Chapter 4 Lazy Sundays
Isabella’s POV
My couch was more of a sanctuary than furniture.
I lay buried in the worn cushions with lukewarm pizza and a remote, finally breathing again after a brutal week.
The air was thick with the scent of garlic, oregano, and the kind of heavy silence you only get when the rest of the world is rushing and you’ve decided to opt out.
Sarah was lounged beside me, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket like a human burrito. A sitcom flickered on the screen, but we weren’t watching.
“This is it,” Sarah sighed, sinking deeper into the upholstery. “No steaming milk, no entitled customers, and no boss telling us to ‘smile with our eyes.’ Just pure, unadulterated laziness.”
I took a bite of my crust, closing my eyes. “Yeah. I could stay in this carb-induced coma forever.”
The silence stretched out, comfortable and warm, until Sarah’s expression shifted. Her eyes sparkled with a look I knew all too well , the look of someone holding onto a secret that was vibrating to get out.
“Speaking of sex…” she started.
I choked slightly on my soda. “Speaking of sex? Nobody was talking about sex, Sarah.”
“My bad,” she said, not looking sorry at all. “I was just thinking about the threesome.”
I sat bolt upright, the pizza box sliding precariously on my lap. “What? You had a threesome? When? How?”
Her smile turned positively devilish. “Last night. Best sex of my life. Hands down. No contest.”
My jaw practically hit the floor. “For real? How does that even happen on a Tuesday? I was literally doing laundry.”
“The oat milk regular,” she said, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial purr.
“The blonde with the yoga pants and the permanent tan? She lured me over for ‘drinks,’ and next thing I know, I’m the cream in a very delicious sandwich between her and her gorgeous boyfriend.”
She laughed, looking entirely too proud of herself.
“It was the wildest night of my entire existence.”
“Only you,” I said, shaking my head in a mix of horror and secondary exhaustion. “I’m tired just hearing about it.”
“It was pure fire,” she sighed, her eyes going hazy. “Seriously, Bella, you should let Alexander fuck you senseless. The man strips you with his eyes every time you reach for a stir stick. Just imagine him pinning you against the counter and bending you over the café sink.”
The mental image hit me like a physical blow to the gut. I could almost feel the cold stainless steel against my skin and the heat of him at my back. I shook it off, my heart hammering.
“Nothing says romance like a quickie next to the industrial-strength bleach,” I managed to say.
“Exactly! Think of the Pavlovian response. Every time you smell coffee for the rest of your life, you’d have a dirty, filthy flashback.”
“No thanks. I’m trying to pay my rent, not turn the shop into a low-budget porn set.”
I tossed a wadded-up napkin at her. We settled back into the rhythm of the afternoon, but my mind was a traitor. It drifted back to the park, and the way he’d looked with that stunning woman. The question had been clawing at my throat all day.
“Speaking of Alexander,” I said, tracing a grease stain on the pizza box. “Do you actually think the mafia rumors are real? I thought the whole ‘mob’ thing died out with VCRs and tracksuits. Is that even a thing anymore?”
Sarah’s playful expression flattened into something unusually serious. “It tracks, Bella. He has that heavy, dangerous power. He’s the kind of man who could make someone disappear without breaking a sweat. You’ve felt it.”
I shivered, my skin cooling. “He’s intense, I’ll give you that. His grip was… visceral. But a crime lord? Maybe he’s not as dark as people think.”
Sarah tilted her head. “Not so dark? What exactly did you see, Isabella?”
I hesitated, feeling the weight of the confession. “Sometimes, when the shop is packed and he’s just standing there… I catch him looking at me. It isn’t that ‘I’m-calculating-how-to-destroy-you’ stare he gives people when he’s barking orders. It’s soft. It’s different.”
I swallowed hard, my throat feeling tight. “And when it’s just us at the counter, he’s quiet. Not a scary quiet, but something else. His hands are so steady and strangely careful when he takes the cup from me. He’s almost gentle.”
Sarah’s brows shot up. “Gentle? Alexander Kingsley? Honey, your brain has been officially scrambled by his jawline.”
My face heated up instantly. “Forget it. I’m being stupid.”
“Too late,” she teased, poking me in the ribs until I swatted her away. “You have a soft spot for the monster! Give it up, Bella, what else?”
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “It’s not a soft spot! He just has this heavy silence about him. It makes me think there’s more to him than the ice. And his voice… it’s low and rough, but sometimes it sounds almost warm. Like he could be kind if he actually wanted to be. God,
someone please sedate me.”
Sarah doubled over, laughing so hard she nearly choked. “Warmth? Kind? Isabella, you’re basically writing erotic poetry about a mob heir! What’s next , is he rescuing kittens from burning buildings on the weekends?”
“No!” I yelped, snatching a pillow and hitting her with it. “Just forget I said anything!”
She dodged, still cackling. “‘Quietly gentle,’ ‘warm voice’ , you’re completely smitten and you just confessed it in broad daylight.”
“I’m not smitten. I’m not even sure I like the guy ninety-five percent of the time.”
“Sure,” Sarah drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “But you’re seeing things nobody else does. You’re looking for the soul inside the machine. And we both know it’s that remaining five percent that’s going to be the death of your panties.”
I peeked through my fingers, my thoughts a tangled, messy wreck. “I don’t even know what I’m trying to say,” I whispered. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Sarah’s laughter died down, replaced by a look that was actually a little haunting. “All I can say is be careful. Watching for the quiet under the storm, Bella , that’s exactly how the dangerous ones get under your skin before you even realize you’ve been bitten.”
I didn’t answer. I just subconsciously looked at my wrist where he’d held me so effortlessly, the memory of his touch still humming like a live wire against my skin.
I sat there wondering if the “quiet” I saw was real , or if I was just standing in the eye of a hurricane, waiting for the rest of him to blow my life apart and leave me in ruins.