(18+ EXPLICIT CONTENT)
"I don't fuck around, piccola ragazza." The firm, thick words rolled off his tongue effortlessly, his eyes turning into a glare.
A piercing cold, metal barrel pushed against the right side of my skull, his motions perplexingl...
Sorry this is a bit short! I'm working into writing again.
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The eerie stillness was no longer accompanying the perimeters of the lobby, but rather it was mercifully restored to its lively, chaotic cohesion. The thick aroma of sweetened bread and flavorful marinara seeped through the hinged doors of the kitchen. Some of the juvenile hostesses gossiped amongst each other, their relation to Cristian apparent by their complexions and structured noses. Their milky white teeth twinkled as they welcomed me, briskly resuming their discussions once I acknowledged them.
My heart incessantly pumped within my chest, like the adrenaline was conditioning itself for impending peril. The sticky sweat soaked the entirety of my palms as I sauntered towards the breakroom, my breath shallowed inside my throat. The uneasiness was alleviated once I swung the door open, the room thankfully vacant and tranquil from any imminent confrontation.
The appeasing sigh fell from my lips, but was viciously retracted when Sienna's burling being pushed through the kitchen door. She struck my body with the door, the wood painfully coming in contact with my cuts. I couldn't hinder the hiss of tenderness, since the wounds relentlessly stung.
Sienna's perturbed guise peered around the door, inspecting my hunched body and twisted expression, "Oh my! I'm sorry, dolcezza. Are you okay?" Her conspicuous Italian accent accentuated her words, her eyebrows creasing in distress.
I swiftly suppressed the strain in my face, veiling a grin, "Yeah, yeah, just a bit sore from the gym is all."
Sienna dubiously furrowed her eyebrows, the incredulous brewing questions on the tip of her tongue. However, just as she parted her pink lips, the back door swung open and in ambled the very men I did not fancy discerning. In fact, my stomach dropped to my butt, and the moisture bathed my hands almost instantly.
His daunting, inky eyes scanned our position with a furrow, glazing over Sienna before settling on me with pure intent. The attire he chose was not the ruffled, dangerous ambience he went for previously, but rather a polished, clean cut businessman look. His bleached sleeves were clasped onto his wrist, a golden cuff clip concealing his colors. He had a heathered grey coat jacket on, and a cobalt tie, his mousy shoes gleaming from the reflection. And his chocolate hair was styled with some product, the scruff still lining his stricken jaw.
"Cristian," Sienna ignorantly broke the heated gaze, "Come give me a hug."
He hastily suppressed his displeased tension, and curled his buxom lips into a warm grin, opening his muscular arms to his approaching aunt. When I retreated my eyes, Stefano caught a hold of them with his disdainful glare, his jaw contracted. The spite was evident in my quirked eyebrow in reciprocation, visibly bewildering him. Meanwhile, I gingerly ventured over to my locker and hurled my purse into its place, the clock revealing my approaching shift time. I hurriedly plucked my apron off the shelf, and wrapped it around my black dress, curiously glancing to see them conversing in italian.
