Page 13 of His Captive
“Tell me something interesting about yourself, Lea,” Massimo says. “Favorite color. Favorite book. Fondest memory. Anything. I want to know more about you.”
He’s still pushing, even though I’m trying to retreat into my shell. I can’t sit here in silence. That’ll be more uncomfortablethan talking. I take a deep breath. If I’m going to share things about myself, then he has to do the same. I don’t want the details—well, not the horrible ones. But something… anything Sarah could use on her podcast.
“My favorite color is plum. My grandmother said it’s a perfect contrast for my eyes, so she’d buy everything she saw in plum,” I answer truthfully, unable to avoid a smile as I think about her.
“There’s that gorgeous smile I saw earlier,” Massimo comments. “You’ve been depriving me of it.”
I swallow hard and the smile leaves my face immediately. “My stomach… Okay, your turn.”
“Favorite color?” His blue gaze flicks between my eyes and my dress. “Right now I’m torn between emerald green and ruby red.”
I bite my tongue and grimace. I walked right into that one. Gave him an opening to compliment me. Even worse, I liked his answer. I shouldn’t, but it causes heat to radiate from my core and make everything that was previously nauseous tingle. I shove a couple of bigger bites of food into my mouth, followed by a generous sip of wine.
“A-as for books, I don’t really have a favorite,” I admit.
“Me either,” he replies, reaching for his wine. “I guess we have that in common.”
“You read?” I question, finding it hard to imagine him sitting in a corner with a Kindle or a novel.
“Sometimes,” he says, nodding and sipping his wine. “It’s been a while—my wife used to recommend books she thought I’d like.”
His wife. He brought her up this time. I take a deep breath. I may not get another opportunity to ask about her. But it could bring the pain back. Mentioning her didn’t do it like it did earlier.
“D-do you mind me asking what happened to her?” I suck air through my teeth as soon as the question leaves my lips.
“She was murdered,” he growls, pain radiating in his eyes for a moment, then it gets replaced by something dark—something almost sinister. “The cops thought I did it at first. Fucking assholes. Like I would…” He squeezes his eyes shut, exhales a long sigh, and gulps every drop of wine in his glass.
“I-I’m so sorry,” I stammer, trying to find the courage to keep pushing, despite his reaction. “M-murdered? Did they ever find out who did it?”
“The cops? No.” His gaze turns into a distant stare, like he’s lost in a memory. “The cops didn’t do a damn thing except make my life hell until they realized it was a dead end.”
He reaches for the bottle of wine and pours another glass. I should decline, but I slide my glass over so he can top me off. He’s opening up. This isn’t enthralling content, but it’s genuine. I wish I didn’t feel so bad for asking about her. It feels wrong, even if he’s in the Mafia. Even if he’s a dangerous criminal who is next in line to run his family’s empire.
“I can tell you really loved her,” I say, my heart aching as the pained expression returns to his face. “I-I don’t mind if you want to talk about her.”
He drinks more of his wine. I do the same. He pushes his plate away and rests his forearms on the table. There’s so much pain and I’m the one causing it. Well, I didn’t cause it, but I’mbringing it to the surface. Criminals can love. Criminals can hurt. He’s still a human being, underneath all that ink.
“Fuck it. I may never get a chance to talk about her again,” he sighs, his thumb rubbing the spot where his wedding band used to be. “Layla was the first woman I ever loved.Onlywoman I ever loved. We were so close to having everything we dreamed of… she was pregnant when…” He squeezes his eyes shut and looks away.
“Oh, my god!” My hand flies to my mouth. Sarah didn’t mention that. I really wish she had. “I…”
“Love doesn’t die just because you’re forced to say goodbye,” he mutters, his fingernail digging into the pale outline.
“No, it doesn’t,” I admit, doing my best to fight off the tears that glisten in my eyes. Before I even know what I’m doing, I reach out and put my hand on his. “It lingers after they’re gone. I’m so sorry, Massimo. We don’t have to talk about this.”
“It’s fine,” he sighs, his thumb tracing my index finger and sending a pulse through my body. “After this week is over, it won’t matter.”
“W-why?” I question apprehensively.
“Nothing,” he growls, an emotion I don’t recognize flickering in his eyes. “I didn’t take my ring off because I was finally ready to move on. Ready to meet someone new… You were something of a surprise.”
I feel like a broken record as I stammer the same question again. “W-why?”
He squeezes my hand and raises his head, trapping me in his icy blue gaze. I can’t look away. Don’twantto look away. All theemotions inside of me are in conflict. His touch is making my core tremble—no, I think my entire body is trembling except the hand he’s squeezing.
“You made me feel something.” He lets out a sharp exhale. “First time I’ve felt a damn thing since… I lost everything.”
Oh, god. He feels something? Forme? This date is going in the wrong direction. I’m supposed to make him forget about me, not make him remember me. Not make him feel something. But I can’t even pull my hand away. The tension inside me is so tight it hurts.
