Chapter 5 #4
I sink my teeth into my lower lip. Ruffo is settled in the leather seat, regarding me with a slight scowl on his face.
Again, he didn’t word it as an order, but the look in his eyes tells me a different story.
The man is glaring at me like he isn’t used to hearing no.
Which would be worse? Ignoring his demand or getting into this car with him?
He didn’t suddenly decide to kill me, did he?
He had plenty of chances over the past weeks, right?
Swallowing my apprehension, I slip inside the car, taking the seat across from Ruffo. As soon as I buckle in, the privacy screen separating us from the driver rises, leaving Ruffo and me facing each other in the back of his flashy limousine. Alone. Just the two of us. In deadly silence.
The engine rumbles once more as the car pulls back into traffic, swerving effortlessly to get around the bus. My bus. The bus that would have taken me safely home.
“Um… I could have walked,” I mumble. “My place is only a few blocks away.”
Ruffo cocks his head to the side, his eyes intent on me from behind his black-rimmed glasses, as if he’s not exactly sure what he wants to do with me.
My pulse skyrockets. Usually, glasses make the wearer seem less threatening.
But Ruffo’s frames only make his icy irises stand out.
I fidget beneath that glacial glare. Looking around to focus on anything but him.
The interior of the car screams luxury. Every detail is pristine. The champagne-colored leather seats are so soft and smooth, the upholstery feels like butter. The clean lines and wooden finishings on the cabinetry and folding tables remind me of the superyachts I’ve seen on TV.
I swallow past the lump in my throat and lean back into the comfy seat, acutely aware of how utterly out of place I must look in this lavish setting.
Familiar setting? My skin itches as that prickling feeling that I might have been in this car before settles over me.
Am I imagining things again? It also doesn’t help that beneath my feet, a puddle is forming from the rainwater dripping off the hem of my coat.
The damn thing is so heavy, having absorbed so much, that it’s weighing me down.
I nearly slump in my seat. My wet hair is plastered to my scalp and face, so I must truly resemble the “drowned rat” he called me.
All of that is shaking the last traces of my confidence as I face the menacing presence of Adriano Ruffo.
“Is this your car?” I blurt, desperate to fill the silence.
Ruffo regards me with a raised brow but doesn’t say anything.
“It’s just… It looks like the car that took me to the hospital when my mom— Never mind.” I clamp my mouth shut, realizing my nerves have me babbling nonsense. There’s no way he would’ve done that, right? Sent his car to drive me over that day?
His gaze drifts down from the top of my head, landing on the bouquet of soaked and haggard flowers on my lap. “That arrangement looks like it has seen better days.”
“I guess.” I fidget some more. “But it’s still nice to get them.”
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes.
“Did someone give you those flowers as a gift?”
“What? Oh no. I work at the flower shop. The owner just lets me take home whatever is too wilted to be sold.”
He nods, but his jaw remains tense. “A man or a woman?”
I stare at him dumbly.
“The owner. Is it a man or a woman?”
What a weird question. “She’s a woman.”
That murderous glint in his eyes disappears. He doesn’t say anything more.
Silence fills the car. It’s strained. Palpable.
Three feet of space separate us, but it feels like our faces are only inches apart.
It’s those eyes. Cold. Cunning. But entirely magnetic.
They are drawing me in. That extraordinary color is blinding me to the dangers within.
I don’t know how anyone who has locked gazes with Ruffo could ever believe him to be passive or kind.
And those are the words I’ve heard women use countless times while they gossiped about him.
About him being tolerant, maybe even a bit ignorant, while his wife was screwing around on him.
He knew. I’m sure he did.
In fact, I’ll bet there isn’t a single thing that escapes Ruffo’s notice.
And I’m completely positive that he didn’t simply “tolerate” her affairs. He must have had a reason to let her carry on as she did. Another hidden piece within the mystery that is Adriano Ruffo.
I adjust my wet coat, pulling it tighter around me, as if that might somehow help shield me from his piercing glare.
Should I say something else? Maybe I should ask him how his day has been going? Or is it best for me to just keep quiet? Why is he staring at me like that?
I don’t think anyone has ever looked at me like this before. With that…interest? Curiosity? As if he’s trying to decipher a plot. I’m pretty sure I’m an open book, one that’s fairly boring, so I don’t understand what he could possibly be looking to solve. He’s the one who’s the puzzle in this car.
“Why did you kill your wife, Mr. Ruffo?”
One black eyebrow rises at my question. I can’t believe I just asked him that!
Oh God, I shouldn’t have done it. I try to disappear into the seat cushion. My back meets the soft leather, preventing me from retreating any further.
“Because Filippa tried to kill me. So I made sure it wouldn’t happen again.”
I blink at him, shocked that he actually answered. Regardless of his reasons, it doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. By having to kill his wife. How could he have spent a decade with her and act as if it meant nothing? A shudder runs down my spine.
“Are you afraid of me, Iris? Considering you have been working for our psychotic don, whose hands are most certainly smeared with blood, I would expect that no man would be able to scare you.”
“Don Spada is a very intimidating man, that’s true, but he never hides who he is, Mr. Ruffo.” I bite my lip.
“Unlike me?”
“Yes. You’re not what you pretend to be.”
The expression on his face doesn’t change.
It remains stoic, as beautiful as a Roman sculpture, like marble carved to resemble flesh and blood.
But still as stone. Only, there’s a glint in his eyes that feels different.
The crow’s-feet seem deeper, too. And, although he didn’t move, I’d swear there’s a slight lift in the corner of his lips.
Did he smirk? Am I imagining it? Ruffo isn’t a man who smiles often.
Or at all. Those creases around his eyes are probably nothing more than strategically placed decorations, meant to deceive, disarm, and hoodwink you into being dismissed.
A wet strand of his inky hair has fallen over his forehead. It being out of place on the otherwise perfectly composed man is making my fingers itch. I want to sweep it back into order. Restore his flawless facade. Where did that impulse come from?
“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Little Iris.” That gravelly voice jerks me back to reality.
I look to my left, surprised to see the driver standing with the car door open.
I didn’t even realize we’d stopped. Purposefully not looking at Ruffo, I clamber out and dash toward my building’s entrance.
Behind me, the rumble of an engine fills the night.
I’m climbing the stairs to our fourth-floor apartment when I freeze mid-step.
I never told him my address.