Chapter 10 #2
“So yeah, they agreed to do it for free, promised to send out a handyman to fix the seal on her windows. Those things were awful. Every winter, Mrs. Dixon would get a terrible cold because of the draft. Really, that’s the only thing we needed from the general contractor, because the rest of her neighbors donated the paint for the walls and the hardware to get her cabinets fixed.
But, I might have misunderstood, or maybe didn’t communicate with the company clearly, because…
when the guy finished, he said it took him two hours instead of the one that he was instructed to work.
” I shake my head. “I felt bad, so I paid him myself for that extra hour.” A heavy exhale leaves me.
“Now, though, all that work was for nothing. Mrs. Dixon, along with everyone else in her apartment building, is being evicted. The place where they live has been sold and is scheduled to be completely torn down by the new owner.”
Knowing that Ruffo is the one responsible for our efforts going to waste, and for all those people losing their homes, makes my heart ache.
Thinking of the man brings the image of him in the Spadas’ backyard to my mind.
How he peered at me with that unnerving gaze of his while the rest of him was shrouded in darkness.
There was something very odd about him that night. Things he said, and…
I still can’t believe he lent me his jacket.
After he disappeared into the dark, I remained in the backyard for nearly ten minutes.
Frozen. Just standing there like a dolt, wrapped in his enormous suit jacket that almost reached my knees.
Staring after him into the shadows, surrounded by his residual body heat.
That man confuses me. With things he does.
Things he says. Things he implies through his silence.
When I finally headed back inside, I took Ruffo’s jacket to the houseman, figuring I could leave it with him and the garment would find its way back to its owner. Only, I was informed that Mr. Ruffo wasn’t at the party. He never came into the house.
Why was he there, then, that night?
“Maybe the businessman who purchased the building will reconsider his plans. Maybe he’ll let them stay in their homes after all. Maybe…maybe he’s not that coldhearted,” I whisper. More for my own sake, because I still hope…
I hope he isn’t as cruel as he seems to be.
My eyes roam over the woman’s torso where the curve-hugging white dress molds to her narrow waist and modest chest like a second skin.
She’s a tiny little thing, and the floor-length gown only accentuates her features.
Several times now, I noticed her absently stroking the fabric as though she enjoys the delicate feel of it.
This dress is probably the finest article of clothing she’s ever worn.
The Annex doesn’t skimp, investing great effort into the extravagant presentation, both in terms of the facilities and the hostesses on offer.
The message is clear: if you’re willing to pay, you can indulge in the best of everything.
And of course, guaranteed discretion to make the most of the peculiar wants and needs met.
The clientele is varied. Everyone from reclusive billionaires to corporate CEO playboys.
Men who inherited or made their fortunes through murky dealings, and politicians who aim to appear squeaky clean.
The sources of their wealth might be different, but they all share one specific trait.
Appetite for what this establishment can provide—a secluded extension of their lives where they can explore their private desires.
A place where they believe they can acquire even more.
And while they are here, these men’s inhibitions lower. And they talk.
More secrets are revealed at the Annex on any given Saturday night than over the course of a whole week in all of Boston’s confessionals before daily mass.
Dangerous, valuable secrets. The kind of information that could be traded as stock.
A commodity I cannot pass up. It’s why I conceived and brought the Annex to life.
To have the power to uncover those secrets. And later, to wield them.
I extend my arms along the back of the sofa, watching this enticing woman while she makes every effort to entertain me with stories from her simple, ordinary life.
She is an ideal addition to the Annex. A temptation that not many men would be able to resist. The perfect bait to lure out all their secrets.
Yet tonight, it won’t be me exposing hidden truths, divulging concealed facts. It’ll be her.
However, there’s no information she holds that is material to me.
No proprietary business data. No insider tips.
Someone like her has no deep, dark secrets of her own.
There’s only one thing I need from Ms. Iris Fabbri.
I need to know what makes her so special.
What does she possess that no other woman has?
What is up her sleeve that makes a man like Adriano Ruffo so obsessed with her?
She is beautiful, yes, but not in the blatant, ornamental way that might command a room the moment she steps into it.
There’s something deceptively soft about her.
In the fine lines of her face, in those delicate features that should make her seem harmless.
Instead, they accomplish something far more dangerous. They disarm.
She is like a wildflower in an open field, easy to overlook beside the carefully cultivated, rare blooms. And yet, the longer one looks at her, the harder it is to look away.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she eclipses everything around her.
Until all other beauty is diminished in comparison.
Next to her, everything else appears pale, stripped of color, deprived of meaning.
Looking away from her feels like a loss.
Looking at anything else feels like a betrayal.
She becomes the only thing left worth looking at.
Maybe it’s the energy that surrounds her that holds the allure.
She is a foolishly romantic creature, the type who still believes kindness matters and the world might yet give back more than it takes.
Innocent. Pure of heart. Even though life hasn’t been gentle with her.
It has struck her and bruised her often enough to turn most other people hard and bitter.
Cruel. But not her. Somehow, it did not strip that softness from Iris Fabbri.
A very dangerous woman indeed.
And utterly clueless about her appeal.
Hmm. Maybe I was wrong. There are some secrets Miss Fabbri holds that I wouldn’t mind discovering.
For instance, I wonder if my gift to her tonight will be more to her liking.
Rain is pelting the ground when I step out of the Annex mansion.
The moon and the stars are hidden behind a thick layer of dark clouds.
Like last time, the car awaits near the stairs to the club’s rear entrance, and the driver has the back door open for me to slide in.
No one else is around. No other girls. No sign of the distinguished guests.
Just a lone gray vehicle on the gravel driveway. Waiting to take me home.
The club really does take its patrons’ privacy seriously.
As I understand, guests are not allowed access to the inner courtyard of the sprawling estate.
And their arrival at the front vestibule is always staggered to prevent any accidental encounter with staff or other visitors to the Annex.
Here, secrecy is what keeps everyone safe.
My canvas sneakers get soaked as I sprint down the steps to the car.
The interior is dark, only briefly illuminated by the overhead light when the driver slides behind the wheel.
That’s when I notice a white box beside me on the seat.
It resembles the one that contained the coat, but is much smaller.
Biting my bottom lip, I tear my gaze away, shifting my attention to the rising privacy divider between me and the front of the car.
Away from that alarming box. I’ve already received an envelope from Maggie with five thousand dollars.
I’m fine with accepting the money, since it seems like a wage for doing what I was hired to do.
But gifts from the man I know nothing about, that feels wrong.
As the vehicle rolls past scenery I cannot see, my eyes keep darting to the seat, to the box beside me.
Whatever is inside is likely another ridiculously expensive thing.
Another item I can’t accept and will need to return.
Should I just leave it in the vehicle? Ask the driver to take it back to the club?
Text Maggie to explain my dilemma? I’m torn, but my curiosity is also strong.
What is in the box this time? What did my silent guest choose to leave me? Jewelry? The box appears a bit too large for that. What would a man like him want to gift a woman he doesn’t know?
A riddle.
The answer to which is nearly too tempting to ignore. My hands itch to uncover the mystery. To solve at least one puzzle of this enigmatic man.
I pull my lip between my teeth, gnawing it as I reach for the package. My fingers glide over the smooth paperboard and the delicate maroon satin ribbon tied across the corners of the box.
A peek. Just a tiny, quick peek, I tell myself.
Carefully, so as not to cause any damage, I lift the lid.
A book?
The thick hardcover lies on a cushion of airy white tissue.
On top, obscuring the title and the author’s name, is a handwritten note.
The paper it’s written on appears to have been torn out of a daily planner, with today’s date printed in bold red font on the upper right side.
The two lines of text are penned diagonally across the grid-marked page in a barely legible, left-slanted scrawl.
No bugs. I checked.
But there are snakes on Page 332.
My brows pull into a deep vee as I move the note to glance at the book beneath it. My breath catches in my throat.
The new mystery novel I’ve been eagerly looking forward to lies before my eyes. How? It’s not supposed to be released until next month.
And then I recall telling my silent guest about it last Saturday night.
Somehow, he made this happen.
And he read it to confirm a bug-free plot.