Page 53 of Ruthless Lord
I’m frustrated, and deep in the dark of the night, there are certain truths I can’t escape.
Like for example, I’m supposed to be spying on him.
That’s grandfather’s one condition. It seems like I have a bunch of deals all over the place these days. If I want to get out of this marriage, and I really, really do, then I need to come through. Grandfather’s giving me some time and space to acclimate, but that won’t last.
He’ll want results.
Stefano’s chest rises and lowers. His lips are lightly parted and he looks slightly angry, even deep asleep. The man’s got resting asshole face. I slip from the bed, being as careful as I can, hands trembling as I tiptoe out into the hall and close the door behind me.
I hate this so much.
I’m a thief in my own house. And my husband is my victim.
His office is in the back room on this floor. I pause, hand on the knob, wondering if I can just turn around. I could feed my grandfather lies, give him crumbs, string him along. But Iknow better than that. He’s too smart and ruthless to fall for something so obvious. Grandfather will see through my bullshit and that’ll only make things worse.
I steel myself, even if it makes me sick. I slip into Stefano’s office and look around.
There’s not much to see.
He’s got a big desk. Some books on shelves. There’s lots of wood paneling and leather chairs. It’s like the image of what a man thinks an officeshouldbe, except it’s like the rest of his house.
Gorgeous on the outside.
But barely ever used.
I move slowly through the space. Dust on the shelves, dust on the books. The chair creaks when I sit on it. I shove my hand along the cushions, but abruptly stop. What if I find another gun?
I don’t even know what I’m looking for. I go to his desk. If I’m doing this, I might as well do it. I hate every second as I go through his drawers and find mostly pens, notepads, old charging wires, and several knives. More knives than are appropriate, to be honest. I feel gross violating him like this, and I’m ready to give up when I open the bottom drawer. More junk, at least until I find an old, crinkled photograph tucked in the back.
I lift it out, curious. There’s a young man to the left, definitely Stefano, standing beside an older woman who’s scowling and smoking a cigarette, wrinkled and stringy, red eyes glaring at whoever’s taking the picture. They’re in Philly somewhere. I recognize the red brick row homes behind them. Is this hismother? Or his grandmother? I don’t know anything about his life before me, and he never offers anything about it. This is the first hint that he didn’t spring from some crack in the earth and claw his way here directly from hell.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
I flinch and look up. My entire body goes cold. Stefano’s standing in the doorway looking at me with a strange, impassive frown, like he’s more confused than angry.
“I was just—” I stare around me awkwardly. I think it’s pretty obvious what I was doing. I slowly raise the picture, smiling sheepishly. “Who’s this?”
He walks over. He’s in a pair of dark boxer briefs and a tight white shirt. His arms flex as he takes it from me and looks at it for a moment. “Nobody.”
“It’s definitely somebody. That’s you when you were young, right? I’m guessing like ten?”
“Eight,” he corrects, frown deepening. “I was always big.”
“Wow, okay, impressive. But who’s the woman?”
“My grandmother.” He hands the picture back to me. “Put it away and come to bed.”
I take it, honestly surprised he doesn’t seem more pissed, and shove it into the drawer where I found it. “Did you live with her? When you were younger?”
“She took me in.”
“How old were you?”
“Six.”
“What happened to your parents?”
“Not around.” He turns and walks out of the office.
