Sold to Moretti Mafia

Claire

“What do you want from me?” Tears form in my eyes, and I blink them away. “I just want you to leave me alone, please,” I whisper the last part, trying to keep the emotions from bleeding into my voice.

“I’m sorry, Claire. I can’t.” His voice is steel, an iron shackle around my ankle locking closed. “Eat your lunch and get inside. I don’t want you to get sick.”

My jaw clenches, and I pull the phone away from my ear, angrily pressing the red end key. Looking around, I scan the area for him or someone else watching me. He has to be close, or he wouldn’t know what I’m doing. Of course, I don’t see anyone. I never do, but I know he is close.

I hate him. I hate he saved me and that he still protects me. I hate that I ever said hi to him because maybe if I didn’t my father would still be here.Original content from NôvelDrama.Org.

I know it’s rude to watch people. To stare at them. I don’t like it when people stare at me, but I can’t help myself. Ever since he moved in a few weeks ago, I’m fascinated by the man that calls himself Lucca. I wonder if he would like to be my friend. I know he is older, but a friend can be anyone, and I want Lucca to be mine.

A frown forms on my face at the reminder of my lack of friends. I have no one to talk to, no one that likes me. My father only lets me leave the house for school, and the kids at school all think I’m weird because my clothes are old and stained. I wouldn’t dare embarrass myself further by explaining to them that my mother left and that my father, even though he works, likes to drink most of our money away.

“I don’t want you outside. Stay in the house, Claire. If I come home and find out you’ve been outside, I’ll lock you up.” The vein on the side of his head bulges, and his fists tighten. My entire body tenses, and my heart thunders in my chest.

Is he going to hit me again?

The thought makes me sick to my stomach. I keep it a secret, mainly because no one would care anyway, and also because I’m more afraid of losing my father than I am of his fists.

“I’ll stay inside. I promise.” I let the lie roll off my tongue. He has no way of knowing if I go out, I just have to be careful.

The disapproving look he gives me tells me he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t say anything else. He simply heads for the door and walks out, slamming it closed behind him.

I’m bouncing on the heels of my feet with excitement when I rush toward the back porch and press my face against the cold window to look outside. As soon as I spot Lucca sitting on his porch, I unlock the door and pull it open. Happiness bubbles up in my belly, and it feels like Christmas morning back when Momma and Daddy were both home, and Daddy wasn’t drinking or raising his fists to Momma or me.

Taking a deep breath, I stare at the man. I should fear him. I don’t know him. He is a stranger to me, and yet he doesn’t seem like a stranger.

The moment he hears the creak of the door, his gaze lifts, and our eyes collide. I’m suspended in time for a second, and my chest hurts, my heart galloping like a racehorse inside of it. I told myself that if I got the chance to talk to him this time, I would be better prepared, but it seems once again, I’m not.

He has the ability to leave me speechless, and I don’t understand why. He makes me nervous, but not in a scary way.

“Hey, butterfly.” He gives me a small wave.

“Hi.”

“She speaks!” His lips curl into a smile, and the tension eases from my stomach.

“Claire… My name is Claire,” I introduce myself.

“Nice to meet you, Claire.” He holds out his hand like he wants me to shake it.

I look at it for a moment before deciding to close the distance between us and put my hand in his. That’s when our size difference really hits me. My hand looks so small and dainty as I place it in his ginormous one. For a second, I think he is going to crush my bones, but when his grip closes around mine, it’s gentle and soft.

As soon as I let go, I take a step back, feeling like I need to put some space between us. I take a seat on the edge of his patio and watch him take a sip of his beer.

“Where did you live before you moved here?” I ask curiously.

“A lot of different places. I moved from one foster family to the next until I aged out. Now I work and got my own place,” he explains.

“What do you do for work?”

“Something different every day. Odd jobs, I guess.” His answer is vague.

“What happened to your parents? Why were you in foster care?”

He chuckles. “First, you don’t talk at all, and now you come at me with all these questions.”

“Sorry.” My cheeks heat. “You don’t have to answer.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I never met my dad, and my mom died when I was little. Car accident.”

“I’m sorry your mom died. Mine left when I was eight.” On my eighth birthday, to be exact, but I don’t mention that part. “It’s my fault she left.”

“I don’t believe that, for a second. Why would you think it was your fault?”

Because my dad tells me it is all the time.

I shrug. “I just know.”

He looks off into the distance and takes another drink of his beer. Usually, when my father drinks, I’m tense and stay hidden in my room until the morning. I’m not scared of this man, even though I know I should be.

“Well, you’re wrong. You’re just a kid; if your mom’s gone, it’s because she chose to leave. Not because you did anything.”

All I can do is shake my head and look away. “Maybe, but that’s not what my dad says.”

“Your dad’s stupid,” he growls, and I jump, startled by the sound that comes from his mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he adds.

“It’s okay.” My voice comes out squeaky.

Turning the conversation around, he asks, “What do you do for fun?” I cock my head to the side and stare at him. If there was anyone I could’ve pictured as prince charming, it would be him. I feel safe with him, protected.

“Usually, I just read or sit outside. That’s when I’m not at school. I’m usually pretty bored, though, especially when my dad is at work.”

“Does he work a lot?” Lucca asks.

I nod. “Yeah, but when he isn’t at work, he’s sleeping or drinking so…” I realize I’ve said too much and press my lips together to stop myself from saying anything more.

Lucca’s features darken, and he leans in, his eyes zeroing in on my face, making me feel like I’m being inspected. “If you need anything, butterfly, you can come to me. I will help you. Day or night.”

Maybe my life would be different if I had never talked to him, or maybe I would be worse off. I wipe at the stray tears that fall from my eyes and trail down my cheeks.

Why does he continue to do this?

I’m no longer his responsibility.

No longer his problem, and still, he protects me.

I have to prove to him I don’t need him anymore. I have to make him go away. There’s no other option.