His Virgin Stripper

38- Small Rebellions

Sienna

It had been a week since I sat at that long marble table, suffocating under the weight of Marcello’s frost, and a week since I had last seen him.

He hadn't returned since he walked out to handle whatever crisis had flared up. Seven days of silence from the man who claimed he owned my schedule.

In his absence, the house had settled into a quiet, heavily guarded routine, the armed giants in the corridors remaining as stone-faced and unmoving as ever.

Since I’d been stripped of my normal routine and cut off from the life I knew in LA, the empty hours should have driven me insane. But I was grateful for Roxy being with me.

The girl always found a way to keep us busy, refusing to let me sit in a corner and spiral over the contract. She was a whirlwind of distraction, inventing tasks out of thin air just to keep our minds from focusing on the armed guards standing right outside our doors.

Right now, we were sprawled out on Roxy's bed, the sheets covered in half-empty bowls of popcorn and cans of soda. The heavy curtains were drawn shut to block out the afternoon sun, turning the bedroom into a dark, makeshift theater as we binge-watched Outlander.

For the past week, we had been sleeping in each other's rooms, changing quarters every single night just to break the monotony of the walls.

It was a small rebellion, a way to use the massive size of the house to our advantage, exploring the empty corridors, playing ridiculous games, and doing everything we could to manufacture some semblance of fun in the middle of a criminal stronghold.

We treated the house like an oversized, terrifying play house, running through the vacant guest suites during the day and locking ourselves away once the shadows started to lengthen.

On the screen, the dramatic music swelled, the tension in the scene building to a breaking point. The characters were caught in a moment of vulnerability, the kind of fictional high stakes that let us pretend our own lives weren't completely off the rails.

"Are you afraid?" Jamie's deep, Scottish voice bled from the television speakers.

Beside me, Roxy let out a tense, breathy gasp, her entire body freezing. Both of us clutched the edges of the heavy duvet so tight our knuckles were almost turning white in pure anticipation, our eyes locked onto the screen as Claire opened her mouth to answer.

We had been waiting seven episodes for this exact conversation, building up the narrative in our heads until the room felt entirely silent around us.

But right as the words were about to leave her lips, the bedroom door burst open with a loud, resounding thud.

The wood hit the stop against the wall, the sudden noise cutting through the romantic tension of the show like a hammer through glass.

We both jumped, the popcorn bowl between us rattling dangerously as I snapped my head toward the entrance, my heart hammering against my ribs from the sudden jolt.

There was only one person in this entire house who did that whenever she was mad. Ma Rosa.

She stood in the doorway, her black and white hair slightly rumpled, her kind blue eyes narrowed into a fierce, irritated glare as she rested her hands firmly on her hips.

She didn't look motherly in any way right now; she looked like a woman on a mission she was set to accomplish, completely unbothered by the fact that she had just scared the life out of us.

Roxy immediately collapsed backward onto her pillows, letting out a dramatic, piercing groan that quickly escalated into a toddler-level tantrum.

She began kicking her legs against the mattress, her arms flailing wildly as she whined at the ceiling, throwing her hands over her eyes in agony.

"Oh my god, Ma Rosa! Seriously?!" Roxy yelled, her voice dripping with pure, exaggerated frustration. "Every single time! You always find a way to interrupt the best part of the episode! They were finally together. Alone… We've been sitting here for two hours waiting for this exact line!"

Ma Rosa didn't care about the drama. She didn't even blink at Roxy's flailing limbs or the cushions flying across the bed. She stepped fully into the room, her American accent cutting through the dark space with a sharp, no-nonsense authority that instantly drowned out the television audio.

"I don't care about your Scottish show, Roxy!" Ma Rosa yelled back, though the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth gave away her amusement.

She walked over to the windows, yanked one of the heavy drapes back to let a harsh beam of sunlight cut through the room, and then turned back to face us.

"I’ve told you girls twice before what the deal is under this roof. Since you’re both sitting up here completely jobless and running your mouths, you are going to get off your butts and help me in the kitchen! The security detail doesn't feed itself, and I am not peeling fifty pounds of potatoes alone while you two watch TV and ruin my good pillows!"

I chuckled at Roxy's ridiculous overreaction, the tight knot of anticipation in my chest dissolving into amusement. It was impossible to stay stressed around the two of them, their bickering acted like a shield against the heavy reality of the house.

I reached over for the remote, shutting off the TV and plunging the room into quiet darkness before sliding off the edge of the mattress.

"Alright, alright, we're coming," I said, smoothing down my clothes as I walked toward the doorway to stand beside Ma Rosa.

I turned back toward the bed, raising an eyebrow at my best friend who was still dragging a pillow over her face to block out the sunlight.

"Come on, Rox. Follow us. You heard the boss. If we stay up here, she’ll just come back with a broom.”

“Ugh!”