Page 5 of Falling For His Captive

Tonight, I will dine with Carina. She needs to not only know my power but my influence, the life I could give her. She needs to know me. And that starts tonight, and I know I can convince her that this is the life she needs.

I call out for Ricky and Enzo, they’re always somewhere around the house, doing whatever I need them to do. The others who work for me are usually out, running businesses on my behalf, shaking people down, ensuring that those who are in need come to me first. Making our presence felt.

They come quickly, and I deliver their orders. A boss like me doesn't pick up the phone and make or cancel dinner plans – he has people to do that for him. I retreat to my study for the moment instead, to finish off the rest of my paperwork and to finalize the plans for tonight. Carina will be here for the week, and there are things I need to do inside that time; commitments and responsibilities that I cannot avoid. I take care of as many of them now as I can, so I can dedicate myself to her. It will be worth it.

It takes me through to the evening to get it all finished, and when I emerge from my study, feeling tired and drained, I know I’ve done all I can. Then I straighten my back and nod an order at Enzo, who quickly rushes off to the kitchen. Tonight’s food has been ordered and prepared as normal, but it’s not going to be eaten by a businessman in a restaurant. It will be enjoyed here, kept warm by my staff, served in her room.

I feel the tiredness fade away as I stride along the corridor. I will see her again, that much is enough to raise my spirits, to make me feel that the effort of the day is nothing. My steps quicken. I will enjoy this evening very much.

I open the door and find her sitting in a plush velvet armchair, brought here at her request. She just looks up sullenly. I wonder what thoughts were going through her mind before I entered.

“Carina,” I greet her. “You’re doing well?”

“You could at least let me have my phone,” she snaps. “There’s nothing to do in here.”

“I will bring you something to occupy your time,” I smile. “What do you enjoy?”

“My phone,” Carina says flatly.

“That is off the table for now,” I tell her. “I can’t have you contacting your father. If you simply want to amuse yourself, I can bring you something pre-loaded with games, books, music. It just won’t be connected to the internet or able to make outgoing calls or messages.”

“You said I could have anything I wanted,” Carina pouts.

“Anything but your freedom,” I remind her.

A knock at the door signals the arrival of our dinner. I open the door to allow them in. Enzo and Ricky carry a table between them, John Twice behind with a chair. At the end of the procession comes my chef, with a cart loaded with several dishes and a decanter.

I watch Carina’s face, not my men, as they set up the table and chair opposite her, then lay out the dishes, so we can dine together. When they are gone, I take my seat and gesture towards the table. “Well,” I say. “Enjoy.”

Carina hasn’t moved a muscle during the whole process and now she stares down dubiously at the dishes. “What is this?” she asks.

I laugh. “What do you think? Dinner.”

Carina leans forward and takes the lid off one of the dishes closest to her, and then raises an eyebrow. A Caesar salad probably wasn’t what she was expecting, judging by her look. Perhaps she thought I was serving up something more threatening.

“If you’re looking for the horse’s head,” I say conversationally. “It’s on the big plate.”

Carina blinks owlishly at me, her face actually shrouded in fear. I sigh and roll my eyes. If she can’t even trust that I’m not going to do something like that, we have a long way to go. I lift the lid myself, revealing a large bowl of spaghetti ready to be shared.

“Oh,” she says. “That was a joke.”

“I do make them,” I say, though instantly I realize that it’s sort of a lie. Actually, I don’t joke very often at all. But I want to put Carina at ease, and so I suppose I’m trying to use humor to do it. I can’t say it’s working very well so far.

“Why are you doing this?” Carina asks, lifting the lids from the other dishes to reveal a platter of bread with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, Bruschetta with red pesto, and chicken parmigiana.

“Your father owes me,” I say. “You know this.”

“No, I mean, why are you doing this?” Carina gestures at me. “You don’t have to sit and eat with me. Don’t you have more important things to be doing?”

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