I stepped forward sheepishly. “Sorry. I was just trying to see who was in the kitchen.”
“Thought it might be the bacon,” he muttered. “People have killed for less, you know.” He nodded toward the coffee station. “Help yourself.”
The espresso machine was a high-end, pro-grade model that would’ve made Carmine weep with envy. I moved to inspect it more closely, wondering why he ever bothered to go to Cipher at all. The machine had everything—a steamer wand, a milk pitcher, and a hopper already filled with ground beans. I steamed some milk first, then pulled the perfect double shot into the preheated mug, layering the milk just right to form a beautiful swirl of cream in the coffee.
When I looked up, he was watching me while whipping some cream by hand. With a metal bowl in one hand and a whisk inthe other, he moved in tight, controlled circles. The muscles of his forearm flexed and tightened; the slow, steady rhythm was hypnotic.
My mind drifted as I finished making my cappuccino.
Don’t think about how those hands would feel on your hips.
Too late.
I blinked hard and turned away.
I carried my coffee to the counter across from him and lowered myself onto the barstool, continuing to study him.
What if this whole stalker thing was just the beginning? What if he really was just another version of Delgado—but quieter, smoother, and more twisted?
Maybe he collected women. Maybe he planned to keep me here and turn me into his next plaything.
Or maybe he liked to kill girls—strip them down, feed them breakfast, make them beg for mercy before—
“Whipped cream’s done,” he said.
I nearly jumped.
He grabbed the waffles from the oven and plated them like a fancy chef. Next he added a scoop of the fresh strawberries, a heaping dollop of whipped cream, two strips of crisp bacon, and a side of fluffy scrambled eggs.
“You slept like the dead,” he said as he set the plate down in front of me. “Didn’t think you’d sleep past ten, but here it is almost one. Guess breakfast is lunch now.”
“Breakfast is always good,” I said. “Day, night…anytime.”
He smirked and placed his plate on the island across from me. As he leaned forward, something glinted against his chest—a silver pendant in the shape of a howling wolf, hanging from a thin chain. It rested just above the cut of his pectoral muscle, the metal catching in the light every time he moved.
“Nice necklace,” I said, tilting my head for a better look.
His fingers brushed the charm briefly before he sat. “Just something I picked up a long time ago.” No elaboration, no explanation.
I let it drop, but the design suited him too perfectly to be random. A lone wolf…my very own stalker-wolf. Somehow, it fit.
He smirked and placed his plate on the island across from me.
I curled my fingers around the warm cappuccino, trying not to let my nerves show.
He didn’t sit right away—just stood there, scrolling through his phone like I wasn’t even there.
After a minute, he glanced up. “Eat. Before it gets cold.”
I tilted my head, forking a bite of waffle and pointing it at him. “You too. You know, unless you’re worried about being poisoned.”
His eyes flicked up, and he grinned—an actual smile that made tingles zing down my spine. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t see it coming. Poison’s too slow.”
I blinked.
My eyes dropped to the waffles on my plate. He’d even buttered them and drizzled syrup on top.
The man was terrifying.
