Chapter 156

I spend the rest of the day very quietly.

Eventually, Nico and Christian do come out of the room and settle at the kitchen table with Frankie, where they hash out a bunch of what sound like really complicated plans. But, despite Nico’s glares and clear silent indications that I shouldn’t be hearing any of it, I barely listen.

Instead, I go completely back to my roots and work, cooking up as elaborate a dinner as I can with frozen ingredients and whatever is in the cabinet, which isn’t much. I inquired about a grocery delivery, but Nico coldly informed me that when he said the apartment would be “locked down” he meant it – the elevator’s functionality has been shut off and all of the fire doors along the long staircase up to our apartment are sealed.

I mean, it doesn’t sound very safe if there is a fire, but I’ve been assured that we’re very secure – that no one is getting up here anytime soon.

Still, no fresh milk. It puts a cramp in my dinner plans.

I cook and bake for hours, losing track of time completely. Passively, I hear Christian make several phone calls where he insists upon his innocence and begs his father to believe him. I don’t really know how it goes, but I’m shocked – again – at his ability to spin a credible lie. Hell, by the end of it, I’m doubting if he ever planned to kill his father to begin with.

Who knows. It’s not like he actually brings me in on his plans – not in any real way.

“Iris,” Christian murmurs I don’t know how much longer later. I give a little gasp, my nerves completely on edge, and spin to see him standing close by me in the kitchen, watching me carefully.

“I’m sorry,” I say fast, my nerves completely frayed from the events of the day.

“It’s all right,” he says, holding my gaze seriously before looking around the kitchen which is…absolutely covered in food. “Why did you…make all this?”

I sigh, and hang my head a little, not…really wanting to explain myself. “Busy hands,” I say with a simple shrug, letting him figure the rest out. He knows me, after all. He barely has to ask.

Christian sighs and reaches for me, wanting to put a hand on my shoulder, but I quickly turn away, reaching for a plate that I pick up and hold tight in my hands. “I’m taking this in,” I say quietly, still not looking up at him.

My husband is quiet for a long moment. “Iris…” he sighs.

I clench the plate so tight my knuckes turn white. “I’m doing it, Chris,” I whisper. “I’m not asking for your permission. Though obviously you can stop me, if you want. You’re bigger than me, after all.”

Christian is silent for a moment and then he sighs, long and frustrated. “Nico,” he calls. “Come and take this plate in to Bonetti’s man.”

“No, Chris,” I say instantly, raising my eyes to his. “I’m taking it.” And with that I walk past him, kind of daring him to stop me. But he doesn’t, instead letting me go. I walk determinedly into the hostage’s room, where he sits now with a piece of duct tape over his mouth. I stand for a moment, staring at him, waiting, holding his gaze.

Because we’re all aware that I can’t feed him on my own. I wait patiently for one of my husband’s men to come to my aid.

A moment later, Nico comes into the room after me. He doesn’t say a word as he rips the tape from the captive’s mouth and again loosens Calvin’s left hand. I place the plate next to him and then straighten up. “I’m sorry,” I say to him, steady and solid. “I’ll be back in five minutes for the plate.”

And then I turn, and walk out of the room, and go and sit alone in the living room, carefully watching the clock. When five minutes pass, I go back into the room where Nico and the captive sit quietly, not talking to each other. I cross the room and pick up the plate, which is mostly untouched. For once I don’t take it personally, though. I don’t have much of an appetite either.

“Thank you,” the captive says, quite simply. I move my eyes to his.

“I’m doing everything I can,” I say, my voice tight.

“Iris.” Nico growls my name, the word thick with his warning to keep my mouth shut.

I just turn and glare at him as I leave the room, taking the plate with me and not looking over my shoulder as I leave.

I quickly wash the plate and then leave it to dry before heading for the master suite, intent on a shower.

“Iris!” Christian calls after me from his spot at the kitchen table with Frankie. “You didn’t even eat!”

But I ignore him, passing quietly into the room and then the bathroom, turning the shower on to a temperature higher than I’d usually use and taking a long, long shower. When I come out exhaustion overtakes me and I head right to bed, not bothering to read, or watch any tv, or talk to anyone – as I usually would. Instead, I simply tuck myself into bed, press the button on the remote that closes the shades against the light from the still-setting sun, and close my eyes.

I start a little a few hours later when Chrisitan climbs into bed next to me. He reaches out a hand to touch my shoulder, but he clearly notices when I tense.

“Iris,” he murmurs. But when I don’t say or do anything, he just sighs. “Please talk to me, Iris.”

“What do you want, Chris?” I murmur, still groggy. “Quiet obedient wife who does what she’s told? Or outspoken bitch who won’t let you kill people in the house but talks out your arguments? Because you can’t have both.”

“All right,” Christian murmurs, starting to stroke my arm a little bit. “I deserve that.”

I sigh as well and turn towards him, peering at him in the dark. “What did you decide?”

“Tomorrow,” he says, holding my gaze steadily. “It all goes down tomorrow.”

I take a deep breath and turn away again.

“Iris,” he groans, pulling at my arm. “Please, we need to talk about this.”

“Why?” I say, defeated. “It’s not like anything I say is going to change your mind. It doesn’t matter.”

“Iris,” he says, harsher this time, pulling harder, making me turn and look at him.

I do look at him, up into his beautiful face, but I let him see all the pain I’m feeling. That I hate this – hate all of it. That I completely miscalculated what this life was going to ask of me and that I’m sincerely doubting the choice I made to live it.

He softens visibly and shakes his head. “This is the hard part, the bad part,” he murmurs. “It…gets better from here.”

“Unless we all get killed tomorrow.”

He’s still for a moment and then shrugs. “Well, yes. Unless we all get killed tomorrow.”

“Christian,” I sigh, exasperated, not liking the joke. “None of this is funny! None of this is light!”

“I know,” he says, serious again, leaning closer so that his body is laid out next to mine, so that he looks down into my face even though he’s laying on his stomach and I’m on my back. “But…we will get through it. It will pass, and then we’ll really start living our life. As it should be.”

“But how can you be so sure of that,” I whisper, still angry. “You were sure that things were going to work with Bonetti – that it was going to be fine –“

“It still is,” he says, frowning at me.

“Christian!” I snap, starting to sit up. He puts what he hopes is a calming hand on my shoulder, asking me to lay back down.

“A hiccup,” he says, shaking his head, begging me to see it from his side. “Bonetti – I underestimated that he’d try to work both sides. Of course he would. But it changes nothing – things are going forward.”

“A hiccup,” I snap, “that almost resulted in a man losing his life.”

“Yes,” Christian says, more stern now. “We have to talk about that. You shouldn’t have done that, Iris.”

“What!?” I gasp, sitting up for real this time. “Christian, even Nico agreed that he shouldn’t have died today – and he’s still alive!” I gesture towards the door. “I mean, I think!”

“Yes,” Christian says, sitting up too and looking at me evenly. “But despite the fact that it is better that he lived, you cannot disobey me like that in front of people, Iris – in front of anyone.”

I gasp, appalled. “I am not a member of your crew – of the mafia, Christian!”

“Of course you are,” he snaps. “You are my wife, my donna – you are at the center of this, Iris. Don’t for a minute think that you’re separate form it. And you never jump in front of a knife – his life is not worth the loss of yours. Ever. No one’s is.”

I just stare at Christian, wondering where the hell he gets of deciding whose life is worth more than someone else’s.

He just stares back at me, determined and unyielding.

And something about that – about his sheer unwillingness to hear me – just pisses me off even more. “Fine, Don Romano,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him before turning my back and laying my head back down against the pillows. “I’ll do everything you say. Your obedient wife. Good to know my role.”

Christian sighs, frustrated and I think saddened that I don’t immediately give in to him – as he maybe expected that I would.

But he lets me have my space and simply lays down next to me.

At some point, I suppose, we both fall asleep.