Page 22 of Fatal Sloth

To my surprise, Roman steps forward, his eyes gleaming with determination. "Let me cook for you, Mia," he says earnestly, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity. "I'll make you a feast fit for a queen."

I nod in gratitude, unable to find the words to express my thanks, as I watch him bustling about the kitchen.

While Roman is busy in the kitchen, Marie tells me that he’s a dedicated chef who will prepare all our meals; I just need to let them know my preferences, and they'll take care of the rest. It's something I'll have to get used to. Back home, I had strict dietary restrictions imposed on me, often limited to certain foods or even instructed not to eat at all. Now, having a professional chef at my disposal feels like a whole new world of freedom.

When Roman emerges from the kitchen, he greets me with another warm smile. His thick Italian accent adds charm to his words, albeit making it a bit challenging for me to understand him. Yet, his eyes convey genuine compassion, putting me at ease. While I know enough Italian to get by, I realize I'll need to brush up on it to communicate with him fully.

Marie gets up from her seat and helps Roman set the dining table with an array of dishes—paninis, pastries, bruschetta, Caprese salad, and Italian wedding soup—I can't help but wonder if we're expecting more guests. The spread seems too lavish for just a few people.

"Are we expecting more guests?" I ask, my curiosity piqued by the abundance of dishes.

“This is how every meal is served. I apologize that I only made sandwiches; I did not think anyone would be eating here today, with the wedding and all,” Roman apologizes.

"No need for apologies," I assure him. "This is perfect. Your warm welcome means a lot to me."

Realizing nobody was sitting down, I felt a little uneasy. “Would you please join me?” I ask, hoping I don't have to sit alone. Instead of a response, they look dumbfoundedly at me, like I just asked them to kill someone. Mustering up the firmest voice I can, “Sit! Everyone, sit! Please.”

Marie and Roman exchange a glance before complying. “A perfect match for Don Sebastiano,” I hear Roman murmur to Marie as they share a knowing smile.

"Mind if I join?" Nico asks tentatively.

"Sure," I reply, feeling a bit surprised by his hesitance. After all, it's his cousin's house, and he shouldn't feel the need to ask me for permission.

“Mia, I... I’m sorry if I upset you upstairs. It wasn’t my intention. I just came by to make sure you settled in, and I'm stunned that my bonehead cousin didn’t accompany you home. So, I thought you could use a friend,” he explains.

Nico's apology catches me off guard, and I can't help but soften. "No worries, I won't hold it against you," I assure him, offering a small smile. He seems genuine, and I'm in no position to turn down a friend when I don't have anyone here. It's not like I had many friends at home. Cameron’s my only friend, anyways.

Dinner was surprisingly easygoing, especially after Nico's apology. It felt unnecessary, but maybe I'm just extra sensitive from today. I offered to help tidy up after eating, but Marie and Roman insisted they've got it under control. I couldn't help but notice there might be something more between them. I'll have to keep an eye on their dynamic or casually ask Marie if either of them is seeing someone.

Now, I'm back in my room, unpacking the few boxes that arrived earlier. Besides clothes and shoes, I didn't bring much else. I can't say I want any reminders of my old life anyway.

I'm not even sure if these boxes were here earlier when I had that mini meltdown. I couldn't see much through the blur of tears and mascara.

Mental note: "Apologize to Marie for the tantrum and thank her for her kindness," I remind myself, embarrassed about not keeping it together in front of her.

Exhaustion hits me like a ton of bricks now. Today's events are finally catching up with me. I slip into a silk maroon camisole and matching shorts, then head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Returning to the bedroom, I pull back the plush covers of the massive bed and get ready to climb in. Just as I reach for the covers, the bedroom door swings open, and my heart leaps into my throat at the sight of a very displeased Sebastiano standing there.

What's got him all riled up now?

14

Sebastiano

I sit my ass down in the dim nightclub, nestled in the secluded booth tucked away from all the prying eyes. The air is thick with the heady scent of alcohol, and the pulsating rhythm of the music reverberates through the walls, drowning out all the noise from the bustling crowd.

Red velvet curtains hang from the walls, casting eerie-ass shadows that dance across my face as I take a sip from my drink. The booth offers a semblance of privacy amidst the chaos of the dance floor, giving me a moment of respite from all the outside bullshit.

But even here, surrounded by the distractions of the club, my mind keeps returning to Mia. I should have gone home with her, talked to her first, and maybe set some expectations. But I couldn't face her. Not after seeing that empty look on her face when I pulled her out of the church. All but pushed her into Daren, with Yusuf behind the wheel, as I jumped into another.

Yeah, I know I'm a walking contradiction, and I need to get myself under control. But facing Mia now feels like stepping into the lion's den––I know I'll have to confront the fallout from my actions, and I'm not sure I'm ready for that.

So, I sit in my booth, nursing my whiskey and try to drown out the nagging voice in the back of my mind. The music pounds in my ears, the bass reverberating through my chest, but it does little to calm the unease that gnaws at my gut.

I take another sip of my drink, the burn of alcohol momentarily distracting me from my thoughts. But even as I try to lose myself in the haze of Diavolo, I can't shake the feeling that I'm running from something––something I'll eventually have to face, whether I like it or not.

Clenching my jaw, I feel a burning fire erupting inside my chest. The anger brewing within me is nothing like the wrath this traitor will face.

Someone has been fucking with me, moving the cameras, and creating a dead zone in the footage. I can't see who’s been sneaking in and out of the docks, stealing from me. It's an inside job. The loading dock has its own set of cameras, but we added our own for an extra security measure. This isn't public knowledge, and the fact that someone under me would take from me only pisses me off more.

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