What the hell am I doing right now?

Is there any plausible explanation for why the hell I'm in a room with high-ranking mafia members while holding a woman's purse?

I huff in irritation and look at you beside me, sipping your favorite wine. When you were born, I was 5 years old, and as the years passed, our bond only grew stronger. We are indestructible together.

Despite being known for having no patience or mercy, most people believe I'm a monster. Screw that. I'm a monster to everyone except you.

"Why do you always hand me your purse? Don't you have hands?" I say, my gaze darkened and my voice cold and irritated.