Page 214 of Rosetti Family New York
He holds the piece of meat in my direction.
“Eat,” he says.
I cross my arms, mostly so he doesn’t see my hands shaking.
“What is this?”
“What does it look like?”
“I’m not talking about the food,” I say.
“You’re the one who came down here.”
He throws it back at me, but it’s almost playful. Almost.
“Right,” I say. “Should have stayed in my ivory tower.”
He slices into the cheese with a knife that could double as a machete.
“I told you. You can stay as long as you want.”
I roll my eyes.
“You sure your princess can handle it?”
He doesn’t flinch, but there’s an edge to his voice now.
“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”
“You know what? I will,” I say.
His eyes lock onto mine.
“Good.”
It’s like we’re having two different conversations, one with words and one with the heat between us. Neither of us is backing down. Neither of us is giving an inch. He slides the plate over to me. I don’t want to take it, but I’m hungrier than I realize. The food is good. Better than good. I’d ask him where it’s from, but I’m guessing the Rosetti family is in charge of importing everything from humans to grapes. It tastes expensive.
“Don’t get used to it,” I say. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“Not anymore.”
His voice is cold again, but not in the same way. There’s worry behind it, not ice. Not like before.
I set the food down, lose my appetite.
“So what, I’m a prisoner now?”
“You’re smart,” he says, holding my gaze. “Act like it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I made some calls.”
I snort.
“You mean you went behind my back.”
“Yeah. And it’s a good thing I did.”
