go without food.
Flinching was natural, wasn’t it?
It didn’t matter. She’d been punished.
“Take a seat,” Raphael said.
He was the son of Giavanni, of her master. She’d been told in all aspects of life she must obey, serve. It was what she’d been born to do.
Sitting at the table, it felt odd as Raphael brought her over her food. She didn’t know this man very well. He’d saved her a couple of times. He was sweet, most of the time. At least, not when he liked to kill people.
He placed a breakfast in front of her. Eggs, toast, tomatoes, mushrooms. She offered him a smile and picked up her fork. Her hand shook.
They shouldn’t be eating at the same table.
This wasn’t right.
This was wrong but she didn’t say anything.
Eating some food, she closed her eyes as it landed on her tongue and she chewed. Food shouldn’t taste this good, but it did. She knew it was only because she hadn’t been fed for a long time, but still, it was good food.
She finished before him, and he handed her a slice of bread to soak up the juice. Her face was on fire with embarrassment. She never ate in front of anyone. If Giavanni knew she’d eaten, he’d be pissed. Only he was allowed to give the order for her to have food.
Sitting back in the chair, she sensed something wasn’t right. Being shot meant she should be dead. No doctor would be wasted on someone like her. She’d seen a couple of slaves in her time get injured. They were still forced to work until they died of the injuries. One of the girls had been up a ladder, fixing something. As a joke, one of the guards had kicked the ladder. She fell to the ground and something snapped. A bone, maybe? Either way, she’d been forced to keep working, even as the leg swelled and eventually went green. One of the other girls went to wake her up the next morning and found she’d died in her sleep.
Dying in her sleep sounded like a nice way to go. She hated pain and the thought of dying any other way filled her with a terror she didn’t want to think about.
Keeping her hands in her lap, she waited as Raphael finished his breakfast. He nudged a coffee in her direction. “Drink.”
She used her good arm, lifting the cup, blowing over the surface, and taking a sip.
“Did you enjoy breakfast?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I don’t want you to be silent on my ass right now. Talk to me,” he said.
“It was very good,” she said. “Thank you.”
He sighed. “I know you don’t have a name but while you’re here, I’m going to want to call you something. Can you figure out a name?” he asked.
“You can call me Useless. Everyone else does.”
“That’s not a name. It’s what you tell someone when they don’t do anything right.”
“Oh.” Why was she called that then? She had an impeccable record for doing the job right. Shaking her head, she rubbed at her temple. It didn’t matter.
“Was I … did I … I shouldn’t be here, should I?” she asked. It was odd using her voice. She rarely spoke, and certainly not to her Master’s son.
Raphael sighed again. “No, you shouldn’t. I took you last night. You can’t go back. You’re going to have to stay here, and as far as anyone’s concerned, you’re dead.”
“I’m in trouble?”
“No, I mean, yes, if anyone ever finds out about you. You’re going to have to stay here. I will protect you.”
“What about your wife?”
“Isabella?”
She nodded. The pretty bride with the nice hair and makeup and dress. All of her clothes had been handed down by previous slave girls. She’d been told many times she was nothing special. It wasn’t like she believed herself to be anything different.
She was nothing.
No one.
Useless.
Born into a world of slavery.
Her only hope was to always make sure her owner, her master, was happy with her. She had no doubt Giavanni would be very, very angry with her right now.
Chapter Two
She hadn’t screamed or demanded to be taken back. Raphael considered that a victory.
She stared into her cup way too hard. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
“Your wife.”
“Don’t be, I’m not. I had no interest in marrying her.”
“You have to do your duty, though. It’s important.”
“There will be other women.”
She had no idea the only woman he wanted was right here, drinking his coffee. He never cooked for women. He’d learned to cook at a young