It warms my heart that I had a small part in bringing them together, helping with their exchange of letters while Don Spada was still in prison. I wanted to protect Ms. Zara and her secret, shield her from harm like she was my own sister. Like I wished mine would have done for me. Maybe that’s why I did it. It was a risk, getting involved in Ms. Zara’s schemes back then. But seeing her and Don Spada now, I’d say it was all worth it. Their story still has a ways to go until the happy ending, but I’mhopeful. And I want to be there to see it, even if I have to scrub blood stains from the floors while I wait. Such is life when you’re involved with Cosa Nostra. Besides, I got a wonderful friend out of it in Ms. Zara.
Refocusing on the present, I continue making my way among the guests, observing them on the sly. People watching has always been one of my favorite pastimes. I love trying to figure out what makes them tick. What secrets they may be hiding. When I was a little girl, Mom and I would spend her one day off work at the nearby park. We’d while away the hours just watching people as they passed by, make up stories about who they were, where they were going, and what they were doing. It was fun, and I really miss those times. Now, though, I watch people knowing exactly who they are.
Capo Primo, for example. Supposedly, he’s great at handling money. You’d think that would make him… neat. Nope. He’s bent over a table laden with hors d’oeuvres, filling up his plate with fancy offerings. The pile is so high, it’s in danger of spilling to the floor, yet he adds more and more canapés on top. His wife is next to him, holding a similarly full plate. However, instead of on the food, her attention is focused on their son. More specifically, on the glob of goo stuck to his cheek. Muttering something, she brings the corner of a folded tissue to her mouth and wets it on her tongue. Then, she proceeds to rub at the offending stain. I cringe, disgusted. Ruggero is almost my age, for God’s sake.
A few other guests bump into me as I skirt the edge of the room, but I manage to keep my tray steady, not spilling a drop of the remaining champagne. It’s not my first rodeo.
“What an amazing accomplishment, Urzo!” an older woman exclaims as she reaches for a flute on my tray. “I had no idea you were interested in expanding into the tech world.”
The man next to her smiles while picking up his own glass of champagne. “I wasn’t. Not until recently, at least. This particular company is no more than a minnow among world-renowned sharks, but it developed a transportation management module that’s going to revolutionize route optimization. Once I heard the owners wanted to sell, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. It cost me a pretty penny, though. Another party was interested and drove up the price with an outrageous bid.”
“Oh! Now I must know how much you paid. A million? More?”
Something akin to irritation flashes in the man’s eyes. “Close to five, actually.” He dismisses me with a motion of his hand.
My eyebrows hit my hairline. I can’t even comprehend that amount of money, never mind talking about it like it’s nothing but loose change. Somehow, this guy doesn’t seem like any kind of multimillionaire. His maroon suit is certainly tailored, and the watch on his wrist looks like it might be a Rolex, but there’s just something in the way he holds himself that makes me think he’s not as comfortable in his fancy threads as he’s trying to appear. I don’t remember ever seeing him before, so he must be someone’s plus-one.
Laughter and the frequent clinking of glass-on-glass blend with the notes of an old Italian song spilling from hidden speakers. The tune is slow, but no couples are dancing. Everyone seems too engrossed in whatever discussion is happening around them.
Most of the higher-ups fromla Famigliaare here tonight, along with their wives and their grown children. There are, however, a few mid-level gentry about, as well. It’s a major event. Capo Brio has certainly pulled out all the stops. I watch another group of women who seem to be admiring each other’srings, but in reality, are probably comparing to see whose rock is bigger, then I turn toward the tables at the center of the room.
By the time I reach my destination, all the champagne flutes have been snatched from my tray.La Famigliasure loves the sparkling stuff. I decide to head back to the kitchen, collecting discarded glasses along the way, some of which are still half-full. A fair number are stained with various shades of red lipstick. Abandoned in pursuit of another, more enticing indulgence, I guess.
Just as I reach the arched threshold separating the banquet hall from the grand foyer, a couple in the nearby corner draws my attention. The Ruffos. Adriano and his wife. Both are so striking, each in a different manner, that there’s no way I could miss them despite neither saying or doing anything that would beckon the eye. And it seems I’m not the only one feeling that magnetic pull, because I spot several others looking at the enigmatic duo. Though, I doubt that their reasons are the same as mine.
Biting my lower lip, I throw a quick glance around, then slip behind the massive monstera plant between one of the windows and a doorway. The green giant is nearly seven feet tall, and its big leaves provide the perfect cover for me to observe without being seen.
If there’s one thing I’m guilty of, it’s being fascinated with Adriano Ruffo. Of sneaking glances at him over the years whenever he happened to stop by to talk to the don. The man is gorgeous! But I would never even consider trying to catch his attention, even if he wasn’t married. A gentleman of his social standing would never be interested in someone like me.
So I resort to mildly stalking him. Online. But in a good way! Not like I’m a psycho or anything. Just…a girl with a…crush.Maybe…a little obsession? But I doubt anyone could blame me. He is just so enigmatic. And, obviously, hot.
In truth, it’s more than his looks that have me so preoccupied. Mr. Ruffo is unlike anyone else I’ve observed from Cosa Nostra. We’ve never come face-to-face. I’ve never spoken to him directly. But there’s something about him. The way he carries himself. The aura around him. He seems so…nice. Never raises his voice. Never flaunts his money or power. And I know for a fact he’s got both.
I’ve read every article about him I could find (which wasn’t many). Even those that went in-depth about his business, things I couldn’t completely understand. But they shed a little bit of light on the man. He never answers any personal questions, never takes center stage. But he talks candidly about goals, strategies, and results. He was quoted as saying: “If you do not shape the future you want, it may shape you in ways you will not like.” That stuck with me. I printed that article when I was at the library, then hid it among the pages of my favorite book at home. I also screenshotted a handful of his pictures, hiding them in a special folder on my phone.
A few months ago, a four-page article in an online magazine featured an exposé on Ruffo Enterprises, a company Mr. Ruffo inherited at barely twenty years of age after his father died in a plane crash. At that time, it was a small firm, but under Mr. Ruffo’s direction, it quickly transformed into a gigantic international conglomerate. Becoming a multimillionaire obviously didn’t make him inconsiderate to others because the article mentioned that the company regularly donates to Summer Camps for Orphaned Children. That inspired me to support the cause, too. Instead of buying myself a winter coat I badly needed, I gave the seventy-four dollars I managed to save as my own donation. The kids deserve it.
The one interesting tidbit of personal info I did manage to uncover is that Adriano Ruffo’s great-grandfather was a duke back in Italy. So, not only is he the richest man in the Boston Cosa Nostra, or at least, that’s what I hear, he is also apparently related to actual royalty of some kind. If anyone should be peacocking around here, it should be him. But that’s not what he’s doing.
I can’t help myself, I steal this moment to watch him at close range. I’ve never had such an opportunity before, always only saw him from afar—a glimpse through the window as he was leaving, a peek around the door while he was walking in. To me, it never felt like he fit in the world of the Italian Mafia. He should be ruling boardrooms somewhere, not shaking hands with capos and the don.
Tonight, he’s dressed in what I’m sure is a bespoke, three-piece, gunmetal-gray suit. On looks alone, he certainly belongs in this crowd. Being so close to him, I also realize he’s much taller than I thought. And way more handsome. Way, way more.
The one time I commented about him to Rina, she said that he’d be way hotter if he lost a few pounds, but I don’t agree. I’ve always had a thing for strong-looking men. It’s not that I don’t find lean guys attractive, it’s just… I like a man who looks like he could demolish whatever stands in his way by merely breathing on it. But despite his imposing build, Mr. Ruffo still doesn’t come across as a mafioso. Not that men in organized crime go around with “mob guy” stamped on their foreheads, but there is a certain vibe to them. After working for the Mafia family for as long as I have, I can usually spot one, even from a distance.
For one, Mr. Ruffo doesn’t wear any jewelry that I can see, something that’s basically a standard with most Cosa Nostra men. No golden cross around his neck, no signet ring, no bracelets. The only shiny thing on him is a thin gold weddingband. And as far as I can tell, unlike another favorite affectation of mob guys, he doesn’t have any visible tattoos. Also, he wears glasses, which is sort of strange in itself. Men in this world would sooner go around squinting or get contacts than broadcast a potential weakness. Not Adriano Ruffo. His lenses heighten his appeal, enhancing the image of an intelligent CEO. But his most notable trait, the one that sets him apart from every other Mafia guy I know, is the complete lack of that air—the one that says,Piss off or I’ll kill you.
Italians are very expressive, and you can usually gauge their mood by reading their countenance. But Mr. Ruffo wears none at all. Even now, standing with his wife amid a lively party, he’s still and silent, watching those gathered without any hint of emotion on his handsome face. Is he having a good time? Is he bored? I have no idea! He simply comes across as…nice. So ordinary. Not exactly in a “commoner” sort of way, but in a…“down to earth but wealthy” way. And so absolutely out of place among this arrogant crowd. Definitely not like someone who goes around beating the crap out of people or putting a bullet in their heads.
I mean, the man is always polite. Always well-spoken. No one has ever even heard him curse. There’s a pool going around among the Spada employees, a bet on when Mr. Ruffo might drop an f-bomb. So far, no winner. I’m not certain there ever will be.
“They are quite the pair, aren’t they?”
“Jesus, Rina!” I startle and almost drop the tray of discarded drinks and empty glasses. “I just about had a heart attack!”
She snickers and sneaks under the monstera leaves to stand beside me. “Have you noticed that he hasn’t looked at his wife even once this entire evening?”
“Um… not really.” I force my eyes to Mrs. Ruffo, who’s standing an arm’s length away from her husband, but instead of talking to him, or anyone else for that matter, she’s messing around on her phone.
