“For the rest of this trip, you’re leaving your phone in the hotel,” I tell him.
“That’s impossible, and you know that.”
“It’s not impossible, and you will listen to me.”
“You think this is funny, little girl? You will give me my phone back now!”
“Nope.”
“Don’t play with me,ragazza.”
“I thought you were smarter than that, Mr. Donatello. Our whole relationship is a game. We just don’t know who’s going to win it yet.”
“We both know it’s me.”
“Eh. Wrong.”
“You’re exhausting.”
“You’re the one who dragged me here. I could be spending an awesome time with Giovanni, who wouldn’t be looking down at his phone the whole ti—”
Cutting me off, he slams his lips on mine. Shoving me into the door while pinning me down. The kiss is cutting off my oxygen supply. I can’t breathe.
Pulling back, Mr. Donatello has his phone in hand.
That son of a bitch.
“You play dirty,” I snarl.
“Like you said, this is a game.”
“Not a game where you break the rules deliberately,” I point out.
“I will kiss you whenever I want.”
“Yeah, you just so happened to kiss me to get your phone back.” I hold my middle finger up to provoke him.
“No, I wanted to shut you up.”
“You’re such a gentleman,” I say sarcastically, before he goes back to typing.
Leaving the hotel, I walk out before Mr. Donatello can tell that I’m gone. He wants to play dirty? Fine, then bring it on, bitch. Taking out my phone, I set up my maps app so that I can get something to eat before I sightsee.
I’m starving.
Thinking about what I’m in the mood for, I let my phone direct me to a pizza place that’s five blocks away from where I’m at.
Pressing start, I walk and walk until my legs can’t move anymore. Reaching the pizza place, I stride in and kindly ask for a seat. They lead me to a table for two, but I won’t be needing the other seat. I laugh demonically inside.
The waitress swiftly hands me the menu. Looking down at the array of options, I order a simple pizza. The difference between Italy and different countries is that their crust isn’t thick like many others. It’s thin and baked to crispy perfection.
The way it should be.
What a shame that Mr. Donatello isn’t here to lecture me on the history of how the pizza was created.
The waitress sets down my food as my phone buzzes on the table, moving slightly.
1 Message from The Devil’s Spawn