Chapter 9 #2
Keeping my head down, I turn to go. Not that I have a problem with Lucrezia seeing me at my place of employment.
I am not ashamed of what I do for a living.
I’m just trying to avoid another embarrassing scene.
I know how she loves to make them at my expense.
And even if I can take it, Ms. Zara doesn’t deserve that in her home.
Plus, I’m tired of Lucrezia’s constant put-downs and assertions that I’m somehow beneath her, and feeling as if I should be feeling like that after her constant barrage.
I’m not embarrassed of being a cook. Or a maid.
I earn every dollar and support myself and my mother.
I love my mother. Just as I loved my dad.
I am not ashamed of who my parents are. Just ’cause neither they nor I ever lived in an ivory tower doesn’t mean that I’m somehow less than her.
And my parents loved and were faithful to each other.
Not like Lucrezia’s mother, who had an affair with Brio while she was still married to my dad.
No, thank you. There’s nothing superior about that.
I’ve almost made my escape when I hear Lucrezia’s sugary voice saying excuse me, girl, with none of the courtesy the phrase usually carries.
“I need you to help me.”
I stop and slowly turn to face her. “Yes?”
“There’s a mud stain on my shoe. Could I make use of that kitchen towel?” She points to the one tucked into the waistband of my apron.
That’s strange. Her request sounded almost…polite. It stuns me for a moment. “Of course.”
I approach with an outstretched hand, offering her the towel. Just as I close the distance between us, a slight, sly smile twists her lips. She inspects her foot, turning it this way and that.
“Oh, how silly of me. This dress makes it impossible for me to bend. Would you mind cleaning the dirt off for me?” She moves the pointy toe of her right stiletto between my feet.
There’s the tiniest smudge, barely visible, on the shiny brown leather of the outer edge.
“But do take care, though. These are limited edition.”
It’s hard to swallow, and I’m unable to look away from the gorgeous heel.
She wants me to clean it.
Her shoe.
My half sister wants me to kneel in front of her to wipe dirt off the fancy leather.
Should I be glad it’s not off the bottom of her sole?
There’s no mistaking the satisfied glint in her eyes or that malicious smile.
I knew Lucrezia was cruel, but this is beyond anything she’s put me through before.
Everything in me rebels at the idea of kneeling at her feet. Every single cell. Every fiber of my being. But she is a guest in Don Spada’s house. And I’m at my place of work. I won’t allow this vindictive twat to push me into acting unprofessionally.
I grip the kitchen towel tightly in my hand and crouch before my sibling, wiping off the minuscule stain.
“Perfect.” Lucrezia smiles when I stand. “I’ll be sure to let the don know how utterly accommodating his staff are.”
Fighting back tears that I do not want her to see, I nod and dash toward the kitchen without another glance at my half sister.
The aroma of freshly baked sesame rolls is in the air when I enter my safe space.
They are my mom’s recipe, and the heavenly smell has always brought me a feeling of peace, tranquility.
Not this time. I rush past Rina, who is arranging additional appetizers on huge, round platters, then push between a couple of serving girls laden with trays of Champagne-filled crystal flutes.
Hanging on by a thread, I exit into the backyard.
The back driveway is empty. It’s used only for grocery deliveries, and all of that was handled hours ago. Beyond the lane, an expanse of trees is shrouded in darkness. Only the upper branches of the once-colorful canopy are lit by the crescent moon.
The wind is cool, and it blows into my face, making my eyes sting. Or maybe that’s the tears. I can’t suppress them any longer. Sucking in a lungful of air, I slump against the nearest wall.
“Too much stress?” a low baritone rasps somewhere to my right.
I yelp. The sound of Adriano Ruffo’s voice is something I’ll never be able to forget. Still trying to catch my breath, I glance over, spotting his huge form leaning on the outside wall. Mere feet from the other side of the kitchen entrance.
He makes no move other than to bring a hand toward his mouth. Then, the tip of a cigarette glows orange as he inhales, casting an eerie light on his hard-lined face. He gazes into the shadows before him, puffing out a wisp of white smoke.
Is he expecting me to answer?
“Um… I can handle it,” I choke out.
“Hmm.” He nods and extends his arm, holding his cigarette out toward me while continuing to stare into dark space. “Might help you relax.”
Utterly thrown by finding him here, it takes me a second to register the skunky smell. Cannabis.
Adriano Ruffo is getting high in the don’s backyard?
And he just offered to share his joint with me.
“Thanks, I’ll… I’ll pass,” I say, feeling like I’ve been sucked into an alternate reality.
“You shouldn’t be so quick to reject sincere offers of reprieve. Particularly one as measly as this,” he says before taking another drag.
“As someone who hasn’t thought twice about throwing people out of their homes in the name of the almighty dollar, I figure you need every gram of that weed to numb your conscience. Assuming you have one to begin with.”
He looks at me then. Those piercing cold eyes spear into mine with such intensity I can barely suppress the urge to take a step back. Has anyone ever dared to speak to Ruffo as I just did?
“I’m afraid I haven’t, Little Iris.” A dangerous glint flashes in those blue depths. “And evicting people from their homes is probably one of my least heinous sins.”
I look away. “No wonder you do drugs.”
“Drugs. Medicine. If it works, what’s the difference?”
“Does that work for you?” I nod toward the joint in his hand.
“I always hope it will, but it never does. It doesn’t matter, though. Seems I’ve found something else that does the trick. A very special drug indeed.” He tosses the butt and crushes it beneath the sole of his shoe.
“Right. Well, for your sake, I hope it’s not something nasty like coke or heroin. I hear that stuff is seriously addictive.” My God, I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. With Adriano Ruffo, no less!
Even in the shadows, I catch a trace of a smile on his face.
“As it happens, it is much more addictive than coke.” His gravelly rasp sends shivers down my spine.
“Then you should consider giving it up before it’s too late.”
His lips curve another notch upward, and it makes him look a thousand times hotter. And wicked, at the same time.
“I’m afraid it already is, Little Iris.” He sticks his hands in his pockets. “Why do you care so much about some random people being evicted? They’ve been offered relocation to other places. Way better ones than the dump where they are now.”
“You might think it’s a dump, but to them, it’s their home. A place where many have lived most of their lives. Where they fell in love, raised their children. It’s not fair what you’re doing without ever talking to them.”
“Life is rarely fair.” He tilts his head. “Loved your placard, by the way. Very eloquent.”
My cheeks burn with embarrassment. Even though it’s too dark here to be noticeable, I quickly look away. I might strangle Evelyn for not telling me we’d accidentally switched signs.
“Do you enjoy working for the Spadas?”
I shrug, surprised by the question. “I like what I do. And I enjoy working for Ms. Zara.”
“That’s an interesting way to put it. Does that mean you don’t like working for the don?”
“I never said that.”
His lips twitch, almost like he’s fighting a knowing smile. Am I imagining things?
“Ms. Zara is a good friend,” I rush to add. “I’m glad to finally see her happy with a man who obviously adores her. They are great together.”
“Nice save.” A shadow of a smirk. “But you could have simply lied.”
A thousand wings flap inside my stomach, as they do each time this man is near me. In the maelstrom that’s sweeping through me, the knowledge of what he’s done fades away. Replaced by a sense of wonder. But only for a moment, until reality invades again.
“I don’t lie, Mr. Ruffo, unless I have no choice.”
“Hmm. Take my advice… If anyone other than me ever asks you if you have something against our don—lie.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “But not to you? Why?”
The light turns on in the storage room, spilling through the window and bathing Ruffo’s left side. Half of his face is lit by the yellow glow. The other, shrouded in night’s embrace. Two sides. One dark, one light. Which one is true? Which is the impostor?
The answer eludes me now, the same as the first time I saw Ruffo this way, half swallowed by the shadows. Back in Capo Brio’s library. The night this man turned my life upside down.
“Because I don’t like him,” he says, rather flippantly. “Massimo’s got good business sense, I’ll give him that. But I’m concerned his time in prison left him too fucked-up to be the right head of la Famiglia. Time will tell, I guess.”
I stare at him.
The don is not merely respected by the Boston Family. He is obeyed. Revered. His word is law, his judgment is final, his power is absolute. Men lower their eyes when he enters a room. They weigh every breath and every syllable in his presence. A single nod from him can end a life.
Ruffo just basically declared Don Spada unfit to lead. So cavalier, we might as well have been discussing this week’s weather. He said it without any caution. No hesitation. No concern. No flicker of fear.
If anyone else had spoken those words out loud, they’d be signing their own death warrant. But Ruffo… Is the man insane? Why is he telling me this?
Just as unexpectedly as it came on, the light in the storage room goes out. The shadows return, obscuring his features, leaving only a pair of glinting blue eyes locked on mine.
“It appears as if I have scared you once again. I apologize.” He peels away from the wall, taking his suit jacket off; his formidable frame even more menacing in the darkness.
I wrap my arms protectively around my middle as he closes the distance between us. For a long, silent moment, he simply stands there, towering over me. That wicked, wicked gaze gleaming, lighting up every nerve in my body.
“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Little Iris.”
He drops his jacket around my shoulders and, without another word, walks off. Fading into the deepening darkness of the backyard.