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With a fork hovering near his mouth full of pasta, Giancarlo froze. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting on you to eat.”
Giancarlo groaned. “Will you eat already?”
I grabbed my fork and shoveled food into my mouth without hesitation.
Another groan slipped out, and I caught a smile on the man’s face.
“Where did you learn to cook?” I asked, trying to break up the tension.
Giancarlo shrugged as he shoveled some pasta into his mouth. I stopped waiting and did the same. The creamy sauce was to die for. It was rich in flavor and was even better than it smelled.
So good.
My tastebuds were in heaven, and I couldn’t get enough. I could easily eat five, no ten plates and never get tired of the flavors bursting over my tongue.
“Slow down before you choke,” Giancarlo said. He took a swig of wine. “My brothers and I were left to our own devices most nights. Our nona taught us how to cook.” He shrugged. “Sometimes my mother too.”
I swallowed the mouthful I had and cleared my throat. “Why are you feeding me this good food?”
“Kid, you got a lot of questions. Shut up and eat.”
I clamped my mouth shut and did just that. The last thing I wanted was for him to take away my plate. We ate the rest of our food in silence, but I kept my eyes on him. Any second, there could be a flip. Until I learned his habits, I would be on edge.
I ate until I couldn’t possibly swallow another bite and then still tried to eat more.
“Don’t force yourself. If you throw up my good food, I will break my foot off in your ass.”
I wouldn’t dream of puking any of the food up. It was too delicious, but I doubted it would be any good coming back up.
“I won’t.”
Giancarlo grunted and got up. He left his plate in the sink, and I stared at it for a long while. I still wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be doing. Asking him seemed like the best decision, but he might just say he didn’t know again.
I cleaned up our plates and put them away. I wandered around the place until I found Giancarlo in a living room painted with burnt orange colors and green furnishings. It was straight out of a home magazine or a Pinterest board.
“Why not run?” Giancarlo asked.
I stopped in my tracks and looked away from the art piece in the living room to Giancarlo. “Run where?” I shook my head and took the empty chair to the left of the couch. “No reason for me to run. This was for the best.”
I had no friends and no family. All I had was my dad, and in his time of need, it was the only way. He promised he’d get me back.
Giancarlo rubbed his chin, staring at me. I couldn’t help but fidget under his weighted gaze. It was like a tiger watching its prey; any wrong move and I’d be eaten alive.
I shoved down my fear and focused. “What am I supposed to do here?”
“Good question.” Giancarlo laid down on an emerald green couch and stretched out further.
He was so long with a broad chest. His hair was dark and looked oddly soft. A strong jawline and a straight nose complemented his face. Giancarlo was attractive. I doubted he needed a slave to get what he wanted.
“Why not earn your freedom?” Giancarlo asked.
I blinked a few times, not sure I’d heard him right. “Buy myself back?” Would I be allowed to get a job? My father never even allowed me to walk our neighbor’s dog for money.
“Eh, sure.”
How sat heavily on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it back down. What in the hell did I have of worth? My mind went in circles until I came to a realization.
