There were two plates.
Steak. Roasted potatoes. A red wine that smelled like blood.
“Sit,” he said without looking at me.
I did.
Not because he asked.
Because I wanted him to see what he’d broken and know I wasn’t finished.
The silence stretched.
“I assume you’ve cried,” he said.
I picked up my fork. Cut into the steak. Perfectly rare.
“I don’t cry in front of murderers.”
He looked up.
A glint surfaced in his eyes. Annoyance. Approval. Both.
“Your loyalty is not required tonight,” he said. “Only your attention.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I don’t need to. You’ve been thinking about me all day.”
My stomach clenched. I swallowed hard and said nothing.
He waited a beat longer, then reached into his jacket and pulled out a phone.
My phone.
Unlocked.
My hands curled around the napkin in my lap.
He placed it beside my plate.
“I had our techs go through it,” he said. “Curious text history. Your sister. Maria contacted you recently, didn’t she?”
I stared at him.
“I don’t know where she is.”
“I didn’t ask that.”
He leaned forward.
“I asked why she told you to run.”
My breath caught.
I said nothing.
Then he picked up his fork. Ate a bite of steak. Chewed. Swallowed.
