21. SOPHIE
SOPHIE
Though the two guards are enormous, they are not menacing in any way. The taller one with a jaw like a shelf has kind eyes that don’t match the rest of him and he shrugs like he doesn’t know what to say.
“Sorry, miss.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” I tell him. “You’re doing your job.”
I smile at both of them, and they relax slightly. I’m guessing they usually get a little more pushback than this. What they don’t know is that I’m not done with this conversation.
“Have you eaten?” I ask.
The shorter one is stocky with dark hair and a scar bisecting his left eyebrow. He blinks at me. “Ma’am?”
“Eaten. Food. Has anyone fed you tonight?” I look between them. “You’ve been standing here for what, hours, right?”
They glance at each other.
“Thought so.” I turn around, heading back in the direction I came. “Help me find my way back to the kitchen and I’ll make something for you.”
“Miss, we can’t—”
“You can’t eat if you’re all the way out here.” I wave a hand, indicating for them to follow me. “But you’re eating.”
Lucia is at the far counter when we make our way back to the kitchen, wiping down the surface like I didn’t just finish cleaning it. Her back is to me. She doesn’t acknowledge me but I can’t tell if that’s a lack of interest in me or something else.
I cross to the refrigerator and pull out a few items, holding them up to Lucia. “Is it okay if I make something for the guards?”
She glances at what’s in my hands and gives me a dismissive wave, so I set to work making simple caprese panini for them, sandwiches with mozzarella, basil, and fresh tomato.
The guards hover in the doorway their eyes on Lucia. Clearly, they’re not usually allowed in here, and I bite back a smirk.
“Guys, have a seat,” I say, gesturing at the little table in the corner. “And tell me your names.”
They glance at each other then back at Lucia before moving. She rolls her eyes.
“Sit!” She barks at them.
They almost jump but move to the table and sit down quickly.
“Your names?” I prod gently.
The taller one coughs nervously. “Uh, I’m Jett. This is Darius.”
“Jett. Darius.” I nod at each in turn. “So why am I not allowed to go home, gentlemen?”
I give Lucia a sideways glance but she doesn’t look up from her task.
One of them clears his throat. “We don’t have the details, ma’am. Boss’ orders.”
“Hmm,” I say, putting together the sandwiches. “It’s too bad. I have people depending on me at home, a restaurant to manage, employees, patrons.”
Neither guard responds, but the shorter one shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
Lucia goes to a ceramic canister and pulls out a glass jar, then walks to where I am preparing the sandwiches. “You make caprese?”
I nod. She slides the glass jar toward me. “You need this.”
My brow furrows as I hold up the glass jar and view the bright green herb inside. It almost looks like parsley, but it’s not. I open my mouth to speak, and she cuts me off.
“Traditional Italian way. You don’t need much. Crush a bit; add to panini.”
She gives me a hard look and I hold her gaze trying to read her.
“Don’t need much. Just some,” she repeats.
I hold her gaze until she goes back to wiping the far counter that is already spotless, unsure how to respond. But not doing what Lucia tells me in her kitchen? Not an option.
Unscrewing the jar, I pull out some of the herb and crush just a bit. It smells terrible, just awful, and I scrunch my nose. “Is this good?” I ask her.
She glances at the crushed herbs in front of me then swiftly cuts the small pile into two smaller ones then points to one. “Enough for both there.”
I give a short nod then add the ingredient last, drizzling olive oil first so that it sticks to the sandwich. It really doesn’t smell great but the olive oil is aromatic, as are the tomatoes and basil, so it stands out less when I plate and serve them to the guards.
Both men fall on the sandwiches like they’re starving and I wonder if things like meal breaks are a concern of their demanding boss. If this were my home, it would be something I would address immediately. But it’s not.
It’s not long after I’m done cleaning up the mess I made cooking that the guard with the heavy jaw sits up straight in his chair, shoving back his plate.
“Fuck,” he groans. “I feel like I’m going to puke. But my legs…”
He leans down and rubs his legs, then wraps his hands around one of his thighs like he’s trying to pick it up and move it manually. The shorter guard turns and vomits on the floor.
My eyes pop open wide and I turn to Lucia, but she’s already on her phone. When she’s done, she slides it in her pocket, her eyes shrewdly on the guards. Slowly they lay down over the table, an involuntary shiver running through their bodies.
I cover my mouth with my hands.
“Hemlock,” Lucia whispers drily. “It grows on the island. They lay down. They get up. They don’t know why.” She shrugs.
My eyes pop open wide. “Hemlock?”
She stamps her foot down hard on mine and the word turns into a shriek.
“It does not affect the brain or the ears,” she hisses. “Stai zitta.”
Shut up? She poisoned these men—no, no. She got me to poison these men with my food, and I’m not supposed to say anything?
“It won’t hurt them. Not if Dr. Rossi gets here on time.”
I clear my throat, panic ripping through me. “You called him.”
“I text him. He knows what to do.”
I try to stop myself from shaking, staring at this woman. “You’ve, uh, you’ve done this before?”
“I work for the Demonios a long time.” Her voice lacks inflection and it’s clear she’s feeling none of the panic that I’m trying to shove down. “Dr. Rossi, he come by plane. You take his plane and you go.”
Is she trying to help me or trying to get rid of me? There is not a single tell on this woman, and I suspect that the answer is yes to both.
“Why are you helping me?” I ask.
“I do no such thing. I call the doctor for food poisoning. That is all.” She shrugs. “If it helps you, it helps you.”
A warmth runs through me, stilling the cold chills making me shake.
“Lucia—”
“Don’t.” She waves a hand, already turning back to her counter. “Go to the airstrip. Dr. Rossi will arrive soon.”
I cross the kitchen and wrap my arms around her from behind. She goes rigid immediately, a sound escaping her that is half protest, half surprise.
Then she squeezes my forearms once, hard, and shoos me off with both hands.
“Vai, vai.” Go. She doesn’t make eye contact. “Don’t make a scene.”
I laugh softly and head toward the door, pausing in the doorway to look back.
“Thank you,” I say, and when she exhales hard in disgust, I laugh and make my way out as fast as I can.