Ciao Amores,

I really hope you enjoy after the long wait.

Without further ado, Here's the Forty-first Installation of Italian Coffee House.

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Ang

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Niccolò's Chocolate House

Chapter 41

*Dari*

I jerked awake, tears pricking my eyes at the sudden surge of the memories, that were residual of my nightmare-ish experience prior to my loss of consciousness. My head, being held under water. The agonizing grip, as someone forced me under, by my locs. The intense urge to hold my breathe. The thought alone, of running out of air, gave me a fright. At my last conscious breath, I prayed that someone to come to my aid in time.

Was I alive? If so, I couldn't think of a way to reveal the answer to such a loaded question. I glanced around the vast space to make better of my surroundings, becoming profoundly aware of the plush surface beneath me and the oxygen mask over my nose and mouth.

I pulled the mask over my head, setting it aside on the nightstand. A sweet aroma circulated the air about, in stark contrast to the stench of concrete and perspiration of my former cell. Not only that, a cooler climate prevailed. Silence resounded the room, giving nothing away of my location. A different kind of silence.

Cantera stone walls encased the area, boxing me in. Typical Italian style wooden shutters interrupted the walls in brief intervals. Elegant sage colored draperies cascaded from the ceiling, adding character to the room. If this wasn't some illusion, and I was no longer counted among the living, why would the afterlife echo an Italian influence? Better yet, why would there be use for an oxygen mask at all?

Hopelessly bent on getting some answers, I climbed out of bed, descending unto the wooly rug. It extended across the room, to a stubby stairway, before the door. My first instinct was to go to the window. However, I scarcely made it there when a creaking noise caught my attention.

A dark skinned woman stood in the doorway, like a deer caught in headlights. Her deep brown eyes assessing me, as were mine, gauging whether or not I would pose treat.

"I mean you no harm," She offered, holding her hands up in surrender.

"Who are you?" I inquired. She remained painfully rigid, offering no response. "Who. Are. You?"

"I'm here to help," She stepped forward tentatively, at which point I swiftly grabbed the closest thing to me. A glass of water. Emptying the contents unto the floor, breaking the glass against the nightstand, holding a shard out against her. For someone at the edge of a blade, she seemed awfully calm.

"Your words mean little, if I know nothing of your character." I countered. "You haven't answered my question. Now, who are you?"

"My name is Ortensia," The lady supplied. "Now—if as you say my words mean little—how can you trust that any information I offer about myself is true?"

She did have a point. How did I know she was being forthright? She could've easily woven a lie so skilfully that I would believe it. Was that an accent I detected? The only people I'd heard it on, were my sister-in-law, Krysta and my husband ... Niccolò. Of course, also, my portentous mother-in-law. Maybe Or-ten-sia, as she put it, was of a similar background. Of Italy? What was it with these Italians? Weren't there enough of them in my life?

"I can't," I finally replied, edging in her general direction. The closer I got, the more my performance chipped away at her brazen exterior.

"Ada, pleased don't do anything you'll regret." Ortensia pleaded, her chest visibly undulating with each waning step.

"Where did you hear that name?" I fumed, physically shook that she seemed to have some idea about who I was, despite evidence that I knew nothing about her.

"Your husband, of course." Ortensia stated as though it wasn't nearly as outlandish as it sounded. Why would Niccolò know her?

Ortensia was a sophisticated woman. Besides being unearthingly gorgeous, she seemed to have a depth to her that wasn't easy to superceded. She was well-endowed, her choice in clothing falling elegantly against her figure. Sure I had a few curved here and there, but they were eclipsed by my not-so-subtle baby bump. Ortensia was free of fat, though she retained a nice thick physique. It would be impossible not to fall for her charms, even with the scar that somehow added more depth and mystery to her personality.

Less than pleased at the direction my thoughts were headed, I tried to suppress the bitter sting of tears in my eyes. God could I really be that stupid?

"This way," I gritted out, angling my head in the direction of the bed I'd been in only moments ago.

"Please I know you're expecting." She announced. "I am a mother as well."

"Get in the bed," I said, my anger noticeably spiking. She obeyed making her way towards the bed, climbing into it. "Don't follow me!"

I quickly made my way down the low-set staircase and out the door, closing it behind me. What on earth was I doing? Truth be told, I didn't have one inkling about where to go. I had no signal as to where I could be and therefore, it was near impossible to plot my escape. So I would have to go with my gut.

Turning left, I ducked out into the hallway, my bare feet padding against the hex terra-cotta flooring. The surface was so different to the barren cage I'd been in, how many hours, prior. Cantera stone again lined the seamingly endless and curving hall, matched with a high cove-vault ceiling. Oddly, the place gave off a regal finish.

The sound of shuffling caught my ear, prompting me to glance over my shoulder. Sure enough, there was a menacing looking man hot on my heel. Just what I needed. Lord God almighty, why was this happening to me? My feet hurt a lot and my body was still recovering from exhaustion, but I pushed on. I couldn't give up now.

A lavish sitting room came into view, along with an assortment of men clad in black. Where on earth was I?

Just then my eyes caught his. The pale blue that somehow seemed to see all the way through me to my soul. Right there among them. Besides God, the source of my comfort and the one from whom I drew my strength. His eyes were tired, dark circles lay under his them. A days worth of stubble on his square jawline. He wore a common clothes and a pair of sneakers. His black head of hair seemed a little longer for some reason. At the moment, my heart pulsed. I was so happy to see him.

Suddenly, a hand caught hold of my wrist. The one without the weapon, and reflexively, I swung. The man hissed, cursing under his breath, as the gravity of my actions hit. His cold eyes pinned me and I was certain he would retaliate. However, he looked over my head his mouth forming into a fine line. He backed away slowly clutching his lower arm, from which I drew blood. I watched him carefully making sure that he was a good enough distance before I turned around.

"Ada." He was a few feet from me now, holding his arms up in surrender, as if I would hurt him. He moved slowly toward me, with careful precision not to make the wrong move, until he was with reach. Sluggishly, his arms reach out to mine, removing the shard of glass from the grasp of my hand. Unknowingly, I'd clutched so tight the blood marred the base of my palm and the back of my knuckles.

His eyes held mine in adoration and relief. Lord I hope this wasn't some figment of my imagination, spawn to taunt me further. I slumped to my knees and he caught me on the way down, cradling my fall. His hands clutched my cheeks, and I reveled in the way, they seemed to know me. The way I knew them.

My hands moved up the length of his, debunking all doubt that he was just a memory. The moment was real. He ... was real. At the revelation, tidal waves well up in my eyes obscuring my view of him. I shut them, unable to look at him any longer, for fear that he might disappear just as his chapped lips claimed mine. It seemed to trigger my release.

A muffled cry escaped me, against his tender kiss. He reclined, his thumbs drying what tears had spilled from my eyes. Lord knows I missed that. He smelled like home, and at that knowledge alone, I pulled him into my arms. He drew me closer to him, securing me in his embrace. My hand found its way up his back, raking the hair that sat obediently at the nape of his neck. His breathe fanned my neck, sending a shiver throughout my body.

My eyes opened, taking in the scene behind him. The men just stood there watching us, as did Ortensia who was now among them. Her eyes watching our every move. Nicky must have sensed apprehension because he reclined a little obscuring my view, forcing me to look into his eyes.

"It's ok. You're ok," He cooed. "You're safe now."

"What happened to your face?" In all the emotional turmoil, I hadn't noticed the scarring under his eyes and discoloration just beneath his jaw.

"Jan has a good right hook." Nicky chuckled, referring to a boxing term that would otherwise account the bruising on his face.

"Jan?" I asked a bit perplexed. "Why would Jan do this to you?"

"There was a misunderstanding. I may have thought he had something to do with your disappearance. Baby, he saved your life. If it weren't for him we might have been to late." Nicky explained, his jaw clenching at the idea, lowering his gaze.

"Hey—Hey," I held his chin up by the hook of my forefinger. "You made it in time. If anything, I'm evidence of that."

"These men and women risked their lives. I merely waited around for them to locate you." He rebutted.

"You did what you had to," I stared him in the eyes, point blank.

"I couldn't lose you," He confessed, his eyes staring at me so intensely I had to look away.

"Where are we?" I asked, clearing my throat.

"Perugia, Italy my dear," I froze at his revelation. "It's our safest bet to get to the bottom of this. Mr. and Mrs. Salvatore have been extremely hospitable and a huge help."

I glanced at Ortensia, what I'd done moments prior riding on my conscience. Nicky stood drawing me along with him to my feet. He took my hand gently, securing his hand at my waist for support, guiding me to them. At the moment, I only had enough courage to stare at their feet. The closer we came, the more unhinged I became at what I'd almost done. To her, and in a surge of jealousy. I could've injured Ortensia. Then, who knows what would've happened.

In the blur, I recalled that she had mentioned her being a mother. What if I'd gravely injured her? I wouldn't be able to forgive myself, if her children were left without a mother. Like I was.

We stood before the couple now and I couldn't bring myself to meet their gazes. How could I? In my crazed state, I could've done something rash that would've affected me and their unit for the rest of our natural lives. Also, these men and women had risked their lives for mine, and I had wounded one of them. The thought gnawed away at me. Were my actions justified?

"Please allow my to introduce you to Mr. Salvatore," At Niccolò's introduction, I glanced at the man to see he was already watching me.

Mr. Salvatore easily towered over me and had a menacing physique to match. His hair was dark, except for the patch greying at his temple. His pale blue eyes seemed cold, calculating and unreadable. A pale blue, just like Nicky's. A salt and pepper beard covered his square jawline. He looked like a man with experience on his belt. He took my hand, giving it a firm shake.

"It's a pleasure to meet you dear." Mr. Salvatore nodded genially.

"And Mrs. Salvatore," Nicky continued.

The woman accepted my outstretched hand with ease, as if to say, there was no harm done. But there was, and I was to blame. Though I couldn't meet her gaze, I could sense that she assessing me.

"Adaramola," She began, drawing my attention. "I would just like to say, I don't hold anything against you. In your position and circumstance, there is little I would do differently. It is a treat to finally meet you. Please join us for dinner. I'm making Spaghetti col rancetto."

The men and women seemed rather pleased with the either while her confession nearly made my eyes bulge out. It was reassuring nonetheless, to know that she didn't hold a grudge. Otherwise, I would have some serious begging to do. I still had to apologize. Especially, to the man I'd wounded only moments ago. Dinner was the perfect setting to make amends and so I would take the family up on their offer. An audible growl emitted my belly and I cringed in embarrassment. As though I wasn't conflicted enough.

"I'll take that's a yes?" Mr. Salvatore chuckled for the first time since I'd made his acquaintance. I was hoping that no one heard it, but the room erupted with jovial laughter, coaxing a coy smile out of me.

"I couldn't possibly say no after such an embarrassing moment." I replied, a grin on my lips. Besides, I was beyond starving.

"Not to worry," One of the men yelled, soliciting laughter from his comrades. "There's a lot of that around here."

"EVVIVA! (YEAH!)" They roared with laughter, swarming in a circle around one man in particular, ruffling a man's head jokingly.

Mrs. Salvatore, Nicky and I returned to the bedroom. Turns out Ortensia had her dottorato di ricerca. A Ph.D from Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa. It was a rather impressive accomplishment I must say. The only thing I had managed to do in my year, was just barely keep my Papa alive. She cleaned and dressed the gashes on my right palm from where I held the glass, checked my vitals and even offered for us a chance to listen to the racket throwing down in my belly.

Nicky and I were beyond grateful and relieved that our babies weren't harmed in any way and healthy despite, my terrible ordeal. However, she urged that my stress be kept to a minimum for the next few days. Also, she wanted to keep a close eye on me to make sure that the pregnancy was progress nicely. That, my emotional and physical wellbeing were intact. Why she was being so kind to me, I'd never know.

"Thank you," I finally said, grateful to be among the living.

"You're most welcome." She smiled.