Chapter 28 #2
I take a sip and then drain the entire contents of the glass, barely registering the tangy taste of lemonade.
It feels as if I’m stuck in a fog, unable to find my way out.
I’m moving purely because of muscle memory, without putting any actual thought into my actions.
All of my mental power has been funneled into containing my terror.
I’m utterly terrified of the necklace slipping off my neck and crashing to the floor.
And the priceless purple diamond shattering into a million tiny pieces.
It doesn’t help that dozens of people nearly swarmed us and were practically gaping at my neck as soon as Adriano and I stepped into the great room.
Their attention only boosted my already heightened anxiety.
The diamond necklace has everyone captivated, but I’m thankful that the questions about it have been mostly leveled at my husband.
I only received a few offhand comments and congratulations, which I accepted with polite but mumbled replies.
The buzz about our wedding ceremony, and now the necklace, is starting to press in on me like a physical force.
But it’s the jewelry around my neck that’s really dragging me down.
I’d swear that the violet diamond weighs a ton.
Probably because of the grim history it’s steeped in.
For a while now, I’ve wondered what could have made Adriano as uncaring and merciless as he is.
What could have destroyed every speck of empathy and care for other people in him?
I think I may have found part of the answer tonight.
Even without knowing the full details, what he shared with me was enough.
Adriano’s father cared more for his money than for his son.
His only son. What would learning something like that do to a person?
Would it freeze his heart along with his feelings?
The slight, odd smile on Adriano’s face when he delivered that tidbit is still giving me chills. There wasn’t even a hint of sadness in his expression. Just…a strange kind of amusement. As if his father’s actions weren’t a surprise to him. As if…it was something he expected.
My God! What is it like to live your life knowing that you mean nothing to the people who should love you the most?
“You should get rid of it,” I blurt, swallowing past the threatening tears.
My husband stops his conversation with the gentleman in the brown suit mid-sentence and turns to me. “Get rid of what?”
I look up at him, meeting that piercing blue gaze intent on me from behind his glasses. “Donate it to the museum. Bestow. Gift it. Whatever. Just…get rid of it.”
His eyebrows creep up. “I tend not to simply get rid of other people’s belongings.”
I bite my bottom lip. I don’t care about its worth. I’m also not sure why it feels so crucial, but everything in me screams that Adriano needs to get rid of this thing. I just know he has to.
Reaching out, I grab his hand and squeeze. “Please.”
“Ah, women.” The brown-suited guy’s throaty laugh rings out between us. “Always finding ways to part us from our money. What is it she wants you to give away? A painting she doesn’t like? An ugly rug that doesn’t fit with her style?”
“Goccia di Luna,” my husband replies, his icy eyes boring into mine.
The guy’s laugh turns into a nearly hysterical guffaw.
Adriano ignores him. “But, it’s yours, Little Iris.” He squeezes my hand back. “It’s one of a kind. Priceless. Why would you want to give it away?”
I could tell him the truth. I could admit that I don’t want him to be reminded of the painful past tied to this necklace.
Regardless of how unbothered he seems by what happened to him, of how coldhearted he is these days, I’m certain he wasn’t like that before.
But…if I tell him that, he’d surely deny me.
I’m one hundred percent certain of it. I’ve been trying to solve the puzzle of Adriano Ruffo for a while now, and despite still not having all the pieces, I’m beginning to comprehend the picture.
“The color,” I say instead. “It doesn’t suit my eyes, either.”
A crooked smile lifts a corner of his lips, momentarily transforming his facial expression.
But it’s gone too fast for me to get a read.
Behind the lenses, his eyes squint, as if a foreign emotion is rising to the surface of their glacial depths.
He turns away, resuming his conversation with the brown-suited fellow.
I guess stock market fluctuations are more important than trying to bring his soul a little peace.
Yeah, it was probably a stupid idea. Who asks to get rid of a priceless gem?
Still, Adriano doesn’t let go of my hand.
And I let the warmth of it settle me.
My gaze sweeps the crowd, hoping to spot Evelyn or Rina, both of whom have disappeared after they went to grab refreshments, when a familiar high-pitched voice on my right startles me.
“There you are, Iris!” Lucrezia’s clipped tone, which she usually reserves just for me, is absent.
Instead, her voice drips with sugar as she rushes over and hooks her arm with mine.
“Oh, it’s been months! You’re looking simply stunning.
Listen, I was just telling Mikaela that we must get you involved in our New Year’s Eve committee.
You’re one of us now, after all. We’re thinking that we might… ”
I stare at my half sister as she grins back at me and continues to spew the plans she and her friends are making for la Famiglia’s big year-end party.
There isn’t even a speck of the condescension that has so often been slung my way over the years.
Yet, as she talks, every mean thing she has said to me, every snide smile she ever gave me, replays in my mind.
That contemptuous sneer as she asked me to wipe the dirt from her shoe, somehow, it slices me even deeper now.
Because I finally understand what was behind it.
It wasn’t directed at me specifically, but rather at what I represented.
A lower class of human beings. Someone beneath her.
Degradation no person should ever have to experience.
Did she treat my mother the same way when she ran into her at the Veronese household?
Mom never mentioned, but I have a feeling that Lucrezia had done just that.
“Ms. Saccone,” I interrupt her overjoyed tirade. “Please leave my home.”
Lucrezia stops halfway through her thought and stares at me with wide, shocked eyes. Red creeps up her cheeks while her gaze darts from me to Adriano, who broke off his discussion with the other man and has turned fully to me.
“Out,” he growls, his voice low and menacing. I’ve never heard him use that tone in public.
My half sister winces. She spins on her heel and rushes away, disappearing into the sea of guests.
“We’ll finish up our discussion at another time, Franco.” Adriano dismisses the other man, his eyes now trained on me. “What did she say to you?”
The expression darkening his face is outright vicious. And I have a feeling that if I tell him the truth, he will do something terrible. Something awful to hurt Lucrezia.
“It was nothing,” I finally push out.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he bends until his face is mere inches from mine. “I’ll find out.”
“Please don’t.”
The clamor and voices around us fade away. From the corner of my eye, I notice people watching us with great interest, their gazes trained on Adriano’s hand that’s still wrapped around mine.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ruffo,” an exuberant voice exclaims behind us. “Hello there!”
A smiling older man pokes his head between us over my husband’s arm. His shoulder-length white hair is slicked back from his face with what must be an obscene volume of hair gel. His silky black bow tie sits a little askew at his collar.
“Sorry to interrupt, my dearest Adriano, but there seems to be a bit of a commotion outside. I think your dog is doing his best to chew through the tires of your guests’ cars, and your security people are having a hard time trying to subdue him.” He smiles broadly, warmth shining in his eyes.
Adriano’s fingers uncurl from mine. He straightens and takes a step to the side. “Iris, this is Doctor Bartholomew Shaw.”
“So excited to finally meet you, fair lady.” Dr. Shaw grasps my extended hand, shaking it with both of his. “Adriano, you really should go outside and sort out that mess. I’ll be happy to entertain your beautiful wife while you’re gone.”
My husband gives the man a pointed look before his attention shifts back to me. “I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t let Barty poke around your head too much. He won’t be able to help himself.”
My eyes follow my husband as he crosses the guest-filled room, heading toward the front door of the house.
Although everyone had resumed their lively conversations and once again are enjoying their drinks and canapés, I notice how they subconsciously seem to shift out of Adriano’s way, all while continuing to smile and wave to him as he passes.
It’s as though their primal instincts recognize the dangerous predator in their midst. And yet, they choose to believe only what their eyes show them.
Why am I the only one who sees through his mask?
Or, am I the only person Adriano has allowed to see the real him?
Will I ever discover that piece of the puzzle?
Will he ever admit how I fit in? Do I fit into Adriano’s world, or am I here only temporarily?
Only time will tell, since my husband chooses to remain silent.
“Please, don’t mind his words. No psychiatrist would ever dare to poke around someone’s head without their permission,” Dr. Shaw gushes next to me. “Should we go see what goodies are being offered? I’m starving.”
“Sure.” This man doesn’t look like a psychiatrist. And definitely not like anyone Adriano would be friends with, but their exchange certainly came across that way. “How do you know my husband?”
“Oh, we go way back! A chance meeting, which was entirely my fault. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or…the right place at the right time. Depends on your point of view.” He stops in front of the buffet table and starts filling up a plate with a selection of elaborate finger foods.
“And speaking of views… I couldn’t help but notice that you’re wearing the remarkable Goccia di Luna.
It has been the Ruffo family’s most prized possession for nearly a century. ”
“Hopefully, not for much longer.”
“What? Is Adriano considering parting with it? I can’t really see him giving it up for anything.”
“I thought he might consider donating it to the museum,” I mumble, then add, more for myself. “Sometimes it’s best to let go of the past.”
Dr. Shaw seems to gasp, and then coughs a few times to clear his throat.
“Dearest Iris,” he wheezes out. “I’m as optimistic as they come. But not even my level of optimism can convince me that certain things will ever happen.”
I glance across the room, my gaze instantly finding the tall, broad-shouldered figure leaning on the wall near the front door. Watching me. Even with all the bright lights from the crystal chandeliers that bathe everything in a brilliant glow, the space around my husband feels shadowed.
“You’re probably right,” I whisper.
“I made a few calls, sir,” Brahms says as he comes to stand next to me.
“As you suspected, Lucrezia Saccone is Mrs. Ruffo’s half sister.
They have the same father. With Ms. Saccone changing her last name more than a decade and a half ago, that detail didn’t immediately come up in my background search. I apologize for the oversight.”
“I want everything there is to find on the Saccone family on my desk first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Of course. Anything else?”
“Start digging into how I can shred every aspect of Lucrezia Saccone’s life.
From the trust fund given to her by her stepfather to the doctorate she supposedly earned.
I don’t care if you have to track down every single one of her professors and manufacture evidence that her thesis was plagiarized. Get it done.”
“I understand. What’s your preferred timeframe, sir?”
I let my gaze slide from my wife’s face to the makeup-concealed mark I left on her skin last night. The mark given to her by her lover. The mark she tried to hide.
“Two months,” I reply. Long enough so Little Iris won’t suspect that I’m behind her half sister’s, and the rest of the Saccones’, upcoming destruction.
My wife may not hold a grudge against Lucrezia Saccone, but I don’t possess her finer qualities.
I remember all too well the hurt and anguish in Iris’s voice as she told her guest about her interactions with her half sister.
She probably held a lot of the negativity back, not exposing her sibling’s true nature.
Something that Lucrezia Saccone and her family will pay for.
And if she ever guesses at my involvement in bringing down the people who’ve hurt her, so be it.
It’s hardly the worst thing my wife knows about me.
Brahms gives me a nod and retreats. I’m left alone to resume watching my wife as she chats with Barty. To relive every single moment of our night together. Every touch. Every quiet moan. The way she threw her head back as she came, screaming out her pleasure. For him.
If I had even an ounce of self-respect, I would have burned that damn club to ashes the second she left it this morning. Destroyed the site of her infidelity. Demolished it so she wouldn’t be tempted to come back.
So I won’t be tempted, either.
Instead, I reach into my pocket to pull out my phone. And I dial Maggie’s number.