Going After Heaven (Mafia Romance)

Chapter Thirty Eight

I am tripping. It's a bad sign, only I don't mind because by tomorrow we won't be here.

Gabriele walks me to the front door with his hand on my lower back through the stairs lit with the same burnt orange bulbs and marigold flowers lining both sides.

"Greta made breakfast already, she has worked with my family way before I was born," he says as his front door slides to the side to give us entrance.

"Is she here?" I ask with a tint of excitement in my voice.  It will be good to talk to someone that knows him. Someone that took care of him as a kid and that is still present in his life.

I am happy he had that growing up after what happened to his family. That he had someone to look after him like I had Gael.

"No, she stays across from me and hates my color choice" he chuckles as we step inside, "the flowers are her idea, or more like an imposition on me, I came back one day and saw that she had planted them around my apartment, she even kept some inside," he sucks his teeth briskly, "can't be mad at her, she knows that"

I smile. This is a side to Gabriele I didn't think existed. A side away from that business manly attitude with a fierce gaze. His voice is still as deep as before but has a friendlier, butt hole free from stick tone to it.

"I like her," I say, moving away from his touch to look around.

The interior is a quintessential all-black work of art.
The sofas.
The coffee table.
The large frames of marvel superheroes in black costumes.
The kitchen cabinets.
The kitchen island with the chairs around it.
The smoothed-out wooden floor.
The glassy ceiling.
The stairs leading to what I think is his bedroom.
Even the bedroom and bathroom on this floor that I can see clearly because of their glass doors.

Everything is black. Matte black.

"She likes you too" the bees in my stomach flutter.

So he told her about me? Interesting. For what it's worth, I'm team Greta and the team annihilates Luna.

I give my back to him so he doesn't see the smile itching to spread across my face.

The only colors here are the burnt orange lighting hues from the loosely hanging chandeliers and wall lamps giving that autumn effect. Then the marigold flowers in a black vase on the kitchen island. And breakfast, if that counts.

"Someone's unapologetic about his favorite color,"

"I'm glad it doesn't make you uncomfortable, I didn't think I'll ever have to bring a woman here, so I didn't give two fucks when my friend Luca introduced me to Harry Locklear, the owner of Lock-House, he's the architect that designed this and his company took up from there"

Luna has never been here? I know I sound pathetic but I can't help it.

"Is he here, the Harry?" I ask, which is better than asking about Luna.

"No, he's in New Orleans," he answers and I nod. "Would you mind a quick tour before breakfast?"

"No,"

"Then this way," he points to the stairs, walking to me to keep his hand on my waistline. He leads me up the stairs.

We walk into a bedroom, his bedroom, and the color choice is repeated here. Except the floor is see-through. From down it was a black glassy ceiling but from up here, it's a see-through floor. I can see everything down there without a dot of blur anywhere.

His king-size bed is draped in black cotton sheets and is by the side of a floor-to-ceiling window. From this angle, I can see a fleet of black cars and two motorcycles. His Rezvani tank is amongst them.