Page 42 of Mercy & Her Devils

Suddenly on the alert, I struggle to push myself up to sit with my back against the wall.

I pull Lark’s jacket more firmly around myself.

Something’s wrong here.

“You’ve just admitted to a serious crime,” I say. “Why would you do that?”

“Because it’s wrong for you to be filmed.” Antonio shrugs. “I’m no angel and I know what it’s like to be watched all the time. It fucking sucks. You deserve at least a short break from that. I’ve been worried about you, after hearing about this basement and the shit that went down here. The tour wasn’t fun. Why not have some privacy with me? I come bearing gifts.”

He shoves the plate toward the bars with a clang.

“I know what happened to those who didn’t beware of Greeks bearing gifts,” Lark states, flatly.

“I’m not Greek; I’m Italian American.” Antonio adjusts his scarf with a flourish. “Trust me or don’t. But you must be hungry, right?”

My stomach chooses that moment to growl.

I redden.

Lark prowls to the bars and drops to sit on the other side to Antonio like the two men are opponents in a chess match.

Antonio gives a wicked grin. “This is cozy. Here.”

He pushes the plate through the slot, and Lark snatches it like it’s probably been poisoned.

Then he stares in shock at the grilled cheese sandwich, which is made with thick bread and tomato slices. Next to it, balances an apple and a large, homemade chocolate cupcake.

The scents of the gooey cheese and sweet chocolate flood the musty cell.

My mouth waters.

I haven’t been fed on anything but stale bread for weeks, and the smell alone is enough to almost unhinge me.

Lark’s staring at the food like it’s the Holy Grail.

His hand’s shaking, and he’s unconsciously licking his lips.

He’s been starving, while giving his food away to his daughter and me, but he’s never once complained.

He’s pretended that he’s fine.

“Oh, wait, I forgot this.” Antonio rolls a soda can through the slot.

Lark looks down at it and then back at Antonio. “This isn’t our meal.”

Antonio gives an easy shrug. “It’s my lunch. I couldn’t give you a slice of bread. How’s that meant to be enough for two of you? Fucking ridiculous. I’ll bring double tomorrow and smuggle it in like I am today. Do you want to put in your order?” He throws himself dramatically to the side to lean on his elbow and look past Lark and catch my eye. “What would you like, mia amata? Chicken next time? I make a mean chargriled chicken and mayo sandwich.”

I stare at him.

Is he serious?

Is he real, or am I dreaming?

“You’ll be hungry,” I blurt.

“I’m only going without lunch for one day,” Antonio replies. “I once went hungry for a week. I can handle it.”

“Are you playing with us?” Lark snarls.

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