16. Renata
I haveno idea how long Matteo will be. He left his security detail behind, or at least some of them, but they aren”t here in the main house. It means that I have a chance to snoop. This might be my only chance, so despite the gnawing anxiety in my stomach, I grab it.
I have been mindlessly watching the television for about twenty minutes now. I think that”s a safe enough time lapse that Matteo’s not going to come back for something he”s forgotten. Does he even forget things the way I do? I”m always forgetting my phone or my lipstick or something that I must dash back for. He probably doesn”t. Does he have any idea that I’m scatty? I can’t recall if it was a character trait I had when I was younger.
Will Matteo find my chronic forgetfulness annoying?
My ex-husband used to get so impatient if I forgot my phone. He’d roll his eyes, sigh, and make me feel stupid and small. Would Matteo do that?
Why do I care?
I remind myself that this isn’t about a real relationship—it’s about revenge.
And amazing sex.
Not wanting to think about that right now, because I need my game head in place, I sneak out the door. Firstly, I check that there are no staff around in the kitchen, and then I race upstairs and into the bedroom. I find my handbag and take out my small Louis Vuitton pochette, in which I keep a few items I carry daily.
My fingers brush over the items, moving them around, until I see the shiny metal of the paper clip. I take it and grab the hairpin too, and then I rush down the stairs.
The door to the study is still open, although not quite as ostentatiously so as it was earlier.
Then it was a glaring invite. It might as well have been a bottle with drink me written on it.
“Oh, Matteo, my venomous darling, how you underestimated me?” I mutter under my breath. “Now, it’s time for you to be the one who is played.”
Clearly, he knows I”ve taken a look and seen the information already, and he”s no longer tempting me with wide open doors and a veritable welcome mat of invitation. I grind my teeth at the Machiavellian games he”s playing here. How can he be so unbelievably good at knowing and reading my body, and taking me to such heights of ecstasy, and all the time his mind is plotting and planning betrayal?
Well, I”ll show him.
I slip behind the desk and take hold of the small brass handles on the inlaid drawers in the back of his desk. I jiggle them to see just how tightly the lock mechanism is in place. This desk seems old. I don”t think it”s a modern piece that has been made to look old, but a very worn, hefty antique piece of furniture. I need to be careful not to break anything.
I place my small instruments on the surface of the desk and wipe my hands on my clothes, making sure they’re dry and steady before I pick up the paper clip. I unfold it and squat until I”m at eye level with the lock, then I carefully insert the paper clip into the hole.
There”s a method to this that a lot of people don”t understand. They see it on television shows or in films and think it takes a second and is easy, but it isn”t. It takes me a full five minutes before I hear that beautiful sound, the gentle click as the lock gives way.
I”m sweating by the time it finally opens, with stress and concentration. I glance at my watch. More than thirty minutes have passed since Matteo left. I still have time I”m sure, but seeing as I don”t know where he is, or how long he”ll be, I need to make this as quick as I can.
I take out the notebook that’s on top of three brown envelopes and open it.
I stare in total shock. In Matteo’s neat handwriting is page after page of notes about my activities and whereabouts.
What the hell?
Twelve-thirty, hair appointment.
Two pm, drinks with Jilly.
I turn the page.
Ten am, Renata left the gym.
Three pm, she stopped at Starbucks.
On and on it goes.
My stomach drops as if I”m freefalling. He”s been spying on me. How long? With shaking fingers, I flick through the pages. The dates go back week after week, month after month.
Oh my God.
He”s been planning this for ages. Things fall horribly into place.
He brought me here under false pretenses, and that”s something I had already realized.
This, though, is another level of betrayal, and frankly it”s sociopathic.
He doesn’t have any feelings for me at all. His spying on me proves nothing more than he”s using me as a pawn in some sick and twisted game. I touch my still sore lips, chafed from how much kissing we”ve done. I let him in. I let him in my body, but worse—I let him in my mind, and if I”m being truly honest, in my heart.
I pause at a page while there isn”t the usual mundane dates and times and lists of what I”ve been doing. Instead, it”s a note, almost as if he”s reminding himself of why he”s doing this.
Sickness washes over me as I see the name Duncan.
The words fade in and out on the page.
Betrayed me with my best friend. Doesn’t whore around. Is flirtatious with lots of men but doesn’t fuck many. Did she enjoy her time with Duncan? I’ll make her forget his name.
Then he’s drawn a love heart around my name and a snake wrapped around it, eating the heart.
The drawing is quite good but terrifying.
Is he insane?
Holy fuck. This isn”t just about business and destroying my family.
He wants to destroy me.
He”s never forgiven me for what I did.
The urge to smash everything in this room is overwhelming, but I ruthlessly push it down. How dare he? He was the one who betrayed me. He laughed at me behind my back, and then he went and married a De Luca bitch and humiliated me.
His ego is so fragile that he can”t bear the fact that I had a tiny bit of vengeance on him and spent one night with his friend. This is some serious dark triad shit. I lived with Nico and my mother, so I know what narcissistic behavior looks like. This is it. This is worse; this is unhinged on another level.
He lured me into his web and for what? To get his revenge on me for sleeping with Duncan? Is he even going to act on the information that I give my family? Perhaps it”s nothing more than a test. Perhaps he will sit back and laugh when he sees that I”ve given them the false information he supplied. Maybe, it”s nothing but a test and a game. He’ll screw me, see how far I’ll go for him, and then throw me away, ego repaired.
Once I’ve calmed down enough to commence breathing properly, I take out the first brown envelope and open the top. Reaching inside, my fingers touch glossy paper, and I pull it out. I gasp and step back as the photographs fall over the desk.
There is picture after picture of me. It”s the most mundane things. Me going to the hair salon. Returning from the gym. Grabbing some groceries.
I clap my hand over my mouth and stare in horror at everything in front of me.
I will kill him.
Fuck him.
Raging, I sweep all the pictures up and slip them back into the envelope.
Then I dig further and find a checking account book. Nice. One thing I know is how to copy a signature. I got very good at it when I was young because I needed Babbo’s permission for various things, and he rarely granted it.
Rummaging around, I finally find what I want. A letter signed by Matteo. I spend my time copying his signature, until I think I have it exactly right. Then I write myself a check for two hundred thousand pounds, and date it and sign it. Of course, he might not have that much money in the account, but I’d bet he does.
Then another thought hits me. I bet he has money hidden in here. The kind of business he’s in? It isn’t all checks and bank transfers. A lot of his work will be cash only.
Making quick work of checking the drawer, I’m soon satisfied there are no more surprises. I place the journal and envelopes in the desk exactly as they were before I disturbed them. I close the desk and lock it. It takes me almost ten minutes to do so because my hands are so shaky.
Then I explore. I wrack my brains as I wander around the study, trying to think where he might hide the money, and then like a breath of sweet fresh air, after hours stuck in a hot room, the memory rushes in.
The library. I’m in the wrong room if I want his money. He told me years ago that his father had a set of Dickens’ books. The sort of leather-bound collection lots of people had, except his father kept money in his. They were hollowed out and used to store cash. Matteo used to steal the odd twenty pounds here and there and take us out.
I race out of the den and down the long corridor to the library. It only takes me five minutes to find the Dickens’ collection. I open the first book and take out the money inside, counting it. It’s all in fifty-pound notes, and it comes to a few thousand. I do the same with each book, until all the money is gone.
Smirking and feeling less upset than I did ten minutes ago, I exit the room and walk into the den. I pour myself a large glass of vodka and don”t even bother to add ice. I down the drink, and the burn soothes the nausea that is rising.
I need to get out of here. I need time to think. I use my phone to order a cab, and then I write Matteo a note and leave it on the kitchen counter.
Hi Matteo, I”m sorry to bail early, but I”ve started to feel a little bit unwell. I think I might be getting a migraine. Rain check and see you soon? Renata xx
I do sometimes still get the occasional migraine, although they are nowhere near as bad as they were when I was younger. Then they could be a common occurrence and were debilitating. At least using that as an excuse means he”s likely to believe it.
The taxi arrives, and I step outside and curse as I realize I don”t have a key or any way of locking the door. I slam the door and stomp across the gravel to the outbuilding and bang on the door. Eventually a man with messy brown hair answers the door, a scowl on his face.
“Sorry to disturb you,” I say. Not sorry at all. “I need to leave as I’ve come down with a migraine. I don”t have a key for the door, though. I didn”t really want to walk out of here and leave the mansion unlocked with everything in there ready for the picking.”
“I don”t think you”re just allowed to leave, ma”am,” he says.
“Firstly, what the fuck with the ma’am, and secondly, I can go wherever I want at anytime. I”m not a prisoner here. Either go and lock the door, or sit in the house and make sure your boss’s things don”t get taken, because if he comes back and finds the place emptied out you”ll be in a lot of trouble.”I storm to the idling car and clamber in. The front door to the house is left unlocked but let his fucking security deal with that.
We turn off the driveway and onto the road, and I look behind me and see the dark shape of the SUV coming around from the back of the house. Fuck the security detail if they think they”re following me. I don”t need his stupid protection. I will be getting my own, though. Immediately.
I won”t go to Nico or Babbo to beg for their help on this. Instead, I will use my own money. Men have let me down my entire life, so I think I”ll get myself a female team.
I remember then that Cindy has a female team looking after her, and I text her. Two minutes later I get a reply. It”s a phone number, and I call it immediately.
“Yes,” a male voice answers with a Russian accent.
“Who am I speaking to?” I ask. Cindy told me this was the number for the office and it was likely that Cassie would answer.
“This is Konstantin Silvanov,” he replies.
Oooh, I remember him. He’s the big, scowly Russian bastard who was at Nico’s wedding. I would have quite liked to seduce him, but he is happily married, and I might not have many moral qualms but stealing another woman’s husband for the night is one of them.
“Hello, Konstantin. My name is Renatta Andretti. I’m the sister of Nico Andretti. You provide security for his wife, Cindy.”
“Dah.”
“I’d like to hire some security for myself, please.”
“Of course. Let me get my wife, and she can talk you through the services and packages we offer.”
“Do you have availability of any female protection officers? I really don’t want men.”
He sighs and tries to turn it into a cough. “I’m not sure we do. Cassie will talk with you, but we’re getting a lot of demand for female security teams, and we don’t have all that much availability.”
“Perhaps you ought to train some more then,” I say snippily.
“You think? Why didn’t I think of that.”
I hear muffled speaking, and then a woman comes on the line. “Hi there. Renata Andretti, is it?”
“Yes,” I say.
“I’m Cassie. Sorry about my husband. There’s a reason I do the client facing work and not him. Now, why don’t you tell me what you want and how we can help you?”
I tell her that I want a female lead security detail. She says that although there”s a high demand and short supply for that, she”ll do everything in her power to organize it for me as the sister of an already trusted client. She asks me to give her a few days before she gets back to me. She needs to go over the recruitment program and see what the numbers look like. I thank Cassie for her help and hang up. Then I turn to the taxi driver.
“Take the left, here, quickly,” I say. He does as I ask, tearing around the corner, driving in the crazy way I”ve noticed quite a few taxi drivers do. That works for me. A crazy taxi driver is just what I need for this next task.
“Someone is following me. They are in a black SUV behind us.” His face in the rearview mirror tightens, and his eyes widen. “There”s no need for any alarm,” I tell him. “It”s my security detail, but I want to lose them.”
“Why would you want to lose your security detail?” he asks.
“Because they are provided by a man I hate.”
His eyes meet mine in the mirror, and he shrugs. “Fair enough; it”s not my place to ask. I”ll try my best.”
“I”ve changed my mind about where I”m going,” I tell him. When I ordered the cab, I gave the address for my apartment in Windsor. I”m not going to go there now as it is too easy for Matteo to follow me there. He wouldn”t dare turn up at my family home, however. As much as I hate the idea of going back home to my dear parents, right now it seems like the best option. I rattle off the new address to the taxi driver and tell him to take a few right and left turns down these country lanes. Once I am sure we’ve lost our tail, I give him instructions to head to the Andretti home.
We arrive a short while later. I knock on the door, and the maid answers. I smile at her warmly. “Is my mother in?” I ask. “May I speak with her?”
“Of course,” she says.
She goes to fetch Mamma, and I stand in the hallway of my childhood home as if I’m a stranger.
That”s the way it”s always felt for me, being part of this family. I never fitted, not really. Nico was the golden child, and I was the disappointment. Nico might believe our father loves me more than him just because he never gave me the same sort of discipline that he gave Nico, but in a strange way, at least he gave Nico attention. I was always disregarded. Never focused on, as anything other than the pretty girl who would grow up and marry someone and give them heirs. The only way I would be of any value to my family is if I popped out a son, and I”m determined never to do that for them.
Mamma sweeps into the hallway and gives me a chilly smile. Her hair is swept up into a stylish chignon. Her face is carefully made-up, and as she embraces me briefly, the scent of something expensive with vanilla undertones washes over me.
“Darling,” she says. “What a surprise. We weren”t expecting you.”
“We need to talk,” I tell her. “Is Angela here?”
She frowns in confusion. “Of course she”s not here; why would she be here? It”s the weekend.”
“I thought she was your new bestie and confidante,” I say sarcastically.
Mamma sighs in that long suffering manner she has whenever she”s dealing with me, and she leads me into the more formal of our two sitting rooms.
“Why the formality?” I ask.
She sighs again. “I presume you want to talk in confidence, and your father is in the other room.”
“We could go and sit in the den,” I suggest.
Her mouth tightens into a thin line. “That room is disgusting,” she says. “Your father was in there last night watching movies, and it stinks of popcorn.”
“Not watching movies?” I say with fake horror. “How utterly disgusting.”
I can see her visibly fighting to suppress the eye roll at my sarcasm. “Darling, I have quite a busy day ahead of me, so why don”t you spit out whatever it is that you”ve come to say.”
I stare at her for a long moment. This is it. This is the moment where I either take down my family, or I tell my mother the truth about what I believe Matteo is doing.
“I have some information for you,” I tell her, my mind working as I speak.
“Yes?” She leans forward, head cocked to one side, waiting. She reminds me of a baby bird waiting for the parents to drop food in its mouth.
“Oh no, you don”t just get it. It will cost.”
She barks out a shrill laugh. “Are you blackmailing your own family?”
“Oh, don”t look so shocked, Mamma. You”ve all been blackmailing me for years one way or another. I will share this information, if I get ten percent share of the company and a vote on the board. And trust me when I tell you it”s worth it.”
My heart is pounding rapidly, but I sit with calm indifference. She can”t make that decision, and she knows it. By me giving her the option, I’ve humiliated her because she”s going to have to go and ask our father.
She stares at me, the tick in the right side of her jaw the only tell that right about now, she wants to throttle me.
“I think your father should hear this latest scheme of yours,” she says imperiously.
“Yes, run along. Fetch Babbo. We all know you can’t act on this without his say so.”
The crack of pain in my face is felt before I register the sound in the room. I rub at my cheek as she walks out. Damn, Mamma’s palm has force behind it.
They return, with Babbo looking like he’s about to commit murder. I straighten my spine and face them both.
“Mamma, Babbo. I think your supposedly amazing friend Angela is playing you. I can prove it, but you need to give me something first. I want a say in the company. Ten percent.” I want more, of course, but that’s a good foot in the door, and I can plot and plan from there.
“I heard you received a good divorce settlement,” Babbo says. “Not that you told us, of course, with your secretive little ways. You probably need the money less than the rest of us.”
“It’s not about the money,” I say. “It’s about me being treated as an equal. I’m not asking for half for God’s sake. Ten percent. A share. That’s all I want, and I will make it worth your while.”
Father stalks to the bar and pours himself a drink. There are small bars in almost every room in this house. What that says about my parents, I don’t know.
“Angela isn’t your friend,” I say to Mamma. “She’s tricked you. It’s all bullshit.”
Babbo stares at me and harrumphs. “He already got to you? I told you she’d fall for him.” He shakes his head at my mother. “He’s a handsome bastard, and he has a way with the ladies, I hear.”
“I haven’t fallen for him,” I scoff, hating the way my face flames. “I picked his fucking locked drawers in his study.”
They both stare at me, my mother’s mouth dropping open. She doesn’t look elegant for once but more like a fish. I almost laugh.
“How?” she asks.
“With a paper clip.”
“Is that really a thing?” she asks, her face all astonishment.
“Yes, it’s a thing,” I reassure her. “One I know how to do.”
“What did you find?” Babbo asks.
“Files. On me. Photographs. He’s been having me followed by an investigator, it seems. He set a trap. He wants us to think he’s letting us see all this information about his business, but really, he’s feeding us false information.”
“Are you sure about this?” My father takes a pipe out of the bureau in the far corner of the room and commences the ritual of preparing it.
He rarely smokes a pipe and usually only does so when he is upset or angry.
“I photographed some of his entries.”
“That son of a bitch. I told you this Angela character was too good to be true.” He berates Mamma and even though she deserves it, I don’t want this to descend into a fight between them.
“We can use this to our advantage,” I say.
“How?” Mamma asks.
“Play him at his own game and feed Angela bad information.”
“Yes, but he’ll know something is wrong as he won’t see you again,” Father says.
“I will see him. I have an excuse lined up for today and tomorrow, and then I’ll see him again, and you can supply the fake information to Angela.”
“What information?”
“I don’t know. The main thing is to make him believe he’s won and then show him he hasn’t.”
Mamma frowns. “That isn’t what we wanted from this, we wanted an alliance.”
I stare at her in dismay. “But he’s playing you, and me.” I don’t add again, but I’m thinking it. “You said, at the start, you said marry him and form an alliance and take over, well why don’t we just take him down?”
“How? Financially? What do you think?”
Is she asking me?
“Well, Mamma dearest, I don’t know. I have no clue what we could do to hit him financially because you guys don’t let me know anything!”
I’m fuming now. A kettle reaching boiling point on the stove. If only they would let me have some insight into the business, then maybe I could be more helpful. Sadly, I don”t even know how many companies our family run. I know that there are the main core businesses, the ones that are mostly legitimate these days, and then there are the many small businesses they own. Our family has a plethora of sole trader type businesses, which is a great way of laundering money. It”s kind of legal, and kind of not. Then there”s the shady side of things, and of course, I don”t know about that, and I don”t wish to. When I say I want in on the family business, I mean the legitimate side. I have no interest in joining Nico and his thugs in shaking people down.
“Perhaps, if I had more insight into the business, then I could help you more,” I say to my mother. “However, in this instance I can”t do much.”
“Yes, you can,” Babbo says. “You can go back there and get more information.”
“Oh, no way. I”m not doing that. You”re sending me back into the lions den! He”s going to know. He’ll be able to tell with one look at me.”
“Don”t be ridiculous,” Mamma scoffs. “The man doesn”t know you now, Renata. You aren’t the same as you were when you had a dalliance with him as a teenager. You can fool him. Why do you think I sent you in there? Renata, you think I’ve always underestimated you but I know exactly what you’re capable of. I know where your power lies.”
She doesn’t say the words, but she might as well. Between my legs is what she means. God, I’m going to vomit. She’s so unbearable.
I stare at them both and realize I need to play for time. I may have somehow overestimated my hand in this situation. A while ago I saw myself as the conquering hero who would bring two families down, but now I see myself as someone squeezed between two behemoths.
A horrible realization hits me. I”m incredibly vulnerable right now. If Matteo finds out I”m onto his game, I could be in danger from him. Certainly, from members of his family.
Oh God, I”m the nut in this scenario, and the Mancini family and the Andretti family are two sides of the nutcracker squeezing me.
I’m risking it all and for what? Two people I don’t even like and a man who is a psychopath? I almost laugh, except I’d probably scream instead. So I keep my mouth firmly shut and my face impassive.
The humiliation from my teenager years when I walked into that party to find him sitting like a king on his throne, surrounded by DeLuca’s washes over me as if it is all new. The photos of me scattered on his desk flit through my mind. That deranged drawing, the snake swallowing the heart. The poison eating the love. For the first time in a long while. I’m scared. I’m also angry. Raging. I let the rage win.
My father looks at me with such hard, cold indifference, and it sends a shiver down my spine. These people aren’t capable of real love and I am going to stop trying to win it. It’s a losing proposition and I am so damned tired of it all.
To buy myself time, I will string them along and then I will do what is best for me. Not Mamma and Babbo. Not Matteo. Me.
“How about,I take my time and try to do some more digging and find out all I can about his side of the equation, and you talk to your wayward son and demand that I know more information about our side of the equation.” I stare at my parents putting on my game face and trying to brazen this out.
The Andretti family are like sharks, and if they sense my weakness, they will attack. Any blood in the water at all will be a signal to them.
“That sounds like a plan,” Mamma says briskly.
“Good. I’ll book a date with him in a few days.” I smile at them, and their cool and aloof smiles in return let me know that they are both plotting and planning.
God, it wouldn’t surprise me if one day one of them killed the other. There’s nothing in their empty heads but hierarchies of power and their positions within them.
Fuck this shit; I am done with these people. What have I been fighting for? A piece of this? This broken, pathetic family? Fuck them. I am worth more. So much more. I have money. I have beauty. I can start over and build something for myself. I’ve been letting my insecurities win and that’s not me. Ever since I came back home, I’ve been letting that little girl who didn’t get the bike but tried so hard to be good come to the fore. Well, no more.
I stare at my parents, and the heartbreak I always thought would come at this moment simply isn’t there. They are hateful, vile people, and I feel nothing for them. Nico has Cindy and it’s my time to find my own happiness.
I can start a new life, and it’s something I should have done a long time ago. In Italy I’ll be safe from Matteo and his lies too but I won’t be going before I break him apart. I’ll show him he’s not the games master he thinks he is. I’ll make such a fucking fool of him, his reputation will never recover.
Before I go, I need to do something to really screw him up and show him he”s not the games master he believes he is.
I leave my parents’ home with an uneasy sense of impending doom gathering over me like the storm clouds on a winter”s day.
I’ve had four texts from Matteo demanding to know if I am alright. I fired off a reply and said yes, I was fine. I had to see my parents and I’m heading home because I still have a headache.
By the time I get home, I really do have a migraine.
The black SUV idling a few doors down catches my attention when I exit the cab. That fucker has security waiting at my place. I’m sure they’re his. Well, he can’t follow me to Italy can he?
I fire off a message to Carol, asking her if she”d like a visit. I explain that things are not too comfortable for me right now, and I would like to stay for a while.
Her reply is immediate and effusive. She says that she would relish my company.
I sit and think. I can stay with her and lick my wounds. Getting over Matteo for the second time will be harder than it was all those years ago but once I’ve shown him that he can’t play me this way, I won’t have a choice but to leave. I screwed Duncan behind his back all those years ago and it led to his obsession. God know how he’ll react to me fucking him over again.
I won’t let him win though. I won’t let him humiliate me all over again. I pour a drink, sit down.
Then … I plot.