Page 67 of Stolen By the Enemy

I find a nice-looking jacket and a couple of shirts with long sleeves. I also pick out a couple of pairs of jeans and a bikini—just in case Marco allows me out on the beach again.

I grab a few more items that could work for lazing around a beach house as well.

I pay at the counter and then tell the guard, who has been following me like a puppy, that he can take me back to the beach house.

I saw Marco give the keys to him, so I know that we don’t need to go back to Marco’s home or go find him to get back inside the beach house.

I did notice that I still wasn’t trusted with the keys myself. I think about how a future in Mexico would look, us staying in the house together and no longer worrying about things like dying or fighting with my brothers.

But Marco doesn’t seem too worried about things like that.

He seems to be focused on how he can make his money now.

Chapter Twenty-One

Marco

I smell something delightful as I walk into the beach house, and I’m glad that Grazia has kept her promise of cooking me something.

There is nothing quite like a good home-cooked meal.

Soft music is playing, and I find Grazia dancing from the fridge to the stove and back again, a glass of wine in one hand and a spoon in the other.

She sees me come in and offers me my own glass of wine, which I take with a laugh.

“What are you making?” I ask her.

She looks so relaxed in this kitchen now. The shopping and having a little bit of freedom must have been good for her.

“It’s an old family recipe,” she says, her cheeks red, either from the wine or the heat in the kitchen.

I watch her cook, and we chat about pointless things, like growing tomatoes and surfing. Seeing her work with the food is amazing.

I watch her create a perfectly cooked spaghetti before sautéing the noodles in a delightful mix of garlic and olive oil.

The kitchen fills with a fragrant melody of scents as she works her magic. In a sizzling pan, she combines sun-dried tomatoes and briny Kalamata olives, creating a delightful blend of sweet and savory flavors.

The real stars, though, were the plump cherry tomatoes simmering in a rich red sauce infused with fresh basil, oregano, and a hint of red pepper flakes.

Grazia's touch turned the dish into a symphony of Mediterranean flavors.

To finish, she generously grates Parmesan over the pasta, its sharp notes blending seamlessly with the sauce.

A drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil added a touch of luxury, making every bite a celebration of taste.

We sit down in the dining room to eat. Having dinner with Grazia has become a way to connect with her on a more human level.

The conversation continues while we eat, although we eventually move on to more personal questions, and talking about our childhoods.

Grazia has so many stories about herself and her brothers playing in their family home and causing chaos for their grandmother.

I can tell as she’s speaking that talking about her brothers hurts.

When we’re finished eating, I take her plate from her and take it to the kitchen, placing it in the empty dishwasher.

I should get Jane to come in and clean for Grazia, why haven’t I thought of this before?

There’s a noise outside the kitchen window as I’m standing there, and I pick up the knife from the counter, walking over to the window and looking out.

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