Porchay was a sweet and innocent kid, but due to his brother he was pushed into a new world, a dark and deadly one. There he meets Kimhan, one of the most powerful Mafia sons. He makes Porchay fall in love with him and they have a fluffy little love...
Author's note: This was me reading your comments on last chapter!!!
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Enjoy this chapter <3
We continued making our meal, he was leaving the pasta to rest, and I was frying the meat with so few seasonings that I questioned myself if that was going to turn out well. I put the meat in a clean bowl, and then he started to put cream, wine, and tomato sauce in the same pan I used to do the meat. We were silent, but things weren't awkward, he was touching me more than usual, and we were still full of flour, as was the kitchen. I have no idea how we are supposed to clean the floor, maybe vacuum.
"Here, try it." He suddenly appears in front of me with a spoon full of the sauce he has been making, and he gives it to me directly in the mouth "How is it?"
"It's different, but I think it's good." I say still a bit shy because of early.
I have been wondering what would have happened if I had kissed him. I know P'Kim would be disappointed in me, and probably the others too. I know I need to keep Matteo happy and make him like me, but as hard as it is to admit, I also need to not fall for him at the same time. He is almost perfect, even if he's completely fucked up. I miss P'Kim, and my head is so confused right now.
"Do you think it needs more salt, love?" he says touching my arm and bringing me back
"I don't know, it's different from what I'm used to. I think it's good." I say still more in my head than in that kitchen
"If you don't like it, I can make another thing." He says a bit worried
"I like it, maybe a little more garlic and a tiny flick of pepper." I say to make him happy because I really don't know that much about cooking
"Thank you, love, I'll add that right away." He says happy
I keep looking around, thinking with my buttons, while he keeps doing the sauce. He then goes to the storeroom and brings a fancy bottle of wine, which he proceeds to open. He grabs two glasses and pours the wine in them, leaving them as he goes and checks on the pasta.
"Love, come here, please." He calls me, and I go to a black counter in the kitchen. "I know you have never made pasta in your life." He says as he gently grabs my hands, putting them on the dough "My mother used to say making pasta was like making someone fall in love with you. It all starts with a little spark of something, you have more little things, and then you incorporate everything, making a perfect circle full of feelings. You leave it to rest so the feelings can come to an understanding with each other and grow even more. After that, you treat it with every care you can and shape it to a form you like, so that love is always yours." he says while he is behind me, putting my hands in the pasta and moulding it with me "She always told me that when I was a kid and spent most of my time observing her."
"And then you grew up, and what happened?" I ask genuinely curious
"Then things changed when I realised she had shielded me from the world I was born in, but after long years I returned and watched her make pasta again, but this time she told me a different story. Each time I went there, she compared pasta to a new thing, and when I assumed the role of leader, I realised I should have listened to her more."
