“Mr. Scarcello.” She rises slowly, offering me a coy smile. “I’m so sorry for the intrusion. I was waiting to speak with you, but you look distressed. Is there anything I can help you with?”
I don’t have to ask what she means. Her attention on my groin makes it quite obvious. Angelina has always dropped subtle hints about her interest, but I suspect this is her last-ditch effort now that she knows I’m eloping with Natalia tomorrow.
“Did you need something?” I grit out, walking to the dresser where my decanter rests, using the distraction to calm myself.
She’s quiet for a long moment, and I’m not sure what she’s going to say or do next. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can assist you with, Mr. Scarcello?”
“You can assist me by telling me what you’re doing here.” I pour myself a drink. “I’ve had a long day and an even longer one planned for tomorrow, as you’re aware.”
She straightens her spine in the face of my rejection, her lips pursing. “You’re really going to marry her?”
“Yes. Is that a problem for you, Angelina?”
Her eyes flare in indignation. “Yes, it’s a problem. I won’t take orders from her. If that’s what you expect, then I think it’s best I give you my notice.”
She’s watching me like she thinks I will protest. This was never just a job to her. She could have done plenty of other things with her time within IVI, but she volunteered her services here. I paid her well, and I never indicated that this was anything other than a professional relationship, and yet it’s clear she never gave up on the idea. She’s still not ready to give up, judging by the challenge in her eyes.
“Angelina, I’ve appreciated your time here,” I reply with a guarded tone. “But if you can’t respect my wife, then I agree it’s best you leave. I’ll issue a severance payment to your account by the end of the week.”
She shakes her head in disbelief, her vitriol spilling freely as she heads for the door. “Very well. I wish you the best of luck in your marriage, Alessio. But I suggest you watch your back. That knife on the nightstand was hidden under your bed beneath a pair of socks. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how it probably got there.”
I turn to look at the nightstand, and something twists in my gut. Angelina doesn’t linger waiting for a response. She leaves me standing there, staring at the proof of betrayal. I walk over to examine it, but there’s no need. I know exactly who’s knife that is. The only question I have is how the fuck did it get here.
I toss back my drink, leaving the damning evidence sitting there while I head back downstairs. I had planned to get some sleep tonight. Now, I won’t rest until I see the fucking truth for myself.
27
Alessio
It’s well past five in the morning when I drag my bloodshot eyes away from the screen in frustration. I’ve been searching the restored footage for hours, but I haven’t seen a goddamned thing so far. My gaze drifts to the wall, and I sit there, silently contemplating when this must have happened.
At first, I wanted to believe it was tied to the incident with Gwen. It would make sense if Natalia grabbed her knife before she took Nino upstairs to my room, but it still doesn’t explain how the knife ended up behind the bed. The explanation for that is far more disturbing, though I’ve already begun to piece it together. Natalia didn’t mince words when she told me she came here to destroy me and my kingdom. She was willing to do whatever it took to get her son back.
Then it hits me. The night she was in my bedroom when I came home, bloodied and wounded. At the time, it had seemed to come out of left field. There had been an attraction between us, I thought, but I never expected to find her waiting in my room. I never expected her to offer herself to me after so little provocation on my part. A sickening feeling washes over me as I realize why.
She didn’t want me. She came to my room that night to kill me.
I’m numb, too dazed by the clarity of my thoughts to move. I count back the dates, recalling the contract I made for that night. It’s not difficult to remember since it turned out to be such a clusterfuck. Then, I recall the folder I had restored. Neither Manuel nor I had a chance to search the footage. I had intended to but never got around to it.
Mechanically, I turn my focus back to the screen and click through the folders until I find what I’m looking for. I check the timestamps of each thumbnail, and when I find the image of me returning to the house that night, I go back a little further. I pull up her bedroom, and I watch with growing resentment and hostility as she selects the black silk nightgown to distract me. She packs her bags and creeps down the corridor, out of sight once she hits the third landing. There is no surveillance on that level, so I can’t see what she did next. I can, however, see how many hours she waited for me. I can see that the next morning, during breakfast, she tried to go back. Over the next week, she repeated the process, meeting what could have only been my locked door.