Chapter 6: The Poison Test

The silk hung in tatters.

I looked at her chest. I looked at her stomach.

I saw pale skin. I saw a cheap white bra. I saw terror.

I did not see wires. I did not see tape. I did not see a microphone.

She was clean.

She sobbed. The sound filled the room. She tried to pull the torn fabric together. Her hands shook. Tears ran down her face.

I lowered the gun. I engaged the safety. The click sounded loud.

"You are clean," I said.

I did not apologize. Kings do not apologize. I made a calculation. I acted on a threat. The threat did not exist.

I holstered the weapon. I took off my suit jacket. I threw it at her. It landed on her head. It covered the exposed skin. It covered the ruin of the red dress.

"Cover yourself," I commanded. "You look pathetic."

She pulled the jacket around her shoulders. She buttoned it. It swallowed her. She looked small inside my clothes. She pulled her knees to her chest. She hid against the leg of the desk.

I walked to the window. I stared at the darkness. My reflection stared back. I looked composed. Inside I felt a tremor. I almost killed her. I almost destroyed the only thing that keeps me calm.

Time passed. Silence stretched.

My stomach growled.

I ignored it. I ignored hunger for years. Food is a necessity. Food is also a weakness.

I checked my watch. 9:00 PM. The kitchen staff left hours ago.

I walked to the intercom on my desk. I pressed the button.

"Giovanni."

"Yes, Boss."

"Bring dinner. Two plates. Risotto. Leave it at the door."

"Understood."

I released the button. I looked at Chloe. She stopped crying. She watched me. Her eyes looked red.

" stand up," I said.

She hesitated. She gripped the lapels of my jacket. She stood. Her legs shook.

"Sit in the chair," I pointed to the leather guest chair.

She sat. She looked like a child in a principal's office.

A knock came at the door.

"Leave it," I yelled.

I waited for footsteps to fade. I walked to the door. I unlocked it. I opened it. A tray sat on the floor. It held two covered plates and a bottle of water.

I brought the tray inside. I locked the door again.

I placed the tray on the desk. I lifted the silver covers. Steam rose. Mushroom risotto. The smell hit me. It smelled like earth and butter. My mouth watered.

I did not eat.

I looked at the food. I looked at Chloe.

Today is the anniversary. Today my enemies feel bold. Poison is a coward's weapon. Marco is a coward.

I pushed a plate toward her. I handed her a fork.

"Eat."

She looked at the food. She looked at me. "I am not hungry."

"I did not ask about your hunger. I gave an order."

She took the fork. Her hand trembled.

"Why?" she asked.

"You are the taster," I said. "If it is poisoned you die. If you live I eat."

She stared at me. Disbelief filled her eyes. She thought I was cruel. She was right.

"Eat," I repeated.

She took a bite. She chewed slowly. She swallowed.

I watched her throat. I watched the muscles move. I waited for a choke. I waited for foam.

Nothing happened.

She took another bite. She moved faster. Her body betrayed her. She was starving.

She ate a spoonful of rice. She closed her eyes. She hummed. The sound was low. It was involuntary.

I gripped the edge of the desk.

The sound hit me. It hit me lower than my stomach.

She licked her bottom lip. Sauce clung to the corner of her mouth. She did not use a napkin. She used her tongue.

I stopped breathing.

I watched her mouth. I watched her eat my food. I watched her enjoy it.

She was messy. She was unrefined. She was alive.

I hated it. I could not look away.

"Is it good?" My voice sounded thick.

She opened her eyes. She looked surprised. "Yes. It is rich."

She took another bite. She moaned again.

I felt a spike of heat. It was anger. It was desire. The two feelings mixed. They became a poison of their own.

I snatched the plate away.

"Enough," I said.

She blinked. She held the fork in mid-air.

"You lived," I said. "The food is safe."

I pulled the second plate toward me. I picked up my fork. I ate.

The food tasted like ash. I did not taste the butter. I did not taste the mushrooms.

I only tasted the memory of her sound.

I looked at her. She wore my jacket. She watched me eat. Her eyes tracked my fork. She was still hungry.

I pushed my plate toward her.

"Finish it," I ordered.

She looked confused. "But you—"

"I lost my appetite."

I stood up. I walked back to the window.

I lied. My appetite came back. It was stronger than before.

But I did not hunger for rice.