“You’ll eat now.” I load up a fork with some of her incredible marinated artichokes and hold it out to her. “Open.”
She obeys, and as I watch her chew and swallow, something softens inside me.
“Again.” I prepare another bite, and another, until she’s shaking her head and laughing. Something about her taking the food I’m giving her is just…
“Vincenzo, I’m full. Really.”
“Fine, princess.” I finish the rest myself, scraping the plate clean. “But tomorrow you eat breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. Understood?”
“Is that an order, sir?” She’s teasing me, eyes sparkling.
“Yeah, it is.” My voice is hard. I want her to feel subjugated, controlled. “It’s a fucking order.”
She nods. “I’ll send proof if you’re not here, a picture of what I’m eating.”
I blink as she clears our dishes, humming. Fuckinghumming. She’ll send mepictures?!
What the fuck is wrong with this woman?
22
Vin
The next day, I’m halfway through the lunch Sophie packed me when I get the text.
Rocco at the Arsenal
again. Causing
problems.
The text is from one of my guys I stationed near her restaurant to make sure nobody fucks with her. I’m in the car immediately, the half-eaten sandwich abandoned.
The back entrance to the Arsenal is propped open with a milk crate when I arrive. Sloppy.
Rocco’s voice carries from the kitchen, loud and aggressive. My fists clench automatically.
“—never satisfied you anyway, did I? All those times I fucked you and you just laid there like a dead fish.”
I freeze outside the door, listening.
Sophie’s voice is cold, colder than I’ve ever heard it. “You’re fired, Rocco. Get out of my restaurant.”
“Dead fish,” he repeats, and I can hear the sneer in his voice. “Never came once with me, did you? Not fucking once.”
My jaw locks.
“No,” Sophie says simply. “I didn’t. The sex wasn’t great for me. But that’s not why you’re fired. You’re fired because you’re a terrible employee, you have no respect for me or this kitchen, and I’m done.”
“Not great for you?” Rocco’s laugh is ugly. “You think that asshole you’ve been fucking can make you come? I saw the way he looked at you. He doesn’t give a shit about you. You’re just a—”
I’m through the door before he finishes the sentence.
He doesn’t see me coming. My fist connects with his jaw and his head snaps back, body following. He crashes into the prep table, sending pans clattering to the floor.
“Vin!” Sophie’s voice is sharp, but I barely register it.
Rocco tries to scramble up, and I’m on him again, pounding him in the gut until he doubles over. I grab a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back.
