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“You will sit with me and you will eat with me.” She opens her mouth to argue but I continue. “And afterward, I’ll consider letting you see your brother.” My concession. Not that I need to make one.
Her expression changes and she searches my eyes. Probably trying to gauge if I mean it or not.
“Understand?” I ask.
“What does that mean? You’ll consider it?”
“It means if you’re good, I’ll take you to him so you can see for yourself that he’s fine.”
She stops, studies me for a long minute. “Do you promise?” she asks, earnest and innocent.
I’m surprised at the question. It’s almost childish. But I nod.
She stares up at me like she’s not quite sure whether or not to believe me. But what choice does she have?
“Are we eating in peace?”
She nods. “Fine.”
I straighten and when I turn to take my seat, I hear her mutter Neanderthal under her breath. I smile. Pretend I didn’t hear it as the kitchen door opens and Cerberus enters ahead of Lenore.
6
Scarlett
“Jesus!” I’m startled at the look of the very large and very excited German Shepherd that comes through the door.
Cristiano turns to look at me with a grin on his face—asshole—which is gone the instant the giant hound sniffs me then sets his head on my lap, tail wagging like we’re old friends.
I admit, this is a scary looking dog but they’re usually the sweetest. It’s the little fuckers you have to watch for. I still remember a friend’s yappy poodle chasing me around the dining room table on my first visit to her house when I was barely five.
“Well, hi there. What’s your name, sweetie?” I ask him in a voice that makes Cristiano roll his eyes as I lean down to cuddle the dog.
Cristiano mutters something under his breath. I don’t hear what it is, but he sounds annoyed. Good.
“Cerberus. Here.” He points beside him, but Cerberus nuzzles his nose into my hair behind my ear. “Christ,” he mutters and tugs the dog away. “Sit.”
“Hey!”
The dog whines but sits, just barely, tail still wagging and eyes on me like he wants to play.
“Cerberus?” I ask Cristiano, feeling my eyebrows arch high as the food is laid out on the table. The feast includes roasted chicken, vegetables, potatoes and salad along with a basket of warm rolls.
“You know the name?” Cristiano asks looking surprised.
“I can read, you know.” Arrogant fucker.
He harrumphs.
“You named your dog the guardian dog of the Underworld?”
He ignores me, pouring each of us a glass of wine. Then he places a hunk of chicken on my plate before pointing to the vegetable tray. “Which do you want?”
“It’s pretentious, don’t you think?”
“Which do you want?”
I look at the food, my stomach feeling empty again. “Everything.”
He seems surprised but heaps food onto my plate before serving himself. I pick up my fork and knife but stop.
“Has Noah eaten?”
He picks up the chicken and bites into it confirming my earlier assessment. Neanderthal.
“I have no reason to starve your brother. Eat.”
I do even though I’m not sure I believe him. One step at a time. When I see Noah, I’ll ask him if he’s eaten. If he hasn’t, I’ll figure out a way to convince Cristiano to give him food.
We don’t talk for long minutes. I watch him from the corner of my eye. He eats like he’s not used to eating in public or with company. And apparently, he doesn’t feel any qualms about openly watching me as he does.
Cerberus comes to sit under the table, laying his head on my bare foot. He’s soft and warm and I slip him a piece of chicken.
“Don’t feed him,” Cristiano says.
“Why? Are you afraid he’ll like me more than he likes you?”
“I am his master. It’s not about like.”
I shrug a shoulder and abandon my knife and fork to pick up my chicken with my hands. He studies me, an eyebrow arching as I finish my dish then reach for the other drumstick. I give him a grin and take a huge bite. Maybe if I’m gross enough he’ll realize he doesn’t want to fuck me and let me go instead.
Not likely.
When he’s finished, he wipes his mouth on his napkin. He rises and leaves the table, disappearing into the kitchen without a word.
Cerberus sits up as soon as he’s gone and rests his head on my lap again. I feed him the last of my chicken, worry creeping back in.
For all my bravado, I am afraid. I don’t know what Cristiano wants or what he’ll do to Noah or to me. The chances of this turning out well for either of us are pretty much nil.
When Cristiano returns wiping his hands on a towel, I school my features. I don’t want him to see that I’m anxious. He holds the kitchen door open.
“Cerberus,” he calls and gestures to the kitchen.
