As if he sensed my attention, those cold, bright, hazel eyes met mine across the table. “Don’t you want more than a salad,bella?”
God, yes, I did. I opened my mouth to say as much when I felt Gino’s hand squeeze my leg in warning. He glared at his son but said nothing. This left me with two choices: I could ignore him and order more food, thereby appeasing my immediate need of being hungry, knowing there’d be more punishment waiting for me when we got home. Or, I could continue to starve and hope my suffering would please him enough that he wouldn’t lock me in my room again.
I opted for the second choice. “No,” I said with a smile. “I’m actually not very hungry.” My stomach twisted and moaned in protest. “A salad will be perfect.”
Gino’s hand left my thigh as I fought to keep the smile on my face under Salvatore’s sharp stare. He shifted his gaze to his father. Then, with a small, uncaring shrug, turned his attention back to the conversation with the Irish, his expression giving nothing away.
No longer the subject of his rapt attention, I released my breath and relaxed just a bit. I didn’t fool myself into thinking either of Gino’s sons gave a crap about me, and honestly, I was surprised he’d even noticed what his father had ordered for me. So it was stupid of me to wish he would’ve pushed the subject more and insisted I get something else. Yet, somehow, disappointment still weighed me down.
When my salad finally came, it took everything I had not to bend over the table and just start wolfing it down like a dog. I’d never been a big vegetable eater, but I was so sick of bread and water I’d take just about anything at this moment.
My eyes lingered on my plate as the waiter carried it away, my only consolation that their meals would be out soon and I wouldn’t have to sit here much longer. But I was so, so wrong. Gino made me stay at the table for another two hours while he, his sons, and the Irishmen ate course after course of delicious smelling food and discussed whatever the hell they were talking about. I was too hungry to pay much attention. He even ordered dessert.
The fucking bastard.
On the ride home, I sat silent and sullen, the salad I’d eaten gurgling in my stomach as my digestive system struggled to process the shock of having something besides yeast and water.
Gino sat just as silent and brooding as I was, staring out the other window. Obviously, whatever he’d been expecting to accomplish with this dinner hadn’t gone as he’d planned.
But that wasn’t my problem. “Can I have my cell phone back?”
At first, I thought he was going to ignore me, but then he turned to me with a frown.
“If I don’t call Logan soon, he’ll start to worry. And…” I took a breath and pushed my luck, “I think that’s the least I deserve after tonight.”
His eyes narrowed and he sniffed obnoxiously, but he didn’t argue with me. Gino wasn’t an evil man, not completely. He was impatient and entitled. But he wasn’t a complete monster.
I softened my voice. “Please, Gino. I don’t want him to worry.”
Grudgingly, he reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, pulled out my cell, and handed it to me.
“Thank you,” I told him.
With a grunt, he turned back to the window.
I tapped the screen to check for messages, but nothing happened. Pressing the power button on the side, I prayed the battery wasn’t dead, that Gino had only shut it off. I smiled when the white apple appeared on the screen and the phone powered up. It was still at forty-seven percent battery.
There was only one missed message from Logan, just checking in. I texted him back, apologizing for not responding before now and letting him know I’d call him as soon as I could. He responded with an emoji face, one eyebrow lifted, and a thumbs up.
When we arrived home, Gino barely looked at me as he left me at the door to my room, shutting and locking it behind me without a word. Raising my fist to pound on the door, obscenities forming on my tongue, I froze, distracted by the most wonderfully delicious smell coming from…inside my room!
Spinning around, I spotted a Tupperware container on the dresser and nearly sprinted over to it. Had Gino only been fucking with me after all and had his chef leave me dinner? Or was it someone else?
I stared at the container like there was a snake hidden inside. What if it was the guard who’d watched us through the window the other night? Or what if that hadn’t been a guard at all? What if it had been Salvatore, Gino’s son? He was the only one who’d seemed to notice that I’d hardly eaten tonight. But he’d left the restaurant at the same time we had, so how the hell would he have managed to have dinner waiting for me inside my room? He’d never left the table all night, and I never noticed him pull his phone out to text anyone…
Deciding I was too hungry to care, I tore off the lid. Inside was a chicken breast with some kind of cream sauce and a side of potatoes. No veggies.
Salivating, I used my fingers to pick up the entire chicken breast, ignoring the silver utensils wrapped in a cloth napkin, and stuffed it into my mouth. It was tender, seasoned to perfection, and filled with cheese and…spinach, maybe? And it was the best thing I’d ever tasted in my life.
I scarfed down the entire meal in less than five minutes flat, licking my fingers clean, and immediately regretted my decision when my stomach protested violently and sent me running to the bathroom. I cried as it all came back up. What was this new hell? Was Gino trying to poison me now?
My god. What if I’d eaten poisoned food? Panic quickened my breath, making my face hot. Gino was mafia. He must have enemies. What if someone was trying to get to him by hurting me, not knowing that losing me wouldn’t be any great emotional loss for him?
After evacuating everything I’d just eaten, I flushed the toilet and rinsed my mouth. Then I sat on the side of the tub, dropped my head in my hands, and allowed myself a good thirty minutes to do nothing but feel sorry for myself.
“Okay,” I said to myself between sobs. “Just calm down. You threw it all up. If the food was poisoned, you’d be on the floor by now.”
By the time I was all cried out, my heart rate had slowed and my nerves had settled. I stripped out of my dress, silky underwear, and heels, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and brushed out my hair. Naked and not giving a shit who saw me, I walked to the dresser and found my favorite comfy nightshirt—soft gray cotton with a sleeping moon on the front. Pulling it over my head, I crawled into bed. Stomach cramping, I laid there in misery until I passed out with the light still on.
