Chapter 24 #3
The bright interior light of the French door contraption shines the spotlight on the immaculate—and almost entirely devoid of food—glass shelves and pull-out compartments.
The contents of the sad fridge are a transparent takeout box with the logo of a prestigious steakhouse in town, three small glass bottles of mineral water, and an open bottle of wine.
According to the label, it’s a fifty-year-old Portuguese port.
We ordered a case for Don Spada last month, so I recognize the sticker from the auction house on the neck of the bottle.
A bottle of booze worth over ten grand, some sparkling water, and a piece of an unfinished steak. That’s it. That’s all there is inside Ruffo’s extra-large fridge.
“Guess you’re getting the filet mignon,” I murmur.
I rise on my toes to reach the top shelf and take out the leftover steak. The piece is small and likely won’t do much to feed a dog of his size, but it’s all I can find at the moment.
“Here,” I say as I extend the offering on my palm.
“Don’t!” A furious order explodes across the silent space.
I shriek and stumble back, colliding with the still-open fridge door.
A loud crash follows as the wine bottle hits the marble floor and shatters into a multitude of pieces.
I almost don’t register the sting on the side of my right foot as I watch in stunned disbelief while the rich copper liquid seeps out from a fractured neck and spreads across the tiled floor, soaking my bare feet.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Ruffo’s roar echoes through the room as he rushes toward me, his face a mask of scarcely restrained fury. The dog starts to bark, too; his loud snarls adding to my anxiety.
“I’m so sorry,” I choke out, somehow still gripping the piece of meat in my now trembling hand. I drop to my haunches and reach for the nearest shard. “I’m so, so sorry. It was an accident. I’ll—”
Two massive arms wrap around me, one sliding under my knees, the other around my back. Next thing I know, I’m being lifted.
Breathless, my gaze collides with Ruffo’s glacial blues, mere inches from mine.
“Accident?” he growls into my face. “You could’ve lost your hand. Or at least your fingers.”
I blink, utterly confused. “W-what?”
“That damn dog is a menace. He’s not fully trained and can be very aggressive. If you tried to feed him from your hand, he could have easily bitten it off.”
As if to emphasize Ruffo’s point, the dog lets out a dangerous-sounding growl.
I glance over my husband’s shoulder, instantly noticing the offensive crouch as if the puppy is ready to attack, eyes fixed on Ruffo’s unprotected back.
His big brown eyes dart to me for a brief second, but quickly refocus on the man of the house. Then he lets out another warning bark.
“I think you should put me down,” I whisper.
“Not a chance. There’s broken glass everywhere.”
“Um…” I look at Ruffo, our gazes clashing again. “Your dog might think you’re planning to eat me.”
His brows shoot up at my words.
“He is in a ready stance,” I say. “Giving you a warning. You need to reassure him that your intent is not to harm me.”
“Reassure him?”
“Yes.”
“Should I issue an official press release?”
I almost smile. Almost.
“I don’t think that’ll work.”
“Mm-hmm.” Ruffo turns to face the dog and says in a completely serious, calm voice, “I won’t eat my wife right now, Taffy. Now, get lost.”
Taffy?
The dog lets out another quiet growl, then trots out of the kitchen.
“Look at that… I didn’t even need to use any annoying PR people.”
Glass crunches under the soles of Ruffo’s shoes as he crosses the puddle of wine and sets me down on the edge of the island counter.
“Now, let me see your feet.”
I open my mouth to protest, but the words die on my lips. The only thing I’m capable of doing is staring, dumbfounded, as Adriano Ruffo crouches before me.
“Does anything hurt?” His palms glide along my right calf as he slowly and methodically inspects my flesh, then cups my left ankle. “Did you step on the glass?”
A shiver I can’t suppress races up my spine when his hand moves over my heel and the soft arch of my sole. His touch is so gentle, almost reverent, that it catches me completely off guard. I never would’ve expected this kind of tenderness from Ruffo.
“Um… No,” I murmur. “But, I think, um…I might’ve got nicked. On…uh…on my other foot.”
“Let’s take a look.”
Every nerve ending in me lights up like a live wire as his palm glides over my right foot.
The slow way his fingertips drag over my skin reminds me so much of the way my silent guest caressed my face just before we kissed.
How he slid his palms over my bare back as he claimed my mouth, like he was claiming my whole being with that kiss.
Pressure builds in the pit of my stomach, and lower, between my legs, growing more intense with every stroke.
I close my eyes, hoping it will help banish this unwelcome sensation.
Ruffo’s fingers explore the outer part of my foot and freeze near my little toe. “There. It doesn’t look too bad, but we should clean it out.”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly. Too quickly, because awareness is surging through me in an unstoppable torrent. Everywhere his hands have touched, heat followed. “There are Band-Aids in my purse, so I’ll just go…”
My words fade away as Ruffo stands up, straightening to his full towering height. His arms cage me as he grips the edge of the counter on either side of me.
“You’re not going anywhere, Little Iris.” His eyes bore into mine from behind his glasses; the piercing blue is beautiful and terrifying at the same time. There’s a strange tone to his voice. Like a promise. Or a warning.
I nod.
He nods back. “Glad we’ve cleared that up.”
I watch as he walks over to the sink, unbuttoning his shirt sleeves and rolling them up in the process. The silence in the room hangs heavy, disrupted only by the sound of running water while he washes his hands.
“What are you doing up at the crack of dawn?” he asks as he takes a kitchen towel from the drawer and wets it under the stream. “You could have rung for the maid if you needed something.”
“I didn’t want to wake anyone. I was just a bit hungry, but you…uh…don’t seem to have any groceries in this house.”
“Apologies for that. I mostly eat out or have my meals delivered. Breakfast should be here around six.”
I stare at his back. Who in the world orders out for breakfast?
“In the future, if you get tempted to hand-feed the wild dog, don’t.”
“He didn’t look that wild to me.”
“Mm-hmm.” Ruffo’s steps echo in the vast space as he returns.
Standing right in front of me, he takes his glasses off and tosses them onto the counter; a casual action that still manages to be graceful somehow.
“Well, looks can be deceiving, can’t they?
” He holds my gaze captive. “Let’s check out that cut. ”
With his free hand, he gently palms the heel of my injured foot and lifts it to the edge of the countertop, making me scooch back a little on the island to maintain my balance.
Then he carefully cleans the skin around the minuscule nick.
Soft. Tender. Delicate is his touch. Odd how a man with such huge hands can manage that.
“Hurts?”
“No.” I swallow, my throat feeling raw. My gaze falls on his ropy forearm, thick with muscle and prominent veins. What appears to be the end of some black writing peeks out from beneath his rolled-up sleeve. A tattoo? No, it can’t be. I twist my head to the side, trying to get a better look.
“It’s Latin.” His velvet voice seems to envelop me.
“What does it say?”
“Per fas et nefas.” He looks up. “Loosely translated, it means: Through right or wrong.”
“How fitting,” I mumble.
A slow, wickedly devastating smile, just like the man himself, transforms his lips.
My heart skips a beat, then takes off at a gallop.
That, right here, is why I’m so pulled toward him, no matter how hard I try to fight it.
This duality in him. He orchestrated a man’s death so my mother could live, getting her a new heart that he later threatened to take back.
He coerced me into marrying him without the slightest regard for my wishes, and now kneels before me to clean a tiny cut on my foot.
Would I ever figure out the mystery that is Adriano Ruffo?
Would anyone?
“There. I believe you’ll live.” He delicately wipes over the cut one more time. “Make sure you put on that Band-Aid.
“Thank you, Mr. Ruffo,” I rasp.
“Adriano.”
I nod, incapable of doing anything else. “Adriano.”
Calling my husband by his name feels too personal. Too strange. Then again, so is the idea of being married to the man.
“Okay…um…”—I bite my lower lip—“I…uh… I’m gonna go now.”
“Alright.”
I expect him to step aside, to allow me to hop off the island, but he just stands there, in front of me. His eyes glued to my mouth.
Reflexively, I pull my bottom lip between my teeth again.
Without shifting his eyes from my mouth, Ruffo reaches out and brushes his thumb over my lower lip.
All the oxygen gets sucked out of my lungs.
My heartbeat doubles. It skyrockets when he runs the pad of his thumb over my lip again.
Not a single coherent thought remains in my head.
His proximity is overloading my senses. I find myself leaning closer—
“Boss, I’m on the line with— Oh, I’m sorry.”
“What is it, Brahms?” my husband asks, his thumb still on my bottom lip.
“HQ security is on the line. A former employee broke in and doused himself in gasoline. He’s crying about not being able to support his family, threatening to set himself on fire unless you come and talk to him.”
Blue eyes meet mine. The world seems to stop spinning as I stare back. Hold my breath. Waiting to hear his answer.
Surely, no one could ignore something like this. No one is that coldhearted. Not even my husband.
A strange expression clouds his eyes as he watches me. Almost… Almost like a challenge.
“Let him.” The iciness in his voice makes me shudder. “Make sure he knows I’ll hold his family responsible for whatever damages he causes.”
I rear back, unable to believe his words, forcing his touch to fall away from my lips.
For a long moment, he observes me silently, and I wonder if he’ll change his mind. See reason.
“I’ll have the staff notify you when the food arrives,” Ruffo states in a detached tone instead.
In the next instant, he’s gone from the kitchen.
Why? I silently scream, staring at the back door through which my husband and his minion disappeared. Why are you so cruel?
My hand trembles as I lift it to my mouth, pressing my fingers to the lip he grazed. Confused. Confused by the realization that I wanted his touch on me. It was as tempting as my silent guest’s.
The memory of him makes me immediately sad.
Has it only been two days since our final visit?
God, I’m going to miss him. I still haven’t wrapped my mind around the fact that he bought the entire apartment building to save it from being demolished by Ruffo.
I didn’t dare to believe it fully until I called Mrs. Dixon yesterday morning, and she confirmed that her eviction notice had been revoked.
My story about my elderly neighbor must have resonated with my silent guest so much that he chose to do something about her and the other residents’ plight.
Irrefutable proof that there are still good people in this world. Caring people.
Not like my husband, who turned a blind eye to their hurt and struggle even after seeing it firsthand. Other people mean next to nothing to him.
“Why can’t you be more like him?” I ask the empty kitchen.
A sad laugh escapes me. God, I’m losing my grip.