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Charlie
“So... I ... I’ll stay under your protection until I’m no longer in danger? Then I can go back to my normal life?”
“Yes,” Dante answered, breaking the spell of his unflappable gaze. “It shouldn’t take long. I have an idea of what Stefan’s planning, and I’m sure he won’t be able to resist coming after me again.”
“I hope so,” I said. “Not that he comes after you, but that it won’t take long,” I clarified, still recognizing that the longer Dante was forced to protect me, the more danger my life was in.
I didn’t even dare think about what would happen after Stefan made his move on Dante. I knew a lot. Was Dante just going to let me go after he ‘handled’ his brother? He seemed principled, as principled as a mob boss could be. But I didn’t dare let myself forget what or who he was – and where his loyalty lay, and that was with his outfit; his organization; his business – whatever he deemed it. It certainly wasn’t to my scrawny, on-the-chopping-block neck.
Dante stood up abruptly. I flinched, my heart jumping into my throat. It unnerved me to realize that before this debacle, I’d spent some time fantasizing about him, his good looks, the few times I’d encountered him.
During my initial interview with his company, I’d caught the mirth in his eyes as Cranky Clark raked me over the coals. He’d enjoyed him not breaking me. I remember feeling almost like he was rooting me on. If not for the fact that I desperately needed the job and didn’t want to risk losing it by doing anything out of the ordinary, I might’ve smiled at him.
I remember leaving the interview. My thoughts were that I’d done well and I crossed everything that I’d get the job. On the bus ride back home, I couldn’t help but think about the head of Grimaldi. His shoulders were so broad; his body so muscular. I thanked my lucky stars that if I did get the job, I wouldn’t be working with him because if I did, I might find it too hard to concentrate and would royally fuck up, and find myself out of a job on my first day.
But, I would be free to admire from afar. When he’d welcomed me to the company on my first day, I remembered his hand burning through the spot on my shoulder where he’d lightly touched me.
“Ms. Everhart; welcome to Grimaldi Tech.” A large, warm hand lands on my shoulder. My knees shake. My senses flutter. The rest of what he says is a blur.
As he’d towered over me, he’d cut a stealthily imposing figure. Just remembering that day brought a smile to my face and a tingle to long-neglected parts of me. Imagining him and actually being near him were two very different things though.
My attraction to him pulsated just beneath my fear of him. I hated to admit it to myself, but he was so god-awfully beautiful that I couldn’t tamp down that feeling. Examining it wouldn’t do any good, so I decided to ignore it.
He looked down at me, almost curiously. “Are you hungry?”
“What?” I asked, my concentration level somewhere between nothing and zero.
“I asked if you’re hungry.” A small smile played around the corners of his lips. “You were working late, apparently. Had you eaten dinner?”
“No. I didn’t. I had lunch, though.”
Dante glanced across the room. He must have been looking at a clock, but I didn’t dare turn my back on him. “Lunch was a long time ago. You must be starving. I’ll make us something.”
“You really don’t have to do that.” I wasn’t hungry. Food was the last thing on my mind. I couldn’t imagine ever being hungry again, actually.
“Well I’m starving, and it’s much more fun to cook for two than one. You’d actually be doing me a favor by having dinner with me.”
“Okay. If you want.” It’s not like I had much choice, and it never hurt to keep one’s strength up, especially now that my life was a fuckcluster of ‘who knows what’s gonna happen next.’
“You might as well make yourself at home,” he said, “The remote is on the entertainment system.”
He hesitated as if he was going to say something else, then walked out of the living room. I glanced at the TV, which – big and on a stand – was taller than I was. I looked around the penthouse; for the first time really seeing it. I’d been too scared with wondering if I was going to live or die to pay attention to it before. Now the sheer luxury of it invaded all my senses.
Massive floor-to-ceiling windows framed most of two walls, providing a dizzying view of the city below. It struck me as odd that a mob boss would have such an open view. Didn’t he worry about a bullet coming through? Maybe they were bullet-proof, my mind countered.
Vivid landscapes and abstract works of art covered the walls, perfectly complementing the modern, functional furniture. Everything had that square, futuristic shape. It wasn’t a design style I would have chosen. Too cold. But it was tastefully done. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought I was on a movie set. The penthouse even had an entire second floor, which was accessible via a staircase that was in the shape of a spiral but composed of more of those harsh angles. What little I could see of the loft mirrored the vast living room I was currently in, except for a change in color scheme.
All at once, I was small, an ant in unfamiliar territory with nothing to guide me. I’d never dared dream of being in a place like this. And now, I was a virtual prisoner in one – captive of an actual mob boss. What was that saying about gilded cages and being careful of what you wish for? I couldn’t have made this shit up if I tried! And nobody would believe. Truth really was stranger than fiction, I thought.
Everything hit me all at once and I grabbed for the glass of water Dante had given me earlier. Shaking, I took a deep drink and tried to calm myself. I had to keep my wits about me. I couldn’t go falling apart like some damsel in distress.
Think, Charlie. Think!
Sitting around stewing in my own fear wasn’t productive, so I got up and walked in the direction Dante had gone.
I entered the kitchen, which was more fitting for the filming location of a cooking show. Every surface gleamed with polish, bare chrome, marble and fields of dark wood all clashing for attention. All sorts of futuristic cooking devices covered the counters, placed in out-of-the-way strategic corners to keep the marbled counters uncluttered. I didn’t even know what ninety percent of the gidgets and gadgets were. The kitchen was so futuristic, the fridge door was actually clear. And I’ll be damned if I could figure out where a microwave was!
Having removed his suit jacket and rolled up the snow-white sleeves of his shirt, Dante stood at the large island. He had a knife in one hand, a gleam in his eye and a concentrated set to his all-too-enticing lips. With an expert flourish, he brought the knife down. Red fluid squirted. He twisted his lips and continued chopping a Roma tomato. Other vegetables waited for their turn at his elbow, as a pot of water simmered on the six-burner, stainless-steel stove. A saucepan was in arm’s reach.
“Nothing good on TV?” he asked without looking up. He kept his eyes on his cutting board, the knife in his hand skimming and dancing.
He really was an expert in the kitchen.
“I don’t feel like watching anything.” I leaned across the opposite side of the huge marble island, noting that it was as big as the whole kitchen in my dumpy little apartment. “Can I do anything to help?”
Can’t hurt to try and get on his good side.
“You cook?” he asked.
“Simple stuff.” I shrugged. “Mostly I was the helper at home. Mixing batter, cracking eggs, watching pans on the stove to make sure they didn’t overflow. Stuff any idiot can do.”
“Why do you put yourself down like that?” he asked, without even looking up.
“I didn’t realize that I was putting myself down.”
“You were. Idiot rolled off your tongue like it was the most natural way in the world for you to describe yourself. Unfortunate,” he finished, putting the knife down, “as you’re far from an idiot. ... Wanna cut some veggies?” he said, his lips upturned into a smile.
You don’t not return a smile like that. “That’s my specialty,” I said, moving around the large island to his side.
“Then, please. A little help would be nice. The sauce I want to make is going to need a bit of focus.”
As soon as Dante stepped away from the cutting board, I took his place. The handle of the knife was still warm from his touch. “You could just pop a microwave dinner in, you know,” I said. “You don’t have to go through all this trouble. Food is food.”
“That, dear Charlie, is a criminal statement. It may all wind up the same place, but a properly prepared meal is one of life’s most underrated pleasures. Besides, I’d rather be doing something right now, not sitting around.”
I could understand that.
We didn’t talk much through the entire cooking process, as the busy culinary environment wasn’t exactly conducive to conversation. Not the way Dante cooked. He took his meal preparation seriously: boiling liquids, measuring spices, sauteing herbs, tasting sauces. It was almost sacrosanct the way he approached it.
An easy calm settled over us, which I was grateful for because I almost chopped my finger off on more than one occasion. I wasn’t used to such sharp knives. Dante’s could glide through frozen butter. Mine took more than a few minutes to chop through hot noodles.
When the pasta was ready, he drained it and threw everything into another pot to cook for a few minutes longer. I found plates and silverware and set places for us at his massive dining table.
Finally, the food was ready and we sat down to eat. The smell of the sauce was rich and aromatic, tickling my hunger to life.
Dante held up the bottle of whiskey he’d brought to the table. “Would you like some?”
My better judgment said no. “Whiskey with pasta? Why not?” I said out loud.
“I thought it was more fitting for the occasion,” he pointed out.
I nodded my head in agreement as he poured a few fingers of the amber liquid into a glass and set it down near me. I tasted the pasta and blinked at how flavorful it was. It tasted ten times better than than it smelled.
“How did you learn to cook like this? Did your mom teach you?” I said, as I rolled another mouthful of pasta onto the heavy spaghetti fork.
“Yes. My mother was a great cook,” he said, a faraway look in his eyes. It was obvious that talking about her was still painful for him.
“You’ve got a pretty good handle on me. What about you Charlie? Where are you from?” he asked, sipping his whiskey and ignoring his food.
“Philadelphia.”
“A city known for its cuisine.”
I shrugged. “When you grow up poor, you don’t partake in cuisine. You eat what you can afford. And that usually came in a box or a plastic container.
“Hmmm, so that’s why you say food is food. We’ll have to remedy that.”
Dante poured himself more whiskey, then picked up his fork and started to twirl his pasta around. Bright vegetables spiraled around the silver tines. “That reminds me of something I meant to bring up earlier.”
Uh-oh. I slugged down a mouthful of whiskey, needing the burn of liquid courage. “Yes?”
“You’re a sensible young woman. That’s obvious. But you’re almost unnaturally calm about everything that’s happened.” Dante lifted his head and pinned me to my seat with his startling gaze. “If I was in your position, I might be a little panicked and reach out to friends and family. Instead, you seem to have just accepted what’s happened; having dinner as calmly with me as if I’d asked you out on a date. And as trouble-free as it is to have a willing captive, I have to wonder why?”
I swallowed hard and put my fork down. “I’m not exactly a willing captive, as you put it, but really, what choice do I have. As for friends, and family, the only person I have to worry about these days is me.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’ve been estranged from my family for a while”
“Why?” he asked.
I grimaced. “Let’s just say I was dating someone they didn’t approve of.”
“That’s a helluva reason to be estranged from your family. You’re young. What are you twenty, twenty-one? You’re bound to date an undesirable here or there.”
“I’m twenty-five actually.”
He looked skeptical.
“You have all my info in my employee file, remember?” I said at his look.
“Still young enough to be dating boneheads. Something every family should expect.”
“Well mine didn’t. I think the final straw was when I followed the last bonehead out here to California so he could work on his acting career. They were right about him. He dumped me for the first blonde actress who batted her baby blues his way.”
“And you were too stubborn to go back home and let them know they were right.”
“It’s almost like you know me,” I said almost too sweetly, the alcohol lowering my inhibitions and heightening my courage.
Dante laughed.
Are his eyes smoldering at me?
“Soooooo, since I don’t have any family here and I work too much just to keep a roof over my head to cultivate friendships, I guess you could say I’m calm because I have to be. The only person who can save me is... me.”
Dante studied me. Again, I felt pinned to the spot. It wasn’t a bad feeling, actually. It was a nice change to be in the presence of someone who I felt understood me, even just a little. That’s the alcohol talking. Get ahold of yourself. You’re practically his prisoner.
It was hard to do that, when having him look at me contributed to my buzz, increasing the tingling in my veins.
Suddenly, being his captive didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all.