Page 82 of Cruel Debts
I slid a plate of finishedmulignane cu a ciucculataacross the counter at her, watching intently, though I tried to make myself look nonchalant about it. "I made your favorite."
Her eyes danced with excitement as she took in the food on the plate, then her brows furrowed. "I haven't had these inages.But what's the white stuff on them?"
"Try it first," I encouraged her, a small smile on my lips. "Then tell me whether you like it or not. And I'll tell you what it is."
She brought the delicacy to her lips, then bit into it with a crunch. "Oh my god!" she whisper-shouted around her full mouth. "That's delicious! They're perfect." Her hand moved up to hide her face as she chewed and talked simultaneously. "So crisp! And the powdered sugar on top is new, but so good!"
"I'm glad you like them," I said with a sigh of relief, "because there's no amount of chocolate on this planet that can make me like deep-fried eggplant."
"I'll eat as many as you need me to. Wouldn't want them to go to waste," she muttered, her mouth still full. The plate started with six of them, and now she was down to two.
She worked fast.
"I can't believe you eat those," I said with a hint of disgust. "Eggplant, really? How does the chocolate make them better in any way?"
"You're just uncultured, Hawke," she mumbled around the last of them, relishing the crunch of the fried shell around the still-crisp insides. "But for someone who hates them so much, you really did a good job making them."
I watched her lick the remains off the tips of her fingers, and the whole thing was so erotic, I found myself getting hard at the sight.
No. No way in hell. I'm not getting the hots for Trinity McCoy. Abso-fucking-lutely not. She's just goading me, is all. I won't fall for it.
I shook the strange sensations from my mind and grabbed a coat from the hook by the door. "I'm gonna go grab some things for later. You want anything?"
"Yeah," she mumbled, her eyes skimming the shelves in the pantry as she moved around looking for something else, now that she'd totaled the food I made her. "A day pass from this hellhole."
"No can do, sorry, squirt," I told her, grinning wildly as I closed the door behind me. She'd get over it, eventually. We wouldn't have to keep her locked up like some little porcelain doll forever. And when she finally had her freedom back, she could do whatever she wanted.
Though that was likely to be her, going back to her old life, and leaving this all behind.
Maybe.
Or maybe she'd stay just to torment us. It would be irritating, but it might've been fun just to watch Liam be aggravated at someone else for a change.
I didn't pass anyone looking to talk on the way down the road, but at the store, I ended up chatting with the older Italian guy who ran the little store and did most of the work himself.
He was troubled.
"Ayy, Damiano, what's new in your world, old man?" I patted him on the back, knowing he wasn't one to open up, but he looked like he could use a friend right about now, and I could lend an ear.
It would buy me time away from the Guild, too, and Liam's grouchy ass.
"Not much in mine, but my sister is having a hard time," he grumbled, setting his arm atop the end of his broom as he stopped cleaning to regard me with a semi-friendly smile that felt forced. "Her daughter, my niece, is missing."
The story grew more and more common every day, especially in the poorer districts of Port Wylde. Our people couldn't even live their lives without fear that one more would go missing in the dark of pre-dawn. The people we'd sworn to protect when we joined the Guild. The same people who turned to us for help when they needed it the most.
I couldn't turn a blind eye to them. Once upon a time, I was one of them.
"Damiano, this niece of yours," I said slowly, making eye contact with the man about to come into the store—a clear direction to get the fuck out for a while. "Tell me about her."
I guided him to a nearby empty crate, forced him to sit down, and slid effortlessly into my Guild persona as he opened up about the girl.
Marguerite. Fourteen. Innocent. At the top of her class in school, and about to go on her first date this weekend. Not anymore, though. Now she was gone, and nobody had heard from her. Not her friends. Not the boy who she'd stand up in her absence. Not the school. It was as if she vanished into thin air.
Just like all the others.
When he'd given me everything I needed, I told him not to worry, and to pray, because I could smell a Catholic a mile away. If his guilt wasn't a heavy indicator, the rosary on his wrist and the cross around his neck were dead giveaways.
I shot off a text to the guys, and looped Lilly in on the situation. She had a soft spot for Damiano, and I had the sneaking suspicion Marguerite was connected to the contract we were working—one of them.
