Chapter Thirty-two
Vida
T he next morning, I wake up feeling restless, eager to get ready and head out with Carmela. I hadn’t thought about how Ciro acted yesterday or why, but I did think about him. I wanted to find the mole for him and keep him safe from whatever danger was coming. I couldn’t shake the anxiety that came from telling Carmela and making a plan that could get us both into trouble, but I couldn’t just ignore everything and not do anything. A part of me feels like I’m doing this to prove something, which might be true. I wanted to keep Ciro safe, but why? I have no idea, but this is something I have to do . . . for my husband. For him.
Carmela is waiting for me when I step into her room, already fully dressed, ready for the day. I’d put on black jeans and a short singlet, covering it with a dark blue jean jacket. I hadn’t realized it, but slowly my style had begun to change. From the bright colors I wore back at home, to the dark colors that made me feel more confident. I like them, and I knew he did too . . . I wanted him to at least.
As I stand in front of Carmela’s mirror, trying to fix my hair, I hear a knock on the door, accompanied by his voice, and I freeze.
Ciro.
“Is she here?” he asks, obviously not referring to Carmela in the third person.
Talking to him is the last thing I want right now. It’s why I rushed out of my room like a maniac this morning. I had no intention of hearing whatever it is he has to say. Not now. Not after the way he’d treated me, and especially not when I’m hiding something this important from him. I don’t have the guts to look into his eyes. Knowing him, he’ll be able to see right through me.
I shake my head at Carmela, asking her not to respond, but my hope melts away as she smiles and opens the door, revealing a fully suited Ciro standing with his hands in his pockets, as usual. Does he always look this good? With his brown suit that hugs his body, making it obvious how beautiful his torso really looks, and his slicked back hair with a strand hanging by his brow.
“Are you going to speak to her or drool at her?” Carmela’s voice breaks our eye contact, one I’m certain we were both oblivious too. Why is he staring at me? The right question is why am I staring at him?!
“Heading somewhere?” he asks, turning his gaze to his twin sister, who smiles at him with her arms across her chest.
“Yes? Why?” she replies, keeping her smile in place.
Why is she so happy today?
Silence.
Why isn’t he saying anything? I want him to say something, anything.
“Thought I’d tell you I’ll be out all day,” he says after he clears his throat.
Is that really what he wanted to say?
“Okay good!” she says to him. “Shall we?”
She turns to me, grabbing her bag from the table behind the door and slinging the strap over her shoulder. He watches her, his brow cocked as she stops to look at me.
“Yes . . . yes, we shall,” I reply, stuttering and mentally cursing myself for sounding so nervous.
“Vi . . .”
I stop like a movie being paused, swearing I heard him mutter my name as I pass him. As the seconds tick by and I wait for him to say more, he doesn’t. I turn and watch him leave, the man again making me feel stupid and small.
I hate him! I hate him so much for this, yet I continue to follow Carmela to the door, going to find a mole in order to protect him.
“You ready for this?” Carmela asks, her voice tinged with excitement as she parks right in front of a building that looks like it sells wine?
I take in a deep breath before nodding. Nerves settle in again, clenching at my stomach.
“I need to be sure it’s him. I need to hear his voice one more time. Then I’ll know,” I say, more to myself than to Carmela.
“Alright,” she chuckles, seeing how much effort I’m using to stay calm.
“Now,” she begins, flipping down the car visor and turning on the led lights.
“Show some boobs,” she orders, dabbing her lips.
“What?” I ask with wide eyes, watching her add some red lipstick and adjust her shirt, showing off more cleavage than before.
”You want him to slip up?” she asks, smirking at me.
“Yes, of course,” I reply, still not understanding what is happening.
Her smirk grows, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Then show some cleavage. Trust me, you’ll see why.”
I blink at her, trying to process this, but Carmela knows best.
“Fine,” I answer, opening up my jacket and slightly pulling down my singlet.
She turns to me, laughing lightly.
“You want him to let his guard down, right? Show some skin and play into it. It’ll work,” she says, pulling the singlet further down and almost removing my jacket, leaving it hanging on my shoulders.
After I check my makeup, we get out of the car. Carmela is already a few steps ahead as I round the car, strutting confidently toward the entrance. I follow, my heart thumping harder with each step.
Emotions cloud judgment, I reminded myself, making sure I have a straight face and a clear head space to do what I need to do. Anxiety can’t ruin this for me.
As we walk in, we are greeted by a lady who seems to be his PA or secretary. She asks us to wait in his office after hearing who we are. The room is lavish as we step inside, with leather chairs and gold accents, but none of it matters. My eyes scan everything, looking for anything that could give me the answers I need.
“I’ll let him know you’re here, Miss Ballera,” she says softly to Carmela before leaving us alone.
“Cam, search everywhere, for anything,” I order, already on autopilot as I walk to his desk.
“What? Didn’t you come to hear his voice?” she asks, walking to the shelf and looking for anything.
“Just trust me,” I tell her, scanning through documents and files that sit scattered atop his desk.
Minutes pass in silence while we search for anything we can find. My mind races as I search the room for clues. The tension is almost unbearable when, finally, I spot a file in the last drawer of the desk with the inscription “VT”, slightly askew. Without thinking twice, I grab it, snapping a picture with my phone. Inside is a document about a Russian mob, one I assumed was about Vladimir Trofimov, the same one I heard him talking about doubling crossing. I still haven’t gotten any response from Izzy yet, but I’m sure she will have some information. So I take pictures of all of it and put the documents back in quickly!
“Cam, I got something. Stop searching,” I whisper loud enough for her to hear me. As the last words leave my mouth, the man enters. Looking straight at us, his gaze lingers a little too long. He looks younger than the last time I saw him, with his calculating eyes scanning us both before finally landing on me. His lips curl into a grin, but there is something predatory in it.
“What brings you ladies here today?” His voice is smooth, almost too smooth. He glances at my cleavage before walking towards Carmela.
“It’s good to see you too, Mr. Raymond Vito,” Carmela greets.
I don’t need more confirmation to know it was him, his voice is the same one I heard. Raymond Vito is the mole!
“Does your brother need something?” he asks, almost licking his lips as he walks towards her.
He is a pervert! And now I understood why Carmela wanted us to show some skin.
They chat for a few seconds before her phone rings. As Carmela excuses herself, I force myself to stay calm, watching her slip out the door and leave me alone with him. It was the plan; listen to him talk and say something funny, but I have more plans, one being for him to make me part of his grand plan.
My heart is racing, each beat like a drum pounding in my ears. I can’t let him see how nervous he makes me. I have to look as natural as possible, like a woman who doesn’t have a care in the world or, at least, a woman whose biggest problem is her marriage.
“So, Mrs. Ballera,” he begins, his voice slick, almost amused, as he settles back in his chair.
For a name that I hated not that long ago, I find myself not minding anymore. Mrs. Ballera sounds good in my ears, even if the man I am married to drives me crazy.
“How’s married life treating you? Being with a man like Ciro can’t be easy,” Mr. Raymond asks, sitting comfortably back into his chair.
I force a laugh, running my fingers through my hair, knowing exactly how much that small gesture will grab his attention. Carmela did say to put on the best flirt act I had, so I was going to try.
“It’s . . . fine, I guess.” I keep my tone light and casual, letting just enough uncertainty slip in to make him think there is more beneath the surface.
His eyes narrow slightly, as if he was testing me, searching for cracks.
“You don’t sound very convinced,” he states, leaning forward.
I stiffen as his hand comes down over mine, slowly rubbing his palms on the back of my hand and not in a way to bring comfort. My stomach twists with revulsion, but I keep my expression soft and neutral.
“You know, if there’s something on your mind, I think of you like a daughter, Vida. You can talk to me,” he says, his words disgusting to both my ears and gut, and I only pray he can’t see it on my face.
I swallow hard, fighting every urge to pull my hand away. Instead, I let myself soften, letting my shoulders slump and my gaze drop to the floor. This is for Ciro. This is for my husband. I can do it if it saves him in the end.
“It’s just . . .” I pause, taking a deep, shaky breath, before slowly lifting my gaze until my eyes meet his.
“Sometimes, I can’t stand it. He’s . . . he’s cruel and controlling. It feels like I’m a caged animal. I just . . .” I pause again, letting the drama sink in.
I watch his face, searching for any hint of sympathy or even curiosity, anything to show he’s taking the bait. But he just sits there, watching me with an impassive look that makes my skin crawl. Why did I think this man was a rational human being the time we met?
“Marriage can be like that,” he finally says, his tone dismissive, almost bored. “You’ll get through it.”
My chest tightens, frustration clawing at me. I’m losing him, and I can’t afford to do that. I blink quickly, letting a tear slip down my cheek, then laugh bitterly. The sound of my voice is hollow, even to my own ears.
“I just . . . I thought you understood,” I say softly. “I mean, I thought you were the one person I could come to. You know, after you talked to me at my wedding. I just thought . . .”
I laugh lightly before pushing myself up slowly, letting my movements flow in a way that will keep his eyes on me. Stretching towards him as I place my hands on his desk, the same one I had ransacked looking for clues, I make sure my cleavage is showing at just the right angle, leaning over slightly as I place a quick, feather-light kiss on his cheek.
“But . . . it looks like I was wrong. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
He clears his throat, shifting in his chair. I catch the first signs of hesitation in his eyes. I’m getting to him. Good.
I slowly walk toward the door, forcing myself to take each step with a good swing of my hips.
“I just thought that I could really get back at him, you know? Show him he’s not untouchable. I mean, I know everything he knows.” I let out a small, bitter laugh. “I even thought I could use the casino opening to start, but . . . that was stupid. No one would ever stand up to Ciro Ballera. I’m stupid for even thinking that.”
“You’re right, no one would. So don’t over think it and live like a good wife. He’ll come around,” he says, crushing my heart as my final card turns to dust.
Fuck!
I let out a silent sigh as I continue towards the door, begging God to change his mind and let this plan not go down the drain. It’s the best plan I had, to be an ally to him while I figured how to ruin him instead. No plan seemed better than this, and fuck me for being so determined when I make a choice.
Three more steps . . . nothing.
Two more steps . . . he has not called me back.
One last step . . . I’ve failed.
I open the door, holding the handle a little longer than normal, still hoping for some miracle, anything at all. As I close the door behind me, I let my last shred of hope evaporate into thin air. My gaze lands on Carmela and I watch as she raises her brows, asking if I got what I needed. I shake my head, disappointment washing over my face.
I got what she thought I needed, confirmation that he is the man we were looking for, the man Ciro is searching for. The mole. But the heart wrenching fact that my plan had not worked out well, does break my heart.
“We . . .” I start to say, stopping immediately as I hear the door behind me open.
“Vida . . . wait.”
I turn to look at him as he stands with the door wide open. I stare at him, keeping my expression guarded, my pulse hammering with a mix of dread and excitement. He’s buying it! My plan did work!
I nod slightly, swallowing past the lump in my throat as I try to keep up my act. “Yes?”
He hesitates, looking behind me. I assume it’s Carmela he’s looking at before he gestures for me to come back, his voice smoothing over with that same patronizing tone.
“Maybe I do have a solution for you after all,” he says with that stupid smile of his.
I turn to Carmela, who obviously looks confused, but I mutter a quick “I’ll be out soon” before heading back to the space I hated being in the most; back into his office.
As I enter and wait for him to say something, my phone beeps with a message from Izzy.
Izzy: I’m sorry I’ve been swamped with work. Why the fuck are you asking about a Russian mobster? Dad will kill you if he knew, but Vladimir Trofimov is the guy Dad told us the government is probably working with and that’s why they had no leads on his crimes. The one Dad said was a pain in the ass after a cop died trying to uncover some shady things? Remember now? Good, drop it! Love you!
The memory of Vladimir Trofimov quickly washes over me as I remember why Dad had told us about him. I found a file with his name on the dining table, and wondered what sort of name it was.
“Let’s talk Mrs. Ballera,” he says, getting my attention. In this moment, I know exactly what I have to do.