Page 18

Chapter Seventeen

Nora

I am giddy as I get ready for my evening with Rafaele. I keep trying to convince myself that most of my excitement is because of the opera, not the man taking me—but I know that’s a lie.

My husband… Even in a million years, I would never have expected Rafaele Lucchese to be the man I know now. I’ve seen the cold, unforgiving, sadistic side of him that the world fears. But here, in the intimacy of our home, I’ve discovered someone else entirely. He’s kind, gentle, and considerate. And then there’s the passion that simmers between us—raw and undeniable. I never expected to want a man the way I want him, and with the way he devours me with his eyes, I know he feels the same.

I called Lucia earlier to help me pick out an evening dress for tonight, and after browsing for a couple of hours, we settled on something perfect—something that I hope will take Rafaele’s breath away. The dress is a stunning royal-blue that hugs my curves in all the right places, with a deep neckline and a subtle slit that adds a touch of allure. It feels sexy but sophisticated like it was made just for this moment.

I sweep my hair up into a sleek, vintage updo—loose curls pinned just right, giving a nod to the glamour of a 1950s pinup. My makeup is sultry, with smoky eyes that add an air of mystery, paired with a bold red lip. I catch my reflection in the mirror and smile, a little surprised at the woman looking back at me. Confident. Desirable.

There’s a knock at the door, and my heart skips a beat. I take a deep breath and walk over to open it, my pulse quickening in anticipation.

Rafaele stands on the other side, dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo that highlights the sharp lines of his jaw and the powerful frame of his body. He looks dashing, every inch the formidable man I’ve come to know—and yet, as his eyes land on me, something flickers in his gaze, softening for just a moment.

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his eyes slowly raking over my figure, taking in every detail. I can feel the heat in his stare, the hunger, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

"You…" His voice is rough, almost strained, as he steps closer. "You look… breathtaking."

A smile tugs at my lips as I watch him struggle to find the words. "You don’t look so bad yourself," I tease, though I can barely contain my admiration. He’s devastatingly handsome, and tonight, he’s mine.

He closes the distance between us, his hand reaching for mine. As his fingers gently entwine with mine, I feel the weight of his gaze on me again. He’s not just looking at me—he’s devouring me, drinking me in as if I’m the only thing that matters.

"You ready?" His voice is softer now, more intimate.

I nod, but before I can answer, he leans in, his lips brushing against my cheek, his breath warm against my skin. "You’re beautiful, Nora," he whispers, his voice sending a delicious thrill through me. "More than you know."

I feel a flush rise in my cheeks, but I smile, my heart swelling with the quiet intensity between us. "Let’s not be late.”

We arrive at the opera house, and I feel the importance of the night pressing down on me—not in a bad way, but in a way that fills me with anticipation. The grandeur of the building, the elegant people milling about, the air buzzing with excitement—it’s everything I imagined and more. But nothing can compare to the man by my side.

Rafaele holds out his arm for me, and I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow. The moment we step through the doors, the energy in the room shifts. Heads turn. Conversations quiet. It’s as if the very air rearranges itself around him, creating space, creating awe.

It reminds me of videos of the sea when there’s a shark swimming in the middle of a gigantic school of fish, and they all part around it. That’s exactly what happens when Rafaele Lucchese walks into a room. And here I am, by his side, with the full knowledge that this man, this force of nature, is my husband.

We make our way to our booth, and I can feel the stares of those around us. It’s not just the fact that he commands attention wherever he goes—it’s the fact that we are together. The infamous Lucchese with his unknown wife.

When we finally settle into our seats, I let out a breath I was holding. The opera begins, the lights dimming as the stage comes to life. The moment the man starts to sing, everything else fades away. The mournful beauty of the lyrics strikes directly at my heart, the emotion woven into every note pulling me in deeper and deeper. My chest tightens as I listen, utterly captivated.

“I’ve never heard anything more beautiful,” I whisper, my voice catching as a tearless sob escapes me.

Rafaele shifts beside me, his hand covering mine. “I have,” he responds quietly, and the sincerity in his voice makes me turn to him.

I smile, assuming he’s talking about his vast experience with opera, the many times he’s been here before, while I’m here for the first time. “How lucky for you,” I say, a little envious of all the beauty he’s already experienced in his life.

But when I meet his eyes, I see something entirely different. His dark gaze is locked on mine, piercing into me with an intensity that makes me forget everything else. It feels like he’s not just looking at me—he’s seeing me, reaching into the depths of my soul.

“Yes,” he murmurs softly, his voice lowering as his fingers tighten around mine. “The first time I heard you laugh.”

The warmth of his words washes over me, and instinctively, I lean into him, seeking the closeness I’ve grown to crave. But this time, something’s different. He remains stiff, unmoving, his hand still on mine but offering no further affection.

And here it is—the pain. The one I suspect my mother feels, the one that resonates with me more than I’d care to admit. My heart aches, and I realize, in that moment, how much I’ve allowed myself to hope for more. How much I’ve allowed myself to fall.

I pull back, trying to mask the hurt, and turn my attention back to the stage. The haunting melodies swirl around me, but the tears in my eyes aren’t solely from the beauty of the music. They’re from the sting of rejection, the feeling of being close yet still so far away from the man who’s supposed to be mine.

I try to steady my breathing, willing the tears away, focusing on the spectacle before me, but it’s hard. The music, so full of sorrow, only amplifies the emotions inside me.

I came here expecting magic—expecting something more between us. Instead, I’m left with this hollow feeling, wondering if I’m asking for too much. Wondering if Rafaele will ever be able to give me what I so desperately want.

Don’t be dramatic, Nora. This is just the reality check you need. My mother’s voice chimes in my mind.

As the final note of the opera fades into silence, the audience erupts into applause. I join in, clapping politely, but my heart isn’t in it. The ache inside me overshadows the beauty of the performance. I feel Rafaele’s hand rest gently on my back as we rise to leave, but the sting of earlier still lingers. I shift, subtly moving away from his touch.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him frown, but I keep my gaze forward, determined to avoid his concern. When he reaches for my hand, I instinctively fold my arms over my chest, creating a barrier between us.

“Nora?” he says quietly, his voice low, confused.

I force a small smile, looking up at him, though I can feel the coldness in my own expression. "Thank you for the show. It was stunning."

He tilts his head slightly, studying me with those dark, unreadable eyes. “You’re welcome,” he replies, but there’s a tension in his voice that tells me he knows something is off.

Without another word, I step ahead of him, moving through the crowd, feeling his presence like a shadow at my back. As we exit the grand hall into the cool night air, I quicken my pace, craving space, but no matter how far I try to distance myself, the heaviness in my chest remains.

Rafaele catches up, his hand gently grasping my arm, turning me to face him. “Don’t walk away from me.” His tone is harsher than he means, and I flinch.

He sighs, softening slightly. “No, I didn’t mean it like that?—”

“No, you’re right,” I interrupt, pulling my coat tighter around me like a shield. “Let’s just get the car and go.”

“Nora, what’s wrong?” His voice is low and probing, but the tension between us is growing.

“Nothing,” I lie softly, but the shakiness in my voice betrays me. “I’m just tired.”

His jaw clenches, frustration simmering in his eyes. “Tired?”

I nod, determined to keep up the pretense. “Yes. Tired.”

“Right.” One word, but it’s dripping with frustration, and I can feel it cutting between us.

I turn away, pretending the passing cars are the most fascinating thing in the world as Rafaele hands the ticket to the valet. He places his hand on the small of my back again, but I instinctively step away.

“Can you not?” I mutter. “Who do you need to pretend for?”

His frown deepens, confusion mingling with irritation. He doesn’t respond until we’re in the car, where I expect him to drive off, but instead, he parks just down the street and keeps the engine running.

“Raf—”

“You see the man coming down the stairs?” His voice is tense.

I follow his gaze to the overweight man wearing a Borsalino hat.

“That’s Fabrizio Marzoni,” Rafaele continues. “He hates me. I took his business, and I know he’s waiting for a weakness.”

I shake my head, annoyed. “I’m not your weakness.”

“Whether you are or not is irrelevant. It’s what he’ll perceive,” he growls.

“Can we just go, please?”

He exhales sharply but complies, pulling away from the curb. Silence stretches between us for a long time before he speaks again, his voice low, almost defeated. “What did I do?”

“Nothing,” I reply after a beat, staring out the window. “I just forgot who you were for a moment.”

Rafaele’s knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. “Nora?—”

“My mother warned me,” I continue, bitterness creeping into my tone.

“No.” His voice is sharp now. “Don’t bring your mother into this. This isn’t your parents’ relationship. It’s ours.” He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Keeping this distance, not communicating—it’s making you miserable, and it frustrates the hell out of me. I’m not your father, and you’re not your mother. I care about you. I want you to be happy—at least as happy as you can be, shackled to a man like me.”

The rawness in his words chips away at my defenses. “I’m scared,” I admit, my voice barely more than a whisper.

His head snaps toward me, disbelief written across his face. “What are you scared of? Damn it, Nora, I would never hurt you. That kind of cruelty will never touch you.”

“But it did just now,” I whisper. “I wanted to be close to you, and you rejected me. I know you had your reasons, but this hot and cold… it’s too much. I need to protect myself.” I shake my head, emotions twisting inside me like a storm. “I’m scared of letting myself go.”

“Why?” His voice is softer now, almost pleading.

“Because if I do, I’m afraid I’ll fall for you,” I confess, my chest tightening with the vulnerability of the words. “And that would be stupid because it will never be reciprocated. Not that I blame you for it. But I need you to stop making it so hard for me to keep my promise to myself.”

Silence fills the car, thick and suffocating. Rafaele’s jaw tightens, and I can see the conflict in his eyes—anger, frustration, and something else I can’t quite place. It feels like we’re both standing at the edge of a cliff, unsure of who will jump first.

“Nora,” he begins, his voice rough with emotion as we pull up to the house.

“No, it’s fine,” I say quickly, desperate to end the conversation. As soon as the car stops, I unbuckle and step out, my heart heavy as I hurry toward the house, needing to be alone with my shame.

“Wait!” he calls just as I reach the top of the stairs inside.

I turn around, watching as he approaches slowly, his eyes fixed on mine. “You don’t like people talking for you, interpreting your thoughts,” he says, his voice low and measured, “yet you’re doing it for me. Do you think that’s fair?”

I take a step back. “Do you deny it?” I challenge, bracing myself.

“How can I deny or confirm something I’m still figuring out?” He reaches the first step, his hands buried deep in his pockets, looking casual—but the tightness in his jaw reveals his frustration. I step back again, instinctively creating more distance, but he follows, always maintaining just enough space between us. “Are you asking me if I’ll ever love you?”

I can barely breathe, the question hanging in the air like a blade. “No,” I whisper, even though my heart is screaming yes.

He nods, his gaze never leaving mine. “I can’t tell you that. I’m sorry that I can’t, and I won’t lie to you. I respect you too much for that.” He pauses, his expression softening, and when he speaks again, his voice is raw, almost vulnerable. “But what I can tell you is this—I think I’ve become addicted to you without even realizing it. It's hard to explain, but you’ve got a hold on me I can’t shake. Every day, you're there, running through my head. At night, when everything else quiets down, my thoughts don’t. They’re loud, and they’re all about you.”

He takes a step closer, and I feel my heart race in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears.

“I find myself lying awake, just wishing I could talk to you,” he continues, his eyes intense. “You’re the last thing I think about before I finally fall asleep and the first thing that comes to mind when I wake up. That’s how my days are now. I think I care about you more than you realize. I appreciate you more than I’ve probably shown. And every time we look at each other, I need to know—do you feel any of this too? Tell me you do. Tell me I’m not the only one lying awake at night, wishing you were right there with me.”

Tears prick at my eyes, my chest tightening, the dress suddenly feeling too tight, as if it’s constricting my ability to breathe. Or maybe it’s my heart beating so fast that it’s making everything else fade into the background.

“I do,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “God help me, I do. But I didn’t want to.”

He takes a step closer, his dark eyes searching mine, the tension between us crackling like a live wire. “I didn’t mean to hurt you at the opera,” he says, his voice low and raw. “Hurting you is the last thing I want to do, and I’d kill anyone who tries. But I’m scared, Nora.” His gaze softens, vulnerability seeping into his tone. “I’m worried about the target you’ll become because of what I feel for you. I’m worried that my need to protect you might end up being the very thing that puts you in danger. I’m still figuring this out, amore, just… be patient with me.”

His words hit me like a wave, crashing over the walls I’ve tried so hard to keep up. He’s not the untouchable man he presents to the world. He’s just as scared as I am. The realization breaks something inside me, and the tears that were pricking at the corners of my eyes finally spill over.

I take a shaky breath, trying to find my voice. “I’m scared too. But it’s not just about the danger. It’s about what I feel for you, how deep it’s getting. I’m terrified because if I fall any harder, I know there’s no coming back, and I will lose myself.”

He steps even closer, his hand gently brushing a tear from my cheek. “You won’t lose yourself. I won’t allow it. Not ever. I swear it.”

His words are a promise, and though the fear still remains, a part of me begins to believe him. I reach out, taking his hand in mine, feeling the warmth of his skin, grounding me in this moment.

“Goodnight, amore.” He leans down to kiss me goodnight, his lips brushing mine with such tenderness that it feels like he’s holding something back.

When he starts to pull away, I tighten my hold on his hand, my heart pounding. “Stay,” I whisper, barely recognizing my own voice.

He freezes, his eyes searching mine for any sign of doubt. “Are you sure, Nora? I need you to be sure.”

“I’m sure,” I breathe out, my chest tight with anticipation. “I want you.”

His gaze darkens, a slow-burning fire igniting behind his eyes, but there’s still a softness in the way he touches my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek. He leans in again, kissing me, but this time, the kiss is deeper, hungrier, a raw need simmering beneath the surface.

The second we’re inside the room, his hands are on me, his lips moving over mine with an urgency that sends a thrill through me. He tugs me against him, and I can feel the hardness of his arousal pressing into my stomach, sending a pulse of heat straight to my core. My body reacts instinctively, aching for him, and I reach for the buttons of his shirt, fumbling to get them undone as quickly as possible.

His breath is hot against my neck as he kisses his way down to my collarbone. “If you want me to stop, say the word,” he murmurs against my skin, his hands sliding down to my hips, squeezing gently.

“I won’t,” I gasp, shivering as his fingers brush the zipper of my dress. “I need you.”

With a flick of his hand, the zipper comes down, and my dress pools at my feet. I’m left standing in just my bra and panties, feeling exposed but not insecure. Not with the way he’s looking at me—like he’s seeing something he’s never seen before. His gaze travels over my body, reverent and hungry, and I can feel his appreciation in every slow sweep of his eyes.

“Fuck,” he growls, stepping closer, his hands tracing the curves of my waist, hips, and thighs. “You’re beautiful. So fucking beautiful.”

His words send a ripple of heat through me, and I reach for him, tugging his shirt off his shoulders. His body is firm, muscular, but it’s the way he moves that lights me up—like he’s barely holding himself back. He steps out of his shoes and pants, and when I pull down his boxers, his cock springs free, hard and thick, standing proudly between us. I stare, my mouth suddenly dry.

“You’re sure?” His voice is rough and strained, and he cups my face in his hands again, his eyes locked on mine.

“Yes,” I whisper, more breathless than ever. “I’m so sure.”

Without another word, he pulls me into him, kissing me hard as he guides me backward until I’m sitting on the edge of the bed. His hands roam over my body, unclasping my bra and tossing it aside. His lips follow, trailing hot kisses down my neck, over my chest, until he reaches my breasts. He takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, and I moan, arching into him, my body on fire from the heat of his touch.

I can feel the wetness pooling between my legs, the ache for him building, and I rock my hips, needing more. As if sensing my need, his hand slips between my thighs, his fingers brushing over my panties, teasing me, making me whimper with frustration.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice low and rough as his fingers slide beneath the fabric, finding me soaked for him.

“God, yes,” I moan, my head falling back as his fingers slip through my slick folds, rubbing slow circles over my clit.

His mouth is on mine again as he pulls my panties down, leaving me bare beneath him. His fingers keep working me, teasing me, making me gasp, and I can feel the tension building, coiling inside me, ready to snap.

“I need you,” I beg, my hips bucking against his hand. “Please, Rafaele… I need you inside me.”

He groans, the sound guttural and raw, his cock twitching against my thigh. He pulls his hand away, and with deliberate slowness, he sucks his slick fingers, eyes locked on mine as he positions himself at my entrance. The head of his cock presses against my slick heat, and I feel a shudder run through me.

His eyes meet mine, dark and intense, filled with a raw hunger that sends a thrill straight through me.

“Rafa,” I gasp, my fingers digging into his shoulders. “Please…”

He pushes forward slowly, stretching me, filling me inch by inch. The sensation is overwhelming—pleasure and pressure intertwining as he enters me, and I gasp, clinging to him as a sharp pain cuts through me, the final reminder of my innocence lost.

“Fuck, Nora,” he groans, his hands gripping my hips so tightly I know there will be bruises tomorrow. “You feel… unreal. God, I’ve never felt anything like this.”

He stills once he’s fully inside me, his breath ragged as he looks down at me. “Is this okay?” he asks, his voice tight with restraint, every muscle in his body tensing with the effort of holding back.

“It’s perfect,” I whisper, my body trembling beneath him, every nerve alight. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

With a deep, shuddering groan, he begins to move, slow and gentle at first, his thrusts controlled and deliberate. But as the moments pass, I can feel the tension unraveling in him. His movements grow rougher, more urgent, his hips snapping against mine harder, faster. I moan, the pleasure building with every deep, punishing thrust.

His hands tighten on my thighs, pulling me closer, deeper, and I cry out, loving the bruising force, the way he’s completely losing control. Each time he drives into me, it hits something deep inside, and I can feel my orgasm building, burning hotter and faster with every second.

“Nora,” he growls, his fingers digging into my flesh as he thrusts. “You’re perfection… Fuck, I can’t—” His voice breaks as his control slips completely, and I feel him move faster, almost desperate, lost in the overwhelming sensation.

“I want all of you,” I gasp, my nails raking down his back as I arch into him, the intensity of his touch pushing me to the edge. “Please, don’t stop… I want it all.”

“Fuck, I can’t hold on,” he groans, his voice raw as his hips slam into mine with brutal, desperate need. “I’m going to?—”

And then he’s there, with a throaty, primal groan, his body tensing as he thrusts hard one last time, burying himself deep inside me. I feel his cock twitch, pulsing as his release fills me, hot and thick, and the sensation pushes me over the edge. My orgasm crashes over me, my body trembling violently as wave after wave of pleasure tears through me. I cling to him, shaking and gasping, completely undone.

He collapses on top of me, his breath hot against my neck, both of us panting, our bodies still joined. For a long moment, neither of us moves, our hearts pounding in time, our breaths mingling in the quiet room. His fingers, so bruising just moments ago, now trace soft, lazy patterns along my skin.

“I’ve never…” His voice is hoarse, filled with wonder. “God, Nora. I’ve never felt anything like that.”

I smile softly, still catching my breath, feeling the weight of him pressing down on me, grounding me in this moment. His body is warm, his skin damp with sweat, but it’s comforting—an anchor in the storm of emotions between us. I shift slightly, and he moves, careful not to crush me, as he pulls back just enough to look into my eyes.

"Me neither," I whisper, my voice trembling with something I can't quite name yet but feel blooming between us. It’s more than just the raw physicality of what we shared—it’s the closeness, the connection that feels almost… too much to bear.

He studies me, his dark eyes softening as he brushes a strand of hair away from my face, tucking it gently behind my ear. His fingers stay there, and for a moment, the world outside of this room disappears. It’s just us—our bodies intertwined, our breaths syncing in the quiet aftermath.

“I don’t want to move,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sincerity, his forehead resting against mine.

“Then don’t,” I reply, my hand reaching up to cup his cheek, my thumb brushing over the sharp line of his jaw. I can feel the subtle shift in him, the way his body relaxes into mine, as if, for the first time, he’s allowing himself to just be here with me—fully, without reservation.

We stay like that for a long moment, lost in each other, until he eventually shifts us, rolling onto his side and pulling me into his arms. His embrace is firm but gentle, and I find myself cocooned against his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear. His hand rests on the small of my back, fingers splayed possessively, protectively.

As I close my eyes, I feel a deep sense of contentment settling over me—a quiet, reassuring warmth that seeps into my bones. This is what I’ve been afraid of, what I’ve been running from… but now, lying here in his arms, it feels right. It feels like home.

He presses a soft kiss to my temple, and I can’t help but smile.

"Thank you," he whispers, the vulnerability in his voice catching me off guard.

"For what?" I ask, my words slurred with exhaustion as I curl closer to him, the lingering heat of our lovemaking still thrumming through my veins.

"For trusting me,” he says softly, his lips brushing against my hair. “For this. For… everything."

I don’t respond, but I don’t need to. The warmth spreading in my chest, the sense of safety, the undeniable pull between us—all of it speaks louder than words. There’s something more between us now, something deep and unspoken. And even though neither of us is ready to say the word out loud, I can feel it hovering there, in the space between our heartbeats.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. "Always."

And as I drift off to sleep in his arms, a part of me knows—despite all my fears, despite the walls I’ve built around my heart—I'm falling for him. Maybe I already have.