Page 54 of Unholy Union
I reach for it, hoping to carefully piece it back together, when I realize there’s something in the bottom portion of the cross. Some sort of powdery substance with a distinct bitter stench.
“What the…” I mutter, bringing it up to my nose, then I gasp again.
The rosary isn’t a rosary at all.
It’s really some kind of vial to hide substances inside, and as I go for a second whiff, I’m pretty sure the bitter white powder stashed away iscyanide.
I’m not sure what shocks me more—that Nella gifted me a rosary with cyanide or that she’d have one in her possession in the first place.
Our housemaid has always been a sweet older Italian woman who cooks the most amazing meals and gives the best hugs. What the hell is she doing handing out poison?
I think back to the morning she’d gifted me the rosary and her cryptic words…
“Bambina, vieni con me,” Nella muttered, grabbing me by the arm. “Not here. Your father hears too much.”
She dragged me away to the laundry room that was warm with the heat from the dryer and scented by all the fabric softener she used during the wash. She gently shut the door behind us and then turned to face me, digging inside the front pouch of her apron.
“Per il tuo matrimonio,” she said. She pressed a rosary into my hands, the faded silver-and-blue pendant practically an ancient antique. “Qualcosa di blu. Per protezione.”
I frowned, my brows connecting.
“Quando le preghiere non bastano più,” she added.
I still wasn’t sure I understood as Nella gave me a motherly kiss on the cheek and then curled my fingers shut over the rosary resting in my palm.
“Keep it on you at all times,” she said, switching to English.
…I hadn’t followed her instructions at all. I had forgotten about the rosary until now. Had Nella given me this because she knew I’d be desperate enough to use it at the Valentes?
I put a knife to Cato’s throat on our wedding night. It’s crossed my mind to explore other options of eliminating my husband.
Nella must’ve anticipated this. She just might’ve given me my best chance.
A small smile forms on my lips. I rise to my feet, tidying up the mess I’ve made in the closet and tucking the rosary into my bra for now.
Over the next hour as I shower and get ready for bed, I’m thinking over how best to use the new weapon I’ve been gifted.
It can’t be impulsive and abrupt, like the knife on our wedding night.
It would have to be subtle and as discreet as possible, in a way Cato wouldn’t see coming. But when I’m onhisturf, constantly monitored byhisstaff, with little to no freedom or say in anything I do, it sounds crazy.
Am I really going to poison my husband?!
Yes. Absofuckinglutely.
For Leo—and for myself.
I emerge from the clouds of steam in the bathroom more determined than ever. Dressed in a simple cotton nightgown and with curls still damp, I go wandering the halls of the Valente residence. My official excuse is I’m parched and in need of a glass of water.
But my real reason is a little recon.
While the rest of the Valentes are either out, like Cassian, or turned in for the night like Mr. and Mrs. Valente, my husband is stubbornly at work in his home office.
My bare feet pad across the smooth wooden floorboards on my way downstairs. I return to the second level with a cool glass of water, still innocently wandering the halls as I approach the sound of his clattering keyboard.
The door to his office is open, light spilling out into the otherwise dim hallway. I slow up as I pass by, glancing over briefly.
Cato’s face is fixed in concentration, his thick brows furrowed and dark hair slightly rumpled. He looks sexy like this, like he’s deep in thought, his gaze glued to his laptop screen. But I’m more concerned with the rest of the room—the dark, masculine decor and heavy wooden furniture,specificallythe minibar where he often fixes himself a drink.
