“Did someone give you those flowers as a gift?”
“What? Oh no. I work at the flower shop. The owner just lets me take home whatever is too wilted to be sold.”
He nods, but his jaw remains tense. “A man or a woman?”
I stare at him dumbly.
“The owner. Is it a man or a woman?”
What a weird question. “She’s a woman.”
That murderous glint in his eyes disappears. He doesn’t say anything more.
Silence fills the car. It’s strained. Palpable. Three feet of space separate us, but it feels like our faces are only inches apart. It’s those eyes. Cold. Cunning. But entirely magnetic. They are drawing me in. That extraordinary color is blinding me to the dangers within. I don’t know how anyone who has locked gazes with Ruffo could ever believe him to be passive or kind. And those are the words I’ve heard women use countless times whilethey gossiped about him. About him being tolerant, maybe even a bit ignorant, while his wife was screwing around on him.
He knew. I’m sure he did.
In fact, I’ll bet there isn’t a single thing that escapes Ruffo’s notice.
And I’m completely positive that he didn’t simply “tolerate” her affairs. He must have had a reason to let her carry on as she did. Another hidden piece within the mystery that is Adriano Ruffo.
I adjust my wet coat, pulling it tighter around me, as if that might somehow help shield me from his piercing glare.
Should I say something else?Maybe I should ask him how his day has been going? Or is it best for me to just keep quiet? Why is he staring at me like that?
I don’t think anyone has ever looked at me like this before. With that…interest? Curiosity? As if he’s trying to decipher a plot. I’m pretty sure I’m an open book, one that’s fairly boring, so I don’t understand what he could possibly be looking to solve. He’s the one who’s the puzzle in this car.
“Why did you kill your wife, Mr. Ruffo?”
One black eyebrow rises at my question.I can’t believe I just asked him that!
Oh God, I shouldn’t have done it. I try to disappear into the seat cushion. My back meets the soft leather, preventing me from retreating any further.
“Because Filippa tried to kill me. So I made sure it wouldn’t happen again.”
I blink at him, shocked that he actually answered. Regardless of his reasons, it doesn’t change the fact that hedoesn’t seem to be bothered by it. By having to kill his wife. How could he have spent a decade with her and act as if it meant nothing? A shudder runs down my spine.
“Are you afraid of me, Iris? Considering you have been working for our psychotic don, whose hands are most certainly smeared with blood, I would expect that no man would be able to scare you.”
“Don Spada is a very intimidating man, that’s true, but he never hides who he is, Mr. Ruffo.” I bite my lip.
“Unlike me?”
“Yes. You’re not what you pretend to be.”
The expression on his face doesn’t change. It remains stoic, as beautiful as a Roman sculpture, like marble carved to resemble flesh and blood. But still as stone. Only, there’s a glint in his eyes that feels different. The crow’s-feet seem deeper, too. And, although he didn’t move, I’d swear there’s a slight lift in the corner of his lips.Did he smirk?Am I imagining it?Ruffo isn’t a man who smiles often. Or at all. Those creases around his eyes are probably nothing more than strategically placed decorations, meant to deceive, disarm, and hoodwink you into being dismissed.
A wet strand of his inky hair has fallen over his forehead. It being out of place on the otherwise perfectly composed man is making my fingers itch. I want to sweep it back into order. Restore his flawless facade.Where did that impulse come from?
“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Little Iris.” That gravelly voice jerks me back to reality.
I look to my left, surprised to see the driver standing with the car door open. I didn’t even realize we’d stopped. Purposefully not looking at Ruffo, I clamber out and dashtoward my building’s entrance. Behind me, the rumble of an engine fills the night. I’m climbing the stairs to our fourth-floor apartment when I freeze mid-step.
I never told him my address.
Chapter 6
The wheels touch the runway with a significant jolt, and the entire fuselage shakes as the plane madly slows down. Jesus fuck, why is it impossible to find a decent pilot nowadays?
