Rafaele is gone when I wake up around ten a.m. I crawl into the empty bed and nearly weep at how comfortable it is compared to the ottoman.
The sheets smell like his bodywash. I recognize the scent from last night when he walked out of the shower in just his underwear. Fuck, he looked so good. I had no idea he was that ripped.
Okay, this is a dangerous line of thought.
I give myself another minute to enjoy the cozy bed before I haul my ass into a cold shower and rinse the traces of him off my skin.
Hot or not, Rafaele is keeping me caged, and I’m not about to go all Stockholm syndrome on him. All of those rules that are supposedly for my protection? The only reason I need that protection is because he’s a murderer who’s got other murderers after him.
Ah, the life of a mob wife.
My only chance at not going stir-crazy is to get him to send me away from here. I know he’s got a massive mansion in the Hamptons—Mamma used to talk about it all the time. I could live there.
And then what?
Okay, there’s not that much to do there, but at least I wouldn’t have to see him every day. That would already be an improvement.
I dry myself off, pull on some clothes, and sit down at the small desk in the corner of the room. Time to write down my ideas.
Cleo’s plan for ruining Rafaele’s life:
- Bankrupt him
- Redecorate his house
- Get a dog—a big and scary one who’ll keep him away from me
- Identify all of his hopes and dreams
- Ruin them
- Never, ever, under no circumstances, even if there’s a gun to my head, sleep with him
The plan is as chaotic as my personality, but I feel good about this. Really good.
The things on it definitely play to my strengths. Rafaele is an uptight control freak, so I’m going to do everything I can to make him realize he brought a loose cannon into his life. The only thing he really seems to want from me is my body, so if I never give it to him, he’ll eventually realize keeping me around isn’t worth the hassle.
Since I need to get more clothes anyway, I decide to hit the first bullet point. Time to put that black credit card to use.
I head downstairs and search the house for a member of staff so that I can get someone to drive me to Manhattan. I bump into Sabina lecturing a maid in the dining room.
She stops mid-sentence when she sees me and dismisses the maid. “What do you want?”
“I need a driver.”
“Where are you going?”
“Manhattan. I need to do some shopping.”
“What—”
“What’s with the twenty questions?” I snap. “Just get me what I asked for.”
Her eyes turn to slits. “You little brat. You just got married, and you’re already going off to spend Don Messero’s hard-earned money.”
Oh, if only she knew.
“What did you think of the wedding?” I ask innocently. “I felt so beautiful in all those diamonds.”
She sneers at me. “You’re a disgrace. Signora Caruso’s necklace should be scrubbed with soap after touching your filthy neck.”
“You go do that. Right after you get me my driver.”
“Don’t boss me around.”
I narrow my eyes. “My husband told me I had to have a driver in order to leave the house. What do you think he’d say if I told him you wouldn’t get me one?”
This drains the blood out of her face. Ah, so she’s scared of Rafaele. It dawns on me Rafaele would probably take issue with how she’s speaking to me, but I don’t need his help handling the maid.
“Fine,” Sabina grinds out. “I’ll get him.” She stalks out of the room, muttering something in Italian, probably more nasty things about me. Not that I care. After all, being around people who vehemently disapprove of me isn’t anything new. Try living in the Garzolo household for eighteen years. I can’t remember the last time I heard a kind word from my parents.
I’m lounging on the living room sofa when a young dude walks in five minutes later. He’s got a head of curly auburn hair, a nose piercing, and a grin that takes up half of his face. He looks like he’s in his early twenties.
“Sandro,” he says as he extends his hand. “I’m your driver.”
“That was quick.” I shake his hand. “Were you waiting in the garage or something?”
“Tiny and I were playing cards with one of the guards,” he says.
Just then, an older man walks into the living room. And by man, I mean a giant. He’s probably the same height as Nero, but twice as wide. Each one of his steps shakes the pictures on the wall. His worn leather jacket looks like it could be a tent.
“That’s Tiny,” Sandro says, pointing his thumb at the giant.
I let out an incredulous laugh. “Right. Cute nickname.”
Tiny shakes my hand with his big paw, and it’s unnerving. He could snap me in half if he wanted to. Unlike Sandro, he doesn’t seem like he ever smiles. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Messero. I’m your new bodyguard.”
“Anyway, I won,” Sando says. “In case you were wondering.”
I tear my gaze away from Tiny and turn to Sandro. “Won what?”
“The card game with the guard. Won a hundred bucks.” He winks.
“Kid, what are you doing?” Tiny mutters in a low voice. “Don’t wink at the boss’s wife.”
Sandro’s cheeks redden. “Oh, sorry. I’m just excited.” He rubs the back of his head. “This is a big assignment, you know? Driving you around. But don’t worry, I’m the best driver the don’s got. I’ve been racing since I was fourteen.”
I raise my brows. “Where were your parents?”
He shrugs. “Dead. Nero and Rafaele took me in. I’ll always be grateful to them.” He bumps his fist against his chest. “It’s an honor that the don trusts us with you, Mrs. Messero. Right, Tiny?”
The big man nods, his face very serious. He looks like the consummate professional. This is strangely uncomfortable. I know how to handle Sabina’s scorn, but I’m not sure how to respond to this. They’re excited to be around me? Sandro is bouncing on his feet like a puppy. And Tiny, well, he doesn’t exactly seem excited, but he doesn’t seem upset about the gig either.
I settle on giving them a smile. “Call me Cleo.”
“What would you like to do today?” Sandro asks cheerfully as we make our way to the garage.
“I need to buy some things.”
Tiny pulls a brand-new cell phone out of his jacket and hands it to me. “Our numbers are in there, as well as the don’s and the house line. Your sisters’ numbers too.”
Oh.
Rafaele actually did as he promised? Something warm unfurls inside my chest. I can call Gemma on the drive. I thought I’d have to beg Rafaele for her number. I feel a tiny pang of premature guilt for what I’m about to do to his bank account. But no, one good deed doesn’t change anything.
I take the phone from Tiny. “Thanks.”
Sandro unlocks a black SUV and holds the door open for me. “Where would you like to go? The Westchester?”
“Take me to Fifth Ave.” I’m not going to waste my time in a nearby mall. I need the help of my trusted sales reps for the damage I’m hoping to do. “Hope you’re ready for a long day, gentlemen.”
An hour later, I’m inside the Dior boutique, buying up their latest collection. Afterward, I pop into Chanel for a handbag and a few pairs of shoes, followed by Hermès, where my rep gleefully offers me a limited edition Verrou handbag. I use the opportunity to order two stunning marble coffee tables and a few lounge chairs from their catalogue. The lounge chairs are thirty grand each.
“They’ll look great in my backyard,” I croon to the rep.
I dip into Bergdorf Goodman next and ask the sales associate to bring me a bunch of things she thinks I’ll like. I spend at least an hour there before going to a few more stores.
By the time five p.m. rolls around, the trunk of the SUV is nearly full. There’s a running tally in my head, and it’s well into high six figures.
I pull out the black card and look at it. I swear it’s looking a bit worn from the workout I’ve given it. The goal is to get Rafaele to send me away, not to murder me.
Then I remember the jewelry vault beneath his house. He’s filthy rich, and I want this to hurt.
To put the final nail in the coffin, I go inside Cartier. When the sales rep sees the glint in my eyes, he takes me to the back and shows me their newest collection. A thick choker that’s studded with emeralds and diamonds catches my attention. When I try it on, it looks incredible, the green contrasting beautifully with my hair.
“How much?”
“Three hundred thousand dollars,” the rep says.
I grin. “Perfect. I’ll take it.”
Tiny, who’s been keeping a great poker face all day, turns a little pale. “Mrs. Messero—”
“Cleo,” I correct him.
“Cleo. The don might not be happy about this.”
“You know, I think you might be right.” I lift my gaze from the display case.
Tiny looks relieved. He pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his forehead.
I sigh. “I’ve been buying things for myself all day, and I haven’t gotten Rafaele anything. How thoughtless of me. I should get my husband a gift.” I turn back to the rep. “Show me your watches.”
Fifteen minutes later, we walk out with my necklace and a watch for Rafaele, and I announce that I’m done for the day.
The final tally is one point one million dollars.
Inside, I’m doing a little dance complete with pirouettes and high kicks. I can’t wait to see my husband’s reaction.
