Chapter Eight #2
When I just glare, at nothing in particular, Lorenza sighs.
“You need to get over your issues with Raya. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to wrap this shit up and get back to my regular programming.
All of this sucks ass. Can’t trust anyone.
Cutting out men who’ve been with us from the beginning.
I fucking hate it. Not a good look for us. ”
He pauses, then adds, “Yeah, we’ve only known Raya a month, but I’ve done my due diligence. Background check. Kept her contained. Kept her glued to me, kept Luca glued to her. Watched. Waited. Let her know you want to kill her…”
He rubs his jaw. “People with ill intentions slip up when they feel restricted, closed in, threatened. They start looking for a way out. With Raya? No cracks. I left her to her own devices for a day. No warning. Just to see what she’d do.
Made sure every path was clear. She could’ve done anything.
Snooped, dug around, poked where she shouldn’t, ran…
” He shrugs. “But all she did was overstay at the gym.” His gaze sharpens.
“You don’t like her, fine. But trust me when I say, right now, she’s the help we need. ”
“Yeah?” I tilt my head. “Who else do we know that passed all the ‘trust’ tests but turned out to be living a double life the entire time?”
Lorenzo doesn’t miss a beat. “And what negative effect has Santo’s double life had on any of us? He was beneficial to us then, and he’s even more beneficial to us now that the cat’s out of the bag.” He shakes his head. “Just because someone has secrets doesn’t mean they’re out to get us.”
Irritated, I shove up from my chair and walk off. “Update me when you find out more.”
“Always so damn dramatic,” he mutters to Gio.
As I move through the house, I shrug off my jacket and loosen my tie, tossing each piece onto whatever surface is closest.
“Is everything all right, Stefano?” Cora calls from somewhere.
“Fine,” I bite out, heading straight out the front door.
It’s irrational how worked up I am. Maybe it’s the weight of everything that’s piling on right now, but that Raya girl grinds my fucking gears. I’ll be damned if I credit her for anything.
Needing to clear my head, I jump into a Rover golf cart and start a slow crawl around the villa.
~
MAMMA WAS HIGH on morphine in her hospital bed when she slurred out her dream.
An “oasis for la famiglia.” A place where worries couldn’t touch us.
Where we’re safe inside its walls, had everything we needed, and never had to leave unless we wanted to.
A refuge for battered women. A place filled with fun and laughter.
Mamma slipped into death with a smile on her face, dreaming an impossible dream, one with a theme park and theater. She’d spent her whole life dreaming. Because a dreamer without opportunity never becomes an achiever.
Mirabella Villa is the result of that dream. My posthumous gift to her. With a realistic twist, of course. Because her dream is expensive as fuck. People, even family, are shit. And in real life, nothing is free.
Reality looks a hell of a lot different than fantasy.
As I’m crawling past the south grounds, one of the guard dogs bound up to the cart, slobbery tongue lolling to the side. Grimmer. The only one of eight who tracks me down the second he catches my scent.
I stop and rub him between his clipped ears. “My loyal boy. Always on duty. While your lazy-ass buddies run around sniffing each other’s asses.”
Panting, he tilts his neck, angling for more scratches. “Hey, buddy, you sniffed out the new girl with the pretty green eyes yet? Raya.” I rub his head. “What do you think, huh? Liar? Thief?”
Grimmer whimpers and licks my palm.
“Seriously, Grimmer? You, too?” I scoff. “You disappoint me.”
He barks and tries to hop into the cart.
“No, not today. Next time.”
He whines in protest, and I rub his shiny black coat, giving him a few more scratches before driving off.
As I cruise through, patrolling foot soldiers throw me deferential chin-lifts. But the common staff duck their heads, avoid eye contact, and quicken their pace, as if I’ll punish them for existing.
Being at the helm is bittersweet. The bitter? None of these people, whose lives I’ve personally made better, ever bother to ask how my day is going. I’m dehumanized. They see me coming and panic sets in. Worry. Fear. Because I’m so fucking cruel, right?
Ruling with fear is efficient. Keep things clean, organized, systematic. I make the rules. They obey.
That’s the sweet.
But just once, it would be nice if they looked at with something other than fear. With fucking gratitude. Like the savior I am. Not the big bad monster coming to eat them alive.
As The Pink House comes into view, I slow down.
Looks like a little pool party’s happening on the elevated deck. Bikinis, gyrating bodies, cocktails splashing over the edges of glasses.
Without my permission, my eyes scan the group. Searching.
For her.
Half-braided hair. Deceiving emerald eyes.
But she’s nowhere in sight.
Cursing my disloyal eyes, I hit the accelerator and move on.
Two blocks down, I spot Luca heading east. He’s mid-stride, deep in what looks like a heated argument over the phone. Doesn’t even notice me pull up beside him.
I honk.
He jerks around, mutters something, and ends the call.
“Get in.”
He hesitates, wary for a second, then folds in. “‘Sup, boss?”
“That call looked intense. Everything good?”
“Yeah. Just some dumb bitch I’ve been messing with.”
Lie. But I don’t care enough to call him on it. “Where are you headed?”
“Diner Hall. I’m fucking starving.”
That’s only about a hundred yards down the track, so I ease off at a slower pace. “Lo’s had you keeping an eye on that Raya girl, right?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s your take on her?”
He shrugs. “Eh. She’s chill. Low maintenance…”
“I’m detecting a but.”
Luca scratches behind his ear. “I mean, I know Gio and Lorenzo like her, and she’s helping you with whatever, but I don’t trust her.”
Finally. Someone who isn’t up her ass. “Why?”
He exhales. “Well, the girl I picked up at Vivienne’s? Not the girl that’s here now.”
“Meaning?”
Luca pats his pockets, digs out a pack of cancer sticks.
Fidgety people irritate the fuck out of me. But I’m interested in his take, so I grip the wheel and bear it instead of kicking him off.
“I don’t know,” he says, tapping out a cigarette. “I think she’s just really fucking good at reading people. Figuring out what they want and becoming exactly that to win them over.”
“Maybe she’s just a people pleaser,” I say. “Nothing wrong with that.”
People pleasers are my favorite. Easiest to manipulate.
“I’m not saying she’s bad or a threat or anything,” he adds, adjusting.
“It’s just…when someone wears so many faces, how do you know which one’s real, you know?
” He lights up, takes a deep draw and exhales.
“I’ve seen her go from meek and mousey to clueless bimbo to whip-smart and quick-witted—all depending on who she’s with.
And it’s like, damn bitch, which one’s the real you? Know what I mean?”
“Hm.” I pull up in front of the Diner Hall. “Your stop.”
Luca gets out but hesitates, lingering.
I lift a brow. “Something on your mind?”
He taps his fingers against the box of cigarettes.
“It’s obvious something serious is going on.
Lorenzo’s been issuing tight instructions, cutting communication to short-notice, need-to-know only.
” He lifts his cigarette to his mouth but doesn’t take a drag.
“And I get it. If there’s a threat, you’re gonna be extra careful for a while. Makes sense. But…”
He blows out a sharp breath, frustration clear.
“I’ve been loyal to this family for half my life.
And right now, I feel shut out. Feels like you don’t trust me.
Some of the others are taking it as an insult, a slap in the face.
But for me, I just—I want you to know I’m your soldier.
Loyal to you always. Here and ready whenever you need me. ”
I nod once. “Noted.”
Then drive off.
If I gave a shit about people and their hurt feelings, I wouldn’t have lived this long. I’m selectively empathetic. And right now, with my empire at risk and the people I do care about in danger, I couldn’t give a flying fuck about bruised egos and quiet grumblings.
They don’t like it? They can ship out. Less people to be suspicious of.
I’m passing Brioso Hubb when something interesting catches my attention.
Brioso Hubb was built as a recreational chill spot for my men to unwind between shifts or on lunch breaks.
Self-serve, always alive, pulsing twenty-four-seven.
It’s the one place in the villa that the women steer clear of.
Unless they enjoy getting aggressively harassed.
The men do it on purpose to keep them out.
But there she is. Right in the middle of a group of men shooting pool out on the open deck. Laughing and betting like she’s one of the boys.
I circle around to the garden across the way and park behind a cluster of manicured shrubs. Well out of sight but with a clear, unobstructed view of Brioso Hubb’s open deck.
Or more specifically, her.
She might as well be Tazi with how comfortable the men are around her. Zero harassment. Maybe not being conventionally attractive works in her favor.
Or maybe Luca’s right. Maybe she’s just really damn good at changing her face to suit her audience.
Because at my house two hours ago, she was wearing tight-fitting athleisure.
Shorts and tank top. Now, she’s all covered up with baggy cargo pants and a roomy pullover hoodie. Not that she has much to show off.
Raya is lean and defined. Firm. Her curves slight. Boyish, almost. Heart-shaped face. Basic prettiness. Long black hair partially done up with braids and knots or whatever all that mess is.
Unimpressive. Except for that rack. Perfect fucking pair, got to give her that.
And those eyes…goddamn those eyes.
Rich, shocking, breath-stealing green. Eyes that have been plaguing me for longer than I’ve known her. Eyes that glint with both challenge and hope. Eyes that tell me she needs something from me. And not knowing what she’s after grates under my skin.
Wholly intrigued by her, I lean forward, resting my chin on my hands on the steering wheel. Why is she down here, with a bunch of Uppermen, instead of sipping cocktails at The Pink House pool with the other girls? What’s her angle? What’s she playing at?
Before I know it, over an hour has passed and I’m still here, watching her win and lose at the pool table. Collecting winnings, handing over losses. Laughing. Jesting. Jeering.
Until Luca shows up.
He goes in, then minutes later emerges with his arm slung around her shoulder. Both of them laughing and carrying on like old friends.
Huh.
For someone he doesn’t trust, he sure is chummy as hell with her. Seems Raya isn’t the only one wearing faces around here.
I sit up straighter, watching them until they disappear from view.
Raya Michel, the chameleon. I’m going to find out who you really are.