The next morning, I'm talking with my mom on the phone when I walk into the kitchen and stop dead in my tracks.
"Mom, I'm gonna call you back, there's a person in my kitchen."
"What?" She screams.
"Relax, if I don't call you back in ten minutes, then you can freak out. Okay?" I don't wait for her response. "Love you, bye." I hang up and put my phone in my pocket.
"Um, hi." I say to the woman in my kitchen.
She's an old italian woman, kinda short and wearing a clean white short sleeve dress. She smiles warmly at me. Her hair is in a tight bun.
"Hello," she says warmly. "I'm Ana, you must be Martina." with that she pulls me into a tight hug.
I awkwardly hug her back. "Umm it's Marty, you're the chef, right?"
"Mmm hmm," She releases me but still holds me in her arms. "Look at you, have you been eating properly? Sit down, I'm making you breakfast." she ushers me to the bar stool.
"You don't need to do all that," I protest. "I can make breakfast, I lack the skills for anything else though."
She places her hands on her hips. "Poor child, what have you been eating all this time? Dante probably wasn't feeding you, poor thing," she shakes her head. "No worries, Ana is here now, and you will be well fed."
She moves around the kitchen like a seasoned veteran, pulling out pots and pans and ingredients. She pauses to look at me. "Call your mother, she's going to worry."
I do as she says, and FaceTime my mom to reassure her that I'm okay. Ana comes over and introduces herself to my mom too and somehow, the two of them bond over some soap opera they both watch and talk for thirty minutes.
When they hang up, I look at Ana while I shovel into my eggs. "So, what's your story? Like, how'd you end up working here?"
She smiles at me, as she cleans up around her. "I was hired by Dante's grandfather and have been with the family ever since."
"Cool," I say. "So you're aware that-"
"Mafia stuff?" she asks. "Yes, I am."
"I was gonna say that your employer is insane, but that works too," I say. "Out of curiosity, how does a person even end up working for the mafia? Do they, like, post an ad saying 'chefs wanted' or something?"
She laughs. "You're not very far off. I had just moved to this country with my six childre-"
"Six?" I ask in disbelief. "Get it girl."
She grins at me. "I did, how you say get it, back in the day."
"Ana," I shout in delight. I can tell that we're going to get along.
She looks at me, a twinkle in her eye.
"Anyways as I was saying, my husband had passed away, rest his soul, he was involved in the mafia too, but was a low ranking member. Dante's grandmother took pity on me and pleaded with her husband to give me a job. He agreed to let me be the chef and nanny to his children. And here I am years later."
"Wow," I say. "Are your six kids in the mafia?" I'm still wrapping my head around the six kids part.
She nods. "My boys are, my girls are in the FBI. Family dinners are rather awkward."
"I can imagine," I pick up my plate to take it to the sink. She swats my arm and takes the plate from me.
I help her clean up the rest of the stuff, much to her protestations before heading up to my room.
I realize that I haven't done my laundry yet and I don't know where it is. I jog downstairs to find Ana.
"Ana," I call out.
She looks up from her book. "Yes my dear?
"Umm could you tell me where the laundry is, I wanna wash my clothes."
She waves me off. "No need, I do Dante's laundry, and I will do yours."
"Girl," I say. "I've been doing my laundry since I was like twelve, it'd be weird making someone do it."
She throws her hands in the air but ultimately relents and shows me the laundry room. I do my laundry, then she makes me lunch (she clearly meant it when she said that I'll never go hungry while she's around.
The movers show up to move the old furniture since the new stuff is coming in tomorrow. I decided that all the old, gray, monotone furniture can be donated since there's no need to sell it seeing as how I'm no longer lacking in funds. Most of it is going to various shelters throughout the city.
The house looks mad empty without the furniture, and Ana and I spend an embarrassing amount of time listening to our voices echo throughout the house. Ana is more than okay with me redecorating btw. She said that 'the gray house contributes to Dante's gray mood' but I think Dante is just like that no matter what.
Later on, I head down to the gym. I did end up hiring a personal trainer, his name is Avery and he starts next week, so I want to seem somewhat familiar with the gym equipment so Avery doesn't think I'm a total loser. Also, I'm wearing a super cute workout set and the mirrors here make for amazing mirror selfies.
I'm on one of those bike things when Dante walks in. I almost don't recognize him because he's in sweatpants and a t-shirt instead of a suit.
"What are you doing here?" I take a swig from my water bottle, mentally debating on whether I should leave or not.
He startles slightly, turning to face me. I watch him look me up and down, his gaze lingering on my legs (these leggings make them look so good).
"It's my house," he says, moving towards the weights. "Where is the furniture?"
I slap my forehead. "That's what I forgot, I was planning to tell you that I got rid of it," I say. The truth is, I didn't plan to tell him, I didn't think he'd even notice.
"What?" he asks.
"Yeah, the old furniture was lowkey kinda ugly, so it's gone and donated now and the new stuff's coming in tomorrow."
He stalks over to me because he can't walk normally.
"And you didn't think to ask if you could redecorate."
"No," I say in disbelief. "Since I'm the one at home ninety percent of the time, I think I can make the decisions about the decorations, 'kay?"
He frowns, but moves back to the weights. Time seems to slow down as he pulls off his shirt revealing his muscular tattooed back. I just sit there on my bike and watch.
I'm pretty sure I'm drooling as I ogle him. He's so hot, and I know for a fact that if he didn't have the personality of a wet sock, I'd be feral for him. Like on my hands and knees, foaming at the mouth. But, since he's the human equivalent of a paper cut, I am most definitely un-feral.
He notices me staring and gets a little uncomfortable, shifting on his feet. "Done staring?" he asks, folding his arms over his chest which makes his arm muscles flex.
"Nope," I say, still staring.
Normally, I'd stop staring if I knew it made someone feel uncomfortable, but since it's Dante, I don't really care. My eyes trail over his tattooed chest and I think I drool just a little bit. Tattoos are my weakness, like, they make guys so much hotter.
"You're drooling," he says, sounding a little smug.
"And what about it?" I take another swig from my water bottle. "I saw you checking me out, why can't I do the same?"
I think he finally gets that I'm not gonna stop staring at him, so he self-consciously starts his workout. I move from my spot on the bike so I'm facing the mirror, and watch his reflection as he works out. While I know that objectifying people is wrong, I think in this situation it's a little okay since he did blackmail my family and he kills people.
As he works out, I mentally catalog his tattoos. He's got one big tattoo of some quote tatted on one side of his chest, and his back is a mix of smaller words and pictures. I can't help but notice that the area above his heart is free of any tattoos (because he's cliche like that).
I decide to take mirror selfies for my photo dump. I take one where I look super hot, and he's partially in the background. You could only see part of his tattooed back and his dark hair, but nothing that could be used to identify him.
It's perfect for my soft launch.
I see no need to be in the gym anymore, so I turn to leave. At the base of the stairs, I pause, remembering something I need to tell him.
"You can't come by the pool on Wednesday from the hours of 11 AM to 11 PM since I'm inviting my friends over, 'kay?"
He grabs a towel and walks over to me. "Who do you think you are, telling me where I can and can't go, in my house?"
"Ugh," I roll my eyes. "I'm only telling you because my friend wears a hijab and that means men can't see her hair, and I want her to be comfortable, jeez."
He crosses his arms across his chest, directing my attention to his tattoos once again. I didn't notice it earlier, but his arms are tattooed too. He's got little birds. From what I can make out, the big tat on his chest is some Shakespeare quote or reference or whatever, but I can't make out the words.
I wonder why Shakespeare of all things? I mean, based on his book collection and his general vibe, he does seem like one of those pretentious pricks who-
"Martina."
The sound of my name snaps me out of my examination, and I look at his face. "What?" I say.
"Were you even listening to me?"
"Not really," I admit. "Also, I don't go by 'Martina' I go by 'Marty'. I'm only Martina to Nonno, and to my parents when I'm in trouble."
He wrinkles his face in disgust at the name Marty. "You don't refer to me by my nickname." he says petulantly, kinda sounding like a kid.
"That's 'cause your nickname is Ace, and I'm not calling you that, it's embarrassing. Like you're telling me, of all the possible nicknames, you chose Ace? I can't believe it. Even, like, D-Money would be better than that."
His jaw clenches in frustration. "I earned the nickname Ace."
"Sure thing buddy." I pat his chest in what I hope is a condescending manner. The truth is I just couldn't resist the urge to touch him. "So just so we're clear, you're not coming by the pool on Wednesday, right?"
"Fine," he snaps, seemingly annoyed with me. "Although I'm not sure why you need to see your friends when you spend every waking moment communicating with them."
I ignore the second part of his comment, and clap my hands together. "Okay perf. Also, just letting you know I hired a personal trainer, Avery, so if you see someone else around the house during the day, don't be alarmed."
Before he can respond, Ana yells at us that dinner is ready so I make my way upstairs.
***
The new furniture arrived, and it looks amazing.
Dante stayed home from wherever he usually goes, and spent the whole time glaring as I happily told the movers where all the new furniture goes. I ignored him and didn't let him spoil my happy mood.
I frown as I shove a handful of shredded cheese in my mouth. Why's he always in such a bad mood? Whatever, it's not my problem.
I found out that Ana likes early 2000's throwback music, so that's been blasting on the speakers. When I was working out this morning, it felt like I was in one of those motivational montages in the movies.
I throw salsa on top of my chips as I sing along to Lil Wayne's part in Down. The music is so loud, I can feel it vibrating floors. I'm lost in my concert as I watch my nachos spin in the microwave that I almost don't notice Dante storming in. I glance at him from the corner of my eyes. Maybe if I don't acknowledge him, he'll go away?
Unfortunately, he's pacing restlessly so I paste a smile on my face and turn to face him.
That is probably not the right reaction since anger flashes in his eyes.
"Why are you doing this?" he bites out.
I pause my music. "Doing what?" I ask confusedly. "Making microwave nachos? I didn't know that wasn't allowed here?"
His nostrils flare, and I realize his suit is more messed up than usual. "You're attempting to undermine my authority." He adjusts his shirt collar, and I notice his knuckles are bloody.
"I don't follow?" The microwave beeps, capturing my attention.
"Let me remind you then." He makes his way over to me, a slightly unhinged look in his eyes. Earlier today, I was torturing someone in the basement-"
"In the basement?" I shout. "Why are you torturing people in the basement?" I put my hands in my hair. This is not good. If the cops ever come here, there's no way I can claim innocence when people are getting tortured in my freaking basement.
He ignores my outburst. "I was so near getting the answers I wanted, the man was screaming and begging for mercy," he chuckles darkly, his gaze narrows in on me, and he stops smiling. "When all of a sudden, music starts blasting from the speakers. And not just any music," he shakes his head. "No, that infernal song, Replay of all things."
I wrinkle my brows, trying to wrap my head around what he's saying. My mind is still stuck on the 'torturing people in the basement' part.
"I looked like a fool," he roars. I notice the flecks of blood staining his white shirt and I remember that he's insane.
Of course, I'm crazy too and if he's screaming, then I'm screaming. "What the hell does that have to do with me?"
"You deliberately sabotaged me, you knew that it would make me look like a fool if pop music started playing out of nowhere whilst I was in the midst of an interrogation."
"Get over yourself," I shout, crossing my arms. "You aren't that important. I was just playing music while I was working out, I had no idea you had a secret torture chamber in the basement, which by the way, you can't just brush over like it's nothing."
He runs a hand through his dark hair, agitatedly. "You don't need to concern yourself with my business."
"Are you actually stupid?" I ask in disbelief. "I sure as hell need to concern myself with your business when it involves a person being locked in our freaking basement!"
"I said don't worry about it."
I laugh, somewhat hysterically. "I do need to worry about it when there's a person who probably doesn't like you, locked in the basement. What if he gets out one day and gets into the house? He wouldn't hesitate before killing us and I don't want to die yet. Also, you probs have classified documents or whatever in your office so really you're just allowing easy access to your personal stuff and that's not very calculating-prepared-mafia-boss of you."
His gaze snaps up to me at that, and he shakes his head slightly, pausing as if thinking things through. Finally, he speaks up in a measured tone, "I will take your considerations into account."
"Okay." I say, grabbing my plate from the microwave. My nachos are all soggy now thanks to him but whatevs I guess, I take a seat at the island, assuming he'll leave, but unfortunately he doesn't.
"We need to discuss your insolence." he says, removing his jacket and taking a seat at the island next to me.
My mouth is full so I give him the finger and say a muffled curse at him. We need to discuss your insolence. Does he think he's a father from the, like, 1800's who has a free-spirited daughter who refuses to conform to the traditional roles?
He glares at me. "Grown men flinch when I meet their eyes, none would dare to speak back to me, yet you," he levels his gaze on me. "You behave as if you have no reason to be afraid of me."
I wipe my hands on my legs. "You really gotta cool it with the Edward Cullen bs, like I get it, you're edgy, big whoop."
He slams his hands on the island like an overgrown toddler. "My hands have been perpetually stained with blood since I was seventeen. I have murdered millions with my own two hands and a million more by command. I have made the streets run red with blood, my name is whispered with fear and I have brought men to their knees as they begged for their lives," he drops his voice to a whisper, "so tell me Martina, are you still not afraid of me?"
Wow. He really is dramatic, he should quit this mafia stuff and be an actor. He's hot enough and he's got that broody vibe that the girlies would go nuts for.
"Dude." I say. "Do you know how much a million people is? Why aren't you in jail? Also, you're like nineteen? Why was anyone letting you do all this since you were seventeen?" I shake my head. "No wonder you were never at school."
He's so taken aback by my response that he just sits there in silence. I leave him and head up to my room.
A few hours later, there's a knock at my door. I open it to see Dante, and resist the urge to slam it in his face.
"What?" I snap.
"There will no longer be people in our basement, I am sealing it off. All of my more," he pauses, "violent activities will not take place in this house out of respect for you."
"Cool," I say. Internally I breathe a sigh of relief because now I can't get caught for being complicit in his crimes. "Was there anything else?"
"No," he shakes his head. "Have a good night Martina."
"Whatever," I shut the door and lock it.