I was about to remind him who the brains behind this operation were. My hair was dull brown, my form scrawny. I was no great beauty, nor charming debutante. But underneath that cultivated façade was a calculated, cold woman. Paolo had forgotten I didn’t feel things the way he did. Shadows shrouded my insides, muting everything. The only emotion I really experienced was anger, the rest were easy to compartmentalize. I’d only ever truly cared for two people in my life.
Romeo and my father.
One was gone and the other a liar. Paolo was the closest thing I had to a friend, but my heart thumped feebly, the warmth I reserved for him draining away. His lips turned to slivers, pale worms. The rims of his eyes reddened. This blend worked quick, mild as it was. Paolo’s cup clattered on the table, and he groaned, his arm banded around his waist. I stood and leaned over him. I brushed a damp curl back from his forehead, satisfied at the way he flinched. His shoulders bowed, crunching his stomach to stem the cramps I knew would course through him.
“Are your guts churning? Is pain lancing through your chest? Do you feel you might pass out right now?”
Paolo toppled to the ground, his hands clawing at his stomach. His face crashed into the soft, white carpet. I’d been planning to replace it, pitifully grateful by Romeo’s off cuff permission to re-decorate. Something to keep me busy and out of his hair.
“Y-yes,” he gasped.
My laughter was a warning chime.
“Now you know how I feel. Knowing you played my heart in a game with stakes you couldn’t pay. You can tell Romeo The Gardener will never meet with him.Shewould rather swallow her own wares than help him.”
“Please,” Paolo moaned, writhing on the ground. His underarms were dark with sweat and a sickly, sweet smell wafted off him. I rested the toe of my shoe on his shuddering stomach.
“You work for me. Do you understand?” I pressed down on his stomach until he cried out. The soft mass convulsed under the light touch. His eyes scrunched shut and his forehead was slick with sweat. “You don’t do a damn thing without my say so, got it?”
“I’m dying,” Paolo panted, his skin-tinged green. But his agreement increased when I pressed down harder.
“I’m sorry. Whatever you want,” he cried out in agony.
“You’re not dying, but you’ll need to find a bathroom soon,” I informed him. “You’re going to be in it for a good while. Take this as a warning, Paolo. I won’t be used again.”
“Anita,” Paolo sobbed as I walked away. It was a pitiful, ratchet sound. My creation fell his muscular form in minutes. These men, they built their muscles, tucked weapons in every sleeve, but I could destroy each one with a flick of my narrow wrist.
“Call my name, but you know who I am, Paolo. Remember that while your insides expel from you. Remember it if you ever think of crossing me again.”
He swore into the carpet, his guts twisting so hard he forgot about propriety. The hurt I felt morphed into anger. I was going to give everything up for a worthless man. One who had worn a mask with a teasing smile and tender attention. I left Paolo writhing in incoherent misery on the floor. My supplies were tucked in boxes. I was sorting them out in readiness to dispose of them. But now I needed a new place to put them. I needed a greenhouse and a workspace to attach to it. Romeo gave me carte blanche to decorate as I wanted. He wanted his wife busy and far away from him. I’d use it to my advantage and create a new base for my operations. I tucked away the frayed edges, focusing on the contracts I’d turned down because I had been looking forward to being a wife.
No longer.
The Gardener was back.
And I would show my husband what it meant to make a fool of me.
2
I wanted to wrap my hands around Paolo’s thick neck and choke the life out of him. If we hadn’t been in the middle of a dinner party, I would have done just that. One week passed since I gave him my ultimatum, and he was no closer to getting me what I wanted.
“What did you say?” I gave him a chance to take back his words.
Paolo was smart enough to flinch at the dark promise my eyes held. He’d assured me he could get me a meet with The Gardener, if I did him one colossal favor. I had run out of options, so I married Anita Bianco. It was at his behest and now he couldn’t fulfill his end of the bargain.
“The Gardener is not happy with how you have been treating your wife.” He stiffened his stance, finding backbone enough to glare at me. I knew he cared for Anita like a sister and that should have warned me right away not to get involved. But Paolo was the only man who could get in contact with The Gardener. Ithad taken months of digging to get a reliable contact. Everyone was terrified of the elusive death dealer. I looked across the crowded room at my wife. She wore a pale yellow party dress that grazed below her knee. Her glossy, dark hair was swept into a knot, leaving the long line of her neck visible. A string of pearls adorned the slender column. She was fingering them while talking to another man. His attention was too intense for my liking. My lungs ached as I held my breath. Why was he looking at her with such unabashed interest?
“Why would The Gardener care about my wife?” I wondered aloud.
“They won’t be pleased that I’m even communicating with you, but I’m only passing on a message. I suggest if you want any chance of working with The Gardener, you work on pleasing your wife,” Paolo muttered out the side of his mouth.
“You ask too much. I need what you promised, and if I don’t get it, I will tear you to pieces. You know that, don’t you?”
Paolo flicked his eyes over to me and sniffed. He was careful to seem courteous. There were too many witnesses who would communicate his disrespect to my father. The dinner party had been my idea. I’d felt guilty over denying Anita her intimate lunch last week. She’d masked her disappointment well, but she didn’t understand my abrupt change. I wasn’t going to explain why I went from an adoring suitor to cold husband. But I could give her this opportunity to host and show off her new home. There was a three-cheese fondue station set up, and it was thick with people. She’d pulled together an eclectic crowd, half I didn’t recognize. She asked me who I wanted to invite, and I said Paolo and Bruno. The latter was glowering at me from the corner. My old friend was impatient, and I knew he wanted an update on the quiet solution I promised him about our mutual problem, but now Paolo reneged. I had been relying on his duplicitous word to get me in a room with The Gardener.
“One day, you’re going to remember this conversation and kick yourself.” He placed his glass down on the table.
“Don’t fuck with me, Paolo,” I threatened. He rolled his eyes. I raised my eyebrows. He was family now, but this impertinence went too far.
