Page 26 of Captive Rival: Armani
God bless this man. I’ll have to send him an entire case of Elite Reserve when I get back to Napa.
“I hear things too, you know,” Esme hisses nastily. “And I wouldn’t say there’s much security around here at all.”
With that, her heelsclip-copaway in an angry storm.
Inside the pantry, my stomach drops.
It’s already too late for me.
Esme must have heard Armani talking about me at the meeting with his mafia allies. He must have officially decided that he’s not keeping me around.
Turns out I won’t be leaving this island after all.
10
CANDI
The doorto the pantry flies open, and I look up to see Chef Idris standing there.
“You may come out, Mrs. Bellanti. The storm has passed,” he says with good humor, motioning for me to go back into the kitchen area.
“Thanks.”
I smile weakly as I return to the open bottle of wine I abandoned in such a hurry. Trying to act natural, I grab three stemmed glasses from the cupboard and set them up in a row on the counter. But my hands tremble as I pour us each a half glass of the Elite Reserve.
All I can think about is the fact that Armani is a cold-blooded killer. Not just by reputation, either. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. He’s emotionless, skilled, efficient. And now he’s plotting my murder.
I’ve become the embodiment of a true mafia wife. A kept woman who exists solely as arm candy, a trophy to be ordered around by her husband and then killed when she’s no longer useful. Replaced, too, I imagine. And quickly.
After I pass around the wine, I recork the bottle and slide it toward Idris.
“See? Still plenty left for Mr. Bellanti tonight,” I reassure him. “Drink up.”
I sure as hell will.
But before I can bolt down my booze, Idris raises his glass and says, “Let us toast. To health and long life!”
We clink glasses, and I down my wine as fast as I can, hoping it’ll take the edge off the dread growing in my belly. When I set the empty glass on the counter, I realize Idris and Luca are staring.
“What is wrong, Mrs. Bellanti?” asks Luca. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Ha. Maybe my own ghost.
Embarrassingly, my eyes fill with tears. I try to blink them back but there’s no use. Idris hands me a clean dish towel to blot at the tears spilling from the corners of my eyes.
“What Ms. Torrio said was not correct, Mrs. Bellanti,” he says soothingly. “Mr. Bellanti is very happy with this marriage, I am sure of it. Do not worry yourself over the words of a jealous woman.”
I nod, but despite his attempt to reassure me, I’m still in panic mode. The chef has no idea what Armani is really like. Even if my husband’s status as a mafioso is well-known, his role as a killer may not be. And nobody knows better than me how cold Armani acted toward me on the flight here, when he straight up told me he was going to use this trip to decide if I was worth keeping around.
There’s no way in hell I’m staying here. I can’t just sit around waiting for him to bump me off. I have to escape.
“I’m sure you’re right,” I tell Idris, blotting my eyes one last time. “I think I’d better go to my room and freshen up before dinner.”
“Of course. You have a few hours; we are still prepping,” he says, nodding. “And we will be sure Mr. Bellanti’s food is made perfectly.”
“Thank you.”
I make a big deal out of walking down the hallway with heavy footsteps, but as soon as I reach the stairway to go below deck, I hang a sharp right around the corner instead. As quickly and silently as I can, I tiptoe along the deck rail until I reach the rear of the yacht where the boat ramp should give me access to the wooden walkway of the dock’s pier. But there’s no ramp.
