Gael's Naughty Angel: A Mafia Prince Romance

"Let's go inside. It's gonna get colder out here," said Gael as he took Angela's hand and walked her towards the door of his house.

He opened the white double doors and stepped inside, dropping his car keys on the small tray on the buffet table to his left. Then he took off their coats and hung them on the hooks to their right. "This is it." He smiled, waving his hand and stepping aside to give her the first view of the interior from the foyer. 

Gael's mother was a very neat and clean woman who always made sure the house was orderly even though she was quite busy with work. White walls stretched towards the kitchen down the hall with cream trimmings. Like most brownstones, the stairs were near the foyer and the living room was on the opposite side. It used to have a traditional interior, but over the years, Gael had done renovations and updated the furniture so it was a combination of contemporary and traditional. It looked breathtaking. 

"Wow… Your house is lovely...elegant… It's gorgeous. I didn't peg you for this kind of decor," Angela muttered, her eyes still scanning the room.

"Why? What did you think my house looked like?"

"I don't know… You're a bachelor. I thought you'd enjoy something dark and edgy—maybe a stripper pole in the middle of the living room," she joked.

He playfully poked her waist, making her giggle. Then he pulled her to his side. "I wanted to keep it as it was. My mother loved this house, and so did I, so I didn't want to do anything drastic. However, I do own a 'dark and edgy' apartment in the middle of Manhattan. I don't have a pole, but I can arrange that—as long as you're dancing for me." He winked.

"In your dreams, De Luca." She rolled her eyes.

"Trust me. It's in mine." Gael leaned in, and she tried to escape from his arms, his lips landing on her neck.

With his arm still around her waist, he was going to scoop her up when a soft thud sounded from the second floor. He snapped his head towards the stairs, and his eyes narrowed.

"Wha—" Angela stifled when his hand covered her mouth, and he lifted a finger to his lips. She nodded, and he released her.

Gael quietly opened the leftmost drawer on the buffet table, retrieving a Glock G19. He checked the magazine and swiftly slotted it in place before turning towards the stairs. He noticed Angela's widened eyes as she looked at the gun in his hand, and he didn't want her to see this, but if someone was inside his house, they'd better start praying. 

He immediately hid the gun behind him so she didn't have to see it. There was another thud and his jaw ticked. Snatching the car key from the tray, he shoved it into her hand and whispered, "I'm going upstairs. You stay here. If anything happens, run to the car and leave."

Angela started to protest but Gael shook his head at her. Then he went to sweep the living room and kitchen—clear. His footsteps were light and his movements were quick. He glanced at her briefly before walking up the stairs. His gun that was pointed at the floor was now raised as he ascended. The thudding continued. It was soft and probably Angela couldn't hear it but he could. His senses were heightened especially when in danger. 

As he landed, he was about to check the first bedroom to his left, but just as he took a careful step, there was another thud. He swung his gun to the right, pointing at the bathroom door, his eyes narrowing as he walked towards it. Gael never had any intruders in his house. No one dared to touch him in his street. So whoever this was inside, they'd be a dead man.

With one hand on the gun pointed at the front and the other wrapped around the door handle, he pushed the door open, ready to shoot the fûcker in the face—but he halted.

Round yellow eyes with black vertical slits stared up at him. Its grey fluffy fur had specs of white dust on it from the snow outside and its paw was touching the glass window. He lowered his gun and for three long seconds, they stared at each other without moving—until the feline tapped the glass, causing the thudding sound. 

Gael rubbed his hand over his face. "Dumb cat," he muttered but opened the window to let it in, its tail slowly wagging from side to side. 

"Meow."

"Yeah. Shut up." He picked it up and headed back down the stairs. If Giovanni heard about this, Gael would probably wish there was an intruder instead—a human one.

"False alarm. It's a cat," he announced and saw Angela exhale a sigh of relief. The cat leaped off from his arms, sauntering towards the kitchen like it owned the damn place. "This cat... I swear, I think it can smell me from a mile away."

"Oh... Whose is it?"

"A neighbor's a couple of doors down." Gael put the gun back in the drawer. "It usually scratches the back door but I guess it got stuck up there tonight." 

When he looked at her again, he noticed her clutching her hands together and he cursed in his head. Today had been quite eventful for Angela as she got to witness a lot of things that he didn't want her to see. Initially, he did want her to have a glimpse of his life but not only did she see him being violent earlier today, she also saw him with a gun—which she was clearly afraid of when she saw Trigger stuffing it behind him in the afternoon when he went to get the money. It was as if the universe wanted her to see all of his darkness in one day.

He should have brought her straight to the airport and fly back to Esmea as soon as possible. Every minute made him feel like letting her come to New York with him was a bad idea. 

Slowly approaching Angela, Gael tentatively reached for her arm. "Did I scare you?"

"A little. But I'm okay." She took a deep breath and shook her head as if attempting to brush her thoughts away. Then she smiled.

"Meow!" The cat sat in the middle of the hallway facing them.

He looked at it and narrowed his eyes.

"Maybe it's hungry?" Angela probed and they walked towards it.

"It comes whenever I'm home and I don't even like cats. I don't know why it keeps coming here," he responded as he strolled into the kitchen and poured milk in a small bowl, then opened a canned tuna. He set them on the floor next to the fridge.

"You keep feeding it. So it will naturally come back."

"Hey, cat. Stop coming here. This isn't your turf."

Angela laughed. He took her hand, motioning her out of the kitchen. "Come on, I'll show you the rest of the house."

Gael gave her a tour around the ground floor and she stopped in front of a shelf where some of his childhood pictures were framed. She picked up a photo of him and his mother at the park. He was seven years old and his mother had her arms around him, both of them smiling at the camera.

"You're so cute. And she's very pretty." Angela gazed up at him, meeting his grey eyes.

"Yeah. She was."

It wasn't that he didn't like talking about his mother, but even after so many years, the pain of losing her was still etched in his heart. It never dulled like they said it would. And he didn't want to make Angela uncomfortable, knowing that she didn't have a mother growing up. She didn't talk about her mother either.

When she put the frame back to its place, he grabbed her hand and brought her up to the second floor. A sudden fluttery feeling warmed his chest like he was a teenager bringing up a girl to his room in secret. Why the hell did he become nervous all of a sudden? It's not like it was the first time they would be alone in a room.

Gael pushed the door open, turned the lights on, and leaned against the door frame, allowing her to enter his bedroom. She scanned the space, taking in the grey walls, black rug, King-sized bed, and dark wood furniture pieces. He told her that he had changed this room a lot to suit his style, but also still kept a few of his stuff from when he was in high school.

Angela ambled towards his bed and she sat down on it, her eyes fixed at the books on the nightstand. 

Shît. He forgot that he left them there. 

She took the topmost book—a red and white cover with the words ''Falling in Love With the Mafia Prince'' written on it. She touched the worn-out edges—for the countless times he'd flip them open and close over the past months. Then she motioned towards the rest of her books on the nightstand—all hardbound copies. "Y-You read all my books?"

He shrugged. "Can I get your autograph?"