Why Are You Always So Mean To Me?

Salvatore lounged on his bed, taking casual sips from a glass of vodka as he contemplated the events of the evening. The room was dimly lit, casting a soft glow over his shirtless form, his muscular physique adorned with a striking tattoo that accentuated his divine appearance. Restlessness kept sleep at bay, urging him to take action.

Summoning his men, he issued a command. “Bring her to me,” he ordered, his voice firm and unwavering.

Dahlia, her arms held tightly by the men, struggled vehemently to free herself from their grasp. “I said let me go! I can walk, stop dragging me!” she protested, her voice filled with drunken defiance.

The men entered the room, their captive in tow. One of them announced her arrival to Salvatore, his tone lacking any trace of sympathy.

Dahlia, with her eyes clouded by the effects of her inebriation, looked up at Salvatore with a drowsy smile. “Ah! It’s you… Mr. Evil...man” she slurred, her words carrying a hint of amusement.

Salvatore arched an eyebrow, caught off guard by her remark. What did she just call him? The nickname amused him, stirring a blend of curiosity and uncertainty within his mind.

Dismissing his men with a curt nod, he was left alone with the intoxicated Amour. He issued a command that brooked no disobedience. “Strip and get on the bed,” he ordered, his voice laced with authority.

Rolling her eyes in a mixture of annoyance and drunken clumsiness, Dahlia swayed unsteadily on her feet. “Strip, strip, strip! That’s all you know, you’re so boring,” she retorted, her voice growing louder with each word.

Salvatore’s brows drew together with a deep frown as he faced Amour, his frustration apparent. Sensing his displeasure, Dahlia’s lips formed a pout, her eyes welling up as if tears were about to spill from them. But before her emotions took hold, she burst into a fit of laughter, almost as if she had a secret plan to bring back his smile.

“Don’t worry,” she proclaimed, her voice savoring the playfulness of the moment. “I know just the thing to make you laugh.” With those words, she gracefully moved away from him, preparing to showcase her amusing dance.

Salvatore blinked twice, a mix of confusion and disbelief sweeping over him. What was she up to now? He couldn’t help but wonder, curiosity intertwining with his lingering annoyance.

“I’m not sure how these women do it, but I’ll give it my own unique try,” she declared with a giggle, preparing herself for what was to come. And just like that, she began to dance, her movements infused with humor and an unmistakable desire to elicit laughter.

Salvatore watched, the corners of his lips twitching in amusement, as Dahlia attempted to twerk. However, it quickly became evident that “twerking” wasn’t quite the right term to describe what she was doing. Instead of her bottom shaking, she jerked her back back and forth in an exaggerated manner, her face alight with mischievous glee.

The sight reminded him of a bygone memory, of the time when his sister had attempted to mimic Nicki Minaj’s twerking. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, despite his initial frustration.

Amidst her dance, Dahlia caught sight of his reaction, her eyes lighting up with delight. She paused momentarily, clapping her hands in giddy euphoria.

“I made you smile!” she exclaimed, her voice laced with triumphant joy, as if she had accomplished a great feat.

Salvatore’s frown returned as he locked eyes with Amour, his frustration still lingering. He struggled to fully let go of his annoyance, the weight of his emotions evident in the tension etched into his features.

“Enough,” he snapped, his tone sharper than intended.

“Why are you always so mean to me?” she pouted, her voice tinged with hurt as she walked towards Aurelio. Without hesitation, she settled herself on his thigh, wrapping her arms around his neck in a desperate attempt to bridge the emotional gap between them.

Salvatore’s eyes widened in surprise. He had grown accustomed to her playful antics, but her sudden display of vulnerability caught him off guard.

“Once in a while,” she continued, her voice softening, “you should try and make me blush or happy. I’m a human being too, you know.” Her pout deepened, seeking acknowledgment and understanding.

Taking in her demeanor, Salvatore detected the faint scent of alcohol lingering on her breath. It became clear to him that she was drunk, her inhibitions loosened by the effects of the drink.

He listened attentively as she stumbled through her words, the alcohol-induced honesty flowing freely. Her voice wavered with a mix of gratitude and apprehension as she mentioned him saving her from an unnamed adversary, her fingers emphasizing the importance of her gratitude, even if it seemed minuscule.

“I used to think you were a bad person,” she mused, her fingers tracing aimless patterns on his bare chest. “But now I realize you’re just a sad person, trying to act tough. And you’re very good looking too. But I still don’t like you, because you’re too scary.” Her words held a paradoxical blend of conviction and vulnerability, as if she were unraveling the layers of his complicated persona.

Salvatore remained silent, simply absorbing her words. Strangely, he didn’t feel the usual surge of anger or defensiveness. Instead, her unfiltered observations seemed to resonate within him, echoing a truth he hadn’t fully acknowledged before. For the first time, someone had seen through his guarded exterior, and it left him feeling oddly exposed yet understood.

Dahlia’s voice broke the stillness that hung between them, her words bearing an unexpected offering of solace. “Here’s a gift to cheer you up,” she declared with a gentle smile, her hand cupping his cheek. There was a playful glimmer in her eyes, a mischievousness that was amplified by the alcohol coursing through her veins.

Before Salvatore could fully comprehend her intentions, she moved towards him. Closing her eyes, she leaned forward, her lips gently finding their way to his.