Chapter 163

“Iris,” Christian scolds, frowning at me. “You don’t need that. Besides, you shouldn’t mix it with the drink.”

I look at my husband seriously for a moment, wondering what it is that stopped him really, when Frankie snaps the tin shut and slips it into my hand. “For later, then,” he says, speaking to Christian, not to me. “In case she can’t sleep.”

Christian sighs but nods once, giving into it. I slip the tin into the pocket of my dress as Nico comes into the room.

“Bianca and Giana went upstairs,” he says immediately to Christian, ignoring Frankie and me. “They’re packing. We need to move, Chris, we have a lot to do - we need to find out where your other two brothers are immediately and contact all of your dad’s men to let them know about the power shift - not to mention the moves we need to make against Bianchi’s remaining supporters, and the cleanup…” He clenches his jaw, impatient.

“Right,” Christian says, taking another sip of the whiskey and then putting it back on the marble island unfinished. Then he raises his head to Frankie. “Do Bianca and Giana have weapons in their room?”

“Probably,” Frankie replies, raising an eyebrow. “They’re mafia wives, after all. They’d be stupid not to.”

“Sweep the rooms,” Christian says, waving a hand at Frankie as he delivers the order, easily assuming command as if it’s natural to him. “We don’t need any absurd feminine revenge spectacles. Bring one of the metal detectors.”

Frankie nods once and turns to get started. I don’t miss that his eyes slip over me as he goes, worried, but he doesn’t say a word.

Christian turns to me. “Why don’t you go upstairs, Iris? To my room. Relax for a little. You’ll be perfectly safe there.”

My eyes widen a little in panic at the thought of leaving his side. I mean, I know I’m not useful to him in anything that Nico just said, but…

“Iris,” Nico says softly, drawing my gaze to him. Gently, not unkind, he shakes his head, reminding me of my job today. To be patient. To be obedient. The mafia wife. It’s what Christian needs.

But still, alone in a strange room…

“I mean…would it be safe?” I ask quietly, turning back to my husband. “Could I stay…in here? You know…” I clear my throat with a little shrug, “you know I always feel more comfortable in the kitchen.”

Christian and Nico confer with a glance and then Christian nods to me once as he steps forward, gathering my cheek in his palm and pressing a kiss to the other. “It’s fine,” he says quietly. “The kitchen is fine. Just…stay in here, please. And if you decide to go upstairs send me a message.”

Christian holds his hand out to Nico, who produces a phone and hands it to him. Christian gently places it on the counter next to me. “And if you get a message from me telling you to go upstairs,” he says softly, “you go, all right? No hesitations. Third door on the left.”

“Okay,” I say quietly, looking up into his face, which still has a streak of blood across his cheek.

“I love you, Iris,” Christian says steadily, slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me close. I let him, not shying away. “This will take a while but…I’ll come to you when I can. Okay? And then we’ll talk.”

“And you’ll be okay?” I whisper, terrified, staring up into his beautiful face. “I mean…no one’s going to shoot you?”

“No one’s going to shoot me,” he says, smiling a little as he repeats my ridiculous phrase. “I promise, Daisy. With dad and Lorenzo gone the shift in power will go fast.”

Christian presses a swift, earnest kiss to my mouth as he steps away. He gives me a long look and Nico gives me a nod before they turn away.

And then suddenly they’re gone - gone from the room.

And all I can think is of what Christian said - that his father and Lorenzo are likewise gone. Just gone.

And that it can really be that simple in this world.

And that my husband, despite his promises, could just never come back. Like Gianna’s did this morning.

I inhale a shaky breath and then lift my drink to my lips, tilting the glass all the way up into it drains. After I place it down on the counter, I reach for what’s left of Christian’s, drinking that down as well.

Absurdly, uselessly, I spend the next few hours cleaning.

It’s not like the kitchen is actually dirty – it’s clearly been cleaned within the past couple of days. But still, I find the supplies beneath the sink and get started scrubbing – putting things in order, letting my thoughts fade away as I concentrate on the task.

After what is surely hours of work, as I’m getting down on my knees with a scrub brush in my hand – entirely ridiculous in this outfit, I’m aware – intending to scrub the floor, Nico comes in followed by a line of three people with aluminum serving trays.

“You can speak to Mrs. Romano,” he says to them, gesturing to me on the floor and giving me a weird look that expresses quite plainly that I again defy reason and logic. Then he turns, leaving the room quickly.

“Hi?” I say, sitting back on my heels and looking between the three people, the delicious scent of whatever hot food they’ve brought already reaching my nose. “How can I help you?”

“Um, we brought this?” the girl at the front says, holding the tray up a little. “For Bianca? Her…usual order?”

“Oh,” I say quietly, getting to my feet and gesturing towards the counter. “You can set it there, thank you. She is…busy.”

The caterers do as I say and the girl who spoke before gives me an awkward look. “Will I be…dealing with you in the future?”

“Do you come every day?” I ask, standing and walking over to her before peeking beneath the foil, seeing some roasted salmon that smells absolutely amazing.

“We come twice a day,” she replies softly and I blink at her in surprise. “Should we…come tomorrow?”

“Yes, come tomorrow, please,” I say with a little sigh, putting my hands on my hips, wondering how to handle this. “Though…after that, we may change some things. Is that…all right?”

“Of course,” she says softly, a little sad, and as I look at her face again I realize that this must be a huge client for them – a great deal of their income. And me taking it away so that I can cook myself would be a blow.

God, but I already feel like a jerk.

“Our number is on the stickers,” she says quietly, tapping the top of the foil and giving me a nod. “Whenever you’re ready to make a change, just give us a call.”

I thank them as they leave and then, when the door snicks shut behind them, I begin to peek beneath the layers of foil, wondering what’s here and how many it’s supposed to feed and how to serve it…

But my calculations are interrupted by the sound of soft footsteps coming down the stairs to my right, those that lead upwards towards the bedrooms. I look up with surprise to see two little faces peering at me, standing hesitantly on the stair.

“Hi,” I say, standing up straight and staring awkwardly at Bella and Ricky. “Are you two okay?”

They’re quiet for a long moment before Bella finishes coming down the stairs and steps into the kitchen. Both are quieter than I’ve ever seen them, their faces drawn and their eyes red, though they’ve run out of tears. “We told mom we were hungry,” she says quietly, tucking her hands behind her back. “She said to come down here and get something to eat. That we could eat whatever we wanted, she didn’t care.”

“Oh, well,” I say, my brows going up. “Well, sure. Whatever you want. But dinner was just delivered, do you want some salmon?”

“No,” Ricky says, his voice subdued even if it is definitive as he comes over to me, standing on his toes to peer over the counter at the aluminum serving trays. “Salmon is gross. But they usually bring something for us – kid food.”

“Oh!” I say, surprised and certainly pleased to have something productive to do. Quickly, I begin to look in more of the tins and locate the one with chicken nuggets, macaroni and cheese, and a side of green beans. “Do you want this?”

“Okay,” Bella says, pulling herself up onto a stool and looking a little sadly at the food. “But do we have to eat the green beans?”

I pause a moment in my actions, looking at the little girl whose father died today. Who my husband killed today. At the sadness etched on her face, and the confusion.

“No, sweetheart,” I say quietly, shaking my head. “You don’t have to eat the green beans.”