The Mafia's Desired Dreams.

"You set up everything?" Staring out the car window as usual, it had become a habit. Sitting in the car he will always instantly lower the glass and just gaze out.

Actually, it was her habit and he'd just copied it. It was his wife's. She would always stare out the window. One time he'd ask her why she was doing that instead of focusing her attention on him who was much more eye-catching and she had said…

"What's mine is mine, even if I don't look at it. But what's out there is the world's, and all I can do is stare at it." This was the confusing response she always gave.

"You're weird." he'd tell her, and she said. "Then I guess you like weird." He pulled her closer and kissed her luscious lips.

"I don't just like it, I love it."

Those were the best times of his life.

"Yeah. She's already at the villa." Marco replies to his question.

"She fits?" He asks and Marco is suddenly reminded of one woman who perfectly fits, his hands tighten on the wheel. She was a perfect fit based on Zeno's preferences, wavy long blonde hair, long legs, sexy cat eyes and beautiful. But_ but… "Hmm?"

"Oh, ugh, yeah. Yes she does."

"Should I drive you straight to the villa?" Marco asks, "Nah, head to the bar, you know I can't stand their faces when I'm sober." Marco nods, and heads for the bar.

There, Zeno drowns himself in alcohol and when he was moderately drunk, Marco drove him to the villa. He never took women home. Not once had he ever done that. He could not bring a woman into the home he shared with his dear wife.

He missed her. He missed her like crazy. It was even more painful at night. So he always ended up in a bar. Just like this, he'd get drunk and head to the villa we're a woman would be waiting for him.

"Finally, you're here." Says the blond whom Marco had chosen at the clinic. She had showered and was in a robe now. Just to get that feeling he wanted, Zeno had the women he slept with using the shampoo and soap his late wife used. Even now he could smell it already, that familiar scent he wasn't ready to let go.

"My name is—"

"Take it off." Were the words that came out of his mouth. Placing the bottle of whiskey in his hands on a glass table, he began to take off his suit.

His life was on repeat ever since she left him, it was a torturous and endless circle. Ara, his dear wife, he wanted to feel her.

"Serious man. You want to get down to business. I like that." erotically, she plays with the rope of the robe, unties it and alluringly allows the robe to cascade down her body.

"You like what you see?" She asks.

She is probably beautiful. But he wasn't seeing all this beauty, all he saw was a way to pleasure himself, and a way to satisfy his beastly needs.

It was just the desires of the flesh. But nothing could cure the hunger in his heart. He could always get a woman to casually have sex with, but he would never find one he wanted to make love to. Never again. No one could be like his wife.

Not getting a response, the woman felt a bit embarrassed so she looked around and said, "but I looked around and I didn't see a bed or a couch." She says.

"There is no bed, now keep quiet, place your hands on the wall and spread your legs." Her questions were getting on his nerves. Her job was to shut her mouth and allow him to take care of his needs but she was talking too much.

"Why?" She asks and like a cat, she tiptoes to the wall, alluringly placing her hands on it, bending enough for him to see all she had to offer, and as he had ordered, she spread her legs open wide.

And that was when he answered her question…

"Because I never do it on the bed."

This had become an official fact for him ever since she passed away. There really was no bed in this apartment, not even a single couch, just stools, and every other piece of furniture you could find in a normal apartment but nothing that looked like a bed.

He had this crazy principle that the bed was for making love and not just having sex, and he had no intention of making love to anyone in the nearest and farthest future.

Skyclad and angry he lay on the ground, the lady feeling rather ecstatic after their wall play. "Get your things and get out," he says, rising from the ground where he lay. Annoyingly enough, he was sober now and that angered him.

"What?" the lady choked, as he tosses a bunch of bills at her, and strolls to his mini bar again. "What the hell is this? What do you take me for? A cheap prostitute?" she raged, she had never been treated any lower in her life, even though she was a call girl, she was still one of the respected ones. The ones who didn't sleep with just anyone yet she was being treated like a street prostitute!

"Isn't that what you are?" he asks. "Get out." He clearly states again.

"You son of a b*tch! Who do you think you are? Do you know who I am? You idiotic bas…" her lips instantly went shut, she held in her breath, for with one long stride he stood in front of her in all of his naked glory, the rage, and anger visible in every popped-up muscle and vein.

"VATTENE!!" he roared into her face, his hands folded into a furious fist. The lady needed no prophet to tell her that she had hooked up with the wrong person that evening. Trembling in fear, she picked up her stuff, and slipped on her dress that was placed on a stool all this time.

"Drop it." He says as she tries to pick up the money he had tossed at her, she wanted to protest, but was not even able to look up at him again, his voice was ice-cold, and his gaze was like Antarctica put in a blue ball.

Staggering and almost running, she found her way out of the apartment.