Chapter 5 #2
“I considered setting it on fire.”
“I assumed.”
“I left the lingerie upstairs.”
“I assumed that too.”
“Then you’re not as disappointed as you should be.”
His gaze drops briefly to the place at my throat where his thumb had rested the night before. My skin remembers before I can stop it. Heat. Pressure. That small, damning shiver I still want to blame on the drug.
His mouth curves into the same grin he wore in the study this morning.
Bastard.
A servant appears to pull out a chair for me.
I sit. Stefano takes the seat at the head of the table, close enough that our elbows could touch if either of us were careless.
Neither of us is. Food arrives in courses I do not have the patience to appreciate.
Soup. Bread. Fish. Roasted vegetables arranged like someone believed garnish could absolve crime.
Stefano eats as if this is a normal dinner and not a negotiation between a mafia don and the federal agent he bought, drugged, and threatened into cooperation.
I pick up my spoon. “Do you do this often?”
“Eat?”
“Collect federal agents.”
“Occasionally, but only the interesting ones,” he teases.
“One day, someone is going to find your confidence exhausting.”
“People find many things about me exhausting.”
“Do they survive long enough to tell you that?”
“Depends on how fond I am of them.”
I look at him over the spoon. “And me?”
His eyes hold mine. “I haven’t decided.”
It shouldn’t feel like flirtation. But somehow, coming from him, it does.
I set the spoon down. “Let’s discuss some rules.”
“Let’s discuss your performance.”
“I’m not performing anything until I know exactly what you want from me.”
“Tonight is practice,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “If we are seen in public, you do not look like a woman waiting to stab me. You look like a woman who understands her position.”
“My position.”
“At my side.”
“Cute. I thought you were going to say beneath you.”
His gaze doesn’t move from mine. “That could be arranged, if you’d like.”
Heat cuts through me, immediate and unwelcome. I reach for my water, contemplating throwing it in his face would be satisfying enough, but it would also be a mistake.
He leans forward then, gaining my full attention. “If I just wanted that from you, Maya, we would not be discussing dinner etiquette.”
I swallow hard.
“You are very committed to making this unpleasant, aren’t you?”
“I am committed to making it believable.” He leans back then, picking up his spoon. “And I, for one, am certainly not finding it particularly unpleasant. Yet.”
“You think I need practice pretending?”
“I think you need practice pretending to be comfortable with me. Soft. Posed. Obedient”
That word again. The distinction lands exactly where he intends. My grip tightens around the glass before I make myself release it.
He continues as if he hasn’t noticed. But I know he notices everything. “Leon will remain in Miami for a few more days. He has business to repair after the raid, buyers to reassure, and loose ends he believes he can still gather before returning to Boston.”
“His children being loose ends?”
“Among others.”
I hate how calmly he says it. “And we’re meeting him here?”
“Not here. In the city.”
“That was not reassuring.”
“They are safe,” he says, less amused now. “Fed. Guarded. Unharmed.”
“With men who call them leverage.”
“With men who will keep them alive.”
“That is a low bar.”
“It is also the only one that matters until Leon is no longer a threat.”
I look away because if I keep looking at him, I will either argue until I lose access to the twins or say something honest enough to be useful to him. Neither appeals.
The next course arrives.
He cuts into his food. “Leon believes I bought a woman from his auction before the FBI ruined the evening. He believes I left with my purchase and no love for federal interference. That gives me reason to approach him. It gives him reason to think I am angry for the same reasons he is.”
“You want him comfortable.”
“I want him comfortable enough to be careless. Yes.”
“That may take more than a pretty dress and your sunny personality.”
His mouth twitches. “That is where you come in.”
“Lucky me.”
“In public, you are to stay close. You do not flinch when I touch you. You do not look at the exits unless you can do it without being obvious. You listen. You watch. And you say very little unless spoken to.”
“So you want me to act like your expensive new toy.”
“I want you to act like a woman clever enough to understand the room she’s in.”
“That wasn’t the line in your study.”
“In my study, I was provoking you.”
“I noticed.”
“You tried to stab me.”
“I’m still considering it.”
He takes a sip of wine without looking away. “You’ll have other opportunities. I’m sure.”
The ease of that answer annoys me more than a threat would have. “And what if someone recognizes me?”
“They won’t.”
“You sound very sure of that.”
“I paid enough money for you to cover it up and be sure of it.”
The words sit between us with more weight than they should.
Not a confession. Not even close. Just a glimpse of something hard and old beneath the polished surface.
I know better than to poke at unknown wounds, especially on men with private armies and control issues, so I drop it and leave it alone.
For now.
Dinner continues with the uncomfortable rhythm of a negotiation pretending to be a meal.
He tells me the basics of Leon’s Miami circle: where I am allowed to stand, which names I am allowed to use, and which details about the auction I am expected to know.
I listen because the information matters.
I argue because he expects obedience, and I prefer breathing.
He corrects me when I reach for the wrong glass. I pause, staring at him. He looks back calmly. “You are supposed to know how to behave at my table.”
“I know how to behave.”
“You are holding the water glass like you plan to weaponize it.”
“I’m currently considering throwing it at your head, yes.”
“That is exactly my point.”