You see, there are these apps where anybody can write books, stories and the sort and one day, scrolling the FB (which I don't usually do but I kill time with it on occasions) my eyes fell on a title that made me scoff.
The title, 'Mafia in Love'...
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So... all arrangements are done," Fabio breaks the silence I've tried too hard to keep in the past four hours of our flight to the States.
"What?" I ask absently, pretending I haven't heard him the first time, still lost in the vast surroundings of clouds that the airplane floats above.
A tall, thin, and young flight attendant walks in carrying a tray with two glasses of whiskey and bends forward once she's in front of me, displaying a generous, perky chest to my vision and a naughty smile.
"There you go, sir," she speaks sensually, staring intensely into my eyes and waiting for a reaction that only comes in the form of a head tilted to my right shoulder and a disparate message from my eyes to her eyes saying fuck off.
She inhales deeply, hiding her eye in embarrassment, and turns towards Fabio to offer him the other glass hoping she disappears before I snap, me or her neck because, at this point, I can do both.
I could blame the sniper who tried to kill me yesterday or the fucking traitor who sent him for being so much on the edge of snapping any moment or for chewing my cheeks almost every second but that would be a lie.
It's her.
The moment I landed my eyes on those photos of her something changed. It's like I've fallen ill.
I can't breathe most of the time and when I finally inhale some air it goes in like balloons.
It can't be a cold, I know what a fucking cold feels like but it most probably is some heart issue. The simple sight of the fucking app icon on the screen of my phone makes my heart race like stallions and not on a regular rhythm, no.
It feels all over my chest, sometimes it pulses in my temples, and for these very reasons, my friends, I have to find her, bring her close till she's done with the book, and maybe make her write another.
The fuck, I'll pay her. I'll pay her the amount of tens of thousands of copies, better than any library.
I smirk, lost in my thoughts again to the utmost dislike of my best friend slash brother who is now inches away from my nose, staring at me with anger burning in his eyes.
"Do you even fucking hear me, Raffa?!"
Of course, I didn't. Cazzo!
"What is it, Fabio?" I ask him so leisurely and calmly that it even scares me.
"Where should we land first? This is the last moment we can communicate our destination," he elaborates.
I prolong our intense stare and take a moment to think. I can see the restlessness in Fabio's eyes, but still... I'll do whatever the fuck I want.
"Where is she right now?" I ask another question and Fabio snaps up on his feet, raising his hands to the ceiling and begging for patience.
"Santa Maria, Madre de Dio, dammi pazienza," he prays to the skies, making me mentally laugh. (Saint Mary, Mother of God, give me patience).
