Page 32 of Trapped By the Blood Ruby

While the driver was occupied, Vittorio walked over. “Is everything all right, Miss Shaw?”

“More than all right,” I assured him, patting my tummy. “It was delicious.”

I’d finished off a plate of chicken salad tea sandwiches and the fruit arrangement he’d created in the shape of a flower. All that was left were the brownie bites. Vittorio’s eyes flashed over the evidence of my small feast.

“Shall I get you some more iced tea, then?”

“Oh. Yes, please. If it’s not too much trouble.” I offered him a grin and I swear—I swear—his expression softened. He retreated into the house, then returned with a pitcher, refilling my glass. “Thank you again, Vit, for all of this.”

“My pleasure, Miss Shaw.” He tipped his chin. “If you need anything more, I’ll be in the kitchen unpacking.”

He retreated, pausing to pay the delivery driver. I watched as the truck’s back door rolled shut. My eyes lingered over it as it backed up, rounding the side of the mansion toward the front drive, then disappeared.

I picked up my book, trying to read as I finished off the remainder of my lunch. It was no use. I was too distracted now. I piled everything back into the basket, then folded the blanket, placing it neatly on top.

It had been a treat and a surprise. I’d come out here several times over the past few days. Vittorio had noticed. Today, he’d met me with a picnic basket on his arm. I’d been overwhelmed enough that my eyes had watered. He’d only warned me to, “Please do not cry, Miss Shaw,” and then handed it over, promising to be along with some iced tea.

A small smile tugged at my lips as I crossed the grass. He’d been doting on me. No one had ever doted on me. It left me feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. What a sweet man.

I’d definitely miss him once I got free of this place. He might be the only thing I missed. Zola too. And her book collection, of course.

Certainly not Laurent.

I’d only seen him once in the past two days, when I intruded upon him in his study. He hadn’t even looked up as he said, “Miss Shaw.”

“I want to make a deal with you.” I’d closed the door behind me while he just kept right along typing. So I’d moved deeper into the room, forgoing an invitation to speak. “You want me to cooperate. I can do that better if my best friend isn’t worrying about me. Let me tell her I’m okay. I promise to cooperate and stay here and behave myself.”

He stopped typing then, looking up at me. I didn’t miss the way his eyes traced me from head to toe, lingering on my throat.

“Let me get this straight. You wish to speak with your friend?”

“If you want me to cooperate.”

“No.” A single flick of his gaze dismissed me as he returned his attention to his laptop.

My mouth fell open. “No?”

“No,” he repeated.

“But… Wouldn’t it be better if I willingly cooperated?”

“You will willingly cooperate. Because if you don’t, I’ll kill you myself. Have I not made that clear?”

It wasn’t a huge ask, a mere conversation in exchange for a lifetime of imprisonment. I just wanted a chance to tell Ania I was alive. To keep her from worrying.

“Will that be all, Miss Shaw?” Laurent couldn’t have sounded more disinterested if he’d tried. I had managed to choke out some sort of yes and keep my emotions hidden. “Excellent. Then good day.”

And that had been that.

Recalling the interaction made heated anger rise to the surface of my skin.

Twice, since then, I’d considered asking Zola to deliver a message to Ania. But the thought frightened me. She’d been kind, and I didn’t want to put her into an awkward position. I’d put that option in my back pocket, for now.

I opened the glass door leading into the kitchen and marched in, my book beneath my arm. I set the basket on the giant island and took in the chaos around me. Vittorio was unloading box after box of foodstuffs, looking everything over with a critical eye.

“Wow…” It looked like enough food to feed an army. “Can I help with anything?”

“Thank you, Miss Shaw. No. I’ll handle it.”