By the time the last dish was set down, the table was crowded with plates and bowls, their rich aromas filling the private room. Rosa ate like someone who hadn’t seen real food in days.
Part of it was hunger.
Part of it was nerves.
She kept her eyes on her plate, but she could feel him watching her.
Luciano leaned back against the leather sofa, one arm draped over the backrest, a crystal glass of whisky resting in his fingers. The amber liquid caught the red glow of the room as he swirled it slowly, studying her like a predator observing prey. One glass became two. Then another. Somewhere between courses, she noticed him swallow a pill from the tray with a lazy tilt of his head, chasing it with alcohol.
Her stomach tightened.
She had no idea what was going on inside his head. That wa
