L'Angelo della Morte | A Mafia Romance

♛01 ⥄ ❝ Stalkers, heels, & steaks ❞

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Are we the hunters, or are we the prey?

~Ruelle

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Freedom had never tasted sweeter than the day I lost it. The day started out like any other: calm and quite mundane.

"Here's for the creature at table four."

Selena leaned over the counter with a tray in her hands. I barely had a grip on it before she let go of it.

"Please take this one for me?" She fluttered her long lashes, making them brush against the glass of her round spectacles. Her bottom lip strutted out dramatically and her pearly gray eyes sparkled under the lamps of the diner.

"Selena," I whined "You can't keep avoiding him. He did say sorry," I pointed out but tightened my grip on the tray anyway.

"I know I'll have to talk to him someday, but today is not that day." She already knew she had won and offered me a bright, toothy smile. "Now sashay that ass down to his table and give the guy his sandwich."

I sighed but couldn't fight the smile that pulled at my lips. Turning, I went to serve Ollie, whose hopeful smile faltered when he saw me approaching his table. "Not today, Oliver." I put the tray down in front of him and offered an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

Ollie gathered his hands in front of him and looked down. "I don't even know what I did." He sounded like a three-year-old who was denied ice cream. "All I did was love her."

I held my breath and pressed my lips together. My smile was tense – my teeth gritted.

"After one date, Ollie. One date." I wiped my hands off on my apron and looked at everything but him. "Anything else?"

He didn't answer, and I took that as a no. I turned on my heel, but before I got to take a single step, a hand latched onto my wrist and pulled me back. I plopped ungracefully into the booth right next to him with an embarrassing squeal.

"Carly please, you've got to help me!" His hand grabbed my thigh right above my knee and I froze in my seat.

"No, I've got to work and you're making that remarkably difficult," I muttered. I grabbed his wrist with both hands and started pulling at it. No matter my efforts, I couldn't pry his hand off my thigh. "Ollie, let go of me," I breathed, desperation making it into my words.

"I can't live without her! She's the love of my life." His grip tightened, and I winced. It was going to bruise – without a doubt. "I love her – do you hear me?"

I offered a sheepish smile, but my eyes were no doubt showing my discomfort. "I can't really help you with that, buddy. I don't decide who she loves." My voice came out shakier than I had wanted it to, but right now that didn't matter. All that mattered was that I was getting groped by a real-life Ted Mosby.

"But I know she was feeling the s –"

"Darlin'!" We both jumped as a voice cut in and Ollie's grip loosened just enough for me to push his hand off of me. "Where have you been?"

Wide-eyed, I turned my head to face the owner of the voice. I inhaled sharply at the sight of the stranger. The man's hair was messy, but in a way that suggested he'd just returned from a quickie in the bathroom. It was a blondish brown, some strands darker than others. His eyes were a muddy blue and framed with dark lashes. Straight, pearly teeth were tucking at a lush bottom lip and a five-o'clock shadow kissed his chiseled jaw and chin.