Chapter 14 Allegra
ALLEGRA
Cassian wants to have a proper dinner tonight.
He’s been off all day. Distracted. Making calls with burner phones and disappearing into his office more time than I can count.
He’s on one of those calls when Enzo walks into the dining room where I’m seated at the long table.
The candles are lit in ornate candelabras and the table is set extravagantly.
“Enzo” I say with a smile and stand.
“Allegra,” he says as I walk around to hug him. He seems very surprised by this and gives me an awkward one-handed hug and hug is a big word. It’s more like a pat.
“You’re doing better?” I ask. I haven’t seen him since the night Malek kidnapped me. I knew he got hurt, but that’s all.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. You?” To his credit he doesn’t glance at my hand.
“I’m okay. I never said thank you. I know you saved my life.”
“It’s my job.”
His tone is more abrupt than I expect, but before I have a chance to process or respond, Cassian appears.
“There you are,” he says, walking toward us. “How are you, cousin?” He pats Enzo’s back.
“Ready to work.”
“Eat with us. I’ll set a place.”
“Already ate. I’ll go talk to the men. I’m here when you need me.”
With that he walks away. I resume my seat and Cassian shrugs a shoulder before serving out our dinner.
“What is this called again?” I ask.
He twirls the pasta into my plate and sets it in front of me. It smells amazing. “Cacio e pepe with truffle.”
I breathe it in. “Did your mom teach you to cook or something?” I ask then remember. “No, of course not. Sorry, that was really stupid.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. It’s fine. And I have always loved cooking. And eating,” he adds with a levity that is forced. I see how his eyes move to the screen of the burner he’s set beside his dish.
“Is that a new phone,” I ask.
“Yeah.” He smiles tightly, tucks the phone into his pocket and picks up the bottle of wine. I guess that’s all he’s going to say on that.
When he presses the tip of the corkscrew into the cork, I stiffen.
“What is it?” he asks. I swear Cassian sees everything.
“Red wine. It reminds me of that room. Always has. It was a wine cellar.”
“Shit. Of course—”
“No.” I draw a deep breath in. “Open it.”
“We don’t have to.”
“Open it, Cassian. Like you said, I’m going to make fear into my strength.” He doesn’t look convinced. “Open it. I want you to.”
He nods, twists the corkscrew into the cork and pulls. I hear the pop and instantly smell the wine even though I’m holding my breath.
It takes me a minute. Several minutes. I close my eyes and tell myself to breathe slowly.
“You’re safe,” Cassian says, still standing, still watching me.
I nod, slowly open my eyes. I hold out my empty glass grateful my hand isn’t shaking.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
He pours. My stomach is tight. Usually by now, nausea has taken over. After he’s poured for me, he fills his own glass and sits down. “Together?” he asks.
“Together,” I say, and together, we take a sip and when the heavy red touches my lips and I swallow the smallest sip, I think maybe I can do this. I think about what Jet said. What Cassian said. And maybe I can do this.
But that little bit is enough, and I set my glass down.
“We need to bury my brother,” I say. We just need to do this. I need to get through it, get it done, for Michael, for myself.
“I’ll arrange it.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
I pick up my fork and spoon and begin to twirl the pasta. I’m weirdly hungry. I feel like I haven’t had a proper meal in so long. We’re eating our first bite when I hear the front door open. Hear men’s voices.
Cassian wipes his mouth and stands. Footsteps head toward us, and I turn to watch Jet walking down the center aisle.
He glances at me, but keeps his eyes on Cassian and when he steps into the light, I notice the bruise on his temple, the cut on his lip.
He stops when he’s a few feet from the table and he and Cassian have some sort of silent showdown.
I watch them. They’re something to watch, these two.
I can’t help but glance at Cassian’s hand, the knuckles of his fist.
The air around us crackles. I’m holding my breath. I think we all are. There’s something between Jet and Cassian that I’ve noticed before. It’s always been there. Whatever it is has butterflies fluttering their wings in my belly.
“Sit,” Cassian says gruffly, breaking the spell.
I exhale. Jet seems to do the same.
Cassian walks toward the kitchen to return a moment later with a plate, utensils and a wine glass.
By then, Jet is seated across from me. Cassian is at the head of the table.
Jet nods his greeting to me.
“What happened to your face?” I ask.
“Met an unfriendly fist,” he says casually as Cassian makes him a plate.
I look up at Cassian and I know his was the unfriendly fist. Cassian must feel me looking at him, but he avoids my gaze.
“Any word on Malek?” Jet asks finally.
Cassian chews a mouthful of pasta and shakes his head. “Not yet. Coward’s vanished.” He takes another bite just as his phone rings. I recognize the ringtone. He digs it out of his pocket. This one isn’t the burner.
I meet his gaze when he glances at me. “I have to take this,” he says and with that, he’s gone, walking toward his study, speaking quietly.
I watch him go and I don’t realize how tightly I’m holding my fork until he’s out of sight, vanished into his office. When I shift my gaze back to the table, I find Jet watching me like he knows what I’m thinking. I get the feeling he knows who just called too.
“Why did you two fight?” I ask.
“Why do you think?”
Me. They fought over me.
A long silence follows. I pick up my wine, but my stomach protests. I touch my lips to the rim of the glass, but don’t open my mouth, don’t swallow. Jet’s eyes are on me all along.
“Does he always jump when she calls?” I ask after setting my glass down.
“When who calls?”
“Don’t be like that.”
“Like what?”
“Nothing. Forget it.” I pick up some pasta, but stop. “You know, I liked you a lot better the other night.”
“Why’s that?”
“You told me about your nightmares.”
“You liked me better because I told you I have nightmares?” I watch his throat work when he swallows. This is harder for him than he wants to let on.
“I liked your honesty. Your… humanness.”
“My humanness? Is that a word?”
I study him. “I don’t think Cassian’s ever been scared.”
Jet breaks the lock of our eyes. “Don’t be so sure,” he says seriously. I want to ask what he means, but he continues before I can. “What do you want, Allegra?”
“I want you the way you were the other night,” I tell him and as the words come unbidden, I realize how raw they sound.
Jet studies me, eyes steady. “I’m not sure that’s what Cassian wants.”
“Is that why the bruise?”
“You do seem to come up a lot in conversation lately.”
“What do you want, Jet?” I ask.
He considers, looks at his plate of food. I don’t think either of us are hungry anymore. He shifts his gaze back to mine. “Maybe I want to be the way we were the other night too.”
I smile, unsure of the chaos of emotions inside my body right now. I love Cassian. I know that. This Jet, though, this vulnerable version of Jet? He’s special. I just haven’t figured out how.
“Who did you trust who is untrustworthy?” I ask because I want to know about his scars, and I remember how he’d told me that.
His eyes narrow thoughtfully, and he must remember our conversation the other night because one corner of his mouth lifts up into a grin.
“My brother,” he answers and I’m not sure if I expected him to tell me or not.
“Your brother did that to you?”
He glances at my hand, the one without the bandage. “Sometimes family can be a real drag.” His mouth stretches into a grin that’s not remotely close to a smile. He eats a bite of pasta, leans back in his chair and studies me. “He promised to look after Vivi and Gage after Seth,” he says.
I raise my eyebrows.
“You asked me if he always jumps when she calls. I guess he does.” I feel my jaw tighten and glance away. “There’s nothing romantic between them if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Don’t start lying to me now, Allegra. I’m giving you what you want. You gotta meet me halfway, because this whole truth thing is not a one-way street.”
He’s right. If I want him to be what he was the other night, if I want raw honesty, I need to do the same. “Okay.”
“That’s not so hard, is it? Last night, you never got to tell me what it was you did.”
A weight settles in my stomach. I look at my hand with its bandage and remember my mother’s ring. Remember it’s here in the house.
“Long story,” I lie. It’s not. In fact, it’s a very short one. “What happened to Seth?” I ask instead.
“Deflect. Good one.”
The study door opens as if on cue and Jet and I stare at each other as Cassian returns.
Jet leans toward me. “You’ll have to ask Cassian that question.”
“What question do you have to ask me?” Cassian asks, taking in the scene, the mood. Making me realize how guilty I must look.
I give Jet a glare.
He winks and eats his pasta.
“Who was that?” I ask.
“You know who it was, Allegra. What’s the question you have to ask me?”
Commotion at the front door interrupts us. We all turn. This is different than when Jet came in. This is soldiers and raised voices.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Jet mutters, turning in his seat.
Half a dozen soldiers come into view then, two with huge guns strapped across their chests. Among them, not quite ahead and not quite behind walks a man. I’ve seen him before, and I see the resemblance between him and Jet and I remember.
That’s Severin Blackstone.
He’s the one who put those scars on Jet’s chest and back.
Severin’s furious, and he’s not alone. He’s shoving a man ahead of him, a man who’s clearly been beaten badly. I hear myself gasp when I see his swollen, bruised face.
Severin turns toward us. His eyes narrow on Jet like he’s unsurprised to see him here, but angry about it all the same. But then the beaten man tries to run, and Severin reaches out an arm to grab him, to shove him roughly toward Cassian.
“What the fuck is this?” Cassian asks, looking down at the man who is trying to scramble to his feet. Severin prevents him from rising, though, with a foot on the back of his neck.
“You wanted to know who sent that gun to your nephew.”
Cassian’s expression changes, his forehead furrows.
Severin points down to the man on the floor, gives him a swift kick.
The man grunts.
“How do you know it was him?” Cassian asks.
“Maybe I’m not as nauseated by violence as you like to believe.”
“Did he confess before or after you beat the shit out of him?”
“No, the beating came after.”
“If you’re fucking lying—”
“Question him yourself. He’s all yours. Do what you want with him. As far as the world is concerned, he no longer exists.”
Cassian’s eyes narrow, but he gestures to Enzo. “Put him with Rami.”
My attention snaps to Cassian, panic sending adrenaline rushing through my system. “Rami’s here?”
Cassian glances at me, but doesn’t answer.
“You,” Severin says, pointing to Jet. “Get home.”
Jet just gives him the finger.
Severin presses a hand to the back of his neck, shakes his head. He turns to Cassian.
“You keep your family’s trash out of my affairs,” he says to Cassian before turning on his heel to walk back out, shoving off the hand of the soldier who tries to take his arm.
“Make sure he leaves,” Cassian tells the soldiers.
“I’ll make sure,” Jet says, standing, jaw set.