Page 20 of Diego

Of course they are. They never stop eating.

I follow Tomasso through the house. The kitchen is bright, crowded, and exactly as loud as I expected. Matteo is standing at the island eating directly from a container of cookies. Dante is at the stove. Edoardo is leaning against the counter with a glass of wine in his hand, and Alessio is sitting at the table scrolling through his phone.

All five of them look at me when I walk in.

There is a beat of silence.

Then Matteo lifts his fork. “He lives.”

“Barely.”

“Wait until you see your room.”

“I saw the photograph.”

“That was before we upgraded it,” Alessio says, grinning.

I look at him. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

That answer comes too quickly.

I turn to Tomasso.

He takes a sip of his drink.

I look at Edoardo.

He immediately raises both hands. “I wasn’t involved.”

“That is the least reassuring thing you could have said.”

Dante glances over his shoulder from the stove. “Your room is fine.”

I suppose I'll accept that. “Thank you.”

Tomasso points at him. “Traitor. We wanted him to be in suspense.”

“I’m cooking. I don’t have time for whatever this is.”

I look toward the pan in front of him. “What are you making?”

“Chicken.”

“And?”

“There are vegetables.”

I nod. “Impressive.”

“He’s been preparing for your arrival,” Alessio says.

“I appreciate that,” I say, and I mean it genuinely.

Dante turns around. “I usually cook.”

I lift my brows. “All of you can cook. I know that for a fact.”