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When I did not respond, Bianca Ferraro let out a smug little laugh. "Scared? Then get cooking. Don't keep my boyfriend waiting.

”Oh, and extra cheese on the platter. I want good wine too. Don't try passing off anything cheap."

I laughed.

I moved into this apartment a month ago.

I was in the kitchen cooking one evening when the smell drifted into the hallway and Bianca appeared at my door, peering inside.

For the sake of being neighborly, I plated an extra serving and offered it to her.

She looked me up and down.

When she noticed I wore no jewelry and nothing on me carried a designer label, she could barely hide her contempt.

The following evening, I had just pulled a fresh lasagna out of the oven when Bianca knocked on my door.

She followed the smell straight into the kitchen, handed me a set of new dinnerware, and said casually,

"You work at that pizza place on the corner, right? I saw you talking to the manager yesterday.

“I have a loyalty card for that place anyway. I'm too lazy to cook, so just make me a portion from now on."

I just stood there, stunned.

My brother, Dante Vitale, ran the most powerful mafia family in the city. Every business on this street belonged to me.

This was the first time anyone had ever mistaken me for the help at a pizza shop.

I was about to correct her when she pulled out a chair and sat down, waving me along as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Don't just stand there. Serve me up a plate."

She looked down and started scrolling through her phone, ignoring me completely.

I had just moved in, and I could not be bothered to pick a fight with a neighbor over something this small.

I always cooked more than I needed anyway, so one extra plate was not going to make a difference.

When I handed it to her, she did not even say thank you.

She just told me to add more sauce next time, took the plate, and walked out without looking back.

I thought that would be the end of it.

However, Bianca latched onto me from that day forward.

Every single evening, she showed up at my door right on time.

Before I could even refuse, she would let herself into my kitchen and start critiquing whatever I had made.

"The steak was a little overdone today. Don't sear it that long next time."

"I don't like cilantro. Keep that in mind when you cook."

"Oh, and I don't get home until after 9:00 pm, so save me a plate. I don't want cold food."

One time, she looked around my apartment and actually said,

"Your kitchen's way too small. Clear out the main bedroom when you get a chance. I don't like eating in a cramped space."

I had never been able to figure it out.

How could someone freeload off another person every single day and still act like she was above them?

Now, I understood.

Her boyfriend was a Capo.

"Did you hear me?" Her voice snapped me back to the present. "Go make the food already."

Even now, the entitlement in her tone had not changed one bit.

I yawned. "No."

The smile vanished from her face.

"I'm going back to bed. Order delivery yourself."

Then I shut the door.