That tidbit is a surprise. My wife. “Why would he want to kill his own daughter? Me, I get.”
When he doesn’t answer, I raise the knife and bring it down on his fingers, slicing three of them off in one clean swoop.
“Ahh!” the chef screams. “I don’t know! Please just kill me already.”
I chuckle. “That would be too easy. You don’t get to die that quickly.”
“B-but you said if I told you…” he cries out.
I lean down and whisper against his ear, “I lied.”
Then I collect the three digits that rolled onto the ground, walk over to where Sammie is standing by the grill, and toss them on.
“How the fuck am I supposed to grill fingers?” he asks me.
“I don’t know. Pretend they’re sausages.” I shrug.
Picking up a cloth, I wipe my hands and retrieve my phone from my pocket. I need to call my wife, check in on her and see how my daughter is doing.
“Hey you,” Antonia answers on the first ring, almost as if she were waiting for my call. She shouldn’t have been. Charlotte was supposed to text me as soon as Antonia woke up again.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her. The chef takes that moment to start screaming for help. “Hold on a sec, babe.” I walk back over and stuff his mouth with the same rag I just used to wipe my hands.
“Are you okay?” Antonia says.
“Better now that I hear your voice. How are you feeling?” I repeat.
“Better. Jazzy and I are lounging around. She keeps asking when you’re coming home.”
“Soon,” I reply before changing the subject. “Do you remember when we were dating and I showed you around the penthouse, pointed out the parts most people don’t see?”
“I remember,” Antonia says.
“Good. You remember the first room we christened back then?”
“Uh-huh.” I can hear her smile through the phone.
“I want you to show Jazzy that room and how to get into it.” I didn’t want to scare my daughter by telling her about the safe rooms. But now, she needs to know where they are. Just in case.
“Do you think someone is going to try to get in?” Antonia’s voice drops to a whisper.
“It’s near impossible, babe. We have guys posted at all the entrances.”
“But notimpossible?” she says.
“I just want to make sure you remember. I’m going to be home soon. I love you,” I tell her.
“I love you too. Whatever you’re doing, just finish it quick. Not everything needs that delayed gratification you’re so fond of,” she mumbles, and I chuckle. My wife knows exactly what I’m doing. She’s smart enough not to mention it, though.
“I will,” I reply before cutting the call.
“We should get the girls out of that penthouse,” Louie says.
“You want them leaving without us? They’re safer inside that apartment than out of it at the moment,” I tell him.
“Probably.” He nods. “Finish up here. I’m gonna head there now.”
“I’ll come with you,” Emmanuel says, then smirks at me. “Have fun with your cookout.”
