Page 27 of Revenge on the Mafia

Stefano frowned. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

But his ‘nothing’ sounded as hollow a lie as mine to Isidora. Stefano’s gaze shifted into suspicion, swinging from his brother to me and back to him. Then he surprised me. Walking right up to his brother, he gave him a hug. One of those that wrapped him entirely in his arms. Niccolò stood as stiff as a board in his hold. Stefano murmured something in his ear before withdrawing. Niccolò nodded. Then Stefano made for the door but halted before me. His eyes weren’t warm anymore. They were cold. Calculating. It felt like his vision split right through me.

“Stefano.” Niccolò’s tone was crisp. It didn’t budge his brother from his spot.

“You’re going to look after him for me, aren’t you?” It was half an order and half a threat. His words sank into my bones. His gaze dropped to my hands. I fisted them tightly around the tray, trying but failing to hide the tremble in them. Time seemed to drag before finally, he brushed past me and walked out. His footsteps in the hallway were loud. Hesitant. Almost as if he didn’t want to leave. He couldn’t be that obsessed with my food. ¡Joder! Did he suspect something?

Frustration bubbled inside me. I hoped Niccolò Martello couldn’t read my emotions as easily as Papá had.

The front door slammed shut. The only man remaining gave nothing away. My legs carried me to the dining table. I set the dish on the solid oak surface with trembling hands. Isidora had already laid out the cutlery, wine, and a leather underlay. It would all be ruined soon.

Everything slowed down. Except for the beat of my heart. It fluttered madly in my chest like a captured animal. Each step he took toward the food stretched, because strangely, his gaze was on me. It drilled through my body, and even though his eyes were nothing but cold crystal, my blood thrummed with guilt. I can’t be here. I wasn’t brave enough to watch him eat. My stomach twisted with a sharp pain, and bile was already shooting up my throat. I made to move. I didn’t even get a step in.

“Stay.” His word was a command and a plea.

I couldn’t handle it. My feet picked up speed.

“Anna Vales.”

I froze. He knew my name.

He knew my full name. Of course, he’d know it. Idiota. I couldn’t falsify my documents. I had to give my paperwork to get the job.

Hesitantly, I turned around. He was seated at the table. The clay pot settled right in front of him. “Stay,” he said again, and this time, it was clear what it was.

He didn’t ask me to move or come closer. But it was as if an invisible thread of command had tugged, and I was moving. A few panicked heartbeats later, I was next to him.

A soft sigh of contentment fell from him when he leaned back in the high-backed chair. “I’ve missed this.”

His tone was wrapped in a warmth that was new to me. He said the words like a secret. My brow furrowed. He looked suggestively at the dish. I followed his gaze. “Gāmbās pil pil,” he murmured almost to himself. He means the dish. “There’re so many memories.” Why was he talking so much? He’d barely said ten words in the two weeks I’d been there, and now he was talking? Did he know? Was that it? He picked up his fork. “All of them, sweet.”

¿Qué pasa? Something had changed. It was as if a switch had flipped, and he was going in a different direction.

“It would almost feel like a sweet death to die while eating it.”

My eyes bugged. ¿Qué demonios?

“No?” He cocked his head, his stare filled with a question. I shook mine wildly.

“I think it’s too sweet.” He said with such nonchalance that it spun my thoughts three hundred and sixty degrees.

“El gambas?” I choked out.

He nodded. “Too sweet. Too gentle.” His gaze sharpened. “Too fucking good for me.” The words pierced into my very soul. “Eye for an eye. Avenge your father’s death as he deserved.” He swallowed the air between us. “Stick a knife to my throat.”

The ground shifted. A choked breath of suffocation escaped me.

He knows.

He’d known from the beginning.

His hand froze, the fork halted in mid-air, the king prawn a hair's breadth away from his lips.

Both our gazes fell on his hand. My fist had curled around his. In a death grip. Stopping him from falling to his death.

Why the fuck did I do that?