Chapter 45

KIRA’S POV

The next day, instead of staying in my room until Dead Ted came to drag me off to training… like I usually would, I decided to take a walk around the mansion.

I was careful, though. No wandering into any unfamiliar or eerie places. The last time I’d done that, I had stumbled on Adrian torturing a man with an iron rod, and that had been more than enough to kill any interest I had in touring the mansion. Since then, I have kept to the areas I was already familiar with… and other times, I just stayed cooped up in my room, avoiding everyone and everything.

But today, I needed an escape, even if just for a little while. A library, a garden—somewhere quiet. Somewhere I could breathe.

The past few days had been nothing short of a disaster, and with Kayla and Dylan’s engagement party just a week away, I was running out of time to figure out a way to get out of attending. But at this point, I knew it didn’t matter.

There was no getting out of it.

I just had to brace myself and prepare for the worst.

Knowing my stepsister, she had probably gone out of her way to ensure her engagement would be rubbed in my face as publicly and humiliatingly as possible. It would practically be part of her wedding plans.

But I wouldn’t let her succeed, not this time.

I turned down a hallway and unexpectedly spotted Dead Ted walking with two other men.

I blinked. He looked perfectly fine.

For someone who had been stabbed just two days ago, he didn’t seem like someone who should be recovering in a hospital bed. I hadn’t bothered looking for him after the incident, I assumed he’d be out of commission for at least a week, but clearly, I had underestimated him.

Curious, I walked closer and stopped in front of him.

“Hi,” I said.

He gave me a nod, while the other men bowed slightly. I waved awkwardly in return. No matter how much time passed, I could never get used to the way these men treated me with respect.

The other guards continued walking but stopped at the end of the hallway, waiting for Dead Ted.

“Good afternoon, Dona,” he greeted.

“H…How are you? Are you okay?” My gaze instinctively flickered to his chest, searching for any sign of the injury. But his black shirt concealed everything. Before I could stop myself, I reached out to check if he was bandaged or still wounded.

I barely got close before he took a step back, holding up a hand.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t do that, Dona. I like my head where it is,”

I raised a brow in confusion.

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t want someone passing by, misinterpreting the situation, and reporting to the boss. I’d rather keep my balls intact.”

I raised an eyebrow, He turned his shoulders slightly as if to prove his point. “Besides,” he added, “it’ll take more than a small dagger to take me down. I’ve seen worse.”

“Oh… okay,” I said, though I still wasn’t entirely convinced. “But are you sure? You don’t have to sugarcoat it just to make me feel better.”

He scoffed lightly, “I can assure you, Dona, I’m not hiding anything,” Dead Ted said smoothly. Then, as if to prove a point, he casually lifted his vest, revealing a small bandage just above his ribs.

“And if it makes you feel any better, I got shot last night. Lucky shot.”

I gasped, covering my mouth in shock. “Why would that make me feel better?”

I instinctively raised my hands to check the wound but quickly pulled back, remembering his earlier warning.

What the hell was this guy made of?

“You don’t have to worry,” he added nonchalantly. “It’s just a graze. Should heal in a week.” His lips curled into a smirk. “You should’ve seen the other guy.”

A smirk tugged at his lips as if he were reminiscing about whatever hell he had put the other person through.

“Did you need my help with something?” he asked, his gaze sharp and attentive.

“Not really,” I admitted. “I just wanted to check if you were okay.” Then, realizing I was already here, I added, “But… is there a library or a garden around here? I’m trying to find one.”

He nodded. “Yes, there is. Come, I’ll take you there.”

He led the way, and I followed. The library was on the other side of the mansion, and as we walked, we passed a stone pathway that Dead Ted told me led to the garden.

As we walked through the vast halls of the mansion, I found myself venting, telling him about everything that had happened over the past few days, including how I felt guilty about getting Maria fired. At first, I thought he was just pretending to listen, but then he surprised me.

“You doubt yourself too much, Dona,” he said. “You’re stronger than you think.”

His words stuck with me.

He wasn’t shocked when I told him what Adrian had done. But when I recounted how I had threatened Adrian to sleep with the guards if he didn’t do what I wanted, he threw his head back and laughed out loud.

For some reason it felt easier talking to Dead Ted, he had been a good friend/trainer to me and he has always pushed me to become a stronger, sharper version of myself.

“You underestimated you, Kira,” he said. “You have more power than you think.”

His words stuck with me.

Then he made an offhand comment about Adrian going on a killing rampage if I had done it. His Italian accent thickened when he said it, and I wasn’t entirely sure I caught every word. But the amusement in his voice told me he found the idea ridiculous.

Eventually, we stopped in front of a large brown door.

“The library,” he said simply, I thanked him as I walked in waving goodbye to him.

***

Five hours later, I checked my phone… 6 p.m. I sighed and dropped the book I was obviously not reading. It was about an old couple and their dog, written in Shakespearean English. A total letdown.

The library itself was just as disappointing. One section was crammed with Italian law books, dry histories of world wars, and mafia men. The other section was romance novels so ancient they might as well have been written on parchment paper, and it didn’t help that most of them were in Italian, which I couldn’t even read. What did I expect? Adrian having a collection of modern, romance, mysteries, or thrillers?

This wasn’t some sappy romance novel where the heroine falls in love with a library.

In the end, I resorted to hiding my phone inside a book just to look like I was reading while I played games. Don’t judge me… I was bored out of my mind.

Of course, being a mafia princess (and now a mob boss’s wife), I wasn’t allowed on social media. Security reasons. I knew my phone was being tracked, and breaking the rules wasn’t an option, not unless I wanted a headache from Adrian or worse my father for putting the family in danger.

Sighing, I got up and made my way to the kitchen.

As I neared the door, I noticed a group of maids huddled near the entrance, peeking inside. The moment they saw me, they scrambled away like startled birds. My brows furrowed. Were Jena and Maria back?

“Fuck!” A loud manly voice rang through from inside followed by a loud clatter.

I stepped into the kitchen to find Adrian standing by the counter, staring down at a mess on the floor… a pan of large green… something scattered everywhere. His sleeves were rolled up, his suit slightly disheveled. His jaw was clenched, his thumb and index finger pressing against his temple like he was trying to keep himself from snapping.

He raised his head and gave me a questioning look followed by a glare,

“Hello,” I said slowly but he ignored me before bending up to pick up the pan.

“Fuck,” he cursed, wincing as he dropped it. His jaw clenched as he moved to the sink, running his hands under cold water. His rolled-up sleeves revealed the tensed muscles in his forearms, flexing with the motion.

“Need help?” I offered.

He didn’t respond, instead turning to the cutting board, where perfectly chopped vegetables were neatly arranged.

Of course, he knows how to cut veggies perfectly, he cuts people for a living.

I stood rooted in place for a while, watching him battle internally over what to do. From the far end of the counter, I could hear a video playing on an iPad, an upbeat voice detailing step-by-step cooking instructions.

The house was full of maids, so why not get someone to do this for him? I thought. But then Aunt Linda’s voice echoed in my head—Only Maria was allowed to cook for him.

Guilt crept in again.

Taking a few careful steps closer, I waited for him to lash out, but he was too busy rummaging through the cabinets for something. He didn’t notice me… or maybe he did and just didn’t care.

I spotted the tomato sauce he was searching for and grabbed it, setting it on the counter.

“Here,” I said, placing the sauce on the table.

He turned to face me, and that’s when I noticed how stressed out he looked, his shirt was, damp with sweat trailing down his face. His usual cold expression was unreadable, but the stress lines on his face were evident.

"How to make perfect Pasta Primavera the perfect way," I read from the screen and inwardly rolled my eyes.

Obnoxious much

“Let me help,” I offered, moving slowly across the counter.

Adrian scoffed. “What would you know about cooking? And didn’t I tell Juan not to let anyone in? That fucking idiot.”

I rolled my eyes. “I spent half my life locked up in my father’s house. It was boring, so I helped the maids cook amongst other chores. And besides, Juan wasn’t going to stop your wife from entering.”

He studied me for a long moment and then he moved aside, rolling up his sleeves. No insults, no pressing for details like I had expected him to do, just quiet acceptance.

He moved across the counter and took a seat on one of the stools as he put his hands on his lips watching me intently.

I kept my focus on the food, acutely aware of his gaze burning into me. It made my skin prickle, but I refused to let it distract me. This was my fault. Maria was gone because of me.

“No salt,” he said abruptly as I reached for the jar.

I raised a brow. “Salt is needed to make it taste good, Adrian.”

“I don’t give a fuck. No salt.”

I hesitated, then set the jar down, stirring the dish instead.

“Gee, thanks for taking the time to help me out, Kira. That was so nice of you,” I muttered sarcastically, not taking my eyes off the food.

“I don’t remember asking for your help. I had it handled.” His fingers tapped against his phone screen, attention already elsewhere.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "Maybe not verbally, but you sure needed it."

Silence stretched between us. But even without looking, I felt his gaze.

“Don’t add that.”

I slammed the bottle of dark soy sauce onto the counter a little too hard. He didn’t even flinch. Didn’t even glance up.

“You do realize I’m not your employee, right, Adrian?”

"Yes, I know. You’re my wife," he mocked, a smirk ghosting his lips. He put his phone down, resting a hand against his chin before pointing at me dramatically. "You know, it’s quite ironic. Five months ago, you refused to acknowledge this marriage. Now, you won’t let me forget it. Do you think it gives you some sort of power over me? Big mistake.”

I scoffed. “It got you to fire the only person who could cook for you. And it got your whore out of the house, so I think I definitely have some power over you.”

He huffed a dry laugh. “You’re making me a meal right now, aren’t you?” His phone dinged. He glanced at the screen. “And I only did that to prevent you from whoring around with my men. I don’t share.”

“I don’t belong to you, Adrian.”

He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “You used to be quiet. Now it seems like you always have something to say.” His eyes flickered to my hands. “And don’t put that in.”

I slammed the bottle of Chinese five-spice so hard it nearly shattered.

I should have never offered to help this obnoxious jerk.

“Any more crazy demands before I finish? Like, I don’t know… not allowing the pasta to boil?”

“Yes.” He looked at me like I should have already known. “And you should’ve asked that in the first place.”

What?

I stared at him, waiting.

“Put in the parsley from the left. Don’t use any of the garbage my men poison their bodies with… only fresh ingredients from the garden. Count the chopped carrots… if there are more than fifteen, throw out the extras. Same with the tomatoes. The onions and broccoli should be invisible. No peppers—those are for torture. Absolutely nothing with seafood in it, no processed products. Vet everything before you add it.”

I blinked at him, stunned. “You’re joking, right?

“I don't have time for jokes,” he said without looking up from his phone,

I stood dumbfounded for a while.

Great work, Kira.

Gritting my teeth, I counted the vegetables, feeling ridiculous for even doing it. Next time, I’d mind my damn business and let him set the kitchen on fire.

“That’s sixteen. Throw the last one out,” he said without looking.

I narrowed my eyes and recounted, just to prove him wrong. He wasn’t.

“You know sixteen carrots aren’t going to kill you, Adrian,” I muttered, tossing the extra piece aside.

“But it’ll earn you…” He trailed off, voice low and something flashed on his face, briefly.

I glanced up at him, confused, but he didn’t elaborate.

I went back to cooking, following his absurd rules as he kept making comments, and correcting everything. It was driving me absolutely insane.

“All done,” I said finally, yanking off the white apron. “There you have it, your perfectly cooked bland and tasteless Pasta.”

I expected him to ask for a plate and eat. Instead, he got up and moved closer… too close.

I held my breath as he stepped behind me, his large frame looming over mine. Heat radiated from his body, his breath fanning against my hair as he stirred the contents of the pot.

I stood frozen, every nerve on edge, waiting… waiting for him to move, to speak, to do something.

He didn’t.

“Are you sure you got it right? The colors are a little bit off,” he finally said as he moved towards the fridge.

I exhaled sharply, moving away from him so fast I nearly tripped. My heart was hammering in my chest. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Are you serious?” I snapped. “Of course, it looks weird with all your crazy demands!” I threw my hands up annoyed.

He scoffed, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer. “I’ve had this meal every day for twenty years, and it has never looked like this. I suspected you were a shitty cook the moment you didn’t count the carrots. Should’ve just done it myself.”

I stood, my mouth agape, was he being serious right now?

My fingers curled into fists at my sides. He was so infuriating. He was lucky I didn’t have a knife in my hand, or I might’ve shoved one down his throat. Not that I actually would.

Probably.

“You’re dismissed,” he added, picking up his phone.

I let out a humorless laugh. “Again, I don’t work for you, Adrian,” I said, and without waiting for his reply, I turned towards the exit. I didn’t have the energy for this bullshit.

“I hope you choke on those fifteen carrots, airhead,” I muttered under my breath.

“I heard that,” he called after me, followed by the clatter of dishes.

I didn’t bother looking back as I walked out of the mansion. I needed fresh air. I needed to get away from his stupid face.

He was so infuriating,he couldn’t even say thank you.

Still grumbling curses under my breath, I stomped around the fountain, too irritated to notice anything else—until I crashed into something solid.

Stumbling back, I looked up and froze.

A man stood in front of me, his white vest soaked through, and his face was beaten to a pulp. Blood trickled down his chin, staining his already ruined clothes. His lips parted, and a hoarse whisper escaped.

“H…elp.” He croaked and before I could react, his body collapsed against me, his full weight knocking the air from my lungs.He was bigger than me, his weight crushing my chest, pinning me in place.

Then I felt it…warm, sticky, liquid seeping into my clothes.

I looked down.

Red.

Blood.

A guttural scream tore from my throat.