Page 33 of Ruthless Lord

Stefano

S moke curls lazily from the end of a lit cigar. Adriano sits shrouded in mist in the back room of an Italian place we own. Luca’s at the other side of the table, scowling at a half-eaten plate of pasta.

It’s good to see the bastard. Ever since he got married to Fiorella Serrano and got twisted up in that whole saga, he’s been busy as hell.

Half his time is spent running the Serrano operations alongside his brother-in-law.

The chop shops make a good profit, but I occasionally wish my old friend was more involved in the depot.

But that’s what happens when you start a new family.

“How much do you believe all this?” Adriano asks. The young Don is shrewd and skeptical, but he knows power better than most and the lengths to which people will go to hold onto it. “I won’t say I don’t believe her?—”

“But that’s the implication,” I finish for him.

Don Marino shrugs. He gestures with the cigar. “I’m being pragmatic here. Our alliance with the Westbrooks has the potential to be hugely profitable. But if that old fuck’s trying to backstab us?—”

“We don’t have proof yet,” Luca points out.

“Charlie’s sure he’s involved somehow. She doesn’t think her father would do all this on his own. Not unless it profited him somehow, and all he wants is to get on the old man’s good side.”

“Not that I doubt your wife—” Adriano starts, but he stops himself, eyebrows raised suggestively.

I have to take a beat to keep myself calm. Luca’s giving me a look like, keep it together . He knows I have a temper. Adriano wants honest and open opinions, especially when it’s only the three of us, but he won’t tolerate outright disrespect.

I trust my Don. He’s a good leader. Our family has grown more powerful and more profitable with him leading it.

Adriano’s clever and strong, and I know he’ll make the right decision eventually, but he only sees the world through the lens of the Famiglia.

He doesn’t know Charlie at all, and her word isn’t enough.

“We have to be sure.” I meet Adriano’s gaze steadily. “If the old man is involved in all this, we need to know it. Catching Charlie’s father won’t be enough. Her grandfather will still be out there looking to stab us in the fucking back.”

“And if that’s not the case?” Adriano puffs on the cigar.

“Then we clear him and move on. I take down her father, break his fucking spine, make him suffer a bit, and everyone goes home happy.”

“What a lovely story,” Luca says with a grin. “Life is so simple when you’re a hammer, right?”

“Everything’s a fucking nail.” I shrug and take a swig of good whiskey.

Adriano lets out a long breath. He glances at Luca, frowning. “What do you think?”

“I trust Stefano. If he trusts his wife, that’s enough for me.”

Don Marino nods sharply. “Alright. Do what you have to, Stefano, but tread carefully. Do not alienate the Westbrooks if you don’t have to. Make sure they’re traitors before doing anything.”

“I’m always a patient man.”

Luca laughs at that and clips a fresh cigar. “Here’s to patience then. We can all learn new skills in our old age.”

I arrive back home stinking like smoke. I could tell Adriano and Luca were both very skeptical, but I’ve been reliable enough in the past that they’re humoring me. That’s enough for now. They don’t need to be fully on board, so long as I have the freedom to do what needs doing.

The house smells good when I step inside. Someone’s been cooking. I’m guessing pasta, some kind of red sauce, and good wine. My stomach rumbles as I head into the kitchen.

Charlie’s at the stove. She’s in a short little dress with an apron over it, humming softly to herself. I stare as my wife lowers a thin breaded chicken cutlet into oil and fries both sides before moving it over to a plate.

I love the way she moves. Each gesture has purpose.

Everything is economical. Short, precise, on target.

Her mind’s a trap too, a sharpened blade, precise and cutting.

I could spend my night standing here staring at her like this, eyes roaming her body.

Except my stomach rumbles loud enough that she turns around and spots me.

Her eyes are wide before she breaks out in a big grin. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to get hungry.”

She laughs and gestures around her. “Chicken, salad, a little pasta, some homemade sauce. What do you think?”

“I think I had no clue my wife cooked.”

“I learned a thing or two over the years.”

I go to her, but I hesitate before putting a hand on her body. She nods slightly, giving me permission. I lean in and kiss her on the cheek.

“It smells incredible.”

“Really? I wasn’t sure.”

“You smell better.” I breathe her in, loving the light perfume she wears.

“I did a little cleaning too. Bathroom, bedroom, living room.”

I pull back in surprise. “What’s the occasion?”

“I don’t know. I guess I wanted to play housewife.”

“How was it?”

“Tiring. Don’t get used to it. I’ll excel in other aspects of our life.” She tugs me in and kisses me, deep and lingering. Fuck, I can’t get enough of this woman.

“You already do,” I whisper, unwilling to pull away, but she lightly pushes me back.

“Honestly, I’m buttering you up. And Emily helped a bit.”

“Ah, now that makes more sense. What are you trying to butter me up for?”

“I have an idea I want to run past you, but first—” She starts plating dinner and pours a big glass of wine. “Why don’t you eat?”

“I know what you’re doing. Trying to get me full and drunk.”

“I’m not exactly being subtle here.”

“And I’m not complaining.” I kiss her one more time, skirting the line, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

We sit at the table together. She ditches the apron.

I keep tossing glances at her lips and eyes.

I love the way she does her hair, so simple and elegant, and she wears the fuck out of her clothes.

Whatever she puts on her body somehow looks expensive and gorgeous. Maybe that’s just her, shining through.

“This is fucking good,” I mumble through bites, devouring the meal while she watches, grinning and happy. “You sure you can’t make this a habit?”

“We’ll see. Honestly, it was kind of fun. But now I have all those dishes.”

“I’ll clean them. I’ll clean you too. Whatever it takes for more of this.”

“Easy, boy. It’s just chicken.”

But it’s not. It’s the fact that she went out of her way to clean our house and cook me a meal when she didn’t need to. Maybe she’s trying to soften me so she can pitch her plan, but still. She did all this to make me happy.

I don’t know the last time someone went out of their way for me like this.

We sit together at the table. She pours the wine and we start eating. “Everything’s delicious,” I tell her and genuinely mean it. The girl can fry a mean chicken cutlet. “I’m very impressed.”

“You mean, it’s pretty good for a rich girl?” Her eyes sparkle with teasing amusement.

“You’re not quite at Italian Grandma level yet, but you’re definitely nicer to look at.”

“The highest compliment imaginable.” She picks at her meal, not paying close attention. “It means a lot, you saying that.”

“And it means a lot, you going through all this effort.”

“Even if I have an ulterior motive?”

“I can’t blame a girl for wanting something.” I lean in, smiling slightly. “So long as she doesn’t blame me for wanting too.”

“Don’t tell me you’re making innuendos at the dinner table?”

“I’m a man who mixes his appetites.”

“And I keep my kitchen clean.” She wags a fork at me, smiling sweetly. “I won’t have any of that dirty talk here, mister.”

“My wife is so strict.”

“Actually, I think my husband is even stricter.” She pretends to pout. “Imagine my surprise when it turns out he spanks for a punishment.”

I let out a low chuckle. She grins back at me, eyes shining.

I like this playful, teasing side of her.

We fall into a comfortable conversation, bantering back and forth for a while as we eat, teasing and poking fun at each other.

It’s light and easy, and it honestly feels good to talk to her like this.

There’s no pressure. No looming catastrophe, no murderers lurking upstairs (aside from me, of course), no rivals looking to take me down. It’s just me and my wife sharing a nice meal.

The normalcy disarms me. I think she relaxes into it as well. For a while, we’re just two people enjoying each other, and I didn’t even know how important that was to me until right this moment.

“That was nice,” she says as we sit out on the back patio together. The evening’s cool and the sun’s slowly sinking down behind the houses. “We should do that more often.”

“If you’re cooking, I’m there.”

“I was thinking we’d order in.”

“If you’re eating, I’m there.”

“Here’s to that.” We touch glasses, and she smiles at me, putting her feet in my lap.

It’s so intimate and familiar. I rub them lightly, and she settles lower into her chair, squinting off at the backyard.

“I have a plan I want to run by you, but I almost don’t want to ruin this by talking business. ”

“Then don’t. There’s always time.”

Her face tenses. “I’m worried there’s not.”

“Tell me. Get it over with. So I can get you to finish that glass of wine before I take you up to bed.”

“Getting me drunk? You don’t even have to.”

“All the better.”

She sighs, wriggling slightly. “I want to set a trap.” I raise my eyes for her to elaborate, but she frowns and shakes her head. “You’re going to have to trust me. That’s the most important bit.”

I keep one hand on her feet and the other cradles my wine glass. “I can do that.”

“Are you sure? Even after everything that happened?”

I study her. I watch the curve of her lips, the wind moving through her hair, the way her eyes drift across the ground before coming back to me again. “I want more nights like this.”

“I do too.”

“That means I have to trust you. Even if you did betray me.”

“I know.” Her shoulders slump. “I want to make up for that.”

“And you are. A little at a time.”

“Then trust me just a bit more. I’ve been thinking about how my grandfather seems to know so much… and I think you need to sign up for another fight at the warehouse.”

My eyebrows raise in surprise. “I thought you wanted me to stop doing that.”

“I do, but maybe after we’ve fucked my family over.”

“If that’s what you want, I’d be happy to pummel a stranger’s face into human mush.”

“What a lovely image.” She pulls her feet away and leans forward. “I’m not sure you’re going to like what we have to do. But if I’m right, this is going to work.”

I nod slowly. “Alright, wife. Tell me what you need from me.”

“Promise you’ll still take me upstairs?” She drains her wine glass, eyebrows raising. “I’m feeling very uninhibited right now.”

“You’d better talk fast.”