My Hot And Sexy But Also Slightly Disturbing Story With The Mafia Man

5) Fuck you, next

I was sound asleep. Until some bitch decided to knock on my door violently. Dèja vu?

The person obviously didn't care about my consent, since they entered anyway. I could've been doing...stuff.

"Get up." Ah Rafael, my bestie.

"Hmphsjsiwjs," I mumbled.

"Get. Up." He whacked me in the face with a pillow.

"What the fuck, Ralf?" I pushed the hair, that was all messed up thanks to Rafael's pillow, out of my face.

"Boss wants to have breakfast with you."

"What the fuck is this? Beauty and the Beast?" I groaned into my pillow, eyes still closed.

"Here's your dress," he threw a piece of material on my face. I picked it up, observing it. It was a pastel yellow summer dress and had a little flow at the bottom. It was pretty, I guess. Just not my style.

"Do you have anything else I can wear?"

"No."

"I don't wear dresses." I threw the dress to the bottom of my bed. "I only wear jeans, sweatshirts and sneakers. I'm not like the other girls. Also, I hate pink."

"Well you wore one yesterday, so put it on." He grabbed the dress and threw it at me again. Damn you, Rafael.

I headed to the garden patio where breakfast was supposedly served. I was wearing the stupid dress and my hair was in a high messy bun. I saw Luca sitting at the table, reading a newspaper. Who still reads the newspaper?

I waltzed over to him and pulled out a chair, dragging it on the floor to make the most annoying sound ever. He looked up from his paper, clearly annoyed by that wonderful sound. "Morning old man. Read anything new about the war?" I mocked as I took a seat across from him. He looked at me while taking a sip from his coffee.

"Aren't you just delightful," I rolled my eyes.

"I'm having an event tonight," he said.

"And? What do you want me to do? Strip?" I laughed sarcastically.

He smirked at me. This bitch.

"You do realise I'm not a stripper, right? I don't even have an ass. Or tits." I pointed to the two marbles on my chest.

"I told you already that you're here to work for me as physical labour." He tossed the newspaper onto the table.

"If I wanted to become a stripper, I would've done it a long time ago, trust me. The pay's much better than what I get for my job." I leaned back onto the chair, crossing my arms over my chest.

"What is your job?" He asked.

"I'm a waitress," I said almost proudly for some reason. He gave me a funny look. Asshole. Hot, sexy asshole.

"Where?"

"At this local cafè. Cafè Noir. It's French. It literally means black coffee."

"I know. I speak French." He speaks Italian and French? Guess this really is Beauty and the Beast.

"You do? What's 'I'm gonna shoot your diçk off' in French?" He looked at me bluntly, but didn't answer. He does that a lot.

"Speaks French my ass," I muttered under my breath. "Anyway, I'm not gonna be your stipper. Find someone else."

"Fine. Then you can waitress at my event. That sound good enough for you?"

"Mhm." I nodded.

"Good. Now eat." He pushed a bowl of mush infront of me.