Eighty One

Isabella

Marco stays for dinner.

I try to hide in my room, but I am ordered to the patio to eat with Marco, Alessia, and six of his men. The outdoor space is softly lit and lined with beautiful, fragrant flowers. Gentle waves crash onto the beach in a rhythmic soothing sound. The scenery would've been romantic under any other circumstances, but I can't enjoy it. I pick at my spaghetti alle vongole, aware that everyone is surreptitiously watching me. Is the food poisoned? Are they all waiting for me to eat it, then keel over at the table?

Alessia tries to keep the conversation going, but Marco's men are uninterested in talking, remaining silent, and Marco gives her one or two word answers. Finally, he looks at me. "Don't care for the pasta, Isabella?"

"I'm just waiting for the poison to kick in."

"Now, why would we poison you? You are much more valuable alive than dead." He points to my dish. "Take a bite."