Shoving Theo to the side, I ram the door open with my shoulder and barge into the apartment, gun in hand. Theo is right on my heels, ready to obliterate—
An already beheaded victim on the TV screen.
“Adriano?” Iris gapes at me from the two-seater sofa, a steaming beverage suspended halfway to her mouth. Hermother is beside her, wearing an identical expression of surprise.
I scan the rest of the space to make sure there are no other dangers, no visible threats. The aroma of fresh coffee permeates the small, scarcely furnished apartment, with only a worn couch against one wall and a small television stand by the other. A short hallway leads to the bedrooms and a bathroom, I presume, while a cramped kitchen is visible toward the back. It takes about three seconds for me to do the survey.
Although it’s tiny, the place is clean and inviting. A neatly folded blanket lies over the back of the threadbare, brown sofa, providing a bit of cushion for its occupants. A miniature lamp sits on the end table that’s been squeezed between that couch and another chair, an extra from a kitchen table, it seems. The walls are painted white, but their age is apparent in more than one place. Still, a couple of pictures of young Iris and her parents make it abundantly clear that this is a loving home.
“My apologies.” I engage the safety and slip the gun back into the holster under my jacket. “I heard a scream.”
“Okay…” Iris blinks at me in confusion. “But, what are you doing here?”
Right. I should be at the office, not barging into her mother’s apartment with my gun out because the volume on the TV was too high.
“You wanted me to have a visit with your mother, and I happened to be in the neighborhood.” I face the older woman and incline my head in greeting. “Mrs. Fabbri, I am glad to see you are doing well.”
Iris’s mom’s eyes narrow into a glare. “Nice of you to drop by, Mr. Ruffo. Would you like to join us for coffee? I’ve beenlooking forward to getting to know the man my daughter has committed to spending her life with.”
While her tone is perfectly polite, there is no missing the lack of warmth in it, or the reproach in her blue eyes. This woman doesn’t like me one bit.
“I would be delighted.” I smile and take a seat on the only other available chair in the room.
Serafina Fabbri stares me down with little regard for her own well-being, despite her current state of health. The years of struggles have taken an obvious toll on her body, but somehow, a shadow of the robust and sturdy woman she must have once been still comes through. Even with unmistakable weight loss, she’s broader and taller than her daughter, and her hair is a shade or two darker. However, there’s no denying the resemblance in their other features. The shape of the face. The mouth. The nose. But not their eyes. That’s where their differences are most apparent. And not just in the color of their expressive depths. Mrs. Fabbri’s eyes are those of a woman who has lived through too much, learned from the experiences, and kept the painful lessons close to her heart.
I’m pretty sure she didn’t buy a word of what I just said to my wife.
“Um…” Iris mumbles, her gaze bouncing between her mother and me. “I’ll put on another pot of coffee, alright?”
My eyes track my wife as she rushes to the kitchen that’s barely more than three feet of counter space, a sink, and a couple of appliances. But here, too, everything shines with careful maintenance. Iris looks more than a little nervous as she spins left and right, taking out a canister from the cupboard and busying herself with the coffee machine.
“I believe I remember your father.” My mother-in-law’s voice jolts me into the moment. “He was involved with a lot ofla Famiglia’swarehouse dealings, was he not?”
“Yes,” I reply, not looking away from my wife. I still haven’t completely shaken off the tendrils of fear that gripped me when I heard that scream.
“And what is it you do, Mr. Ruffo? Iris tells me you run a very successful transportation company, but you see, I believe it’s a bit more than that. Something shady, probably. Lately, my daughter has developed an unpleasant habit of lying to me for my own good.”
“Mom!” Iris whisper-yells. “Please!”
With my eyes still trained on my wife, I accept the coffee cup she brings me, and only after she sits back down on the sofa do I let my attention shift to her mother.
“I contribute to various investments.”
Serafina gives me a tight-lipped smile. “Iris, dear. Could you head over to Mrs. Soto’s on sixth and borrow her blood pressure monitor?”
“Why?” Iris springs up. “Are you not feeling well? Should I call the nurse or take you to the hospital?”
“I’m perfectly fine. The doctor insists that I continue to keep records of my vitals, and my blood pressure monitor has been glitching lately.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Mom? Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay, I’ll be back shortly.”
The space is so cramped that as Iris passes me, her hand brushes my arm. And even that inadvertent touch that lasted less than a split second sets all my nerve endings on fire.
“Theo,” I start to call out when Iris opens the apartment door, but he is already following her down the hallway.
