19. Vaffanculo
Chapter 19
Vaffanculo
Antonella
“Are you stupid? You don’t know how to make a fucking coffee?” A deranged, middle-aged man is yelling at me across the counter.
I don’t need this. I’m about to burst into tears over a stupid job I don’t even need or want. This job isn’t worth it.
“I didn’t say I didn’t know how to make it. We are out of the stuff to make it.” I scowl at him with annoyance. All because of Michelle.
“Watch your attitude, young lady. I should have you fired.” He scoffs.
Oh, he hasn’t seen an attitude yet. If I had earrings in… I laugh right in his face. Practically spitting. Fired . “Sei pazzo! You can’t fire me. Vaffanculo, I quit,” I say in a lethal tone. Snatching off my apron, I throw it on the counter with a huff.
I don’t need this.
Michelle isn’t doing her job correctly, and I’m getting the brunt of it. No wonder she was desperate when she called me in the first place. An entire burning red flag, yet I stayed anyway.
But screw it if I stay any longer. I’m done. I stomp off as the man watches me in disbelief, yelling all the profanities. I ignore most of it, walking to the backroom and grab my purse.
“What are you doing?” Michelle looks up from her computer, peering over her shoulder. She’s probably watching stupid videos on the internet again instead of helping. As usual.
“Quitting.” I smirk at her with confidence in myself, finally. “Good luck. They’re wild out there today.”
“Wha—”
I walk out of the room before she can respond. What will I do after this? Beats me—it’s damn good to walk out of here.
Hey… So…
Giordano
Yes?
I quit the café job.
OK
Is that okay? I’ll get another job soon.??
You could stay home and do nothing and I’d adore you all the same.
It’s your decision. I’m here to support you.
Where are you?
Uh-oh.
What should I say? He always says the right things. I slide my phone into my pocket and walk my content, unemployed ass out of the café. Inhaling the fresh, not so fresh, city air, I wait at the cross walk for a moment, tapping my foot.
The brightest idea comes across my mind to surprise him at work. Marzanetworks Inc. is only one block away, right? I pull up the GPS walking directions on my phone. Sure enough, he wasn’t lying about the office.
The little green crosswalk guy pops up. I check both ways— clear. I take a step, but someone yanks me back. A car speeds through the red light, almost hitting me.
A scream rips through my throat at the near death experience, covering my face with my hands. My heart races in my chest, and a sob is caught completely in my throat. The big, strong hands release me and I prudently lower my own hands, peeking out from one eye, turning to thank my savior.
A pissed-off, familiar, still nameless, man stands behind me. “Watch where you’re going,” he snarls in his distinct Irish accent.
I scoff—taken aback by this man’s animosity towards me. “Sorry?”
“You should be.” He gawps at me.
What’s with him? “It was clear when I ste?—”
“The car wasn’t going to stop.”
“I don’t have a death wish.” I glare at him, crossing my arms over my chest. My good mood is now entirely ruined.
“Then be careful before you step onto busy streets,” his voice lowers.
The nerve .
“Sure, yeah.” I shake my head, rolling my eyes as I try to turn toward the road again. He grips my bicep, preventing me from moving. I squint down at his tattooed knuckles. THIS . My right brow raises up. What a peculiar word to have permanently on your skin.
“You haven’t called me yet.”
“I haven’t needed to.” Why did I still even have his number, anyway? I should delete it off my phone. Something in the back of my mind told me to hold onto it for safe keeping. A gut instinct.
“Yet,” he adds, tapping the tip of my nose. “Where are you off to?”
“ None of your business,” I retort.
Still, he holds his hand out for me to take. I don’t want to take his hand. A laugh bubbles in my throat. “No, thank you. I can cross the street myself. ”
“You sure?” He cocks a brow, while his quiet laughter gives me an icky feeling in my entire being. “You nearly got run over.”
“I can handle it from here.” I shoot him the bitchiest glare I can muster up. I’m not in the mood—and he’s pissing me off further.
He raises his hands— mercy . That’s right. Back down. “Do you want to come with me? I know a nice place, good food?—”
“Thank you for the offer. But I’m going somewhere at the moment.” I face the opposite direction than him and hope for the best. Go away.
“Do you even know who he truly is? Or are you going to continue to let him lie to you?”
My gaze shifts over to the crosswalk signal as I wait for the red hand to change to the green guy, once again.
Lie to me. Is he talking about Giordano? Of course, why wouldn’t he be? I shake my head, not entertaining his questions. I’ll figure out who he is on my own.
I further my distance from the nameless man as I cross. Once my feet hit the curb, I come to a halt. I may regret this. Slowly, I turn my head over my shoulder—noticing how the nameless man didn’t follow me across, yet watches my every movement—sending unwelcome shivers down my spine.
I’m half-tempted to take a photo of him and send it to Giordano, telling him he keeps popping up randomly. I don’t know his real name, so how can I tell him who he is? And given their interaction, they have bad blood.
I slide up on my phone, switching to camera mode. Aiming the camera at the spot he’s standing in, nice and steady… My jaw drops. He’s gone.
Shit . Missed opportunity.
I waltz into Marzanetworks Inc. with my head held high. Confident in the decision to tell him about the nameless Irishman who keeps following me.
The receptionist, an older woman who must be near her sixties with greying hair, greets me with a poker-face. So much for being friendly.
“Hi.” I give an awkward, flat-lipped smile, and a wave as I lean against the counter.
“Can I help you?”
“Yeah, um—” I hesitate. “I’m here for Giordano Marzano.” I run my fingers through the full length of my wavy hair. I never planned what I was going to do when I got here.
I stare over at the open interior of the building. All bright white, lots of windows, a few fish tanks even. Lots of big TV screens. It looks… Business-y. Legitimate. Technological .
“Allora, this is where he works, huh? Impressive ,” I whisper to myself.
Her small, wrinkling eyes narrow with confusion. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No, um, but?—”
“Then, I’m sorry, you can’t meet with him. He’s a busy man.”
I shift from my left hip to my right, rolling my ankles around in a circle as I peer over the desk at her. “If you would?—”
“You’ll have to make an appointment first.” She taps her screen, incessantly clicking away on her keyboard—in the most obnoxious way possible.
Ridiculous.
I can’t necessarily tell her I’m his fuck buddy . Can I? Should I lie and say he’s my boyfriend? But what proof do I have? Nothing. I have no pictures of us together or anything. I’m sure a few have tried that line before.
I swallow my pride and ask, “Can I make an appointment?”
“Next available on is four months from now.” She peers up at me above her reading glasses, which are settled down at the bottom of her nose. “Is that okay with you?”
Ugh.
“Never mind.” I turn to walk back toward the front entrance. This whole idea is stupid, anyway. I’ll walk home from here, or call a cab. Breaking my chain of thoughts, the elevator behind me rings a high-pitched sound.
“Antonella?” Giordano’s voice bellows from behind me. I stop dead in my tracks. My breathing hitches in my throat. He doesn’t sound too thrilled to see me, not like he normally does when he comes home.
I pivot on my heels, plastering a grin on my face. “Ciao!”
He stalks toward me, on his own mission. “Ciao, amore.” He grips both of my biceps gently in his hands and kisses me on each side of my cheeks, then directly on the lips—in front of everyone in the lobby.
My eyes lazily close as I melt into the dominating kiss of his. He’s claiming me in front of everyone he works with— intrinsically everyone who works for him .
This is intentional for him.
He studies my face and body language after reluctantly pulling away from me. He asks, “What are you doing here? Had I known you were coming for a visit, I would have alerted the staff.”
I snort, covering my mouth as I peer over at the receptionist—who’s currently hiding behind her computer monitor.
“Did Gladys give you a hard time?” He glances over at the older woman, too. “She’s remarkably good at what she does.”
I shake my head. “She is. I was going to leave and walk home. Or cab, whatever. Couldn’t see you for four months.” A shy giggle breaks through my lips. “You’re so busy.”
“You should’ve texted.” He caresses my cheek bone, down my jawline, and to the tip of my chin.
“I should’ve.”
He takes my hand in his, and we walk over to the front desk together. “Gladys,” he says in a less-than-enthused tone. I hope he won’t be hard on her. She’s only doing her job.
“Yes, Sir?” She straightens her stance in the chair.
“This is Antonella Vitale, my girlfriend . Remember her name and face. Write it everywhere. Make it known to everyone. She’s always allowed up in my office—anytime, any day. Doesn’t matter if I’m not there or in a meeting. All access, as if she works here. As if she’s me.”
“ Of course .” She gulps, typing something into the computer once again.
“Thank you, Gladys.” I simper, my cheeks flushing because of his gesture.
His girlfriend. He told her I’m his girlfriend. I didn’t think we made it official, but for the public eye, it’s unequivocally less vulgar than fuck buddy.
“I’ll take you home, amore. I’ll be here a little late tonight with meetings, okay?”
“Sì.” I place a gentle kiss on his cheek. Right on the bottom of his long, white scar. “Oh, before I forget, there’s something I came here to tell you. Aside from, um, surprising you.”
“Are you okay?” His brows knit together with concern as we walk over to the elevators. I raise my hand up, but he presses the button before I can. Damn.
I laugh, waiting next to him. Everyone’s eyes are on me. I’m like a fish out of water here. I don’t fit in. “Sì, I’m fine. Um, there’s a man. The same man from before. Remember when we ran into him? Probably not, who am I kidding.” I snort.
His grip tightens around my hand, extremely tight. “The same man?”
“That’s what I said. Are you listening?” I snort, covering my mouth again with my other, non-strangled hand.
“Intently,” he growls. The elevator door opens, and we step in, waiting to continue the conversation until the doors shut again. He presses the button for the parking garage and they close. “What happened?”
“First, I almost got hit by a car,” I admit quietly.
“Che cazzo?” His voice bellows through the small elevator. “Che? You— sei—che?” he stutters, frazzled with anger and confusion.
“You seem to be caught in a loop.” I sigh. “I was waiting to cross the street after I quit the café. I stepped onto the street and he pulled me back, angry at me for almost getting hit. He was also oddly mad that I refused to let him walk me here.”
He’s silent.
“ Hello ?” I wave my hand across his face.
“He touched you?” He snarls through gritted teeth.
“That’s what you’re worried about?” I snort. “Technically he saved me from getting hit. Oh, by the way he gave me his number before, like a while ago. I have it in my phone,” I hesitate to tell him. He needs to know. This man and him—whatever is between them. Maybe they can settle it. “I haven’t called it. He doesn’t have my number. I put it in my phone without a second thought in case?—”
He presses the stop button on the elevator. “You… what?” He squints, pushing me up against the wall.
“I have his number?” I repeat myself. Why’s he mad? We aren’t officially together, and I didn’t keep it for any nefarious reason, at all .
“I’m sorry?” I cross my arms over my chest, shifting onto my left hip.
“Antonella.” He stares directly into my soul, gripping both of my wrists in his hands and raises them above my head. His lips press against mine in a shared heat of passion between us.
He pulls away, practically smiling down at me now like I’ve done something useful—like save a cat from a burning building, or cure fucking cancer.
“Thank you for telling me. I’m glad you’re safe. Can you—” He pauses, his grip tightening around my wrists. “Can you give me the number?”
“Uh… sure?” I leer, showing him the number on my phone. He types it into the notes app on his phone. Interesting .
“Please tell me if you run into him again, sì?” He presses the button again and the elevator jolts back into motion.
“If you insist.” I shrug.