I don’t grab my menu. A ring on his middle finger has caught my attention instead. Something I’ve never seen him wear before—a silver signet with an ‘X’ engraved on the metal. Something that looks significant. Important. Catching me looking, he twists it with his thumb. “Do you want to know what it means?”
I know it’s a trick question. This means something to the new Milton, and he wants me to ask the question he knows is burning the tip of my tongue.
Shame that I’m also a firm believer in what you don’t know can’t kill you.
“A story for later maybe,” he says as a girl walks over to our table carrying our drinks, Bella now nowhere to be seen. She’s pretty, with golden skin and silky black hair, only she looks out of place, playing a waitress in a restaurant lurking on the edges of the city.
Curving the ring around his finger again, Milton watches as she places our drinks on the table and pulls out a notepad from her pocket. “Can I take your orders?”
“The tagliatelle.”
She points her gaze at me, and I immediately glance away, avoiding the mirror that reflects my own fear and pain. She doesn’t hide her feelings well. No one taught her how. “Same,” I mumble in reply.
After writing down our orders, she leaves, disappearing through a door that I assume leads to the kitchen. Minutes pass, and the silence continues. I sense Milton watching me again, and I shift uneasily, tugging my sleeves over my arms, self-conscious of the scars from my previous attempts to end it all.
“Still hiding them, I see.” His expression is void of emotion, but his eyes are once again so dark. I want to tear my gaze from his, but I can’t. I’m sucked in. How can he be the same person I knew all those years ago?
“Finally, waking up from a seizure, I see.”
“And still irritating.” He lifts the glass of water to his lips and gulps down half of it.
“Why did you burn my file?”
He shrugs. “Did you want to keep it?”
“Let me guess—you threw it into the fire to wipe any trace of my existence because you’re trying to make me disappear?” I jump when he slams the glass down on the table, and for the first time tonight, there’s real annoyance in his expression.
“Is that not what you wanted to achieve the night you shoved pills down your throat?” There’s an edge to his tone now. “To disappear?”
My shoulders tense. “At least that was on my terms. Nicolas clearly didn’t kill you, for whatever reason, and now you’re here to take me back to Blake, as you always do. Am I right?”
The side of his lip curls upward. “Couldn’t be more wrong.”
I grip the sides of the chair until pain shoots up my fingers. “Why are we having dinner?”
“Because you look like a corpse.” He drains the rest of the water while I flush with shame. A corpse. How nice of him. “At least you looked alive last time I saw you.”
“I couldn’t have been more dead.”
He opens his mouth to say something but closes it when two figures approach us. Men wearing heavy jackets, rumpled jeans, and boots now stand by our table, an unmistakable air of danger surrounding them. With eyes void of humanity. Not the worst I’ve seen, but something I recognize well.
“Quanto?” The taller man steps forward, reaching into his pocket and producing a thick pile of cash.
Milton’s calmness is unsettling, and all he does is sigh. “It seems I still can’t bring you anywhere without attracting attention. Do you know what he just asked?”
I don’t understand the word, but the cash in the man’s hand and the way he’s leering at me with sweat trimming his brow, makes it obvious. Too many people have looked at me like that over the years. Too many have wanted to possess me. Own me. “They want to buy me.”
As I wait for Milton’s next move, it dawns on me that maybe he isn’t on Blake’s orders after all. Perhaps this is his plan—get revenge on me for having Blake order his death by selling me off.
“Take it, fucker. We pay you good money.” The man throws the cash on the floor, and the bills splatter over the tiles. So much. I should tell him damaged goods aren’t worth that amount.
My heart speeds up as I brace myself for history to repeat itself. Instead, Milton surprises me by laughing.
His laugh punctures the strained atmosphere, causing people in the restaurant to glance in our direction. Like mine, their faces twist with confusion at the disruption.
It stops, and Milton’s out of his chair in a flash. A glint of metal shines in the light as he grabs the man’s shoulder and thrusts the knife he’s holding into his neck. There’s a sickening squelch as he yanks it back out and stabs again, this time twisting the blade.
“She isn’t for sale, fucker,” he sneers as the man splutters on his own blood that drips down Milton’s hand. “You take it.”
Blood roars behind my ears as the other man shuffles back, eyes wide with horror as Milton drags the knife back out. Blood sprays on the floor, the money, like raindrops. After yelling something incoherent, the man runs out of the restaurant as his friend's body drops to the floor. Dead.
No one screams.
A few people get up and leave, but those who remain go back to their meals like nothing happened. It’s so fucking silent except for my heart that’s thumping like a drum. I breathe in. Out. I’m not sure I’m even breathing at all.
Sitting back down at our table, Milton tosses the bloodied knife to the ground. Grabbing a napkin, he wipes the blood off his hand as Bella rounds the corner, skidding to a stop when she sees the man’s body sprawled out on her floor.
“You should know that
