Burned Dreams (Perfectly Imperfect #7)

But most of all, I wish I still had my hopes of getting married for love. The realization that I’ll probably never have a family, was the hardest blow. I’m not sure if Rocco is capable of having kids, but even if he is, I could never bring a child into this mess. The Viagra placebo tablets are not the only pills Melania has been supplying me with.

Once I have all the shoes and clothes put away in the closet, I reach for the last bag and take out the black velvet dress. Rocco sent me the link to this particular garment a few days ago, ordering me to buy it for the upcoming party. Like all other dresses he makes me wear, it’s short, tight, and shows too much cleavage. I put the awful gown on a hanger and walk out onto the balcony that overlooks the front yard. It’s chilly outside, but I don’t mind.

Close to the iron gazebo that’s located some distance beyond the garage, a figure of a man lurks. Alessandro doesn’t seem to be bothered by the cold as he stands, unmoving, and observes the surroundings. I lean my shoulder on the balcony doorway and follow his gaze, trying to figure out what he’s looking at. He’s at the fringe of a nice enough garden, but there is nothing overly interesting there. Scattered trees, rose bushes that are all dry now, and a few life-size marble sculptures Rocco had ordered. My husband believes that these make the garden look more sophisticated.

Alessandro tilts his head up, looking over at the garden light a few feet in front of him, then looks to the right toward the driveway, where a lamppost illuminates the wide access route. A few seconds later, he heads toward the mansion. He looks deep in thought as he walks straight ahead, then changes course, slightly wavering to the left for a dozen or so feet before turning back to the house. When he reaches the edge of the driveway, he shifts his track once again. The corner of my lips spring upward. What is he doing, going around in a zigzag?

As he reaches the edge of the lawn, he comes to a stop just below my balcony. I step forward and lean over the railing just as he looks up. Our gazes meet.

The wrought iron railing under my palms feels hot compared to the coldness in my bodyguard’s eyes as he watches me.

“Get inside,” he barks.

“Why?”

His gaze moves from my face to my silk blouse. “It’s cold.”

With that, he turns around and heads toward his car parked in the driveway. The fallen leaves and road salt crunch under the tires as he reverses and drives toward the gate, disappearing from view. It must be six already since that’s when his shift ends. He never leaves a minute early, even when there is nothing for him to do.

Maybe I could ask him to take me to one of the malls in the neighboring borough tomorrow. I can pretend I’m searching for something particular, and that would allow me to spend more time with him. I like the feeling of having him near, even if he doesn’t talk much. I could pretend to stumble again, like I did a few days ago and hoped he’d take my hand to steady me. He did. And for those few seconds, while his huge fingers held mine, I felt like no one could do me harm.

My father’s face rises in front of my eyes, his preaching words fill the recesses of my mind.Marriage is for life, Ravenna. The sanctity of marriage is the foundation of our society.

Well, I seem to recall something about husbands loving their wives, and there being an equal amount of respect and understanding when it comes to marriage, too. None of those things reside in this house. I hate my husband with a passion so strong that, each day, it’s becoming harder to hide. Does it make it okay, then, to be attracted to another man if my husband is a bastard?

Later that night, I wake up covered in sweat. It’s not the first occurrence. The difference is, this time, it’s not a nightmare about something my husband has done. It’s a dream abouthim.My bodyguard. The sweat is not the product of fear but of the overwhelming pleasure that engulfed my dreams where he slammed into me—again and again—as his brooding dark eyes bore through mine.

Chapter 7

Envy. Distrust. Scheming. All well hidden behind false smiles and chic outfits. Rocco Pisano truly enjoys every kind of circus and having a spotlight on him.

I take a few steps toward the corner where I have a better visual of the room, and clasp my hands behind my back, regarding the people milling around the massive conference hall.

This is supposed to be a business banquet of sorts. Pisano didn’t share the specifics when he told me I was to escort him and his wife. It doesn’t make a difference, all these events are the same no matter what their purpose is. Most of the people present are businessmen. I do spot a few armed security personnel hanging around the perimeter of the room, just as I am doing. Nothing unexpected, there are usually of few of those attached to some VIPs. The location is public and proficient at hosting these sorts of shindigs, so likely no unusual situations will arise. But I never leave anything to chance. I learned well before I ever got pulled into a secret government program that the extent of shit that could happen is greater when the expectations are low. So, I scan all four exit points once more, assessing the amount of time that will be needed to reach each one.

If I had a choice, I’d take the closest just so I can escape a guy in a tuxedo giving a speech on stock fluctuations and throwing a few lame jokes from a raised platform on the opposite side of the venue. He seems to be the only deadly hazard in this place, threatening to bore guests to death with his nonsense and forced humor.

When I’m done checking the egress points, my gaze wanders back to the Pisano couple. Rocco is laughing at a stupid joke the guy on the stage has just rambled off. His hand rests against his wife’s upper back. She’s laughing, too. A picture of a happy married couple enjoying the party.

If one disregards the small details, that is.

The way Ravenna Pisano is clutching the glass in her hand. Or how every few minutes she discretely pulls the hem of her dress. The tension in her body when Rocco’s hand glides down her back.

My eyes zero in on Rocco’s fingers as they grip his wife’s hip, and I have to bite the inside of my lip to keep myself from growling. The interest I’ve developed in the woman I’m planning to kill is highly disturbing. As is as the unexplainable urge to walk up to them and remove her husband’s hand.

Blaze sparks in the pit of my stomach as anger boils inside my chest. I shouldn’t be pissed off that he’s touching her. She’s his wife. And yet, my nostrils flare and my eyes squint as an unwelcome thought barrels into my mind. He shouldn’t be allowed to touch her.

Gritting my teeth, I make myself look away from Rocco’s bony fingers to observe the people around me, but less than a minute later, my gaze is drawn to Ravenna Pisano again. A polite smile is still gracing her face as her eyes meet mine, but there is no trace of laughter in those green orbs watching me from the other side of the room. Just the opposite.

In one of the rare missions when I was sent to save lives instead of to end them, I was in charge of saving a kid held for ransom. The boy’s father was Kruger’s buddy, a big shot who was neck-deep in shady business, so the official rescue channels were out. I can still remember the look in the boy’s eyes while the kidnapper was holding a gun to his head. It’s the same look I see in Ravenna Pisano’s eyes now.

Dread. And despair. Fuck! The relationship she has with her husband shouldn’t matter because I will be killing them both in the end. The fear in her eyes shouldn’t bother me. But it does.

The man on the stage finishes his speech, thanking everyone for being here. Rocco lowers his head, whispering into his wife’s ear, and I catch relief ghosting across her face. She nods and steps away from him, heading in my direction. The dress she’s wearing tonight is skintight and black like her hair that’s again pulled up into a bun. The huge diamond earrings and a matching necklace around her neck reflect the light from the crystal chandeliers overhead. Most of the women present are wearing similarly expensive jewelry, but it doesn’t escape my attention that Ravenna Pisano’s diamonds are the largest in the room.

How would she look without all that makeup and extravagant trinkets, I wonder. A spit-second thought, and the image of Ravenna Pisano naked forms before my eyes. I push that image away in that same instant, but I can’t make myself look away from the real woman walking my way.

She stops before me and tilts up her head, her glassy pools drawing me in. “Could you take me back to the house?”