28. Too Sweet for a Mafia Prince?
too sweet for a mafia prince?
. . .
Sadie
Sadie’s Guide to Hostage-Taking Being Taken Hostage Forming a Partnership with Your Hostage Embracing the Hostage Lifestyle, Tip #16: Baking breaks should be mandatory for all hostages.
Walking into the kitchen again was just as magical as the first time, and I even teared up a little at the beautiful sight.
Or maybe that was from the onions.
Regardless, I was starstruck by how immaculate the huge space was—and my fingers itched to inspect the ovens—but since he wasn’t yelling at me now, I tried to focus on the chef currently dicing onions in the center of it all.
Antonio wore his age well, with smile lines on his face and a full head of greying hair. But his dark eyes held the same cold distrust the other men around here eyed me with, and his arms had more muscle than I would’ve expected from a chef.
Did Davian exclusively hire men who were equal parts intimidating and ridiculously attractive? His compound could make a mafia-men calendar women would buy in droves.
“Sorry about that.” I walked up to the kitchen island he was working at. “Bear’s outside now. Do you mind if I keep you company in here?”
Antonio looked up from the onions long enough to glower at me, and I gulped.
“That depends,” he said, voice gruff. “Can you stay quiet?”
The question made me hesitate. I’d never been very good at that.
“I can try,” I hedged. “You can put me to work, too. I’m happy to help.”
“Do you have any cooking experience?” he asked shortly.
I leaned against the counter and nodded. “Lots. I’m in culinary school in the city. Baking is my favorite, though I’m learning all of it.”
He grunted. “I already have a system. But if you’re bored, you can hang out in here.”
“Thanks.” Propping both elbows on the counter and resting my chin on my hands, I watched him work through the onions with enviable speed and accuracy. “I’m Sadie, by the way. And you’re Antonio?”
The knife paused, and both his thick grey eyebrows rose. “The boss told you about me?”
“Well, he didn’t say you were an actual chef. I was picturing one of his scary guards slicing up fruit for our lunch earlier.” I snickered at that imagery. “Speaking of, thank you for the food. It was delicious.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, a warm blush crept up my neck. Fruit wasn’t the only thing I’d feasted on at lunch, and Davian was quite tasty himself.
Antonio grunted before resuming his fancy knife work. “Next time, make sure to stop in for breakfast. That’s delicious, too.”
My blush deepened. He thought there’d be a next time? “Oh. I don’t know if I’ll be staying over again. These were extenuating circumstances.”
He spared me a glance without slowing his chopping. “You’re with the boss, no?”
“ With him?” A nervous laugh clawed its way up my throat, and I stood straighter. “Like—together? I mean, we haven’t made anything official, if that’s what you’re asking. Things got a little complicated after I— Well, yesterday I sort of took Vince’s gun and— Um, actually, the details don’t really matter.”
Well, that was enough talking for me.
A frown creased Antonio’s forehead. “The men talk. They say you’re together.”
My eyes widened. What kind of Nosy Nellies did Davian work with? Word got around here faster than at Gladys’s book club, and those ladies could out-gossip anyone.
“Uh, I don’t know about that. But we did kiss. A few times, actually.” Thinking about the patio caused my whole face to radiate heat, and I discreetly fanned myself. “He’s a good kisser.”
Antonio’s brows inched up in disbelief before he threw his head back with a deep, full belly laugh that made me jump. I watched in fascination—while hoping he wasn’t laughing at me—until he calmed down enough to chop again.
“You’re too sweet, dolcezza. ” He shook his head as a few more chuckles escaped.
I had no idea what that word meant, but I really hoped it wasn’t anything bad.
“You’re just being nice,” I said, though I couldn’t help grinning. I was ridiculously pleased he wasn’t scowling at me anymore.
“No, no. You are ,” he insisted. “When I heard the boss had a lady friend staying over, that was news enough on its own. But I didn’t expect her to be sweet.”
My brain latched on to his mention of lady friends. What kind of girls did Davian usually date?
Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask.
I cleared my throat and traced a circle over the granite countertop, trying my best to sound nonchalant. “Are Dav’s… er, lady friends not usually sweet?”
Antonio shrugged and slid the diced onions into a large bowl. “Don’t know.”
I frowned. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Not much time to entertain lady friends here when the boss works as much as he does.” He cocked a brow, looking at me. “Another reason I was surprised to hear about you.”
Oh . It was getting warm in here.
“But that doesn’t change that this is no place for a sweet girl.” Antonio’s frown returned. He studied me for a long moment before pointing his knife at me. “Do yourself a favor, dolcezza . Go back to your culinary school and forget all about the boss.”
His candor struck me speechless—was it normal for employees to warn girls off their bosses?—but I recovered quickly and lifted my chin. “I appreciate your concern, Antonio, but I can take care of myself. I’ve done fine so far.”
Aside from the parts where Davian had used the hostage-reverse card on me and the thugs had shown up at my apartment, I thought I’d handled everything quite admirably.
“I’m sure you have.” Antonio pulled out another onion and started dicing. “But you’ve barely scratched the surface of what goes on here. And girls like you belong with nice boys. Boys who appreciate you and have time for you.”
I frowned, getting a little annoyed with Antonio—especially since Davian seemed to appreciate me just fine. “To be honest, you don’t know me and you’re making a lot of assumptions. Did those Nosy Nellies even tell you how Davian and I met?”
His eyebrow crept higher, and the knife paused in its chopping. “No, they didn’t.”
I crossed my arms and lifted my chin, doing my best to look intimidating. “I stole Vince’s gun and took Davian as my hostage in Bruno’s ice cream shop. I’m basically a criminal myself.”
Boom .
Except… it wasn’t the mic drop moment I’d been hoping for. Instead, Antonio’s lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh again, seemingly unimpressed with my budding rap sheet.
“My mistake. I shouldn’t have judged so quickly.” He bent his head in apology and cleared his throat. “May I ask what prompted the whole hostage situation?”
“Well.” I shifted my weight. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought that up. But he needed to understand I wasn’t as sweet as he thought I was. “One of the shelter dogs was taken from Happy Tails Haven, and I needed help getting him back. It was time sensitive.”
He blinked slowly. “So, you chose Davian Reed to help you?”
“Yes. He has a reputation.”
Antonio’s bafflement only grew. “…For rescuing dogs?”
“For getting things done,” I corrected, pursing my lips.
Antonio’s mouth opened and closed, and there was a long pause before he returned to his chopping. “…Indeed he does. Now, care to share why you really came down to my kitchen? I know it wasn’t to visit an old man like me.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. His tone had warmed since I first arrived, but I still felt like I’d overstayed my welcome.
“Well, I was hoping to bake a few things, but I can come back later.” I eased back from the counter and tried not to send a longing glance at the ovens. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”
Antonio’s brows rose. “You want to bake?”
I shrugged. “Yeah. Just some cupcakes to thank Davian for his help.”
All chopping halted, and he looked at me like I was an alien visiting from another planet—which didn’t feel too far off.
It took a beat before he spoke again, brows pulled together. “…You want to bake cupcakes for the boss?”
I shifted my weight. Did Davian host seminars to train his men on how to stare someone down? They were all really good at making me squirm.
“And dog treats for Bear,” I added, hoping I wasn’t overstepping. Maybe the idea of letting me use his kitchen didn’t sit well with Antonio. I couldn’t blame him. Kitchens were sacred. “He picked up a bad habit recently, and I’m not opposed to using bribery to fix it. You know how dogs are.”
I actually had no idea if he knew how dogs were, but his stare was unnerving.
Antonio finally blinked—thank god—before rubbing a hand over his thick mustache. A long moment passed before he nodded. “All right, then. We’ll share the kitchen. You can bake your treats.”
It was my turn to stare.
“Really?” I asked, surprised he’d changed his tune. Should that make me suspicious? “I mean, are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.”
“Nonsense.” He gestured to the mostly empty island. “I’m just prepping dinner. You can use as much space as you need, and I won’t mention any more about you and the boss.”
The tightness in my shoulders eased. “That sounds great. Thank you, Antonio.”
“Don’t mention it. Now, we have the staples for baking,” he said, “but the store can deliver whatever else you need. Come. I’ll show you the inventory.”
Not needing to be told twice, I followed him into a beautiful walk-in pantry with a skip in my step.
Turned out, “the staples” equated to “every single baking ingredient I could ever dream of having,” and I almost fainted at the top-of-the-line stand mixers Antonio proudly showed off. Not even my school shelled out the money for those babies.
And he had two .
Antonio smirked when I gushed over them.
“They’re one of the great perks of working here,” he admitted, patting one of the mixers lovingly.
I was tempted to ask if he was open to hiring a sous-chef.
He left me to explore the pantry—which was bigger than the entire kitchen area of my apartment—while he prepped dinner, and all the choices I needed to make overwhelmed me.
“Do you know what Dav’s favorite flavor and color are?” I called to Antonio as I inspected all the food coloring options. There were dozens; Antonio sure knew how to hook a girl up.
“I can’t say I’ve seen the boss eat many sweets or talk about a favorite color, but he wears a lot of black.”
I scrunched my nose. There was nothing cheery about black icing, and it didn’t do any favors to your teeth. “Maybe I’ll just do flowers.”
It took six trips to carry all the supplies I needed out to the kitchen, and my smile widened with each one.
If this was how Davian normally treated his prisoner-slash-guests, then I might never leave.