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I consider chugging the wine.
“Where’s Ava?” It’s the first and only real question I have for him.
“How should I know?” Salvatore replies, taking his seat.
“She was supposed to come back to my room this morning. She never did.”
“She’ll be back tomorrow.”
I scowl at my plate. I’ve been given a real fork this time, but no knife, and the veal has been pre-cut for me, like a toddler.
“Did you do something to her?” I finally ask.
Salvatore leans back in his seat as he aims his next words like a sniper planning his mark.
I see in the dark corner of his smirk, the glint in his eyes that has nothing to do with mirth.
“Jealousy is a good look on you,” he says lowly. “Afraid I’m fucking my best friend’s little sister? When I’m not busy teaching you how to use your own cunt, of course. I don’t know where I’d find the time.”
I’m about one smart-ass remark from flipping the table over.
“You distracted me earlier. I forgot to mention what I came by your room for,” Salvatore continues, ignoring my visible anger. He acts as if we’re going to exchange pleasant conversations about how our days went. “There was a police report filed for you this morning; Kaydence Lowry?”
Kay.
My reaction shows. I can’t stop it.
“One of your friends from the club, apparently. Our men at the precinct intercepted it, but I need to know if the bitch is going to be a problem.”
“She’s not,” I say, the words fast and automatic. I hardly even know what he’s asking, but the last thing I want is to put Kay in the mafia’s crosshairs. “She won’t be.”
God, of course Kay would lose track of me for one night and march right to the police first-thing trying to make sure I was safe. I love her for it as much as I hate it. The best thing for Kay to do is just…let me go. But I know Kay, and she never will.
“If I could call her—”
“No,” Salvatore says, immediate and dismissive.
“But—”
He glances up, meeting my gaze, as if daring me to make him say the word again.
The plate in front of me becomes blurry. I frantically blink before he has the satisfaction of seeing me cry, trying to calm myself down. The thought of her worrying about me just makes my heart ache. I know she would be so scared and so furious if something happened—no, that something has happened to me.
For a few long minutes, I do nothing but wallow in my own thoughts.
“Eat,” Salvatore demands, motioning to my untouched plate.
“I don’t want it.”
“Do I have to negotiate with you like a child? Eat.” He pushes the plate closer to me.
I eye the wine bottle, wondering how satisfying it would be to pick it up and break it over his head. I push the intrusive thought away. I stare into my plate and try to find the slightest desire to obey him. I pick up my fork.
“Real silverware,” I say snidely. “I thought I wasn’t allowed such a dangerous weapon.”
“You’re not allowed silverware around Ava. If you kill me with a fork, I won’t be angry, I’ll just be impressed.”
“Don’t encourage me,” I mutter, stabbing into a piece of meat with far too much force.
