Chapter 8

CHAPTEREIGHT

WHATEVER I DID… Whatever this is… Please help me.

Luca had been sending up prayers all day, and though they’d gotten him out of dungeon hell, he was still a prisoner. Albeit somewhere a little nicer, with an actual bed and a shower, but there was still the threat of Dom and the nightmare twins somewhere nearby, and he’d already learned the hard way that it wouldn’t be easy to leave.

He dropped his clasped hands down to his knees, noticing the angry marks around his wrists. That and his neck were sore as hell—really, his whole body was—and though a hot shower sounded like heaven, there was no way he was getting undressed and letting his guard down. Not when someone could walk in at any moment, not when he didn’t know what would happen next.

Shit, were there cameras in here? Were they watching his every move? Glancing around the room, he didn’t notice any obvious cameras, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

Kidnapped. Confined. Watched. Injured by the biggest bodyguard he’d ever seen. Luca was someone’s prisoner. Prisoner. It didn’t sound real. This wasn’t something that happened, yet he hadn’t woken up to find life was back to normal as he knew it.

God, had it only been a day since he woke up in that room? It felt like his body had been running on adrenaline for a week, and even now, the thought of just standing up felt like it would exert so much effort he’d fall over.

He tried to keep his eyes open, but exhaustion was pulling him under.

Stay awake…Just stay awake…

LUCA WOKE TO blinding light as the sun poured in from the open curtains. For a moment, he thought he was back in his dorm room, the whole crazy nightmare something that would fade when he opened his eyes.

Instead, he looked up at the ceiling to see a chandelier still burning bright above him, and with a gasp, he bolted up in the bed.

Oh God…not a dream. Not a dream.

He quickly scanned the room, breathing a sigh of relief to see it was empty, but that reassurance was short-lived when he realized someone was probably standing guard outside his door. Collapsing back on the bed, Luca fought the sting of tears. Right now he should be at his first rotation, the one he’d worked so hard for. They’d think he was skipping out, that he didn’t care about general surgery, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. Would anyone come by his dorm to check on him? Silas? A professor?

The thought of losing his spot made him sick to his stomach. Between being held hostage by a madman and getting kicked out of medical school, he couldn’t decide which was worse.

No. Fuck this. I’m getting answers and I’m getting the hell out of here.

He pushed up off the still-made bed and caught sight of himself in the long, horizontal mirror on the wall. He was still dressed in his outfit from yesterday, though his white shirt looked a little worse for wear. At least he’d thrown on his leather jacket before heading out, which had probably saved him a few bruises from the twins’ unrelenting grip.

Luca stepped in closer to the mirror, noticing the dark shadows under his eyes. He looked like shit. He felt like shit. And—as his stomach began to protest loudly—he was hungry as shit.

He headed into the bathroom, eyeing the large tiled shower wistfully. No time for that, not to mention he didn’t have a change of clothes, so he made quick work and splashed some cold water on his face to get ready for whatever he was about to encounter.

If he was able to leave his room.

Luca took a deep breath and ran a hand over his short hair, then squeezed the back of his neck. He needed to keep his wits about him. Listen, pay attention, don’t piss that Dom guy off. Then maybe, just maybe, he’d live to see another day.

With that in mind, he quietly made his way out of the bathroom, determined to see if the bedroom door was unlocked. He was halfway across the room to the door when—

“Rise and shine. I hope you’re hungry!”

—it pushed open, and a clean-cut guy in grey slacks, a navy crew neck, and a white apron stepped inside.

The man, and what he’d just said, was so unexpected, so out of left field, that Luca’s brain had difficulty playing catch-up.

“Ah, there you are. Luca, am I right?”

Um, what the hell is this? And who? Luca took in the guy’s easygoing smile, short, perfectly styled, sandy-colored hair, and blue eyes, and thought he might’ve slipped into some kind of alternate reality. The man bore no resemblance to the terrifying men Luca had been surrounded by last night. But as the man took a step toward him, Luca automatically took one back.

“Hey, hey.” The man held his hands up, and Luca noted a spatula in his right one. “No need to be jumpy. I was just coming to see if you wanted some grub.”

“Grub?”

“Yeah.” The guy smirked as he lowered his hands, then gestured over his shoulder. “Breakfast. You gotta be hungry after last night.”

As if it knew Luca was about to protest, his stomach growled, reminding him not to look a gift horse in the mouth. But at the same time, this all seemed a little too good to be true… Didn’t it?

“Who are you?”

“I’m Chef.”

Luca’s eyes fell to the spatula again, and Chef held it up.

“See. And I’ve cooked you breakfast. So, you can either sit in here all day and be hungry and miserable, or—”

“I could eat your food and be full and miserable? Maybe even dead?”

Chef began to laugh, a deep, throaty chuckle that was comforting, but at the same time disturbing because it was so comforting. For all Luca knew, this chef Dom had sent could be here to poison him.

“No dying for you this morning. I’m just here to feed you.” Chef turned and headed for the door. “So you can come with me now and eat, or stay in here until Dom gets back.”

As he walked out the door, his words lingered in Luca’s head until they finally landed on until Dom gets back, and Luca raced out into the hall.

“Wait… Dom’s not here?”

Chef said over his shoulder, “Nope,” and Luca got moving. If Dom wasn’t here, maybe that would give Luca an opportunity to look around, and if not that, the chance to get rid of this God-awful headache he had from lack of food. Maybe then he’d be able to devise some sort of plan to get the hell out of there—or at least keep himself alive.

He followed Chef downstairs to the enormous great room he’d entered the night before, and the room was no less spectacular now. The sun shone through the towering windows, dappling the luxurious furniture in creams and golds, and the view of the bustling city below made Luca feel more detached than he had last night.

Everything seemed so far away, so unreachable. There were no open windows, and even if there were, this place was so high up that no one would hear him. It was just another reminder that even though his surroundings were much more accommodating than the basement, he was no less a prisoner up here.

“Follow me,” Chef said as he got to the bottom of the stairs and turned to walk under them, away from the main room.

Luca kept up, not wanting to accidentally run into one of the torture twins. They walked through a large dining room and into a state-of-the-art kitchen. The smell of something spicy filled the air, and Luca’s stomach growled. Jesus, he’d known he was hungry, but the second the smell of food hit, his mouth began to water.

Chef moved behind the center island and gestured to one of the stools. “Sit.”

The suggestion was given with a charming enough smile, but Luca got the impression it was more an order than a request. Since this was the first time he didn’t actively fear for his life, he did as he was told while looking around at the white marble cabinets and stainless-steel appliances. Chef added several sausages to a pan, the hot oil hissing and spitting.

“Chorizos,” Chef said. “I make them myself.” He gestured to the back counter, where a meat grinder sat, and while that was a perfectly innocent explanation, something about it made Luca wary.

“So, you’re Dom’s personal chef?”

Chef snorted out a laugh. “Dom wouldn’t eat my shit if I paid him.” Then he shot Luca a wink. “But don’t worry. It’s not because it’s not good. He’s just a snob.”

That explanation didn’t make Luca feel any better, but he didn’t much care what the food tasted like at this point. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate, and the chorizos smelled delicious.

After yesterday, it seemed surreal to be sitting here with a private chef like he had no worries in the world. There had to be a trick here, right? Dom was gone, and this guy was being way too nice. Why?

Luca rubbed the mark around his wrist lightly, a reminder he hadn’t made all this up in his head. “So, you’re just here to cook me breakfast?”

“Sure.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t know me. I don’t know you. And from what I was told, I’m basically being held hostage.”

Chef raised his spatula to gesture around the penthouse. “Pretty nice digs for being a hostage.”

“So you know why I’m here?”

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Luca bit down on the inside of his cheek. He clearly wasn’t getting anywhere with this guy. Maybe once he had food in his stomach he could think, figure out a better way to get answers. “So chorizos. What else?”

“Whatever sounds good.”

“Scrambled eggs?”

“Easy enough.”

“And bacon?”

“A double-meat guy. I dig it. Yeah, I’ll throw on some bacon.”

Luca pursed his lips as Chef opened the fridge and took out the ingredients. “What about pancakes?”

Chef kicked the fridge shut, his hands full, and cocked his head at Luca. “You really that hungry, or do you just want to watch me in the kitchen?”

A flush crept up Luca’s neck. He hadn’t been thinking that way at all, but now that Chef said it, Luca guessed the guy was kind of attractive. Then again, he was a hostage enabler, which canceled out his looks.

“No pancakes,” Luca said.

Chef smirked then went to work, his hands cracking through the eggs at a speed Luca had only seen on Chef Master. It was like watching a smoothly performed circus, with Chef taking only a handful of minutes to finish it all. It wasn’t until he began to plate the food, topping it all off with unmarked seasonings, his back toward Luca, that Luca wondered if it was a smart idea to eat at all. This guy was a stranger, one aligned with a man who’d had him kidnapped, which didn’t exactly speak volumes about his character. He was a whole helluva lot friendlier than anyone else Luca had encountered, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t poisoned the food with a smile.

Chef set a plate mounted high with scrambled eggs, bacon, and the homemade chorizos in front of Luca and grinned. “Mangia, kid.”

As Luca stared down at the plate, salivating, his stomach protesting, Chef started to clean up the kitchen.

Was it safe? Part of Luca didn’t even care, but—

“There a problem?”

Chef was staring at him, hands spread on the counter, and it was only then Luca got a peek behind the friendly veil.

Luca swallowed. “How do I know you didn’t put something in this?”

“I did. Salt, pepper, some red crushed pepper. You want the full rundown?”

Luca hesitated, and Chef began to laugh.

“Oh, I get it.” He grabbed a fork, scooped up a bite of eggs, then followed up by tearing into the bacon and chorizo. With a moan, he pointed at the chorizo. “That’s some good fuckin’ sausage right there.” He dropped the fork into the sink and held out his hands. “See? Not dead yet. Eat the damn food.”

Satisfied, Luca began to dig in, and it was like he’d never eaten before. He usually grabbed a hardboiled egg out the door, but this? It was practically sinful how good this food was. Especially the chorizo. If this was how he was going to go out, it wasn’t a bad way to go, that was for damn sure.

After a quick cleanup, Chef brought over the rest of what he’d made and dumped it on Luca’s plate before taking a seat at the bar a couple chairs down. “Good shit, right?” he said with a knowing smile.

Luca could only nod, and the words “thank you” were on the tip of his tongue, but he held them back. Why the hell would he thank any of these people? He shouldn’t be there. So being fed was the least they could do.

As he continued to eat, his mind raced through what to say, how to get any kind of information out of this guy, since he seemed only slightly more open than the others. “So,” Luca said, clearing his throat. “This place… Is it Dom’s place?”

“No.”

“Is it a hotel?”

“No.”

“We’re kinda high up. That’s Times Square down there, right?”

“Maybe. I can’t see that far down.”

“Oh, come on. Maybe I haven’t been to Manhattan before, but I know what Times Square looks like.”

“Then why you askin’ me?”

“I don’t know, I just thought—”

“That’s your first mistake right there.”

Luca frowned.

“Thinking. Let me give you some advice. While you’re here, don’t think, just do, and you might make it out of here alive.”

“So you do know why I’m here.”

Chef shrugged. “You’re here because Dom wants you here.”

“And I’ll be dead if Dom wants me dead.”

Chef said nothing, but his silence was answer enough, and Luca got the impression this was the way any conversation would end—non-answers followed by a frustrating silence. Chef was here to do Dom’s bidding and nothing more, and apparently that included feeding Luca. Well, at least they didn’t plan to starve him to death; one thing Luca would prefer over all else was a quick and easy ending, as opposed to a long, drawn-out death, not that he wanted to think about that. But with no answers and no escape in sight, these kinds of thoughts were inevitable. So for now, the best thing he could do was eat the meal in front of him, build his strength, and look for any kind of opportunity or weakness that presented itself, then he’d make his move.