Trapped by the Billionaire

ARIA

I sat alone at my own table, sipping coffee and suddenly, I felt a presence. All my life, I had felt it: an eye, an ethereal presence watching me. It almost felt like an invisible force, a supernatural being of some sort. Sometimes, I would turn around in apprehension but would find no one there aside my normal security team, courtesy of my father's reputation.

I was the only daughter amid the five offsprings of the most feared individual in New Mexico, my father and mafia boss Rafael Havier-Rodriguez. It was said that although each of my brothers belonged to a different mistress of my father, my mother had been the love of his life. Unfortunately, I had never had the chance to meet her because she had died while giving birth to me and her last wish which she had whispered in his ear with her dying breath was:

"Keep my bambina safe, diablo." Devil, it meant, my father's alias.

She had died from excessive internal bleeding, an haemorrhage which our family doctors had not detected early enough. Rabid with heated rage, my father had gone on a bloody rampage as he hunted down every medical staff on duty in that fated day. Lives had been lost including innocent people just going about their business. All had been indiscriminatedly gunned down, leaving the hospital littered with a pile of bodies.

However, no one could pin it on Father because there had been no concrete evidence presented to back up any accusations against him. Shortly after his interrogation, he was a free man again. The fatal event had darkened the day of my birthday for good. I was constantly reminded of how important my life was, much more than mindless frivolities and I had eventually bought into the idea, allowing myself to be sheltered from the world entirely.

My only friends were Capitol, my white Alsatian dog and my Apple laptop. Since I was only partly related to my brothers, they hardly wanted anything to do with me, only showing up at formal events and important family dinners. My half-brothers, Chan, Nikolaus, Giovanni and Lukas had all been sent away from home on several assignments by our father once they had all clocked twenty-one years old. My father never cared to establish a parental relationship with any of his sons. He merely saw them as soldiers, an addition to his ever-growing army.

The New Mexico Mafia was built on the shoulders of the four founding families- the Morello's, Javier's, Bonucci's and the Rodriguez's. The ruling head was dutifully rotated amongst the four families, usually the first born son being the boss. However, when the crown came to the doorsteps of the Javiers, something happened that had never occured in over thirty years- the first born child had been a female child. This had resulted in a conflict, no one wanting to be led by a woman.

When Diane Javier had turned thirteen, it was decided that she was to marry Camaro Bonucci, the first son of the next succeeding family in line. Unknown to the rest of the clan, Diane had no desire to wed Camaro because she was heads over heels in love with Manuel Rodriguez, my grandfather. She had gone to him in her distress, weeping her heart out. Diane was a delectable young woman, sure to turn the heads of men as she went and Manuel was definitely not built of stone. Diane was generously created with supple curves to overfill a man's palms, full lips with a cleft denting the middle of her lower lip and an ample bust a man could get lost in.

Manuel had been seduced by her sinful body and had lost himself in the pleasure between her legs. Two months later, Diane was discovered to be with child and she had not delayed to point out Manuel as the rightful father of her child. Camaro had felt denied, contesting that the convenient situation had been the plot of the Rodriguez's all along. He could not prove it though, rendering his argument impotent. The deed was already done and Diane was wedded to an unhappy Manuel.

I sipped my coffee again from my paper cup, my reminiscence over. I was at my favourite coffee place, Twirl'In A Cup. It was a four-star cafe and their cappuccino was to die for. Looking outside, I could see the security team leaning against their cars, waiting for me to finish up my beverage. I had long forbidden them from coming in with me because it was embarrassing and I was currently on a summer break from people bugging me.

I wished I could send them away so I could relax a lot better. I was in no hurry to go home to loneliness. It was then I sensed that presence again, a chill running up my back. Coincidentally, the door was eased open, the clanging bells jolting me out of my reverie. My first mistake was turning to see the newcomer and my second was meeting his eyes.

The person who walked in was seduction on legs. I did not know much about men, beyond my knowledge from books and the forces guiding me but one thing was for sure: he was the perfect example of an alpha male. Standing at, at least six feet and some very significant inches, the newcomer had his midnight hair gelled backwards, not a single strand out of place, putting his ice-blue eyes on display. He was enrobed in a charcoal grey suit that was more like molded rather than tailored in his likeness of his lithe but built body.

His tiny lips were almost invisible, above a square chin with a cleft in it that begged to be showcased on lifestyle magazines. His left wrist was adorned by an Audemars Piglet vintage watch and in the money world, vintage meant close to the worth of a human body part. I could not tell how long I had been staring at him but immediately he turned his gaze towards me, I looked down, shielding my eyes though I was wearing sunshades.

I took a sip of my coffee and as if on impulse, spat it out into my handkerchief. It was glacial, the taste that came with its previous warmth all gone. Ok, maybe I had stared for a little too long. Sad, I slammed the paper cup down on the table and signaled for my cheque.

"Perhaps I can offer you a new cup of coffee, since I was the reason for your previous one going to waste," a deep cultured British bass spoke from behind me. It couldn't be...him?

I hadn't seen him coming, my private booth backing the main entrance. I liked sitting close to the big glass windows, watching life and people pass by. However, my favourite spot had not prepared me for an encounter with this sex god. Dios mio! I refused to turn around no matter how much I wanted to behold his roguishly handsome face. I decided to ignore him, rummaging in my purse for nothing in particular just to seem like I was busy. The next thing I felt were his fingers sliding on the top of my chair, drumming a random beat until he went around my chair, finally settling in the opposite seat of my booth. His electrifying presence was almost tangible, almost visible for my eyes to see.

He adjusted his form underneath the table, blocking my view of the world beyond the window. I could hear his Italian shoes shuffling noisily and even that got my attention. I raised a brow at the unappreciated noise but it was his turn to ignore me, settling his strapless brown satchel beside him. It looked bulky, whatever was in it making all manner of bulges on it. He noticed my curiosity and snapped his fingers in front of my face rudely.

"You are staring again. Must be a habit of yours," he mocked, lifting a corner of his lips in amusement. Of course, I mentally rolled my eyes, all cute guys were rude.

All my admiration for him was extinguished by that silly comment of his. Anyways, it didn't matter; I was done with appeasing my daily lust for coffee even if his presence had cut it short. Suddenly, a question dawned on me:

I was with a stranger. Why wasn't Iggy and my security team rushing in to harass him like they usually did?

I got up in a haste and gazed outside. To my surprise, my security team were still in formation, not making a move. It was so confusing and I sat down in my chair once again. This man was probably somebody important or dangerous, perhaps even deadlier than my father. If he was, it was my duty to get some information for my father. I was a model, after all, so a little smile here and a shy voice there would suffice.

"Good day, sir. Sorry about my earlier rudeness. You caught me off guard. Maybe we can try this again?" It was not difficult to sprout a smile for him, his countenance inviting a greater emotion from me.

"Maybe some other time. Have another coffee on my tab. Enjoy your day, miss."

"Wait.." I asked a second too late.

He breezed past me faster than he had arrived, making for the door and from nowhere, a squad of men surrounded him, flanking around him in military defence. My brows shot up to my hairline and like an apparition, he was gone, leaving no sign of him behind. Had I imagined him? Perhaps...

I picked up my squashed cup, throwing it into a recycle bin attached to my booth. It was then I noticed a neatly folded piece of paper lying forlornly on the table. Curious yet wary, I drew it closer with the tip of my straw. It's just paper, don't be paranoid, I scolded myself in my thoughts. I opened it and the handwritten contents were more confusing than the man who had just exited:

It was nice meeting you, Ariana. Your father had a lot to say about you. Love, Calvin Walters.

Dios mio.