AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As they left the room, he led her down a surprisingly wide passage. Western-themed paintings graced the walls with artful depictions of gunslingers, saloons, desert landscapes, and covered wagons.
“I’m a big fan of the old west,” he declared. “Men were men back then, not like the snotty-nosed, pampered jerks walking around today. I have two nephews, twenty-three and twenty-five. They’re like spoiled teenagers, except when they’re around me,” he added, shooting her a look. “I’ve told my sister to send them to military school. She’s thinking about it. I hope she does.”
Confused by the banter and not sure how to respond, Steph simply nodded. Pausing at the door and pushing it open, he gestured for her to move ahead of him.
“Have a seat,” he said, jerking his head toward a kitchen island, “though the stools might be a bit hard on that red ass of yours.”
Heat crawling across her face, she wanted to snap at him, but managing to control herself, she gingerly sat down.
“How do you like your coffee?”
“With cream and sugar, please,” she replied, glancing around the kitchen as he took mugs from an overhead cabinet.
Boasting stainless steel appliances and glossy white cabinets, the room was slick, cool, and spotless. Turning her gaze back to him as he carried the steaming cups of coffee toward her, though his friendly demeanor was reassuring, she knew he had to have an agenda. Reminding herself to play the suffering victim, she dropped her eyes as he set the mugs down.
“You’ll find sugar in that container,” he declared, pointing to a small covered bowl. “I’ll get you a spoon.”
Opening a drawer and picking up a teaspoon, he handed it to her, then moved to the refrigerator, retrieved a small jug of cream, and placed it in front of her.
“You should eat something. How about a muffin?”
Becoming increasingly wary, she nodded her head, then watched him open a plastic tub on the counter.
“These come from a bakery in Manhattan,” he declared, placing a raisin muffin on a plate. “They’re made on the premises by an old lady who looks frail and weak, but she’s as strong as an ox. Believe me, I know. She’s my grandmother.”
“Thank you,” she murmured softly, lifting the muffin and taking a bite. “Delicious. This is very kind of you.”
“Not really,” he replied, picking up his mug and taking a drink. “Condemned prisoners are always given a last meal.”
* * *
Watching the color drain from her flushed face, Marco inwardly smiled.
“Uh, what do you mean, Mr. Moretti?” Her voice held a tremble.
“What do you think I mean?”
She stared back at him. “You, uh, you used the term ‘condemned.’”
“And…?”
“That usually means the prisoner is going to die,” she whispered, staring at him fearfully.
He didn’t believe her meek, frightened act for a moment, and almost broke into laughter.
“Usually, but not always,” he remarked casually, then leaned across the island. With his face only inches from hers, he murmured, “It could also mean the prisoner is condemned to suffer.”
Her forehead crinkled. For a moment he thought she was going to cry a few crocodile tears.
“Why are you torturing me? What did I do?”
“Don’t ask a question already answered,” he scolded. “I don’t take kindly to anyone, man or woman, who tries to take me for a fool. Finish your coffee and eat the muffin.”
“I’m not—”
“Hey!” he barked, slapping his hand on the granite and making her jump. “I said finish your coffee and eat the muffin. I’m tired of repeating myself. Do! As! I! Say!”
“Sorry, sorry,” she squeaked, hastily lifting the pastry to her lips.
