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A.N.-

Just wanna clear some doubts...

The actual name of our guy is Dante (daan-tay) (i changed it) but he told Daliah that his name was Enzo to protect his identity because he didn't trust her :)

Enjoy the chapter~

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Daliah's POV

I was busy chopping vegetables for dinner on Friday night, peacefully watching the knife slide through the tomato and listening to the soft wooden thud it made on hitting the cutting board. I nearly dropped my tomatoes when I turned around and caught sight of Enzo leaning against the kitchen door, looking at me.

"Oh- hey, you need something?" My voice seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he was in and he shook his head, wordlessly proceeding towards the cabinet and picking up a glass along with a water bottle.

My eyes warily watched him, and when I realised my paranoia, I snapped my gaze back to the bowl in my hand. Taking a deep breath to control the slight trembling of my fingers, I continued on the task at hand: dinner; trying - but failing - to ignore his presence.

The jittery feeling wasn't going away, so I picked up a glass of water from the counter and drank it slowly. I heard someone clear their throat and turned around to catch sight of Enzo standing behind me, with pursed lips. I choked on the water when I spotted the tray of ice in his hand.

This was his glass.

I quickly covered my mouth and whipped out my hand to return the glass, feeling my face flush. He glanced at the water and then at me, arching an eyebrow.

'You just drank from that you dumb idiot!'

I frantically filled up another glass before sliding it over to him and clenched my hands into fists. His eyes were on me the entire time, discreetly analysing my actions.

He held the glass up to his lips after slipping in a few ice cubes, his adam apple moving up and down as he gulped down the water.

Out of nowhere he spoke, "Are you scared of me?"

...

Was I?

Internally observing my posture - wide eyes, defensive stance, clenched fists, held breath - I realised that I was, in fact, kind of terrified of the man a few feet away from me. Why? I knew how to fight, I could take care of myself, I had gone through a lot of shit and I'm still standing here. That counts for something. Then why the hell was I scared of him?

I felt a surge of vulnerable anger course through me. He asked me a simple, seemingly casual question...but I was so affected by it. It bothered me that my sensitivity was so visible. It meant one more thing people could use against me. One more weakness.

What, did he think I was some weak autumn leaf, easily swayed by the slightest of winds and instantly crushed into pieces the moment someone so much as steps on me? My shoulders straightened and my fingers released the skin of my palm. I narrowed my gaze, my defences building up around me like a protective wall, blocking out any emotion from showing itself. My next words were spoken in subdued rage.

"I'm not scared of you. Don't flatter yourself."

But there was still this small pinch in my chest when he placed the glass back down on the counter and towered over me. A flicker of fear amidst all the boldness. A flicker of hesitance amidst all the courage. A small voice telling me to scram, or else I would be hurt. No matter how much I tried to convince myself, I guess Dimitri did more damage than I thought.

I heard a hum of disbelief which made me flare up with indignation, but I chose to take my frustrations out on the unfortunate piece of cheese in my hand. He smiled down at me.

"Chill out." he said in a light and kittenish tone. "I don't bite," a smirk played at his lips. "Unless you want me to."

I scoffed at the suggestive comment. "What are you making?" Enzo questioned, looking at me while I was spreading tomato sauce over a slice of focaccia. "Bread pizza." I replied curtly. He went silent for a few seconds. "You're doing it wrong."

..huh?

I was spreading ketchup on a goddamn piece of bread, how can you do that 'wrong'? And I was pretty sure everything I was doing was correct.

Hey, I'm Italian and we know our stuff when it comes to food.

"Oh yeah? How's that?" I feigned interest. "It tastes better if you roast the bread a little with butter before putting anything on it." Enzo spoke with an eyeroll. I paused, thinking, because that actually made sense.

My tongue swiped over my lips. "Fine. But you do the work." He shrugged and I sprinkled cheese over the vegetables.

"You know, I would really love some pineapple on here right now...would really spice things up, don't you think?" I mocked - just to tease him - with a serious voice and expression.

To my amusement, he looked like someone just killed his beloved goldfish and told him to 'go fish'.

"Excuse me? I would rather live in an underwater pineapple than eat it on a pizza."

A/N No offence to anyone who likes pineapple on pizza ;-_-

My grin instantly disappeared and I was pretty sure I was the one with the offended face now. "Did- Did you just insult spongebob?"

"Spongebob," Enzo began and paused for effect, "is for pussies." I scoffed in disbelief.

"Wrong. Spongebob is one of the greatest shows of all time."

"Ninja turtles is better." he leaned back on the counter, giving me a challenging smirk.

Oh, it's on.

"Ugh, ninja turtles. What is it with these mutated reptiles and their absurd popularity? I mean, seriously, who thought it was a good idea to combine the agility of ninjas with the clumsiness of turtles?" I shot back and he narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, yeah? Patrick literally looks like a dick overweight in all the wrong places." Enzo retorted.

"He's a starfish!" I exclaimed in horror. How dare he ruin my childhood favourite cartoons for me!?

"Whatever. It's impossible to ignore his infuriatingly blissful ignorance and complete lack of logical reasoning. Every time he opens his mouth, it feels like my brain cells are being painfully murdered one by one." he sighed frustratedly.

"Says you who likes Ninja Turtles." I snapped. "Don't even get me started on their names - Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donald Yellow- or was it Donatello? Are they trying to pass off Renaissance artists as crime-fighting heroes in half-shells?"

"You think Spongebob is any better?" Enzo rounded on me. "That- That bumbling and eternally cheerful yellow sponge? His constant laughter and optimism are enough to drive any sane individual up the wall. Why is he so happy all the time? It's unnatural! And oh my fucking god his annoying voice – it's like nails on a chalkboard-"

And for the rest of the time, we were arguing about which is better - SpongeBob or Ninja Turtles. It was most definitely the most ridiculous conversation and I wanted to smack myself for being so childish.

The oven's beep snapped us out of our argument and we both suddenly took on faces of regret on realising that the bread pizzas got burnt as we bickered about fucking kid TV shows. I groaned, shooting a glare towards Enzo who shrugged. We stared at each other and quietly agreed on a silent truce...for now.

Taking the tray of blackened crusts out, my nose wrinkled at the bitter scent suffocating the air. I sighed in defeat and started slicing the bread again. But before I could pick up the marinara sauce bottle - because the ketchup finished - a hand reached out and grabbed it, taking the slice of bread from my hand as well. I glanced in surprise towards my left to look at Enzo.

That was when I noticed the tattoos on his arm.

Intricate patterns inked onto his skin, winding up his wrist till his defined biceps. I had seen tattoos on Vittore before, but they weren't like this. They were anonymous patterns. Just there.

Enzo's, however, looked like magnificent, leafy vines laced with blooming flowers carved by the stellar fingers of Mother Nature herself, and my eyes couldn't help but gravitate towards them. I looked up to see a focused look in his eyes as he smeared marinara sauce over the bread slice.

"What are you doing?" I asked. He looked up, a few strands of hair falling over his eyes. "You won't be able to do all of them on your own." he replied simply, leaning against the wall beside him for support.

"Really you don't have to hel-" "I'm not trying to help you." he cut me off. "I'm hungry and you'll take too long to make them."

I sighed and noticed how he shifted from one foot to another uncomfortably. What the hell was he thinking, trying to stand on a broken leg?

"Enzo..." I started but he gave me a sharp look, probably thinking I would say something about his 'help'.

"No it-"

"Don't say it."

"I'm not-"

"Stop."

A growl of frustration left my lips and I gave up, making my way over to him. I slipped one of my arms around his torso, making him drop the focaccia as well as the knife, and used my other one to place his right arm around my neck.

He stumbled when I moved, but I could easily take his weight, thanks to our position.

No. Don't even think about it, that's disgusting.

I walked both of us over to the kitchen island and pushed him down on one of the chairs. "Tu piccola-" (You little-) Without thinking, I lightly smacked the back of his head. He looked up at me in sheer annoyance.

"I prefer not to be shoved around like a potato sack." Enzo spoke in a grumpy tone. "I prefer not to be sworn at." came my reply as I brought the bread slices and marinara sauce to the table. "Chop chop." I motioned towards the ingredients and his face became even more irritated, if possible.

"Comincio a pensare che fosse meglio quando avevi paura." he mumbled. (I'm beginning to think it was better when you were afraid.) "Peccato." I shot back. (Too bad.)

His face turned towards me in mild surprise on hearing the Italian flow through my lips. He probably wasn't aware of my last name: Agosti. Oh well..

I guess there are a lot of things we don't know about each other.

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I stared down at my plate, my eyes drinking in the sight of the pizzas. They looked mouthwatering but I didn't feel that hungry. You know when you physically can't eat more than you're used to?

I'm used to very little food as a result of Dimitri practically starving me during my adolescence. He used to come back late every night, swaying and mumbling curses with an alcohol bottle clutched in his hand. I wasn't even 15, and the lack of food gradually took its toll on my appetite.

Worst of all, the times I managed to get a decent amount of food in, Dimitri's beating made throw it all up. So, I started eating less on my own accord.

I shook my head, not wanting to think about it and focused on Enzo. I felt a little more at ease around him now, and I didn't know why.

He took a bite, but as he moved his hand to place the pizza back down, all the toppings slid off with the cheese...and fell on his shirt.

Enzo blinked, the now empty bread in his hand, cheese on his shirt and pizza hanging from his mouth. He looked like a confused puppy.

I couldn't hold back a guffaw, and coughed to cover it up. He made a noise which sounded halfway between a scoff and a groan, which didn't help with my barely-withstood-laughter condition.

"How is it?" I cleared my throat to change the topic. "Buono. I have fallen in love with it." he remarked dryly. (Good.)

I pursed my lips and averted my gaze, struggling to keep a blank face as another wave of embarrassing laughter threatened to take over.

Amid this whole situation, my phone dinged. I fished through my pockets and opened the message. It was from Vittore.

My smile faltered. I sighed and replied.

You: Yes sir.

Another message popped up.

V!T: Don't mess up. You know the consequences.

I switched off my phone and stared at the uneaten slice on my plate. Suddenly, I felt tired, frustrated, and definitely not hungry. Placing my food back in the casserole, I pushed back my chair and stood up. Enzo gave me a questioning look.

"I'm going to bed. Leave your plate beside the sink. I'll clean everything in the morning."

"You haven't eaten anything." I heard him remark as I walked out of the kitchen.

"Not hungry." I mumbled.

Time to beat someone up.

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