“Oh, so well-mannered.” He grips the bars of my cage and tilts himself backward. “You ready to chew through your own arm or what?”
I watch him swing himself back and forth. He’s so manic, like if at any moment he’ll do a backflip or walk on the ceiling. I move right up against the wall. “You never answered my question. Are you really a doctor?”
He grins. “I might be. Does that turn you on?”
I ignore the question. “What kind of doctor?”
“A gynecologist.”
I frown. “What’s a gynecologist?”
He stares at me for a moment then throws his head back and laughs. The sound bounces around the basement, and it’s like a hundred blond Elvises are laughing at me.
My face burns. This isn’t a new situation for me. Whatever a gynecologist is, I’m sure it’s dirty. I wait for Doc to stop laughing. Eventually, he shakes his head and sighs. “Ah… You’re worth every penny it costs to keep you down here, Tesorina.”
“How much can one apple and a little water cost?”
“Don’t go asking questions. It’ll get you killed. Anyway, I didn’t come down here to talk money. I’ve got something for you.”
I remember Eli’s rubies. Somehow, I don’t think Doc’s brought me jewelry. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out an orange packet of Reece’s Pieces. “You want?”
Reece’s aren’t my favorite, but my mouth waters at the thought of peanut butter and chocolate. “Yes please.”
“What’ll you give me for it?”
I feel like a TV camera is zooming out, showing me exactly how bizarre this is. I was supposed to be married and now I’m considering begging for candy in a basement. “I… I don’t know. Just, please?”
With a look that says I’ve ruined his fun, he tosses the package through the bars, landing it in my lap. I pick up the candy. It’s warm and probably half melted from Doc’s body heat.
“It’s sealed, Tits. Untampered.”
I don’t know if that’s true but just like with the apple, I’m too hungry to care. I tear the packet open and pour the chocolate into my mouth. I chew and swallow it before licking every trace from my teeth and cheeks, avoiding Doc’s gaze.
“Want more?” he asks.
Agreeing would be playing into his hands, and even though I’m starving, I don’t want to give him that. I look at him, taking in his thick blond hair and bright blue eyes. “You’re very fair for an Italian.”
He returns to pulling himself back and forth on the bars like he’s doing vertical push-ups. I try not to stare at his arms.
“I might not be Italian. I could just speak it.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t believe me?”
I shake my head. It’s in the way he moves. That swagger as though the world is secretly his and he’s waiting for everyone else to notice.
“I’m northern,” Doc says finally. “My mom’s family came from Milan. Dad from Vercelli. Or that’s what mom said, I never met the prick.”
He gives me a look, as though daring me to ask about his absent father. “What about the others? Where are they from?”
“Basher’s from Dovadola, the Morellis are from Naples and Adri’s a mixed bag. Roman dad. Ukrainian mom.”
For some reason, I can picture Adriano’s mother, green-eyed and pretty. You can see her in him. The beauty mixed in with that swarthy, scarred face.
“You pissed Morelli off, asking if he’s a mafioso.” Doc smirks at me as though we planned this together.
“I wasn’t trying to be rude.”
