It's been three days since Elio left. To my great surprise—and displeasure—this stupid place feels oddly empty without its stupid capo.

Or maybe I'm just used to associating this house with him. The fact he was the only person who spoke to me, adds to the reason his absence stands out the most.

The feeling doesn't extend to his psychopath of a mother and pissy Pietro.

True to Elio's words, Marco has been spending the majority of his time in this castle-like place. Yesterday he gave me a full tour of the back gardens, the place reminded me of an enchanted forest; it even had a small lake in the middle. The day before that, he walked me through the left-wing of the house, where my room is located on its second story, and the library is on the third.

Marco also made sure to emphasize on more than one occasion to never go to the right-wing of the mansion. Firstly, the master bedroom is there, obviously belonging to Slava, secondly, Elio's childhood bedroom is there too.

He also noted Elio has been staying in this mansion instead of going to his apartment ever since I've been dragged here. He finds it quite intriguing for some unknown reason.

Elio was right. Marco is truly smart. He's probably the best consigliere Elio could've landed himself.

So far, he's been all enthusiastic and friendly, showing off all the qualities required to trust someone and possibly befriend them.

But I'm not being fooled by his act.

A prosecutor and a criminal can never be friends.

I drum my fingernails on the ash-colored marble countertop as Marco chops away some parsley.

I don't know what Elio the idiot was thinking, because before leaving for Germany, he gave a one-week break to all of the serving crew of the house. I wonder if the asshole was planning on starving me to death. If Marco wasn't around, I probably would've gone with no food for an entire week.

He also didn't say bye to me... not that I was expecting or waiting for it. Yet, deep down, it stung a little for reasons still a mystery to me.

As I gaze at Marco expertly using the knife, I decide to spark a conversation. So far, he's been the one initiating the conversations, therefore, he has had full rein in its direction. If I want to survive, I ought to learn every possible thing about these important figures. Who knows when it might come in handy?

I sit taller. "I've noticed," I begin. Marco stops for a beat, glancing up at me before emptying the parsley into the pan. "You all seem to know each other quite well."

A ghost of a smile appears on his face.

"For how long have you known each other?"

"Me hand Elio?" he sets the knife aside. "hentirre life." He waves his hand as he answers.

"What about Pietro?" I plant my elbow on top of the counter and rest my chin on my palm.

His features change ever so slightly, if I wasn't scrutinizing him, I probably wouldn't have noticed. His eyebrows raise the slightest, eyes widening too as the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

Interesting.

"Same." He nods to himself, sounding a bit pitcher than usual.

"But he looks a bit older than you two."

"He ees..." his voice trails down and he holds up his hands, showing seven fingers. "Seven yearrs," he completes a moment later.

"And he's the underboss?"

"Sì." He moves to the other side of the kitchen, picking out a clove of garlic before walking back to his initial spot.

I drum my fingers. "On what basis exactly are you guys chosen?"

His hazel eyes lock with mine, amusement glinting in them as he presses the side of the knife over the garlic and squashes it.

When he doesn't answer, I frown. "What? Am I not allowed to ask?"

He shakes his head, "No." And drops each garlic, one by one into the pan. "My papà was Elio's papà's consigliere, so I become consigliere too. Pietro's papa was the underbossa, so he comes underboss too."

I tilt my head and squint at him as he stirs the content in the pan. "Didn't they ever want to become the capo?"

"No."

I stare at him with questions dancing across my features.

He sighs and sets the wooden spoon aside. "We arre brrotherrs, hand brrotherrs don't betrray."

I scoff. "Not literal brrotherrs."

"Elio hand me grrew hup togetherra. And Pietro is Elio's cousina."

My eyes widen as I hold back a gasp. "For real?"

Shit. They don't look alike. At all!

Enjoying my surprise, he nods with a smile. "Sì."

"So why didn't Pietro become the capo if he's older and a Mariano?"

"Because, Elio's papa was the holderr brrotherr," he slowly answers as if he's explaining two plus two to a ten-year-old.

I try my best not to glare at him. It's not like we have a precise script about how they function. Whatever notes we have, it's all given by the mafiosos who've been captured and trying to lessen their years in prison by providing information... and one can never trust a gangster.

"But you're not a Mariano," I hesitantly point out.

He nods again. "Hour papàs harre—werre, best frriendsa."

So his dad is dead too. I wonder how he died.

"Elio is a goooda capo," Marco fills in the prolonged silence.

I snort. Of course, he would say that.

He glares at me lightly. "He eesa!"

I hold up my palms. "I didn't say anything."

He rolls his eyes and walks to the refrigerator. "Elio is trrying to be bettterr then... capos beforre him." He picks out some cheese and returns to his spot. "Elio is a goood mana."

"No offense buddy, but I doubt you'd be the most reliable source for stating that."

He places the cheese on the counter and plants his hands wide apart. "If you knew how harrd he is trrying hand 'ow he's going hagainst heverybody to keepa you herre and safe, hand how many henemies he's makinga, you would be agrreeing weeth me."

I purse my lips and curtly nod. They keep saying this as if the rest of the mafias taking orders from Elio have the liberty of disobeying.

A heavy sigh falls from Marco's lips.

Long moments of silence stretch between us as he shuffles around and finds a grater.

I push a stray strand of my auburn hair behind my ear and adjust the collar of my white shirt. I hate crew neck shirts. It's like they're suffocating me in a friendly way.

"I was thinking," I start, dropping my fingers from my collar. "Since I'm going to be a great input for improving your English, maybe you could return the favor?" I plaster my most innocent-looking smile, giving him my best puppy dog eyes.

All the while he stares at me with confusion.

"I want you to teach me Italian."

He grins at me, and for a moment I'm certain the answer will be a wonderful 'Sì'. But instead, he replies, "No."

I freeze.

What!

"Why not!" I exclaim, my voice jumping on an octave.

"Securrity purrposes," he answers, with the impish grin still dangling on his stupid mouth.

"But what if I already knew."

"But you don'ta," he counters back, holding up a finger to emphasize his point.

I cross my arms. "That's not fair." Glowering I add, "I'll ask someone else."

He beams at me. "No one will teacha you. Elio's horderrsa."

My mouth hangs open. That fucking bastard.

"We can keep it a secret," I suggest.

He shakes his head and chuckles. "I telll Elio heverrything. Hi won't teach you, no hone weella. No one wants to make Elio hangry."

I frown and nod reluctantly. "Can't blame them for that. He's a pissy asshole."

Marco throws his head back and laughs. "Hanotherr fighta?"

I roll my eyes.

"Whata did you say?" he asks mid laughter.

I gasp dramatically and scowl at him. "What makes you assume I said something that pissed him off? Maybe he said something that provoked me to say something back and his stupid ass got offended?"

As Marco quiets down and walks to the other side of the kitchen, shuffling around the cabinets, he responds, "Hi know Elio, and he ees verry carreful with his worrdsa."

I scoff.

"What did you saya?" he presses while picking up mushrooms.

"I didn't say anything exactly... I just asked him a question."

He drops the mushrooms on the wooden cutting board and frowns with confusion.

"Exactly! Who blows up like an atom bomb with a single question?"

A lopsided smile stretches across his features. "He didn't blow hupa."

I furrow my brows.

He grins. "You'rre still alive."

Oh. My mouth hangs open for a second. "That's a solid point."

Marco picks the knife back up.

"There's a revolver... it's old, but like really fancy, in one of his drawers. I asked him about that and he went all ballistic."

His hand stops midway and his eyes jump to me. "Revolverra?" he asks, sounding surprised and confused simultaneously.

I nod and rest my chin on my palm.

"Hi can tella him to apologize," he offers.

I smile at him and arch an eyebrow. "You think you have that power over him?"

"Who do you thinka made him hapologize to you the otherr day?"

Now, this is an interesting piece of information. Regardless, I say, "The revolver had KM on it, do you know what it stands for?"

The knife hits the marble countertop with a clank as Marco gapes at me. "Don't hever ask about that hagain, you hunderrstand me? Neverr everr. You don't everr talk about that in front of Elio, Slava, and heven Pietro. You do, you die."

The urgency in his tone and the worry in his eyes send an uncomfortable chill down my spine.

Who the hell is KM?

After a beat of hesitance, I begin, "But-"

He holds up his index finger, jabbing at the space between us. "No."

I sigh and give in. So that's the danger zone... I have to figure out who KM is and see if it can be of any use.

After all, knowledge is power. The more I know, the better.

A heavy silence wraps its claws around us. Eventually, the only sound is of Marco cutting the mushrooms.

I shift uncomfortably before deciding to venture into a lighter zone. "I haven't seen any women around here, save for Slava."

His movements slow down slightly as he glances at me.

"Don't you guys have girlfriends or I don't know, fiancés or wives? Or is that too boring for gangsters like you?"

He grins at me, his hazel eyes lighting up. "Elio doesn't date."

I roll my eyes. "I wasn't asking about Elio. Oh, come on, why would I care what he does?" I scoff and his grin only widens.

Huffing I continue, "So does that mean, because your capo doesn't date, you guys aren't allowed to do that either?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "No." And continues chopping the mushrooms as he adds, "Women don't have place 'ere... mosta things hare done with mena. The wives stay at home, away from Cosa Nostra."

"That's really sexist," I mutter.

He nods and sighs. "Sì."

I drum my fingernails and decide to probe a little more. "So... is there anyone waiting for you at your place?" I smirk at him.

He purses his lips and shakes his head, the movement of his hand bringing the knife up and down quickens.

"A recent breakup?" I ask, scrutinizing his expression.

His lips turn into a white line as he shakes his head.

"But there is someone," I speculate.

His movements falter and that's all the answer I need even though he quickly says, "No."

I hold back my smile as I lean over the edge of the counter. "So... you're in the 'it's complicated' zone with her," I hesitantly pause as his features relax and I quickly correct myself. "Him." I grin at him as his glare cuts to me.

"No," he mumbles, looking away.

"Aww... let me guess, he's one of the guys you're working with."

He busies himself with emptying the chopped mushrooms into the pan but a faint blush colors his cheeks.

I shift, excitement making it impossibly hard to stay still. "A tall, covered in tatts mafioso, typical bad boy looking, all brooding and mysterious." I bite my bottom lip to hold back my giggles.

His cheeks turn into a brighter shade of red and he looks at me pleadingly. "Cerise."

Oh. I gasp. "He doesn't know?"

After a long moment, he shakes his head.

My smile falls and I plant my elbows on the countertop. "Aw man, that sucks. I know how that feels, but shoot your shot, who knows, he might like you back too." I offer a small encouraging smile.

With a sigh, he shakes his head before halting and narrowing his eyes. "'ow do you know how it feelsa?"

Oops. I shrug nonchalantly. "It's not that rare."

He leans toward me across the counter. "You like someone too?" his voice carries a hint of surprise.

"I'm not a robot," I grumble.

"But you went hon a date... hi thoughta you'rre single."

I plaster a smile. "Well, just like you, I've been secretly crushing on a guy too... my two cents on this, since I'm going through it too, is to tell him. Who knows, you might get kidnapped by a mafia and never see him again."

An apologetic smile arches his mouth. "Sorrry about thata."

"So who is it?"

"Hi'm not sayinga."

I study him.

He could've said I don't know that guy so there's no point in saying it... but he didn't. This means I know the guy.

A moment of pondering lights up the bulb in my brain. Pietro! Marco's crush has to be him.

Oh my gosh.

I grin at him. "It's Pietro, isn't it?"

His cheeks turn crimson as his eyes widen and that's all the confirmation I need. Now that is some juicy piece of information.

It might not be useful, but there's no denying the fun of knowing these sorts of things. Maybe this place won't be as boring as I initially thought would be.

☯︎ ☯︎ ☯︎

We're not going to have a love triangle with Marco and Elio on either side of Cerise, now that's for sure, hehehe.

Anyways, thanks for reading this chapter, I hope you enjoyed it, vote if you did, and comment your thoughts. Any guesses what/who KM might be? =) Also did you think the chapter's too long?

My university workload has grown considerably and I've barely managed to write this chapter, I'll try my best to stick to my initial plan of daily updates, but let's see how it goes.

Till then, stay safe, lots of love, happy reading ♡♡♡