Chapter 38: Not A Meal

Chapter 38

Leone had been on a Zoom meeting with Francesco, Don of the Lorenzo empire, when the alarm went off and he was notified that someone was here.

Surely, anyone who dared disturb his important meetings by coming here unannounced was bound to face doom.

Rico was on a business trip to Albania, which meant it was obviously her who had come here again, because no one else would dare make that mistake—or else they had no use for their heads.

Seeing it was her, he hadn’t thought twice before ending the call, not caring about what Francesco had to say next.

He had thought she would run away from him after what he had said to her, and the news about the so-called massacre that happened here might have reached her too—but who knew this little rabbit would hop right back to him?

He should be flaming with anger. No one else had stepped into this room aside from his mother. The only reason he painted was because of her, and this room was for them only. But somehow, he wasn’t burning with rage on seeing her here, hands dancing around his piano like she owned it.

He stared back at her, his eyes now mirrored hers, and the more he looked into them, the more he felt like drowning himself in the vast blue ocean. Something flickered in them—something too innocent, too pure—and the more he looked, the more he wanted to taint it, corrupt it, and make her his. But till then, he couldn’t let anyone touch her; he’d rather throw them in an eternal blaze of hot, scorching fire than let that happen.

He watched her lips part, and heavens knew how badly he wanted to make them his breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Truly, he was losing his fuckin’ mind.

“Aren’t you going to ask why I came here?” she questioned, her face hardened with the false walls she tried to build around herself every time. But he could see through them—walls he intended to crush, not at once, but brick by brick.

“Would a tiger question a rabbit why it suddenly presented itself to him, rather than enjoy the feast? Hm, peach?” His hand caressed the side of her face, feeling how warm the blood underneath it was.

She took her lips in, her eyes darting everywhere but him. Somehow, this psychopath always managed to leave her tongue-tied.

His hands on her cheek, warm, his hold gentle as his thumb brushed the side of her ear. Anna’s eyes trailed down to the cross pendant which dangled on his neck. Her eyes fell back on his. “You won’t hurt me,” her words flew easily like it was an obvious fact, just like grasses were green.

Leone’s brows arched. A deep chuckle rippled through his sinful lips. “Do you have a reason to back up those words of yours?” His face hovered over hers; she could feel his warm hands slowly trailing down her neck.

Anna gulped. Thankfully, she was wearing a thick T-shirt that covered her completely from him. “Why would you hurt someone you like?”

Now they kept answering questions with another question, not giving a definite answer. It turned out that Anna had actually become better at playing his games, something which broadened the smile on his lips.

“I see you really like the braised chicken. Why you prefer eating it every time, am I right?” His voice was calm, his fingers now playing with her blonde locks.

Anna didn’t understand what this had to do with their conversation. It was true that she enjoyed the braised chicken and it was her favorite, but what left her starstruck was the fact that he noticed. With his eyes barely on her, and how the breakfast or dinner they usually had together ended with banters between the two brothers, he barely spared her a glance. So how did he know that she enjoyed it? This man…

His eyes were a warmer shade as he spoke to her calmly, the wildness gone—for now at least.

“Yes, I do like it,” her voice trailed off as she stared at him. She never said anything about being a vegan, so what did her liking it have to do with their conversation?

“I know that…” His hands retracted back to her side, caging her between himself and the piano, just in case she had any silly plans of running away—not that she could.

Now she stared at him. He had wrapped every inch of her attention as she now stared at him, curiosity livid in her eyes. “I like steaks. My favorite,” he hummed.

He watched her brow arch as she wondered why he was even sharing that with her—but then again, he always did things that were far from normal.

“That’s why I prefer eating it bit by bit. Things you like always taste better when you take your time to savor the taste, rather than going for the direct kill. So what were you saying, Anna?” A dubious smirk rested on his lips as he spoke, making the hair on her nape stand on end.

Anna’s face paled. She wasn’t stupid enough to not know what he was hinting at, and as much as she wanted to believe he was just kidding or something, she knew too well not to peg it as that. She should have known too well that his own definition of like would be far from normal.

His large frame hovered over her, his large arms resting at either side of the keyboard. Somehow, while she had been talking with him, she hadn’t realized that she had fully turned to face him—and now that she tried to lean back and move away from this psychopath, her back only pressed against the keyboards.

Her hands turned clammy as she rested them on her thighs. “You can’t eat me. I’m not some kind of food.” Right, she was a person, not a meal.

His eyes lit up, instantly becoming livid with mirth. “Is that a challenge I hear in your voice, peach?”