"I'm the leader of the Italian mafia. Now, do you understand?" I replied casually.
Her beautiful face pales as she falls back on her ass, her eyes wider than ever. She looked positively frightened.
"Oh God…this isn't happening..." she slaps a hand over her mouth, shaking her head in denial as fresh bouts of tears streamed down her face.
"How did I get myself into this?" She sobs.
"Hey.. eyes up here, Genevieve," I said waving the gun in her face to get her attention. She looks up at me in apprehension.
"Please, sir… I'm begging you, don't kill me. I'll do anything... just please.."  she trails off, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs.
Now that's very interesting.
"You'll do anything I say?" I asked, stroking her cheek as she held her breath.
"Yes.." she replied swiftly, nodding her head.
"Okay."  I stood back up to my full 6ft 2 height looking down at her.
"I want you to give me an heir." 
********
Lorenzo Barbieri was shot and wounded in a gun smuggling shipment. Genevieve was abducted by unknown men and forced to treat the Italian mafia boss--Lorenzo Barbieri. Lorenzo Barbieri needs an heir. He used every possible means to force Genevieve to marry him. Their lives are now entwined, leading to a loveless marriage. Soon after, Lorenzo's brother finds Genevieve was his childhood sweetheart. And he decided to pursue her. What will Lorenzo do when he realizes he has already fallen for Genevieve? Will he do something to win back her heart?

Nursing The Mafia Boss

　　I've been so guilty and ashamed of myself for the past four days. Now I understand why people cringe at past decisions or actions they took before, and believe me when I say that it's not a very pleasant feeling.


　　I'm literally cringing every time I see Lorenzo, and for some weird reason, he's been at home for over a week now.


　　Maybe he's just trying to watch over you like he's been doing ever since that day.


　　I was on the phone earlier this morning with Barb when he entered the dining room, and I quickly averted my gaze and sprinted out of the dining room immediately without a backward glance, like I just came face to face with a ghost or a demon.


　　I haven't had the boldness to apologize for my wrongdoing last week; I accused him, cursed him out, and went overboard by hitting him.


　　Most times, I wonder why he didn't kill me that night, considering the fact that he shot a woman in my presence when she yelled at him. It's a miracle.


CHAPTER 115 Scars