Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I smirk, buttering the toast. “It’s not the appearance of the chef that matters; it’s what they do with the food.” I nod toward the coffee pot. “You want coffee?”
“Definitely. Black with two sugars because I’m not sweet enough.”
Behind him, Luca appears, looking fresh despite the uncomfortable way he slept last night. His hair is combed through, his face washed, and he moves with the kind of ease that says he’s ready to face the day.
“This smells good,” he says, sliding onto the next stool.
Finally, Antonio takes the remaining seat, still dressed in his undershirt, the muscles of his chest and shoulders stretching the white fabric to its limits. He wraps his fingers around the steaming mug of coffee that I hand to him and nods in gratitude.
“She’s taken your place,” Alexis teases, shooting Antonio a look over his cup.
“I’m grateful,” Antonio replies, taking a sip. “Sometimes, feeding your hungry asses gets annoying.”
“If Antonio wasn’t born into this life, he’d have been a chef,” Luca muses, raising a brow.
“Or some poor bastard’s mama,” Alexis laughs.
“Too much facial hair,” Antonio says, running a hand over his stubbled jaw. The movement is casual, but my stomach tightens at the sheer masculinity on display.
I plate up the food and slide it across to them, pleased at their satisfied groans of appreciation as they dig in. My mother always said that learning to cook wasn’t just a skill but an act of love. Food brings people together and creates warmth where there is cold.
She was right.
I stand at the counter to eat, but Alexis notices and quickly vacates his stool, dragging it around for me. “The chef should never stand.”
I thank him, and my smile widens as I catch the glare his brothers shoot him as if annoyed that he’s making them look bad. Despite the strange circumstances, this moment feels almost domestic. I shake my head at the thought. I’m the captive of three mafia brothers, being kept in a secret location. It’s definitely not the setting for domestic bliss. And yet, when they think I’m not looking, they let their eyes linger on my face and body.
“So, we found Luca asleep on your mattress this morning,” Alexis drawls, his smirk pure mischief. “Did he crawl over there by accident or…”
I arch a brow, matching his playful tone. “Was he tempted by my siren's call?”
Antonio snorts, shaking his head. “Luca doesn’t get tempted by women. He decides he wants them, then takes them.”
“She had a nightmare,” Luca mutters, not looking up from his plate. I stare, fascinated. Luca Venturi—the ruthless, stone-faced boss—blushing because he spent the night in my bed, comforting me like some kind of reluctant protector.
“Another one?” Antonio lowers his fork, concern flickering across his usually impassive face.
Before I can answer, I decide to see how far I can push Luca. “He sang to me,” I say, sweet as honey.
The fork in his hand stops scraping his plate. A muscle ticks in his jaw.
“Sang?” Alexis barks a laugh and smacks his brother on the shoulder. “This man? Luca Venturi? He sang?”
“Well,” I amend, biting back my grin, “more like he whispered me a lullaby.”
Antonio’s expression shifts, something dark flickering in his gaze. Jealousy? I wouldn’t have thought of him as the jealous type, especially not about me, but the way his jaw tenses tells me otherwise.
Luca exhales, setting his silverware down with precision. “I have a nice voice.”
I blink, surprised. “You do?”
He nods, like this is a simple fact and he didn’t just shock the entire room. “Yeah. Sometimes, in the shower, I forget myself.”
“You shouldn't need to forget yourself to sing,” I say.
“Do you sing, Aemelia?”
“Karaoke, back in Maryland.”
Alexis hums “What do you sing?”
“Whatever feels right in the moment.”
“I think Aemelia should sing for us today,” Alexis suggests, his smirk widening.
I scoff. “You want breakfast and a performance. Your expectations are a little high.”
“Our expectations stretch much further than that,” Alexis says with a layer of innuendo, then just as smoothly, he adds, “For lunch, dinner, and a mid-afternoon snack.”
“What are you? A toddler?” I laugh.
“Ignore my brother,” Antonio mutters, stabbing a piece of sausage with his fork. “He can make himself useful today.”
“You want to eat my cooking?” Alexis gestures to his plate. “Because I guarantee it won't be anything as good at this.”
“Burned toast isn’t on my menu today.” Luca stirs his coffee, then lifts his mug to his lips. Our eyes meet across the table, and for a moment, everything else fades. The almost-kiss flickers between us, charged like a storm ready to break. It was reckless and stupid, but in the moment, it was real and beautiful. And I can't regret it.
Alexis pushes his empty plate forward with a satisfied sigh. “You know, Aemelia, for someone we bought and kind of kidnapped, you sure are spoiling us.”