You watched him wash the dishes after dinner. He was a gentleman, you had to give him that. He was not what you had pictured. He was big, rough, when he wanted to. But gentle in a way you couldn't explain. At least with you. If he only knew. If he only knew how much you both hated him and loved him.

"You can stay, beautiful. I have some errands to run, but you're in your house." He smiled as he wiped his hands on a towel.

You smiled and nodded. You wanted to keep hating him. Hating him for being there, for helping in killing your father, your family. You wanted him and all of his friends to pay for what they did. But a small part of you wanted to grab the wet knife on the counter and slice his throat. But you wouldn't. You loved him too much for that. And you hated yourself for it.

"Everything okay, preciosa?" He asked, walking over and caressing your cheek. He had no clue of who he was looking and taking, and sleeping with.