#ajdfdfsd here's ur new chapter my dudes

[maruzzewrites]

Every breath you take. - 3

When you parted ways with your fiance and were left alone in your house with your parents away for holidays, you took the time to check the phone and recall your employer with a sigh. The apprehension still weighted on your heart, heavy and thick as a fog that blinded you, but you have to grit your teeth and bear with it for a little while longer. When your lover would get his degree this summer, you’d be free to resign and forget about the house, those men and even the address, the street and the distance from your own home. As the phone started to ring, you just sighed deeply in order to keep an even voice when you’d finally talk to your contact and apologize for answering so late.

“They know of you, right?” The voice over the phone didn’t even greet you when they picked up the phone and you were sent into a spiraling pit of anxiety, sweating bullets and forgetting your own mother tongue as your brain tried to process the question. After a full minute of silence, your employer just sighed with frustration clinging to their voice and just uttered your name as a form of reprimand. Like it was your fault that they discovered the pattern of your visits, even if you supposed they’d deduce it in any case sooner or later. You were ready to be yelled at, to beg for forgiveness and mercy by the hands of the most dangerous organized crime group of Italy. But what you got made your blood run even colder than what you were bracing yourself for.

“Well, it can’t be helped now,” your contact was speaking like you simply forgot to pick up something at the market or didn’t bring your favorite swimsuit for a trip to the beach. They were dismissing the entire ordeal that was walking around a building full of mobsters that seemed to want to keep a close eye on you. A watchful, threatening eye. You stayed silent for another minute just out of pure confusion, you couldn’t understand the implications of that statement. Then they continued. “You will be able to go more often, right?”

You held your breath at the request. You kept silent for another minute, the time stretching to unnerving and impossible lengths just to drag the strain on your mind. You regained the ability to speak and compute words only when your contact repeated your name, believing your call was cut short. You confirmed you were still listening and just rushed to find an excuse, to get out of the possibility of setting foot in that house more than four times in a month at maximum. Of facing those guys as a group, worried enough when just one or two were around to creep on you. You had other obligations, the money to travel was too much, maybe they’d find it annoying to have someone intrude in their jobs too much. The person on the other side of the phone listened in religious silence, but without letting out any sound to prove it.

“Isn’t it a problem they know about me anyway? Why else did you keep me a secret if you don’t care now?” Reaching the end of your trail of reasons, still countered with a defeating quiet, you were desperate to get to the bottom of this and find a way out. Hoping against hope that they wouldn’t mind you backing out from the deal you stroke with this group, you could feel the eyeroll that accompanied the exhalation of mounting irritation of your interlocutor. You pressed your lips together in a tight, tense line at the sound and clammed up, unable to continue with your questioning and your justifications. Despite few second passing, you felt like an eternity just washed over you and you were waiting for your granted punishment.

“We didn’t want them to know because they can be bothersome,” at those words you resisted the urge to laugh and bitterly let them know how that adjective didn’t describe even half of their actions. Unsettling, disturbing and alarming? Those were way more appropriate to define the way they hovered over you with eyes, words and movements. Last time, Risotto even grabbed the back of your shirt with no care for your nerves, holding the collar wide open from behind as your muscles tensed and you were on the verge of tears. “But you went and blew it, it doesn’t make sense to keep this charade up anyway.”

“It shouldn’t be a problem to find someone else then. Maybe it would solve this problem.” Your bargaining was only making your contact more and more perturbed, you could feel it in the shaking breath they exhaled as you finished your sentence with panicked hurry. You were really trying not to scream in the microphone as your brain lit up with indignation and alarm at the unconcerned way they were treating your obvious restlessness at the prospect of being openly in the presence of a group of apparently dangerous mobsters. You didn’t know what to say or how to beg for them to just hung up on you with the promise that they will let you go and just forget about you, just as you will about them.

“I will be honest, they seem to like you,” their words froze the blood flowing in your veins, you felt cold creeping up your arms and legs to your core. You tried to ask for clarifications, but your questions went unanswered because they continued to speak as they raised their voice to cover your own. “So, please, continue to do a good job. They had so much to say about you, it seems.”

You shook your head and stated, with a small and weak voice, that you couldn’t go there more. You only got silence after you spoke until you hear a shift on the other side of the phone, as your contact stood up and moved. You pressed the phone to you hear to hear the steps and the soft sound of opening doors with your breath getting progressively louder in your own ears. You could hear the muffled sound of voices, a conversation taking place wherever your interlocutor was. You pushed the phone almost flat against your ear to catch the other voice, relieved that it wasn’t a familiar one by the timbre or tone. Then you heard a door close a bit more forcefully than how it was opened, and you held your breath with the noises of steps reaching your ear.

“I’m deeply sorry,” they spoke suddenly once your contact brought the phone back to the side of their face. You could hear in the neutral, unemotional tone that they weren’t really apologizing for anything and you supposed they didn’t argue a lot considering how short the conversation was. You stayed silent and waited for them to continue. “But we aren’t thinking of changing things up as you know where they live, and we can’t really let someone with that knowledge run around. But the choice of yours, be sure of it.”

The clear threat in their statement was enough to make you want to throw the phone, lock yourself in your home and wail in the false security of your home until you dried yourself of tears and then liquids. However, you were aware of how the mafia operated and they’d let you suffer long enough for you to beg for your death, reaping any ounce of peaceful joy in your life and disseminating salt on the lingering nude soil to make it sterile. They’d pry your family, friends and loved ones from you before they would even think of letting you rest. So, you gripped the phone with more strength and asked in your unsteady voice when you were supposed to work.

“Good choice.” You could feel the smirk, haughty, in their voice. They returned to their detached tone to give you instructions about the days you were supposed to visit the group you were taking care of. You were intimated to keep up your impeccable service, that their boss established the great satisfaction that his team felt at your job. Even more, you were commanded with allusive terms to up the attentions you were giving these men because a satisfied and happy employee was one that would work more eagerly. You bit your lip at the thought, however distant, that they would take advantage of your obligation and you choked a sob before confirming your understanding of the situation.

Luckily enough, you weren’t asked to work for another week because they were supposed to have an assignment that would keep them out of the region completely. The concept that you wouldn’t visit in a moment of complete quiet, when you usually worked these past months, was such a novelty that weighted on your mind. From that moment forward you were supposed to go to that house twice a week, on Wednesdays and on Saturdays with possible and, honestly, unwelcome extra days when it was needed. If this team would request one more day a week, every once in a while, they would be granted it. Apparently they’d get their pay cut to compensate for your own if this perk was actually requested, so after your contact heard the obvious worry in your voice, you were assured they’d barely or never use the privilege.

After some days where you tried, with various results, to occupy yourself with anything to keep your mind and your anxiety at bay while the first day of your new routine approached, you were again on route to your job. Gripping the wheel tightly, you watched the outline of the house emerging from the horizon and felt the burdensome weight of apprehension rest on your stomach like a familiar blanket from how used you got to this sensation. You parked at your usual spot and walked to the door with heavy steps, dragging your feet and ruining the tip of the run-down shoes you were wearing even more.

You stalled for time by checking the keys you had and slowly pulling the one belonging to the door in front of you. Once you opened the door as softly and silently as you possibly could, you accompanied it to its place and dropped your bag with just as much care under the coat hanger in the corner and not bothering turning around to look at the rest of the house. You took off your jacket and threw it over your bag, not even thinking about adding it to the mess of coats on the hanger. Only then, with a firmer mind, you faced the hallway to start with your job.

But your heart sunk almost instantly when you saw Prosciutto standing on doorway of the kitchen, staring at you with what you could assume was genuine surprise at your presence. Maybe their superiors didn’t bother with warning them of the change of plans and you looked to the side, to your stuff abandoned on the floor, but you returned your eyes to the man standing a few feet from you. Actually, did he get closer? You couldn’t tell because, despite all your mental preparation during the hours prior to this encounter, you got too intimidated and nervous to fix your eyes on his face or his actual body. You were actually looking at the wall behind him, just above his shoulder and at his chin height, more or less. You took a deep breath and elected to speak in order to answer his unasked question.

“There has been a change in my schedule,” you started and you could see out of the corner of your eye that his expression changed, making you shift your eyes to just under his head to better soak it in and analyze his mood better. He didn’t seem annoyed or bothered by your clarification, rather his face relaxed quite a bit and you suppressed the urge to show your confusion to him. “I will have to come over twice a week now, you can ask your superiors about this. I’m really sorry if it disrupts your plans or timetables, but I was asked to come more often.”

You could hear yourself starting to ramble without reason, your jumpiness spilling out in the form of words so that your body could let go of some of the tension it was holding. You saw him approaching and your eyes snapped to his for the first time, faced with a serious yet tranquil feeling whirling on his face. He raised his arm and you flinched just slightly when you saw it getting closer to your own body, a movement you could see he noticed. He didn’t seem to care much though if you could take him resting the hand on your arm, a gesture that was supposed to reassure you, but that only managed to set your brain ablaze with passive hostility. You could feel his fingers cautiously slide down over your sleeve to imitate a comforting movement, but he stopped the moment he saw your eyes fill with distaste.

“You don’t have to worry about disturbing me or the others.” He added the last piece after the shortest of pauses, but your ear caught the swift correction. You smiled mechanically and thanked him for his consideration and his words, stepping away from his touch. He let his arm fall down, but didn’t walk away and elected to stand in front of you without really looking at your face. You noticed he was looking at something behind you and you didn’t care enough to continue the brief and pointless conversation, so you excused yourself with a slight tremble in your voice. Only when he acknowledged your words you dared to move and jog deeper inside the house, leaving Prosciutto behind to ponder on whatever caught his attention.

You wished you could say the day went as usual (despite how detestable your typical day in that house was), but you found yourself surrounded by surprised members of the team who took the liberty to follow you around during your duties. Some were either respectful or shy enough to leave you be for most of the time, coming around only to ask you to do something specific or to know if you wanted to eat with them. That made you remember, when lunch came around, that you had to continue to please these men if you wanted to prove to your contact and whoever was above them that you could be trusted to do this job. So, you stepped in the living room and, despite the absence of most of the team, you asked the few who were gathered there what they would have liked to eat that day.

You saw something akin to a sparkle shining in Formaggio’s eyes and appreciative epithets from Melone, who sang your praises as if you were some domestic divinity who blessed them. You smiled awkwardly as Ghiaccio rolled his eyes and started to yell at the guy near him about how dumb and foolish he was, while Formaggio turned fully to you as he kneeled on the sofa to give you a list of options he’d like to eat. Most were rather simple meals and you thanked him for his suggestions, you’d just ask the others if they had preferences. Your stepped outside the room and went to look for the others to propose the options you mentally selected from the list given to you by Formaggio. You really, really didn’t want to disappoint any of them.

Asking around, you managed to narrow your possibilities to two dishes – Pesci and Risotto didn’t seem to have strong preferences for different reasons, with shyness tamper with Pesci’s words and indifference making Risotto shrug; Prosciutto pursed his lips at the choices he had but gave his opinion regardless, while Illuso was quick to pick as if he already knew what you’d ask of him. You couldn’t find Sorbet or Gelato anywhere, but Prosciutto let you know that those two would hardly eat lunch with the rest of the team because they were always busy with sticking to each other sides and their own little projects. You just nodded and forgot about them quickly, their words still swirling in your brain.

Consequently, you dropped your other chores for the time being to focus completely on the task at hand, careful to cook the best you could so that you’d have less to worry about while you continued to clean around the house and the men were around the table with their meal. Whilst you were busy fishing around for the various ingredients and grabbing an apron to tie around your body so that you wouldn’t make a mess of your clothes, you felt a light tap on your shoulder of someone trying to get your attention. You turned your head suddenly and there you saw Pesci, slightly timid now that your eyes were on him. He mustered the courage to ask you if you needed help with cooking and, before you could gracefully and reservedly tell him you weren’t in need, Formaggio passed right outside the door from the hallway (why was he there? Was he outside?) and backtracked when he saw two figures in the kitchen so close together.

“Getting some bravery and leaving us in the dust, Pesci?” He grinned wickedly at his own words, making Pesci stutter for his words and look down with a face displaying a mixture of bashfulness and annoyance. You simply stayed silent. Formaggio entered the room and stalked arrogantly, with pompous strides, towards you and Pesci. “You know, I’m a pretty good cook! I wouldn’t mind lending you a hand.” He continued when he stopped right at your side, looking Pesci askance. You didn’t know why he was seemingly so watchful of his teammate, but you pinned it on being so obviously submissive when he was supposed to keep an eye on you.

You could, however, see he was raising his arm to rest on your shoulders, so you preemptively stepped a bit to the side, leaving his arm hanging in midair. He didn’t seem to appreciate that, but then again you would rather see his expression sour a bit than being touched twice without permission. Prosciutto caught you off guard and blew up that opportunity for most of them that day, so Formaggio would have him to thank, you didn’t really care for this fool’s feelings right now.

What you did care about, instead, was your own safety. Denying one of them would be easy enough, especially someone as meek as Pesci, but something told you Formaggio wouldn’t be that to convince and get rid of. You really, really wanted to keep peace with the entire team and wounding this guy’s pride twice in a row without offering some kind of consolation would probably make him more persistent or bring him to complain to his boss. The last thing you wanted was Risotto hovering over you and reminding you to be a good help, not to upset his subordinates. Hence the forced smile, your jaw clenched, as you accepted both their assistance and gave him soft and gentle instructions so that they wouldn’t get too frustrated with you or have reasons to label you bossy.

Pesci was rather manageable and not too bad if you could take time to explain what he was supposed to do, but Formaggio would often physically step in and wriggled in between the two of you if you got very close. He’d pat Pesci’s back with compliments about his abilities, the slap against the poor younger man violent enough to make you wince at the sound of his hand slam against his bare neck. You supposed you were being a bit too friendly with Pesci and Formaggio was not-so-gently reminding him of focusing on controlling you, of not letting you alone for a second to wander in their secrets. Not that you were that interested in their jobs for your own security. Then Formaggio started to grab you and drag you closer to him, using the excuse of not understanding what he was supposed to do when he has been mostly independent until that moment. Pesci would throw quick, vicious glances in your general direction when you nervously explained the recipe once, twice, three times to Formaggio as he continued to interrupt you and make you start over.

Your hope of finishing faster with the help of these two assisting was soon shattered with all the little distractions, but when you were finally close to getting the food ready, you turned to them and cheerfully asked them to go prepare the table. They seemed hesitant at first, but you smiled sweetly at the thought of being left alone and they almost beat each other up for the chance of grabbing the glasses, the tablecloth and the cutlery first. It was a rather strange sight, but you shifted your focus on the finishing steps to complete the meal and portioning it as fairly as you could. When you got close to the table and your two unhelpful aids, you noticed how slow they were and understood they probably never had to think about setting the table when you weren’t around.

You rested the two plates you were carrying in front of two different seats and walked to Pesci to gently nudge the forks he was holding, not noticing the startled look on his face when your fingers lightly brushed against his hand. You started to talk softly at him to explain where you should position each piece or that he could maybe just dump them in the center of the table, so that whoever needed a fork or a spoon would simply grab it. When you raised head and looked over, you were faced with a blushing Pesci and a glaring Formaggio. Some sort of doubt started to set in your brain, but it was soon crushed by the emerging anxiety in your stomach at the vitriol in Formaggio’s eyes as you couldn’t understand if it was directed at you or his teammate. With mounting panic, you shoved the remaining forks in Pesci’s hands and run to fixing the other dishes.

To escape the heavy atmosphere in the room, you set all the plates at the right places and went to call for the others. When you stepped outside the kitchen, you noticed Illuso hanging out at the end of the hallway and you approached while calling him out softly. He flinched just slightly, you noticed only thanks to the movement of his long hair, and faced you with his usually self-assured grin, a bit crooked though. You informed him that the lunch was being served and he just thanked you, without moving. You stood there too, turning back only after a minute of complete silence and awkward waiting.

Setting the encounter aside in your mind, you went to look for the others. Melone cooed and complimented you on how good and domestic you looked with the apron still tied around your body, a reaction that made you slip it off as soon as he went for the kitchen. Risotto looked at you, at the piece of cloth on your arm, and said he’d be down in a second after finishing looking over the files for the next missions. Ghiaccio didn’t acknowledge you much besides stomping to the kitchen and side eyeing the end of the hallway, but you ignored his weird behavior to walk upstairs once again and looking for Prosciutto. He was alone in his shared room, without his usual suit jacket on, a simple shirt open wide on his chest area. You always found distasteful the amount of skin these guys flaunted around like it wasn’t winter just a few months ago and the cold wasn’t clinging to the starting months of spring. But maybe it was just the thought process of an engaged person, you could probably see someone regarding them as eye-candy if they didn’t have to deal with the concept of them being criminals or just plain unsettling.

Once all the men were probably eating in the kitchen, you busied yourself with tidying up their bedrooms and the other two rooms on the upper floor. In spite of more than a week going by from your last visit, you didn’t find much disorder or chaos, so you finished quickly. You heard commotion downstairs, under your feet, and you were pretty sure they were arguing. You opted to tune out their muffled voices and concentrate on your duties in order to get out sooner. You didn’t see any other them until three in the afternoon, when Risotto barged in his own office while you were dusting and fixed his steely eyes on you. You squirmed under his gaze, but continued with your task.

“You didn’t join us.” He was matter-of-factly stating it, a light note of disappointment in his voice. You merely looked over to him and questioned his words silently. He didn’t elaborate further, and you didn’t want to press the matter more than you needed to but, as you were directing your attention back to the books and papers on the shelves, he spoke again. “We thought you’d eat with us. There was still food in the pot.”

“Oh!” You gave more emphasis than you needed in that exclamation, but you powered through the embarrassment of your surprise as Risotto didn’t even move. You waved your hand dismissively with a sincere grin on your face, one of the few you offered any of them, mostly born out of the consideration of his words. When he expressed his confusion at your absence you almost felt like you were talking to a family member worried about your meals, but his minimal reaction to your smile – you did notice the almost imperceptible bulging of his eyes – made you return to your actual reality: you were in a house full of mobster, in a office with their boss and you were being questioned while your hands were between his files. Maybe he was simply paranoid of your intentions.

“No, no, I made all that for you guys!” You were talking quickly, not even stopping to breath. You tried to replicate that smile, that genuine one, but you could feel the strain on your lips and the lack of reaction from Risotto. No matter, you could fake it a bit until you were outside that door and safe from this man. “I was kinda worried you would neglect cooking properly tomorrow, so I made some more for lunch. Or dinner tonight!”

You shifted gracelessly under Risotto’s scrutiny, his stoic reaction making you more and more concerned for your words and your current position. Deciding that finishing dusting wasn’t a priority anymore, you stepped away from the shelves right in front of you and kindly asked the man to move so you could get to the rest of the house. Risotto stepped aside just enough to open a window of space where you could sneak out. It wasn’t wide enough to just walk out, but you made do by flattening against door frame and avoiding any physical contact with the body of this enormous man. He did seem nice enough to move a bit more to the side, stepping inside his office more, and you were soon out on the hallway. You didn’t hear the door click shut quickly, so you turned around to see Risotto facing you about to close it. When he noticed you looking at him, he raised his hand to wave and wished you a good day. Right after, the door was closed and you didn’t even hear him moving, stepping away from it.

You contemplated your next move as you stared at the wood right in your face and, all things considered, you did clean enough. Your nerves really couldn’t take much more of this constant and unnerving surveillance. You thought you seemed docile enough, they didn’t need to drone over you like you were about to steal all their valuables like some low-tier thief. For today, you were done and tired. Before you were out of the door though you chose to clean up the leftovers of their lunch, walking into the kitchen to see how they were well-behaved enough to clear the table. Not enough to wash the dishes, but that would be an easy task that you started right in that moment so you could say goodbye to this house for a few days. Your mood actually improved at the prospect of returning and you stopped paying attention to your surroundings until you heard a loud whisper.

“What do you mean it’s not there?” You resisted the urge to jump at the harsh tone. It came from beyond the kitchen’s door, right down the hallway. You were somewhat curious about the sounds and the whispers coming from there and these guys seemed oddly interested in that part of the house today. You wondered if you could easily sneak up to them to check what they were doing, but you were sure that would be the making of your deathbed. You tried to ignore the murmurs accompanied by soft noises, then steps that were trying to be silent on purpose. When you heard whoever was pacing right outside the room pass the door, you turned just a tiny bit but enough to catch a glimpse of blonde hair and fuzzy coat. You dried our hands and walked outside the kitchen with extreme reluctance in every slow step.

Once on the doorstep, you glanced around and confirmed no one was there to see you. You glared at the end of the hallway, where the entrance was, but noticed nothing odd or dangerous. You scanned the area for a bit until your brain made the connection: your coat, left abandoned on the floor to rest on your bag, was now hanging with the other jackets. With another suspicious look at the stairs and the door of the living room, you paced to the coat hanger and inspected your own. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, maybe they just thought it fell down and picked it up. You couldn’t really fault them for that. However, a gut feeling told you to check inside your bag.

Kneeling down, you opened it and narrowed your eyes at the contents. Along with your usual possessions (new cellphone, keys, a bottle of water, some chapstick and tissues), there were various other objects that your panicking mind couldn’t recognize in that moment. You had the thought of emptying your bag right there and then, but the fear of them getting irritated at your gesture stopped your hands from doing so. But you weren’t scared enough of the consequences of simply grabbing your coat and your bag and bolting out of the house. You barely stopped to slam the door shut before you made a run for the car and entered, dumping your stuff on the seat besides you and driving off.

You stopped just down the street, when the outline of the house was just a memory of few minutes ago, and parked again. You needed to calm down before driving again, your fingers trembling by the sheer tension and force of your grip on the wheel. Were they spying on you? Were they trying to find some clue about you and your alleged affiliations? Did they plant some listening device in your bag? With a swirling spiral of paranoia flooding you mind, you fished around your bag to understand what you were dealing with.

When your hand came out of the bag, you were hold chocolate. Confused and disoriented, you opened the bag wide and looked inside. There were various trinkets hidden away in pockets and corners, as if they were trying to conceal them from a distracted observer. You found some weird hair accessories you never possessed or saw before, jewelry, a ring, a compact mirror that wasn’t anything like the one you already possessed, and little noted attached to each supposed gift scattered around your purse. Words of praise or gratitude were written on those little pieces of paper; you didn’t know their handwriting, but you could associate the notes to each of them by the tone of the comments. You simply crumpled them together and threw them out of the car’s window.

You decided against getting rid of the gifts though, as they would surely inquire about them. The idea you built in your mind, that they simply wanted to keep tabs on you because you intruded their home and they wanted to be prepared for a dangerous rat among them, came down in an instant and you had to face the reality that these men were getting incomprehensibly attached to you. You considered their bizarre behaviors and assumed they were always isolated, always out of the norm, to the point that the littlest of niceties was met with interested by them. You never regretted your good upbringing more in your life.

With unease and terror gripping your throat in a vice, you reached for your phone and went straight to the saved numbers. Considering that this was a new phone (that you managed to buy with the money you got from this job), there weren’t many phone numbers and you chocked when you scrolled down to get to your fiance’s number. In the list, with clear letters, was saved one of their numbers. After further inspection, you counted four new numbers in total – Risotto, Prosciutto, Pesci and Melone. You had no idea if the others didn’t think of that bright idea or if they didn’t know how to operate the cellphone, but you couldn’t bear the sight of those names and deleted the contacts. You threw the phone without caring where it would land and wailed helplessly with your forehead against the wheel.

After some time, an hour later according to your clock, you heard the ringtone of your cellphone and tentatively picked it up to see your mother’s name on the screen. You answered and listened to her request to buy something from the market for tonight’s dinner. She heard you sobbing softly and asked if everything was alright, but you assured her you just got a bit of a running nose because of the wind. The air was still, she countered. Not here, you were quick to underline. She reluctantly accepted your excuse and told you to come back soon with the usual worry a mother would have for their child.

That night you left your bag by the entrance and when your fiance came over to spend time with his beloved and his future parents-in-law, he went to look in your purse to find something he asked you about and enthusiastically asked you if he could eat the chocolate you had inside. You couldn’t help starting to bawl with grieving force, a fact that worried your loved ones greatly. They probed and inquired about your mood, what did happen, there was no reason to cry that over chocolate.

You composed yourself enough to talk and just stated, with a shaking voice, that you were scared to illustrate your fiance’s idea about your future. That night you opened up about a trivial, joyful update so that you could spare your family the heartache you had to carry.

Your fiance gladly ate the chocolate and you went to sleep with your head on a wet pillow.