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His tone of voice implies that his sentence ends with a silent ‘or else.’
We walk through the patio doors of his office, down the hallway, and into a chandelier-lit dining room large enough to sit twelve. Like the rest of the house, the walls are decorated in pale colors to match the marble floors.
A huge portrait hangs on the wall of a family enjoying a meal. The subjects all face forward, just like in da Vinci’s Last Supper.
Benito sits alone with his gaze fixed on the screen of his phone, engrossed in a video. To his left is an empty place for his date, and the two seats beside him are occupied by Annalisa and Gil.
My steps falter at the sight of my former roommate.
Annalisa’s back-combed blonde hair almost balances out the way Gil’s tailored suit shows off his bulky frame. She wears a teal dress with puffy sleeves that I’m sure I recognize from one of her fashion magazines.
The glare she shoots me is so venomous, I glance over my shoulder to make sure she’s really looking at me.
“Where’s Cesare?” Roman asks as we walk to the unoccupied side of the table.
Benito glances up and shrugs.
Gil clears his throat. “Having trouble with his date, boss.”
Roman nods, his gaze turning to Benito. “Where’s yours?”
“Working on the bruschetta,” he mutters.
We walk to the head of the end of the table, where Roman pulls out the chair opposite Benito’s empty place and motions for me to sit.
I sink into the seat and rest my damp palms on my denim dress, while Roman sits opposite Benito.
“You should be at the head of the table.” Benito flicks his head toward the empty chair at the end.
Roman shifts, his jaw tightening. I rest my hand on his, already guessing that the last time he ate in this room, his father was the head of the family and still alive.
The click-clack of heels and the jangle of chains makes me turn to the door, where Cesare walks in with the woman he had gagged and strapped to the torture chair.
And she looks furious.
The dress she wears has a bodice that’s more like lingerie, made of sheer fabric with thick boning to conceal her nipples. It’s worn with a leather pencil skirt so long and narrow that each step comes with a struggle.
I snatch my gaze away from her outfit in time to notice her stilettos are joined together by chains.
“Really?” Benito says, his voice flat. “You’re bringing that to our family dinner?”
Cesare’s vicious grin makes the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “It’s her last supper.”
My gaze darts around to check everyone’s response because I’m not sure if he’s joking.
“You know,” Cesare adds. “Before she…” He runs his index finger over his neck with a slicing motion that makes Annalisa squeak.
“Don’t explain.” Benito purses his lips and turns his attention back to his phone.
My stomach plummets. What the actual fuck? I glance at Roman, whose jaw is set so tightly that it looks like he might snap. He doesn’t say a word, but there’s no mistaking his suppressed fury.
Leaning against his side, I whisper, “Is he joking?”
“Yes,” Roman says through clenched teeth.
“I’m not hungry,” the woman mutters, presumably because she doesn’t agree with Roman’s assessment.
Cesare leans into her and whispers something that makes her shudder. Maybe I’m looking into things too deeply, but something tells me she didn’t consent to being paraded around like a fetish model.
