That was not exactly great for my mental health.
Shaking the negative thoughts off, I turn to Dante, and he straightens, flexing his broad shoulders. A few pie crumbs cling to the corner of his mouth, drawing my attention there. Grateful for a distraction, I twist the spatula, licking the sweet cream from it, the image of my tongue tracing those crumbs away flashing before me.
I’ve always hated it when people eat clumsily.
“You’d be deep in shit if I were gone,” Cane says. My brows lift on instinct, tension pulling faint creases across my forehead, and he jabs a fork in my direction as if delivering a final verdict. “Youneedme, Estella.”
A laugh escapes me, low and amused, sparking warm in my chest. “Keep telling yourself that.” My gaze slides to Dante, who looks even more bewildered than before, and I raise the spatula to cover the side of my mouth, though I know Cane can still hear me. “They’ll just send us another one.”
That’s how The Order works.
“What did you put in this? Tastes… amazing,” Cane mutters around a mouthful, shifting the conversation as if he can’t quite believe it.
“Mother’s love,” I reply, letting the words hang in the air. Both of them stare at me like I’ve completely lost it.
I set the spatula down with a soft clink and reach for the espresso machine. It’s early, and they’ve already dragged too much chatter out of me. I need caffeine before I dive headfirst into the rest of this goddamn day.
My eyes wander over the curated ceramics perched along the counter, lingering on the small wine rack where a single bottle ofVeuve Clicquotrests. Normally, alcohol strikes me with a rush sharper than coffee ever could, and for a fleeting second, I almost consider pouring myself a glass just to feel that familiar surge.
“This woman who was with me in prison,” I begin, pressing the right buttons to start the coffee machine. The rich aroma of brewing coffee fills the room, blending with the sweet scent from the pie. “She told me about her daughter, who loved blueberry cakes on Sundays,” I continue, dreamily turning off the machine once it finishes a full cup.
I step closer to the fridge, feeling the cool hum against my skin as I open the door, lift out the cream, and close it behind me. “She said that once she gets out, she’ll make one for her,” I murmur, tilting the bottle and letting the thick liquid swirl into my coffee. I stir it slowly, watching the colors blend, and add, “I’m just making her wish come true, in my own way.”
“How nice of you,” Cane says, amusement lacing his voice.
“I know, right? And…” I tilt my head at him, letting the words linger in the air, “I think I already forgave you for not getting me out sooner. If I’d been freed just a few days earlier, I’d never have baked it.”
He snorts a laugh, and the sound curls warmth through me, making me smile despite myself. Slowly, he sets the empty plate on the glass-and-chrome coffee table, then reaches into the coat draped over the back of the sofa. With a sharp slap, an envelope stuffed with cash lands atop the table, the impact scattering a faint echo across the surface. “You’ll have to split it between you,” he mutters.
Amusement floods me as I stride to the coffee table and snatch the envelope before Dante even reacts. “I’m taking ninety-five percent,” I state, my fingers rifling through the bills. “His success is my achievement. I inspired him to bethatoriginal.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Dante says, his tone calm, measured, like he’s stating a fact rather than sparking a conversation.
I can feel Cane’s reaction—a flicker of surprise rippling across his features, radiating a tense heat I can sense. Dante just shrugs, effortless and unconcerned. “Learning from the best,” he adds, his words a challenge wrapped in casual ease.
He’s flattering me. People don’t say things like this without expecting something in return, I know that. And yet… I feel pride surging through my veins, a smile threatening to break across my face.
Iamthe best. Always have been, always will be.
“Right,” I say, momentarily at a loss for words. I could bite, tell him he’s trying too hard, but I don’t want to. Not now.
“How wonderful. I see the progress already,” Cane mocks, and I roll my eyes, slapping the cash back onto the coffee table. “That’s why you both deserve a break. For now, there’s no job. Instead of running away or pissing each other off, I suggest you two go out together. Do something.”
My fingertips ghost over my lips, pressing lightly, tugging just enough to feel the skin give. A flicker of electricity hums beneath the surface—a ghost of our fingers brushing, sparking across my memory.
A coil of tension twists in my lower stomach, threatening to fold me in half, but I clamp the cup tighter, knuckles whitening with the effort. Heat surges through me, and a bead of sweat slides down my temple.
“Go out… where?” Dante asks, snapping me from my trance. I blink at him, but his gaze is fixed on Cane.
“There are a lot of interesting places in Barcelona,” he answers calmly, rising from the couch. “Estella will gladly show you around.” He slips on his coat and runs a hand through his dark hair, making it messier. “I have a meeting. Can’t stay longer.”
“At least eat some more cake,” I insist, lacing my voice with fake pleading. “Please?”
He steps closer, placing his hands on my shoulders. His thumbs trace soothing circles through the thin fabric of my robe as he meets my gaze. “You know I can’t be late,” he says gently. “Next time, okay?”
“At least let me pack it for you,” I plead.
A small, teasing smile tugs at his lips. “Okay. You do that while I put my shoes on.”
