Marcello disappears into the living room, me tumbling through right after. I crash into his back, but he doesn't look too affected. He turns slightly to the side, enough to put a protective arm around me. All the while, his eyes remain on the two men in front of us.

My eyes study them, taking in their gruff features one at a time.

The one to the left has a slim, tall build, with with muscles wrapping around his arms, as well as a scar decorating his face, stretching across his cheek. His eyes are the color of dirt, framed by short eyelashes, and above that is a pair of bushy eyebrows.

The other one is a bit more clean cut, and looks a bit familiar. His sandy blond hair is cropped neatly, with blue eyes and dark lashes. My eyes skim over his tan skin sporting a few wrinkles, to find a scar similar to the other guy's.

They both look to be around 40, maybe 50, and I can't help but to move closer to Marcello as their threatening demeanors start to get intimidating.

Marcello's arm brings reassurance as it squeezes me a bit tighter, which doesn't go unnoticed by the two men.

"(In Italian). This the girl?" The one to the left say, his gruff voice scraping against my eardrums.

"(In Italian). This is definitely her." Responds the other one, his voice carrying a lighter tone, not as deep.

As they speak, their eyes still glued to me, I begin to think that they're talking about me.

My eyes find Marcello, and I wonder why he hasn't done anything yet.

These men just broke into his house, literally knocked the door down, and are now standing in the living room. But here Marcello is, standing beside me, not moving.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" He grits out, finally deciding to speak up through his clenched jaw.

I catch his eyes flitting to me for a moment, but they move back to the men, unwavering.

"I came for the girl." The one with sandy blond hair speaks up, taking a step forward.

"I'm afraid I can't allow that." Says Marcello, pushing me behind him protectively.

"You think you can keep me from my daughter?" The guy's voice hardens, and I peek past Marcello to see a murderous look on his face.

What is this guy talking about? Is he deranged?

"Yes. I can and I will." Marcello says firmly, slightly turning his head to me "I'll only say this one more time. Go to our room and don't come out until I go up and get you."

I nod my head, deciding that it'd be best to stay out of this. My feet take off on their own accord, carrying me to Marcello and I's room.

I plant myself on the bed, disregarding the man's words.

That was really odd. I'm just hoping Marcello will take care of it.

°•°●°•°●°•°●°•°

I jump to attention just as Marcello enters the bedroom, looking annoyed.

"What happened?" I ask immediately, planting myself in front of him.

"Nothing." He growls, pushing past me and to the bed.

I roll my eyes at his attitude. "Okay, Mr. GrumpyPants."

Marcello doesn't respond as he props himself at the end of the bed and rests his elbows on his knees, and head on his hands.

"Are you okay?" I ask, deciding not to give him a hard time.

"I'm fine." Is his short, impatient response.

I sigh, still staring at him.

Fine, if he wants to be like that, then let him. My stomach growls, and I make the decision to go to the kitchen to see what's up with the breakfast arrangement.

"Where do you think you're going?" Marcello asks from behind me, his tone clipped.

"Uh, to the kitchen. I'm hungry." I roll my eyes, not stopping nor turning around to face him.

"Stay here. I'll bring you something." Marcello says, no room for arguments.

But of course, I accept the challenge

"No. I'm going whether you like it or not." I lift my chin defiantly.

"Brimmy..." He growls a warning.

"Marcello." I mock, placing my hands on my hips, a sign that I refuse to back down.

He sighs, bringing his index finger and thumb up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. I can't express the pure accomplishment I feel at knowing I'm annoying him.

"Fine. Whatever, but don't be surprised." He bites, storming out of the room before I can ask any questions.

I am confusion.

I follow him, probably looking more like a lost puppy dog than I care to admit. As he leads me to the kitchen, I catch a glimpse of the living room, stifling a gasp.

Cotton spreads over the floor, spilling out of ripped pillows, and torn cushions. The majority of couches are flip over, and my favorite recliner is laying on its side, sporting a rip in its deep brown material.

I make eye contact with Lucy as she picks up little patches of cotton, placing them in a bag as she goes.

Why wasn't I able to hear any of this happening from Marcello's room?

It had to have made a loud rucus, so I don't understand why I didn't hear it.

I avert my eyes from the scene, trying not to focus too hard on it. Marcello is a mafia boss, this happens a lot.

So far, his place has been attacked two times since I've been here. If you can call the destruction of his living room an attack, that is.

I briefly glance at Marcello's back, taking a second to ponder whether or not I have a future with him.