Omerta- Book I (Winner of the 2015 People's Choice Award)

25) The Jungle

                        Ferro held my gaze from over my mother’s shoulder, and I couldn’t help but feel as if he was angry with me. He was leaning a shoulder against the arch of his bedroom door, wearing a suit and tie that made the room temperature surge to a boil. His dark hair was styled out of his face with a bit of gel, and it curled slightly at the tip of his collar. My fingers twitched, like a cocaine addict wanting their fix. I had touched that soft, thick hair last night…

                        “You made espresso? Oh!” Mother made a face at me that read: ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about him’, and then turned back to Ferro and clasped her hands together like an excited child. “Ferro, you are both handsome and smart! Espresso is the key to my heart. How did you make it? I’m sure your Italian blood will make this the best espresso I’ve ever had.”

                        I rolled my eyes. Cougar alert.

                        “It’s Caffe Americano, made with more water than I would normally drink it. Don’t want to make you too jittery,” Ferro answered politely. When he smiled at her, it felt as if it was really meant for me, and somehow, that smile came off as an animal bearing its fangs at an enemy. What the hell is up his butt?

                        “You almost won my heart, young man.” She crossed the room to the criminal, placing a hand on his generous bicep. “However, I was expecting caffé correcto,” Mother joked, and I couldn’t help but feel like a spectator on the conversation. Nobody knew more about excluding me from conversations, as my mother did. 

                        “What’s caffé correcto?” I asked.

                        “Espresso with a little liquor in it,” Ferro answered with a chuckle. “Adds an extra kick start to your day and warms you up.” He winked at my mother. That manipulating sex-addicted bastard better not try to fück my mother! “I can put a splash of Sambuca in yours, Mrs. Clemente, if you would like.”

                        “Please, call me Diane,” Mother practically purred out. My mouth fell open when she placed her hand on Ferro’s bicep and squeezed. “I might take you up on that Sambuca in my espresso, if that’s quite alright!”

                        “Sì, certo! Of course. Why don’t we let Scarlett get dressed, and talk at the table?”

                        “Sounds like a plan!”

                        Ferro gave me a look that brought chills down my back. He was angry about something, but what? He led her out of the room. “So you’ve been to Italy, Diane? What part?” I heard him ask.

                        “All over! I’ve been to Europe plenty of times…”

                        I hurried around the room, throwing myself into his closet and quickly putting on Ferro’s clothes. I was slightly concerned that the guy would slaughter my mother or cut off her pinkies, if I wasn’t monitoring his every move. And if he didn’t kill her, Mother would surely talk about fat camp, start talking to him about my awkward tennis playing years, and bring up the fact that I was afraid of tampons until I was eighteen.