While I continue to slice the chicken and fry it in a pan, I hear the two men talking in the living room.
I add garlic and herbs to the pan as Dario says, “You missed a good ballet performance.” There’s pride in his voice. “The company I bought will soon be the best in the country.”
He owns a ballet company?
It’s hard to think a mafia boss cares about arts and culture.
“Watching a bunch of women twirling around on a stage to some boring opera piece is the last thing I’m interested in,” Renzo replies, his tone surprisingly humorous. “I’m more interested in your hacking skills. Have you found out anything new about Castellanos?”
I actually manage to relax a little now that the atmosphere is less tense.
When the chicken is ready, I remove it from the hot pan.
Finding three plates, I arrange sliced avocado, cherry tomatoes, and cucumber slices on a bed of Boston lettuce. I plate the grilled slices of chicken carefully before I return to the pan to fry some corn, which I then sprinkle over the salad.
I’m so focused on what I’m doing I’m no longer listening to the men’s conversation as I make the honey and mustard dressing from scratch.
When it’s ready, I drizzle it over the salad before I wipe the sides of the plates so the presentation is perfect.
“Not bad,” Dario suddenly says from behind me.
He scares the living hell out of me, and I stagger a couple of steps to the side while my hand flies to my thundering heart.
“Jesus,” the word bursts from me, my eyes wide on the men who must’ve returned to the kitchen while I was deep in thought.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Dario actually apologizes.
Renzo lets out an annoyed huff while he walks to the drawers to grab cutlery before he moves past me, slamming the knives and forks down on the island.
“Let’s eat,” he orders.
He takes a seat, and Dario joins him. When I remain standing, he gives me a look of warning.
I quickly sit down and grab a knife and fork. Pulling my plate closer, I cut into the avo, and take a bite.
I keep my eyes focused on my food while the two men’s dangerous and powerful presence makes it hard to enjoy the meal.
Dario lets out a groan, then he says, “The dressing is delicious. How did you get it sweet and tangy?”
“Honey and mustard,” I murmur, not looking up.
“I need you to make me a whole bottle so I can have it at home.”
This time, my eyes flick to Renzo’s face, and he nods.
“Should I make it now?” I ask, not wanting to anger Renzo.
“No. Finish your food.”
I continue to eat and steal glances at the men. For the first time since I was thrown into this hellish nightmare, there’s a tiny burst of warmth in my heart when I see how much they enjoy their salads.
As soon as I’m done eating, I get up and retrieve a mixing bowl from the cupboard. When I start to make the dressing, Dario gets up from his chair, and bringing his plate along, he continues to eat while watching what I’m doing.
“Do you love being a chef?” he asks between bites.
“Yes,” I murmur softly.
“You used to work at Dame, right?”
I nod, not offering any details.
“I read the restaurant got a Michelin Star while you worked there.”
I nod again, my heart pinching because I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to work in a restaurant again.
Realizing Renzo might keep me captive for the rest of my life, a gloomy emotion fills my chest.
All my hopes and dreams slip through my fingers and my hands still while my eyes drift shut from the pain of losing them again.
“Are you okay?” Dario asks.
When he places his hand on my lower back, I instantly jerk away from him and almost drop the bowl.
“I said don’t touch her,” Renzo snaps at Dario before saying to me, “Finish the dressing.”
Doing my best to ignore my breaking heart, I quickly add herbs and spices to the mixture and stir it. When it’s ready, I set the bowl down on the counter and start to search through the cupboards for something to pour the dressing into.
“What are you looking for?” Renzo asks.
“A bottle or something I can use for the dressing,” I answer.
He gets up and walks to the fridge, where he takes a bottle of water out. Emptying it in the sink, he holds it out to me.
I carefully pour the dressing into the bottle then place it on the counter near Dario.
When I gather the dishes, Renzo snaps, “Leave it and go get some rest.”
Not waiting for him to change his mind, I rush out of the kitchen. When I head up the stairs, I hear Renzo say, “Stop trying to get to know the woman. She’s a fucking prisoner.”
“Your prisoner,” Dario mutters. “I’ll be friendly with her if I want to.”
“You’re looking for shit,” Renzo warns him.
“Brother, you know how I feel about all of this. Skylar did nothing wrong. You’re torturing an innocent woman.”
Hearing Dario’s words, I stop halfway up the stairs.
“Giulio’s kidney is in her fucking body,” Renzo growls angrily, intense pain shimmering in his tone.
“That’s not her fault. Kill her fucking father and let the woman go.”
Renzo’s quiet for a moment, then he says, “Don’t interfere in my business, or we’re going to have a problem.”
Too brave for my own good, I quietly take a couple of steps down and peek toward the kitchen, where I see the two men practically standing toe-to-toe.
Dario lets out a sigh, a worried expression on his face. He places his hand on Renzo’s shoulder, then says, “I don’t want you doing something you’ll regret. I’m looking out for you, brother.”
“I know what I’m doing. Stop worrying,” Renzo replies, his tone no longer harsh.
When he turns around, I dart up the stairs and rush to my bedroom.
With Dario’s visit I’ve seen a different side to Renzo. Even when he gets angry, he reins it in around his friend.
Closing the door behind me, I stare at the floor.
Dario thinks I’m innocent and doesn’t agree with Renzo holding me captive.
Holy shit. Dario might be my way out of this mess.
