Chapter 41 Chiara
Chiara
The scratchy blanket over my head is itchy as fuck, but I refrain from complaining as we pass through the gate. The security team doesn’t question Luka about where he’s going because, unlike me, he’s free to do what the fuck he likes.
When all the drama is over and Fina is home, safe and sound, I plan to give my husband an ultimatum: either he lets me live a normal life, or he can go fuck a cactus.
“You can come out now, cupcake,” Luka calls ten minutes later. “We’re clear.”
I throw the blanket off and climb over the central console to sit in the passenger seat. This is Luka’s car. A sporty little metallic purple coupe. No doubt it cost a fortune, but I don’t care about that.
“She might not be at home, Chiara,” Luka warns.
“She will be. It’s Saturday. She always has her friends over for lunch on Saturdays. I doubt she’s switched up her routine now that she’s remarried. My stepmother’s boozy luncheons are all about making sure the rest of her coven know she’s Queen Bee.”
“So we’re crashing lunch?” He laughs. “Sounds fun.”
I hum a reply and stare out of the windows as we drive toward my stepmother’s mansion, the one she inherited from her late husband, my father.
My great-grandfather on my father’s side built White Pines when he made a fortune on the railroads in the 19th century. The house then passed to my grandfather, and subsequently, to my father.
By rights, it should have then passed to me as his only child, but Vivian made sure she took everything meaningful from me when he died.
The security guard at the gate barely gives us a second glance when we pull up. He looks in, nods in recognition at me, and then opens the gate. Several cars line the oval driveway, all of them expensive models.
I recognize the custom pink Lamborghini. It belongs to Vivian’s longtime frenemy, Roxanne Palmer; the two of them have been rivals for years.
The sort of friends who air-kiss each other in public and whisper poison in private.
Vivian’s housekeeper, a dour woman in a gray uniform, opens the door.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m here for lunch.” The woman seems confused, which is unsurprising as I’m not invited, and neither is Luka.
Luka gives her a megawatt smile, and the woman blushes fire engine red under his attention. Of course she does. Nobody between the ages of eighteen and ninety is immune to his charms.
“I love your lipstick, is that a Chanel new season color?” The housekeeper reaches up to touch her lips nervously. Dear Lord. She has to be at least fifty. “It’s pretty.” The asshole winks at the poor woman. She’s so flustered she steps aside without questioning us further.
“Good job I’m not the jealous type,” I hiss as I lead him across the hall toward the drawing room, which is where Vivian usually hosts her lunches. It’s a lovely room with faded silk wallpaper and delicate duck-egg blue upholstered chairs.
I loved to read there when I was a kid, and I have fond memories of my father sitting in his favorite chair by the window, reading a newspaper, while I devoured paperbacks like chocolate chip brownies.
The murmur of conversation filters through the open door.
I peek in to see Vivian holding court while the other five women sit around a small table piled high with a delicious selection of tiny sandwiches and cakes.
None of the women seated will dare take a bite of food as they’re almost certainly using weight-loss injections to maintain their svelte figures.
Roxanne’s chin snaps up when she sees us enter. Her mouth goes slack at the sight of my handsome boyfriend slash lover slash partner in crime. Luka’s phone stuffed in my indecently short denim cut-offs vibrates, telling me Angelo or Kane has finally returned my call, but it’s too late.
The wheels are in motion. For better or worse.
“Hello, ladies,” Luka purrs while biting his lip in excitement at the food on display. Vivian couldn’t look less excited if she tried. A server steps into the room with a tray of glasses and stops dead at the sight of two new guests.
“We need more drinks,” I call. “Hard liquor. None of the usual shit you serve these bitches.” The assembled women clutch their pearls and gasp, scandalized by my coarse language.
The only one who seems vaguely amused is Roxanne. I guess Luka’s arrival has turned a boring lunch into a major gossip event.
“You may as well eat some of that,” I tell Luka, “or it will go to waste. Can I have a word, Vivian?”
“What are you doing here, Chiara? This is no longer your home.”
“No, and why’s that, dear stepmother? Oh wait. Yes. It’s because you sold me off to a stranger while pocketing my inheritance.” I smile as Roxanne chokes on a laugh. This is better than even she imagined.
“Anyway, the reason I came is to find out why you had an invitation to the White Rose Auction. It turns out Lorenzo has the same invitation, which is curious, don’t you think?”
Vivian turns pale before recovering her wits. “Darlings, I think perhaps we should cut this luncheon short now that my stepdaughter has arrived. She and I have some personal business to sort out.” My stepmother picks up a small silver bell and rings it like she’s praying for divine intervention.
“Moira!” she yells when nobody comes. A few seconds later, the housekeeper runs in with a panicked expression on her face.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry—”
“Moira!” The temperature in the room drops by at least ten degrees as a vase of pink roses wilts. “Please show my guests out while I deal with this minor issue.”
Four of the women scramble to leave while whispering among themselves and casting curious glances at Luka and me. Roxanne lingers, though. Her hand brushes Luka’s arm accidentally on purpose as she leans in to pick up her purse. He jolts in surprise, not expecting the contact.
“Please don’t touch my man,” I tell the bitch in my nicest voice. “He’s not for sale.”
Roxanne has the temerity to laugh. “Everything’s for sale, dear.” Well, that explains why she and Vivian are such good friends.
If looks could kill, I’d be dead by now, but my stepmother manages to maintain her decorum. She dabs her crimson lips with a cotton napkin.
“If you’ll excuse me, Roxanne. I’ll be in touch later to rearrange another lunch.” Then she sighs. “Please forgive my stepdaughter for her appalling manners.”
Roxanne glances at Luka again, letting her gaze linger on his chest for a moment. It’s obvious she’s got the hots for him. Women like her disgust me. They see young men like Luka as objects.
He’s no object; he’s fucking mine.
My animosity doesn’t bother Roxanne. She merely snickers before sashaying away in her suede Manolo Blahnik heels and a linen wrap dress that shows off more wrinkly decolletage than is seemly in a woman her age.
The moment the door swings shut in her wake, Vivian is on me like a shark chasing chum.
Her eyes flare. All pretense of politeness is long gone. The bitch is incandescent with rage. Although you’d never know it from her frozen face.
Good, because so am I.
“How dare you ruin my lunch, you little bitch!” Spittle flies in my face, but I carry on smiling serenely, ignoring Luka’s concerned frown.
She sneers for a second before her lip curls up.
“I can see you’re already proving me right.
I told your father you needed a firm hand.
Now look at you. Already cheating on your husband. It’s disgusting.”
I bark out a surprised laugh. Pot, kettle, black, anyone?
“Says the woman who was giving Tim Remington blowjobs while my dad was away on business.” She rears back. Oh. I guess she didn’t know I saw them. “I’m still traumatized, by the way.”
Luka bites back a smile, but I’m no longer laughing. Time is running out and this bitch has questions to answer.
“Tell me why Tim is now in cahoots with Lorenzo.”
Her smug smile is enough to know I’m on the right path.
“It’s business. Nothing for you to worry yourself about. Go home, Chiara. You should be pregnant by now. God knows Lorenzo paid enough money for your cunt.”
Hearing Vivian use such a vile word stuns me into silence and I lose the thread of my thoughts for a hot second. She chuckles and moves to push past me, but Luka grabs her bony wrist and pulls her back.
We exchange glances, and he nods. This is my show, but he’ll help if he needs to.
“Let go of me, you…you…imbecile!” Her pathetic cries make my ears hurt.
“Okay, let’s start again, shall we? So the invitation. What’s it about, and why is the crest identical to one I saw on a flag in a Scottish castle owned by an English bastard who kidnapped me?”
My stepmother rolls her eyes, no longer pretending to be hurt. “I thought you were supposed to be smart, Chiara. Clearly not.”
My patience is officially exhausted. Vivian is playing mind games with me. Likely stalling until one of her staff arrives to escort us off the premises.
I grab a serrated cheese knife and lunge for her. Because the stupid bitch moves in the wrong direction, the blade slashes her throat. It’s only a shallow cut, but she screams like I’m murdering her before I slap my hand over her mouth to muffle any further protests.
“Tell me now before I slit your throat.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” The panic in her eyes tells me she thinks I might actually be deranged enough to do it. I grin like a psycho.
“Wouldn’t I? I have nothing left to lose. I’m trapped in a marriage I didn’t want, thanks to you. I’m thinking a stint in a Supermax might be a pleasant upgrade.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll visit you, cupcake,” Luka reassures me.
“Thanks, sweetie.” I blow him a kiss while Vivian stares at the two of us with horrified fascination.
“So, bitch, want to spill the deets or shall I practice my plastic surgery skills using this very unhygienic knife?” I pretend to stare more closely at her taut face. “Looks like you’ve had a lot of work already. It would be a real shame to undo it all.”
“Fine!” she shrieks. “Put the knife down and I’ll tell you!”
“Damn right you will.” I take her wrist and spin her round so I can tie her wrists together using a zip-tie I picked up from one of the kitchen drawers back home. She struggles, but thanks to a diet of lemon water and lettuce for the last decade, she has the strength of a cocktail stick.
“Grab that jacket so I can hide the zip-tie on the way out.”
“Where are you taking me?” The panic is real now. Vivian has seen the end of her plot arc, and she doesn’t like it. Oh well.
“Somewhere quiet where we won’t be interrupted.”
The housekeeper is on the phone when I lead Vivian outside. “I’m fine, Moira,” my stepmother assures her, as instructed. She winces when I press my hidden knife into her side, but thanks to Botox, her expression gives nothing away.
“Are you sure, ma’am?” Moira seems unconvinced, but Vivian nods.
“I’ll be back soon.”
“Bye, pretty lady,” Luka says to Moira, winking at her again. And again, the silly woman blushes like a teenager. She’s deluded if she thinks Luka’s interested in an old biddy like her.
But Luka’s charm knows no bounds.
I push Vivian non-too-gently in the small backseat of Luka’s car and climb in after her. Luka closes the door and jumps behind the wheel.
“Where to, Bonnie?”
“Bonnie?” I frown in confusion.
“You’re Bonnie and I’m Clyde.”
“Great. You’re modeling us on a pair of fugitives who died in a hail of gunfire. Amazing.” I roll my eyes as he grins. “Take us back home.” Luka nods. The moronic guard opens the gate without looking up from his phone. I hope Tim isn’t paying him a fortune.
Once we’re a mile away from the house, I turn to Vivian and grin like an unhinged escapee from an asylum.
“We can use my husband’s kill room to interrogate our prisoner.”
I have no clue whether Angelo has a kill room, but once my words sink in, she hyperventilates and then promptly passes out.
Which is just as well, as when I check Luka’s phone, there are dozens of missed calls from Angelo and Kane, and a bunch of panicked messages.
I hit call. “Where the fuck are you!” Angelo’s yell nearly perforates my eardrums.
“On our way back to the house with a prisoner for interrogation.” There’s a long silence.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll explain when I see you.” Before he can bombard me with questions, I hang up. It’s about time he realized who wears the pants in this marriage. And it’s not him.