Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
And yet, I liked it.
Maybe I would apologize to Corey in the morning. Or maybe….
I headed to the kitchen. How long had it been since I’d baked anything? Growing up, I’d loved baking with my mother, but once I was old enough to be part of the family business, my father forbade me to spend time in the kitchen. He wanted me training and working, and he made it very clear that he would make me pay if I didn’t obey him. I shuddered, thinking of the beatings I’d received.
Once I’d moved out and was no longer constantly under his supervision, I rarely had time for baking or cooking. After Lisa nearly killed me, I hadn’t even wanted to try. I’d made a few things in the last year, but only on days when Beatrice was sick or on vacation.
Baking had given me something to focus on that wasn’t pain, death, violence, or crime. That had felt good but also strange because those things were what my life had always focused on.
After searching through the pantry to access the available ingredients, I determined we had enough flour, eggs, milk, and lemon to make ciambellone. I stirred up the ingredients and let myself think only about the textures and the smells.
The sensory experience took me back to days of slipping out of bed before sunrise and helping my mother make this cake for breakfast. I wondered if Corey had ever had it before. I would leave it for him. It would be a way of apologizing without words. I wasn’t good with words. But this… My mother had taught me how to make the perfect light cake that would be divine with a good, strong coffee.
Beatrice had told me that Corey was very appreciative of the coffee I used. It was an excellent blend from Colombia. Apparently he took it with sugar and cream, though, so he was failing to get the full taste.
I spooned the batter into the prepared pan and smoothed the top before licking the spatula clean—the best part of baking. I smiled as I dropped it into the sink. Why didn’t I do this more often?
While it baked, I did another circuit of the house, feeling uneasy again. Was someone out there watching? If so, why didn’t the guards I’d posted see them? If they were good enough to elude my guards, they were damn good. But I already knew Lisa would only hire the best. She’d learned what to look for from me after all.
I checked in with each of the men who were watching the house. They’d seen a car drive by multiple times, but it never stopped. It could simply be someone looking for a different address.
“If they slow down again, stop them,” I told my team. “Find out who they are.”
“Yes, sir.”
There’d been no evidence anyone had been in the courtyard other than the footprints. I considered whether the prints could be old ones from one of my guards checking out the house, but that answer didn’t feel right.
The feeling of unease I’d had was real. My senses were so finely tuned that I’d learned to always trust my intuition. Only Lisa had ever made me doubt myself.
I made my way back to the kitchen. When the cake was done, I pulled it out, waited a few moments for it to cool, then turned it out of its pan and left it, along with a note, for Beatrice and Corey.
By that time, I thought I might actually be exhausted enough to sleep. I climbed the stairs to try again.
9
COREY
Iwoke up the next morning and stretched, loving the big bed and all the space I could take up. Weak winter sun was coming in through the windows. At least it would be bright today. If I couldn’t go outside, at least I could look out.
How long was this pseudo-imprisonment going to go on? And how long was I going to have to put up with Dominic treating me like shit?
Obviously, he’d been coerced into watching over me, but that wasn’t my fault.
Clearly, he was hurting physically and otherwise, but that wasn’t my fault either.
Maybe I just needed to do what he said: leave him alone unless there was an emergency. I could talk to Beatrice when she was here. Hell, I could help her with her chores since I didn’t have anything else to do. That might give us more time to sit down, have some coffee, and chat.
Why did I want Dom to like me so much anyway? Why couldn’t I let it go and just accept that he was a grouchy son of a bitch?
Was it just because he intrigued me so much, because I knew there were many layers to him? His complexity was like a puzzle, and I needed to solve it. Even as a kid I’d never been able to leave a puzzle unsolved. I’d lost tons of sleep to my curiosity.