Page 44 of The Pawn

“You and me, Cassian, we’re more alike than you think. We’re both unwanted. Unloved. And we’re both alone. You asked why I come here. Maybe that’s why. Maybe because when I come here, I remember what we found here. And maybe I miss it a little. Maybe I’m tired of always being on my own. Never being wanted.”

I turn to look at him. He’s right. Just as my father only ever chose Seth, loved Seth, only hated me, blaming me for our mother’s death, so has Sybil only ever chosen Severin although maybe it’s worse for Jet because he did what he did to survive.

He stands, pulls his jacket on and takes his wallet out. He drops three-hundred-dollar-bills on the nightstand.

“I thought maybe you were a little tired of that too, but maybe with Allegra, maybe…” he shakes his head. “You know what? Fuck it. I guess I’m wrong.”

He walks out.

14

ALLEGRA

Cassian wants to have a proper dinner tonight. He’s been off all day. Distracted. Making calls with burner phones and disappearing into his office more time than I can count. He’s on one of those calls when Enzo walks into the dining room where I’m seated at the long table. The candles are lit in ornate candelabras and the table is set extravagantly.

“Enzo” I say with a smile and stand.

“Allegra,” he says as I walk around to hug him. He seems very surprised by this and gives me an awkward one-handed hug and hug is a big word. It’s more like a pat.

“You’re doing better?” I ask. I haven’t seen him since the night Malek kidnapped me. I knew he got hurt, but that’s all.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. You?” To his credit he doesn’t glance at my hand.

“I’m okay. I never said thank you. I know you saved my life.”

“It’s my job.”

His tone is more abrupt than I expect, but before I have a chance to process or respond, Cassian appears.

“There you are,” he says, walking toward us. “How are you, cousin?” He pats Enzo’s back.

“Ready to work.”

“Eat with us. I’ll set a place.”

“Already ate. I’ll go talk to the men. I’m here when you need me.”

With that he walks away. I resume my seat and Cassian shrugs a shoulder before serving out our dinner.

“What is this called again?” I ask.

He twirls the pasta into my plate and sets it in front of me. It smells amazing. “Cacio e pepe with truffle.”

I breathe it in. “Did your mom teach you to cook or something?” I ask then remember. “No, of course not. Sorry, that was really stupid.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. It’s fine. And I have always loved cooking. And eating,” he adds with a levity that is forced. I see how his eyes move to the screen of the burner he’s set beside his dish.

“Is that a new phone,” I ask.

“Yeah.” He smiles tightly, tucks the phone into his pocket and picks up the bottle of wine. I guess that’s all he’s going to say on that.

When he presses the tip of the corkscrew into the cork, I stiffen.

“What is it?” he asks. I swear Cassian sees everything.

“Red wine. It reminds me of that room. Always has. It was a wine cellar.”

“Shit. Of course?—”