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“I’m going to untie you now. It would be a shame to let this meal go to waste. Do not try to run, I have a guard standing on every square foot of my residence.
Of course he does.
He waits for my agreement, and I nod my head slowly, my jaw clenched tight. I’m not stupid, my escape wouldn’t be so sudden, but I am hungry.
His hands begin to slowly unbind me and I almost sigh in relief from the lifted pressure. Once I am free, he lingers for a few minutes, estimating my next move. I raise my hands in surrender and he nods curtly, walking back to his seat and sitting down as I grab my fork.
I take one bite of the lamb and have to stop myself from moaning. It really does melt in your mouth. I catch Dante’s glance and notice his eyes darkened slightly, a near sinister look on his face. I decided to pay no mind to my captor and keep eating.
“Appreciate it? It takes a cook to know one.”
He raises his glass to me and takes a slow sip. I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows the red liquid. This bastard did more digging than a gravesite worker.
“I know everything, Esmeralda. All the power in the world, remember?”
My fist clenches at the mentioning of my full name again and he notices, his arrogant smirk never leaving his lips.
I finish chewing and take a few sips of my wine, it is dry but flavorful. I wish I knew more about wine, but I spent most of my life trying to be the opposite of my mother rather than indulging in her vices.
Silence stretches and I dab my lips with a linen before sitting back in my chair, stomach full and my hand resting on the crystal glass. I ponder my next words.
“When do I start cleaning, I guess?” My voice is barely above a whisper and I mentally high five myself because his reaction is confusion. The riddler himself is perplexed.
“Cleaning?”
“Yes, cleaning. Isn’t that why I’m here? To serve you alongside my mother for her debt.”
He nods slowly and purses his lips, tapping on his wine glass once more with a long, thick finger. I watch the movement raptly.
“Yes, it seems your mother has already seen to her work this evening. Though for you, I have other plans.” His voice lowers at the end of that sentence and I want to throw up the meal I just savored.
“And what are these plans, may I ask?” It’s hard not to detect the weariness in my voice.
He takes a bite of his lamb and chews slowly, never breaking eye contact with me. My stupid stomach flutters again and I chalk it up to just nausea.
“It seems my kitchen has opened up and I’m sure you will find a nice space within, yes?”
There’s the whiplash again.
“What about your chef? He seems more than capable.” He nods and stares at me, his expression dark, but hard to read.
“Yes, yes, Javier does a fine job. Has so for many years, yet he is shit at baking.”
I almost chuckle, but catch myself.
“What makes you think I’m good at baking?”
He raises a brow and gets up from his chair, walking over to the fireplace and grabbing something from it, his broad shoulders and tall stature blocking my view of whatever he’s retrieving. When he turns around and holds the object up for me to see, tears begin to fill my eyes.
My cookbook. My only escape from that nightmare of a home I was raised in, was here with me in Hell once again. I almost run to him and snatch it out of his hands, but I decide to go with my better judgement.
He looks confused by my reaction and walks over to me, setting it down on the dining table. I let my hands reach for it and caress its torn sides. I bought it at a garage sale when I was ten, a two-dollar, grey book that was meant to be a photo album. Instead, I let it capture the memories and history of my best friend's kitchen. It was overstuffed, to say the least, note pages sticking out from the laminated pockets inside.
I sniffed back the rest of my tears and looked up at my captor who was now resting an arm on the fireplace, staring into the flames before him. Maybe they were calling him home.
“You will start tomorrow morning. Javier is an excellent trainer, as I won’t be living just off your sweets and childish cakes.” He sounds angry and I’m immediately hurt, for what reason I don’t know. He’s had me bound and gagged for God knows how long and this is what stings me? His view of my baking?
“My assistant Sergio will show you to your room. Don’t think of anything wise, Esmeralda. I have eyes everywhere.”
