Page 25 of When She Unravels
“Fun? All I see you do is sulk on your balcony.”
“You saw me doing thatonce.”
“I’m sure I’d see it again if I came back here after midnight.”
“Is that what you’re planning to do tonight?”
“No. I’m going to crash as soon as I get home. This week has been—” I stop myself. No way I’m going to admit that I’m exhausted.
The glint in his eyes tells me he’s onto me. “Better get started on the floor soon. You need to rub it with a special wood cleaner after you mop,” he advises.
“Of course, your highness. I’ll be sure to rub your wood just the way you like it.” I realize how that sounded the moment the words leave my mouth. My eyes meet De Rossi’s.
He tips his chin up and gives me a very male smirk. “Youreallywant to ace your trial week.”
“You know what I meant,” I grumble as I reach for the vacuum.
“Sounded like you were propositioning me.”
“I’d rather proposition a deflated balloon.”
The sound of his chuckle settles somewhere low inside my belly. The sensation is not completely unpleasant. “Someone ought to teach you how to talk to your superiors.”
I glance at him over my shoulder. “You’re not my boss yet.”
His eyes flare. I think he’ll hire me just to torment me some more. I get the sense that some part of him enjoys the fact that I talk back to him.
I begin to vacuum, and after a while, I no longer feel his attention on me. He works on something on his laptop and eats a green apple while I use the long attachment of the vacuum to get into every corner of the room. It’s not that dirty to begin with. I wonder if Inez was the one who put it all in order before me.
When I pass by the framed photo, my curiosity gets the best of me, and I stop to look at it. It’s a family. A man and a woman with three kids. There’s a young boy—maybe twelve or eleven—in the center of the picture, and he’s holding a small child. Beside him is an older boy, with his arm slung over the shoulders of the smaller one. It’s a weird family picture. No one is smiling.
I squint at the boy in the middle. “Is this your family, De Rossi?”
A pen clicks. “Yes.”
“You have siblings.”
“I do.”
“Your mom is very beautiful.”
“She’s my aunt.”
My brows furrow together as I turn to him. “You said this was your family. I assumed they were your parents.”
“My parents died when I was young,” he says evenly. “My mother’s sister and her husband took me and my sister in.”
I face the photo once again. “So who’s the other…” Wait, he looks a little familiar. “Is that Ras? You two are related?”
“He’s my cousin.”
Ah. So De Rossi’s most trusted employee is related to him. Maybe besides all the violence and murder, being a businessman is not so different from being a mafioso after all.
The image of little De Rossi holding his sister tugs at my heart. “That must have been hard. Losing them at that age.”
“Romero, I’m not looking for a therapist. Drop the audition.”
Who would have thought that sweet little boy in the picture would grow into this six-foot something menace? I glare at him and turn the vacuum back on.
