Chapter Fourteen #2
I meet it with a meek, submissive smile I’ve never worn before and will never wear again, hoping to get across to him that I need those minutes.
Lorenzo would’ve picked up the cue instantly. We have that kind of work chemistry down now. But Stefano is far too distrustful of me for nuance.
Still, something in him shifts. Maybe curiosity. Maybe calculation. Maybe he’s giving me the benefit of the doubt. Either way, he nods and turns his attention back to Lucy, touching her at the waist to shift her out of the way.
I slip from the room and make my way toward the back of the building, pushing through the swinging doors into the kitchen. The staff pauses, startled by my sudden intrusion, but I’m already scanning.
My eyes land on her.
The plump brunette with the name tag: Kimone. One of the servers who brought the meals earlier.
She spots me and stiffens. Her face drains of color as I approach, already shaking her head, backing away.
But on an empty stomach, my patience is nonexistent. I grab her wrist, twist her arm behind her back just enough to make her compliant.
“Easy,” I whisper, low and sharp, guiding her quickly across the room.
She lets out a yelp, a sob, startling the kitchen staff.
In the corner, I spot a sliding door. I shove her through it and close us inside.
A pantry.
“Please,” she gasps through tears the moment I let her go. “Please, don’t let them kill me.”
Keeping my tone low and steady, I ask, “What were you told to do?”
“I didn’t do it. I s-swear. I didn’t even want to do it.” Her words tumble out in a frenzy of fear and desperation. “My baby girl was at the top of the transplant list. Then all of a sudden she got bumped to the bottom on some bullshit technicality.”
Her face crumples, hands shaking.
“Then some man calls me saying he can put her name back at the top if I do this one thing for him. That’s all. I d-d-didn’t ask for this. I just want my daughter to live.”
“What were you asked to do?” I repeat.
She hiccups through her sobs. “T-There was a package waiting on my table when I got home yesterday. A small vial, along with instructions. I was supposed to pour it into Mr. Bellanti’s drink at today’s meeting.
That’s all. But then Mr. Bellanti didn’t show, and I’ve been panicking because I don’t know what to do and I don’t even know who—”
“Where’s the vial?”
With trembling fingers, she digs into the pocket of her waist apron and pulls out a tiny glass vial of clear liquid. She thrusts it at me like it’s cursed.
Her voice cracks as she asks, “Will the Castellos kill me?”
I turn the vial over in my hand. “Even if the Castellos don’t, the people who gave you this will. To keep you quiet. So yeah… you’re screwed either way.”
Terror floods her face.
“You need to run. Fast and smart. If there’s anywhere you can lay low, go there. Now. Don’t stop for anything or anyone. Just move. And good luck.”
She muffles a sob in her fist, then with a firm resolve, she nods and bolts out of the pantry like her life depends on it.
Because it does.
I tuck the vial into my cleavage and head back to the meeting room.
When I walk in, Lucy is gone and Stefano is scowling with open impatience.
“Did you get what you needed?” he asks levelly.
“Yes. My bladder is officially relieved.”
He lifts an unimpressed brow. “The bathroom’s in the opposite direction.”
I flash him a sweet smile. “I prefer kitchen sinks. Don’t judge me.”
The look he gives me tells me his patience is at its end. He shakes his head, as if deciding not to bother with me, then brushes past me out the door. “Come on.”
Once we’re back in the car and on the move, I say, “I can’t do another meeting like that. I’m starving.”
“We don’t have another meeting.”
Oh, good. I can drop in at the Diner Hall at the villa. Or hit up Cora.
I fish out my phone and call her.
“Hey, Coraaaa,” I sing when she answers. “How’s our guy doing?”
“Hi, darling,” she says, a smile in her voice. “He’s awake now, but drenched in cold sweats. The fever is still high. Do you want to talk to him?”
“Yes, please.”
There’s a bit of shuffling, and then his raspy voice comes on the line. “Pretty eyes.”
“Hey, flirt.” I smile. “Just checking in. Sorry you’re having a rough one. If I could help you feel better, I would.”
“It would make me feel better if you come be my nurse,” he says, voice hoarse but playful. “In a nice, low-cut blouse.”
I laugh. Not even a fever can stop Gio from being a flirt.
“We’re on the way back now. I’ll come keep you company if Lorenzo doesn’t have a ton of work for me.”
“Hurry. The way I’m feeling right now, today might be my last.”
Men are such big babies when they’re sick. “You’ll live. God would never take the best Castello first. See you soon.”
Stefano lets out a snort as I hang up. “It’s comical that you think that bastard has a chance in heaven. Don’t let the boyish charm fool you. That man has done things that made even me blush.”
“Yet, if we could ask God right now, I bet He’d say Gio’s chances next to yours are about a hundred to one.”
He doesn’t say a word, but his stare drills into the side of my face with a pressure that demands attention. It speaks louder than any threat he could voice.
I turn to meet his gaze. “What?”
“Are you trying to save someone’s life again?”
Shit. I force a frown. “What do you mean?”
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” His tone tightens. “You’ve been stalling. Deflecting. What did you get out of that waitress? The one who skittered around like a frightened mouse all afternoon. You went after her, didn’t you?”
Dammit. I’d hoped he hadn’t noticed. The others surely hadn’t. But he’s Stefano Castello—paranoia and hyper-vigilance in a perfectly tailored suit. Of course he noticed.
‘Arriving early gives me an advantage To see things others don’t.’
Of course it does. He probably clocked her nervous energy long before I did.
When I stay silent, still stalling to buy that unfortunate waitress a few more precious minutes to run, he places a hand on my knee.
Not a grip. Not a squeeze.
Just rested there. Warm. Light. Casual.
But somehow, more threatening than a hammer to the kneecap.
“Tell. Me.”
Good luck, Kimone. I hope you get to safety in time.
“Well,” I say, reaching into my cleavage, “it’s like I said...between you and Gio, he’s clearly God’s favorite.” I pull out the vial and hold it up. “Because he was supposed to die today.”
Stefano’s jaw locks as he stares at the clear liquid. Rage simmers in his eyes, hot and clawing, creeping in like flames beneath the surface. “Her name is Kimone Blanchard. She has an eight-year-old daughter in the hospital, waiting on a heart transplant.”
Wow. He knows her by name and plight.
“Your adversary has shown they aren’t above threatening the life of a sick child just to get a terrified mom to do their dirty work,” I say, unable to hide the disgust from my voice. “Despicable cowards.”
“Raya, that staff is a team that’s been carefully vetted and hand-selected to serve at all our private meetings and functions,” Stefano says, his voice tight.
“They sign NDAs. They’re paid handsomely for their discretion, for their loyalty.
Their contracts state that we are responsible for them and will protect them if ever needed.
We know everything about them. We surveil them routinely. And they know this, Raya.”
His eyes burn into mine.
“You saw who was at that table today. We don’t sit and eat unless we trust those serving us.
Today, that trust was violated. I don’t give a damn what she was threatened with.
Kimone has been under contract with us for years.
She knew she could’ve come to us for help.
She fucking knew. But she didn’t, did she?
Instead, she showed up with the intention to kill my family to save hers. ”
“Maybe she—”
“RAYA!” he snaps, all patience gone.
That single, rage-soaked bark, and the vein pulsing at his temple, is enough to shut me up. Taking on his wrath right now is not worth it.
As much as I understand Kimone’s plight and fear, I understand Stefano’s anger more. Gio—someone I’ve come to genuinely care about—could have died today.
“By the way,” Stefano adds, voice cooling into something far more dangerous, “I already had people waiting to grab her, even before you spoke to her. I knew she was up to something. I just didn’t think it would be this fucking stupid. What happens to her now will be Gio’s choice, not yours.”
Fine. Whatever. I have my own battles to fight.
When I don’t argue, his eyes narrow in suspicion, trying to read behind my silence, as if he thinks I’m up to something.
I’m not.
Do I hate casualties of war? Yes. But I’m not Mother Teresa. I’m nobody’s savior.
In wars and power struggles, people like Kimone always end up as collateral damage.
There’s no escaping that.
Stefano eventually pulls his distrustful glare from me and taps the back of Oscar’s headrest. “Black Gold.”
“Black Gold?” I ask. “Can’t you drop me at the villa first?”
He ignores me.
In the silence, my stomach growls. Loudly. Thanks to my overactive metabolism, I have a voracious appetite. Hunger hits hard every one to two hours, and when ignored, it tanks both my mood and brain function. Throws everything off-kilter.
“Can we at least stop somewhere so I can grab something to eat?” I ask.
Again, nothing. It’s like I’m invisible.
He’s clearly still brassed off. But if I don’t get fed soon, we both will be.
My stomach grumbles all the way to Black Gold.
Oscar parks outside the private back entrance of the building and Stefano gets out without a word.
Expecting Oscar to take me back to the villa, I stay put.
But then, Stefano snaps his fingers at me like the asshole he is, holding the door open.
“I’m coming in with you?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I say so.”
Ah, for Pete’s sake. I don’t have the energy to fight him right now.
With a reluctant sigh, I slide across the leather seats and climb out of the car.
And then the brute has the nerve to take my hand in his.
Slowly, I look up at him, but he stares straight ahead, jaw set, expression unreadable, as he escorts me into the building. His men nod in deference as we pass, and a few flick their gaze to our joined hands, eyes squinting with interest.
I scowl at Stefano the entire elevator ride to his office.
Only once we’re inside does he release my hand, but his heat lingers on my skin. I resist the urge to raise my palm to my face and soak it up like a pathetic simp.
“Go. Sit,” he commands, gesturing to his massive desk. “Use my computer to type up the meeting minutes, then send it through the encrypted server to everyone who was in attendance.”
Stefano’s office is exactly what one would expect for a man like him—overly large, unapologetically sumptuous, with hunter-green and gold accents. It smells like log fire, lavender, and frost. An interesting combination.
Not a window in sight.
Unlike Lorenzo’s office, which overlooks the casino, this place is sealed off from the world. Which tells me this is where he goes when he wants to be away from everything and everyone.
Glancing at the sleek desk and the glowing computer, I ask, “Are you sure you want to give that kind of access to a ‘foxy little liar’ like me? This devious Delilah who’s after your secrets?”
“Only because I want you to prove me right.” He steps closer and presses a single finger to the center of my forehead. “Give me just one reason to put a bullet right here.”
I lean into his touch with a smile. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re obsessed with me.”
“You’re only half right.”
Meaning?
Meaning?!
But instead of chasing clarity, I let it hang and shrug like it doesn’t matter, then move around to the desk and sink into the comfortable leather chair.
Stefano turns to leave.
“What’s your password?” I ask as the computer prompts me for one.
With all the energy of a man dealing with a pest, he exhales a dramatic, long-suffering sigh, pivots back to the desk, plucks a pen from the holder, scribbles something onto a sticky note, and slaps it onto the back of my hand.
4F@m!ly&4L0y@lty
“Hm...” I murmur. “Interesting.”
“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Oh, you have no idea...
“Considering how you pretend to care about Gio,” he goes on, “but still tried to protect someone who meant to kill him.”
Now that…that struck a nerve. Hard.
The son of a bitch sure knows how and where to strike.
“Or maybe I was trying to stop a sick kid from growing up without her mother,” I snap.
“Right,” he sneers. “Because you’re just a glowing light of mercy and goodness, aren’t you?”
It’s raging hunger, taut restraint, and bridled lust that has me gritting out, “Fuck. You.”
“There she is,” he whispers, watching me from beneath those broody dark brows like he’s been waiting for that crack in my composure. “Anything else?”
What a miserable, arrogant bastard. “Yes, food.”
He turns without another word, the tension between us still thrumming like a live wire. Just before he’s out the door, he tosses a warning over his shoulder, “Don’t leave this room.”
And then he’s gone.
I sit there, seething. Once again, I’ve let him get under my skin. Under the veneer I work so hard to keep intact. Every time I let my guard down around Stefano Castello, I lose a little more ground. The veil slipping lower and lower.
Goddamn him.
It would be so much easier to be the enemy.