With agonizing sluggishness, Angelo lumbered up behind me, feebly attempting to maintain some semblance of stealth. His arms slung carelessly over my shoulders, and I recoiled, but predictably, he paid no heed to my discomfort. I had grudgingly accepted his embrace yesterday, seeking comfort during the storm-induced vulnerability, but today was an entirely different matter. The way he clung to me now, with his bare torso pressing against my back, was entirely unwelcome.
Angelo's lack of modesty was a constant reminder of his disregard for boundaries. In public, he bothered to wear a shirt, but within the confines of his apartment, alongside Luca and me, he shamelessly paraded half-naked, displaying his extensive collection of tattoos: the dragon winding up his arm and the dove etched onto his neck. His scars and bruises adorned his exposed skin like trophies of his tumultuous existence.
And as if to further agitate me, he divulged his peculiar wardrobe preferences. Cargo pants were reserved for specific days, but on other occasions, he squeezed himself into uncomfortably tight jeans, or, incongruously, donned a pair of basketball shorts.
Suppressing a shudder of revulsion, I forced my lips into a disapproving sneer while stirring the scrambled eggs. He leaned in, resting his sharp chin on my shoulder, hovering like a vulture observing its prey. Irritatingly, I found myself strangely unperturbed by his presence. What bothered me was the way he encroached upon my personal space, wrapping his arms around my body, invading my comfort zone.
Despite the discomfort, I hesitated to push him away, an inexplicable weakness taking hold of me. I allowed him to maintain his unwelcome embrace, his chin precariously resting on my shoulder as he loomed over me, like a sinister shadow cast over my every move. The conflicting emotions twisted within me; repulsion and an unexplainable allure, making it difficult to resist the intrusion.
A sense of unease washed over me, yet I passively let it persist, doing nothing to assert my boundaries. It felt abhorrent, an unwelcome warmth creeping under my skin, but somehow, a perverse comfort surfaced in the discomfort. I stayed silent, unresponsive, allowing this disconcerting intimacy to unfold as I continued the mundane task of making breakfast, my emotions cloaked in a chilling detachment.
Finally, he relinquished his grasp, and with a languid gait, he moved to stand beside me. In an oddly feigned display of gentleness, he caressed my shoulder, a gesture that made my skin crawl. Then, with his typical lack of decorum, he snatched a piece of bacon from the pan opposite the eggs. I couldn't help but roll my eyes as he carelessly burnt his finger, spewing forth a string of curses, before nonchalantly stuffing the bacon into his mouth. He chewed it obnoxiously, deliberately teasing me, as if my disgust was some kind of entertainment for him.
I couldn't tolerate his juvenile behavior, and I swatted at him in annoyance, hoping to shoo him away like an irritating fly. But that smirk on his face persisted as he retreated, finding amusement in my irritation. Despite being a formidable mafia boss, commanding respect from numerous men, it was evident that beneath his hardened exterior, he derived more satisfaction from playing childish games than taking life seriously.
"The bacon isn't quite there yet, sweetheart. Let it sizzle for a few more minutes, and then, maybe, it'll be worth eating."
"I swear, Angelo, if you dare utter those words once more, I'll deliver a blow that'll knock some sense into you. Perhaps you could have exercised a bit of patience and waited for a few minutes before stuffing it into your mouth like a ravenous animal. Cease your incessant impatience and obnoxious behavior, you repugnant excuse for a human being. And mark my words, if you dare address me as 'sweetheart' again, I won't hesitate to end your miserable life right here and now."
"Damn, that was aggressive. But hey, don't get too carried away. You know, you've gotta promise to not end me until the end of the week, alright? Gotta give me some time to breathe. I was just messing with you, trying to see how you'd handle it. The bacon, though? Now that's some serious business, sweetheart."
With an icy glare, I tore open the drawer beside me, and without a hint of hesitation, hurled a spoon at him. Of course, I didn't aim for anything more dangerous like a knife or a fork. No, the spoon would suffice to inflict pain without drawing blood, just enough to rattle his senses, perhaps. As the spoon connected with his face, a pitiful groan escaped his lips, his frustration barely contained. He was on the verge of uttering a profanity, but he seemed to bite it back.
Unfazed by his discomfort, I resumed my task of stirring the eggs, the sound of the clinking spoon against the pan a stark contrast to the tension in the room. Once the eggs were cooked to perfection, I dished them out onto three separate plates. One for myself, another for the pest named Angelo, and the third plate reserved for Luca, who was still blissfully ignorant, sleeping in his room.
Even though Luca was still dreaming away, I felt compelled to set aside a portion of eggs for him. And when it came to the bacon, I made sure Angelo received one piece less, just a subtle reminder of who was in charge here, and to keep him in line.
I arranged the plates neatly in front of the three seats at the counter, ensuring everything was meticulously placed. As I turned my attention to Angelo, he was still nursing his throbbing forehead, clearly affected by the spoon incident. I shook my head at him, a display of utter indifference towards his feeble attempts to garner sympathy. His pain meant nothing to me, just an insignificant blip on my radar. Childish antics like his were beneath my concern.
"Could you kindly do me a favor and wake Luca up, please? Inform him that I made breakfast, and it would be a shame if it went cold. If he doesn't want to, assure him that I'll store it in the fridge."
The frown on my face spoke volumes about my annoyance with his defiance, but he seemed determined to challenge me further. He shot me a dirty look and slouched in a pitiful display of resistance, as if that would dissuade me from my demands. Unwilling to tolerate such insolence, I couldn't help but express my irritation by pointing a finger at him, accompanied by a raised eyebrow.
"As for you, Angelo, it would be in your best interest to cooperate and not provoke me any further. Consider it a gentle suggestion to avoid any unnecessary conflicts. Trust me, the alternative involves me taking matters into my own hands and escorting you forcefully to Luca's room, with the potential for yet another unexpected spoon encounter. Let's avoid that, shall we?"
With the grace of a sulking child, Angelo continued to slouch along, his posture reflecting a petulant tantrum. Each step he took seemed to resonate with a heavy stomp, emphasizing his defiance. The loud intervals between his footfalls added to the obnoxiousness of his departure, as if he were intentionally trying to make his presence known. My eyes rolled with contempt at his behavior. Despite his immature antics, I couldn't let him have the last word. With a calculated coldness, I raised my voice, yelling after him.
"Enough with this obnoxious display of childishness! Waking someone up is hardly rocket science, for heaven's sake! Cease your loud stomping as if you're trying to create an earthquake, unless you want the entire building to know of your incompetence. Just get it done, it's a simple task. And be warned, if you don't comply, I won't hesitate to fling a spoon down that hallway of yours!"
In a swift minute, Angelo's irritating presence vanished down the hallway, only to return with Luca in tow. Luca seemed to be in a state of perpetual weariness, rubbing the back of his neck as if he had barely managed to scrape together a few hours of sleep last night. His lazy trudge portrayed a lack of enthusiasm.
Like his counterpart, Angelo, Luca appeared shirtless, showcasing the distinct sword tattoo etched on his left arm. These two seemed to share a penchant for unnecessary displays of skin, though I had to begrudgingly admit that at least Luca had the decency to wear sweatpants instead of the scandalous shorts that Angelo was so fond of.
As they stood before me, I couldn't help but wonder if they were truly capable of anything beyond being insufferable nuisances. Their lackadaisical attitudes were grating on my nerves, and I found myself suppressing a sigh of frustration. These two were more trouble than they were worth, and yet, I couldn't rid myself of them just yet.
Luca occupied the bar stool closest to the edge of the counter, appearing rather indifferent to his surroundings. Angelo, on the other hand, carelessly plunked himself down onto the middle stool, causing it to wobble dangerously, as if daring fate to knock it over, with him along for the ride. In contrast, I settled onto the stool on the opposite end, assertively pulling the plate of food closer to me.
Curiously, both Angelo and Luca hesitated to bring their plates nearer. Their behavior perplexed me, and I couldn't help but wear a puzzled expression. Suddenly, without warning, Angelo leapt from his seat and trudged towards the fridge, displaying his lack of grace by almost smacking himself with the door. Retrieving the almost-empty milk carton and two glass cups, he carelessly gulped from the carton before pouring the remaining milk into the cups.
With what he deemed to be courtesy, he slid one of the cups towards Luca, assuming that I should have known of their preference to have a drink alongside breakfast. Luca, seemingly unmoved, accepted the gesture, mirroring Angelo's peculiar behavior.
Inwardly, I couldn't help but feel exasperated by their idiosyncrasies, yet outwardly, I showed no sign of emotion. I couldn't fathom why they made such a fuss over such trivial matters, but I knew better than to question their eccentricities. It was just another reminder of how they both operated on a different plane.
"Listen up, Camila. I've got something important to discuss with you, but it seems like you're too busy chewing on those eggs, as if my words mean nothing to you. Fine, have it your way. I'll swallow my pride and apologize for my earlier childish behavior."
"I suppose I should commend you for finally mustering up an apology. It's a small step towards the potential of gaining a sliver of my trust. Now, is it really necessary to discuss the fact that I failed to recognize your strange fixation on having a glass of milk alongside your breakfast? Or do you have something else in mind?"
"It's not some quirky, random desire for milk with breakfast. That's not the point here. Camila, I have something important to ask you. You've been crashing at my apartment for just a couple of days, and as you've pointed out, time is ticking. I have one week to make you fall for me. So, let's cut to the chase. Would you go on a date with me? We don't have much time, and it's a way to get comfortable with each other. Oh, and I know a decent coffee shop near Central Park."
"Ugh, seriously, Angelo? A date? Don't make me laugh. I have zero interest in falling for you or going on a date with you. Not now, not ever. I don't know how many times I need to spell it out for you. We are not going to be a thing. I've never been interested, and that's not going to change. I'm sorry if that hurts your feelings, but I don't see this working out. Let's just stick to the apartment for the rest of the week and see if we can tolerate each other's presence. Going on a date with you would be a complete waste of time, and I'd rather avoid that level of nonsense."
"I had a feeling you'd respond that way." Angelo, in his usual manner, started to speak, struggling to come up with something to say. Surprisingly, he found the words that fit his twisted agenda, and without hesitation, he let them escape his lips. "Before you jump to another hasty decision, listen to me. I've said it multiple times, and I'll say it again: I genuinely believe this could work between us. I know you have no intention of falling for me, and by the end of the week, I'll accept that. But right now, I'm not okay with it because you gave me a chance, and I'm taking it."
He paused, a calculated move no doubt, and then turned his head to face me. His eyes were trying to portray some semblance of sympathy, a pathetic attempt to manipulate my emotions. I almost felt a hint of pity for him, but I quickly stifled any compassion that threatened to surface.
"Camila, love is a double-edged sword. It can both heal and inflict wounds. That's reality. And guess what? That's how we're going to function. We've both inflicted wounds before, and we can do it again. But we can also heal them. We have the power to heal each other. And for your information, you didn't hurt my feelings. That's simply who you are, and I've grown accustomed to it. I'm fine with it. Please, consider this. It's a way for us to understand each other better. Even if you have no interest in me, we can still give it a try."
I let out a sigh, pushing my now empty plate away. His words had managed to stir something within me, although I'd never admit it out loud. I took a moment to ponder, running my fingers through my hair as I weighed my options. Should I give in and listen to him?
Angelo had a way with words, I couldn't deny that. A small part of me was affected by them. I turned my head, locking eyes with him, and against my better judgment, I nodded once. Only once.
"Will we find ourselves knee-deep in trouble if someone has the audacity to recognize us and dare call the cops? Or will the people around us simply remain indifferent, unfazed by our presence?"
As Angelo's lips twisted into an evil smirk, I couldn't help but feel a sense of disgust mixed with a twisted fascination. This was his sick game, reveling in the life of a criminal, basking in the fear and hatred he provoked, and even relishing the thrill of being recognized by the police. Being feared, hated, and living on the edge of the law, that was his domain, and he reveled in it. This was what he deemed himself good at, and it's what he truly enjoyed hearing about. The potential for more trouble, more danger, and more power over others' lives.
"Trouble? Sweetheart, trouble is my specialty. And what about you, Camila Vega? Is danger your middle name? Let's not waste any more time playing it safe. Shall we go ahead and stir up some trouble together?"
"Oh, look who's coming around to my way of thinking, Angelo Russo. Stirring up trouble sounds like a delight, but let's not forget some basic decency. No one needs to witness the horrors of your exposed chest, and I certainly have no desire to. So, get dressed properly, if you can manage that much, and maybe then we can proceed. I've already taken the time to change into something presentable. I'll be waiting for you, but don't take too long. Dress like a mafia boss or whatever your twisted idea of proper attire is."