Page 51 of Sweet Prison
“Don’t touch that plate!”
The girl flinches and freezes in place. “But… I just…”
“Out! Now!”
“Massimo? What’s going on?”
My head snaps to the side. Zahara is standing in the doorway, her gaze bouncing between me and the maid, who seems to be on the brink of tears. I don’t care about the girl’s feelings in the least—she should have known better than to try handling food without explicit permission—except the look of reproach in Zahara’s eyes makes me falter.
Clenching my jaw, I point my chin at the door as I address the maid. “You can leave. Peppe is the only person allowed in the kitchen.”
Zahara arches an eyebrow.
“And I apologize for yelling,” I say through gritted teeth.
The maid mumbles something and rushes past Zahara, who is still holding me pinned with her unwavering stare.
“I appreciate the effort, but that didn’t sound like a heartfelt apology to me.”
“The girl was going to mess with your breakfast,” I grumble. “I’ve witnessed inmates spiking food with bad dope or other shit too many times.”
Zahara’s gaze moves to the plate I’ve set on the table, and a strange look crosses her face. “You made this?”
“Yes. But don’t get your hopes up, it’s only an omelet. I figured you must be sick of takeout after the last two days.”
I watch her as she slowly approaches the table. She’s wearing high-waisted brownish-red pants that emphasize the perfect curve of her hips and hug her mouthwatering, round ass.
Purge the mental images of your hands stroking your stepsister’s behind. Right the fuck now! And the ones where you strip her of her clothes!
I shut my eyes and shake my head in a useless attempt to do the right thing. When I open them again, Zahara is sitting at the table, bringing a forkful of the omelet to her mouth.
“Tinia has worked for my father for years,” she says before taking a bite. “She was not going tospikemy food.”
“Tinia?” My eyes and whatever brain cells are still functioning are transfixed on Zahara’s lips. Her pouty mouth is the only thing I’m capable of thinking about right now.
“The maid you just yelled at.”
“Right. Well, I’m not taking any chances.” I quickly turn around and busy myself with stuffing the dirtied pan into the dishwasher.
“Please tell me it was a joke when you said you’re putting Peppe in charge of the kitchen.”
“Nope. I don’t trust the staff you hired.”
“I do, though. Most of them have worked for my family for years. If it makes things easier, Iris can cook for us. I trust her completely.”
“Trusting someone entirely is not wise.”
“Well, she’s the one who helped me with your letters for all the time I was at Dad’s. And she is not going to poison anyone.”
I lean on the counter and watch Zahara eat. “You have no qualms?”
“None.”
“Fine, then.” I nod. I trustherjudgment. “Salvo is coming over tonight. He should have Armando’s tox screen results, so we’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with. But I’m betting your wacko of a brother-in-law is right, and the idiot was offed with cyanide.” The night before I was released, Armando set up an ambush for Zahara’s sister. Kai, Nera’s main squeeze turned hubby now, caught him. The braid-wearing son of a bitch broke the traitorous capo’s arms and legs and then dumped him in their basement. When I arrived the next morning, however, we found Armando dead, foaming at the mouth like the rabid dog he was.
“I don’t think Nera would approve of you calling her husband a wacko. He has a name, you know.” Zahara picks up a piece of prosciutto with two perfectly manicured fingers and brings it to her lips.
My eyes follow the movement like I’m goddamned hypnotized. And then, she licks the tips of those delicate fingers. And I… I almost fucking combust on the spot.Shit!