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Chapter Fourteen

Rafaele

I ’ve never been an impulsive man. At least, I didn’t use to be. But things have changed, and I’m not sure what’s worse—admitting that to myself or realizing that it all stems from her.

How else can I explain why I’m standing in the middle of her bedroom, uninvited, while she’s in the shower? It’s irrational. Stupid, even. But I’m here, and the longer I stand in this space, the more tangled I feel.

The Columbia issue has been grating at me for days. I’ve given her so many chances to come clean, to tell me about the acceptance letter I saw, but each night she stays silent. And I… I don’t push because a part of me doesn’t want to make her feel cornered. But I also don’t want her to let the opportunity slip through her fingers and end up resenting me for it—more than she already might.

That’s how I ended up here, pacing in her room, waiting for her to step out of the bathroom. The door is slightly ajar, and I can’t help but imagine her under the water, her skin glistening, the steam rising around her. It’s a thought that’s become disturbingly familiar. Something I’ve never dealt with before. Something I’m not prepared for.

My cock hardens at the mere idea of her, and it startles me like it always does lately. I take a step back, trying to get a grip, running a hand through my hair.

“This is a bad idea,” I mutter, eyes darting toward the door. I know I should leave. I’ve never been this reckless, never this… out of control. But even as I say the words, my feet remain rooted to the floor, waiting for something I can’t explain.

Before I can force myself to move, the bathroom door creaks open, and there she is—wrapped in a soft, white robe, damp hair falling in loose waves. She freezes, her wide eyes locking on mine. For a moment, the room holds its breath.

“Rafaele?” she whispers, her voice uncertain.

I meet her gaze, trying to pull myself together. But the frustration spills out before I can stop it. "Why didn’t you tell me?" My tone is sharper than I intended, but the irritation of being kept in the dark eats at me. It’s the not knowing, the feeling of being shut out.

Her face tightens, and I realize too late that I’ve pushed too hard. She looks paler like she’s bracing for something.

“It’s… nothing, really,” she says quietly, her voice more fragile than before. “Other people handle this just fine. It’s not life or death.”

“You’re not other people. You’re you .” My voice softens, but the frustration remains. "And it’s not nothing—it’s Columbia."

Her shoulders drop as a strange relief washes over her face. For a second, I regret bringing it up at all. She’s hiding something else, something deeper, and it’s there between us, just out of reach.

“Columbia?” she echoes, almost like she’s trying to make sense of the word.

I narrow my eyes. "Is there something else?"

“No,” she says quickly, shaking her head. But as she moves, the robe shifts, gaping just enough to reveal the curve of her breast, the pale skin beneath.

My cock twitches again, hardening further, and I feel the familiar confusion creeping in. How am I losing control like this? Why does it have to happen now? It’s never been like this before. I’ve never felt like this before.

I fight to keep my breathing steady, every nerve in my body hyperaware of her presence. I shouldn’t be thinking about her this way, not now, not ever… should I?

I take a step closer but stop myself. This is uncharted territory, and I’m drowning in it.

Her gaze lifts to mine, and for a split second, I see a reflection of something I recognize—uncertainty, maybe even fear. But there’s something else too… curiosity? Want?

And it makes me wonder, maybe for the first time, if I’m not the only one fighting this.

“How did you find out?” she asks, breaking the tension for a moment.

“Does it matter?” I snap, grateful for the distraction but still too aware of her standing there, the space between us charged with an undeniable pull.

“Well, what is there to discuss?” She shrugs, and as she moves, her robe opens just a little more, revealing the soft swell of her breast. “I’m married now. It’s a moot point.”

Dusty pink … The thought takes me by surprise, but now I know the color of her nipples. My cock twitches again, and I know I should tell her to cover herself and should turn this conversation back to where it started, but I can’t. The image of my mouth on her, tasting her skin, overtakes me. I know that tonight, I’ll be alone with these thoughts, reliving this moment.

I clear my throat and take a step back, desperate to block out the view, to stop this spiral of need that I’m not ready for.

“Do you want to do it?” My voice comes out rough, betraying the desire I’m barely holding back.

“Does it m?—”

“Do you want to do it?” I insist, cutting her off. I need her to focus on this, not on whatever tension is twisting between us right now.

She sighs, her frustration clear. “If I say yes, can I go? Would it even be practical?”

“Well, going all the way to the city for your classes and arranging your security will make it difficult.”

“See, what’s the p?—”

“But,” I cut her off again, holding her gaze, “if you ask the right questions, you’ll find out you can actually do the course remotely.” I don’t tell her about the extortionate donation that made this possible, and I definitely don’t mention how far I’m willing to go for her. “You’d only need to go for exams, which I’m more than happy to help accommodate.”

Her eyes widen, surprised by the revelation, and for a moment, the tension between us shifts—turning into something raw, something charged with both understanding and heat.

“You need to stop seeing me as the monster in your life, Nora,” I say, my voice low, gravelly, as the desire I’m fighting keeps inching closer to the surface. “I’ve told you time and time again—if you want or need something, you come and talk to me. I can’t read your mind.” Thank God she can’t read mine right now because the things circling in my head are far too lewd for this moment. “I know what I am. I own that, and frankly, I’m proud of it. But I’ve never shown you anything other than respect. So, do you want to do it?”

“Yes. Of course I do.” Her words come out in a rush.

“Good,” I say, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. “Thank God for that because I enrolled you this morning.”

Her smile, that same radiant smile she gave me when I brought her Fate, breaks across her face, and for a second, it’s everything. That smile could make any man, including myself, fall to his knees. And then, suddenly, she throws herself at me.

But this time, I don’t hesitate. I catch her, my arms wrapping around her tightly as I lift her, her legs instinctively curling around my waist. The instant press of her body against mine makes it impossible to hide how much I want her. My cock hardens even more, and I know she can feel it.

Before I can think, her lips crush against mine. The kiss is wild, desperate, our breaths mingling as we’re consumed by the intensity between us. This hunger has been simmering for far too long, and now it’s spilling over, burning us both.

Still holding her close, I step back until the bed hits my legs, then sit with her straddling me. The heat of her core presses against the hardness straining in my pants, the sensation so intense it borders on pain. I break the kiss, searching her face. Her pupils are blown wide, her blue eyes almost as dark as mine, her plump lips red and swollen.

Fuck, my wife is a goddess.

Keeping my gaze locked on hers, I slide my hands to her shoulders, easing her robe down to her waist. My eyes drop to her breasts, her nipples hard and begging for attention. I resist the urge to immediately suck one into my mouth, instead dragging the back of my hand across her sensitive skin. The way her breath catches, the soft gasp that escapes her, sends a thrill through me.

“You know we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” I murmur, my voice low and rough. “I don’t expect anything in return.” I pinch her nipple lightly between my fingers, earning a moan from her as she rocks her hips against me, soaking my pants with her arousal.

“I know,” she breathes out. “It would’ve been a terrible bargain since you’ve already given me what I wanted.”

“Good point.” I chuckle, leaning in to capture her nipple in my mouth. Her response is immediate, a louder moan spilling from her lips as I swirl my tongue around the stiff peak. Her grip on my shoulders tightens, and I can feel her body trembling with need.

I’m methodical, taking in every sound, every movement. I’ll use it all to learn what makes her fall apart. I’m determined to make her come, to bring her pleasure like no one else ever could. As I suck on her nipple, my hand drifts down to her thigh, my calloused fingers tracing the soft skin until they slip between her legs. She’s so wet—so ready—and my cock pulses painfully in response.

I press my thumb against her swollen clit, and she moans into my throat. Fuck. I thought her laugh was the most beautiful sound in the world, but her moans? They’re something else entirely, capable of bringing me to my knees.

I slide a finger inside her, and her soft walls clench around me like velvet. God, she’s perfect. She shifts in my lap, giving me more access, and I add another finger, earning another gasping moan from her.

“Rafaele,” she whimpers, her hips grinding against my hand. I rub her clit in tight circles with my thumb while my fingers thrust inside her, savoring every cry of pleasure. Her hands tangle in my hair, her body arching as she gives in to the sensation.

“God, yes… please!” Her words are a breathless plea, her body tightening around my fingers as I press harder on her clit. She lets out a guttural moan, and I know she’s close. I want to watch her fall apart.

I release her breast, my gaze locked on her flushed face, the sight of her unraveling pushing me to the edge. The moment her body tenses and she comes, a rush of pride fills me. I did this. I made my wife come. The thought excites me even more.

Without breaking eye contact, I bring my fingers to my mouth, tasting her. She’s sweet, intoxicating, and I crave more. I need more.

“This was—” she starts, but I stand abruptly, keeping her in my arms.

She lets out a startled squeal as I toss her gently onto the bed, her laughter bubbling up before I cut it off with a heated look.

“I’m not done with you yet,” I growl, the control I usually pride myself on long gone. I’m a man possessed, driven by the taste of her and the desire to worship her fully.

I kneel in front of her, something I’ve never done for anyone else, but for her? It feels right. Hooking her legs over my shoulders, I bury my face between her thighs, lapping at her arousal like a starving man. Every sound she makes, every shift of her hips, is a command, and I follow them all, determined to wring every ounce of pleasure from her while taking my own.

I press my lips to her center, my tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes, testing the waters. The taste of her—intoxicating, earthy, uniquely her—awakens something primal in me, something I’ve never felt before. I’m not used to this kind of intimacy, but instinct drives me forward, eager to learn every inch of her with my mouth.

Her legs tremble on my shoulders as I explore her, her breath hitching with every flick of my tongue. I move slowly at first, gauging her reactions, taking in every sigh and whimper, but soon, I find a rhythm, one that has her arching off the bed. My hands grip her thighs, holding her steady as she bucks against me, the pressure of her body urging me deeper into this new territory.

Each sound she makes—each gasp, each moan—fuels me, and I realize that I want this. I want to see her unravel, to know I’m the one who’s bringing her to the edge. I focus on her swollen clit, circling it with my tongue, and when she cries out my name, her voice raw and breathless, I know I’ve found the right spot.

I suck gently, alternating between soft licks and firmer strokes, feeling her pulse against my mouth. Her hands clutch at the sheets, her body trembling with the buildup of pleasure. She’s losing control, and I’m right there with her, riding the wave of her desire. Her hips grind against me, her thighs squeezing tighter around my head as she teeters on the brink.

“Rafaele—oh god!” Her voice cracks, and I feel her body tighten, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. I don’t stop. I keep going, drawing out her pleasure, savoring every second as she falls apart beneath me.

Finally, her body goes limp, her breathing ragged. I look up at her, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and what I see takes my breath away. She’s flushed, glowing, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath. Her eyes are wide, her lips parted, and the way she looks at me… it’s like she’s seeing me for the first time.

But then, something shifts. The awe in her expression fades, replaced by something else—something more uncertain, almost scared.

“I—” Her voice is barely a whisper, and I see the panic start to creep in. “I need… the bathroom.”

Before I can say a word, she scrambles off the bed, her robe clutched around her as she rushes into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her. I’m left kneeling there, my pulse still pounding in my ears, trying to make sense of what just happened.

"Nora?" I call out, my voice rougher than I intended.

"I'm okay," she responds, though the waver in her voice betrays her. "I'll be out in a minute."

I hesitate, standing there, my hand resting on the edge of the bed as I stare at the bathroom door. Something’s off. I want to go to her, do something, anything—but there’s a distance now, one I don’t fully understand. With a sigh, I run a hand through my hair and sit down on the edge of the bed, waiting, unsure of what to do next.

I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, realizing it’s been on silent this whole time. The screen lights up with seventeen missed calls. My stomach tightens as I swipe through the notifications, all from Leo. My brother never calls like this. I open my messages, quickly skimming through them:

Leo: Where the hell are you?

Leo: I need you to call me.

Leo: Answer your fucking phone, it’s important.

My heart pounds harder as I reach the last message:

Leo: Rafa, please. I fucked up bad. Come help me.

I stare at the words, still tasting Nora on my lips. The sweet, intoxicating flavor lingers on my tongue, and I absently rub my lips, the memory of her moans playing over in my mind.

Every part of me wants to stay—wants to go back to her, kneel before her again, and taste her until she’s trembling with pleasure, calling my name. The thought alone makes my pulse quicken, a deep hunger rising inside me. I want her, need her. But…

I glance back at my phone at Leo’s desperate plea.

Fuck.

I stand up abruptly, dragging a hand over my face. Leo never calls me “Rafa,” never admits when he’s in trouble, never begs for help. Whatever he’s gotten himself into, it’s bad. The urgency of his words gnaws at me, even as the thought of leaving Nora behind twists in my gut.

I cast one last look at the bathroom door, frustration and guilt mixing in my chest.

“I’ll come back,” I mutter to myself, my fingers grazing my lips once more, still haunted by the taste of her. I have to deal with this—whatever mess Leo’s in—quickly. Then I’ll return. And when I do, nothing will stop me from finishing what we started.

“Nora, I’ll be back soon,” I say softly, my voice catching as I hover near the door. There’s no response from the bathroom, and I clench my jaw, torn between my brother’s crisis and the unfinished tension between us.

I’m conflicted—and annoyed with Leo—but I can’t just leave him to deal with this alone. Whatever shitstorm he’s caused, I’ll have to clean it up. She’s here, safe in our home, and I need to go save my little brother one more time. When I get back, I’ll fix whatever I’ve broken in this room.

I call Paolo on my way to my brother’s strip club, frustration building with every passing second. By the time I arrive, my irritation hasn’t dimmed—if anything, it’s only grown, fueled by whatever mess Leo has dragged me into this time.

But the moment I step into his office, irritation turns to shock. A Hispanic man lies dead on the floor, a bullet hole clean through his skull, blood pooling around him. Fredo, the club's head of security, is tied up on a chair, gagged, with blood trickling down his forehead from a gash at his hairline.

“Rafa!” Leo’s voice trembles, pulling my attention to him.

I don’t bother masking my anger. “What the fuck did you do?” I snap, my gaze darting between the dead body and Fredo’s bruised, bloody face.

Leo’s disheveled appearance hits me harder than the scene itself. His shirt is untucked, his hair a mess—he looks scared. Really scared. I haven't seen that look on his face since we were kids. When I left for Sicily, he was still that scared boy, but when I returned, he was different—hedonistic, reckless. The boy who feared everything was gone, replaced by someone I barely recognized. And yet, here he is, standing before me like that scared kid all over again.

"It wasn’t supposed to go like this," Leo stammers again, eyes wide, hands shaking, as if repeating the words will somehow erase the mess he's standing in.

Fredo shouts again, muffled under the gag, but I ignore him for now. I need to hear Leo's explanation first, no matter how stupid it’s bound to be. Paolo steps in right then, his gaze moving from the body on the floor to Leo, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"Che cazzo!" Paolo mutters.

"My thoughts exactly." I nod toward the door. "Do me a favor and keep an eye on the door. I need to deal with my little brother."

Paolo shuts the door behind him, his expression a mix of frustration and grim amusement. "You didn’t need to involve him," Leo whines, almost childlike in his complaint.

"I trust him." I narrow my eyes, my patience teetering on the edge. "Now, what the hell did you get yourself into, Leo? Is it the drugs? Were you really that stupid to deal with the cartel?"

"No, it’s not like that!" Leo says quickly, but he’s twitchy, his words holding barely any conviction.

Fredo groans through his gag again, louder this time, but I hold up a hand. "I’ll deal with you in a minute, Fredo." I turn back to Leo, my voice low and dangerous. "Talk. Now. While I grab a drink."

I walk over to the bar, pouring myself a double of scotch. As much as I hate to drown the lingering taste of Nora on my lips, I need something strong to deal with the disaster unraveling before me. The burn of the alcohol is a brief comfort, one I welcome as I brace myself for the stupidity I’m about to hear.

"It’s not the cartel," Leo mutters, his voice barely audible. "It’s just him. I let him sell his drugs here, and I take twenty percent."

I nod, taking another sip. "And tell me, little brother, where do you think those drugs come from?" My voice rises, the restraint slipping. "We have our own deals. We’re Italians, for God’s sake! What do you think Bonnano’s going to say about this?"

Not that Bonnano will ever hear a word of this, if I can help it.

"It was my idea," Leo blurts out too quickly—he's lying, and it’s painfully obvious.

I lean in, my voice dropping again, colder now. "Don't bullshit me. This is beyond stupid, even for you. Who whispered this nonsense in your ear?"

Leo stiffens, eyes darting to the dead man on the floor. "It was just to make more money," he says, almost pleading. "To show that I could make this place thrive, that I wasn’t a failure like father expected."

"Ah, yes." I glance at the body again. "Well, you’ve clearly succeeded in making an impression."

Leo looks down, and for a moment, the bravado crumbles. The fear is back, the same fear I saw in him as a boy. But it’s too late for sympathy.

"Let me make one thing clear," I say, my voice low and steady. "You don’t move drugs in my territory without permission, especially not with someone outside our circle. You know better. So why did you do it?"

Leo hesitates, his lip quivering. “I thought I could handle it.”

"And now you’ve got a dead body on your hands and Fredo tied to a chair." I finish my drink in one long gulp and set the glass down, my patience officially gone. "Do you even understand how badly you’ve fucked up?"

Leo’s silence is answer enough.

"Good," I mutter, rubbing a hand over my face, “because I’m going to help clean this up. But this is the last time, Leo. Do you understand me?”

“You will?” His voice wavers with disbelief and hope.

I roll my eyes. "Of course I will, fucking idiot." I cross the room, finally removing the gag from Fredo. The man takes a deep breath before spitting in my brother’s direction. “Wait until Capo Lucchese hears about this.”

I pause. Fredo’s one of my father’s most loyal men—planted here to watch over Leo, keep him in line. His words hang heavy in the air, a reminder of the tightrope I’m walking.

I inhale deeply, steadying myself before I turn to Fredo. "Did you kill him?"

"Course I did!" Fredo snaps, glaring at Leo. "Fucking Hispanic acting like he owns the damn place—taking liberties with the girls. And when I called him out, he pulled some bullshit about being in business with the boss."

I throw Leo a glare, watching him squirm. He’s pale now like he’s just realized the gravity of his situation. Fredo’s right—this could unravel everything.

"And that’s enough reason to kill him?" I ask, even though I know it’s hypocritical as hell coming from me. I’ve killed men for less.

"He came to this traitor’s office and drew a gun on me!" Fredo says, raising his voice.

Ah, fuck. That’d do it.

“Listen,” I start, glancing between them, “we can all agree this was a mistake, and we can move on.”

Fredo cocks his head, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. “Move on?” He grimaces. "Who are you? Where is the feared and revered Reaper right now? You, of all people, preaching trust and loyalty above all, and you’ll let your brother walk out of this scot-free?"

I glance at Leo, whose face has drained of all color. Fredo’s right—I should take Leo to our father and let him handle this. And I already know how it would end. My father’s been waiting for the right moment to deal with Leo. This would be the perfect excuse, the golden opportunity to either shun him or kill him outright.

And that’s the problem. Leo’s my brother, but turning him over to my father would be handing him a death sentence. I’d be offering him up on a silver platter.

I clench my fists, the weight of the decision pressing down on me. Fredo will not keep it shut.

“You’re right. I am The Reaper.” I reach for the gun in my holster and point it to his head, shooting him dead before he could blink.

“Leo stares at me wide-eyed, the awe in his voice grating on my nerves. "You killed him."

"I did," I say coldly, my gaze steady on him. "For you."

For a second, he looks like he might thank me again, but I cut him off. "Don't thank me. Not yet. I killed a man who didn’t deserve to die—not by my hand—for you. And now, you will clean this shit up."

I bang on the door, and Paolo walks in, his eyes immediately darting to Fredo’s lifeless body. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t say a word. That’s what I like about him—he knows when it’s time to shut up.

"What do you need?" Paolo asks, his tone all business.

"I need these two bodies to disappear," I reply, my voice steady even though my mind is racing.

Paolo nods. "The butcher?"

I shake my head. "No. We can’t involve anyone else in this. This could cause a full-blown war if word gets out." I glare at Leo again, feeling the pressure of what I’ve done settle in my chest. "You’re taking them to the slaughterhouse."

Leo swallows hard, and I can see the fear creeping back into his eyes. The slaughterhouse—an old, abandoned facility we’ve retrofitted for situations like this. It’s where bodies get an acid bath, where we make sure they disappear for good. Hydrofluoric acid doesn’t leave much behind.

"I need to call Vargas, clean up any evidence," I continue, turning away from the mess for a moment to gather my thoughts. "I’ll head to the club.” The gambling club is our Lucchese headquarters.

Leo’s voice shakes as he speaks. "You want me to do this by myself? It’ll?—"

"No," I snap, cutting him off. "He’s going to help you." I point a finger at my brother, my eyes narrowing. "Now’s the time to pull your weight, Leo. You clean this up, and I hope you remember this day for the rest of your fucking life."

I know he won’t forget it. The smell… the way bodies decompose, the bloating, how sometimes the eyes float to the surface in the acid. The idiot will remember this day for the rest of his life, and maybe—just maybe—it’ll teach him something.

Leo doesn’t argue, just nods, his face pale as he looks from Fredo to the other body on the floor. I turn on my heel, walking toward the door.

“And Leo,” I say without looking back, “this is your last chance. Don’t waste it.”

As I turn to leave, Paolo gives me a look that says it all— I told you so . I shake my head in response. What is there left to say?

Once I’m in the car, I immediately call Vargas. The irritation in my chest doesn’t fade; it sharpens as the phone rings in my ear.

“Lucchese,” Vargas answers, his tone laced with irritation. “Wish I could say it’s a pleasure.”

I roll my eyes. “I need your tech wizard.”

“Derek doesn’t take orders. I’m the one who owes you, not him,” Vargas shoots back.

I force myself to stay calm. “Do you know how to tamper with surveillance tapes? My brother’s a fucking idiot, and I’d rather avoid getting him in trouble with our father.” And avoid a fucking war. “I need two people to disappear from the club and his office. Can you do that?”

There’s a heavy pause on the other end. “How long is this going to keep going, Rafaele?”

“As long as I want it to,” I reply flatly. “You should’ve thought twice before making a deal with me.”

“A deal with the devil,” he mutters, and I hear the bite in his voice. “Well, I hoped the nuptials would pacify you. Congratulations, I suppose… though more to you than her.”

His offhand remark is probably meant to get under my skin. Normally, it wouldn’t. But today? Today, it cuts deeper than I’d care to admit. Maybe because he’s right. What kind of life is this for her? The thought eats at me, and I hate it.

“I can make your life a hell of a lot harder if you want,” I say, my voice colder than ever. And he knows I don’t make empty threats.

Vargas lets out a sigh, his frustration evident. "Fine, fine. I’ll make the call, but you owe me for this."

I clench the steering wheel, my jaw tight as I drive. "I owe you nothing, Vargas. Remember who keeps you in business."

There’s silence on the line, the kind that signals he knows I’m right but hates to admit it. Good. I’ve got enough on my plate without dealing with his half-hearted attempts to needle me. I’m already wound too tight, the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

“Fine. Derek will handle it. You’ll hear from me when it’s done.”

I hang up and toss the phone onto the passenger seat, the tension still simmering in my chest. My hands grip the wheel as I grit my teeth. Focus. I’ve handled far worse than this, I remind myself. But for the first time in a long time, my mind is split. There’s the business, the famiglia, and then there’s Nora. And I don’t know how to keep them from colliding.

As I pull up to the club, I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the night ahead. Once this mess is cleaned up, I’ll deal with Leo. And then, when I’m done, I’ll go back to Nora. Back to that room where I left something unfinished.

And this time, I won’t leave until it’s done.