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“I think I improved upon your original concept, chef.”

He bends down and kisses me until I’m desperate with pent-up need. Moaning, I break free from his lips and twist until I’m straddling his still hard cock, my knees on either side of his hips. I rock against him, letting the head of his cock slide between my wet folds. “I think it’s my turn to play with my food, chef.”

“What did you have in mind, angel?” he asks, biting down on his bottom lip in anticipation.

“A new play on donut holes. Still hungry?”

Grey’s crystalline eyes flare with hunger. “Absolutely starved.”

Chapter Forty-Three

GREYSON

Tobias has been such a natural addition to our family that I find myself trying to remember what it was like before he showed up in my kitchen two weeks ago. Turns out Angélica and I had room for one more piece in the jagged puzzle of life we’ve built together, and Toby is a perfect fit.

For now, we allow ourselves to ignore the impending realities of our tenuous guardianship. Aurélie still lurks in the shadows. We don’t know whether she’s here or in France or hiding somewhere else entirely. We don’t know if we’ll ever be able to connect her to the murders—or stop her from killing again.

There’s still so much to work out, but for now, we are all enjoying the moment.

Tobias spends every day at the restaurant. He loves to be in the kitchen, and he’s fascinated by even the smallest aspects of the culinary process. There’s no doubt he’ll grow up to be an excellent chef one day. We may not share blood, but his excitement and ambition remind me exactly of myself when I started in the kitchen. And I know Angélica sees pieces of herself inhim, too.

He’s a perfect pairing of the two of us—her heart and creativity, and my focused determination.

Even though Toby spends his days in the kitchen or my office, nights at the restaurant are too long for a nine-year-old. Angélica and I alternate the night shifts, one of us taking Toby and the other keeping the kitchen running. The new schedule has required some adjustments for the staff and is still a work in progress, but it’s manageable until we hire some extra hands.

Angélica and I love our nights with Toby just as much as we love our culinary work, and we both agreed to take off Saturday and Sunday every week to spend time as a family. And every Friday night, my angel and I have a very late dinner at the apartment so we can still sneak in some time with just the two of us.

I’ve been in an unusually good mood because today happens to be Friday—and I know I’ll get to fuck my angel until she’s screaming as soon as I finish the dinner shift. I’ve handled Grey’s for the evening after Angélica took Tobias up to the apartment. They both helped with dinner prep, and Tobias’ chopping skills are already perfect if I do say so myself.

Having kid duty also means it’s Angélica’s turn to cook dinner, and I can’t wait to taste her food for the night right before I lay her out on the dining room table and taste all ofhertoo.

The scent of meat sautéing in butter, wine, and truffle greets me the moment I walk through the door. It’s a strange, sweet aroma that’s a bit off from our usual dinners. Angélica must have been in the mood to experiment and picked up something new from the butcher.

“Angel?” I call, undoing the top two buttons of my black shirt so I can finally breathe. I tear at the buttons on my sleeves and roll them up my arms as I make my way to the bar. “You want a drink?”

I pour myself a double shot of whisky, eager for the warm burn of the liquor filling my belly after a long day. I drink itslowly, savoring the rich, vanilla-tinged notes of oak and caramel. “Angélica?” I call out again, wondering why she isn’t answering.

I grab the bottle of whisky and stride toward the kitchen. She’ll have to be satisfied with my kind of drink tonight. “Am I going to have to chase you tonight, ang?—”

The bottle in my hands falls to the floor, shattering on impact and dousing the room in the heavy scent of liquor.

Aurélie is in my kitchen, my black apron wrapped around her slim waist. There’s red all over the counter, a bloody knife discarded beside a mound of chopped meat. Organs, from the look of it.

A nauseating swell of revulsion overtakes my stomach when I realize the source of the unusual smell wafting through my apartment. Although I’ve never tasted it, I recognize the savory scent of the meat from a decade before. The rich flavor is the ultimate taboo delicacy in the culinary world.

Aurélie is cooking hearts.Humanhearts.

“I hope you’re hungry,chéri,” she greets, a cheery, off-kilter cadence to her voice as she sautés her victims’ organs with a wooden spatula. “Tonight isspécial du chef.”

The thinly sliced pieces of muscle and tissue are searing to a golden brown, drowning in a sauce of butter and fresh herbs. I ignore the way my stomach rumbles when I catch a whiff of black truffle melding perfectly with the other components of the dish. That’s not meat in the pan, I remind myself to stave off the hunger that’s been building over the course of a long, stressful day with no breaks for meals. That’sSophie.

I’m retching instantly, bending at the knees to empty what little is in my stomach onto the marble floors. My body feels slick with sweat, beads of it trickling down my neck and temples. I underestimated her. Like a fucking idiot, I underestimated everything that a psychopath like her is capable of. And I don’t know how much my stupidity has cost me.

Angélica is nowhere to be found. And I need to know how many hearts Aurélie is cooking right now.

I feel the bitch’s goddamn claws on my back, but I don’t have the energy to pull away. “When did you develop such a weak stomach, Grey?” she tuts. “Plat principal cannibaleis your concept, remember? You weren’t queasy when my husband’s entrails were winning you the position of sous chef. Why start now?”

“Where is she?” I choke out, my throat thick with bile. I fall to my knees, unable to support my own weight any longer.