Alessandro 16+ / Book 1

Chapter 50: Home

Here in Italy, as a week passed, the rhythm of life carries on with a familiar normalcy, the days seeming to blend, each bearing an uncanny resemblance to the next.

It's a routine that has settled into a somewhat monotonous pattern, where a prevailing boredom lingers.

Alessandro is locked in the bustling atmosphere of his warehouse, where he spends most of his time alongside his cousins, trying to unravel the enigmatic intentions and clandestine schemes of an elusive Rossi.

Despite their relentless efforts, they emerge empty-handed, unable to glean information because Rossi remains shrouded in mystery, opting for a low-profile approach that fuels skepticism among us.

We are all aware that Rossi is determined to pursue us because he has made his intentions abundantly clear.

He broke the alignment. He sent a threat.

With a forceful motion, I slam the cupboard shut, hastily darting towards the toast, waving my hand to disperse the smoke billowing out of the toaster.

In my haste, I impulsively reach for the two charred slices of bread, inadvertently scorching myself, causing me to grimace from the pain, before swiftly tossing the burnt pieces of bread onto a container piled with other charred pieces.

With eyes swollen and bulging from their sockets, I rush towards the stove swiftly, reaching for the controls to turn it off.

I then shift my gaze towards the unfortunate sight that awaits me: a pot of scrambled eggs, blackened and charred by the heat. "Fuck," I hiss to myself, placing my hand against my forehead in frustration and turning away from the stove.

All I intended was to prepare breakfast for us, yet instead, I managed to burn everything.

Fuck.

Me.

It was because I was searching through the cupboards I completely forgot I was cooking.

Admittedly, my culinary skills are not the best, and to make matters worse, I have no idea where anything is in this kitchen. I mean, absolutely nothing. It takes me more than ten minutes just to find the cupboard that holds all the cooking ingredients.

"Adrienne, are you sure you don't need my help?" The cook asks, peeking through the opening of the kitchen, and I shake my head, forcing a smile.

"I am sure. Thank you, though," I observe as she retreats, and my gaze shifts toward the coffeemaker upon catching its enticing aroma. "Fuck! Shit, no!" Hissing angrily, I hurriedly approach the pot of coffee that is bobbling uncontrollably.

I had placed it on the heat for a couple of minutes, hoping to warm it up, but now it is overflowing, causing a mess on the countertop.

Fuck I hate the kitchen.

Thinking that I've had my fair share of morning torment, I inhale, only to be assaulted by the acrid smoke that pierces my nostrils like a powerful blow.

An exasperated growl escapes from my lips in response.

"Fuck!" I scream, hastening towards the stove, pulling it open, and grabbing the steel container of bacon. "Holy shit!" I weep, my fingertips burning on the overly hot container, causing me to curse at myself, tossing it onto the countertop, growling out in frustration. "I even burned the fucking pieces of bacon," I whine, walking towards the fridge, pulling it open, grabbing the orange juice, and placing it on the countertop.

I walk towards the cupboard, pulling each open, hissing when I don't see the damn crackers.

I swear I saw them a few minutes ago. "I swear-" Letting a relief breath, I grab the crackers and walk towards the island, sitting on the stool and pouring the crackers onto a plate before pouring a glass of orange juice.