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“You think I’m weak? Just letting it happen and doing nothing?” Ravenna shakes her head. “I tried fighting back. The first time Rocco slapped me, I tried smashing a table lamp over his head. He hit me so hard that after I couldn’t eat solid food for the rest of the week.”
Like a blast from a fucking grenade exploding in my brain, I feel the quake of my stone-cold fortress. The tremors shake the foundations of my revenge plan. Yes, in the beginning, I did think she was a weak, shallow, trophy wife whose only interests were buying clothes and parading around like a holier-than-thou queen. She fooled me, too. Or, better said, I let myself be fooled because it was easier to hate her that way. She’s been trying to fight that son of a bitch from the start, and when she couldn’t do it with brawn, she resorted to outsmarting him. Alone.
“You’re far from weak, Ravenna.” I brush her cheek with the back of my hand while another enormous chunk of my fortress breaks away and crumbles into a cloud of dust.
***
When we arrive back at the mansion, I escort Ravenna to the front door, then turn around and feign a casual stroll through the grounds, heading toward the guardhouse. There’s a blind spot close to the old oak tree. Knowing that cameras won’t be an issue here, I stop and take out my phone.
Overriding multiple feeds without my laptop isn’t possible, but I can scramble one with the software on my cell. I select the camera overlooking the guardhouse and pull up a dummy recording I prepared a few days ago, making the switch. Now, no one will see me slipping through the door when the moment is right.
I take cover in the shadows and wait, pressed against the outside wall of the guardhouse, not far from the pedestrian gate that’s just next to the main one. The window lets me see what’s going on inside.
Federico and another security guy are sitting in front of the monitors at a desk covered in containers of fast food.Fifteen minutes later, the other man exits the guardhouse and heads toward the trees, probably to take a piss. Federico remains, his attention focused on the wall of monitors before him. I slip inside and approach from behind. Slapping my left palm over his mouth, I simultaneously grip his neck with my other hand by pressing on both his carotid arteries.
It’s not a Vulcan nerve pinch and not like in the fucking movies when the opponent falls unconscious instantly. In reality, you need to keep the pressure on both points for at least seven seconds to cut off the flow of blood to the brain. When Federico’s body sags, I clasp his nose and grab a hamburger from one of the takeout boxes, stuffing it deep into his throat. He comes to fairly quickly and starts jerking, gasping for breath, but I keep his mouth and nose shut. The fight leaves him several moments later, and his body sags again. For good this time. I let Federico’s bulk slack in the chair, with vomit trickling out of his mouth and down his chin, then slip out of the guardhouse.
As I’m striding back toward the mansion, I look up to the second floor and the last window on the left. Ravenna’s light is off, but I can see her silhouette behind the sheer curtain. I pause and take out my phone, dialing her number. She disappears from the window, then comes back a few moments later. The curtain moves to the side, revealing Ravenna with her cell in her hand.
The ringing stops and the call connects, but she doesn’t say anything. The only thing I can hear is her soft breathing.
“Tomorrow morning at six,” I say into the phone. “The library. Wear something comfortable.”
A few beats of silence before she whispers, “Why?”
“Because it will work better.” And because I’ll make sure she never feels defenseless ever again.
I end the call and watch her. A distant light from the driveway lamppost casts its glow on Ravenna’s face. She keeps looking at where I stand, then nods. The curtain falls over the window. A moment later, she disappears from view.
I should have killed her the minute I set foot in this house. I haven’t. And now, I’m no longer capable of doing it.
Chapter 14
I walk into the library and look at the tall, wooden bookshelves covering every wall. The first time I entered this room, I was amazed by the number of leather-bound tomes filling the beautiful, vintage shelves. Each bookcase is arranged to hold books of a similar color.
It didn’t take me long to realize that the books weren’t there because my husband liked to read, but because they made the room look good. Rocco loves having cocktails served here for his friends so they couldoohandahhupon seeing the lavish space. The only thing that matters to my husband is what people think. Without houseguests, the only visitors to this room are me and one of the maids who clean the library twice a week.
Alessandro told me he’ll wait for me here at six, but it’s ten after according to the clock on the left side of the room, and he’s nowhere in sight. I have no idea why he asked me to come here. Deciding to return to my room, I turn around and collide with a wide male chest. I tilt my head up and up until I meet Alessandro’s gaze.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says. “There was an incident.”
“An incident?”
“One of the guards choked on his food last night. Nino came to bring his replacement.”
“The guard is dead?”
“Very much.” Alessandro nods, then walks past me, heading toward the big window overlooking the garden.
I blink, staring at his retreating form. Alessandro’s appearance is always very formidable, regardless of what he wears. It’s not just his size, which does have a big impact on the overall impression. It’s the combination of his silence and cold aloofness that cling to him like a second skin. Even in navy-blue sweatpants that hang low on his hips, and a white T-shirt that stretches tight over those wide shoulders and enormous back, Alessandro looks like he’s capable of wrestling a dozen men without breaking a sweat. As I admire his muscular body, he approaches the window and pulls the curtain over it.
“Less than two hours before the staff arrive,” he says looking at his wristwatch. “We better start.”
“Start what?”
Alessandro stops right in front of me. “Your first self-defense class,” he says, and before I have time to process that statement, he wraps both of his hands around my neck.
I freeze. He’s not hurting me, and his hold is mostly loose, but I still can’t move.
