Page 31 of Greed

She’s in her element, though, and if she notices me checking in, she doesn’t say anything or acknowledge me. She talks to the camera as if it’s her friend, as though she has an actual audience.

It’s highly amusing.

Earlier I heard her tell her followers not to worry about anyone around her. She’s using a new kitchen for a while and will be in hers again soon. I’m assuming she just wanted to excuse why she isn’t in her regular kitchen and why Maria and Jesabel are there.

At lunchtime, I sit down at the table looking at my phone when Maria comes in with a dish I’ve never seen before. I look at her, confused.

“What’s this?”

“The girl made it. It’s pasta with porcini and veal.” She shrugs. “She didn’t know what to do with the food she made.”

I pick up my fork skeptically and try a bite. Fucking hell, that’s delicious. I nod my approval, and Maria leaves as I devour the food. It’s amazing. She clearly has a talent. I clear my plate, and Maria comes to set down a pastry in front of me.

“The girl says it’s German. She called it a pig’s ear.” She pulls a face at the name and gathers my other dishes and clears them.

I pick up the pastry and smell it. It smells good. I take a bite, and it melts in my mouth. I let out a loud groan, and I know if she heard it she’d chuckle to herself. This is so damn good I don’t want it to end.

I do finish it though and go into the kitchen. Gia is busy rolling out some dough, and I stand by the counter.

“Thank you for lunch. It was delicious.”

“It shouldn’t be thrown away. Wasting food is a sin. Normally I’d feed my brothers, but since they’re not here, you’ll have to eat it,” she snaps, turning her back to me.

“Well, I’m glad for that.” My comment doesn’t get her to turn. Instead, she walks to the furthest part of the kitchen away from me, and I frown. I was complimenting her; she doesn’t have to be so rude.

Angry, I leave the kitchen to prepare for something far more important. Giovanni is coming home tomorrow. My boisterous six-year-old son is going to be happy to be home, and will undoubtedly want to tell me every little thing that happened at boarding school.

It’s the summer holidays, so he’s going to want to swim and play outside. I’m going to enjoy spending time with him again. I miss him so much when he’s off at school, but his education is very important to me. I don’t want my son to falter in life because I didn’t give him the best start.

I go upstairs to make sure his room is clean, which it is, and I place some presents on the bed for him. Some new swimming toys, some toy trucks, and some sweets to snack on.

I put some coloring and exercise books on his table to keep his mind sharp, and I check that his night light is working. Although he will probably sleep by me the first couple of nights, he always does.

By the time I’m done fussing over every inch of the house for Giovanni, it’s time for dinner, and I sit at the table. Maria brings me another dish prepared by Gia, and I try it.

It’s exceptional. It has me salivating for more. When I’m done, Maria clears the plates, and I sip the whisky she’s brought me.

Curious to know what they’re doing now the cooking is done for the day, I go to the kitchen with my glass in hand. I stand at the door near Roberto, who is keeping watch until it’s his turn to clock off.

Gia is busy cleaning the counter, insisting she assist while Jesabel does the dishes and Maria sweeps, telling her it isn’t necessary. I’m impressed that she cleans up after herself. It’s not something I expected her to do.

Gia looks up from the counter. She must sense I’m watching her. She frowns, glaring at me, and continues to wash the counter space until it sparkles. She doesn’t acknowledge me at all. I’m just invisible to her, and I’m not sure how that makes me feel.

She hands Maria the cloth and cleaning spray and walks to Roberto, taking off the bandana she’s wearing.

“I want to go to my room now,” she says calmly.

Robert nods and turns to lead her out. I step out of the way, but while she passes, I can smell her. Mixed with the smell of her wild berry shower gel is the smell of food.

A smudge of flour cakes her cheek, but my hand will thank me for not trying to remove it. Her hair is messy, and I can’t help but watch her walk up the stairs.

She’s perfect in every way. Her body, her attitude, her skillset. If only she weren’t so nasty, I’d actually quite get along with her.

I can’t help but wonder what I can do to make her bend to my will, or at least make her more pliable. Although if she did bend to my will, would I still like her? I enjoy her feistiness and her attitude. She’ll give anyone a big ‘fuck off’ any day, and it’s kind of a turn on.

I watch as she goes up the stairs, my eyes trained on her curves, her ass, her hips. Everything about her is intoxicating. I don’t think I’d like her any other way than she is right now. I can’t help but chuckle, and she pauses to look back and glare at me.

Our eyes meet, and we stare at each other for a moment. My traitor dick twitches, thinking of how it would feel to take her as my own.