The waitress, who’d been watching me with a careful eye, placed the cup of coffee down on the table in front of us. Once she’d moved on to a different table, Max cleared his throat.
“This is how it’s going to go,” he said, his voice calm, but his eyes flickered around the room, taking in every exit. His hands, resting on the table, didn’t fidget. “You answer my questions truthfully, and then you’re free to go.”
His response seemed reasonable. Respectful. Easy.Tooeasy—it seemed like a trap. There’d be a catch, some hidden barb waiting for my vulnerability.
“I can leave? Just like that?” I echoed, my voice barely above a whisper. My fingers traced a nervous pattern on the chipped ceramic mug in front of me.
I knew how to handle the men my father worked with. I’d grown up navigating their gruff demeanors, their threats, and their unpredictable moods. But dealing with Max was like dealing with all my father’s men combined. I’d never be able to outsmart him, no matter what I did.
Max leaned back in his chair. “Depending on your decision, yes. But you’ll have to share your coffee with me first.”
There was a catch. The offer of freedom was presented on a silver platter but poisoned just the same. He wouldn’t be giving me much of any decision—it would just feel that way.
“Just get on with it. Ask your questions.”
His brows rose, surprised by my urgency. What did he expect?
“My last name?—”
“Do I know it?” I interrupted.
That amused him. “Do you?”
Taking a deep breath, I decided to play my hand. “Hmm.Ciao, Romano,” I greeted in Italian to prove I knew who he really was.
I supposed playing that card was a gamble, a test, to see if the façade he’d worn for years would crumble; to see if he’d finally admit it to me.
A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was as if he was happy to hear me say it aloud.“Ciao, bella mia.”
Oh.
I’d never heard him speak Italian before.
A traitorous part of me—a part I desperately tried to ignore—liked the sound of it. It was the softest I’d ever heard him speak, like night and day compared to the harsh commands that usually flowed from his lips.
“Why’d you tell your father before coming to me?”
“Sean and I found out together. I didn’t have a choice.”
“If Sean didn’t know, would you still have done it?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, battling the conflicting emotions, then opened them. I wouldn’t have done it, but he couldn’t know that. It would give him too much of a complex.
“Yes.Next question,” I urged. Did I really think he’d ever hurt me? Maybe not physically, but he had betrayed me.
“Lucas. Did you love him?”
The question caught me off-guard. I didn’t know how to answer—it was too straightforward. He wanted to know if I loved Lucas. I didn’t, but it felt wrong to admit that given the circumstances.
“Yes,” I finally said.
Quickly, in a single breath of air, Max said, “You’re lying.”
“I thought that’s what we did.”
He blinked, unamused by my antics. The message was clear: he couldn’t stand the bickering. What did he expect—that I’d justbe okay with him coming back into my life like this? I’d faked my death for a reason.
“Did you love him?” he pressed on, his voice laced with quiet desperation.
