“I hope you enjoy it, Jefe,” one of the butler’s says in Spanish as he backs away.
Draco nods, but his eyes don’t pull away from me.
When the butlers are gone, I remain still. The older woman grabs some fruit and croissants, glancing at us several times.
Francesca doesn’t dare move.
“Eat. Both of you,” Draco commands.
Francesca doesn’t hesitate to grab some food. I do.
I don’t get the game he’s playing. I expected him to punish me further, but at the same time if he’s allowing me to eat, I won’t resist.
I pick up a little bit of everything and as soon as I dig in, I can’t help myself. I feel like a savage as I eat, but I try to do it diligently. I don’t normally eat this fast, but it’s been four days.
The pastries are hot and the fruit is so crispy and fresh.
It all combines into one beautiful breakfast and for a moment I forget that Francesca and I are under his radar. Several quiet minutes pass before he finally speaks.
“So you two have become good friends within the past twenty-four hours.” Draco looks over at Francesca. It’s clearly a statement, not a question.
She rapidly shakes her head. “No, Jefe. We aren’t friends.”
“That’s not what I heard.” I stop chewing slowly when he watches me. “Bain tells me someone saw you give her food in a towel, and that you burnt that towel to make sure there wasn’t any evidence later on.”
Francesca stays quiet, lowering her line of sight.
“Is that true?” Draco demands, his voice growing irritated.
I chew wholly and respond for her. “Yes, it’s true. But it’s because I asked her to do it.”
His chin tilts, those brown eyes trained on me. “And why the fuck would you do that when I made it clear you couldn’t eat?”
“I was really hungry,” I whisper.
He looks down at my nearly empty plate. “But I see you aren’t hungry now.”
“No, sir.”
“And that’s because I allowed you to eat. All you had to do was wait one more day, but instead you go behind my back and pull your sympathetic bullshit just to get a few forbidden bites.”
I swallow thickly, my face turning bright red.
“And you fell for it, Francesca, didn’t you? I guess I can’t blame you. Look at her. With those big green eyes and her good hair. That flawless skin and that plump ass she flaunts in those dresses.”
Francesca doesn’t say a word but I can tell she’s uncomfortable with where this is going.
“She makes it easy to sympathize for her. I did the same damn thing when I took her out of those cells—when I took you out of those cells.” He drops his fist on the table. “You knew better!” he barks at her and she flinches. “You fucking knew better.” He shoves out of his chair and then walks behind her, planting his large hands on the armrests of her chair. His mouth is less than an inch away from her ear. “And because you knew better, I will make you beg for my forgiveness.” His eyes flash over to mine. “I will make both of you beg.”
He snatches his body away and Francesca flinches.
“Eat up and fucking enjoy it,” he calls. “It’s 8:12. Both of you better be in the galería in exactly two hours. Don’t show and I will make the punishment worse.” He’s out of the dining room before we can even blink.
My gaze drops to my plate, and then rolls over to Francesca. She has her fork in hand, running it over the yolk of her eggs.
“You shouldn’t have said that,” she mutters.
“Why? I’d rather take the blame. You were being generous. You don’t deserve to be punished for being kind.”
“Draco isn’t keen to kindness,” his mom states. I look up at her and she releases a heavy sigh. “Eat as much as you can now. He may not let you eat again for a while after this.”
“You tolerate his behavior?” I spit at her.
Her brows dip, and I can tell she’s angry now. “He is my son. I will defend whatever he does.”
“If it were you giving me that food, would he punish you for it?” I muse, narrowing my eyes.
“He wouldn’t dare. My son has provided for me in ways no one else has. I know he may not be in a good, clean business but no one here is involved in clean business. He takes care of me and that’s all I can ask for. What he does during his free time is not my business.”
She bites into her pastry, glaring at me. Her eyes look just like Draco’s, and the longer she stares, I become nervous. I don’t want to get on her bad side. If Draco is to listen to anyone at all, it will be his very own mother.