My Landlady Nonna の小説・ストーリー

Now he uses that memory to track me. "He’s here," I say. My voice is flat as weather. Salvatore’s rhythm breaks. --- The village is made of stones—gray, same color as the sky. Nonna stands in the doorway, not the apron-waving grandmother of my fantasies. She wears black widow’s weeds, cradling a double-barreled shotgun, stock pressed against her hip like she’s thirty. She’s eighty-two, but her spine is rebar. I push open the door before the jeep stops. My legs give out. I hit the ground, vomiting. Not morning sickness—blood taste, rising from my stomach, too much fear swallowed in the car.

She could feel that word in her bones just by his existence. Ollie cut the staring and brought her eyes down to her dress and cleared her throat. She righted herself and slipped her hands off the post. She pushed a smile on her face, lifted her head and stepped up. She hoped she didn't look as pathetic as she felt. She hoped she didn't look as scared as she felt. They were werewolves, not animals. They wouldn't eat her for dinner any time soon. "Good Morning Mr Bridge," She forced out of lips and pushed her hand out to the man, " I'm Ollie Clan, the nanny,"

"I hope I'm not intruding." Nonna turned from the stove, wooden spoon still in her hand, and her whole face lit up in a way that made my chest ache with guilt before he'd even said another word. "The famous Leonardo Moretti," she said, wiping her hands on her apron. "In my kitchen. Fiamma always said you were a ghost. I didn't believe men like you existed outside of magazines." "Fiamma exaggerates," he said, and handed her the peonies with a small, unfamiliar smile that looked strange on his face, like a coat that had been tailored for someone else and only just fit.

The woman beside my grandmother was ancient in a way that felt geological. White hair pulled back so tight it stretched her features. A spine curved from decades of bending toward something invisible. And in her hand, a walking stick that made my stomach clench. The stick was moving. Not a carved snake head—a real one. Scales the color of charcoal, eyes like blood drops, tongue flickering out to taste the morning air. It was alive, and it was watching me. "This is Lena," Nonna said, ushering the old woman inside like this was a perfectly normal visit. "Her family has worked in this territory for six generations. If there's something wrong, she'll see it."

Lynda replied. Mia nodded her head, "I think if he was a cruel person he wouldn't have lent you so much money and then repaid it by deducting it from your monthly salary, I think the rumors about him being very cruel aren't entirely true," Mia put the chopped vegetables in for cleaning. Lynda smiled faintly, although she only wanted to tell Mia that her life in the house was like being in a tiger's den, where every moment of serving Nelvan made Lynda afraid, whether it was dealing with the man or anything else.

Valerie asked gently, watching the way Nonna's eyes crinkled with amusement at Landon’s cooing. Nonna's expression turned more serious, though her smile never completely faded. "Oh, you know, my dear. The usual aches and pains of old age. But having you here brings me such joy. It's the best medicine." Valerie reached out to squeeze her hand. "I'm glad we can be here with you. Antonio mentioned you haven't been feeling well, and I wanted to make sure you were alright." Nonna patted her hand affectionately. "Antonio worries too much. But I appreciate his concern. This family has needed a bit of sunshine, and you and the children have brought that."

"Oh, Marcus. Natalia isn't home." Before I could respond, my mother-in-law, Liliana Carrington, called out cheerfully from inside, "Vincent, who are you talking to? Hurry in! The food is getting cold." "Coming, Mom!" Vincent called back loudly. Then he lowered his voice and warned, "Natalia isn't home. Come back another time." After he finished speaking, he started closing the door. I reached out to stop it from closing. "I'm Natalia's husband. Her legal husband."

"Not that you're even fit to shine his shoes." Laughter rippled around us. I gripped the thermal container tightly. "You've misunderstood. I'm—" "You're what?" Carla cut me off. "Jealous that he's buying me an apartment? You're just some gold digger who found out Norman is rich and came running to steal him from me. Who do you think you're fooling?" An employee chimed in obsequiously, "Everyone knows how much Mr. Tuttle dotes on his wife. Why, just last week, he rented out an entire restaurant for her birthday."

A few years later, I found myself a gentle and pretty fiancée. For the first time, I finally set aside my research and allowed myself to truly live. One day, I stepped out to deliver wedding invitations to my neighbors. Suddenly, I noticed someone lurking in a cold, shadowy alley nearby. Their gaze flickered, hesitant and uncertain. Curious, I walked closer. What I found was a beggar, disheveled, kneeling on the ground, her legs clearly broken, her face smeared with dirt.

As she spoke, she pulled me to sit down at the dining table. She cleared her throat and said, "Jessica, the landlord called and asked whether we were going to renew the lease." I lowered my head and ate the pizza without saying a word. She secretly watched my expression and continued, "We've decided not to renew the contract." My hand paused, and I looked up, confusion showing on my face. "We found a cheaper place," she said, her eyes flickering. "Didn't you ask us to share the apartment before because the rent was too much for you to handle alone? Now that we're not renting this place anymore, you should be moving out too, right?"