Black Death And White Roses (1) Mafia Romance

9. Dark eyes and green ones

Roxana

The light of the dawn reflected in my coffee cup and in his extraordinary black eyes.

When I say extraordinary I mean it and find myself wondering how I didn't notice quite how mesmerizing they were till that brief moment.

I am not sure what exactly is happening to me but we look at each other for what feels like a long while, while  I observe the light-dark stubble on his pleasantly tanned cheeks, the deliciously smooth texture of his skin that looks like silk, the disheveled black hair and his sensual lips that curl into a smile mirroring mine. It is the first time I see him smiling and Jesus Christ what is happening to me? How come I didn't hear him come and why am I acting like an idiot now? He is certainly here because he wants something, not to have a coffee chat.

"W... what can I help you with, sir? Look, if you are here to tell me again that I should not talk to anybody about what happened, there is no need for that. I have worked for prominent people before. Whatever they do is none of my business and as far as I am concerned I was never there."

"Smooth..." he says, smirking. His voice is precisely like that: smooth. "I expected it to be more difficult. I also expect you to take this seriously and these words not to be meaningless."

"I treat everything I do with utmost seriousness. Now it's my turn," I say boldly.

"Excuse me," he counters. His stern expression is lightened up by a wondrous note.

"Can I now ask my questions too?"

"Actually no, not really. You are discouraged to ask questions of any kind but since I am in the rare situation of being surprised, shoot."

"Is your coffee better than mine?"

He looks at me for a few seconds and then his head leans back under muffled laughter.

"I very much hope so. The one the workers drink is usually horrible."

"Hey, no need to be condescending, though this time you are quite right," I answer amused, and stick out a tiny bit of my tongue.

"What is your name, clumsy Swiss girl?"

"Clumsy Swiss girl?"

"That is what Stefano is calling you."

"Oh. I see I have impressed the boss."

"You made an impression on the boss for sure," he says, still smirking.

"Glorious me. Well, I am not Swiss and I usually go by Rox."

"Rocks?" he says, raising both eyebrows and his polished British accent vanishes under the Italian one. "Rocks as in pebbles?"

"Pebbles? No, Rox like in big rocks and Rocky the boxer."

"Certainly..." he reiterates with the same amusement and I feel I am quite happy to have made his acquaintance. He seems to be a nice guy and he speaks English.

But then, out of the blue, the smile and the light in his eyes disappear under a stern expression.

"Ok, Rocks, or whatever your name is, I advise you and emphasize strongly, for you to stay away from Stefano; as far away as possible. If he walks in your direction you run away. If he looks at you, you walk away. If he speaks to you, you fake you don't understand what he is saying and walk away again. Do you understand?"

"Sir, I do understand but, respectfully, you know I cannot do that. Mr. Messina is a very important client of ours; I cannot act rudely toward him. Don't worry, however, because nobody paid me much attention so far so I doubt anybody will from now on."