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I actually manage to relax a little now that the atmosphere is less tense.
When the chicken is ready, I remove it from the hot pan.
Finding three plates, I arrange sliced avocado, cherry tomatoes, and cucumber slices on a bed of Boston lettuce. I plate the grilled slices of chicken carefully before I return to the pan to fry some corn, which I then sprinkle over the salad.
I’m so focused on what I’m doing I’m no longer listening to the men’s conversation as I make the honey and mustard dressing from scratch.
When it’s ready, I drizzle it over the salad before I wipe the sides of the plates so the presentation is perfect.
“Not bad,” Dario suddenly says from behind me.
He scares the living hell out of me, and I stagger a couple of steps to the side while my hand flies to my thundering heart.
“Jesus,” the word bursts from me, my eyes wide on the men who must’ve returned to the kitchen while I was deep in thought.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Dario actually apologizes.
Renzo lets out an annoyed huff while he walks to the drawers to grab cutlery before he moves past me, slamming the knives and forks down on the island.
“Let’s eat,” he orders.
He takes a seat, and Dario joins him. When I remain standing, he gives me a look of warning.
I quickly sit down and grab a knife and fork. Pulling my plate closer, I cut into the avo, and take a bite.
I keep my eyes focused on my food while the two men’s dangerous and powerful presence makes it hard to enjoy the meal.
Dario lets out a groan, then he says, “The dressing is delicious. How did you get it sweet and tangy?”
“Honey and mustard,” I murmur, not looking up.
“I need you to make me a whole bottle so I can have it at home.”
This time, my eyes flick to Renzo’s face, and he nods.
“Should I make it now?” I ask, not wanting to anger Renzo.
“No. Finish your food.”
I continue to eat and steal glances at the men. For the first time since I was thrown into this hellish nightmare, there’s a tiny burst of warmth in my heart when I see how much they enjoy their salads.
As soon as I’m done eating, I get up and retrieve a mixing bowl from the cupboard. When I start to make the dressing, Dario gets up from his chair, and bringing his plate along, he continues to eat while watching what I’m doing.
“Do you love being a chef?” he asks between bites.
“Yes,” I murmur softly.
“You used to work atDame, right?”
I nod, not offering any details.
“I read the restaurant got a Michelin Star while you worked there.”
I nod again, my heart pinching because I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to work in a restaurant again.
Realizing Renzo might keep me captive for the rest of my life, a gloomy emotion fills my chest.
All my hopes and dreams slip through my fingers and my hands still while my eyes drift shut from the pain of losing them again.
