Hey guys, I hope someone is still reading this story! If you are, please go ahead and press that little review button right at the bottom of the page… Fighterr
I have a theory. It's not been proven by scientists yet, but only because they're probably busy with cancer research. This is my theory; you should never ever wake up someone while they're in a deep sleep. Because, they will forget everything they should remember. And they will do something stupid. Something so incredibly stupid. Like, press a self-destruct button, shoot someone, or answer the door. Or answer the freaking door.
I can't believe I did it. I think I even pushed my long hair out of my sleepy eyes as I walked. I didn't even look through the little peephole. I just wanted the banging to stop, so I went and opened up the door.
I'm sure I looked like a mess. Sleepy dark green eyes, disheveled black hair, sagging paints exposing one of my tan hips, sweater hanging gently off of my shoulder- I didn't even want to look in a mirror. But it wasn't the mirror I should have been worried about. It was the muscular, dark haired man standing before me.
"Um." Was all that came out of my mouth. He stared at me with wide eyes. I stared back, just as shocked.
"I'm looking for Francesca and Salvatore Bartolotti. I must have the wrong apartment," He said, in accented English. "Sorry to disturb you, signora."
"Oh, no," I said, unable to stop the words coming out of my mouth. "You have the right apartment."
"Oh," said the man.
"I'm just a friend. They're letting me stay here." I said, trying hard not to reuse the "cousin" excuse again.
"Oh," said the man again.
"Can I help you?" I said, trying to be business-y. I crossed my arms in front of me. He averted his eyes, like he was scared of insulting my virtue.
"I am here to drop off a package, and speak with Salvatore." He said. I glanced quickly at the clock in the kitchen.
"Well," I began. "They should be back any minute now. Do you want to come in?" I asked, his eyes still averted.
"It would not be proper," said the man. I glared at him.
"It's honestly fine. I'm about to make coffee anyways." I said.
"Well, if you are sure," said the man. I nodded, and opened the door further so he could come in.
"You can sit," I said, gesturing towards the table. He nodded and put his package onto the table before sitting. It was a medium sized box wrapped in brown paper. "What's your name?"
"Umberto D'Agata." Umberto said. "And you, signora?"
"Signorina." I corrected softly. "You're Sicilian, aren't you?" I asked in Italian. He looked concerned.
"Yes," he started. "But, I'm not one of them. I promise I'm not in the mafia. I think it's disgusting and-"
"Relax, Berto," I joked. "I'm Sicilian too. And I'm also not connected."
"You are Siclian-" He didn't get to finish his question, because at that moment, while I was bustling around in the kitchen trying to make coffee, Sal and Francesca came in.
"We're home, principessa!" Salvatore practically sung as he closed the door. He stopped dead at the image of Umberto at the table, and me in the kitchen with my long hair down.
"Salvatore!" Umberto announced, standing up to hug him. Sal returned the hug but looked at me with panicked eyes. Francesca mirrored him. "Your family friend has just let me in so I could wait for you."
The phrase 'family friend' calmed down Francesca and Sal. We all looked relieved, I'm sure.
"Sure, sure," Salvatore said.
"Coffee?" Francesca murmured to me while she walked over. I nodded. She mouthed to me 'What happened' and I shrugged.
"He woke me up," I whispered. "By banging on the door. I didn't even know I didn't have a hat on until he was staring at me."
"It's fine," she whispered. "He works in Queens. He isn't connected, and he really only knows us in Little Italy. Sal was friends with his older brother- they met on the boat over here. His older brother died last year, so Sal has been seeing him every week or so."
I nodded, relieved. As long as Bumlets, Race, and the other guys didn't catch wind of the 'family friend' staying with Francesca and Sal, I think I would be alright. I moved faster as Francesca taught me how to make coffee, but I couldn't keep my eyes off of the handsome Umberto at the table, laughing with Sal.
He had serious, dark eyes, and a full head of brown hair. He was tan, like me, but so muscular like he had worked in the shipyards or a farm or chopping trees. He had a nice smile.
"He's handsome," I whispered to Francesca. She smiled.
"Yes, he is." She agreed. We brought coffee over to the table for the men. They thanked us and went back to talking. They didn't really acknowledge us after that, so we went back into the kitchen to start a large Sunday dinner. Umberto was invited to stay, which he at first refused, and then agreed.
We cooked all afternoon, and in the evening, we all ate together. He was serious and didn't joke much. He seemed much older than his 20 years. I studied him, and I think he studied me as I looked away. He left with a handshake for Sal, a hug for Francesca, and a smile for me. He turned around before he walked out the door.
"I didn't get your name, signorina," he said softly.
"Elena." I replied, smiling.
"Will you be here next Sunday?" asked Umberto.
"Yes," I felt myself saying. I felt myself giggling. What the hell?
"See you then," said Umberto, walking out. I closed the door, and turned to Francesca and Sal who were looking at me with curious smiles.
"That was weird." I said.
"That was the beginning." Francesca said knowingly.
"Of what?" I asked.
"Of life." Francesca said, holding onto Sal's shoulders.
I wished I hadn't asked.
Needless to say, I was ecstatic to transform into Enzo, and I left the following morning without any more questions to ask.