Chapter 26
Bianca Ferrucci
Tiziano had left for a meeting, leaving me alone in the mansion. The boredom was almost suffocating, and the emptiness of the hallways only deepened the loneliness I felt. The staff kept their distance, always too busy to exchange a word unless it was absolutely necessary.
I felt a pang of longing for Rosa, for her sweet voice and the little conversations that distracted us during the long days. Here, everything was cold, formal, and far too solemn.
With nothing to do, I began wandering through the rooms, trying to find something to occupy my mind. I stopped in the living room, where a thin layer of dust had settled over the coffee table, as though the space were rarely used. I frowned.
How can such a magnificent house feel so empty?
I looked around, studying the furniture that seemed more like museum pieces than anything people actually lived with. I took a deep breath and went to the pantry, grabbing a cleaning cloth. Maybe tidying something would help me forget the feeling that the walls themselves were watching me.
I started in the living room, running the cloth over the dark, polished wooden furniture. My mind wandered, but the routine of cleaning, something so simple, gave me an illusion of normalcy I hadn’t felt since I first stepped into that house.
“Ma’am?” The voice of one of the maids startled me, making me let out a loud breath and glance over my shoulder. She stared at me with a frown, clearly surprised to see me holding a cleaning cloth.
“Yes?” I replied, trying to sound calm.
“You don’t need to do that. We can take care of everything,” she said, approaching as though she were about to take the cloth from my hand.
“It’s all right.” I gave her a faint smile, turning back toward the furniture. “I just needed something to distract myself.”
The maid watched me for a moment as though she wanted to say something, but ultimately decided against it and left the room, leaving me alone again.
I continued cleaning, this time in the dining room, where glasses and plates sat perfectly aligned inside the china cabinet.
They were so delicate it seemed as though a single touch could shatter them.
And that was exactly what happened. When I tried to adjust one of the glasses, it slipped from my fingers, struck another, and shattered with a sharp crack.
I froze for a moment, staring at the shards scattered across the floor. I took a deep breath and crouched down to collect them. The thin glass was almost invisible against the marble floor, but when I reached for it, a sharp, hot pain sliced through my skin.
“Shit…” I whispered, pulling my hand back.
A distant sound caught my attention. Heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. My heart instinctively began to race. That wasn’t just any sound; it wasn’t one of the staff.
The dining room door opened, and there he was. Tiziano stopped in the doorway, his jacket still over his shoulders and his expression serious. His eyes swept across the room before settling on me. A crooked smile appeared at the corner of his lips.
Tiziano? I murmured to myself, wiping away the thin trail of blood running from the tip of my finger, and the sting made me instinctively press it against the hem of my dress.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low, curious.
“Cleaning,” I replied, glancing toward the cloth abandoned on the table.
He let out a muffled laugh, running a hand through his hair as he walked toward me. His steps were calm, but his expression told a different story.
“You don’t have to do that.” He stopped inches away from me, leaning slightly closer to look at me. “There’s an entire staff in this house for that.”
“I needed something to distract myself,” I replied, lifting my face to meet his eyes. “It’s better than standing around doing nothing.”
I tried to push the shards of glass aside with the tip of my shoe, as though I could hide what had happened. But he noticed.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked irritably.
Before I could answer, his eyes were already fixed on the shards scattered around my feet. The dress was still wrapped around my injured hand, and even without looking at him, I knew he was angry. Angry with me, angry with the staff, angry with anything that slipped beyond his control.
“For fuck’s sake,” he growled, running a tense hand through his hair. “Where are the useless idiots who were supposed to be taking care of this?”
“Don Tiziano, I just…”
“Shut up, Bianca.” He turned toward the door and shouted, “Entra!”
Two employees appeared in the doorway, pale as sheets when they saw Tiziano’s expression.
“You can’t even handle the basics? You left my wife alone long enough for her to hurt herself cleaning the floor?” he shouted.
“Don, it was an oversight, we didn’t know…” one of them tried to explain, his voice trembling.
“An oversight?” He laughed, but there was no humor in his face.
He advanced toward the man, on the verge of losing control, assuming he even knew what control was.
“The next time my wife lifts a finger to do anything in this house, both of you will be out on the street before you can take another breath. Understood?”
“Yes, Don Tiziano, we’re sorry,” they both said at the same time, lowering their heads.
“Get out of here. And bring someone competent to clean this up. Now.”
The employees practically ran from the room. Tiziano took a deep breath and turned back toward me. His gaze landed on the bloodstained dress still wrapped around my hand.
“It’s nothing. I only wanted to help,” I replied in a barely audible voice.
He moved closer, and I instinctively took a step back. But he ignored my movement and reached out, taking my chin between his fingers, making me look at him.
“You don’t need to help. You don’t need to do anything. You’re my wife, Bianca.”
“I just don’t know how to sit around doing nothing. I miss having something to do. I miss Rosa.”
He tilted his head, his fingers still firm beneath my chin.
“Rosa?”
“Yes. She used to talk to me. I had company. I wasn’t alone.”
For a moment, Tiziano said nothing. Then he released my chin, but he didn’t move away.
“She’ll come here,” he said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“What?”
“This Rosa woman. If you want company, I’ll bring her here,” he said decisively.
“And Bianca, if there’s anything else you want, tell me.
But I don’t want to see you cleaning anything else in this house.
This house is mine. What happens here, I decide.
And you, piccola, need to understand that you’re here to be my wife. Nothing more.”
My heart sped up when I heard the word piccola. It was so strange to hear something that almost sounded affectionate coming from him.
“Now come. I’m going to take care of that cut.”