Salvatore

3

As soon as Sainte steps through the doors, my breath hitches. I'm taken aback. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but this wasn't it. He looks... professional—the opposite of his ratty father.

He's kind of hot, actually.

His hair is pitch black, the sides short, and the top pushed backwards. A five o'clock shadow is covering his jaw, making his features stand out even more. He's frowning so hard his eyebrows are almost touching. They don't hide his eyes though, I can still determine their light shade of brown. There's a small scar on the left side of his upper lip, reaching just an inch up over his skin.

His biceps bulge out of his dark blue suit. There's no way his suit isn't tailored. He's wearing a matching tie with it, too, and sleek leather shoes. There's a golden watch on his wrist, making the whole outfit look even more expensive. He's much taller than me, too. At least 6'2. And much wider as well. He's giant.

His presence demands attention.

He briefly scans the room, before shifting his gaze to me. I give him a polite smile.

"Hi, I uhm-."

"Do not speak unless you are spoken to," Roberto booms, cutting me off before I can introduce myself.

I look over at him, just to find him glaring at me. I frown. Is he serious? Is that an actual rule I have to follow? I already have to stay in my room all day, stand up when Sainte enters the room, and now I'm not even allowed to speak? That's bullshit.

I turn back to Sainte, waiting for him to say something. But he's still just looking at me, probably analysing the frustration on my face.

"Sofia Delfino," he finally says, lifting his head as he speaks. I stay silent for a moment, just making sure it's alright for me to talk.

"I, uh-." I hesitate. "I prefer Sofie now, actually."

"Hmm," is all he says. As soon as he looks away, I wrinkle my nose in disgust. What a fucking dick. I don't doubt that he saw what I was doing, but he chose to ignore it.

He sits down at the head of the table, and the rest of us return back to our seats, too. The room suddenly floods with waiters, their hands filled with plates. Sainte is the first to be served, but I get my food straight after.

I let out a sigh of relief when one of the waiters fills my glass with wine. I'm tempted to reach for it right away, but I'm not making that mistake again.

Sainte doesn't begin eating until the waiters are gone, and for some reason, we have to wait until he starts. It's like Simon Says. We don't do anything unless Sainte does it first.

"How was the trip?" Sainte asks, scooping up a tomato off his plate. I turn to him, checking to see who he's talking to, but he's looking right at me.

"It was fine," I shrug. It was awful. I hate flying, but I'm not about to stir anything up.

"Thank you for letting her borrow the jet, Sainte," my father says. "It would've been a lot harder to get her here without it."

"That's not a problem. It's the least I could do," he responds. He turns his attention back to me. "Why aren't you eating, Sofia?"

"Sorry?" I take another swing from my wine.

"Why aren't you eating your food? Do you not like ravioli?"

"Oh, no, I do. I just don't eat carbs on weekdays."

"Cazzata!" my dad calls, glaring over at me. " You eat what you are served!"

"You're Italian, Sofia! What else would you eat?" Roberto comments.

"Is it because of your weight gain?" mum asks.

"What?" I scowl.

"You have gotten a little bigger, darling," dad adds.

"We will have to hire a personal trainer," Roberto responds.

"Enough!" Sainte booms, slamming his fist down on the table. The sound makes me jump. "I was speaking to Miss Delfino and I do not appreciate being interrupted!"

The table falls silent, none of us daring to speak or even move. My dad doesn't even apologise. He just looks down shamefully while I keep my eyes glued to the giant man beside me, my heart thumping in my chest. Minutes pass before he speaks again, this time in a softer tone.

"Why do you not eat carbs, Sofia?" he asks. I swallow the lump in my throat.

"They're uhm-," my voice shakes. "They're not good for me. Once on the lips, forever on the hips, you know?"

That last bit is meant to be a joke, but he doesn't find any humour in it.

"That's nonsense," he says. "Eat your food."

"Oh, no, that's okay."

"I said eat your food, Sofia!" he calls. "That wasn't a goddamn question!"

I don't challenge him this time. there's no leniency in his tone. This is what he wants, and he won't stop until he gets it.

I pick the spoon up off the table, scooping up a small amount. Everyone is watching me eat now, and I don't want to make a fool of myself. I chew on the ravioli for only a few seconds before swallowing. It tastes good, but I don't want to eat too much of it.

"Is this how it's going to be from now on?" I ask. "You bark orders at me, and I have no choice but to follow?"

"I do not bark orders," Sainte tells me, his eyes even more vicious than they were before. "I do what is necessary."

"And it was necessary to make me eat this? To keep me locked in a room all day?"

"Yes, it was."

"Why? Give me one good reason."

"Because I said so."

"That's bullshit," I scoff.

"Sofia!" my mum tries, but it's no use.

"If I'm going to stay here and do this, I at least want to be treated with respect," I say. "And if that's too hard for you, then I'll happily pack my bags and go. Now, I would like to be excused."

Not without eating first," Sainte says. I snicker sarcastically.

"I'll eat an apple," I respond. "And I'm taking this."

I grab the wine bottle out of its cooler, almost knocking my glass over in the process. I head towards the door, but I'm stopped by Saintes voice.

"Miss Delfino, I expect you to cooperate with your chaperone throughout your time here. You will not be allowed to enter any communal spaces without his presence."

"What?" I snicker."Why not?"

"You will meet with me at midday to further discuss our arrangement," he ignores my question. "And I advise you not to be late. I do not take well to tardiness."

And I don't take well to assholes, but you can't always get what you want.