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“Who are you?”
“I’m Chef.”
Luca’s eyes fell to the spatula again, and Chef held it up.
“See. And I’ve cooked you breakfast. So, you can either sit in here all day and be hungry and miserable, or—”
“I could eat your food and be full and miserable? Maybe even dead?”
Chef began to laugh, a deep, throaty chuckle that was comforting, but at the same time disturbingbecauseit was so comforting. For all Luca knew, this chef Dom had sent could be here to poison him.
“No dying for you this morning. I’m just here to feed you.” Chef turned and headed for the door. “So you can come with me now and eat, or stay in here until Dom gets back.”
As he walked out the door, his words lingered in Luca’s head until they finally landed onuntil Dom gets back, and Luca raced out into the hall.
“Wait… Dom’s not here?”
Chef said over his shoulder, “Nope,” and Luca got moving. If Dom wasn’t here, maybe that would give Luca an opportunity to look around, and if not that, the chance to get rid of this God-awful headache he had from lack of food. Maybe then he’d be able to devise some sort of plan to get the hell out of there—or at least keep himself alive.
He followed Chef downstairs to the enormous great room he’d entered the night before, and the room was no less spectacular now. The sun shone through the towering windows, dappling the luxurious furniture in creams and golds, and the view of the bustling city below made Luca feel more detached than he had last night.
Everything seemed so far away, so unreachable. There were no open windows, and even if there were, this place was so high up that no one would hear him. It was just another reminder that even though his surroundings were much more accommodating than the basement, he was no less a prisoner up here.
“Follow me,” Chef said as he got to the bottom of the stairs and turned to walk under them, away from the main room.
Luca kept up, not wanting to accidentally run into one of the torture twins. They walked through a large dining room and into a state-of-the-art kitchen. The smell of something spicy filled the air, and Luca’s stomach growled. Jesus, he’d known he was hungry, but the second the smell of food hit, his mouth began to water.
Chef moved behind the center island and gestured to one of the stools. “Sit.”
The suggestion was given with a charming enough smile, but Luca got the impression it was more an order than a request. Since this was the first time he didn’t actively fear for his life, he did as he was told while looking around at the white marble cabinets and stainless-steel appliances. Chef added several sausages to a pan, the hot oil hissing and spitting.
“Chorizos,” Chef said. “I make them myself.” He gestured to the back counter, where a meat grinder sat, and while that was a perfectly innocent explanation, something about it made Luca wary.
“So, you’re Dom’s personal chef?”
Chef snorted out a laugh. “Dom wouldn’t eat my shit if I paid him.” Then he shot Luca a wink. “But don’t worry. It’s not because it’s not good. He’s just a snob.”
That explanation didn’t make Luca feel any better, but he didn’t much care what the food tasted like at this point. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate, and the chorizos smelled delicious.
After yesterday, it seemed surreal to be sitting here with a private chef like he had no worries in the world. There had to be a trick here, right? Dom was gone, and this guy was being way too nice. Why?
Luca rubbed the mark around his wrist lightly, a reminder he hadn’t made all this up in his head. “So, you’re just here to cook me breakfast?”
“Sure.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t know me. I don’t know you. And from what I was told, I’m basically being held hostage.”
Chef raised his spatula to gesture around the penthouse. “Pretty nice digs for being a hostage.”
“So you know why I’m here?”
“Doyouknow why you’re here?”
Luca bit down on the inside of his cheek. He clearly wasn’t getting anywhere with this guy. Maybe once he had food in his stomach he could think, figure out a better way to get answers. “So chorizos. What else?”
