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16

ADELINA

R ain drizzles down like fine mist, soaking into any piece of clothing not safe under one of the large, black umbrellas. My shoes pinch at my ankles and squeeze my toes, this skirt is too tight around my hips, and one of my hairpins sits at an odd angle against my scalp.

I force a smile through it all because the moment I stop focusing on keeping this smile in place, I’ll break down into a puddle of tears and I’ll barely be able to make it home.

Marie’s funeral isn’t anything like I imagined. We joked sometimes that funerals should be filled with light and laughter, a celebration of life rather than mourning the loss. Marie told me once that she wanted a really crazy song to play while she was being cremated, something that would be horrifying at the time but hilarious as a memory.

I wanted to give her that. I wanted to give her everything she would have loved, but this time, it was out of my control.

Marie’s parents planned the funeral after Raffaele delivered the news that their daughter had died in a terrible accident. A car crash. I’d wanted to be there when he told them, but when we arrived at their place, I couldn’t get out of the car.

Raffaele broke the news for me and stayed with them for a few hours to comfort them. Meanwhile, I sat in the car, willing myself to go inside, but I couldn’t.

How could I face them after what I’d done?

Raffaele spent the past two weeks telling me that what happened wasn’t my fault. We were victims of a terrible, random attack, and the blame doesn’t rest with me. None of his words have shifted the guilt that sits like a smothering weight in my chest. He means well, but his constant reassurance has resulted in a few explosive arguments over these past two weeks.

Sometimes, I blame him. If he hadn’t forbidden me from leaving without permission, I never would have snuck out with Marie and hidden as well as I did.

Sometimes, I blame my father. If he hadn’t married me off, I never would have been in a position where I felt like I had to escape.

Then I blame Raffaele again because if he hadn’t killed Carlos, none of this ever would have happened. The blame cycles around in a loop before settling back where it belongs.

With me.

I made those choices. I ran away and invited Marie out with me. I chose the last club we went to. It was all me, and now my best friend is dead.

Those thoughts spin like a record in my mind, weaving through all the words of sympathy that flow from friends and family around me. The ground glistens with the constant rain, and I stare down at my shoes as I press my toes down into the softening mud.

Marie’s parents stand nearby, deep in conversation with Raffaele, which surprises me. When we arrived here a few hours ago, he was glued to my side and remained there throughout the entire ceremony. His presence was a comfort when my mind wasn’t venomously blaming him for her death. Marie’s parents chose to have her buried rather than cremated like I knew she’d prefer, and I didn’t have the heart to tell them how wrong their choices were.

They lost their daughter. I can’t tell them how to grieve.

Although, a small part of me is glad.

This way, I’ll have a headstone to visit when I want to see her again.

“Can I get you anything?” Caterina, my newest bodyguard, steps under my umbrella and flashes me a small, sympathetic smile. “A drink? A tissue?”

I shake my head, unable to speak for fear that the grief will pour out of me like vomit. Caterina runs her eyes over me and then nods, just once, before stepping back.

She’s been so kind to me since Raffaele gave her to me. She’s told me wild stories of other people she’s protected over the years, like princes in other countries and foreign diplomats. She joined Raffaele’s family a couple of years ago after her brother’s death. Raffaele helped her get revenge against the Russian who murdered him, and she’s been loyal to him ever since. Now, she’s loyal to me.

And it comforts me that she’s a woman.

It’s strange how my world shifted after the attack. I need medication to sleep. Sometimes, I can’t breathe when Raffaele isn’t with me, and other times, his presence disgusts me. He’s been calm about both those attitudes, allowing me to process in the ways I need.

Knowing that my kidnappers are dead brings me great comfort, but sometimes I lie awake at night wishing I could have watched them die so I’d know for certain that they will never find me again.

I still shower multiple times a day. It’s a habit I need to break since my sensitive skin is screaming at me, but all it takes is a single flash of memory and I need to scrub myself clean. It’s painful but it works.

For now.

Faces drift past me, offering their condolences for my loss, and then they move to Marie’s parents. Her mother hasn’t stopped crying. When we met in the church, she hugged me so tightly that I couldn’t breathe and told me how wonderful it was that Marie had someone like me in her life.

The guilt weighs heavily.

I close my eyes and focus on the sound of the rain pattering against the stone slabs nearby. It’s a soft sound, but it grounds me against the waves of grief crashing against my determination not to break down today. I owe Marie that much, at least.

As I listen, words from Raffaele catch my attention.

“… understand completely. Times like these make it really important for us to cherish the ones we love. I can’t do anything to ease the pain you are feeling, but I can promise you that you will be taken care of for the rest of your lives.”

“Thank you,” Marie’s mother sobs.

“Marie must have left quite the impression,” her father says gruffly. “We can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for the funeral, and for us.”

“Please, it’s no problem. Don’t even mention it.”

I open my eyes. Raffaele has Marie’s father’s hand clasped in his own as they shake, and his face is filled with sympathy.

Does he mean it?

Will he really take care of them like that when they are strangers to him? Confusion twists in my gut while I try to work out why he would do such a thing, but I don’t have time to fully analyze it as another old friend appears to offer their sympathies.

My smile remains in place until something cracks in my mind and I want to leave.

Raffaele is right there with me the moment I voice that desire, and I use the last of my strength to say goodbye to Marie’s parents.

The tears come the second we’re in the car. My head falls into my hands, and I weep quietly, trembling violently until I can’t breathe through my stuffy nose and swollen eyes. Only then do I lift my head while the car weaves silently through the rain-soaked city.

Raffaele sits next to me, watching me intently. Seeing me lift my head, he reaches toward me with a tissue, and a painful reflex causes me to flinch away.

“Sorry,” I whisper, reaching for the tissue in his hand.

“Don’t be,” he replies calmly. “I take no offense.”

“You should,” I murmur, irritated by his understanding. “You’ve done nothing to me, yet I flinch away from you.”

Raffaele’s hand slowly returns to his lap. “We’re not in control of our trauma responses, so having ill feelings toward you because of that would be pretty fucked up.”

I dab at my eyes with the tissues, wincing as splotches of mascara smear the cotton.

Waterproof, my ass .

Sniffling, I try to wipe away the tears, but they continue to fall as my heart aches painfully in my chest. “Did you…?” I start to speak, but my crying has made my throat raw. Coughing softly, I try again. “I heard you telling Marie’s parents you’d take care of them. Did you mean it?”

Raffaele’s brow lifts slightly. “Of course I did.”

“Why?” I ask bluntly. “They’re nothing to you.”

Raffaele sighs softly, glancing briefly out the window at the passing gray city. “I take care of collateral damage where I can. Marie’s parents are as innocent as her in all of this.”

“But you kill innocent people all the time.” The words escape me with little thought. “Since when did you care?”

Raffaele’s hand flexes against his thigh. “You have quite the monstrous view of me.”

“Your reputation speaks for itself.” Am I trying to start an argument to make myself feel better? I can’t tell. Part of me wants him to be angry, to yell at me and blame me so I can feel justified in my guilt. But ever since my rescue, he’s been nothing but sweet and considerate. It’s almost like he genuinely cares.

“My reputation is carefully crafted,” Raffaele replies. “With care and dedication. But you’ve been around me for some time now. Do you really still believe everything you’ve heard about me?”

“You slaughter families.” My tone grows sharp. “You’ve cut down countless people in your thirst for power. From small families just trying to get by, to larger ones in power. No one is safe for you. And you leave no one left alive, not even the house staff. When you target someone, you kill them all without mercy. You’re like the black death, going from door to door and slaughtering everyone inside. Innocent blood spills and you celebrate.”

Raffaele’s jaw tightens, causing the nerve to jump above his jaw, but he continues to watch me. “No one in the Mafia is innocent,” he replies. “I can’t give you all the details, but anyone who has died under my hand has deserved it in some way. And yes, you are correct. I’ll kill everyone. The man of the house might be a murderer who favors young girls. He dies, and so does his wife who looks the other way when she hears those girls screaming for mercy. I’ll kill the guards who hold her down, the staff who lock the doors and clean the sheets afterward, the driver who delivered the girl, and the guards who bury the body.”

“And if there are children?” I snap. “You’ve killed children too.”

“Have I?” Raffaele asks in a strange tone, as if the concept is alien to him. “I didn’t know that.”

“Why, because you’ve killed so many?”

“It seems my reputation has a life of its own now,” he replies calmly.

He talks as if half of what I’ve heard isn’t true. Maybe he thinks he can pretend with me or act like he’s not the monster I know him to be.

Then again, this is the man who killed for me. He rescued me from that hellhole, bathed me with his own hands, and held me throughout the night. He feeds me, comes when I call, and has taken every second of my angry, guilt-filled outbursts. He hasn’t complained. He hasn’t pushed back. He’s just been here.

He’s becoming this sweet, kind man who doesn’t fit with everything else I know.

Unless he was always this way and I just never noticed.

Dabbing at my eyes, I turn away from Raffaele as my grief gives way to new, different feelings. Underneath the pain is something else I can’t quite name. This intense urge to be near him to feel safe rises constantly, and when he’s not with me, I almost feel panicked. Is this just infatuation because he saved my life or is it something else?

I certainly never felt this way about Carlos.

What is wrong with me?

Briefly, I close my eyes and will the tears away. The leather beside me creaks and Raffaele clears his throat.

“There’s something you need to know.”

I open my eyes and look across at him. “What is it?”

“We’re going on a trip soon. For the summer, to get you away from all of… this .”

“Where are we going?”

“Italy. We’ll be staying at one of the vineyards I own.”

“Is it business related?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you taking me?”

Raffaele looks visibly surprised. “I would never leave you behind.”

“Oh.” I’m used to my father leaving on trips that last a long time. Raffaele wanting me to be with him is different but not unpleasant. It’s just a surprise.

“But for you, this trip is so you can relax. Take time for yourself. I want you to be happy, Adelina.”

I scoff softly and turn away as my mood sours, and the urge to hide away from the world rises in the absence of my tears. “Y’know, if you’d ever cared about people being happy, you never would have murdered my fiancé. He was innocent, by the way. Not that you’d care.”