Burned Dreams (Perfectly Imperfect #7)

“Thank you.” Mrs. Pisano nods and turns to face me. “You need to wait out here. Men are not allowed inside.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“This is a female-only spa, Alessandro. There are naked women in there. Please, wait here. I won’t go anywhere.”

The whole explanation spills out in one breath, and the tone of her voice is slightly higher than usual. She’s nervous and trying to hide it. Why would she be nervous about her spa appointment? I focus on her face and nod.

“I should be done in four hours. It’s a complete body wrap and face cleansing treatments and then a massage afterward. It takes a long time.” She motions to the door on the left. “See you later.”

I watch Mrs. Pisano as she disappears, then take a seat on one of the white leather chairs set against the wall and wait. Elegantly dressed women come in and leave, passing under two huge crystal chandeliers that hang from the high ceiling and illuminate the white and gold posh interior. A strange, sweet scent of flowers and coconut tickles my nostrils. It permeates the air as if someone dumped a ton of bath salts somewhere nearby.

My eyes scan the elaborate space and I spot a brochure lying on the coffee table, getting a glimpse of the extravagant prices. Jesus, no wonder this place looks like it can rival an art gallery or a small museum. There are even paintings that decorate the opulent walls. I wouldn’t be surprised if the price tag on those is in five figures.

Turning away from the white marble sculpture standing by the reception desk, I concentrate on the door that Mrs. Pisano went through earlier. It’s identical-looking to the six other doors leading off this reception area. Nothing special about it except for the fact that, in the past hour, none of the other clients have walked through that one. I take a quick look at my watch, then leave my spot and head toward the exit.

The Wellness Center building is nestled between two smaller ones. The one on the left is office space—cubicles with desks and computer equipment are visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The building on the right, however, seems to be residential, its windows and balconies facing the spa. I’m certain there’s one that will have a view of the room that Mrs. Pisano entered, so I head inside the apartment building.

There are five residences on each side of the second-floor hallway. I stop at the third on the left and ring the bell. A man in his early thirties opens the door and swiftly steps back when he sees the gun in my hand.

“I need to have a look from your balcony,” I say.

The man’s face drains of color, and he quickly moves to the side. He doesn’t utter a word as I walk across the living room to open the sliding door and step outside.

Most of the windows belonging to the Wellness Center are frosted, obscuring everything that happens inside. There are two, though, in my direct line of sight, that aren’t. These clearly don’t belong to treatment rooms or other spa facilities because I can see office space with several desks inside. At one of them, Ravenna Pisano is perched in front of a computer, vigorously typing something on the keyboard.

Another woman is seated next to her, holding a thick blue folder and a pen. The desk is facing away from the window so I can see the lit monitor, but I’m too far away to be able to discern what they’re working on. I watch them for a couple of moments, then leave the apartment and its freaked-out resident, returning to the spa to wait while my charge finishes her “beauty treatment.”

***

Later that night, after I drop Ravenna Pisano off at home, I drive back to the Wellness Center. The entire time my thoughts are filled with what happened that afternoon. When Mrs. Pisano came out, all she did was thank me for waiting. Our trip back to the mansion passed without a word. I glanced at her a couple of times through the rearview mirror, and she seemed way too tense for a woman who supposedly spent half her day at the spa. The tension didn’t leave her tiny frame when we arrived, and she exited my car. She passed by me as I held the door open for her and entered the house never once looking me in the eyes.

I reign in my thoughts and focus on the task at hand. There is a fire escape on the back side of the building, and I use it to get to the second floor. After a quick recon, I pick the lock of the emergency exit door and neutralize the security system. I didn’t have time to get the floor plan for the building, but finding the office I’m after isn’t hard. The blue folder I spotted earlier in the hands of the woman sitting with Ravenna Pisano is still lying on the desk. I open it and leaf through the printouts within.

Supply orders. An invoice for the lease on the location. A dry cleaning receipt. More statements for items the spa center requires.

I set the folder where I found it and power on the computer. The monitor lights up, displaying the login screen. Above the blank password field, the username readsHazelwith the wordAccountingnext to it.

Why in the world would a capo’s wife secretly deal with a spa center’s accounting?

Chapter 5

There’s something soothing about watching the sunset when silence envelopes the surroundings and no one else is around. Well, no one except for my bodyguard who’s been the ever-present dark shadow following me around for the last seven days. I take a quick glance back at Alessandro, who is standing by a tree about fifty feet away, his arms crossed over his chest.

With my previous bodyguards, I had no issues ignoring their presence, but that’s not the case with Alessandro. It’s hard to overlook a mountain of a man who pursues your every step. And even when he’s out of sight, I can still feel his proximity. He, on the other hand, pretends I’m a faceless, loathed task he needs to fulfill.

It’s been a week since he took on this role, and his behavior hasn’t changed since the first day. He does his job and doesn’t talk to me unless it’s absolutely necessary. He won't even look at me directly, his eyes are typically focused somewhere over my head. But a few times our gazes connected, and I could still see the despise in his depths. He hates me, just as he did the moment I met him. I don’t know why. I just know that he does.

I reach out to carefully break off a frozen rose flower in front of me, and look at the fragile and wilted yellow petals in my hand. The roses were in full bloom when I first came to this house just over a year ago. It was also the day I met my future husband.

Both of Rocco’s maids had caught a stomach bug, and since my mother often cleaned houses for Cosa Nostra members, including for one of Rocco’s security guards, she was called to fill in. I came with my mother to help because she’s been having back problems for years. The doctor told her she wasn’t allowed to do heavy manual work, but what I earned at my accounting job and the diner wasn’t enough to cover my father’s medical bills, so she had no choice but to work, too.

We arrived at seven in the morning and left after nine in the evening. I saw Rocco only in passing then. I was mopping the foyer when he came home and went into his office, leaving wet footprints all over the floor I just washed. He was yelling at someone on the phone and hadn’t even noticed me, but even that brief encounter rubbed me the wrong way.

We came again the following day because the house was too large for two people to scrub it clean in one go. I was dusting one of the sculptures in Rocco’s office when he came in and started shouting at me to be more careful. I can still recall the degrading way he looked at me then. As we were leaving, I swore to myself I would never set foot in that house ever again. Fate had a different plan for me, unfortunately.

I crush the frozen petals in my hand and throw them away. Turning around, I head toward the small gazebo off to the side. The living shadow follows me.

It’s too cold for the mere wool sweater I'm wearing, but I can’t make myself go back into the house to get a jacket. I’d rather risk getting a runny nose than go inside that dreadful place if I don’t absolutely need to.