Black Death And White Roses (1) Mafia Romance

40. Omelets and homicide

Roxana

Apathy. I think this is the word. I am so tired and drained I do not even have the energy to cry.

I hope heaven exists, though I never believed in it. I hope it does and Dani is there and music is all around him, how he always liked it.

This place is so beautiful, so so beautiful. The whole city is at our feet, and around us is the smell of lilac and classical music tunes. And there is he, the boy I used to like while I still could feel something. Now I am only numb.

He said he would give me the money. Just like that. That is suspicious. That cannot be true, can it?

I swore that I would kill Ivan and that bill is still open and pending. Could I just leave now and find him?

"Roxi, what would you like to eat?"

"Nothing. I am not hungry," I whisper. 

"You don't feel like eating but you are most certainly hungry. Make an effort, please. What do you generally eat for breakfast?"

I look down at the dress; it's so pretty, dusty pink and flowing. This could have been such a happy moment.

"Usually coffee. And maybe cereals with milk, if I have milk, and if not, water. They are kinda' bad with water."

"Mio Dio. I used to wonder how it came to the fainting part, now I wonder how it didn't come to it earlier. In Italy, we eat sweet treats for breakfast mostly. But you are eastern and to my knowledge, you don't do that over there. Eggs? Pancakes? They can do everything you want just say something."

The waiter came and they had a rather long conversation I didn't bother to listen to.

"May I ask why you had cereals with... water for breakfast?"

"Because I didn't have money for milk."

"And why was that?" he asks again slightly amused as if he was speaking to a child.

"I had to send money to my family. Things have been... difficult since my mother died."

The smile disappears and after a moment of strange silence, he nods.

"I understand. That actually makes sense. Why was that so hard to say? You could have told me sooner. I mean way sooner. I would have refrained from the stingy comments and even invited you to eat. I can do some mad cooking."

"I don't like sharing details of my personal life with people I don't know."

"Right..."

What am I doing? I need to get a grip. I need a plan. I need a reason to live; I need something...

The waiter comes back with a variety of things: sweet pastry, omelettes, pancakes, fresh bread, butter, jam, and cheese; in short probably half of the damn menu.

"Take your pick. Coffee? You never actually told me how you drink your coffee."

"With a lot of milk and sugar."

"Blasphemy."

This takes me by surprise and I feel a bit like laughing. Why is he doing this? I don't want to laugh, I don't want to eat, I only want to sleep and never wake up. But I am alive; through a miracle I am alive so I need to make it worth it. I need to get Kary out of this mess and after that, I need to find Ivan and kill him.

It makes sense to be nice to Marco, regardless of context, regardless of who or what he is, and regardless of how I feel about it; he can be useful. So I smile and ask, "And you?"