Days had passed since the declaration of her permanent stay at Eskil's, and she made it a point not to text Enzo. She was still bent out of shape over the entire ordeal. Every now and then, especially at night, she would think of the things he had told her—starting with the most important one: he was heir to a mafia empire. Not a gang, not some small-time criminal operation, but a full-blown mafia. She groaned as she leaned back against the headboard of the bed and rubbed her palm over her face. What was she even doing? She was forced to sit and stew in it all, considering she couldn't go home, despite her demands, because there was someone out there still with a hit on Enzo.
This was only the first of many, she was sure.
Then there was the Eskil situation. The thought of it almost made her chuckle in disbelief. Not only was Enzo sleeping with a man, but that man was older—probably a mix of Enzo's age and her own combined. And to top it off, he had her locked away in his room, doing with her as he pleased while he had his cake and ate it too. At first, she despised him and everything he did to her from the night he took her back to his home, but as the months went on, she’d grown fond of Enzo.
And then, of course, it all went to shit. Go figure. If that wasn’t her life in a nutshell, she didn’t know what else to call it.
A long sigh escaped her as she finally moved off the bed—an almost impossible feat as of late—but she wanted to shower. She still hand-washed her clothes every morning and had to sleep in Eskil’s stupid T-shirts. She would demand new clothes be delivered, because she simply couldn’t live like this.
Rayne grabbed a towel and left her room, thankful to find no sign of Eskil. She knew better than to try and leave. To put it simply, she didn’t want his mole getting a hold of her. She would comply for now, but she made it a point to tell Enzo he better take care of that mole. Once he did, she was going home, permanently.
In the bathroom, she ran the shower until it was hot, dropping the shirt at her feet and stepping in. The warm stream of water through her hair brought some satisfaction—a moment of peace away from her racing thoughts. When she was done, she stepped out and grabbed a towel, drying her hair before wrapping it around her slender frame.
Forgetting to bring her washed clothes from the night before, she was forced to retreat back to her room. But when she entered, she was confused to find clothes laid out on her bed, along with a cellphone and a laptop. Her brows furrowed as she left the room again. She heard nothing but smelled food cooking in the kitchen. Maybe Eskil was kind enough to bring her the clothes and had just missed her before the shower.
"Eskil?" she called out, walking toward the kitchen and around the corner. But when she saw who was actually in the kitchen, her features hardened. It wasn’t Eskil. It was Enzo, the one who had brought her the clothes, and now he was cooking.
She sucked her teeth and exhaled a long sigh. "Go home, Enzo. Eskil isn’t here."
With a dismissive wave of her hand, she turned to head back to her room, slamming the door shut behind her.
When he steps into the apartment, it’s quiet. Setting a bag of groceries down on the kitchen counter, a quick snoop reveals that Eskil is gone and Rayne is showering. Perfect. Dropping a bag of clothes on her bed for her to find, Enzo disappears back into the kitchen, switching on some music as he goes. A low and slow melody fills the room. Just as he is with everything else in his life, Enzo is methodical in the way he cooks. He sets out all the pots and pans he needs first before he moves onto prep. It does take a minute to find everything in this new apartment. Deft fingers grip a knife as he slices and dices, something he learned from summers spent in Italy under his grandmothers scrutiny. She used to scold him for complaining, stating that every man should know how to cook at least one good meal. Tonight, he’s cooking one of her recipes - she’d be rolling in her grave that he’s not making fresh pasta though. A simple white sauce that he’s added chicken to over angel hair pasta.
He’s busy searing the chicken when he hears the shower shut off and the bathroom door open. Raynes voice filters through the apartment a few moments later. Eskil? He makes a conscious effort to not be annoyed by that, she is staying in Eskils apartment after all. It’s followed by the sound of her bare feet padding down the hall before she emerges, still damp and wrapped in only her towel. Turning, Enzo doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes trace every inch of her exposed skin, a slow smirk curling his lips. The moment she lays eyes on him, her attitude sours and she dismisses him with a flick of her hand. ”I’m making you dinner.” He calls down the hallway before her bedroom slams. Unperturbed, he goes back to finishing cooking. Glassware clicks gently as he sets the table while the pasta finishes cooking.
The cork to a wine bottle pops in the kitchen before he fills two glasses. White tonight, it goes better with the pasta than a red. All things that his grandmother had beaten into his thick skull. She had taken to teaching him things after his mother died, she claimed he needed someone civilized in his life before she disappeared into the pantry grumbling about his father. It’s quick work, making two plates and putting a third in the microwave for Eskil, whenever he returns.
Wine glass in hand, he disappears down the hall, making a beeline to Raynes room. He doesn’t knock before he pushes the door open, letting it tap lightly against the wall. Leaning against the doorframe, it gets some of the weight off his chest - alleviates some of his discomfort - so he can take his time soaking her in. The room she stays in is set up with the bare necessities, it’s not decorated over the top, it’s very Eskil. Her towel has been abandoned on the bed and he immediately seeks her out, not the least bit shy in his hopes that he might catch her still naked. ”Dinners ready.”
"Why the fuck is he here..." She grumbles to herself as she discards the towel on the bed, making note that she will hang it up once finished. She lays the clothes out on the bed, annoyed that he pays enough attention to her to know what she likes alongside what he likes to see her in. An annoyed breath expels from her lips as she picks out a knee high, casual dress, with a fresh pair of underwear and... where are the bras? She rolls her eyes, just like Enzo to think she doesn't need them, or he would prefer to see her perky nipples through fabric. "Fucking asshole," she mutters under her breath as she puts everything else in the dressers. She starts by brushing her hair through, slick and damp against her back before her slender fingers grab the dress as she slips it over her head. Before she can get it down over her shoulders she hears the door bump against the wall, her chin tilting over her shoulder to see Enzo staring back at her bare back and ass.
Dinners ready.
She pretends not to hear him as she continues to slip the fabric over her shoulders, pulling each arm through and patting the fabric over her ass. She then grabs her panties, which weirdly enough she puts on second, and slides one leg into each hole as she shimmies them up over her thighs and ass, then fixes the fabric of the dress back over. Rayne turns to find him still standing there, gawking, not surprising her at all.
Her arms cross across her breast so he is unable to see her perky nipples through the fabric of the dress. As he stands there she watches him in silence, not mad enough to apparently still drink him in. God why is he so fucking hot. She could punch herself right in the face, annoyed by the hold he has on her. And how long has it been since they'd been intimate? Fuck. Why was she even thinking about that.
The scowl on her face remains as she moves to the door, freezing in front of him for a second as she looks at him as though she's going to say something—but doesn't. "Move," she brushes by him and makes way to the kitchen where she sees the food laid out on a table set for two. Pasta that smells amazing, for one, and two, she is a sucker for an Italian dish...and man, apparently. Fucking stupid, she thinks to herself. There is one thing she's missing that she does enjoy, and that's a warmed buttered bread to take in with her pasta. She toasts the bread and take the butter out of the fridge, cutting off a piece and placing it on a plate to soften a bit. Rayne's grown to learn where everything is in the apartment. When she opens the microwave, she sees a third dish, for Eskil. How thoughtful of Enzo to think of his boyfriend. "Cute," she says coolly as she closes the microwave and faces him. "So it's not dinner for us, it's dinner for us and Eskil." Rayne inhales a sharp breath and grabs her plate from the dining room table, along with her wine, and makes way back to the bedroom.
"Thanks," she doesn't bother looking over her shoulder, and firmly closes the door behind her with a kick of her heel.
Standing with her back to him, her bare ass is on display and Enzo has zero complaints. Dinner drifts farther and farther from his mind, especially when she looks over her shoulder to glare at him. He offers her a seductive smile. Rayne goes back to ignoring him, pulling one of the dresses over her head and down her body. A comment about her lack of panties is on the tip of his tongue when she jerks them up her legs - as if it were an actual barrier that could keep him out. Still, he enjoys the show as she flashes her ass at him once more before she pulls her dress back down and pats it into place. Amusement flickers in his mismatched eyes when she finally turns to face him. Braless, something she tries to hide by crossing her arms defiantly.
He’d intentionally not bought any bras, not that she needs one to begin with. The only bras he purchased are lace, barely bras at all - something to decorate his floor with later when he discards it.
And then her eyes on him. A brow arches in silent question and invitation. He can damn near feel her eyes on him, remembering every thing he’s ever done to do. That arrogance slips into his eyes, telling her he knows exactly what she sees, what she’s thinking.
Stalking towards, he doesn’t expect a warm welcome, not with the daggers in her eyes. Move. She snaps, once again full of piss and vinegar. He doesn’t say anything, he only leans back, an arm sweeping out like he’s offering her to go first down the hall. Trailing after her, they both return to the kitchen and he thinks she might actually be tamed - for the moment - with food. Enzo pulls out their chairs while she rummages through the cupboards, pulling out bread and then butter from the fridge.
He’s patiently waiting when she opens the microwave and stares at its content for a moment. The sigh that threatens to leave his lips is silenced. Just barely. It’s all the ignition she needs. Angrily, she grabs her plate and wine, her snarky remark grating against his patience. ”Well, contrary to popular belief, I’m not rude. This is his house, his kitchen.” He points, diligent in the way he keeps his tone neutral. Stalking out of the kitchen, he barely hears her barked “thanks” before her door once again slams shut. Now he sighs.
Snatching his own plate and wine glass off the table, he walks back down the hall. And walking, it’s a real bitch lately. It got easier every day, but it didn’t come as effortlessly as it once did. Flinging open her door with a bit more force than actually necessary, it bumps against the wall. Then, repeating what she did, he kicks the door shut behind him, trapping her in her own room with him. Like he owns it, he crosses the room, setting his glass and plate down on the nightstand. Sitting still required a bit of care, he isn’t nowhere near flopping down on anything. The same went for standing. Getting shot has been a real bitch in general. Once he’s comfortable, lounging on her bed, he picks up his plate. Regardless of her attitude, Enzo is starving, he’d hardly had time for lunch earlier today.
Rayne;
Rayne doesn’t expect any less when he follows her into the room, forcefully shutting the door behind him and taking a seat on the bed, though he seems uncomfortable doing so. She rolls her eyes, but says nothing in retaliation because she knows it will fall on deaf ears, and in all honesty, it pisses her off that he walks around unfazed by her mood and meeting her with stubborn arrogance. He disregards the distances she’s trying to create between them. How can he be so persistent in a situation that he’s unwanted by her? That’s what it is, isn’t it? Lorenzo Vincenzo doesn’t know what rejection is, or he just doesn’t care to accept it. She trails her fork on the plate, scraping the ceramic as she twirls the pasta in the utensil. Rayne doesn’t eat it right away, her eyes locked on to the plate as she continues to play with the food before she can no longer keep quiet.
”Enzo what do you want? For fucks sake, take a hint.” She’s slowly fizzling out and left with no options or ways to escape him. She damn well knows if she tells Eskil not to let him in, it won’t be a carried out request. It’s a situation where it’s her against them, and her voice is small against Enzo, who always has something to say about some shit, and Eskil who she means nothing to. Her eyes finally lock into his mismatched gaze and her breath hitches a bit. She’s unsure if it’s because of what she said, but his stare seems much more intense. Rayne didn’t think for a second she was possibly pissing him off, and even if she was, she didn’t care.
But she could not deny the chokehold he had on her, and it absolutely threatened to set her ablaze.
Rayne didn’t know why she was so snared in his web, but it made her more mad at herself than anything. He didn’t take her serious, despite what he said about caring for her, she sure was having a hard as shit time believing it. Betrayal was a nasty animal, and if Rayne was anything more than she was stubborn, it was a girl who took loyalty very personal.
She brought the fork back to the spaghetti, twirling it and eating a small portion, the taste of flavor exploded across her tongue. Fuck it was good. Her expression didn’t change though, solid on not giving him any kind of satisfaction as he sat there and continued to eat.
But fuck he knew what he was doing, in more ways than one.
How aggravating.