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“What is wrong with you?” she asks, a mix of worry and confusion laced in her tone.

“Hmm, wouldn’t it be stupid to trust the woman who wants me dead with all my secrets?”

“I’d keep them safe.” Her voice softens, and she must realize that because she hangs up.

She will come.

I set the table that sits by the window in the open concept kitchen and living room, adding another plate and a glass of wine. Then I call downstairs to have my men let her in.

It doesn’t take long until she appears wearing high-heeled sandals that make her long legs appear endless. She’s dressed in a leather skirt and a shirt, a combination that’s stylish and edgy and suits her well. She takes everything in with curious eyes, approaching me cautiously. Between the two of us, her self-preservation instinct is way more evolved.

“I am not a backstabber, Luciana. I invited you for dinner, not to ambush you.”

“You could try.”

“You don’t have to be strong with me. I wear masks too.”

Being truthful with her is beyond my comprehension or maybe my tongue loosens when knowing my life could end any second.

“I… You don’t know me.” She watches me with those ensnaring eyes that make me want to reveal everything to her.

“No, I don’t. But we are all ordinary when it comes to what makes us tick. Biological creatures who try to appear more civilized than we truly are. We’re animals… We can wear thousand-dollar clothes and accessories that cost more than is morally appropriate, but when we get naked, we can’t hide that simple truth.”

“It’s easy for you. You’re a man.” She scowls but follows me to the kitchen.

I take out the ingredients I’ll use to prepare dinner.

The need to know more about her and discover what makes her tick pushes me to ask. “You have a problem with all men? Men in general? Me in particular?”

“The world was shaped by your will.”

“We bent it to ours and yet, every man throughout history surrendered to his weakness, and that’s always been to and for a woman. A particular woman who, in most cases, shaped history in her own will.”

“So you just admit that?”

“It would be foolish to deny the universal truth.”

Luciana appears more at ease as she approaches the marble island and takes a seat on the high bar stool.

I put the pasta in the boiling water and move to make the creamy sauce for my fettucine Alfredo.

“You cook? Afraid someone will try to poison you?” A playful smile teases her lips as she watches me, getting more comfortable and less guarded, which is a great sign.

I cock a brow at her. “You wouldn’t be so unimaginative.”

“But it would be efficient,” she smiles brightly.

For a moment my chest clenches, tightening around my heart.

“Red, white, rosé?” I ask, already knowing wine is her poison, forgetting I should have asked what she wants to drink from the beginning. I can’t think straight around this woman.

“Red.”

I move to the bar, and she follows me with her eyes until they stop at my record player. After I pour two glasses, I gesture for her to pick whatever she likes. She brushes a finger over my vast album collection that occupies half the wall until she settles on one.

With soft music playing in the background, she takes her glass and moves toward the window, leisurely sipping her drink while I set the timer for the pasta to cook.

“I think I will miss this,” she says, then frowns as if that simply slipped out of her mouth.