Chapter 5 #3
The rain is relentless, pelting me as I struggle to turn the old lock.
The stupid thing tends to act up at the worst of times.
Like now, while I’m stuck beneath a ripped awning over the front entrance to the tiny flower shop I work at.
The owner still hasn’t gotten anyone in to fix or replace it, even though the thing got torn to shreds last winter.
Ugh, I hate closing up the store.
I shove the half-wilted bouquet of red roses under my arm so I can have both of my hands free. Pulling the door handle with all my might, I try again to turn the key. Finally, the deadbolt slides into the bore hole with a loud click. Hallelujah!
This day has been a total drag. It started with Rina texting to let me know that her cousin still doesn’t have an opening for me at the gentlemen’s club she works at.
It’s been almost a month since I asked. But I guess the positions there are highly coveted.
Big money and all that. So unless one of the girls gets sick or quits, I’m outta luck.
If things don’t change soon, I’ll have to consider other options to start earning quick, hard cash.
Maybe I could sell one of my kidneys? I wonder how much that would go for?
Somehow, I suspect it won’t cover even a quarter of what Mom needs.
My worn-out canvas sneakers are soaked through as soon as I step onto the sidewalk.
Great. The shop is about a forty-minute walk from home.
In the summertime, when it stays light out much longer, and when the weather is nice, I enjoy strolling along the bustling sidewalks.
Not tonight, though. The streets are deserted, with everyone indoors, escaping the late-fall chill.
The rain started coming down about an hour ago, then transformed into a torrential downpour, and smart me didn’t bring an umbrella.
If I stick around to wait for the bus, I’m sure I’ll be drenched through to my underwear.
This ancient coat is useless against the wind, never mind the rain.
I’ll be miserable the whole time, but I think I should just make a run for it instead of waiting around, hoping the bus will come on schedule.
At times like this, it’s a little doubtful anyway.
I startle at the sound of approaching footsteps behind me.
Throwing a quick look over my shoulder, I’m relieved that it’s only another ill-prepared person caught in the rain, hurrying home, I bet.
Lately, I’ve become kinda jumpy, constantly feeling like I’m being followed.
I blame the scary-as-hell novel I read about a serial killer who stalked his victims for weeks before kidnapping and killing them in the most freakish ways.
So, yeah, I’m jumpy. I could do with a bit of a palette cleanser, a nice rom-com, perhaps.
Or maybe a nature documentary of some kind.
Whatever it is, I need to do something because my imagination is running wild, making me see things that aren’t really there.
A couple of weeks ago, I almost had a coronary, thinking a guy in a dark suit was following me.
My panic went through the roof. I was certain that Ruffo decided to send one of his goons to dispose of me after all.
It ended up being nothing, though. Just some random dude I never saw again.
My mind is definitely tripping, but I’m pretty sure my fear is baseless.
If Adriano Ruffo did want me dead, I’d already be rotting in some ditch somewhere. With a bullet hole in my head.
Just like his wife.
Why did he kill her? For the hundredth time or more, the thought invades my mind.
The gossip from within la Famiglia has never interested me, but I’ve always been fascinated by mysteries.
Puzzle-solving is my jam. Crime thrillers are my addiction.
Whenever I find a free hour, I devour the suspense novels I get from the library.
But now, I have a real-life enigma to solve.
Adriano Ruffo. A man who isn’t what he wants you to see.
I still can’t seem to stop thinking about him. About what he’d done. His reasons for doing it. But the question that’s tormenting me the most is: Why am I still alive?
You have nothing to fear from me, Little Iris.
That softly spoken statement has been living in my head rent-free. Not only because of what those words mean, but because of how he said them. As if he truly meant it. Why? Why, why, why? Each time I see that man, I’m left with more and more questions.
He was over at the don’s again this week, on Monday.
But luckily, he didn’t see me. As soon as I saw him stepping through the main entrance, I rushed to the kitchen and stayed there, busying myself with making a cherry pie.
The dreadful thing ended up in the trash because I was too distracted to pay attention to what I was doing and added salt to the filling instead of sugar.
Not to mention that I forgot the cornstarch altogether and ended up with a runny mess.
Knowing that Ruffo was under the same roof as me had me on edge.
Antsy. I kept expecting to be told to take refreshments out to the meeting room, and the possibility of that both petrified and excited me simultaneously.
Then, when I finally heard his car pull away from the driveway, I felt equally relieved and disappointed.
I hope he won’t be coming back any time soon, but I know that’s very unlikely.
Lately, Ruffo has been stopping by the Spada Estate a lot. Sometimes, multiple times a week.
The traffic light changes to red, and I stop at the crosswalk, pulling my coat tighter around myself.
As if the rain wasn’t enough, this wind is killing me.
I’m bouncing on the spot, trying to keep warm, when a fancy car, way too flashy for this neighborhood, rolls up beside me, also waiting for the light to turn.
I spare it a brief glance before I refocus on the traffic light.
A cab flies through the intersection, blaring its horn at a guy running across the street.
On the other side, a woman hollers from an apartment window, calling for some poor Frank to get his ass back home. Everybody has some place to be.
My attention gets snagged on the brightly illuminated billboard mounted on the side of the building across the street.
The ad is for an upcoming exhibition of the Crown Jewels of the European Royalty that is supposed to open in Boston in a few months.
It features a close-up of an intricate gold necklace with a stunning teardrop pendant, a sparkling violet-colored solitaire.
It’s gorgeous. The brilliance of the gem is accentuated by the navy velvet background.
The image is more than simply eye-catching.
The necklace, and especially the pendant, feels hypnotic, keeping my gaze transfixed.
But the ad for the regal jewelry seems utterly preposterous in a neighborhood where the paint is peeling off the building it’s being displayed on.
I shake my head, wondering if whoever chose the location to showcase this promo is living in a different world than the rest of us.
“You look like you need a ride,” a deep voice says behind me.
I almost jump out of my skin.
As I turn around, goose bumps break out across my arms. Partially from the cold, but mostly from the sight in front of me.
Adriano Ruffo, holding open the back door of that fancy car.
Rain is drenching his expensive-looking gray suit while he towers over me like a terrifying, dark colossus.
I take a step back. Away from him. Suddenly even more frightened of this man.
The other times we were this close, he was sitting.
I didn’t realize he’d have more than a foot on me.
I’m not exactly tall, but at five feet four, I’m no pip-squeak either.
“Thank you for the offer. But I’m… I’m good.”
His dark eyebrows furrow. “You resemble a drowned rat.”
I shiver. The puddles have soaked my jeans halfway up my knees.
My feet are swimming inside my sneakers.
And my coat feels like it weighs a ton, and possibly has reached its saturation point, because my shirt underneath is now also damp.
My eyes dart to the back seat of his car.
The interior seems warm, dry, and inviting.
I’m tempted. Curious, too. But curiosity has been known to kill the cat.
“Really, I’m good. Thank you.” I clear my throat. “Have a nice evening, Mr. Ruffo.”
Before I finish that sentence, I’m rushing across the street.
What the hell is Adriano Ruffo doing in my neighborhood?
People like him don’t come down here without a reason.
Why would he offer me a ride? There’s usually a single explanation for why men troll these streets.
I doubt Ruffo has to stoop that low. But a man of his stature also wouldn’t offer a woman like me a ride just because he knows me.
The muffled thud of a door, then the rev of an engine as the sleek black Bentley zooms past me. Thank God. A relieved sigh has barely left my lips when the car screeches to a halt just in front of me. The back door flies open, blocking my path.
“Do not be childish.” Ruffo’s rich baritone comes from inside the car. “I won’t bite.”
Sure. I bet the Big Bad Wolf said the same thing to Little Red Riding Hood. Immediately before he tried to eat her. I get a flash in my mind of Adriano Ruffo trying to eat me. And not in the Hannibal Lecter sort of way.