Page 24 of Savage Saint
My head tilts to the side at the name. “Who’s Arrow?”
“My bestie. Oh! You’re having breakfast. Praise the lord. I’m starving!” She exclaims, looking past me. “Angelo, caffeinate me,por favor.”
“Wrong language. It’sper favore.”
“Potato-patatoh,” Alessa sighs, longingly looking at the plate of toast on the counter.
I slide it towards her as I look at Angelo.
“You’re Italian,” I say as another piece of a puzzle clicks into place.
“SÌ.”
“Interessante,” I mutter, my brain working overtime as I pick a piece of toast and nibble on it.
“Parli italiano?” Angelo puts two coffee mugs in front of Alessa and I. She grabs hers, instantly taking a long sip and sighing with contentment.
I snort. “Dio, no!” Why is he even asking?
“Kasia.” Angelo walks around the kitchen island towards me. Every step bringing him closer makes my heart speed up. He stops inches away, towering over me. “Dove hai imparato l’italiano?” He leans closer.
“N–non capisco,” I stutter, his proximity making the hair at the nape of my neck stand up. “Non parlo italiano.”
Alessa drops her toast on the plate with a clatter, making my head swivel away from Angelo to see what startled her. “Holy shit,” she whispers, her mouth hanging open.
“What’s wrong?” I swallow.
“Babe, you just spoke fluent Italian. I’d know, I’m an expert in Italians.”
“I did?” I ask as Angelo’s breath fans over my cheek. The man still firmly invading my personal space with no thought of consequences.
“You totally did.” She grins.
I shake my head, trying to figure out if she’s telling the truth. My thoughts are jumbled and I’m finding it hard to focus on anything with Angelo’s looming presence.
“Can you move away? I can smell your coffee breath.” I scrunch my eyebrows and push my fingers against his hard chest.
Alessa bursts out laughing, making Angelo scoff and take a step back. Thank God for that. He doesn’t need to know I love the smell of coffee, especially mixed with whatever cologne he’s wearing.
“At least now we know something about you.” Alessa picks her toast back up and takes a big bite. “You speak Italian. Maybe... youareItalian. That would be pretty cool.”
“Why are you here, Alessa?” Angelo exhales sharply.
“I wasn’t going to leave the poor girl in your sour company all day.” She shrugs. “Plus, we have things to discuss.”
“Things?” One dark eyebrow arches up.
“Yup.” Unperturbed, Alessa continues munching on her toast, completely ignoring the waves of hostility rolling off Angelo.
He watches us for a second, his face unreadable as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, the muscles in his biceps bulging out of his t-shirt.
"Eat your breakfast,” he orders, leaning over the counter and reaching for a plate filled with scrambled eggs, cherry tomatoes and avocado on toast. I’m speechless. Surely, the plate is not meant for me. It’s not like Angelo would go through the trouble of making an elaborate breakfast for me after admitting to Arrow how desperately he wants me gone. Would he?
He pushes the plate towards me.
"So, am I still ‘not your problem,’ or do you usually go around making breakfast for problems?" I can't help but ask.
He doesn't grace me with a reply, instead he just moves away, leaving me alone with the plate and my confused thoughts.
