“He’s waiting, miss.”
The staff members at Capellas are well conditioned to Vinny’s moods. When I follow the driver through the main doors, a nervous waitress is already there waiting to take my coat. She doesn’t smile, and the moment I inhale, I realize that it might be impossible to. Tension laces the air. Animosity holds an undercurrent that contradicts everything else—the soothing classical music played by the live band at the corner of the nearly empty dining room and the few carefully selected patrons dining at tables spread throughout, their movements stiff. Vinny’s men guard the corners, unmistakable in their starched suits. My tormenter himself dominates the center of the room, seated at a table he’s chosen for us specially.
When he sees me, his dark eyes remain uncharacteristically flat. “Lynn.”
I swallow hard. My footsteps falter, and I nearly trip at the mouth of the doorway leading to the dining room. “H-hello, Vinny.” It takes everything I have in me to force a smile, which he doesn’t return.
Instead, he unfolds his silverware and snaps the white napkin into the air with a hard flick of his wrist. “Sit.”
I hold my breath when I approach the table. Unease ripples through me. My hands shake. I do my best to shove themunderneath the table as I sit down, but he notices, and his eyebrows lift ever so slightly.
“Do you want to know what I’ve learned?” he wonders, his voice the perfect cadence of a gentleman proposing we discuss the news. “About your...accidentlast night.”
I can’t breathe. I try my best to mime the motion, forcing my chest to contract inward and then outward. But, through and through, I’m already dead. “N-no.”
“Someone tipped them off, it seems,” Vinny says. He drags his steak knife through the tines of his fork, noisily sharpening the blade. “Those men. They knew exactly where you were. I don’t know anyone in my employ who might want to hurt you, Lynn...” His eyes home in on mine, darker than the black lining of his crisp, gray suit. “Do you?”
I shake my head. I don’t know anyone in his “employ” who might want to hurt me, but that said nothing for those he kept tethered to him through means other than money. Desperation is a funny thing. It can make a woman reckless. Reckless enough to sell a priceless, designer shawl that may have matched this particular outfit. Reckless enough to spend the money through dark underground channels someone might only learn of after having lived with a man like him for five years. Reckless enough to screw up and manage not to die before Vinny’s men could come to the rescue.
He knows. I wait for him to say as much and dole out my punishment. I’m resigned to my fate like a good little lamb.
“Hmph.” Vinny shrugs. “You haven’t seen Nicolai, have you?”
I cringe at the change in subject, and my brain struggles to process the new information.Nicolai?I vaguely recognize the name of one of the guards and a shaky mental image forms. Blond hair. Dark eyes. He’s the same one who routinely drags me back whenever I leave the hotel for longer than three minutes. My stomach sinks.
“N-no,” I say hoarsely. “I mean...yes? I mean—”
“Hmph.” Vinny sits back, but his eyes lose their shark-like gleam. Within seconds, he’s bored. Placated.
He snaps his fingers and the band begins to play in earnest, filling the enclosed space with music. Chopin, I think—one of his more obscure pieces. It’s lovely. It’s haunting. The joyful notes provide an ominous backdrop for the tension seeping through the muscles of the man across from me. I can’t help it. My hand shoots out, and I risk taking a sip of water without his permission.
His eyes miss nothing, but he lets me rebel this once. I can’t help but feel like it’s a gift, and my pulse picks up speed, churning blood through my system. Something’s wrong. He’s smiling now, and even Vinny’s moods aren’t this wild. He’s angry. In the same breath, he’s...excited.
“What would you like?” he asks, gesturing to the menu.
“Whatever you think would be best,” I croak out in response.
The exchange is just for show, of course. He claps his hands after setting the menu aside, and a waiter appears with our food already cooked. Vinny is served a steak, medium rare to his exact specifications: a pinch of salt, a hint of cloves, no pepper. He cuts into it and hums with satisfaction when it bleeds, leaving a bloody trail across his porcelain plate.
I’m served a salad, Caesar—also prepared to Vinny’s specifications. No salt. No dressing. A splash of olive oil. Two tomatoes cut lengthwise. A handful of Parmesan cheese. Three olives. Four croutons. Twenty leaves of lettuce. Alongside it is a small serving of pasta marinara with exactly a quarter cup of noodles, a serving of sauce, and three mushrooms.
“It’s good,” I insist after taking a wooden bite.
Vinny nods. “Good. Good...” He watches me eat, his gaze unusually intense.
It’s like he’s memorizing every motion of my fork. Every twitch in my throat. By the time I finally choke the last crouton down, he’s barely touched his steak.
“Is...is something wrong?” It’s a struggle to even get the words out. I shift my gaze over to the people trying to ignore us on the periphery of the room.
They’re eating slowly, chewing mechanically, and averting their eyes from the man I’m with and me. It used to hurt, this feigned ignorance. I’d never known how alone in the world it was possible to feel until the first night he made me dine with him like this. There we were, amid at least a hundred people who were all desperately trying to forget my face. Back then, I was naïve enough to feel anger. Now, I only feel pity. These people are no different than I was. For however long Vinny needed them, they were prisoners.
“Everything is...perfect,” Vinny says. His smile widens.
My heart skips a beat—even more so when his right hand slips underneath the table.No. No. No.I hold my breath, clenching my hands into fists, my nails cutting into both palms.
“I wanted to wait until after dessert,” Vinny says, his voice uncharacteristically warm.
Oh, God, no.I want to squeeze my eyes shut, but fear holds them open. I’m forced to watch as his hand returns in slow motion and carefully sets a small, black box onto the table.
