Breaking Tradition

Chapter Four

I was still sleeping when someone started to shake me. "Hey!" Someone yelled in my ear, causing me to jump up and slap them out of impulse.

I looked down to see one of the younger men, no older than 18, but was probably in his mid-twenties- who was in the kitchen yesterday during the kitchen wars. "I'm sorry!" How do I explain to someone my immediate impulse to hit anything or anyone who touches me when I'm sleeping? Then again, he did yell in my ear.

I cringed as I apologized, feeling horrible about my natural 'waking up' reflex. I lifted his chin and turned his head to look at his cheek. There was already a big reddish splotch forming.

"No worries miss! I deserved it for starting you." He said cheerfully as he stood up tall and proud, puffing out his chest like a male bird does when proving its dominance.

I smiled at him and stood up myself. I was disappointed when looked in a mirror across the room. My dress was wrinkled, my hair was a mess, and I looked like Frankenstein's bride in the mornings with my raccoon eyes.

"Don't fret Miss! The boss sent some men to go get you some new clothes!" He had a grin on his face as he walked into the kitchen. His prance reminded me of an award winning horse getting first prize, or the top dog in a dog show.

I shrugged thinking nothing of it as I walked into the kitchen behind him. He looked around confused and then looked at me. I raised an eyebrow, wondering why he would bother coming into the kitchen if he didn't know what to do in there.

"You wouldn't happen to know how to make pancakes, would you?" He asked looking like a lost puppy. I let out a chuckle and maneuvered around hi and between the counters.

"You're in luck, it just so happens that I do." Grabbing the pan I began to mix the ingredients together and pour it in the pan.

"How many do I need to make?" Hey, better safe than sorry. 

"Um...about 10." He said as he watched my every last move, as if he was in culinary school and learning some ridiculous French recipe that required all of one's attention to detail.

"Okay. By the way, I was wondering," I stopped for a moment to flip a pancake loosing my train of thought during that time. 

"Yes miss?" He looked up at me as he leaned on the counter, making me remember I had begun to ask a question. With a chuckle, I began again.

"Do you always eat out? I mean, who cooks?" He laughed nervously as he rubbed the back of his neck looking at the ground.

"We had a cook but she, made a mistake during a 'meeting' much like you, except she didn't dodge the bullet and boss wasn't fast enough to help."

'She.' I noticed that he put a lot of emphasis on She. "I didn't know women were allowed in the mafia unless they were direct family?"

He looked away clearly upset. "This isn't my story to tell, at least not fully." He was looking at the floor with his forehead against the cabinets.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked." I felt bad as I flipped the third pancake. 

"It's not your fault. Anybody would be curious." The rest of the time was spent in silence. Only the sound of the pancakes sizzling and flipping every now and then filled the room.

"Laurel." I said after a while. 

"Huh?" He looked up at me and I smiled. 

"My name is Laurel so stop calling me miss."

He smiled back for once. "Sam." He said back. Finally a comfortable silence. I breathed a sigh of relief as I finished the pancakes.