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“With cream, as you requested.” I stand there, stunned, watching him from my bedroom doorway. I haven’t moved. My body stiff as he moves around my home like it is his own. The smell of fresh coffee finally snaps me out of it.
“What the hell are you doing in my apartment?” I screech at him, my raspy morning voice making me cringe.
“You have great beans,” he says as he ignores my question and sips his coffee.
“What?” I ask, now even more perplexed.
“Are they Italian?” he asks, taking another small sip of his small espresso.
“IswhatItalian?” My eyes narrow, growing even more confused.
“The beans?” he repeats, as his tall body leans against my kitchen wall, looking like he belongs in a luxury appliance commercial.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Your coffee beans. What did you think I was talking about?”
“I don't even know what is happening right now!”
“We are talking about beans, Miss Cole.”
I can only stand and gawk at him. Five minutes ago, I was lost in my slumber, and now I am talking about coffee beans with a strange man who broke into my apartment.
Who knows how long he has been here already, probably casing the place while I slept. Not that he would find anything here; I am not someone who is sentimental. I have no photos or knickknacks, so my apartment is modern and stark just like my life. Anything of value is in my safe deposit box.
But still… should be calling the police? Should I be trying to run? Why am I just standing here?!
I don’t miss his eyes as they flick up and down my body, and while I should be embarrassed that this dapper man has now seen me at my worst, I can’t part with the anger swelling in my chest at having someone uninvited in my home.
“Who the hell are you?” Although this is the second time he has been in my space, I realize I still don’t even know his name. He ignores my question and walks over to my dining table, taking a seat and relaxing back.
“Please, just make yourself at home,” I say sarcastically as I wave my hands around my space.
He smirks at me again, and I ignore his eyes as I look at the steaming coffee he made me sitting on the kitchen bench. My mouth waters, so I decide to pretend like I am actually playing this game of doing what he wants. I keep my eyes on him as I walk forward and grab the coffee, trying to wrack my brain for a plan. It is one thing to be in my workplace, but it is something else entirely to be standing here, in my home. My apartment is the only place just for me. Now it has been invaded, by whoever this jerk is.
Sipping the hot brew, my eyes close as the coffee hits my tongue and slides down my throat. This is a damn good coffee. Walking toward him, I put my cup down on the dining table as he looks me up and down once more. His trademark smirk stays plastered on his face, one any other woman would find panty dropping, but I find infuriating. Mostly.
“Seriously, this coffee is really good,” he says, still ignoring my question as he finishes his espresso and crosses one leg over the top of his knee.
“Okay, enough of this game. What is your name? You want something from me, but I have no idea who you are.” Standing tall, I cross my arms over my chest. I’m not sure if I actually want to know, but knowledge is power, and I need all the power I can get at the moment.
“Nico,” he finally answers, quickly and sternly, folding his arms across his chest, matching my stance. I guess he isn’t too happy to play this game ofget to know your intruder.
“Nico who?” I fire back and watch his nostrils flair. It’s clear he doesn’t like me asking questions, but I am not continuing any conversation without knowing exactly who I am dealing with.
“Nico Molenti. I work for the mob,” he states, deadpan, and I laugh. I laugh so hard, tears form in my eyes, and I start to ugly snort, not able to control myself. He looks at me as though I am crazy and have lost my mind. Maybe I have.
“Sure, and I am a direct descendant of the Queen of England,” I say in a mock English accent as I give him a royal wave. “Seriously.” I wipe my eyes, not missing the dark smudge of the mascara I obviously missed in the shower last night. “Who are you? Do you need support with one of the top five banks, or are you just some jerk who likes to break into young women’s apartments and scare them on a Saturday morning?”
“I am Nico Molenti, and I work for the mob.” Something about his tone this time has my smile wiped from my face, and my body stills. Understanding washes over me that he is, in fact, not joking. The anger I felt now starts to dissipate, the nerves from earlier rearing back into gear. I couldn’t have heard him right…
“Excuse me?” I barely whisper, my eyes staring into his, all humor gone.. “As in, Sebastian Romano Mob, or..” My voice wavers. Everyone knows Sebastian Romano.
“Sebastian is my brother,” he says like he is asking for creamer in his coffee and not like he just dropped a bomb on my life.
Once again, I’m unmoving, eyes bulging and mouth agape. I want to say something, but nothing comes out. The shock of what he just told me renders me speechless for a moment, my fight-or-flight instincts battling each other.
“You know, looking at me with your mouth wide open like that makes me think of some ways we can pass the time… unless you have something else to say? Hmm?” Lifting a brow, he takes another sip of his coffee.
