... I love you."

She snuggles her sweaty face into my glistening chest, Love? she loved me? what was that word. And did I feel the same.

It became clear very quickly, I did not love her. Nor did I harbor any feeling of romance, my heart was still cold, but could never get enough of her soft body. Sadly, she sensed it and steered clear.

And now she spews the words that strike me more burden, that word. Hate. She hates me, but I could never hate her not when she is someone I will forever cherish into my life.