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Bobby's eyes narrowed as his temper flared. "Listen, just because I haven't hurt you doesn't mean I won't."
Bobby Vitali had a reputation for being just as vicious as Angelo, perhaps even more so. More trauma, less control. Those were the preconditions for some seriously fucked up shit to happen.
"I know," Gemma said, suddenly as serious as he was. "I'm just giving you shit."
"You sounded like Willow for a second there."
"Yeah. That happens sometimes," Gemma said ruefully. "She has a way of sort of infecting me."
Bobby opened the door and called down the hall. "Angelo! Are there any cigarettes?"
The house was way too big to yell around like that. When Bobby didn't get a reply, he went in search of Angelo, leaving the door open. Gemma could have left at that point. She could have gotten up and gone downstairs and out the front door and run away.
But she didn't.
She sat there, and she waited for Bobby to come back. He did so after quite a while, smelling faintly of smoke and in a much better mood. He must have found a cigarette somewhere.
He'd found some other things too. He was holding a couple of packages in his hands, both of which gave Gemma cause for concern for some nebulous reason she couldn't quite put her finger on.
"It's dinner time," he said.
"Oh. I'm… er… not that hungry?"
"You gotta eat."
That's true. She did need to eat.
"What does dinner time mean in a place like this?"
"It means the same as anywhere else. We go down and eat."
Gemma did not want to see Angelo again. Angelo had done things to her without doing anything to her. Being in his presence was dangerous. It was bad enough to be this close, to be in his sphere of influence, his captive by another name.
"Can't you just bring me some gruel and water up here?"
"No," Bobby insisted. "Angelo wants us all at dinner."
"All of us?" Gemma brightened at that. She missed Willow terribly, and she was very worried about her. Willow didn't know how to be a good prisoner. She didn't know how to charm her captor. Willow thought the world should bend for her, but Angelo wasn't going to bend.
"Have a shower and dress," Bobby said. "There's a dress for you."
He tossed a garment in her direction. She caught it and unfurled a white dress with sequin detailing over the breast and waist.
"Wow. This is glamorous."
"Yes. You're beautiful. You might have noticed. There are shoes too, in the box." He nudged the box toward her.
She tried not to feel too pleased that Bobby thought she was pretty. She knew she was pretty. Willow would never have been seen with her if she wasn't. Of course, she wasn't prettier than Willow. That also would not have been tolerated.
"Go on," Bobby interrupted her train of thought. "Before the food gets cold."
"Bringing me dresses, taking me to dinner… are we dating?"
She winked at Bobby and disappeared into the adjoining ensuite before he could say something probably scathing. There she showered, dried her curls, used the makeup which had appeared in the bathroom as if by magic, and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked good. Very good.
"Wow," Bobby said, his eyes widening just a little as she emerged. "You clean up alright."
"Thank you. I don't like the shoes, though."
"Don't wear 'em," Bobby shrugged. "I don't give a fuck."
"Okay. I won't."
And she didn't.
Gemma went down to dinner with Bobby, not quite on his arm, but near enough. He led her down the stairs, her feet padding almost noiselessly on the carpet as they approached the large and homely dining room, which had no doubt been designed with large family dinners in mind and now found itself occupied by a master criminal and his captives.
The rest of the party was already there. Angelo occupied the head of the long oak table. To his right was Willow, and then Digby next to her. They had also been dressed for dinner.
"This is weird," Gemma murmured to Bobby.
"Probably," Bobby agreed.
The closer they got, the more apparent it became that Willow and Digby were not exactly willing diners. They were both attached to their chairs by plastic zip ties, and their chairs appeared to have been bolted to the floor, so there was no leaving the table without permission.
The table itself was laden with a fine spread. There was a roast chicken with stuffing, peas, carrots, corn, beetroot, rolls that smelled as though they'd been cooked by a French chef with a butter fetish… just looking at it made Gemma's stomach growl.
Gemma caught Willow's eye, hoping against hope that she was okay, but how could anybody be okay in a situation like this? They had been allowed one hand free each, presumably so they could feed themselves. Gemma wouldn't have put it past Angelo to play the Choo Choo here comes the train game with both of them, though.
