Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

Elaine

Ididn’t think he could possibly be serious, but he was. Even with that raging scowl on his face, he grabbed the packet of pasta from the cupboard and threw it over at me.

I managed to catch it. “You want me to make dinner?”

He pulled a face. “No, I thought I’d throw you a packet of pasta for the hell of it.”

“No, I thought I’d throw you a packet of pasta for the hell of it.” I almost poked my tongue out, almost. I’m sure he almost gave me some punishment for my attitude, almost. He didn’t though. He pulled out a load of cheese and other stuff from the fridge and dropped it on the counter.

“Show me what you can do, little doll,” he said, his tone sarcastic.

I had an undeniable urge to show him just how capable I really was. I could make damn pasta. “Do you like spices?” I asked him.

“Is that what you do, is it? Spicy pasta?”

I grabbed the pan from the drawer. “Yeah, I like spices.”

“So do I,” he said.

I chalked it up as one other crazy little thing I had in common with the monster. I only hoped I remembered just what spices to use. I hadn’t cooked in a long time.

He opened one of the cupboard doors up high and pointed the spice rack out to me. I pulled out the paprika and the oregano and the chili pepper. And the cayenne powder.

“The Power brothers want my family to team up with theirs,” he said to me, and it hardly surprised me, even though it gave me a fresh surge of resentment.

“Yeah, well. Two sets of assholes together.”

His gaze was piercing from across the kitchen, his stance more casual than normal as he slouched back against the counter with folded arms. “Why do you hold on so tightly to the fact that your family are somehow the good guys? You must know they’re just as bad.”

I did know that, but I hadn’t seen it. Not really. I still held my dad up as some kind of idol in both the media spotlight and our personal life. He was always so steadfast and so strong and managed our empire so perfectly. Or so I believed.

“We’re definitely the good guys compared to you,” I said. “I’ve heard plenty of stories about your family and how bad you are.”

“Ditto,” he told me. “I’ve heard plenty of stories about yours, too.”

I put the pasta in the pan and began to stir. I knew we were both churning and festering with a whole mess of stuff between us. Shared secrets, and rage, and hate, and this weird new sense of casual somehow. It was fucked up, just like we were. We were two peas of fucked-up in a very fucked-up pod.

I was still trying to digest the secrets. I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell it must be like in Lucian Morelli’s body without even a vague idea of pain. He must be so curious about it. I would be—little miss curious. I was already curious enough about how curious he must be, let alone be that curious for myself.

I wondered if he was wondering what my wreck of a past was like. Maybe he was curious too. Maybe he was wondering the things I had wondered, like just why Uncle Lionel was so cruel to his own flesh and blood.

As it turns out, he was wondering that. His next question was right on the mark. “Did your father never suspect your uncle was an utter piece of shit?”

“No,” I said, pure and simple. “He wasn’t really that involved with Uncle Lionel. Mom and Uncle Lionel had quite a close relationship. I guess she assured Dad that I really did need the lessons and Uncle Lionel really was telling the truth.”

“Your uncle is a vile piece of fucking shit,” Lucian said, and it took me aback. He actually insulted someone for hurting me. I thought he’d be singing their praises.

“They’re still close, Mom and Lionel,” I told him. “It’s not like I could ever have another attempt at telling her what really happened now that I’m older. She’s ashamed to call me her daughter.”

I would have usually expected him to laugh and say it’s not surprising she would be ashamed of me, considering I was Elaine the fuck-up, but it turned out that expectation of mine was instinct and nothing else. He didn’t laugh or say a word like that, just kept on watching me from the other side of the kitchen.

I sighed before I spoke again. “The reason my family are after the Power brothers likely doesn’t have anything to do with me, you know? It’s probably just from embarrassment and distaste at the Powers thinking they could kidnap one of us.”

“The Power brothers would have been crazy to think about striking at your family. They aren’t strong enough. That’s why they want us to join up with them.”

I didn’t like the nasty flutter I got at that. I didn’t like the thought of the Morellis and the Powers hurting the people I loved. I did love a lot of them. I loved some members of my family enough that I’d be absolutely devastated in grief if anything happened to them—even if my emotions were usually too fucked up by hate to register shit about love.

“Do you think you’ll team up with them?” I asked him.

His eyes were cold. “None of your business.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I scoffed and moved over to the cutting board. “None of my business, whatever. We’ve shared plenty that’s none of each other’s business this evening, don’t you think?”

He cursed under his breath at me, and I suspected it would be at my chatter, but no. “You’re not slicing that fucking salami right, it’s too thick to cook properly.”

Even through the hatred and the confusion of what the hell was truly going on between us, I couldn’t help but smile. “Alright then, Chef Morelli. Why don’t you show me just how it’s done?”

He didn’t reply, just took the knife off me and got to work.

I watched his hands moving so firmly. His fingers so strong.

I watched him.

His stance, his height, his power.

His beauty. Because he was beautiful.

Lucian Morelli was beautiful enough to take my breath away, no matter how many times I truly looked at him like that. “Look at the salami and learn your damn lesson,” he told me, and I laughed out loud.

“That’s one damn lesson I never thought I’d be having,” I said. “I’ll take that over the ones from my past any day, thanks.”