Envy. Distrust. Scheming. All well hidden behind false smiles and chic outfits. Rocco Pisano truly enjoys every kind of circus and having a spotlight on him.
I take a few steps toward the corner where I have a better visual of the room, and clasp my hands behind my back, regarding the people milling around the massive conference hall.
This is supposed to be a business banquet of sorts. Pisano didn’t share the specifics when he told me I was to escort him and his wife. It doesn’t make a difference, all these events are the same no matter what their purpose is. Most of the people present are businessmen. I do spot a few armed security personnel hanging around the perimeter of the room, just as I am doing. Nothing unexpected, there are usually of few of those attached to some VIPs. The location is public and proficient at hosting these sorts of shindigs, so likely no unusual situations will arise. But I never leave anything to chance. I learned well before I ever got pulled into a secret government program that the extent of shit that could happen is greater when the expectations are low. So, I scan all four exit points once more, assessing the amount of time that will be needed to reach each one.
If I had a choice, I’d take the closest just so I can escape a guy in a tuxedo giving a speech on stock fluctuations and throwing a few lame jokes from a raised platform on the opposite side of the venue. He seems to be the only deadly hazard in this place, threatening to bore guests to death with his nonsense and forced humor.
When I’m done checking the egress points, my gaze wanders back to the Pisano couple. Rocco is laughing at a stupid joke the guy on the stage has just rambled off. His hand rests against his wife’s upper back. She’s laughing, too. A picture of a happy married couple enjoying the party.
If one disregards the small details, that is.
The way Ravenna Pisano is clutching the glass in her hand. Or how every few minutes she discretely pulls the hem of her dress. The tension in her body when Rocco’s hand glides down her back.
My eyes zero in on Rocco’s fingers as they grip his wife’s hip, and I have to bite the inside of my lip to keep myself from growling. The interest I’ve developed in the woman I’m planning to kill is highly disturbing. As is as the unexplainable urge to walk up to them and remove her husband’s hand.
Blaze sparks in the pit of my stomach as anger boils inside my chest. I shouldn’t be pissed off that he’s touching her. She’s his wife. And yet, my nostrils flare and my eyes squint as an unwelcome thought barrels into my mind. He shouldn’t be allowed to touch her.
Gritting my teeth, I make myself look away from Rocco’s bony fingers to observe the people around me, but less than a minute later, my gaze is drawn to Ravenna Pisano again. A polite smile is still gracing her face as her eyes meet mine, but there is no trace of laughter in those green orbs watching me from the other side of the room. Just the opposite.
In one of the rare missions when I was sent to save lives instead of to end them, I was in charge of saving a kid held for ransom. The boy’s father was Kruger’s buddy, a big shot who was neck-deep in shady business, so the official rescue channels were out. I can still remember the look in the boy’s eyes while the kidnapper was holding a gun to his head. It’s the same look I see in Ravenna Pisano’s eyes now.
Dread. And despair. Fuck! The relationship she has with her husband shouldn’t matter because I will be killing them both in the end. The fear in her eyes shouldn’t bother me. But it does.
The man on the stage finishes his speech, thanking everyone for being here. Rocco lowers his head, whispering into his wife’s ear, and I catch relief ghosting across her face. She nods and steps away from him, heading in my direction. The dress she’s wearing tonight is skintight and black like her hair that’s again pulled up into a bun. The huge diamond earrings and a matching necklace around her neck reflect the light from the crystal chandeliers overhead. Most of the women present are wearing similarly expensive jewelry, but it doesn’t escape my attention that Ravenna Pisano’s diamonds are the largest in the room.
How would she look without all that makeup and extravagant trinkets, I wonder. A spit-second thought, and the image of Ravenna Pisano naked forms before my eyes. I push that image away in that same instant, but I can’t make myself look away from the real woman walking my way.
She stops before me and tilts up her head, her glassy pools drawing me in. “Could you take me back to the house?”
A beat, a breath, and I break eye contact. I give a slight jerk of my head toward the nearest doors and usher her out of the room.
When we reach the coat check, a staff member approaches us, carrying our jackets. He passes me mine and turns toward Mrs. Pisano, holding her black coat out for her to put on.
I yank the coat from his hands. “Back off.”
Mrs. Pisano glances at her coat in my hands, then meets my gaze with a question in her eyes.
“Security precaution,” I bite out.
She arches one perfect black eyebrow, turns, and slips her arms through the sleeves. The moment her coat is on, I head toward the exit, absolutely refusing to analyze my behavior. The man was an unknown element. He presented a possible threat. Case closed.
The wind blows in my face as we step outside and trudge toward the parking lot. Mrs. Pisano is on my left, trying to keep up with my long strides while her unfastened coat flaps with each strong gust. My car is less than three hundred feet away. It’s not that cold, but I stop and wrap my hand around her upper arm, turning her to face me.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, looking around.
Ignoring her question, I start buttoning her coat. There are only three buttons and the fabric is too thin. Stupid fancy shit—good for nothing, especially not for keeping a person wearing it warm. When I’m done with the buttons, I raise the lapels so her neck is covered.
“Security precaution, as well?” There’s a barely detectable trace of amusement in her voice.
“Yes,” I mumble and resume my tracks toward the car.
I try to keep my eyes glued to the ribbon of road beyond the windshield as I drive, but they still drift to the rearview mirror every few seconds. Mrs. Pisano is sitting in silence, clutching her coat to her chest. I blasted the heat the moment I got into the car, but it seems she’s still feeling cold. My grip on the steering wheel tightens, turning my knuckles white. I don’t care, I tell myself and look back at the road. I. Don’t. Care.
She sneezes.
Shit. I steer to the right and park at the curb. Vehicles zoom by as I exit and walk around to the back, yanking open the passenger door.
“Shoes. Off,” I say.
Ravenna Pisano raises her eyebrows in surprise, probably thinking I’ve lost my fucking mind. I’m afraid she might be right. I bend and, holding her ankle, lift her leg a bit so I can remove her heels. First the right, then I do the same with the left.
“Legs under your ass.”
I wait for her to rearrange herself, then take off my jacket and lean in to drape it over her lap. Her forehead is just a few inches from mine, and I can feel her breath on my face. The subtle powdery scent envelops me, urging me to inhale a lungful of it. I tuck the sides of the jacket around her and meet her gaze.
“Next time we go on one of your shopping sprees,” I say, glaring at her, “you’re buying a proper coat, or I’ll buy one for you. Understand?”
The corners of her eyes twitch, and a small smile pulls at her lips. “Congratulations.”
I furrow my brows. “For what?”
“That was a beautiful, complex sentence. You’re doing great.” Her smile widens.
Is she teasing me? I narrow my eyes at her, expecting her to stop smiling under my mean glare.
“Are you trying an intimidation technique on me, Alessandro?”
“Yes,” I bark.
She tilts her head up a bit and the tip of her nose touches mine. Her lips are so close that only a minuscule move would be needed to taste them. Fuck! I lean away abruptly and slam the door shut, hurrying back behind the wheel.
When we reach the mansion, I escort Mrs. Pisano to the front door without a word, then turn around and head back toward my SUV. The light over the garage illuminates the metal bay door hiding Pisano’s precious vehicles from view. I’ve been here for two weeks and still haven’t put my plan in motion. I could lie to myself and say that I just want to be fully prepared before I take the next step, but I’m well aware this delay has nothing to do with readiness.
It’s her. Ravenna Pisano and this damn fixation I seem to have developed for her. I’m disgusted by the fact that I’ve started to care for the woman who is married to Natalie’s killer.
I get in the car and head down the driveway, promising myself that whatever spurred me to care about Rocco’s wife, ends now. And I purposely ignore the fact that, for a fleeting moment, my eyes flicked to the rearview mirror and the reflection of the window on the left side of the house.
Ravenna
The slam of a door wakes me from my sleep. I sit up and listen to the steps echo through the hallway, getting closer, and then stopping just on the other side of my door. My pulse jumps into a gallop. Everything remains eerily quiet for a couple of moments, then I hear the door to Rocco’s room open and close, and a sigh of relief leaves my lips. He went to sleep. I lie back down, but five minutes later, the sound of Rocco’s door opening causes every muscle in me to tense.
Uneven steps drawing nearer. A thump, followed by a curse. I grab the bedcover and pull it up to my chin. The knob turns, and the light from the hallway falls inside my room.
“I’m home, bellissima,” Rocco’s slurred words hang in the air.
He’s drunk. I make myself stay still, hoping he’ll go away if he thinks I’m asleep.
“You know, I was thinking. Those pills must have been out of date,” he says approaching the bed. “So, I got myself a new batch.”
No. No. No.
“Let’s see if these work better.” He grabs at the bedcover and rips it off me.
I will myself to turn and look. Rocco is standing at the foot of the bed, wearing only an unbuttoned white shirt, a wine stain on its front.
“Spread your legs for your husband.”
I stare at him as panic rises and spreads through every nerve of my body. He climbs on the bed and crawls up, looming over me. His hand shoots out, tearing open my pajama top, then grabs at the band of my shorts and pulls them down along with my panties.
“I’m getting hard,” he mumbles, then grips my hand and presses it on his still semi-limp dick. “See? Everything is working as it should.”
He laughs like a maniac, then drops down onto my body. The smell of alcohol and sweat invade my nostrils.
“Wider!” he snaps.
I spread my legs slightly, and he starts grinding his penis at my opening. Clenching my teeth, I force myself to remain motionless and impassive. The sounds that leave Rocco’s mouth remind me of an animal in pain. Wheezing. Short breaths. Moans, as he presses himself to me, brushing his dick on my pussy. Then he stops suddenly and groans. A moment later I feel his cum, warm and sticky, between my legs.
“That was good, bellissima,” he says between labored breaths. “It’ll be even better next time.”
I lie unmoving as he climbs down and heads toward the door. Only when I hear the one across the hallway close, do I spring from the bed and run into the bathroom.
It takes me twenty minutes to scrub myself until I feel somewhat clean again. Rocco doesn’t force himself on me often, and since I started switching his Viagra with the placebo Melania has been providing, it happens even less frequently. At least he left the new bottle of pills on my nightstand. It means I can make the switch again. Rocco gets mad when he can’t get an erection. He’s never got hard enough to actually penetrate me, but I feel disgusted by the mere grinding of him against me. I’d rather face his wrath and blows than have him do that.
I sit on the wooden bench under the window with my forehead pressed to the glass. There’s no way I’m going back to bed before I change the sheets, and that needs to wait till tomorrow. I can’t risk going downstairs and running into Rocco again tonight. Thinking about what just happened still makes me want to puke.
It’s nearly four in the morning, but I can’t sleep. Wrapping a blanket tighter around me, I close my eyes, only to open them again a minute later.
I need to find a way to get more money. The amount I collect from the clothes my mom sells to Mrs. Natello is a lot, but not enough. And I have to be careful so Rocco won’t suspect anything. I make sure to buy an array of clothes in every shop, but only one item out of the bunch for my mom to resell. That way, if Rocco asks to see what I’ve purchased, I have something to show him. But it’s too slow-going.
The stuff I bought this month was worth eighteen grand, but Mrs. Natello only paid nine, saying she won’t spend more than 50 percent for secondhand garments, even though they all still had price tags attached. So, I’ve decided to give Mom some of my jewelry to sell. Hopefully, Rocco won’t notice. Maybe I could implore Hazel to let me help her with accounting twice a week. The money she pays me isn’t much, but every penny counts.
As I vacantly stare at the lawn, still lost deep in my thoughts, a shadow moving behind a tree attracts my attention. The security guards are not allowed this close to the house. Could it be an animal? I lean forward, pressing my nose to the cold glass pane, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. My tired brain is probably playing tricks on me.
I must have started to doze off when a loud bang startles me. I scan the grounds and the garden beyond my window, and something orange at the top of the garage catches my eye. Another bang ensues, then a few more. I scream as the roof of the garage caves in. Stunned and unable to move, I watch as the flames consume the building, and its ruined frame gets swallowed up by the raging inferno and the billow of smoke.
