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I find Salvatore sitting at the breakfast bar which divides the kitchen from the living area but ignore him pointedly. Opening the door of the state-of-the-art refrigerator, I rummage through its contents, searching for something my cat might eat. I find a plastic container of meat on the middleshelf, so I open it, take a piece and touch my tongue against it, to check whether it’s too spicy or too salty. It’s not, so I put the cat down and grab a bowl from the stand on the counter. I place a few pieces of meat inside, removing the bone with my fingers and walk toward the corner of the kitchen to place the bowl on the floor. Instead of going to the dish, the cat jumps up on the counter and leaps onto the top of the fridge. His nose twitches once, twice, and then he sprawls on top of it.
“Damn it, Kurt!” I snap.
The cat stares haughtily at me from his spot atop the appliance.
“Kurt?” Salvatore’s deep voice echoes behind me.
“Yup. I’ve decided it’s time to name my cat since I’m keeping him.”
I turn and head into the open concept dining room to get a chair, avoiding Salvatore, not wanting to know whether he’s watching me or not. I’m so mad at him.
“And it has to be ‘Kurt’?”
“Yes.” I chose that name so I can always be reminded of what a liar my husband is.
I carry the chair into the kitchen and climb on it, intending to get Kurt down. However, the second I reach for him, he leaps across onto the counter, runs the length of it, and jumps on top of the bar in front of Salvatore. They engage in some kind of a standoff, the cat observing him with interest while he scowls at him. I open my mouth to warn Salvatore to watch his plate, but Kurt’s already snagged a huge piece of food and dashed away.
“Was that . . . fish?” I ask.
“Yes. Why?”
I groan. “That upsets his stomach.”
As I watch Kurt chew the piece of fish in the corner of the kitchen and think of what will await me in the litter box tomorrow, I decide I’m done for today. I take the container with the rest of the meat from the fridge and head back to my room.
Milene leaves the kitchen and walks across the living room, carrying the leftovers from lunch, obviously planning to eat them in her room. I decide that won’t do. “No eating in the bedrooms.”
She stops in her tracks, turns slowly and graces me with one firm, agitated look. “Ada brought me lunch and dinner there.”
“But you didn’t eat it, did you?” I point to the bar stool next to mine. “You eat here.”
“I’m most certainly not eating at the same table as you.”
I grab the back of the chair and turn it so it’s facing her. “Here,” I bark. Milene lifts her chin, and yet she does as I ask.
“You have control issues.” She sits next to me and starts eating directly out of the container.
It amazes me how unexpectedly normal she is. If I didn’t know it already, I never would have guessed that she was a Mafia princess, accustomed to luxury. She seems so ordinary, living in that dump of an apartment, working as a nurse, and keeping that idiotic cat. Why not spend the money her brother was sending her? She keeps her nails short and unpainted, and her hair is gathered at the top of her head with a simple rubber band. I’ve seen it hang loose, and it’s a simplecut, nothing fancy. Then, there is her face. Zero makeup. No false eyelashes. I have never come across a woman within our circle who hasn’t had her hair perfectly styled, had makeup flawless and was wearing an outfit that came off the runway. Still, the woman sitting next to me in a loose T-shirt and jeans is more beautiful than any of the others. Milene Scardoni is a rare specimen.
“I need to do some shopping tomorrow,” she says between bites.
“You’ll take bodyguards.”
“Bodyguards?” She looks up at me. “As in plural?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to a fucking supermarket. One will be enough.”
“You will take the bodyguards I assign to you, or you can order online. Your choice.”
“Perfect.” She turns back to her food. “I’m going to buy tampons and cat food with two gorillas trailing after me.”
“Four gorillas,” I say.
Her head snaps up. “Four? Are you serious?”
“Don’t argue with me, Milene. It won’t get you anywhere. It’s going to be my way, or it’s not happening.”
