Chapter 11: Tit for Tat

It was past noon when I entered the golf club restaurant. If Salvatore summoned me here, it’s only because he needs to project an image. I look around and find him at the back of the room having drinks with a man and a woman. Can't they go somewhere closer? No, they have to flaunt their wealth.

I adjust the blazer of my pantsuit as I approach the table.

“Good afternoon, sorry for the delay,” I say in greeting. Salvatore stands up and, to my surprise, gives me a smile—one that couldn’t be more fake.

“A lot of traffic?” he inquires while pulling out my chair for me. In his language, that means: Can’t you move your ass faster?

“Actually, I was quite tied up with work.” He doesn't look happy with my answer, but I care very little.

“She is my wife, Helena,” he announces to the couple. “They are Manson and his wife Devon Roberts.” I extend my hand to each of them with a friendly smile before taking a seat.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I apologize for the delay,” I say, slightly flustered. I knew something was up—Salvatore is a sneak.

“Don’t worry,” says the woman, who is in her mid-forties. “Work absorbs us sometimes.”

I nod. “I’m just starting out, so I want to do my best.”

“That’s important,” she winks, and I relax around the woman.

We order food, and while I savor the delicious salmon, I listen to their conversation. They get engrossed. Salvatore displays a charm and talent for deception that leaves me speechless. Manson keeps a close eye on his wife, which clarifies my role here: entertainment for the woman.

“You know, I am interested in selling, but it’s not something I do lightly.”

“The property is almost abandoned; it would be ideal for my next project, of course, if we do business,” he says in a calm tone. “Having a property in Windsor would be perfect for me.”

It’s a very busy city where most of the action takes place. The tourists visiting daily would ensure Salvatore’s hotel sustains itself. It really is a good project.

“Have you been to London, dear?”

“Yes, Mrs. Roberts.” I set my cutlery aside and look at her. “I lived in Stratford since I was about twelve.”

“The birthplace of Shakespeare,” she says dramatically, making her husband laugh. “I love his work, and please, call me Devon.”

“My mother is also a great lover of his work, Devon,” I nod, satisfied. “In fact, we lived there until it was time for university, and I moved to Oxford.” My mother spent years coming and going. During my vacations, I was sent to camps while Mom returned to Florence. When I got older, I usually stayed with my aunt. My parents were the ones who traveled to me. They assured me it was the best way to keep me away from everything that was happening—keep me away from the disputes. Well, that all went to hell when they made me a participant as a peace offering.

“Why don’t we do something?” Mason pulls me out of my thoughts with his proposition. “We invite you to spend a couple of days at our London home. We can go to Windsor, take a look at the property…”

“We would be honored to be your guests, wouldn’t we, Helena?” I look at Salvatore and barely nod before facing the couple.

“A total honor,” I stammer before grabbing my wine glass and taking a large gulp.

“Good, say no more. We expect you this weekend.”

What?!

“This weekend?”

“Yes, is there a problem?” Manson watches us, and I can feel Salvatore’s gaze on me.

“Yes, is there a problem I’m unaware of?” he snaps irritably.

“No, of course not. We will be delighted to accompany you.” My tone is sharper as I take a second sip of wine. “If you’ll excuse me for a second, I need to go to the restroom,” I murmur, standing up.

I walk away from them and look for the restroom. Once I find it, I enter and leave my purse on the sink, trying to remain calm. The last thing I want is to travel with Salvatore. I’m tired of him constantly doing his damned will!

I wash my hands, apply some makeup, touch up my lipstick, and add color to my cheeks, dispelling the sudden pallor. When I feel better, I decide to leave, only to collide with a hard chest.

“Principessa? What a pleasant surprise.” Tiziano Ferreti holds me by the shoulders and looks at me with a Cheshire cat smile.

I take a step back, shake off his grip, and straighten up.

“What terrible luck for me,” I reply acerbically. The man makes me uncomfortable. The way he looks at me makes me feel self-conscious; he practically undresses me with his gaze as he sweeps over me with appreciation.

“You are definitely a beautiful sight for any mortal’s eyes.”

“Do you really think I’m going to fall for your game? Whatever it is, by the way.”

“Helena, Helena,” he sings. “I’m just trying to be friendly with you. Is that a crime?”

“Being who you are, it’s clearly not very convincing.” I look over my shoulder and notice several people around observing us. The last thing I want is a scandal. “I don’t want trouble, so you better step away.”

I walk past him, only to hear him say: “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of your husband?”

I stop dead, lift my head, and turn to face him.

“That old trick doesn’t work on me, Ferreti.”

With that, I continue my way back to the table. I meet Salvatore’s eyes. His gaze slides behind me, and judging by his tightened jaw, you don't need to know him to realize he saw Tiziano. The rest of the meal is conducted with some tension between the two of us, and it’s evident Salvatore will have something to say when we leave here.

The meeting extends for a couple more hours. My head hurts, so I don’t plan on returning to the office. After saying goodbye to the Robertses, they leave one way and we leave the other.

“I suppose you came in your car?” Salvatore inquires in a harsh tone.

“You already know that,” I reply, looking at my phone.

Salvatore’s car is parked at the club entrance, and the valet hands him the keys.

“I’ll send someone for it. Get in the car.”

“Salvatore,” I say, tired of his demanding attitude and of him treating me however he pleases.

“Get in the damn car, or I’ll make you.”

I clench my teeth, almost at the limit of my patience, and get into the car. He circles it and gets in. He starts driving at high speed through the main streets. His expression and the way he grips the steering wheel make it clear that he detests the man.

“You can slow down. I don’t want to die today,” I snap, adjusting my seatbelt and clutching the dashboard.

“You were with Ferreti again,” he hisses.

“I found him outside the restroom. It's not like I plan alliances with him between the stalls.”

“You think you’re funny, right?”

“No, just average,” I counter with a falsely sweet tone.

He takes the exit onto the highway toward the villa.

“By the way, I don’t like the fact that I have to travel with you much.” He gives me a quick look before looking straight ahead again.

“You’re married to me, and certain things are expected of you.”

“Only of me? Wow, what crap.” He doesn't seem happy with my ironic tone, but I’m not interested.

After a while, I look ahead and glimpse the road to the villa before seeing it rising high up. It is beautiful and spooky at the same time. We enter the property, and this time Salvatore doesn’t park outside, but drives the car into the garage where there are several cars, which tells me he doesn’t plan on going out again. As if I care.

I sigh as I get out, and he follows me. We enter, and while he heads toward the lobby, I go to the kitchen in search of a painkiller. Molly and Ashley are in the kitchen, both cleaning silverware. I’m not surprised that Evelina is the type to supervise such a... ridiculous activity.

“Hello, I know you’re busy, but can I have a painkiller?”

“Of course, Signora,” Molly jumps up. “I’ll get you one.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, feeling slightly embarrassed by the woman. I look at Ashley, who is rubbing diligently and looks at me before rolling her eyes. I laugh because I would too if I had to do something like that.

“Here you go,” Molly approaches with a bottle and a glass of water. “Do you need anything else?” she inquires, and I shake my head. “I’m fine, thank thank you, Molly.”

She and Ashley are the only people I like. Because even Salvatore’s dogs hate me.

Once I take the painkiller, I leave the kitchen. Halfway, I run into Evelina, followed by Aldo. I thought I might get lucky, but I was wrong.

“Why am I not surprised that you feel comfortable in the kitchen with the staff?” Bitch.

“Good afternoon to you too.”

She gives me an ugly smile. “Instead of wasting time playing businesswoman, you should be tending to my son’s needs.”

“I didn’t know I got married to be your spawn’s slave, Evelina.”

Aldo rushes past us like lightning—coward.

“You will learn your place,” she states, making my blood boil, and I feel smoke coming out of my ears.

“Evelina, don’t mess with me. Don’t make me be rude.” I blurt out before walking past her, but not before hearing her scoff.

I go up the stairs and walk down the hall, feeling enraged, but I know who is to blame for everything—my annoyance has a name and a surname. I stop in front of my door and look at the one next door. With the intention of making it clear to Salvatore that I also won’t tolerate his mother’s snubs, I approach his room and open the door. I expect to find him in the bedroom, but he’s not. There are clothes on the carpet, and the bathroom door is open. Slowly, I approach the door to check if he’s there, and indeed, he’s in the bathtub and looks relaxed. Son of a bitch, I’m going to take away that peace. I open my mouth to begin my monologue, but a better idea crosses my mind, and I feel a smile tug at my lips.

I back away without him noticing my presence, take off my shoes, and glance around before finding the tie he was wearing at lunch.

“Now, you bastard. Tit for tat.”

With the tie in my hand and barefoot, I approach the bathroom again and enter. His eyes are closed, and his back is to me. So, I grab the tie with both hands, and before thinking about what I’m doing, I take him by surprise by wrapping the tie around his neck. He jumps and flails, kicking, but I squeeze with all my strength, fueled by the rage I carry. Water spills all around us, but I don’t let go. He gasps and searches for space between the tie and his throat.

“See how that feels, you son of a bitch? This is for what you’ve put me through these past few days. What? Can’t you breathe?” I speak through clenched teeth while tightening a little more and seeing his legs move; he’s desperate for air. The surprise is my advantage, and I take it. He struggles and chokes.

“Shhh. If you calm down, I’ll let you go,” I whisper in his ear. “Are you going to calm down?” I see him nod hastily, still pulling at the tie. So, when I see he’s turning a bit purple, I reluctantly let go and take a couple of steps away from him.

I watch him gasp, cough for air, and feel a smile filter onto my lips.

“That’s what it feels like, you bastard. You want to play games? I know how to play too, so think about it before you ever lay a finger on me again.” He looks at me, still coughing. “Maybe next time it will be a pillow over your face while you sleep. Think about it.” I throw the tie into the bathtub while he looks at me with wide eyes.

“You are a…”

I don’t let him finish. I exit the bathroom, grab my shoes, and practically run to my room where I lock the door. I collapse onto the bed, and that’s when I realize I’m panting, but I wouldn't trade the satisfaction I feel right now. Salvatore doesn't know that I can be a bitch too.