I Brought the Don Back to Burn My Husband novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Hidden Woman

The household meets Lucian's secret woman, Mara quietly takes over his food and pills, and Conway arrives at the gate.

I woke in a bed that wasn't mine, in a room on the east side of the house, with rain still on the window.

Someone knocked twice and came in without waiting.

It was the woman from the study, carrying a tray piled with towels, a robe, a plate of eggs and a pair of wool slippers.

"You must be Mara," she said. "I'm Renata, Aldo's wife. Lucian told me last night you'd arrived."

She said it plainly, with a warm, tired smile.

"I put you in the east wing because it's quiet," she said. "And because it's the only room in this house with a lock that works."

"Thank you," I said.

"Don't thank me. Thank him for finally having someone to fuss over." She put the slippers at the foot of the bed. "He needs it. Three months of men in suits coming to look at him and measure the room."

I liked her at once, which I noted and set aside.

"Lucian's breakfast," I said. "I'd like to make it myself."

Renata laughed. "Already particular. Good. I'll show you the kitchen."

The kitchen was white tile and copper pans, with a cook already working at the far counter.

On the shelf over the kettle stood a plain tin, dented at one corner.

"That's his tea," Renata said. "A blend from an importer Aldo found, gentle on the heart. I make every cup myself. Since the accident, it's the one thing I can do for him."

"I'll take over that, too," I said.

She looked at me with her head tilted. Then she smiled again.

"Jealous already. Fine. Take it."

I put the tin under my arm and made his eggs with my own hands.

The cook watched me and said nothing.

Lucian was awake in the sitting room off his bedroom, dressed in a dark shirt, with a dead man's leather case open on the table.

"Shut the door," he said.

I did.

I laid out the stethoscope. I put his plate beside the tin on the sill, where I could see both.

"Shirt," I said.

He undid the buttons and sat back.

His chest was lean and scarred, and his skin was warm under the cold metal.

I listened.

His heart was slow and wrong. I moved the disc and listened again.

"You're staring at my face," he said quietly.

"I'm checking your breathing."

"You're not looking at the chest."

My eyes had gone to his mouth. I put them back on the stethoscope.

"Turn," I said.

He turned. The back of his ribs rose and fell under my hand, and his pulse beat in my palm, stronger than it should have been, and faster.

"Your heart rate is up," I said.

"I know why."

He didn't say why. I didn't ask.

What I thought was that I would have said something I'd regret.

"No more tea until I've tested the tin," I said. "Eggs, toast, water from a sealed bottle. I'll bring all of it myself."

"And the pills?"

"Which pills?"

He pointed to a silver organizer by the bed. Seven slots, one for each day.

I opened Monday. Two white capsules, one blue.

I checked the other six days. Every slot held the same three capsules.

"These are vitamins," Lucian said.

"Maybe."

I put the organizer in my bag.

A man cleared his throat in the doorway.

Aldo Ruggiero filled most of it. He had his brother's jaw and none of his silence.

His gold watch caught the light as he crossed his arms.

"So this is her," he said. "My brother stops dying and finds a hobby."

"Good morning," I said.

"Does the hobby have a name?"

"Mara."

"Mara what?"

"Just Mara."

His eyes went from my robe to the tin under my arm.

"Lucian," he said, without taking them off me, "your hobby is in the kitchen. Renata says she took the tea."

"I wanted to make it for him," I said. "Isn't that what a woman does?"

Aldo laughed once, short.

"Careful, sweetheart. He's got a lot of people who like to look after him."

"I'm sure he does," I said.

Lucian leaned back with his shirt open and his eyes half closed and let the silence stretch until Aldo left.

The door clicked shut behind him, and I kept my face still.

Then the big guard came in without knocking, which none of them did, and for once he looked unsure.

"Don Ruggiero," he said. "There's a man at the front gate."

"Who?"

"A Mr. Conway Driscoll. He says he's her husband."

He looked at me.

"He has a lawyer with him," he said. "And a police captain."

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