Another chapter... enjoy!

***

you get the picture of exactly what happened after I moved in. Last night was horrible, alarming, terrifying, and I can't seem to get it out of my head. It's haunting.

The pizza delivery that came five minutes ago nearly made me jump out of my skin. I had to convince myself that it was safe to open the door, and of course it was.

But still. I can feel the ghost of Nero's body as it pressed me forcefully against the door, the malice in his eyes clear. It bothers me to no end, and I cannot stop thinking about it.

I went for coffee this morning with Shauna, who was still upset over her last relationship. She'd been going out with Michael for almost a year before they broke it off. I told her that she would be okay, even though she had decided that she was completely in love with him. I wasn't so sure, but I let her maintain the comfort of her delusion.

Thankfully, I didn't see Nero today. Even as I came and went, his room remained silent, and I was endlessly grateful. I don't know what would have happened if I ran into him again, and I don't want to think about it.

And yet... there's this nagging sensation, low in my chest, that comes with the thought of him. It's a mix of nervousness, confusion, anticipation and... well, something more, something that I have no intention of dealing with.

Only vaguely watching the show that plays on my TV, my mind shifts to thoughts of Shauna, who noticed something was off with me this morning. I brushed her concerns aside, but I'm beginning to question my own sanity. I imagine telling her about what happened, and the chaos that would result. The police, Italian hit men, my jugular spewing blood all over my new hardwood floors... None of the images are pleasant.

Briefly, I consider moving out and finding a different place. Honestly, the idea isn't as appealing as you might think. Damn that six-month contract. Despite the obvious drama, I actually like my new apartment.

I wonder what it means that I am keeping the potential death of complete stranger from the police.

What does it mean, morally?

Is my soul doomed?

Can I be charged if the police question me at some point and find out what I know?

And if I do come forward, what would witness protection be able to do for me, anyways?

My head spins. It's too painful to think about.

I am most definitely going insane.

Staring blankly at the Food Network as it runs across my screen, the image in front of me registers, a sudden, mad spark igniting in my brain.

I try to imagine the look on his face, confused and suspicious, that he would give me. Would he even accept it? Would he give me anything back?

Immediately I try to convince myself not to. It's a bad idea, I insist, but truthfully? It sounds like too much fun. Blaming Cupcake Wars as I make my way into the kitchen, I tie an apron around my waist and get to work.

By nine-thirty I'm all done. I go into my closet and put on a dress, running a brush through the long waves of my brown hair and washing my face. Looking into the mirror, I convince myself that this will be fine. It will be better than fine; it will be fun—completely and totally hilarious. I grab a tube of lipstick, running it quickly along the curves of my mouth. I'm going to have a good laugh at his expense, just like he had at mine.

Taking the perfect plate I just spent over an hour assembling, I make my way into the hall, pausing outside his apartment. Staring at the dark wood and the ornate 602, I take a second to find my resolve before knocking on the door, the hardness of it echoing beneath my knuckles.

I wait, wondering, for a moment, if he isn't there. Mentally, I start to chastise myself. It's quarter to ten on a Saturday night, I reminded. You are literally the only one under 30 sitting at home right now.

Just as I'm about to call it quits, his door swings open.

I think my lips part slightly at the sight of him, running a hand through his thick, dark hair, his expression tired and almost confused. Wearing a grey t-shirt and dark sweats, he looks as though, somehow, he just woke up, though I don't understand why he would sleeping so early.

Despite the sleepiness in his features, his eyes still meet mine, looking surprised to see me. They glimmer slightly, and I watch them travel down me from head to toe, clearly taken aback.

Raising an eyebrow, his eyes settle on the plate of perfect, delicious cupcakes that I hold out in front of me, amusement sparkling in my eyes. I give him a winning smile, a challenge hidden just below the surface.

I speak first, watching his expression closely as the words leave my mouth. "I felt like baking something, and I thought you might want some." I raise an eyebrow, daring him to refuse. "They're chocolate, and they're delicious. I promise."

I try hard not to smile as I watch his perfectly sculpted features morph into bemusement. I bet no one has ever baked cupcakes for him, especially not after just being violently accosted by him in their own home.

I take a twisted kind of pleasure in his utter confusion, knowing that I deserve to be able to watch him squirm. Something tells me that moments like this are rare, and that I should enjoy it while it lasts.

After looking at me in silence for a moment longer, he finally reaches out, taking the plate of half-a-dozen gorgeous cupcakes from my hands. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it again, seemingly at a loss for words. He studies my face, and I don't hide the fact that I think his bewilderment is oddly reassuring and definitely amusing.

Narrowing his eyes, his gaze meets mine, intense and brooding. I raise my eyebrows, challenging him to come up with a response.

"Dolcezza," he says finally, his voice as rough and low as I remember it. "What do you want?"

I give him an innocent, puzzled stare. "What do you mean, Nero? I just thought it would be nice to be a good neighbor. You know." The look he gives me clearly conveys that no, he does not. I'm not sure he even knows what neighbor means.

I tilt my head to the side, biting my lip slightly. "Make sure you try them— everyone loves my cupcakes. You have no idea how lucky you are. Most of the people I know have to beg for me to bake for them."

That last part is not true. I'm actually very generous when it comes to making delicious things for my friends and family. But he doesn't have to know that.

Behind the confusion, I begin to see a small flash of amusement; a little sparkle in his eye, the twitch of a high, sculpted cheek bone.

"And anyway, I can't eat a whole dozen by myself."

The look I give him—innocent and maybe a little flirtatious—earns me a small, deep chuckle, his stony expression finally cracking. I raise a daring eyebrow, a tingling feeling working its way up my spine. He studies me, and I would almost call the look on his face one of appraisal, acceptance. I surprised him, caught him completely off guard, just like I had hoped.

With a bright, melting grin, he speaks again. "Thank you, Rosalina." He looks to the cupcakes, and I doubt he'll even take a bite. The way that body of his looks, I would bet money that he takes perfect care of himself. Secretly, I hope he'll taste one. I wasn't lying when I said they were amazing.

"Let me know how you like them." I give him another smile. The look he gives me back: hot, tired, and amused, brings a redness to my face, and a flash of heat lower too.

I give him a small wave and a quiet goodnight, and hear his soft, rough laughter follow me as I enter my apartment, the sound of it settling low in my gut.

I shut the door behind me and lean against it, my face still red. Standing there for a minute, I can't stop myself from smiling, no matter how hard I try.

***

A/N:

And so it begins. Ros is a good neighbor and a model citizen. She can't help herself.

XOXO Ami

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