Page 31 of Captured Obsession

But I'm not a stupid woman. I'll do anything for my reality TV.Anything to escape being alone with my thoughts.

He takes a seat at the head of the table as Agata enters with a trolley full of food. She offers me a nod in greeting and then begins to dish out what appears to be seafood risotto.

As she does so, Nikolai pours us each a glass of white wine. I study the two guards standing in the room. They glance in my direction, but their good sense tells them not to allow their gazes to linger too long.

I wonder what they make of all this. I mean, I’m a prisoner, yet I’m not truly treated as one. I’ve had the distinct feeling that not all of them are on board with my treatment. And it unnerves me the way some of the men watch me when Nikolai isn’t around, reminding me that I haven't seen any other women here but Agata.

“You may both leave,” Nikolai says, not looking over his shoulder, as if he could feel their gazes. They share a silent look, then nod and leave the room, closing the wooden doors behind them.

“If you require anything further, please have one of your men advise me,” Agata says, placing a hand on Nikolai's shoulder. I'm surprised by the act of affectionbetween the two. I wonder what history they might have.

“Thank you, Agata, it smells delicious. Enjoy your evening.”

“Good night, Miss Falcone,” she says, and excuses herself.

A heavy tension settles between us, and I look down at my food, trying to calm my rapidly beating heart. When I’m with him, I often feel like I can’t breathe properly. Like every fiber of me shifts to accommodate his frosty presence, which alters my way of thinking.

“Do you suddenly not like risotto?” Nikolai asks.

The problem is that risotto is one of the most common dishes I order at restaurants. This man knows everything about me, and yet, I know so little about him.

“How long have you and Agata known one another?”

“You're curious about me?” he asks, picking up my fork and pointedly holding it out to me. I understand it’s a trade-off.

So, I accept it as I say, “Not particularly, but since you know so much about me, I think it's only fair that you tell me a little about yourself.”

“There's not much to know.”

I roll my eyes. “Surely, you didn't just randomly hatch out of an egg and become a killer.”

The hint of a smile teases his lips as he takes aforkful of his food. “No. On the contrary, after I hatched out of my egg, I had to fight amongst my siblings and come out as the only victor.”

My stomach sinks until I notice he’s still smiling. “Your jokes are awful.” I prod at my food.

He picks up his wine glass, swirling it thoughtfully. “I'm not one to often joke. How about this? I answer one of your questions, and you tell me something about you that I don't already know.”

I pick up my wine glass and take a sip. “Very well.”

It might make this time more digestible.

He leans back, satisfied. “Agata and I have known one another for twenty-eight years. She's been loyal to me, and I treat her accordingly.”

My eyebrows furrow. Twenty-eight years. That’s a long time. Is that his way of saying she’s the only person he likes? “How old are you?”

“I'll answer your second question once you take a bite,” he insists.

I do as he says. The moment the risotto touches my tongue, a quiet moan escapes me. Fuck, that's good. Agata easily could compete with some of the best chefs in New York.

He hides a small smile as he takes a bite himself. “Thirty-six.”

Thirty-six.

“Strange, I thought you had the attitude of a sixteen-year-old boy and the body of a fifty-year-old man.”

His foot lightly taps at the edge of mine, spiking my heartbeat. “Careful,mishka, you don't want to play with fire right before dessert.”

Despite forcing me to eat, he doesn't seem too interested in it himself as he leans back, observing me instead. “My turn. Why do you eat so little?”