11. Diana

11

DIANA

I stand at the kitchen door straining to hear the conversation in the adjoining room. Worry gnaws at my insides. How will they treat Lazaro? Will they understand his struggle? I know they love him, but they’re so focused on him getting his memory back and being the man they once knew that they fail to see how tormented he is.

The voices in the other room rise and fall. I hear anger, frustration, and then… laughter? Matteo's deep chuckle breaks through the tension, followed by softer tones. I lean closer, pressing my ear against the cool wood of the door.

Suddenly, silence falls. I hold my breath, afraid they've caught me eavesdropping. But then I hear shuffling, followed by Lana's muffled protest and laughter. Curiosity gets the better of me. I crack open the door just enough to peek through. The D'Amatos and Matteo are tangled in a group hug, squeezing Lana in the middle.

Joy mixed with longing washes through me. It's beautiful to see them come together like this, to witness the love that binds them despite their struggles. But it also stirs a deep ache within me. What would it be like to be part of such moments with Lazaro? To have a family that cares so deeply?

I close the door quietly, not wanting to intrude on their private moment. I shake off the wistful thoughts and remind myself of my position. It's impossible to hope for more with Lazaro. I'm just the assistant chef, and Lazaro… well, he's way out of my league.

I throw myself into food prep, chopping vegetables with renewed vigor. The rhythmic thud of my knife against the cutting board soothes, helping to ground me in the present. Around me, Anna and the others do their jobs, often coming and going to deliver food and drinks or take care of other household chores.

As lunchtime closes in, I prepare the sandwich I want to make for Lazaro hoping he’ll stop by to eat. It’s silly, I know. It’s unwise to get involved with him, and yet, as long as he shows interest in me or needs my company, I’ll be there for him.

I'm wiping down the counter when I sense a change in the air. Looking up, I see Lazaro filling the doorway. His presence immediately alters the atmosphere in the kitchen. The other staff members scatter like startled mice, leaving me alone with him.

Their reaction irritates me. Can't they see he's just a person, not some monster to be feared?

"Hey," I say, trying to keep my voice casual despite the flutter in my stomach. "You're just in time. I made you something special for lunch.”

Lazaro grunts in response, his typical sparse dialogue. But as he moves further into the kitchen, I notice something different about him. There's a calmness to his demeanor that wasn't there before. The tension that usually radiates from him isn’t quite as intense.

"If you're hungry, that is,” I finish.

He nods, taking a seat at the kitchen table. I busy myself with assembling the sandwich, sneaking glances at him as I work. His face is relaxed, the ever-present scowl soft.

"How did things go with your family?" I ask, unable to contain my curiosity.

"Better than expected.”

I slide the plate in front of him. "That's good to hear. I hope you like this. It's a new recipe I've been working on."

Lazaro picks up the sandwich and takes a bite. I watch nervously as Lazaro takes his first bite.

His eyes widen slightly, and he nods in approval. "This is really good.”

My heart soars at his praise. “I’m glad you like it.”

Encouraged by his response, I chatter away as he eats. I tell him about all the barbecue recipes I’ve gathered on my travels through the south from Texas to Louisiana to Missouri and up through Tennessee.

Lazaro doesn't say much, but I can tell he's listening, occasionally nodding or grunting in response to something I say.

As I talk, I realize how comfortable I feel around him. Despite his intimidating appearance and reputation, there's something about Lazaro that puts me at ease just as I seem to put him at ease. Maybe it's the way he looks at me, like he's really seeing me, not just looking through me like so many others do.

“Did you always like cooking?” he asks as he downs the last bite of his sandwich.

I have to think about that. I don’t ever recall deciding to cook, and cooking isn’t the only job I’ve ever had. But as I think of the origins of my cooking, I see that it’s not about food prep. It’s about connection.

“When I was bouncing around in foster care, I'd often end up in the kitchen, helping to prepare meals. I guess it’s true what they say. The kitchen is the heart of the home.”

He looks up at me, his eyes watching as if he’s looking for something.

“I suppose it was a way to build a connection… to belong, even if it was just for a little while.” I swallow the unexpected lump in my throat. I’m not sure why that makes me so emotional except that I’d never recognized that my cooking had such emotional and psychological meaning.

Lazaro wipes his mouth with a napkin. "You're good at it. Both the cooking and the connecting." His words warm me from the inside out.

He rises and comes toward me. His arms wrap around me, and I can feel the heat of his body through his shirt. The scent of his cologne mixes with the aroma of the food I've been preparing, creating a heady cocktail that makes my head spin.

But I’m at work. It’s one thing to indulge my attraction to him at my house. It’s something else entirely to do it at work.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I'm ready for dessert.” His lips nibble along my neck, making my brain fog.

“I have some cookies?—”

“Not cookies.” His hands slide up my thighs, lifting my dress in the process.

His meaning becomes clear. My body floods with liquid heat while my brain warns me to put a stop to this.

“Lazaro… I’m at work. What if someone sees us?"

"They won’t.” He says it with such certainty.

“I could get fired.”

“I won’t let that happen.” His lips capture mine. With him this close, holding me, kissing me, I’m helpless to resist. I feel wrapped up in him. A part of him. Deep down, I know it can’t last, but I’m not strong enough to push him away. I need to feel this connection even if it’s just for this moment.

I give in to the kiss, going pliant in his arms. He must feel my surrender as he lets out a growl, turning me until I’m backed up against the table, his body pressing against mine. I can feel his hardness through his pants, and my heart races both in excitement and fear. Good God, what if someone walks in?

He tugs my panties down and then lifts me onto the table. We're both breathing heavily, our eyes locked on each other's. There's a hunger in his gaze, a desire that makes me feel like the center of the world.

He lowers down, pushing my thighs apart. “You’re wet.”

My pussy clenches, arousal building until I’m nearly shaking with need.

He drags his tongue through my folds, and I gasp, my hand going to his head, holding him to me as pleasure spikes.

“Mmm,” he murmurs against my pussy. “Sweet.”

“Lazaro.”

“Hold on, Diana.”

Oh, God. I bite down on my lip, not wanting to make any noise that would draw attention to this dangerous situation.

His tongue is hot and wet. Soon, my hips are rocking, my breath is coming in pants, and I’m teetering on the edge of bliss.

He suckles on my clit as his finger slides inside me. My orgasm crashes in me, and I cover my mouth to keep from crying out. Pleasure rushes through me.

I’m still reeling from it when he rises and undoes his pants, freeing his erection. I want to return the favor, to taste and savor the hard steel length of him. But he tugs me off the table, turning me around and bending me.

He thrusts in, filling me, forcing a gasp from me. Immediately, my pussy is electric again. The friction of him sliding in and out is wonderfully delicious.

“So tight…” he grunts.

Our breaths are heavy as he moves in and out of me. The room fills with the sound of our bodies coming together and the occasional moan or gasp as we push ourselves to new heights. I’m terrified we’ll be found out, and at the same time, I wish it would never end.

“Fuck… I’m there…” he growls. He’s fucking me wildly, each thrust pushing the table forward. And then he drives in hard, grinding against me as warmth fills my pussy. It’s all I need to soar again. He lets out a string of expletives as I come hard around him. The pleasure is all consuming and I lose myself in it.

When we finally come down from our high, the concern about being found out starts to outweigh the pleasure of the moment. I quickly tug up my panties and put my dress back in order.

Lazaro lazily buttons his pants. “You are the best dessert.”

I swallow my embarrassment at what I just did. Sure, I’ve had jobs in which someone made advances, but I’d never before given in. I’d never before wanted to, but that’s not the point.

“Yes… well…” I’m not sure how to respond.

He pulls me close, his lips brushing against mine. "Be ready for me at five. I’m taking you out.”

What? Like on a date? I'm both excited and anxious about what that could mean.

"I work until seven?—”

“Not tonight. I'll speak with Anna and make sure you can leave early."

I’m unsettled by this. Everyone will know if he arranges for me to leave early. But as I look into his hazel eyes, I know I can’t deny him.

"Okay. I'll be ready at five."

“Good.”

As Lazaro leaves the kitchen, I'm left with a swirling mix of emotions. Anticipation for our evening together, anxiety about what all this means, not just between me and Lazaro, but for my job.

The kitchen staff begins to trickle back in, their eyes darting between me and the door Lazaro just exited through. Curiosity, fear, and concern are etched on their faces. Some look at me with pity, as if I'm some poor victim, while others seem to be silently judging me.

It hits me that they know exactly what just happened. The burn of embarrassment floods me.

"Are you okay?" Maria whispers to me as I try to focus on work again.

Her question doesn’t make sense to me. “Of course, why?”

“It’s just… Lazaro is a beast.”

The embarrassment is replaced by defensiveness. They don't understand. They don't know Lazaro like I do.

“He’s not,” I snap.

Everyone stops to look at me. Realizing I need to play this down, to act like nothing happened, I force a smile and shake my head. "It's fine, really. There's nothing to worry about."

“Back to work,” Anna commands, much to my relief.

But as we return to our duties, I know my reassurance that all is well has fallen on deaf ears. I see the doubt in their eyes, the way they exchange glances when they think I'm not looking. They don't believe me.

"Poor girl, she doesn't know what she's getting into,” Maria whispers to Janey.

"Did you see the way he looked at her? Like a predator eyeing its prey,” Janey agrees.

"I hope she'll be okay. You know how he can get…"

Their words gnaw at me, each one a reminder of the vast gulf between how they see Lazaro and how I've come to know him. I want to shout at them, to make them understand that there's more to him than his reputation. But what would be the point? They see him as his family sees him… as the world sees him.

I throw myself into my work, trying to drown out their whispers.

When Maria and Janey leave the kitchen to deal with household chores, Anna steps forward to me, leaning in close as if she wants to make sure no one can hear. “The D’Amatos are not a family to cross. But I’m certain that Mr. D’Amato would not put up with Lazaro forcing himself?—”

I spin toward her, shocked at her accusation. “He isn’t forcing himself.”

She studies me, probably thinking I have Stockholm syndrome or something.

“He’s not a beast. He’s not the man you think he is. Not anymore," I defend him.

She sucks in a breath. I know she thinks I’m being na?ve. “It’s not smart, Diana.”

“Are you going to fire me?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “You might think Lazaro is a nice man, but if I fired you, I imagine I’d have a problem from him. I can’t protect you except to encourage you to leave or at the very least stop this nonsense.”

My jaw is so tight it’s a wonder it doesn’t crack off. “I don’t want or need your protection.”

She nods and steps away. I hate that she thinks I’m being stupid even as I know that I am. But I’m not an idiot because Lazaro is dangerous to me physically. I’m an idiot because Lazaro is a danger to my heart.