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"Looks delicious," she says. "I've always wanted to try blackened chicken."
I snort.
I scoop the pasta onto a plate, add some butter and parmesan, and open the fridge to take out a premade salad.
We dig in.
"Why do you shove the greens down your throat like that?" she asks curiously, taking a delicate bite of pasta.
"Because I fucking hate them."
Her mouth drops open. "You don't like lettuce?"
I shake my head and chase the salad with a large swig of wine. "Fucking hate vegetables."
"What are you, ten?”
I smirk at her. “I just made your dinner. I don't have to like my vegetables; I just have to eat them."
“Why? You’re an adult.”
I flex my bicep and shrug. That’s why.
She leans forward, her voice growing low and seductive as she squeezes my bicep. "Because you like to get laid.”
"I do."
She grins, one of those smiles that lights up her whole face. "Fortunately for you, so do I."
I'm glad we didn't dwell on the conversation we had. We don't need to. She understands, and so do I.
After a while, the bottle of wine is empty. She sighs.
"My brother will not stop, Lev. There is only one way for us to stop him."
“I know.” I lean forward, reaching to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Are you sure about this?"
She nods. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my whole life."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Isabella
It isn't just about revenge. It isn't just about establishing myself as the head of the Los Sangre Dorada. It runs so much deeper than that.
I stand and take our dishes to the sink. "I've got them," he says. “Sit.”
"I'm supposed to walk on this, aren't I?" I ask, uncertain.
"No, you're supposed to rest it. Let the swelling go down. You're strong and healthy. You'll be fine tomorrow. But for now, let me handle this."
"All right, if you insist." For now, I’ll let him have this.
"When do you think they're coming to get us?" I ask.
"In two days," he tells me. “I’m needed back in New York."
"What's happened?"
