Vengeance: DARK MAFIA ROMANCE

Twenty-one

Natalia

I can't believe I told Savio my secret. It makes me feel sick, but at the same time I feel strangely lighter. Vincente's actions had power because they were secret, becoming more and more shameful as they grew in my heart like a twisted weed. Now the weed's ripped out, broken on the ground between us. My soul seems empty without it.

I don't know how long I've lain here on the bed, but Savio's words come back to me. Bath and a nightgown. Pain shoots from my swollen ankle as I try to cross to the bathroom. Between our rough sex earlier, the fall on the hard floor, and crying in the street, I hurt everywhere. Happy and sad, pleasure and pain, all mixed together and impossible to distinguish.

I turn the gold knob on the bath until the water burns my fingers, then leave it to fill up. I got some silky nightgowns and negligees on my shopping spree, but I dig under the rest of the clothes for my secret stash. On the morning we left, I impulsively stole a pair of Savio's flannel pajama pants, along with a Steelers tee that hasn't even been washed since he last wore it. Cuddling these clothes to my chest, I limp back to the bathroom. There are all kinds of bath-salt-looking things lined up on the edge of the tub, and I can't sort out the Italian labels. I dump a little bit of each into the water, creating a sweet-smelling foam.

After being cradled by the hot water for what seems like forever, narrowly managing to avoid falling asleep and drowning, I reluctantly climb out of the bath and into Savio's pajamas, wrapping a towel around my head. Aside from the hollow feeling in my chest, the bath has soothed most of my aches and pains.

Calming down a little bit helps me realize that I'm starving. It's almost ten o'clock. Settling cross-legged on the bed, I examine the room service menu. If I went down to the restaurant, I could get a waiter to explain what this stuff was, but one glance at Vincente has convinced me to follow Savio's orders to stay hidden. Picking up the room phone, I wait nervously. A polite voice answers in Italian, but switches to English when I start to speak. I hesitantly order one of each thing I recognize. I haven't gotten used to Savio's wealth so much that I don't hesitate at the prices, but fuck it, I'm so hungry.

I lie on my back on the bed, my eyes tracing patterns in the ceiling as I wait. I feel too scared to even go out on the balcony. What if someone on an adjoining balcony recognizes me? My excitement to explore Naples has all but dried up. It makes me sad, but I think I'm going to be stuck right here until it's time to fly home. Maybe Savio will let me download some ebooks or a video game on his laptop.

A surprisingly short time later, a soft knock sounds on the door. My heart jumps in my mouth. What if it's someone else? I tiptoe toward the door, hesitating when a soft, accented voice calls, "Room service!" I'm still nervous. Peeking through the peephole, I see a young man, probably younger than me, in a waiter's uniform, pulling a silver cart.

I relax and undo all the chains and locks on my side of the door, cracking it open. He politely nudges the door with his cart until I open it. His tiny grin as he enters indicates that I'm not exactly following room service etiquette. I stand back, trying not to get in the way as he pulls a small tray from under the bed and starts loading it with plates. "Buona sera, signorina."

"You too?" I venture, and he laughs openly. I wonder if he's flirting with me. It's weird to think that this is the kind of innocent, boyish guy I'd be dating if I had a normal life.

"Would the signorina like a tour of her dinner?" He offers shyly, gesturing to the loaded tray. The identical covered dishes do look a bit intimidating. I approach, watching carefully as he lifts the lids. A bouquet of amazing smells fills the air, making my stomach growl. As I examine the food, I feel the waiter's hand brush my waist. In America, I'm pretty sure hotel staff would get fired for feeling up the guests. I try to shift away from his touch, but his grip tightens and his other arm wraps around my chest, pressing an acrid white cloth to my nose and mouth.