Gael's Naughty Angel: A Mafia Prince Romance

Lucas knitted his brows together, glaring at Gael for ruining their game. Now he had to die because he knew the doctor's identity. Just as Lucas was about to call Gael out, the soft rain began to pour down heavily. Everyone opened their eyes and shot up to get the hell out of there.

Angela got up from her seat as well, and as soon as she did, her knees wobbled. Too much drink—her vision went hazy. She giggled at her clumsiness, feeling a strong pair of arms holding her up as she struggled to stand on her own. "Ah!"

Gael grabbed his glass of whiskey from earlier and finished it all. He lost count of how many drinks he had that night already. "Come on, let's get out of here." He supported her as they walked out of the garden and headed towards the rooms.

Once they stepped on the tiled hallway, the rain had stopped. Perfect. It was as if the rain only happened to end their game—he was thankful even though their clothes had gotten wet.

Meanwhile, Angela tried to remove her sandals while clutching his arm for support.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"The floor's slippery. I'm taking them off." She could barely walk straight—much less with heels on, so she would rather walk barefooted.

Gael watched her struggle until she managed to remove one, and then the other. Angela waved the sandals in the air in a 'woohoo!', happy that her feet were free. But she only lasted for a few seconds standing up straight before she swayed from side to side.

She gasped when she was lifted in the air all of a sudden and into his arms. "Hey! Why… Put me down," she protested but hooked her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder anyway.

Shaking his head, Gael swore that between the many drinks he had that night and this woman he was carrying, the cause of his creeping headache was because of the latter.

She was a mess. This rarely happened to him because the second a woman gets drunk, he would find them so troublesome that he would deposit them in someone else's care and be on his way—making sure that they were safe, of course. But he refused to deal with them personally.

His men, who were lurking around the venue and watching him, knew what to do already. So they walked towards him and were ready to take his hands off the woman he was with when Gael stopped them. He looked at them with stern eyes and shook his head.

"Leave us," he ordered his men and they dispersed.

"What…" Angela slurred. Her eyes remained closed as she nuzzled on his neck. "Ugh. Stop spinning."

Exhaling a sigh, Gael searched for her face as she laid comfortably. He couldn't understand why he didn't just let his men take care of her. For some reason, he couldn't trust the men he had known for years and were loyal to his family.

"Where's your room?" he asked above her head, his voice gentle and calm.

"301," she answered.

He then took measured steps forward, careful not to slip and lose his balance or let go of her. It was still ten in the evening, but the sky was dark, and the wind blew harshly. He rode the elevator going up the third floor and walked to the first room to the left with the number 301 written on the door.

He was contemplating how to open the door when he got his hands full, and the keycard must be with her. 

"Mhmm. We're here," she grumbled and shifted until he let her down on her feet. "Oops!" she giggled, leaning against him as she steadied herself.

"Thank you, Mr. Mafia," she muttered out of nowhere, a smile dancing on her lips when she saw Gael furrowing his brows at her. "You, naughty, naughty man. Why did you take a peek?"

'So she was talking about the game? Of course, she is,' he answered his own query. 

"Why did you keep saving me?" he questioned, his tone curious and gentle. 

"Why not?" Angela shrugged, turning around and opening the door to her suite. She tossed her footwear inside before facing Gael again.

"I'm not worth saving," he remarked, keeping his intense gaze at her. And he was the only one who knew that he wasn't talking about the game anymore.

Placing her hands on his chest, she slid them upward and played with his suit's collar, her eyes skimming the skin on his neck, and his jaw, then his nose, until she met his grey eyes. She wondered if it would be alright for her to wipe the small droplets on his hair, and then she convinced herself that she was already too close to him to even question that. 

So she did.

"Of course you are," she whispered, her delicate fingers brushing through the strands of his hair. She felt his arms snaking around her waist and pulling her closer until they were chest to chest.

Thinking that he shouldn't take advantage of her, he tightened his jaw before telling her, "You should go inside."

"Do you like stories, Gael?" she probed, ignoring what he just told her, the tips of her fingers playing with his hair. "Because I do. I love stories." Holding his stare, she dared, "Tell me something... unbelievable."

"You won't believe me even if I tell you."

She tiptoed and inched closer until her lips were an inch away from his. "Try me."

Very well. He lowered his stare to her lips, tempted to dip his head and capture them. She was asking for it.

"I'm mafia."

A soft chuckle escaped her pretty lips upon hearing his confession. "Okay, then, 'Mr. Mafia'. You already caught me earlier. I'm the doctor who saved you. What else?"

"My father is the boss."

"Right… so that makes you what? A mafia prince?" 

"Sure. Whatever. I'm a mafia prince." Gael didn't even know why he just agreed to all her claims. 

She snorted.

Fûck. Even her snort sounded pretty. 

There was no denying now that he was attracted to Angela. But how could he still want her when she was already mocking him?

'This isn't going to end well,' he told himself.

"You're cute," she said in a flirtatious tone that he didn't mind at all.

"You should really get inside—"

Gael swallowed the rest of his words when she pressed her lips to his. And that was all it took for him to let go of his restraints. 

Her lips were so soft and so sweet with a hint of the bubbly champagne she just drank. And he just couldn't resist, so he returned her kisses and backed her up until her back hit the door.

"Stay," she breathed against his mouth.

"You're drunk."

"So are you. Stay."

Fûck. She ground against his hard-on, making him grip her hips in frustration. How could he resist?

Throwing his logic out the window, he dove for her mouth and kissed her hard, making her pant for air. And when he broke the kiss, he told her, "You better not regret this."

Gael brought Angela inside her suite, shut the door behind them, and locked it.

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