38
DANIELA
I swallow hard.My pulse hammers so loud it could rattle the china.
The fifth candle—the one that isn’t a candle at all—sits at the far end of the table like a ticking time bomb.Which, of course, it is.
Five courses.
Five candles.
He’s going to light it after the fifth course.That’s the plan.His grand finale.
A murder-suicide wrapped in linen and candlelight.
Romeo and Juliet, he’d probably call it.But I know better.He isn’t dying for love.He’s dying for control.
I keep my face neutral, hands folded in my lap.The only movement I allow is the smallest brush of my palm against my thigh—just to feel it.
Still there.
The knife.
The sapphire handle presses cool and comforting against my skin.I didn’t come here unarmed.No one patted me down.No one even thought to.
Sometimes it pays to be underestimated.
He moves around the table now, the air shifting with his motion.The way he carries himself is exactly how I remember—precise and unhurried.
“Patience,” Chef murmurs, almost to himself.“Great meals teach patience.”
Great meals teach patience.
I’ve heard those words before.From him.During a lesson.
I force a thin smile and try not to stare at the stick of dynamite.“And explosions?”
He grins.“Explosions, too.Timing is everything.”
I gulp, try to control my shivering.
He rises and walks to one side of the basement where he has several hot plates set up along with tables full of food.
He hums softly.A tune I half-recognize—a salsa melody that used to play in the kitchen when I was sixteen, the same one he’d whistle right before he called me over to “taste” something.My stomach twists, but I don’t look away.If I can prolong this, distract him, maybe someone will trace me here.Maybe Hawk is on his way.
Just keep him busy, Daniela.
The chair is too soft.Too welcoming.It shouldn’t feel like this—not in a place where my hands tremble in my lap and my heart is pounding like a trapped bird slamming against its cage.
“All my life,” Chef says, smoothing his apron as he takes his seat across from me, “I cooked with you for others.Your father.His guests.His associates.But tonight?”He taps the table lightly.“Tonight, the feast is ours.”
The words make my skin crawl.
I swallow hard.“How did you even find me?”
He laughs, as if he’s amused that I’d even bother asking.“Daniela, please.It wasn’t difficult.Social media posts, alumni newsletters, public records… You left a trail of breadcrumbs.Once I started watching you, it was simple.”He leans in slightly.“You’re very devoted to that lovely girl Belinda.Such a soft spot.I realized she’d be perfect leverage.”
A sick wave passes through me.“You spied on me?”
