Page 85

“My personal guard.”

She snorts and I raise a brow at her.

“Don’t try anything,” I warn her.

She tilts her head. “You know me better than that.”

I do, but it doesn’t change a thing—we’re both trapped in this hell.

Leaving her, I go inside my bedroom.

Kill takes a seat on the plush carpet at the side of the bed while I undress and get inside the shower. Cleansing myself of the day and rubbing harder than needed, I try to erase my desire for her.

After I towel myself dry, I put some boxer briefs on and slip under the covers, looking at Kill, who looks from the door back to me.

“Don’t get attached to her. She’s the enemy,” I tell him, but he cocks his head, unperturbed by my anguish—this emotional turmoil that has had me in a chokehold for months.

Closing my eyes, I fall asleep with a grin. Knowing her, she’ll do something to piss me off. Just a few hours of sleep. I am not asking for too fucking much, am I?

A cry yanks me from sweet oblivion. Slamming my palm on the nightstand lamp, a soft glow lights up the room. I am alone and alive as I pat myself, the relief instant.

Then what the fuck is happening here?

“Hush, pretty doggy. Don’t make me slit your throat… Stop smiling at me. You’re just as deranged as your master.”

What fucking now? Rolling out of bed, I follow the commotion to the kitchen.

Luciana holds a pan in her hand and is about to make herself something to eat, while the traitor doesn’t think about attacking her. He just sees an opportunity to be fed.

Sighing, I say his name. He trots toward me, plopping on his ass and looking at me with big eyes as if ratting her out for not feeding him.

I can only hope she never discovers his incapacity to hurt her. He just sees her as a new food delivery slash caretaker.

I look at the mess on the kitchen island. She basically took everything out of the fridge and placed it there.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice groggy, just like I feel.

“Preparing something to eat,” she huffs, frustration ringing in her voice. “I am hungry, and if I don’t get something in my stomach in the next few minutes, I am going to kill everything and anyone. I am not fucking joking,” she says, looking the part of a hangry person to a fault.

“Do you even know how to cook?”

“That’s the least of my worries. I can’t figure out how to work this stupid thing,” she says, gesturing at the stove.

“Move.”

She listens, dropping down into the chair and staring at my every move.

It’s 5:50 a.m. so I am not going to bed only to wake up in half an hour. I move around, preparing some toast and an omelet, cutting tomatoes, cucumber, and a few slices of salami and cheese, all Italian.Look at me preparing breakfast for my captive.

She is silent, but I am so fucking aware of her presence. It’s as if I’m wearing her like a second skin.

“Wouldn’t have lasted long in the big evil world if you can’t even make the basics,” I snicker.

“I didn’t work all my life to overcome my poor upbringing to cock it up once I could afford to pay others to do it for me.”

I sigh, shaking my head at her for being so obstinate. “It’s a skill everyone should know. It’s not beneath you to know how to cook.”

“I get it now. Happy, Enzo?” she asks, her voice shaking.