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Alessandro places a kiss on my pussy and takes his fingers out, rising to his feet. I’m still shaking from the aftershocks as he picks up the blanket off the floor and covers me with it. Then, he turns and heads toward the door.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
He stops with his hand on the knob but doesn’t turn around.
“Back to my personal hell, Ravenna.”
Chapter 16
As I exit my room to head down to breakfast, the maid rounds the corner and rushes toward me. “The guard at the gate just called, Mrs. Pisano. Mr. Nino is coming to see you.”
“Did he say why?”
“No. He just said it’s urgent.”
I rush along the hallway and down the stairs, wondering what could have happened. The maid dashes in front of me and opens the front door.
“Ravenna.” Nino nods as he steps inside. “We need to talk.”
“What happened?”
“Not here,” he says in a grave voice.
“Okay.” I lead him across the foyer to Rocco’s office and close the sliding door once we’re inside. Nino takes a seat on the leather sofa by the window and leans forward with his elbows on his knees.
“Elio is dead,” he says.
I blink in confusion and lower myself onto the recliner across from him. “I didn’t know he was sick. We saw him about a week ago, and he seemed okay.”
“He didn’t die of natural causes. Someone broke into his house last night and killed him in his bed. It seems like they tortured him first.”
I squeeze the padded arms of the chair as the image of Alessandro’s blood-stained hand flashes before my eyes. The same hand that stroked my skin while he feasted on my pussy two hours earlier. I feel myself grow damp and quickly press my knees together, slightly appalled by my body’s reaction.
“How did he die?” I ask.
“A knife through the heart.”
“You know who did it?”
“No idea.” He shakes his head, and I manage to hide a sigh of relief. “Could have been the Serbs. Rocco believes they are responsible for the hitman who shot him, so he sent mercenaries to attack Popov’s club last night. Serbs could have been retaliating for the attack on the club, but the timing’s too tight. There’s no way they could have done it.”
“Does Rocco know his father is dead?”
“No. I think it would be better if you told him.”
I barely suppress a shudder. “Yes, I’ll head to the hospital as soon as I get ready.”
“Good. And make sure you don’t leave the house without Alessandro until we find out what’s going on,” he says. “I’ll see myself out.”
When Nino leaves, I go back to my room to change and put on a new pair of panties. But as I’m standing in front of my underwear drawer, an unusual urge to rebel rises within me. I look down at the fresh pair of panties I’ve pulled out, then throw them back and close the drawer. As I will be seeing my husband, I’ll do it while bearing the evidence of my attraction to another man.
I pick out a pair of pale peach pants and a jacket that comprise one of the few outfits I actually like wearing. Rocco prefers me in bold colors, such as blacks and reds. The only reason he let me keep this set is because of the jacket’s big gold buttons that show the logo of the brand name.
My purse is on the dresser, and when I reach for it, I’m overwhelmed with loathing at the sight of it. Other women use purses to carry with them their most important items. Documents. Wallet. Their phone. The only things in my purse are a small makeup pouch, which I’ve come to hate, and two packs of tissues. My IDs are locked away in Rocco’s safe, and I’m not allowed any money. I usually just leave my phone on the nightstand. What’s the point of carrying it when I can’t call anyone except my husband? My purse is just another reminder of the things he has taken from me. The things I let him take from me. My gaze moves from the purse up to the mirror above the dresser. I focus on my reflection, eyeing the big diamond earrings, reflecting the light off the stones and the sparkling gold. My long hair is gathered into a high bun, perfectly tight, and heavy makeup covers my face.
“Who are you?” I whisper. The woman in the mirror looks like me, but we have nothing in common.
There’s no answer, of course. I stare at the stranger for a long time, trying to find more resemblance than the mere lines of my face, but I can’t. That bastard made me lose myself along with everything else.
