Page 13

Chapter Twelve

Rafaele

I fucked up—royally. And that's not something I do. Ever . But I feel as useless as Leo, stumbling through life like a damn fool. It’s like there are two versions of me now, and I fucking hate it. The cold, calculating Rafaele Lucchese, the one who owns this world—that’s who I am. That’s who I like being. But then there’s this other guy, the one who showed up the moment Nora came into my life and picked me.

I wanted to snuff him out at first, choke him down, but when I carried her last night, her soft, warm body tucked against mine, I couldn’t stop staring at her. Her lips… fuck, those lips. I wanted to kiss them more than I wanted to take my next breath.

That version of me, the one who wants her? He’s clawing his way out, and part of me wonders what would happen if I just let him loose.

I laid her down in bed, but I didn’t leave. I stood there, staring at her like a man possessed. My chest tightened with this ache I didn’t recognize. I brushed my fingers against her skin—soft, warm, perfect.

"What the hell are you doing to me?" I whispered. And she leaned into my touch like she belonged there.

I almost dropped to my knees.

Because for the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure I wanted to fight it.

Then I saw her computer open, the screen dim but alive. I’m not sure what possessed me in that moment, but I swiped my finger on the trackpad, and it flickered to life. No password.

My wife… was too trusting. Wife —there it is again, that fucking strange sense of belonging, of longing, that I don’t want to feel. I stared at the screen, my gut twisting and being drawn to something I couldn’t understand. Then…

“What’s the emergency?”

Thank God for the interruption.

I look up to see Paolo standing in the doorway of my office at the club.

“Thanks for coming so fast, but I never said it was an emergency,” I reply, closing my laptop and pushing the unsettling thoughts away.

Paolo shakes his head. “I got it from the tone of your text.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I just said, ‘Can you come to the club, please? I need to talk to you.’”

“Exactly!” He drops into the seat across from my desk, grinning like a damn fool. “You never say please.”

I roll my eyes. “I need your help with something.”

“Did Alexei come back with names already?” Paolo jumps right in, his expression turning serious.

I sigh, feeling the conversation getting away from me. “No, it’s not about the Russians.”

“Is it that thing at your brother’s club a couple of nights ago? I thought that was already handled.”

I frown. Drama at Leo’s strip club? What the hell did I miss? “No, but we’ll circle back to that later.”

“Is it?—?”

“Would you let me finish?” I snap, irritation bubbling up. I’m starting to wonder if asking Paolo for help was an act of desperation more than anything else.

He raises his hands in surrender, but the amusement still dances in his eyes. “Alright, alright. I’m listening.”

“It’s about Nora. But,” I raise my hand to stop him before he can say anything, “I’d appreciate it if you toned down the sarcasm and the amusement. I’m not in the mood, and I swear you’ll leave this room with a few teeth missing—best friend or not.”

He gives me a mock-serious nod and makes a zipping motion across his mouth. I sigh internally, knowing this is probably the best I’m going to get with him.

“I think things are… shifting between us.”

“You and me, or you and her?” Paolo asks, barely keeping a straight face.

I scowl, the irritation rising more. “Can you not be an asshole for five minutes?”

He actually pauses as if considering the challenge, then sighs. “Fine. In what way?”

“I spent some time with her last night, and instead of shying away from me, she seemed to actually enjoy my company. She even told me she liked my voice.” I clear my throat, the compliment making me feel uncomfortable, and rub at my jaw. “She seems to… I don’t know.”

“Like you?” Paolo finishes, raising an eyebrow.

I nod, not sure what else to say.

“Do you like her?” His grin makes me narrow my eyes at him, but I can’t just give him half the story now.

“I respect her. She’s my wife, after all. But the more time I spend with her, the more it feels… physical. And it’s unsettling.”

The mocking disappears from his face, and I’m thankful for it. “I get it. It’s all new. You’ve never felt this way about anyone before, but she’s not just any woman. She’s your wife. The best person to take that plunge with.”

“I’m not about to force myself on her,” I grind out, unsure if it’s the fear talking. The idea that for the first time I feel something deeper for a woman, it might end in rejection.

Paolo leans back in his chair, giving me a look. “You’re making it very hard for me not to mock you, brother. You really are.” He rubs his chin for a moment. “But I think she’s lying to herself as much as she’s lying to you. I think she came that night with every intention to pick your brother.”

The thought stings. Jealousy hits me so hard it steals my breath.

“But,” Paolo continues, “I think she felt something—a connection. You told me you talked about books before she picked you.”

“We did, but it was trivial—just Leo making a fool of himself.”

“But you intervened. I think, deep down, you wanted her to choose you.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the words don’t come. I can’t deny it. I did want that. God help me, I did.

“She’s just as lost as you are,” Paolo says. “She’s lived a sheltered life—whether by choice or not, I can’t say.”

“It was by choice,” I say with certainty. “She’s different. Unassuming but interesting, curious and smart.” I lean back in my chair, feeling the reality of my own words. “I could talk about anything with her. She’s curious by nature, and her mind is… endless.” My voice softens. “Did you know she can bake? And really well. She’s kind too. Knows all the staff by name and helps them with things. Rizzo’s granddaughter turned twelve, and he panicked because he forgot. Nora handled it—sorted out whatever it was, got the gift delivered to him.”

“She’s not just beautiful,” I continue, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “She’s?—”

“Yours?” Paolo finishes, his tone teasing but with an edge of truth I can’t ignore.

I pause, feeling the weight of that word. Mine . The thought lingers between us, heavier than I’m ready for. She is mine—by arrangement, by name, by every vow we exchanged. But it feels more complicated than that. More personal.

“Yeah,” I finally admit, the truth slipping out. “She’s mine. At least on paper.” But that’s not enough—not anymore. I want her to be mine in every sense of the word, and I have no clue how to make that happen.

Paolo smirks knowingly. “Then stop worrying about it so much and start acting like it. You don’t need all the answers, Rafa. You just need to stop standing on the sidelines and go for it. She picked you for a reason.”

I lean back further, the enormity of everything pressing down. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

Paolo leans forward, smirking like he’s been waiting for this conversation all day. “Where to begin? Oh, I don’t know, maybe try talking to her instead of brooding like a damn gargoyle.”

I shoot him a glare. “I do talk to her.”

“Grunting doesn’t count, Rafa. You’re not a caveman. Use actual words, make an effort. Hell, maybe even throw in a compliment or two. You might surprise yourself.”

I roll my eyes, but a small smirk tugs at my lips. “What, you’re the expert on relationships now?”

He leans back with a satisfied grin. “No, but I’ve read a couple of romance novels. Seemed like a good way to pick up tips.”

“Romance novels?”

“What? They’re educational,” he says with a wink. “I know you read them too. Don’t lie.”

I let out a half laugh, half groan. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Ah, classic Rafaele avoidance tactic,” he says, dramatically waving his hands. “Fine, fine. We’ll circle back to the saga of your love life later. But hey, at least you didn’t deny it.”

I roll my eyes again, but there’s a sense of something lighter between us now, the tension easing just a bit. “Let’s get back to business. I want to circle back to Leo.”

Paolo’s grin fades, replaced by a serious look. “Yeah, about Leo… there’s a rumor going around.”

“Of course there’s a rumor. There’s always a rumor with Leo.”

“No, this one’s serious.” Paolo sits up, his tone more sober than before. “There’s talk that he’s letting the cartel deal in the strip club. Taking a cut of the profits.”

I sit up straighter, my jaw tightening. “The cartel?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “He’s letting them push products, and he’s getting a percentage. It’s not small stuff either.”

A slow burn of anger coils in my chest. “Why the hell would he be stupid enough to get involved with the cartel?”

Paolo shrugs. “You know your brother. Never saw a bad idea he didn’t like. Money’s probably the main motivation, but I think he’s also trying to show he’s got his own thing going. Proving he’s more than just ‘the useless brother.’”

“He’s going to get himself killed.” I rub a hand across my face, the frustration eating at me. “Or worse—drag the whole famiglia into it.”

Paolo nods, his expression grim. “You need to handle this, Rafa. Before it gets out of control.”

I grind my teeth, my mind already racing with the possibilities. “I’ll handle it. I always do, but for tonight, I have dinner to attend.”

The day slips through my fingers like sand, the hours blurring together as I juggle work and trying to uncover just how deep my brother's stupidity runs. I also have to make sure none of this reaches my father’s ears, or Leo’s recklessness will come down on all of us like a hammer. By the time I get home, I'm barely holding it together, my frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

As I step inside, I see Nora by the door, already dressed and grabbing her coat. The car’s waiting outside, engine idling.

“Where are you going?” The words come out sharper than I intended.

She takes a small step back, her eyes widening just a fraction, and I curse myself internally. Great, Rafaele. Way to make her feel comfortable around you.

“Dinner with my parents?” Her voice is cautious, almost uncertain.

I take a breath, forcing myself to calm down… to let go of the weight of the day. “I told you I was coming.”

“I know, but I thought you’d changed your mind, or maybe you were too busy. It’s okay, really.”

“And I wouldn’t have called to tell you?” I shake my head, irritation at myself creeping in. “Don’t answer that. Let’s just go.”

She watches me for a moment, like she’s deciding her next move, then nods. “Okay.”

We step out into the cool evening air, and I open the car door for her. Small gestures, I remind myself. Start with the small things. We drive in silence for a while, but the secret I uncovered and Paolo’s words hover in the back of my mind now that the noise of business is fading.

“How was your day? Are you feeling better?” I glance her way, trying to gauge her mood.

She nods. “Yes, it was a good day. Nothing exciting.”

“Would anything make it more exciting?” I ask, hoping for some sort of opening. Tell me the truth , I think to myself. Come on, say it.

“Not that I can think of,” she replies quietly.

Damn it, Nora .

As we approach her parents' house, I break the silence again, unable to let it go. “You know, I don’t like liars. I can accept a lot, but I require absolute trust.”

She stiffens slightly but doesn’t turn to look at me. “I didn’t think you trusted me. We barely know each other.”

Good point. I ease off the gas, slowing the car despite the fact we’re running late. “I need a minimum of trust to share my space with someone,” I say, my voice low, trying not to sound confrontational but feeling the weight of the words.

I watch her out of the corner of my eye, hoping— needing —her to understand that I’m not just talking about surface-level trust. There’s more at stake here than either of us can admit yet.

“Of course,” she replies, but I’m not convinced.

A thought crosses my mind, trivial but gnawing at me. “When you came to my father’s house that night,” I begin, hesitating just a moment before diving in, “were you planning to pick me?”

It’s a ridiculous question, and I instantly regret it. I saw the email from Columbia on her computer when I carried her to bed, a far more important matter, but somehow, this question is what comes out. My words hang in the air, awkward and heavy.

She throws me a surprised glance, and I can’t blame her. The question is pointless, intrusive even. She doesn’t answer right away, and by the time I stop the car in front of her parents’ garage, I’m convinced she won’t.

But then she speaks.

“No,” she says quietly, shaking her head. “Honestly, I didn’t want to choose either of you. Leo seemed like the logical choice after hearing… well, you know.”

“That I’m a monster?”

She shrugs, her gaze lowering for a moment. “Something like that.”

My chest tightens, but I keep my voice steady. “Then why did you end up picking me?”

Her eyes dart around, clearly uncomfortable, as she fidgets in her seat. “Do you really want to talk about this right now?”

I don’t respond. Instead, I hold her gaze, silently telling her that yes, I want to know. If she opens the door and walks inside without answering, I won’t stop her, but something between us will break. I can feel it.

She sighs, leaning back, her eyes locking with mine again, and I’m struck once more by the strength behind them.

“Because I didn’t want my mother to be right,” she finally says. “There wasn’t going to be love for him or for you. But with him, I knew I’d be miserable.”

“But not with me?”

“I didn’t think so, no.”

I don’t miss the past tense in her response. Didn’t. I wonder when I’ve already screwed this up.

“When we talked about literature,” she continues, her voice softening, “you didn’t pretend. You weren’t playing a role, and I liked that. I thought maybe… maybe you and I could have something based on respect and understanding. Not one of those great love stories people write about, but at least something amicable.”

I tilt my head, studying her. There’s a fire in her, a passion I’ve seen in glimpses, and “amicable” seems too flat for a woman like her.

“And that’s enough for you? Amicable?”

Her lips press together, and she nods. “In the life we lead? It’s better than what my parents have. Better than what most people get.”

I lean back, my eyes narrowing slightly. “Why did you lie to me the night before our wedding?”

Her cheeks flush with embarrassment, a soft pink that spreads across her skin. She waves her hand, trying to brush it off. “I wasn’t lying—not really. I was angry… maybe unfairly. With how uninterested you seemed.”

I watch her, the pink hue deepening on her face, and I realize something. She wasn’t angry because I’m some cold-hearted monster. She was angry because she thought I didn’t care at all.

And that… that changes everything.

"You thought I wasn’t interested in you?" I ask, the words coming out rougher, deeper than I intended. The truth is, I’ve been too interested. Too unsettled.

She shrugs, but the gesture is stiff, her voice tight. “Not that you should be. Come on, let’s forget about it. It’s all stupid.”

She reaches for the door handle, ready to escape the conversation, ready to slip away before we can delve into what’s really happening between us. But I can’t let her go, not now. I reach out, my fingers circling her wrist, stopping her movement. The moment our skin touches, it feels like something electric pulses between us, snapping the air tight.

She turns back to me, her eyes wide, and I can’t look anywhere but at her lips, soft and glistening with the hint of her lip gloss, the curve of them making my breath catch in my throat. The way her chest rises and falls a little faster than before tells me she feels it too.

“You’re beautiful, Nora Lucchese,” I say, my voice low and thick with need. I don’t let go of her wrist, pulling her just a little closer, close enough to breathe in the faint scent of her—something sweet and warm that makes my head spin.

And then I stop thinking. I stop holding back. I stop resisting. Paolo’s words echo in my mind, urging me to stop standing on the sidelines.

I lean in, and for the first time, I don’t hesitate. My lips meet hers, gently at first, tasting her softness, savoring the sweetness of her mouth. But then the kiss deepens. It becomes more. My hand slides from her wrist to cup her cheek, pulling her closer as if I’m afraid she’ll disappear if I let go. Her lips part under mine, and the heat between us ignites, the need burning between us more than I expected.

It’s a kiss filled with everything I’ve held back—all the tension, all the unspoken words, the hunger for something I didn’t even know I wanted. Her hands slide up my chest, tentative at first, but then she grips the front of my jacket, pulling me closer, matching the fire of my kiss.

Her breath hitches against my mouth, and it drives me wild. I angle my head, deepening the kiss, my tongue brushing against hers, tasting her fully. It’s hot, it’s desperate, and it’s everything I’ve been needing. She melts into me, and I lose myself in her, in the feel of her lips, the soft moan escaping her throat.

My hand slides into her hair, tilting her head just a little, needing more, always more. The feel of her skin under my fingers, the warmth of her body pressed against mine—it consumes me. Every second pulls me deeper and makes me crave more of her. The world around us fades, and it's just us, wrapped in this kiss, in this moment that feels like it was a lifetime in the making.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless, our lips still brushing, neither of us wanting to let go completely.

Her eyes flutter open, her lips swollen and glistening from the kiss, and she looks up at me like she’s as stunned as I am. Like she’s feeling everything I am, and it terrifies us both.

I press my forehead to hers, our breaths mingling in the small space between us.

“Tell me that wasn’t stupid,” I whisper, my voice hoarse with want, with need.

Her lips quirk into the smallest, most beautiful smile. “No,” she whispers back, her voice soft, “it wasn’t stupid at all.”

But before I can lean down to kiss her again, the security light outside comes on, blinding us. I turn around to see her mother staring at us from the window, a glass of alcohol in her hand, her expression unreadable.

"We better go. We’re more than late." Nora sighs, her voice tinged with reluctance. I don’t stop her this time as she opens the door and steps out of the car.

I walk close beside her as we head to the front door, my mind racing. I’m tempted to take her hand, but once again, I overthink it.

The taunting voice in my head—probably sounding a lot like my brother—mocking me, the great Reaper, the cold, calculated killer, giving himself an aneurysm over whether or not to hold his wife’s hand. God, I’m pathetic.

I brush the back of my hand against hers, testing the waters, but before I can take it, the door swings open. Her father stands there, eyeing her critically, his gaze sweeping over her like he’s measuring something.

I fight the urge to tell him to tone down the fake concern. He’s the one who practically blackmailed my father into this deal, and I’m still curious to know what leverage he has over my old man. I’ll find out eventually—no secret stays buried forever.

I glance at Nora, who’s smiling stiffly, a mask of politeness. Speaking of secrets, I have to remember—my wife still has a few of her own. And I intend to uncover each one.

“I baked a cake,” Nora says, nudging the bag I hadn't noticed she was holding.

“Sweetheart, that was not necessary. We don’t need more cake now, do we?” her mother replies, her tone dripping with thinly veiled condescension.

Nora's shoulders slump, and I feel the polite, considerate guest I’d planned to be fade into the background. If I have to be The Reaper with my in-laws, then so be it. No one hurts my wife. Blood or not.

“Why was it not necessary?” I ask, my voice dropping into a cold, familiar edge that makes most men rethink their choices.

Nora reaches for my hand, giving it a squeeze, and I glance down, surprised at the gesture. More surprised at how much I like it.

“Nonsense, cake is always necessary,” she says quickly, her voice lightening the mood. “And if you don’t want any, I’m sure Donna and the staff will love it. I’ll be right back.” She smiles, disappearing down the corridor.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, I turn my glare toward her mother. She takes an instinctive step back.

“Next time my wife brings you a cake,” I say, my voice ice cold, “I would strongly advise you to say, ‘Fantastic, thank you.’”

Her mother's eyes widen, and her face pales, but she doesn’t say anything.

That’s better.

For a brief moment, I wonder if she’ll have the nerve to say something back. But no words come, just the tension of someone who's been called out and knows they can’t win. Good. She won’t push Nora like that again—not while I’m around.

I hear quiet footsteps, and I let my gaze soften just as Nora returns. She smiles, the tension in her own shoulders easing as she sees the awkward silence between her mother and me has passed—at least for now.

“Everything alright?” she asks, looking between the two of us.

I nod. “Just fine. Your mother was saying how much she’s looking forward to trying the cake.”

Her mother forces a smile, though the strain behind it is obvious. “Yes, dear. It sounds lovely.”

Nora looks relieved. “Great! Let’s eat then. Donna told me she made my favorite!”

As we sit down, I notice Nora’s shoulders are still a little tense, but the small smile she gives me, full of gratitude, warms something inside me. Maybe I don’t need to hold her hand to show her I’m on her side. Words and actions like these will do for now.

Because one thing’s for sure—I’m not letting anyone make her feel less than she is.

Not even her family.