Ruin Me With Lies, page 13
“Am I interrupting something?” she asks, her silver eyes darting between us, sharp with curiosity.
“Good afternoon, Lucy.” Stefano rises smoothly, and goes to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. “You’re breathtakingly stunning. As always.”
She blushes under his praise, cheeks dusted pink. Her eyes softening on him with familiarity and desire. But there’s something else in that melted gaze, flickering just beneath the surface…
He gestures toward the table for her to take a seat, and a small, pathetic, unhinged part of me gloats that he doesn’t pull out her chair. Victory tastes petty, but also kind of delicious.
Once she’s seated, her attention shifts back to me, curious and assessing. “Who’s the new face? Where’s Mr. Bellanti?”
“He’s ill,” Stefano replies, returning to his seat. “Miss Michel is filling in for him today.”
Lucy gives me a slow once-over, her perfectly-arched brow lifting. “Given the nature of what we discuss here, am I to assume she’s under your complete control?”
Stefano just looks at her.
No expression. Just that quiet, unsettling stare.
After several tense beats, Lucy shifts in her seat and nods. “Right. Stupid question.”
Under that continued silence, she starts folding her napkin. Unfolds it. Refolds it again. Trying to keep her hands busy, maybe to hide the subtle tremble.
Interesting…
She clears her throat. “Who knew the mighty Castellos could fall ill,” she says lightly. “Here I thought you were immortals. Unlike the rest of us.”
Still, Stefano says nothing.
The longer he remains silent, the more nervous Lucy becomes. She scratches behind her ear, then glances to the door like she’s hoping for reinforcements. “I thought I’d be the last to arrive. But it seems the others are running late as well.”
“Vegas traffic,” Stefano says coolly.
Lucy’s silver gaze cuts to me again, this time laced with suspicion. Like she’s reevaluating what I am. Who I am.
People with power have more paranoia in their veins than blood. Rightfully so. With power comes an endless dance of dodging daggers. When every handshake hides a blade, trust is a luxury few can afford.
A server glides in to refill our water glasses, and Lucy looks visibly relieved by the interruption.
Stefano, meanwhile, adjusts his cufflinks, calm and collected as ever. He’s annoyingly good at this—keeping everyone off balance while he remains equanimous.
The chief of police arrives next. Then the district attorney. Then the state senator.
There’s a flurry of greetings and small talk before the meeting officially begins.
And then… the boredom sets in.
The discussion drones on, full of pomp and self-importance. They speak with the weighty cadence of men who believe they hold the city in their palms. Like they’re untouchable. Unassailable.
It’s almost funny.
I have to bite back a laugh.
Compared to some of the rooms I’ve been in—rooms where lives are traded like chips at a poker table—this feels like child’s play. Pretend power. Dress-up politics.
Stefano is, surprisingly, the most humble and grounded presence at the table. He’s not flexing. Not threatening. Not talking just to hear his own voice. He seems… thoughtful. Purposeful. Like he actually gives a damn about the city. Meanwhile, the others are posturing, peacocking, desperate to remind everyone they matter.
But it’s obvious, painfully so, that he is the one with the real power. Not just at this table. In this city. The voice that holds the most weight here is his.
Watching him in this space… it throws me off. It’s hard to reconcile this man with the cruel, ice-veined man I also know him to be.
Lucy Rainford hangs on to every word that leaves his mouth. Her reactions swing wildly between wariness and thinly-veiled lust. Like she’s both terrified of him and wants to rip his clothes off.
It’s clear the latter has been indulged more than once. But the former, that obvious fear and hesitation, is being triggered by something.
Guilt, maybe. Or betrayal. Either way, it’s there. Flickering just beneath the surface.
The more I observe her, the more certain I become.
Almost two mind-numbing hours later, the meeting finally wraps, and my stomach is throwing an all-out rebellion. Two hours of watching these ego-trippers eat like royalty while I wasn’t even offered a mint.
Torture. Pure torture.
But I guess this is Stefano’s idea of a punishment. Petty, elegant revenge in the form of hunger.
Even so, suspicious behaviors didn’t go unnoticed by me.
While the others clear out with inflated self-importance like they’re off to rule the world, Lucy lingers. Her gaze lands on me, expectant and cold, as if she wants to order me to leave, but isn’t quite sure if she can.
I save her the torture. “I’ll give you two a moment.”
“Appreciated,” she replies with a polite nod, but her eyes are already on Stefano.
“There’s another meeting we need to get to,” Stefano says, straightening from his chair. “We can talk another time.”
Lucy is quick to close the gap between them, a hand slipping onto his shoulder with familiar intimacy. “What I wanted to discuss is… personal.” Her voice dips, sultry and suggestive. “Potential weekend plans…”
Subtle, she is not.
They’re positioned squarely between me and the door now, effectively blocking my path.
Stefano’s smile is pure diplomacy. “Another time, Lucy. As you might’ve heard, I’ve got a fair bit of insubordinates to subjugate these days.”
“Well, I have to go to the ladies’ room,” I announce, stepping toward them with pointed intent. “Surely you can spare the beautiful lady a few minutes of your time.”
Stefano’s gaze cuts to me, brow arching in faint amusement. Or suspicion.
I meet it with a meek, submissive smile I’ve never worn before and will never wear again, hoping to get across to him that I need those minutes.
Lorenzo would’ve picked up the cue instantly. We have that kind of work chemistry down now. But Stefano is far too distrustful of me for nuance.
Still, something in him shifts. Maybe curiosity. Maybe calculation. Maybe he’s giving me the benefit of the doubt. Either way, he nods and turns his attention back to Lucy, touching her at the waist to shift her out of the way.
I slip from the room and make my way toward the back of the building, pushing through the swinging doors into the kitchen. The staff pauses, startled by my sudden intrusion, but I’m already scanning.
My eyes land on her.
The plump brunette with the name tag: Kimone. One of the servers who brought the meals earlier.
She spots me and stiffens. Her face drains of color as I approach, already shaking her head, backing away.
But on an empty stomach, my patience is nonexistent. I grab her wrist, twist her arm behind her back just enough to make her compliant.
“Easy,” I whisper, low and sharp, guiding her quickly across the room.
She lets out a yelp, a sob, startling the kitchen staff.
In the corner, I spot a sliding door. I shove her through it and close us inside.
A pantry.
“Please,” she gasps through tears the moment I let her go. “Please, don’t let them kill me.”
Keeping my tone low and steady, I ask, “What were you told to do?”
“I didn’t do it. I s-swear. I didn’t even want to do it.” Her words tumble out in a frenzy of fear and desperation. “My baby girl was at the top of the transplant list. Then all of a sudden she got bumped to the bottom on some bullshit technicality.”
Her face crumples, hands shaking.
“Then some man calls me saying he can put her name back at the top if I do this one thing for him. That’s all. I d-d-didn’t ask for this. I just want my daughter to live.”
“What were you asked to do?” I repeat.
She hiccups through her sobs. “T-There was a package waiting on my table when I got home yesterday. A small vial, along with instructions. I was supposed to pour it into Mr. Bellanti’s drink at today’s meeting. That’s all. But then Mr. Bellanti didn’t show, and I’ve been panicking because I don’t know what to do and I don’t even know who—”
“Where’s the vial?”
With trembling fingers, she digs into the pocket of her waist apron and pulls out a tiny glass vial of clear liquid. She thrusts it at me like it’s cursed.
Her voice cracks as she asks, “Will the Castellos kill me?”
I turn the vial over in my hand. “Even if the Castellos don’t, the people who gave you this will. To keep you quiet. So yeah… you’re screwed either way.”
Terror floods her face.
“You need to run. Fast and smart. If there’s anywhere you can lay low, go there. Now. Don’t stop for anything or anyone. Just move. And good luck.”
She muffles a sob in her fist, then with a firm resolve, she nods and bolts out of the pantry like her life depends on it.
Because it does.
I tuck the vial into my cleavage and head back to the meeting room.
When I walk in, Lucy is gone and Stefano is scowling with open impatience.
“Did you get what you needed?” he asks levelly.
“Yes. My bladder is officially relieved.”
He lifts an unimpressed brow. “The bathroom’s in the opposite direction.”
I flash him a sweet smile. “I prefer kitchen sinks. Don’t judge me.”
The look he gives me tells me his patience is at its end. He shakes his head, as if deciding not to bother with me, then brushes past me out the door. “Come on.”
Once we’re back in the car and on the move, I say, “I can’t do another meeting like that. I’m starving.”
“We don’t have another meeting.”
Oh, good. I can drop in at the Diner Hall at the villa. Or hit up Cora.
I fish out my phone and call her.
“Hey, Coraaaa,” I sing when she answers. “How’s our guy doing?”
“Hi, darling,” she says, a smile in her voice. “He’s awake now, but drenched in cold sweats. The fever is still high. Do you want to talk to him?”
“Yes, please.”
There’s a bit of shuffling, and then his raspy voice comes on the line. “Pretty eyes.”
“Hey, flirt.” I smile. “Just checking in. Sorry you’re having a rough one. If I could help you feel better, I would.”
“It would make me feel better if you come be my nurse,” he says, voice hoarse but playful. “In a nice, low-cut blouse.”
I laugh. Not even a fever can stop Gio from being a flirt.
“We’re on the way back now. I’ll come keep you company if Lorenzo doesn’t have a ton of work for me.”
“Hurry. The way I’m feeling right now, today might be my last.”
Men are such big babies when they’re sick. “You’ll live. God would never take the best Castello first. See you soon.”
Stefano lets out a snort as I hang up. “It’s comical that you think that bastard has a chance in heaven. Don’t let the boyish charm fool you. That man has done things that made even me blush.”
“Yet, if we could ask God right now, I bet He’d say Gio’s chances next to yours are about a hundred to one.”
He doesn’t say a word, but his stare drills into the side of my face with a pressure that demands attention. It speaks louder than any threat he could voice.
I turn to meet his gaze. “What?”
“Are you trying to save someone’s life again?”
Shit. I force a frown. “What do you mean?”
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” His tone tightens. “You’ve been stalling. Deflecting. What did you get out of that waitress? The one who skittered around like a frightened mouse all afternoon. You went after her, didn’t you?”
Dammit. I’d hoped he hadn’t noticed. The others surely hadn’t. But he’s Stefano Castello—paranoia and hyper-vigilance in a perfectly tailored suit. Of course he noticed.
‘Arriving early gives me an advantage To see things others don’t.’
Of course it does. He probably clocked her nervous energy long before I did.
When I stay silent, still stalling to buy that unfortunate waitress a few more precious minutes to run, he places a hand on my knee.
Not a grip. Not a squeeze.
Just rested there. Warm. Light. Casual.
But somehow, more threatening than a hammer to the kneecap.
“Tell. Me.”
Good luck, Kimone. I hope you get to safety in time.
“Well,” I say, reaching into my cleavage, “it’s like I said...between you and Gio, he’s clearly God’s favorite.” I pull out the vial and hold it up. “Because he was supposed to die today.”
Stefano’s jaw locks as he stares at the clear liquid. Rage simmers in his eyes, hot and clawing, creeping in like flames beneath the surface. “Her name is Kimone Blanchard. She has an eight-year-old daughter in the hospital, waiting on a heart transplant.”
Wow. He knows her by name and plight.
“Your adversary has shown they aren’t above threatening the life of a sick child just to get a terrified mom to do their dirty work,” I say, unable to hide the disgust from my voice. “Despicable cowards.”
“Raya, that staff is a team that’s been carefully vetted and hand-selected to serve at all our private meetings and functions,” Stefano says, his voice tight. “They sign NDAs. They’re paid handsomely for their discretion, for their loyalty. Their contracts state that we are responsible for them and will protect them if ever needed. We know everything about them. We surveil them routinely. And they know this, Raya.”
His eyes burn into mine.
“You saw who was at that table today. We don’t sit and eat unless we trust those serving us. Today, that trust was violated. I don’t give a damn what she was threatened with. Kimone has been under contract with us for years. She knew she could’ve come to us for help. She fucking knew. But she didn’t, did she? Instead, she showed up with the intention to kill my family to save hers.”
“Maybe she—”
“RAYA!” he snaps, all patience gone.
That single, rage-soaked bark, and the vein pulsing at his temple, is enough to shut me up. Taking on his wrath right now is not worth it.
As much as I understand Kimone’s plight and fear, I understand Stefano’s anger more. Gio—someone I’ve come to genuinely care about—could have died today.
“By the way,” Stefano adds, voice cooling into something far more dangerous, “I already had people waiting to grab her, even before you spoke to her. I knew she was up to something. I just didn’t think it would be this fucking stupid. What happens to her now will be Gio’s choice, not yours.”
Fine. Whatever. I have my own battles to fight.
When I don’t argue, his eyes narrow in suspicion, trying to read behind my silence, as if he thinks I’m up to something.
I’m not.
Do I hate casualties of war? Yes. But I’m not Mother Teresa. I’m nobody’s savior.
In wars and power struggles, people like Kimone always end up as collateral damage.
There’s no escaping that.
Stefano eventually pulls his distrustful glare from me and taps the back of Oscar’s headrest. “Black Gold.”
“Black Gold?” I ask. “Can’t you drop me at the villa first?”
He ignores me.
In the silence, my stomach growls. Loudly. Thanks to my overactive metabolism, I have a voracious appetite. Hunger hits hard every one to two hours, and when ignored, it tanks both my mood and brain function. Throws everything off-kilter.
“Can we at least stop somewhere so I can grab something to eat?” I ask.
Again, nothing. It’s like I’m invisible.
He’s clearly still brassed off. But if I don’t get fed soon, we both will be.
My stomach grumbles all the way to Black Gold.
Oscar parks outside the private back entrance of the building and Stefano gets out without a word.
Expecting Oscar to take me back to the villa, I stay put.
But then, Stefano snaps his fingers at me like the asshole he is, holding the door open.
“I’m coming in with you?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I say so.”
Ah, for Pete’s sake. I don’t have the energy to fight him right now.
With a reluctant sigh, I slide across the leather seats and climb out of the car.
And then the brute has the nerve to take my hand in his.
Slowly, I look up at him, but he stares straight ahead, jaw set, expression unreadable, as he escorts me into the building. His men nod in deference as we pass, and a few flick their gaze to our joined hands, eyes squinting with interest.
I scowl at Stefano the entire elevator ride to his office.
Only once we’re inside does he release my hand, but his heat lingers on my skin. I resist the urge to raise my palm to my face and soak it up like a pathetic simp.
“Go. Sit,” he commands, gesturing to his massive desk. “Use my computer to type up the meeting minutes, then send it through the encrypted server to everyone who was in attendance.”
Stefano’s office is exactly what one would expect for a man like him—overly large, unapologetically sumptuous, with hunter-green and gold accents. It smells like log fire, lavender, and frost. An interesting combination.
Not a window in sight.
Unlike Lorenzo’s office, which overlooks the casino, this place is sealed off from the world. Which tells me this is where he goes when he wants to be away from everything and everyone.
Glancing at the sleek desk and the glowing computer, I ask, “Are you sure you want to give that kind of access to a ‘foxy little liar’ like me? This devious Delilah who’s after your secrets?”
“Only because I want you to prove me right.” He steps closer and presses a single finger to the center of my forehead. “Give me just one reason to put a bullet right here.”
I lean into his touch with a smile. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re obsessed with me.”
