"Ughhh… damn it, I can't forget yesterday's horrific event."
Seriously. I mean, who could? One day you're a broke college grad with a caffeine addiction, and the next, you're living under the same roof as Italy's most dangerous mafia crown prince, aka my new sugar d—NO, Alfio, don't say it. You'll cry.
Anyway, life comes at you fast. Especially when it's holding a gun.
But since I have no money, no way to survive alone, and no desire to be homeless or die, I've decided to embrace a new philosophy: "Suffer in silence and look innocent while doing it."
I groaned, dragging my dead soul out of bed and muttering, "Sigh… life is tough."
That's when I stepped out of my room—AND THUMP!
I hit something solid. Like a brick wall, solid.
I stumbled back and blinked.
Chest.
Not just any chest.
Designer suit, expensive cologne, mafia-grade pecs.
