Chapter 78: A Friendly Face
Beth woke at six.Alone. The space beside her was still warm, the sheets tangled in a way that spoke of a recent, hurried departure.Damien had slipped out before the house stirred. Plausible deniability.It was almost considerate, in its own deceitful way.
She didn’t linger. She showered, dressed in simple linen trousers and a cream shell, applied a mask of effortless composure. By six forty-five, she was padding barefoot down the back stairs, following the scent of brewing coffee and the low murmur of a radio tuned to an Italian news station.The kitchen was a vault of warm light and stainless steel. Maria, the head cook, a woman with forearms like seasoned oak and a permanent flour smudge on her cheek, looked up, startled.“Signora Montgomery!You are early. Is everything alright?”
“Everything’s perfect, Maria. The coffee called to me.” Beth offered a smile that was neither too familiar nor too cold.“May I?”
She didn’t wait for permission. She moved to the espresso machine, a hulking, professional thing, and began the ritual.Grinding the beans.Tamping. The sharp, fragrant hiss of the shot pulling. She poured it over a small scoop of vanilla gelato she’d found in the sub-zero.
“An affogato,” Maria observed, a note of approval in her voice. “A breakfast of champions.”
“Of survivors,” Beth corrected lightly, taking a seat at the massive central island. She took a slow spoonful, the bitter heat and cold sweet melting on her tongue.“The party tonight will be beautiful. I saw the flowers arriving yesterday.You must be orchestrating a masterpiece.”
It was the right thing to say. For the next hour, as the kitchen staff filtered in, Beth held court. She asked Paolo about his mother’s sciatica.She complimented Gabriella’s braided hair. She sampled a piece of leftover focaccia and pronounced it the best she’d ever had, which wasn’t entirely a lie. She made herself a part of the scenery, not as the boss’s ex, but as a competent, pleasant woman who understood how a house like this ran.
Claire found her there at eight-thirty. Damien’s sister paused in the doorway, her robe cinched tight, her expression caught between confusion and curiosity.“Beth?”
Beth looked up, spoon poised. “Claire.Good morning.Coffee? Maria’s blend is divine.”
“I… sure.” Claire drifted in, accepting a cup from a smiling Gabriella. She watched as Beth finished her affogato and slid the bowl away with a sigh of satisfaction. “You’re… up early.”
“Old habits. Board meetings wait for no woman.” Beth swiveled on her stool to face her.“But today, my only job is to stay out of the way and look pretty tonight. Congratulations, by the way.Truly.”
Claire’s guardedness softened a fraction. “Thanks. It’s a bit of a circus.”
“All the best things are.” Beth’s smile was genuine. She’d always liked Claire, who had a painter’s soul trapped in a mobster’s family. “I’m glad I could be here for it.”
The moment was broken by the crisp tap of heels on tile. Sophia appeared in the doorway, already dressed in a pale peach twin-set, her hair a solid helmet of perfection. She took in the scene: her daughter sipping coffee next to Beth, the staff moving with relaxed efficiency, the air humming with a camaraderie she hadn’t authorized.Her eyes narrowed, zeroing in on Beth. “Bethany.I trust you slept well.”
“Like the dead,” Beth said, her tone all innocence. “The silence here is so profound, isn’t it? Almost heavy.”
Sophia’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. “I see you’ve made yourself useful.”
“Not useful, no.Just present. Maria was kind enough to tolerate my raid on the gelato.” She stood, taking her empty bowl and cup to the sink. She rinsed them herself, placing them in the dishwasher.A small, deliberate act.“Everything smells incredible for brunch. I’ll be sure to vanish before I’m underfoot.”
“Nonsense,” Sophia said, the word brittle. “You are a guest. You will join us.”
Beth turned, leaning back against the counter, a study in casual opposition. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of disrupting your family brunch.I have some calls to make. I’ll grab something later.”
It was a direct refusal, polite and bulletproof. Claire watched, fascinated, her gaze flicking between her mother’s icy composure and Beth’s unshakable calm.
“Suit yourself,” Sophia finally said, the dismissal clear. She turned to Maria, launching into a rapid-fire interrogation about the canapés for the evening.Beth just winked at Gabriella and slipped out of the kitchen.
Her heart didn’t settle until she was back in the blue room. She’d drawn a line, not with a shout, but with a smile. She’d infiltrated the territory Sophia considered her own—the loyalty of the household—and she’d done it before the woman had even had her first cup of tea.The day unspooled in a series of quiet victories. She took her phone to a sun-dappled bench in the labyrinthine garden. She signed a merger document via email, the soft crunch of gravel under a guard’s boot her only accompaniment. She changed into a swimsuit and spent an hour swimming deliberate, endless laps in the indoor pool, the chlorinated water swallowing all sound. She was a ghost in the machine of the Rossi compound, present everywhere and accountable to no one.It was Damien who finally tracked her down. She was back on her bench, sketchily outlining a new product launch strategy in a notebook, when his shadow fell across the page.“Hiding in plain sight,” he said.She didn’t look up. “It’s the best kind of hiding.”
He sat beside her, the warm weight of his thigh pressing against hers. He smelled of fresh air and something metallic, like he’d just come from the range.“My mother is having an aneurysm. She says you’ve radicalized the kitchen staff.”
A smile touched Beth’s lips.“I simply asked Paolo about his mother. Radical stuff.”
Damien laughed, a low, rich sound that vibrated through the bench. “She can’t stand that you’re not playing by her rules. That you’re not sulking in your room or begging for her approval.”
“I learned from the best how to operate outside a rulebook,” she said, finally glancing at him. His green eyes were bright with amusement and something hotter, fiercer.Pride.“Tonight,” he said, his voice dropping.“The party. It’ll be a zoo.Associates.Friends. Some… less friendly faces.”
“I know the guest list, Damien.I wrote half of it, remember?” She closed her notebook. “I’ll be on my best behavior. Champagne smile, predatory small talk, the whole routine.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” He caught her hand, his fingers lacing through hers. His grip was firm, almost urgent. “I’m saying some of those less friendly faces might see you next to me and get ideas.Old ideas.”
She understood. She wasn’t just an ex-wife here.She was a statement.A reclaimed asset. A vulnerability and a display of strength, all at once. “I can handle ideas.”
“I know you can.” He brought her knuckles to his lips, his gaze locked on hers. “But just so we’re clear… if anyone so much as looks at you in a way I don’t like, my best behavior ends.”
The promise in his voice wasn’t playful. It was a cold, hard slice of the man beneath the charm.The possessiveness should have chilled her. Instead, a treacherous heat sparked low in her stomach. This was the other side of the coin: the danger he represented, the darkness he commanded, was now, indirectly, offering its protection.To her.
She pulled her hand back, slowly.“Don’t start a war at your sister’s engagement party, Damien. It’s bad form.”
He stood, looking down at her, the sun casting his face in sharp relief.“Wars,” he said softly, “have a way of starting themselves. Be ready by eight.”
He walked away, leaving her in the dappled light. The garden was silent, but the air felt charged, as if the evening was already gathering itself, waiting to descend. Beth looked at her empty hand, then out at the impenetrable greenery. She was inside the fortress. Now she had to navigate the battlefield.