Mesmerizing Mr. Mafia

Criceto is Actually a Compliment

"That's convenient," I panted after reaching the top of the staircase. Angelo went up them with ease, making me look like a freaking fat kid. I wasn't though, just in really bad shape.

The elevator was broken.

"I hope this isn't a reoccurring thing," I struggled to catch my breath and the apartment was still at the very end of the long ass hallway. God, take me now. "Carry me please," I fell forward into Angelo's chiseled chest.

"You can't walk a couple more feet? Would it really kill you?"

I nodded and looked up at him with the cutest puppy dog eyes I could muster up, "Pwease."

The look he gave me was equally as adorable as I'm sure my eyes were. He grabbed my backpack full of clothes, slung it over his shoulder and then scooped me up into his arms.

I am a princess.

Princess Chloe of the Italian Mafia Men.

As we neared the end of the long hallway, a couple stepped out of their apartment just a door down from where ours was located. Well, now I've seen the neighbors. I've never had those before, at least not ones so close.

I thought we were going to be able to make it successfully into the apartment without having to make conversation with these people. I was sorely mistaken.

The guy came up to us. In the words of Angelo, he looked like a prude. But then again, also according to Angelo, those are my kind of people. He wore a dark blue sweater over a white button up shirt, and khaki pants. His girlfriend or wife or whoever she was was dressed pretty much the same way just with her shiny black hair in a messy bun. They were young, probably around Angelo's age.

"Howdy neighbors," the guy greeted. Yep, he was definitely something else, "You must be the new couple Benny was telling us about. You're married, right?" As if to him living together and not being married was a crime.

Angelo and I both looked at each other before switching back to the awkward couple. Was I really going to have to pretend like I was married to him for the rest of my freaking life?! "Yeah," I answered. "We are."

"You look really familiar," the girl said. Uh oh. "Have I seen you on tv?"

Probably on the news recently, but, "No. I don't do tv."

She looked as if she didn't believe me, but luckily her dude friend changed the subject, "I'm Smith and this is my wife Eleanor." God, even their names were painfully boring. "We're the Johnson's."

"Chloe," I said in return, "And the hubby would be Angelo. We're the..." What the hell was his last name?

"D'Amico. We're the D'Amico's," Angelo seemed less than interested in this whole ordeal and he was definitely not even trying to hide it. Rude.

I've heard that name before though. Wasn't it the name of the mafia Family? One of them at least.

"Oh. Is that Italian?" Smith asked.

"Very," I answered. "He's super Italian. Sometimes it gets really annoying."

"Hey, criceto. Watch it."

"Criceto?" Eleanor asked, butchering the word way worse than I ever could and that was saying something 'cause the language was truly not meant to roll off my tongue, "What does that mean?"

"Hamster," I clarified, "He thought I was gonna think it was cute but honestly it's a little-"

Angelo sighed, "Degrading, yes we know, amore mia. Plot twist though, you secretly love it. You're just too embarrassed to take what could actually be a compliment."