Page 29 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

“It’s yours.”

“That bad?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“When? During wartime?”

“In prison.” He says it like he’s mentioning boarding school.

I make my face do nothing. “You went to prison?”

“Briefly.” He lets that sit. Then, with a shadow of a smile, “The food there had less ambition.”

That explains absolutely nothing. I file it away alongside the track marks and The Power Broker.

He keeps eating. Chicken. Rice. Vegetables. Completely serious about it.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say eventually. “We can order something.”

“I know.”

Another bite. His plate is now almost empty. The fact that I notice is embarrassing.

“Is there more?”

I blink, waiting for the punchline. “You’re kidding.”

“No.”

I bring the pan over silently while he serves himself another portion of food that could legally qualify as a hate crime.

“You know this is terrible,” I say.

“You cooked.”

That settles the matter for him. I sit back down slowly. The sleeve slips over my knuckles.

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

I glance down. “I spilled sauce all over my blouse.”

He takes another bite, which is frankly unnecessary. “You should probably stop cooking unsupervised.”

I lose the fight against the corner of my mouth. We eat for a while without speaking. Outside, the city blurs behind the glass.

“I had to reschedule a meeting today,” I say carefully.

He hears what I’m not saying. “Only one?”

“The Healy consultation.” I pick at my rice. “I told them I’d follow up once things were clearer.” The next part costs more. “I didn’t cancel anything else.”

“But you considered it.”

“My reputation matters to me,” I say quietly. “I built that business to give myself a life outside my father’s world. Now I’m right back in another version of it.”

He sets his fork down slowly, not angry, choosing his next words.

“The threat is real, Tamara.”