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“Hey.” I try to claw his arm off.
He stops, looks back at me. “You saw your brother. He’s fed. He’s unhurt. Let’s go.”
“That’s not really fair.”
“It’s exactly what you asked for.”
“But…no. That’s not…I want to talk to him. Can he come upstairs? He’s harmless.” I gesture to Noah as if to make a point.
“Are you warm?” Cristiano asks Noah over my head.
“I…guess.” I forget how young he is. Just a kid. So unlike Diego and Angel were. “I have a blanket.” He points to it as if he doesn’t want to be any trouble.
Cristiano turns back to me. “You’ll visit tomorrow.” He pulls me to the stairs.
“He’s probably scared down here all alone.”
“I think he’s old enough to no longer be afraid of the dark. Let’s go. If you give me trouble, you won’t see him again.”
I go with him because I don’t have much choice. “Does that mean we’ll both be alive tomorrow?” I ask when we’re upstairs.
He releases me, looks down at me. Sweeps his eyes over my—his—clothes. “I haven’t decided. That’s my favorite tie by the way.”
I look down at the end of the tie hanging out from underneath the sweatshirt. “I wasn’t going to put that dress back on and I wasn’t going to walk around naked, so I didn’t have much choice. If you give me a different tie you like less, I’ll give this one back to you.”
He reaches to pull the sweatshirt up and I grip his forearm. Not expecting it, I’m not sure what he’s about to do. Not that I’d be able to stop him if he wanted to strip me naked right here. But he just fingers the knot.
“It’s ruined.”
“I’m sure it’s not ruined, and I didn’t know it was your favorite tie.” I think of something then. “Are my brother’s bodies still down there?”
“You care?” He meets my eyes.
“Not about them. I just…with Noah down there...”
“Don’t coddle the boy.” He walks back toward the dining room. “Were you involved in the business? I wouldn’t think your father would have allowed it.”
“My father didn’t allow it,” I start, following him into the dining room where our dinner plates have been cleared and dessert and coffee are laid out. It’s something different than the chocolate cake I had earlier.
He gestures for me to sit, then grabs a bottle of whiskey from the side table before taking his seat. Same as upstairs, it’s the brand my dad preferred.
He pours two fingers of whiskey and must think I want some, but I shake my head.
He leans back and drinks a sip, watching me.
“And my father wasn’t in charge for the last ten years, remember,” I add on.
I shift my gaze to the cake.
He gestures for me to go ahead.
“Can I take a piece to Noah? I’m not sure how much you fed—”
“Your brother is fine. Eat.”
“Then I’m fine too.”
He rolls his eyes. “Eat and I’ll send a piece down to him.” I’m confused by this but then he swallows what’s left in his glass and focuses on pouring more.
“Aren’t you going to eat any?”
He shakes his head. “Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned if that’s what you’re thinking.”
I hadn’t thought of that. Should I be thinking of that? No. If he wants me dead, he can do it much more easily than going to the trouble of baking me a poisoned cake. I help myself to dessert as he watches me.
“You’re too skinny. I like a little more meat on my women.”
“I’m not your woman. I’m not even a guest. I’m your captive, remember?”
“Don’t want to break you in half when I fu—”
“Okay, that’s enough,” I start but when I look at him, he’s got a grin on his face. “You’re messing with me.”
“You’re easy to mess with.”
Well, I can’t argue that. I take things too literally, too much at face value. Always have. My parents would say it’s because I have an innocent mind. I would swap out innocent for naïve if I’m being kind. Stupid if I’m not.
It’s quiet as I take a few bites of the generously frosted cake, although I don’t really want more. I’m just not sure I’m ready for what comes next.
“Why do you care so much about this brother when you don’t seem to care about the others? They were executed before your eyes and you didn’t flinch.”
I struggle to swallow the mouthful of cake and set my fork down. I’m thinking about how to answer, wondering what he must think that I can watch my brothers killed without emotion. Hell, what does that make me?
“Noah’s just a kid,” I say.
“It’s more than that.”
“He’s different than Diego and Angel were. He’s softer. Not mean or cruel like them.”
“You hated them.”
It’s not really a question so I don’t answer.
“What did they do to you to make you hate them?”
