6. Bianca
Bianca
I’ll kill him.
The thought settles in the forefront of my mind as I head up to the bedroom I’ve commandeered to shower and change my clothes. Just off the library, the room in question is decked out in faded curtains, and the leather couch across from the bed is cracked in several places.
The workers already removed the rest, and pure spite fueled my resolve to have my own things here by the afternoon. I can’t put that asshole over my knee, but I can pay him back in pure pettiness.
Marco’s invisible presence persists as I wash away the evidence of my need and pull on another pair of white panties from a perfectly folded, color-coded row.
His touch, his voice, his smell…they all cling to my memory as I dress in a navy blue skirt suit like a soldier preparing for war, except I wear couture rather than steel.
The elegant uniform provides a balm for the shame that lingers from our earlier office encounter.
I march back downstairs, past a sea of delicate antique furniture with entirely too many floral accents.
Because I’ve had all morning to familiarize myself with the manor’s layout, I cross the first floor and pass the kitchen to reach the dining room at the end of a long hallway, where a dozen or so staff members wait around a massive oval table, within minutes.
Apparently, the former don preferred his wood engraved—most of the heavier pieces seem to incorporate that feature in some way or another—and the dining table’s no exception.
Angels and demons cavort around a robe-clad figure.
I imagine Marco sitting here to eat breakfast as a child, his bowl of fruity cereal above Beelzebub’s eye.
That explains a lot.
I sit down, hyperaware of Marco’s absence.
To be honest, I didn’t expect him to show.
In not bothering, he’s only demonstrated what an irresponsible, unreliable boss he is, so asserting my own power over his household will be a walk in the park.
Once I have the staff under my thumb, I should have no trouble locating the book.
One of the older staff members, Mrs. Vianello, greets me with unexpected warmth.
“I’m so happy you’re here.” She clutches my hands with her strong, calloused ones.
“I was starting to think this old place would never know a woman’s touch again.
” She winks almost conspiratorially. “I like the paint color you chose for the foyer. I think it’ll really liven up the space. ”
I tilt my head, assessing her statement for sarcasm. “You… approve? I was under the impression…” I clear my throat. “I mean, Marco didn’t seem too keen on the changes.”
Waving her hand dismissively, she guides me to the chair at the head of the table as the others file in and settle into their seats. “Don’t mind him. That boy’s been hanging onto the ghost of his mother for far too long.”
I suppress a snort. Boy, my ass. “How so?”
She heaves a tired sigh and plucks at one of her tight gray curls. “When Mrs. Argento…I mean, when the late Mrs. Argento was alive, the home was always filled with laughter and the aroma of delicious food. She was always cooking, planting flowers, and hosting events for the neighborhood children.”
The foggy mist clouding the housekeeper’s eyes gives me pause. I’ve never thought of Dulce as a good mother.
To be honest, I’ve never really viewed her as anything but a traitor. I assumed that most mothers were like mine…selfish, neglectful, and cowardly. To hear, firsthand, that Dulce was much more than that and know my father’s likely responsible for her death leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
Mrs. Vianello sniffs before straightening her posture. “Dulce loved those boys and brought so much joy to this house when she was alive. I’m so glad our Marco has someone like you now, who can pick up where Dulce left off and guide him back onto the right track.”
I frown. What happened to Marco that caused him to veer off track? And was he ever on the right track in the first place?
I keep my opinion to myself. After my cringeworthy behavior in the study, I have no room to talk.
Not even twenty-hours in this house, and he’s already rattling me. I know better than to let a man get under my skin. I can’t ever let that happen again.
Mrs. Vianello introduces me to the rest of the staff and reviews the layout of the property in detail.
The manor includes the main house as well as the houses on both sides for staff and guards.
There are several maids and three cooks, as well as a personal stylist, a gardener for the flowers in the back, three drivers and nurses who are constantly on rotation, and a family nutritionist.
Once we have the preliminaries out of the way, Mrs. Vianello dives back into what is, apparently, her favorite topic.
“You won’t need to worry about cooking for Marco, though you’re free to use the kitchen whenever you’d like.
” She hesitates as she wads a linen napkin between her hands.
“He’s gone most nights, but I’m sure that’ll change now that he has such a pretty young bride to come home to. ”
As the meeting progresses, one thing becomes abundantly clear. While troublesome, everyone here loves Marco. Despite his reputation as a notorious fuck-up, the staff have nothing but good things to say about him. They even speak of his mistakes with a smile.
I write down everything in the journal I carry with me at all times, noting several promising areas where I can start hunting for the book. Father will expect an update as soon as possible.
Each staff member leaves with a list of action items I’d like addressed, including, but not limited to, a deep cleaning of all the carpets and hardwood, dusting and polishing all of the silverware, and touching up the paint on the baseboards and wainscoting.
Once the last of the maids files out, I’m left alone to speak with Marco’s second, who arrives carrying a stack of ledgers under one arm.
Tall, lithe, gray-eyed, and sharply beautiful, Luca possesses the unsettling stillness of someone who notices everything.
He’s reserved and serious, and so far, the two of us get along well.
Apparently, after Dante left, Luca tackled most of the administrative duties that go into keeping the Argentos’ interests afloat.
He joins me at the table and slides the books over to me. “Commercial properties. Cash flow. Household accounts.”
Together, we scan the ledgers detailing the Argentos’ finances and current business holdings, though Luca’s careful not to reveal anything of particular interest.
Smart man.
Marco has been focusing on renegotiating old trade agreements that were established when his father was still alive, while Luca oversees the disbanding of SilverTech and all its assets.
The Argentos need new ways to secure capital to cover the losses in the civilian sector, so renegotiating old agreements seems prudent. And with Marco taking over as don, now is the perfect time to relaunch those campaigns.
In addition to managing both his brother’s and father’s affairs, appeasing the Council, and stepping up as the head of the family, Marco has to run his gym while also maintaining his own personal ventures since he’s been hoping to expand his company and potentially collaborate with the UFC.
I hate to admit it, but he’s juggling a lot. As much as I’d like to write Marco off as a self-indulgent loser, that doesn’t appear to be the case. Like the revelation about Dulce, I find the discovery of this other side of Marco admittedly jarring.
Despite shouldering the bulk of the busywork, Luca speaks of Marco with unmistakable affection. In fact, no matter how much I pry, he’s annoyingly tight-lipped when it comes to anything personal about his don.
Drained and somewhat overwhelmed, I stand from the table and excuse myself shortly after Luca returns to his command station in the basement.
I hoped to use some of my husband’s people to my advantage, but everyone here seems loyal to the Argentos in general and Marco in particular.
I leave Mrs. Vianello with instructions for the movers when they arrive later and head to my bedroom to grab my purse.
The dark clouds blowing in over the city threaten a storm, so I ask my driver, Alessia, to chauffeur me three blocks up to the coffee shop at the corner where Livia and I agreed to meet. Fat raindrops pelt me as I dash inside, the bell on the door ringing to announce my my arrival.
Cacao is a kitschy, millennial-run hub with strong Wi-Fi that’s pretty enough for aspiring influencers to snap plenty of photos.
Upon entering, I immediately spot no fewer than six coffee-pun themed signs, a glass case crowded with desserts, and a half dozen cheerful bistro tables. The lights are kept low, and the heavy scent of caffeine and vanilla is a welcome reprieve from the paint fumes at the manor.
Livia waves at me from a table near the back wall. Her lips tip up in her usual smile, but as I stride toward her, the poorly hidden dark purplish skin beneath her right eye becomes visible.
Every muscle in my body clenches.
That fucking bastard.
At times like this, I truly hate him.
My fingers brush her chin, tilting her face side-to-side. Clearing my throat, I fish my sunglasses out of my purse and hand them to her. “You’re supposed to use the green concealer first, remember? It helps neutralize the purple. Then you apply your regular shade.”
Livia adjusts the frames over her face. “I forgot. I’ve always been hopeless with makeup. Is it obvious?”
My throat constricts. “Only to me.”
My sister nods, leaning forward so her golden brown hair cascades over one shoulder. My hand twitches toward the small mechanism on the side of my Patek Philippe, which is all I have left of Uncle Enzo. I wind the watch as I inspect her for further damage. “Why did he hit you this time?”
She sighs, her hands cupping her mug. “One of the Councilors heard you left Marco in the honeymoon suite last night. He told Father it was ‘disappointing’ since they want the two of you getting along.”
Ren. It had to be.
My nails bite into my palm. “So, he got mad and took it out on you.”
Livia shrugs and sips a cappuccino with an obscene amount of whipped cream. “You know how he gets.” Her brows pinch together, and she gestures to the seat across from her. “Are you planning on sitting down anytime soon or…”
I pull out the chair and settle gingerly onto the cushioned seat. Sitting during the meeting with the staff was uncomfortable, and this is no better. Still, nothing is broken, and while my backside is bright red, Marco didn’t leave any bruises.
My pride took the biggest blow.
Livia must catch my wince, because she pushes a plain black coffee, my usual order, across the table while regarding me with concern. “What about you? Is everything all right?”
“I’m fine.” My reassurance comes out more clipped than I intend, an unavoidable consequence of my fraying nerves. “The house is a bit more antiquated than I was expecting, but I’ve got a plan.” Even if I’m not okay, I can’t tell her that, and I certainly can’t show it. Not with so many eyes on us.
Speaking of eyes…
From beneath the table, I wave two fingers, and a twentysomething olive-skinned man with short dark hair and a backward baseball cap nods before shifting back to the woman sitting across from him.
Kane is one of my personal guards, but I need him on Livia for the time being.
I return my attention to my sister. “I’m…sorry, Livvy.”
The useless words stab my throat, but I say them anyway. How many times have I apologized for not being there for her? For not doing enough to guarantee her safety?
After a long moment, she lifts her chin and speaks with more resolve than I’ve ever heard from her. “Don’t be sorry. Just focus on finding the book. The sooner you get Father what he wants, the sooner we can all put this behind us.”
My shoulders sag as I set my brew aside. “I’m working on it. I’ve arranged for some renovations at the manor, and the crew are on my payroll, so they’ll make a preliminary search and report back to me with any information I can pass along to Father.”
My sister and I chat for a bit longer, but I’m not even halfway through my drink when a shadow blots out the light.
I glance up to find a man not much older than me.
With curly brown hair and a smattering of freckles across a broad nose, his rugged, roughly hewn features remind me of a Roman gladiator.
“Sorry to interrupt, but it’s time to go.”
Livia tenses and rears back, her shielded gaze traveling over his frame.
I tap a finger against the table thoughtfully. “Zosimo, isn’t it?”
The man inclines his head. “Zo, if you like, Mrs. Argento.”
Luca introduced me to several of Marco’s personal security today, Zosimo Carullo among them. “Unfortunately, Zo, I’m not ready to leave just yet.”
Zo studies me. “Your husband wants you home.”
That’s it. That’s all he says. As if I should immediately fall all over myself to comply the second Marco snaps his fingers. “Well, we all have to learn to handle disappointment sometime, don’t we?”
I might be imagining things, but I’m pretty sure Zo’s mouth twitches. “Perhaps, but I would strongly recommend waiting for a more opportune moment to start teaching your husband that lesson.”
“And why should I when he bailed on the staff meeting after I requested his presence?”
“Because not picking your battles is a surefire way to burn out quickly.”
I huff while conceding he may have a point. “By all means, then, lead me to him. Who am I to say no if he’s so desperate for my company?”
Zo’s point aside, I don’t intend to concede graciously.
I rise to my feet. “Duty calls. Let’s do this again in a few days?” I press a featherlight kiss to the side of her cheek. “And don’t forget the green concealer.”
She nods, staring after me as I stalk away from the café with Zosimo on my heels.
Marco wants his little wifey at home, does he? Then I’ll give him exactly what he asked for.
Unfortunately for him, he may live to regret that request. Contis don’t roll over, and he’s about to find out firsthand that he can’t order me around.