Gael's Naughty Angel: A Mafia Prince Romance

Gael fluttered his eyes open at around two in the morning, feeling the urge to pee. He rolled out of bed, careful not to wake up Angela, and then sleepily trudged towards the bathroom to do his business. It had only been a couple of hours since they fell asleep, and he still wanted to go back to bed. When he was done, he went back out and smiled upon laying his eyes on her. She was sleeping soundly with the sheets covering her chest as she faced his side of the bed. 

Strolling back to bed, his eyes landed on the nightstand where they kept the box of condoms. The thought of it brought him back to how she reacted earlier when they were about to do the deed. Her stutter didn't escape him, but at that time, he just brushed it off. Now that he was reminded, he was so damn curious. Was she hiding something?

Wearing nothing but grey Versace boxer briefs, he placed his hands on his waist, contemplating as he looked between her and the nightstand. The urge to check what was in it was so strong that he already felt guilty even just thinking about it.

Taking careful strides towards the other side of the bed, he stood in front of the nightstand for a bit before bending down. Gael had known Angela long enough to know that she was a heavy sleeper, so he could probably just take a peek.

But this was wrong.

She had just entrusted him with her key code, but that didn't mean he could snoop around her stuff. Angela wouldn't like this at all. He would be breaking her trust if he did it. Taking another glance at her, he rubbed his scruff in frustration.

'You're better than this,' he told himself as he got to his feet.

However, not a few seconds later, he lowered himself down again. 'Fûck it.'

Gael stealthily opened the top drawer, thankful that it glided out smoothly without noise. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Without touching anything and only scanning the contents, he could see a small notebook, a pen, earphones, lip balm, some pain relievers, a phone charger, a hand cream, tissues, hair ties, a pair of eyeglasses, and the box of magnums. Everything was organized with compartments.

He reached for the small notebook and quickly flipped the pages. It had scribbles of her thoughts and ideas—probably for her books. It looked similar to the one she used after they watched a movie at the theater.

Closing the top drawer after placing the notebook back, he took a deep breath and glanced at her. Should he continue? Gael held the handle of the bottom drawer and cursed in his head. 'What the fuck are you doing? Just let it go. She's already starting to trust you. This is going to hurt her when she finds out you're going through her things,' the voice in his head said.

He ran a hand down his face, pissed that he was so torn. Then another voice in his head convinced him, 'That is...if she finds out.'

Screw it. He was already going to hell anyway.

Gael opened the bottom drawer. It was deeper than the top one and could hold a lot more stuff, but there were only a few things inside—books, a flashlight, an eye mask, and two pairs of fluffy socks. He eyed the book on top with a blue cover and a title that read: The Fault in Our Stars. It had probably about thirty different colored page markers sticking out of the pages, making him curious about what she had highlighted.

He glanced at the sleeping beauty in the bed whose back was facing him before taking the book out of the drawer. Then he randomly opened a purple page marker and read the highlighted part.

[ That's the thing about pain. It demands to be felt. ]

On the marker, Angela wrote: WTF. T_T

He couldn't deny that the line was indeed highlight-worthy. His lip twitched at the little comment she wrote on it, along with the crying face. Curious, he opened another marked page and read the highlight.

[ Grief does not change you, Hazel. It reveals you. ]

On this yellow sticky page marker, she wrote: Tiny Bloop ♥

He had no idea what her comment meant, so he ignored it and decided to check out a random red page marker.

[ You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world… but you do have some say in who hurts you. ]

She didn't write anything on this marker this time.

Having had enough, Gael decided to close the book and put it back into the drawer.

However, his hand stopped mid-air when he saw a photo on top of another book. The room was dark, and he could barely see what it was, so he put the book he was holding down and grabbed the picture to take a closer look.

"What the fûck?" he muttered under his breath, appalled by what he was seeing. His eyes widened as he looked at a photo of a woman who looked very much like the one in the bed next to him. She had a black cloth covering her eyes with tears streaming down her cheeks. 

Despite his horror, this was not the first time Gael saw this image of her in a compromising position. Instinctively, he flipped the picture and read the message on it.

[ You can't run forever. Think you can still hide it from me? ]

[ You know how to find me, Glikia mou. Merry Christmas. ]

Gael was livid.

He closed his eyes and clenched his hand into a fist, his heart erratically kicking his ribcage as he tried to contain his anger. He felt like he would explode if he didn't get his hands on that fûcker's neck. Even without a name, it was pretty obvious who it was from. But when did she receive this? The last two words seemed to be timely, so it could have been just recent.

Angela stirred in bed, causing him to snap out of his trance. He swiftly put everything back in place and closed the bottom drawer before he got up and left the bedroom. He had to get out before he'd thrash everything in sight.

Feeling fully awake, Gael paced back and forth in the kitchen. He had so many questions in his head, and the more he didn't have any answers, the more his body felt so hot—it was like his blood was boiling.

Was she ever going to tell him about this? That's the thing—he wouldn't know because Angela always kept things to herself.

He thought about calling one of his guards on duty who watched the apartment building today, only to realize that his phone was in the bedroom. He was practically naked, enraged, and helpless in the kitchen at the moment. So he decided to calm down first, or he wouldn't be able to think clearly—because he was sure he would hurt anyone who'd appear before him while he wasn't thinking straight.

Facing the kitchen island, he leaned against it with his hands planted on the edge, and he took deep calming breaths. A dangerous mocking huff escaped his lips as he swore that sick bastard would die in his hands.