“I know.”
He quieted, one hand rubbing circles on my back. “Are you hungry?” he finally asked.
“Yeah.”
He sat up, taking my weight with him like it was nothing. His eyes fell to the “M” on my chest, his expression contemplative. Lifting his hand, he traced it with one finger. “This, right here,” he said. “This is not my brother’s claim. This is for Morelli. Luca Morelli. Not Mario.” He pressed his lips to the center, then raised his eyes to mine. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Come on. I’ll heat up your dinner.”
I got to my feet, and he followed. Without even fixing his clothes, he took my plate into the kitchen, and I cleaned up as best I could with my napkin before I fixed my dress and sat down in the chair I’d just been released from, wondering what kind of deal I’d just agreed to with this devil.