Siena rose from her chair the moment she saw her husband entering the mansion. Though Cristiano’s steps were steady and controlled, she could tell he was drunk from his appearance. His bloodshot eyes, the deadly dark expression on his face, his disheveled hair, the loosened tie hanging low, his half-tucked shirt, and the jacket dangling carelessly from his hand—all betrayed his state.
Before coming home, Cristiano had parked his car on a deserted street and drank until he couldn’t feel a thing. Even when his bodyguards offered to drive him home, he stubbornly refused, insisting on driving himself, as if he had no fear of death—as if he were daring it to take him and end the misery this life had given him.
When he finally arrived home, he expected the house to be quiet, everyone asleep, s
