Chapter 6 #3
At the curb, an intense-looking dude gets out from the shotgun seat and heads to open the back passenger door of the limo.
A seriously tall man in a dark-gray suit exits the car.
As soon as he does, the roar of the angry crowd reaches another level.
When the man turns around, and my eyes fall on his face, my body freezes like it’s been petrified.
Adriano Ruffo.
Here. Now.
Goose bumps break out across my flesh, and at the same time, a swarm of butterflies takes flight in my stomach. My body can’t decide how I should be reacting to this man. Both fear and excitement have me tied up in knots.
I stand motionless on the edge of the flower bed, gaping at Ruffo as he surveys the thunderous mob with his hands casually shoved into the pockets of his perfectly pressed pants.
He doesn’t appear bothered at all. Not by the threats.
Not by the ardent pleading. He just stands there like an almighty, ruthless god, observing the people who are losing their homes with callous indifference.
It’s disturbing. How could anyone be so coldhearted?
At the front of the crowd, the mother with the wailing kid is screaming that Ruffo has robbed her son of the only home the boy has ever known.
Next to her, an old man is hunched over his cane, pointing at the building.
I can imagine him pleading with the heartless businessman in a breaking voice to reconsider his plans to kick them all out.
Several young guys are trying to push through the crush; their expletive-laced shouts are further antagonizing the crowd.
Things feel like they are a hair’s breadth from utterly unraveling.
Incredulous, I watch Ruffo scan the crowd. He towers over everyone here, and that stony gaze of his doesn’t waver for even a fraction of a second as it meets the glares of the desperate residents. Until it clashes with mine, and surprise flares in Ruffo’s glacial eyes.
Chills rush along my spine, which happens each time those icy blues land on me.
It must be some atavistic instinct. A warning of immediate danger.
An alert to flee from the sight of this sneaky predator or face the consequences, or possibly doom.
I can’t do it, though. Can’t escape his gaze.
And I think he knows it. Over the heads of the furious mob, his unrelenting eyes bore into mine.
Maybe he enjoys seeing how much he terrifies me? And he does. He’s scaring the living daylights out of me, but not because I know what he is capable of.
Cosa Nostra is full of ruthless, deceitful people who’ve been playing this game for quite some time and learned to detect lies and pretense in others.
They can’t be fooled, not for long at least. And yet, they all see Adriano Ruffo as a mild-mannered gentleman.
One who’d never get his hands dirty or resort to violence. They all think he’s safe.
He conned them all and has kept up his charade for years, and that frightens me half to death.
Millennia seem to pass before he finally breaks our locked stares, looking upward toward the placard over my head. His right eyebrow lifts, ever so slightly, as if amusement tickles him. Not sure why my Shame On You! sign would be so entertaining to Ruffo, but apparently it is.
His eyes dart back to mine again, for nothing more than a fleeting moment, before his focus returns to the crowd. As if his presence alone can compel the unruly, a hush falls over the horde.
I can only hope that after seeing all these desperate and pleading people, he’ll be persuaded to change his plans.
To keep their homes intact. Maybe my original assessment of him wasn’t completely off.
Maybe there is a speck of conscience in him after all.
Only a person with no heart could stay unaffected after seeing all this.
Real people. Real lives that will be destroyed. Maybe—
“The demolition is proceeding in three months, as planned,” Ruffo declares in an even tone; his words carry like a wave from person to person. “Anyone who has not moved out by the set deadline will be forcibly removed and charged with trespassing.”
The irate outbursts explode once again, louder and more menacing than before.
The mob of protesters morphs into a surging flood, pushing forward as if trying to physically get to the man responsible for their grievance.
A couple of Ruffo’s goons close ranks to hold back the tide, shielding their boss.
Without sparing those around him another look, Ruffo turns to get back into his limo.
Just before he slips inside, those icy eyes flash my way.
The contact is brief, less than a second, before he’s gone, and his vehicle pulls away from the curb.
The crowd remains. Angry and dejected. Reduced to spitting empty threats and pointless curses at the retreating car.
“What a self-absorbed motherfucker,” Evelyn mumbles next to me.
I nod, lowering my sign so I can jump off the raised flower bed. As it lies on long-trampled ground, the writing on the cardboard catches my eye. I blink. Horrified at what it says.
Evict this, you fucking asshole!
With a middle finger drawn next to it.
Oh God. I was accidentally holding up Evelyn’s placard.