Pearce Hudson: #1 My Italian Devil

29.Knights, rooks & bishops

"Do you know what they call the move when a king is sacrificed?" I asked, approaching the chessboard.

Dante looked up, confused.

"Check," I replied, tipping over the King piece.

"The king can't be sacrificed."

"Well all his rooks, bishops, knights and pawns are gone. Even his queen is gone. A king can't rule the kingdom on his own."

"Just because he doesn't have anyone doesn't mean he can't move or play his turn."

"If he does, its checkmate."

I didn't know where I was going with the chess metaphors. I was scared down to my core. I may have thrown on the 'bad ass chick' look but in reality I was shaking at the thought of what Dante could do. If he knew anything from Gomez, he was playing a very slow and painful game with me. The bodyguards in suits around the house didn't help comfort me either.

"That's true," Dante got up from the couch. "Wow! You look beautiful."

"You don't look that bad either."

"Five minutes and you haven't insulted me yet. Someone's in a suspiciously happy."

"I'm in a good mood."

"I see that. Is it me?"

At this point, if he told me to dress up as a sexy nurse and told me to do the chicken dance, I would.

"Yes."

Dante grinned from ear to ear. "I had a feeling you'd come around eventually."

"So where's dinner? I'm starving!"

"It's this way," he took my arm and guided me. My throat went dry, for all I knew he was leading me to my death. He lead me to the kitchen. I half expected the kitchen to be filled with more bodyguards but it was surprising empty.

I guess he wanted kill me on his own.

Pots and pans were sizzling on the stove. There were chopped vegetables resting on the cutting board. Various jars and packets of food were around. I had heard Dante cooked but he never cooked for me.

Maybe he's poison you.

"You're cooking?"

"Yeah. You seem so shocked."

"It's weird."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Good, I think."

He gave me a grin before taking his place behind the counter. He took one of large knives, the kind I imagine Hannibal Lector using to chop people, and slice vegetables. The kitchen hadn't changed. The marble island was smooth and polished, the humming of the fridge, the neon lights of the kitchen appliance, the shades of the ceiling to floor windows drawn, showing the pool, which was glowing a bright blue. This was once home.

"So what are you making?"

"Italian."

"Wow how did I not assume that."

"Don't hate. It's the only cuisine I can cook. And I'm trying to impress you."

"Well, consider me impressed."

I took a seat at the island and watched Dante. I poured myself a glass of wine, from the many bottles on the counter, probably Dante had it laid out because it was all his favorite wine. Pinot noir. I knew I shouldn't drinking on the job but if I was going to get through this dinner, I needed a drop of wine.