Page 13 of Villain's Prey

“Maya Angelou.” He doesn’t miss a beat. Always surprising me. I have to admit he’s a lot smarter than I ever thought a Taletti could be.

Maybe I don’t really know who the Talettis are. Not Sergei Taletti, at least.

9

SERGEI

She settles on the couch, Trash jumping into her lap and purring.

“Are you hungry?” The words just come out.

She looks up, her expression shocked but also amused. “You’re offering me food. A last meal sort of thing?”

I run a hand through my hair. “Are you hungry or not, princess?”

She shrugs and goes back to petting Trash. “I could eat.”

“Has anyone told you that you’re a brat?” I walk into the kitchen and pull open the fridge, then take out some prosciutto and a fresh burrata I picked up yesterday.

“Vin may have mentioned it a few times.” She watches me closely, though she gets distracted here and there by Trash.

“Vincent, your oldest brother?”

“I guess you’ve done your homework.” She sighs. “Yes, he’s the oldest.”

I’m supposed to kill him. My father promised me I’d be the one to strike the death blow to that sanctimonious prick, but I suppose that’s not something I should mention to Olivia.

“Do you always wear your emotions on your sleeve?” She leans back and smiles when Trash perches himself on her shoulder.

“I don’t.” I shrug and grab a bread knife to work on the baguette.

Her gaze sticks to the knife, but then she looks away. “You do.”

“You’re the only one who’s ever accused me of it.” I slice the bread evenly, and silently wish it was fresher, crispier. But I’m being an idiot. She’s lucky I’m even feeding her. She’ll take what she gets.

“You’re joking. I can see right through you.” She snorts a little laugh. “Like right now, you’re pissed off.”

I slice the last piece of bread with a rough movement. “I’m not.”

“You just mangled the bread,” she chides.

I look down and see she’s right. It may not have been particularly crispy, but now it’s misshapen. Fuck. I pluck out the best pieces and arrange them on a plate with some slices of prosciutto and pieces of the burrata.

“Here.” I carry it to her and place it on the coffee table. Trash jumps down, his tail straight up with interest. “Not you.” I scoop him up and carry him to the kitchen, where I keep his food.

“I would’ve shared,” Olivia calls.

“I don’t need him throwing up all over the place.” I grab a can of his food from the pantry and serve it up.

He digs in, eating greedily as I return to the living room.

“This is actually … pretty good.” She uses a butter knife and loads up a piece of bread with cheese, then tops it with a thin slice of prosciutto. Chewing thoughtfully, she offers me the plate.

I shake my head. “I’m good.”

Her eyebrow lifts at that.

“In the sense that I’m not hungry.” I lean back in my armchair and watch her. I can’t seem to help myself. She should be utterly uninteresting, an open book of vapid bullshit. But I find that’s not the case. Somehow, she’s charming me. With her sass and her selflessness–I mean who the fuck says they’regladthey’re the one who’s been kidnapped?

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