Page 91 of Broken Honor

The room feels smaller. Hotter. I clutch the blanket tighter against my chest and stare at the bedspread.

I could lie again. Spin the same story about the café.

But I decide not to. I shake my head. “I really can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

I already broke the deal by running off but I'm back here.

Omero sighs. “Alright.”

“She did save our asses,” Alfio mutters. “We owe her.”

Enzo smirks. “Each of us. One wish.”

Omero rolls his eyes. “Be wise… but not too smart.”

I laugh. It’s small but my chest hurts after.

“Ice cream,” I say softly. “We could all go get ice cream.”

Alfio blinks. “Seriously?”

“I haven’t had any in a while.”

Omero shrugs. “Deal. Although we do have a mark on our backs, what else is new.”

Just then, a knock at the door.

A maid walks in carrying a tray. Enzo moves quickly, taking it from her before she can speak. “I’ve got it.”

She leaves and he brings the tray to me, sitting again. He uncovers a bowl of soup and warm bread, steam curling into the air between us. My stomach growls, embarrassing me.

Enzo chuckles. “Here. Try a bite.”

He lifts the spoon, and I lean forward.

Behind us, Alfio’s voice breaks the moment. “I guess we’ll leave you lovebirds alone.”

“Vieri is going to snap your neck, don’t get too comfy,” Omero calls as they leave.

“Easy,” he murmurs, reaching to adjust the pillows behind my back.

The spoon hovers near my mouth. I open it without protest. The broth is warm and gentle going down, better than I expect.

“See? You survive attempted murder and you get five-star room service. The Tavano touch.”

His voice is soft, lighter than everything else in this house. I try to smile. He notices that too.

“There it is,” he says, his grin widening. “That little smile. I knew it was in there.”

He feeds me bread and broth gently, then he sets the empty bowl down carefully and glances toward the bedside table where a wooden box sits half open. I hadn’t noticed it before.

“I, uh… brought this. Thought maybe you’d want something to do. Helps me clear my head.” He opens the box fully and reveals a small, worn chess set. The pieces are carved and nicked, like they’ve been through things too.

“Do you play?” he asks.

I nod.

He seems genuinely pleased. “Thank God. Finally, someone who won’t try to turn the board into a weapon.”

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