Plus, I’m tired of Lucrezia’s constant put-downs and assertions that I’m somehow beneath her, and feeling as if Ishould befeeling like that after her constant barrage. I’m not embarrassed of being a cook. Or a maid. I earn every dollar and support myself and my mother. I love my mother. Just as I loved my dad. I am not ashamed of who my parents are. Just ’cause neither they nor I ever lived in an ivory tower doesn’t mean that I’m somehow less than her. And my parents loved and were faithful to each other. Not like Lucrezia’s mother, who had an affair with Brio while she was still married to my dad. No, thank you. There’s nothingsuperiorabout that.
I’ve almost made my escape when I hear Lucrezia’s sugary voice sayingexcuse me, girl, with none of the courtesy the phrase usually carries.
“I need you to help me.”
I stop and slowly turn to face her. “Yes?”
“There’s a mud stain on my shoe. Could I make use of that kitchen towel?” She points to the one tucked into the waistband of my apron.
That’s strange. Her request sounded almost…polite. It stuns me for a moment. “Of course.”
I approach with an outstretched hand, offering her the towel. Just as I close the distance between us, a slight, sly smile twists her lips. She inspects her foot, turning it this way and that.
“Oh, how silly of me. This dress makes it impossible for me to bend. Would you mind cleaning the dirt off for me?” She moves the pointy toe of her right stiletto between my feet. There’s the tiniest smudge, barely visible, on the shiny brown leather of the outer edge. “But do take care, though. These are limited edition.”
It’s hard to swallow, and I’m unable to look away from the gorgeous heel.
She wants me to clean it.
Her shoe.
My half sister wants me to kneel in front of her to wipe dirt off the fancy leather. Should I be glad it’s not off the bottom of her sole? There’s no mistaking the satisfied glint in her eyes or that malicious smile. I knew Lucrezia was cruel, but this is beyond anything she’s put me through before.
Everything in me rebels at the idea of kneeling at her feet. Every single cell. Every fiber of my being. But she is a guest in Don Spada’s house. And I’m at my place of work. I won’t allow this vindictive twat to push me into acting unprofessionally.
I grip the kitchen towel tightly in my hand and crouch before my sibling, wiping off the minuscule stain.
“Perfect.” Lucrezia smiles when I stand. “I’ll be sure to let the don know how utterly accommodating his staff are.”
Fighting back tears that Ido notwant her to see, I nod and dash toward the kitchen without another glance at my half sister.
The aroma of freshly baked sesame rolls is in the air when I enter my safe space. They are my mom’s recipe,and the heavenly smell has always brought me a feeling of peace, tranquility. Not this time. I rush past Rina, who is arranging additional appetizers on huge, round platters, then push between a couple of serving girls laden with trays of Champagne-filled crystal flutes. Hanging on by a thread, I exit into the backyard.
The back driveway is empty. It’s used only for grocery deliveries, and all of that was handled hours ago. Beyond the lane, an expanse of trees is shrouded in darkness. Only the upper branches of the once-colorful canopy are lit by the crescent moon.
The wind is cool, and it blows into my face, making my eyes sting. Or maybe that’s the tears. I can’t suppress them any longer. Sucking in a lungful of air, I slump against the nearest wall.
“Too much stress?” a low baritone rasps somewhere to my right.
I yelp. The sound of Adriano Ruffo’s voice is something I’ll never be able to forget. Still trying to catch my breath, I glance over, spotting his huge form leaning on the outside wall. Mere feet from the other side of the kitchen entrance.
He makes no move other than to bring a hand toward his mouth. Then, the tip of a cigarette glows orange as he inhales, casting an eerie light on his hard-lined face. He gazes into the shadows before him, puffing out a wisp of white smoke.
Is he expecting me to answer?
“Um… I can handle it,” I choke out.
“Hmm.” He nods and extends his arm, holding his cigarette out toward me while continuing to stare into dark space. “Might help you relax.”
Utterly thrown by findinghimhere, it takes me a second to register the skunky smell. Cannabis.
Adriano Ruffo is getting high in the don’s backyard?
And he just offered to share his joint with me.
“Thanks, I’ll… I’ll pass,” I say, feeling like I’ve been sucked into an alternate reality.
“You shouldn’t be so quick to reject sincere offers of reprieve. Particularly one as measly as this,” he says before taking another drag.
