Page 69 of Shadows of Steel
A low groan escapes him as he rolls onto his side, burying his face into the pillow. “No, thanks. Shopping is boring.”
I laugh. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t ask.”
I leave Mattia to his sleep and make my way downstairs. As I approach the grand entrance, the double doors glide open, and a woman steps inside as if she owns the place.
She moves with the calculated grace of someone who thrives on being observed, each step a silent demand for attention. Everything about her is sculpted, polished to perfection yet utterly soulless. The kind of beauty money can buy, curated rather than earned. She reeks of excess, from the painstakingly taut skin to the artfully enhanced curves that toe the line between allure and caricature. Artificial in body, artificial in spirit.
Behind her, Piero steps into view, his expression taut with irritation. He looks my way, about to speak, but the woman breezes past him, as if he were nothing more than an inconvenience. Her gaze lands on me, and I don’t miss the precise moment she assesses my outfit. Lips curling, disdain flickers across her face.
“Well. At least you put in some effort, even if dressing like a high end escort doesn’t make you a lady.”
I arch a brow, but she doesn’t stop there.
“I assume you’re new here.” Her tone is the perfect blend of condescension and dismissal. “Though, given the circumstances, I suppose it’s generous of Dante to keep you around. He always did have a soft spot for women who are… aesthetically pleasing, if nothing else.”
My grip tightens around the small purse in my hand. The movement doesn’t escape her, not in the slightest. If anything, she savours it, relishing the small victory she thinks she’s won. “A word of advice?” she continues airily. “Wearing expensive things doesn’t give you class. And standing around in the foyerlike a decorative vase won’t change your place here. If you’re done parading, the kitchen is down the hall.” There is no mistaking me for the staff, yet she pointedly chooses to ignore that fact. The audacity would almost be impressive if it weren’t so profoundly irritating. She thrusts her designer bag into my hands, the weight of it as obnoxious as the woman herself. “I’ll have a mimosa. Bring it to Dante’s office.” She pauses, then lets a patronizing smile unfurl. “He likes me relaxed.” Another slow sweep of her gaze over me. “And do ask the other staff how I take it. I’m rather particular, and I’d hate for you to bungle such a simple task.”
For a moment, I say nothing. The sheer gall of her words should amuse me. It doesn’t. The way she so casually lays claim to my husband sends a sharp pang of anger through me, hot and unwelcome. I extinguish it before it can take root. I shouldn’t care.
I do not care.
With feigned indifference, I let her bag slip from my fingers. It lands with a heavy thud, its contents spilling across the marble floor in an undignified mess.
I hear a sharp inhale behind me, and when I glance back, I find Mario has joined Piero by the door, both of them watching with dark expressions, though there’s no mistaking the glint of anticipation in their eyes.
The woman frowns down at her scattered belongings before her gaze snaps back to me, outrage colouring her features. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
I step forward, heels clicking softly against the marble, ignoring the mess at my feet. My smile is slow. “Give me one compelling reason I shouldn’t have you escorted from my house by that over styled hair of yours.”
She recoils, a flicker of uncertainty flashing in her eyes before she straightens, regaining her bravado. “Who the hell do you think you are to speak to me—”
“Mrs. Salvatore.” I interrupt her, letting the words settle, watching as the realization dawns. Her lips part slightly, any remaining confidence draining from her face. “I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but that would be a lie. And frankly, I’d rather not waste my time on dishonesty.”
She stands frozen, grasping for a response. But I don’t let her find one. “You will not treat my staff like they’re disposable. You will not treat me like I’m invisible. And you will not, under any circumstance, step foot in my home again.”
I sigh, tilting my head. “And if you do, I’ll let the boys decide where to dump what’s left of you. Frankly, I’m in the mood for something scenic. Maybe the Amalfi cliffs?” A slow, saccharine smile curves my lips. “I guarantee you my husband would cover my bail in a heartbeat, but if I do it right, there won’t be a body to find, would it?”
I tilt my head slightly, feigning contemplation. “And that isn’t the kind of spectacle we want Mattia to witness.” A slow blink, my lashes sweeping down in mock innocence. “As his stepmother, I should really encourage better coping mechanisms.”
She says nothing, but I catch the flicker of fear in her eyes, the precise moment she comprehends the gravity of her mistake. A shift in the air makes me aware of another presence behind me. When I turn, I find my husband descending the staircase, each step carrying the weight of his authority. His rage is palpable, thick enough to choke the room, but as I hold his gaze, I realize none of it is meant for me.
No, all is for the Dollar Store Marilyn Monroe.
Annoyed but wholly uninterested in whatever absurd theatrics are about to unfold, I turn on my heel and step outside,leaving them behind without so much as a passing glance. I refuse to indulge the thought, yet it lingers, unwelcome and insidious, refusing to be dismissed. The idea of Dante with her gnaws at me, a slow-burning irritation I cannot seem to shake. Did they share a history? Do they still? The very possibility is as maddening as it is absurd.
The feeling twisting in my chest is dangerously close to jealousy, and I loathe it. I shouldn’t care.I do not careabout Dante Salvatore. Perhaps if I say it enough times, I’ll start to believe it.
Piero falls into step beside me, ever the silent shadow at my side.
“Signora.” He opens the door as we approach the waiting car.
I slip inside, sinking into the plush leather interior as Piero takes his place up front. The driver starts the engine without a word.
“Let’s head to Chiaia. We’ll stop at Via dei Mille first.” I instruct.
As the car pulls away, my gaze drifts to the line of black SUVs parked in formation, their presence an unspoken declaration. Piero follows my gaze. “A few more men will accompany us for security. Don Salvatore’s orders, you’re not to go anywhere with fewer than ten.”
There’s no argument from me. A certain relief settles in. Stepping outside no longer feels as simple as it once did. It isn’t exactly fear, but I’m not reckless either. This stalker, whoever he may be, has elevated his fixation far beyond mere obsession. I have yet to determine what, or rather who, I am truly up against, and that uncertainty is far more perilous than any threat I can see. Perhaps he’s merely another deluded man. Or he is something far more insidious. Regardless, I am not naive. Ifincreased security ensures my safety, I will not reject it. Only a fool mistakes prudence for weakness.
