The Italian Consigliere and his secret love affair BILLIONAIRE 1

LUCIANA'S POV

"_Mierde_," I let out softly in pent-up frustration as I looked at my phone screen, staring at yet another rejection notice. Funny how most of these white collar corporations make use of really similar words for these kinds of letters. They usually always begin with "We are sorry to say" or "We apologize for" or something along those lines. Always sorry, always apologizing. Not that they actually meant any of these anyway. Because, for people like me; the ones being rejected, we don't even truly register to these companies. We don't matter.

I put down the device on the cafe table in front of me and tighten my fists, my medium length nails digging into my palms. This was unfair- all of this. My eyes slowly begin to water as I will myself to snap out of it. The pain from my nails jolts me and brings me out of my thoughts.

"Breathe," I whisper to myself softly. "Just breathe, Luciana," I try again so I won't end up bawling in the middle of this almost unnoticeable, but charming little tea shop I just came across while walking the streets of Dublin.

My gaze catches the gray ones of the middle aged man sitting alone at the table adjacent to mine. He was the only other person in this tea shop, besides a young couple holding hands and whispering to each other a few seats away. We hold gazes for a few seconds longer, with neither of us even blinking. I simmer inside, waiting for him to stand up and come to me, to inquire if I'm okay, as so many others I've met have done, not that they ever really cared.

Nothing happens. He does continue to stare though, before his face slowly breaks into a small smile. And in the depths of his ashen eyes I see something akin to understanding and, perhaps, kindness.

I turn my eyes away from his and stare down at my table, my eyebrows coming together in a frown. As if on cue, the brown haired waitress who had taken my order a few minutes ago shows up beside me and places down my cup of tea gently on the table.

"Would that be all?" She asks with that familiar but faint Irish lilt to her words, her honey brown eyes staring at me with a professional smile plastered on her face.

"Yes, thank you," I responded quietly.

The waitress turns away while I pick up the cup and take a small sip. I sigh as my eyes flutter and close, trying to enjoy this moment. I feel better and calmer than I did a few moments ago. The tea helped and probably the kind smile I received from the older man sitting close to me. I need to pick myself up and try again at finding another corporation looking to hire. I can't continue doing these part-time jobs forever. Although, at this point, I probably am qualified to be called a part-time ancestor since I've been at this even before coming to Ireland a few months ago.

I chuckle. Part-time ancestor. What a dumb name. Sounds like something my ma could come up with. She's always been goofy, that one. Thinking about her now reminds me of how much I miss her, even though we talk almost every day. I really do miss her.

I sniff, my mood now taking a familiar downturn. I pick up my phone and text her a short greeting while downing the rest of my still hot tea. It burned, but I didn't really feel anything due to my mind being occupied by a lot of other thoughts.

After waiting for a few minutes for her to respond, she doesn't. I then proceed to place the money for the tea down on the table and pick up my purse. As I walk out of the quaint tea shop, my dark brown boots making slight noises as the heels meet the floor, I turn and stare again at the gray eyed man. As if feeling my gaze, he turns away from the newspaper he was reading and stares at me. Then he waved me goodbye, much to my surprise. I almost stumble, but I end up regaining myself and nod slightly at him before turning and walking through the glass door of the cafe.

The cold winter air rushes into my system as I step out, making me sneeze. I blow my nose with my hankie, and feel that familiar headache beginning to bear down on me. The cold almost always inflicts me with headaches of varying degrees. I'm still not sure why. Although I could find out if I went to the hospital for a check-up. But such expenses were really out of my budget for now.

I step onto the snow covered pavement and stare up at the sky which was beginning to darken, as is typical of winter. And, although it was really cold and this down jacket I wore wasn't quite warm enough, I turned my bare palm outwards and a few flakes of snow fell into it but soon melted due to my body heat. I breathe in the cold Dublin air shakily with my eyes closed, willing this city to be kinder to me.

A few hours later...

"...and then, Miss Sarah said my spellings were all correct, but Ryan had a few mistakes and he began to cry, mama," I held Rodri's hands carefully in mine while listening to how his day at school went as we walked home.