“Freeze!” I shout, but Mattia barely turns his head toward me. His eyes flick up and down my body and then at the can of pepper spray in my hand.
“Get out,” he says dismissively.
“I own the place,” I snap back.
“Not you. Tommy.”
Oh, he’s talking about the man on the floor. That’s embarrassing. It’s like when someone waves at you so you wave back, but the person was waving at someone behind you.
Tommy gets to his feet a whole lot faster than before and rushes to the door. He pushes it open and takes off running without a backwards glance.
“I thought I told you to lock that,” Mattia says.
“It is. No one can come in.” Shit, why did I tell him that?
“Is that so?” He smirks, and it’s devastatingly handsome.
“Your charms won’t work in here. Put the gun down.” I keep my tone firm and tilt my chin with authority.
He stands there for a long moment, not speaking, before I hear a click, and then he places the gun on top of the washing machine next to him.
“Charm,” he says, and it makes his smirk grow.
“Hey, I’m the one with the pepper spray here,” I remind him.
“Turn it around, sweetheart.”
“What?”
“The container. Turn it around so you don’t spray yourself.”
“Oh shit,” I whisper to myself when I see the arrow pointing at me. That would have super sucked.
I turn it around and then with my free hand I reach over and pick up the gun. I’m not crazy about guns, so I pick it up by the handle with my thumb and forefinger and carry it over to the trash. After I drop it inside, he raises an eyebrow.
“Now what?” he asks. “Do you need me to call the cops for you?”
“Wait, you want to call them?” I ask, confused.
“It’s not a problem for me. The cops and I have an understanding.”
What does that mean? “Oh my god, is the laundromat actually part of the mob? I knew it!”
His name is Mattia. That sounds like a mafia name, right?
“Mob?” His bright blue eyes narrow like he doesn’t understand what I’m saying.
“Oh, I get it. You’re like Fight Club, and we’re not supposed to talk about it.” As soon as I say it, Mattia barks out a laugh. “That wasn’t that funny,” I mutter. I was being dead serious.
“Let’s get back to what happens next. You still haven’t told me what you want to do.”
Well, shit. If he’s in with the police, I can’t exactly call them. My mind begins to spin, and then I panic.
“I guess this means you’re my hostage now,” I tell him, surprising myself with this conclusion.
“If you say so,” he agrees with a shrug.
Maybe now he’s going to see that I’m a serious threat, or maybe I’ve just gotten in way over my head.
