Snapping Point||Book 1

50.

Romano De Rossi

"There you go, Boss," the guard announced as he swung the door open, allowing me entry. My reflection in the floor-to-ceiling glass door caught my attention, and I paused to study it for a moment.

Lorenzi and I were polar opposites, from our looks to our demeanor, even down to our positions. It wasn't about vanity, but I'd never struggled to attract the women I desired, nor had I ever envied having blond hair and a sickly frame just to win Luciana over. So, as I stared at my reflection, I had to wonder what drew her to Lorenzi, and why she'd taken it a notch higher to land in his bed. If she was going to cheat on me, she could have at least aimed higher, make it worth the trouble.

Lorenzi's footprint was larger than mine. He clung to his father's mansion, basking in luxury rather than seeking his own independence. Verde was gone, two entire regions of the mansion remained reserved for Lorenzi—proof of extravagance and refined taste. Was that what Luciana desired? Royal treatment? Well, Lorenzi was no king, and believe me, he wouldn't recognize a queen even if she slapped him across the fucking face.

"Boss," the housekeeper acknowledged, rushing closer as she spotted me. "What can I do for you?"

I briefly considered asking about Lorenzi, but decided against stirring up the pot just yet and simply shook my head. "I'll manage on my own."

The housekeeper vanished swiftly, leaving me to run my hands along the bright furnishings as I strolled towards the kitchen. Lorenzi certainly had a penchant for bold colors. Luciana did too. It did make one wonder if that was the attraction. I mean, these days very little and mundane things seemed to stir dormant emotions. Fortunately, I didn't have to dwell on what might occur next between them. Luciana was off, not on vacation but to her real father's until I was done with this.

As I entered the kitchen, I found a woman at the sink, chucked in an apron that hugged her curves, with streaks of pink amidst her jet-black hair—a vision that matched Xenia's description of the cook.

"Oh, for the love of...," she gasped as she turned, locking eyes with me near the doorway, her voice trailing off nervously. "G-good evening, sir."

Without speaking, I kept a close eye on her as she shifted her position, circling the central kitchen island. A bowl of grapes rested at the center of the wooden cabinet. I plucked two and popped them into my mouth, noting her nervousness as she stared at me chewing. She was clearly anxious. And with good reason.

I hadn't taken the time to assess how much information she might have gathered since starting her employment. Instead, I had allowed her free rein to collect whatever intelligence she desired about Amato and his sons. After all, they deserved every fucking threat coming their way, and this woman's presence could hasten the process.

I popped three more grapes into my mouth, speaking around them. "Name?"

"Les." She averted her gaze, tossing a cooking spoon onto the counter and adjusting the flame on the stove. "A-any requests?" The way her voice shuddered made a derisive smile curl my lips. I thrived on disruption, had a talent for it. And emotions? They were my favorite playthings.

To answer her question, yes, I needed a few things: answers. "Think about it, Les. If your boss caught wind that your agency is just a cover for Ivan's games, wouldn't you be swimming with the fishes by sunrise?"

Les's eyes widened. Terror, of course, was no friend of man. It was a familiar pattern with these people—bold at first, then shrinking back when confronted. Now she stood frozen in place, like oil solidifying in a fridge. Her reaction surprised me. We weren't airheads around here, no? How long had she thought she could work here without someone uncovering her true ploy?