Arabella Malik, the lethal American mob boss's daughter.
The beauty of the nineteen-year-old was well-known. Her hourglass figure and glowing grey eyes-which mirrored her father's, had practically everyone praising the ground she walked on.
Arabella...
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✰ Ａｒａｂｅｌｌａ ✰
"𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐲"
"Sh," I mumbled and swatted his hand away.
"Ella, it's five pm," He said sternly, seeming to be nearly exasperated. I sighed into the pillow and didn't make any motive to move.
It went quiet and I mentally grinned as I thought I had gotten away with sleeping, that was until the sound of a smack echoed across the room and the sting on my bottom had jolted me from my position.
My eyes snapped towards a smirking Roman as he nodded towards the bathroom, once. "Up, now."
Huffing, I stand from the bed and rub my ass cheek to which he slapped and trudged around him.
He chuckled and I slammed the bathroom door closed as I went to pee. After that, I had a quick shower—washing my hair in the process and got out.
Tonight, Roman and I both had a mission to go on. We were supposedly looking for a woman this time—she owed Roman a large sum of money for the club she owns, which Roman had lent her to profit from.
Her due date was last month, and she had given nothing but a good reason to come and find her. If she hadn't gotten the money, she dies.
I took a pair of black leather leggings, the pair curving around my bottom nicely and flaring a little from the ends of the pants. I wore a beige, tight-fitting long-sleeved top, it was cropped to my stomach and also fits nicely around my top half.
Matching the outfit with a pair of short, high heeled boots, also black. I blow-dried my hair and decided to curl it a little—giving a sort of soft curl/wave type of look.
My makeup was light, applying mascara and some cherry lipgloss. Spraying perfume along my collar, I turned on my feet and looked at myself from the mirrors POV.
Once I adjusted everything to my liking, I stepped away from vanity and returned through the house.
Roman was downstairs, his phone towards his ear as someone spoke feverishly into it. As he was occupied, I looked over his appearance and immediately I felt myself become heated.
A tight black dress shirt was upon the top half of his body, the first three buttons were undone—allowing his hidden tattoos to peak through. The sleeves hugged around his arms, causing his large biceps to show through easily.
The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, allowing, again, the tattoos to be revealed but also the silver watch on his wrist to glimmer under the light.
