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“There’s fresh food for at least a week.” She averts her gaze. “Mr. Russo will be home tomorrow. I’ll be back as soon as he lets me.”
“Of course. I appreciate that.”
She blows out a drawn-out sigh. “Well, then. At least here you can go around freely.” Nodding to herself, she walks to the door. On the threshold, she stops. “You don’t have to worry, Sabella. You’ll be safe here. You can sleep soundly.”
My reply is weak. “Okay.”
The door closes on her smile. I stand on the spot, listening to the car door being shut before the engine starts up. The tires crunch on the gravel, and then the sound of the engine slowly fades.
Wanting to lock myself in has nothing to do with the child who’d snuck into the house. The poor little person with his dirt-streaked face only reminded me how easy it was to simply walk through the door.
I wanted keys because I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched, but I didn’t tell my husband that. If someone is watching me, he would’ve ordered it.
When silence wraps around me, I take a moment to process everything. Angelo’s generosity surprises me. I expected to be sent back to a fumigated but empty house. My husband has no reason to be kind or considerate to me. Sometimes, his behavior baffles me. In one moment, he drags me into a cellar and makes me believe he’s going to kill me before banishing me to an abandoned house. In the next, he gets his personal shopper to furnish the place.
Remembering his sinister promise, I rush upstairs. The old mattress in the main bedroom is gone. A king-sized bed stands in its place. I dash to the bathroom and yank open the cupboard. My hand trembles when I take out my toilet bag. I zip it open and go through the contents with anxious impatience, only relaxing when I find my birth control pills.
I bite my lip as I look around for a hiding place. Using an elastic, I stretch it around the front of the cupboard drawer, making sure that the drawer still closes. Then I slip the packet of pills through the elastic on the bottom of the drawer. There. My pills are safe from Angelo. He’ll never find them there.
Pushing away all thoughts of my husband, I finish my tour of the house. Every bedroom is fitted with furniture. The bathrooms are stocked with towels and luxury toiletries. I suppose Fabien didn’t know no guest will ever set foot in here.
When I end up back in the main room after having done the full round, I go through the closet to find my clothes neatly folded on the shelves. The recipe books Heidi loaned me are stacked on a small bookshelf next to a writing desk.
I select the one with the dessert recipes and carry it downstairs. I’m eager to try my idea. Fortunately, Fabien stocked the food cupboards with a wide range of basic products. When I’ve stacked all the ingredients on the counter, I switch on the oven to warm and get to work.
Baking isn’t as easy as it looks on paper. Despite the fact that I followed every step to the T, my cake comes out skew. I let it cool on the windowsill in front of the open window, lock the doors, and go upstairs to have a shower.
An hour later, when I return to tackle the frosting, the windowsill is empty, the cake gone.
Chapter
Ten
Angelo
* * *
My uncle’s trick still leaves a sour taste in my mouth when I enter the casino and spot the women in their glitzy dresses waiting next to my four o’clock appointment.
I know what he was doing. He was sending me a Sabella look-alike, someone he thought would satisfy my taste, an easy woman with a soft smile to make me forget about my rebellious spouse. Nothing sweetens the bitter taste of a wife’s rejection like a willing woman’s pussy. That’s how it works in our circles. Men go out to work, kill, and fuck. The wives stay home to remain faithful and have our babies.
My father was the exception. He never looked at another woman for as long as I accompanied him on his business trips. I doubt he ever did, not even before he started taking me along. My uncles are a different matter. They have whores in every casino and a mistress in each town where they conduct business. They always had. The habit continued throughout my aunts’ lives. My uncles told me so themselves.
The thought of another woman simply doesn’t do it for me. There’s only one pussy in which I want to bury my dick. My wife’s. It’s stamped with my insignia too. A man can’t be clearer than that. I hope Uncle Enzo suffered the humiliation of my rebuke. He overstepped his boundary by trying to soften me up with a whore. The woman looked embarrassed when I sent her away.
This man will learn too. The women who hang on his arms, batting their eyelashes and flaunting their tits as I approach, only repel me.
The high court judge sucks on his cigar, the end glowing red as he scrutinizes me through squinted eyes.
“Judge Fabre.” I offer him a hand. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
He wraps his arms around the girls’ waists and palms their ass cheeks. “In my suite, you mean?” He slaps their asses. “Do you have a soft spot for one of these beauties, or do you prefer both?”
“Neither,” I say, my tone dry. “A private lounge will do.”
His face drops. “You’re no fun.”
My smile is cool. “All work and no play, I’m afraid.”
