Liam’s only response was to drop his hands to her hips and lift her and the tray out of his path. “Strong enough to overpower you and the tray of that damn soup. Guess I’m recovered.”
Athena eyed him measuringly. “So you are,” her tone was cool. “I was coming with a reward- not soup. Now...I don’t know if you’re worthy.”
Liam looked interestedly at the tray. The dishes were covered, but the aroma rising up was definitely not soup.
Athena turned for the kitchen. Liam followed.
“Si...” he approved when she removed the cloth, revealing crusty bread laced with butter and honey. It was still hot with steam rising from its flaky center. Accompanying it were three sizable links of sausage and a mound of roasted potatoes doused with pepper and onions.
“Bless you,” he dragged the platter over while taking a seat at the head of the table.
Athena smiled, watching him devour the meal which he praised with deep groans of satisfaction. Her smile remained as she poured out tea for them both and fixed a small plate of the sausage and potatoes for herself.
“Thank you, Athena, sincerely,” he said when less than half a sausage link remained.
“It’s the very least I could do,” she said. “You needed someone. I guess it was meant to be me.”
“Tending to my wounds isn’t the price I would’ve had you pay.”
“Oh?” She relaxed back on the chair. “What would you have had me tend to?”
Liam grinned. “Has speaking your mind ever gotten you into trouble?”
Athena laughed in turn. “How do you think I came to be running naked in a field while my father chased me with a gun?
Their laughter was just tapering off when a knock boomed against the door. Like that, the stony realities of their unorthodox relationship took precedence. There had been no mention of her father or his vow to return for her.
Athena was just starting to dismiss the threat. Now, she silently cursed her immaturity to believe such a thing was possible.
The knock fell again. Liam pushed back his chair.
“Wait,” Athena raised a hand, stood. “You’re not the only one tending a wound here.”
“Athena-”
“No Liam,” her voice and stance stiffened with resolve even as she smiled. “Thank you for showing me a world where it’s possible to live my life without judgement.” With a quick inhale, she went to the door.
Athena and Liam frowned at who waited on the other side of the door. The finely dressed middle-aged man on the other side was not her father.
“Scuse, scuse, my apologies for the bother,” he said in a rapid stream of Italian while bowing low across the threshold. He looked to Liam who stood at the head of the table.
“Do I have the honor of addressing Signor Liam Tesano?” he asked using English that time.
“Si, you do,” Liam’s response was cool, suspect.
“I ask only to trouble you for a moment. My name is Roberto Buratti. I am courier for Don Sante Alma.”
Athena gasped. She stepped aside as Liam made his way around the table.
“I come with a message from the Don,” Buratti explained. “May I step inside, Signor? Such business should not be handled in the presence of neighbors.”
“I don’t have any of those, but yes, please do come inside,” Liam urged.
“May I offer you refreshment, Signor Buratti?”
The man smiled politely at Athena. “No thank you, Signorina,” he said.
“We can talk in the sitting room,” Liam led the way while Athena cleared the table.
Buratti got right to the point. “The Don is aware that it was your decision to move forward with the job regarding the matter with his daughter.”
“It was a decision between my partners and I.”
Buratti smiled at the reply. “It was you who made the final decision, no? To move ahead without knowing all that would be asked of you and your men.”
“Signor DiCenzo is a good man,” Liam said. “We’ve worked for him for quite some time. There is trust,” he said.
Buratti nodded as if satisfied. “DiCenzo says the same of you and the Don is very grateful for your assistance with the bandits.”
Liam shrugged off the gratitude. “The soldiers were outnumbered. There was no choice.”
“There is always a choice, Signor.” Buratti argued, smiling patiently. “Not all men are stout hearted enough to make the hard choices.”
With those words, Buratti extended the leather satchel he carried. “Please,” he urged Liam to take it. “A gift from Don Alma.”
Liam accepted slowly then; once more at Buratti’s urging, lifted the flap.
“As I said, the Don is very grateful. Your efforts helped us to locate the route the brigands used to steal his daughter. We are confident we shall have the men soon.”
