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Chapter Twenty-Three

Nora

H aving Rafaele become capo so suddenly could have easily turned into a nightmare. But somehow, he’s managed to make me feel loved and cherished in every bit of time we spend together. I can see the exhaustion on his face, the way he’s settling into the role and shouldering a new weight. I’m grateful for his strength, even if sometimes the loneliness and fear settle into the empty spaces when he’s away.

More days pass, my belly grows, and so does my anxiety. I don’t want to burden Rafaele with it—even though I promised never to hide things from him. It’s not like he could change anything, and though I know he’d listen and reassure me, it wouldn’t be enough. The fears are buried deep in my soul, built from years of feeling inadequate, never quite enough.

With only four weeks left, I can’t stop wondering if I’ll be a good mother. What if I can’t handle the pain during flare-ups? Or worse… what if our daughter inherits my health issues? The nagging thought that somehow she might be unwell because of me shadows everything. I rub my belly, whispering softly, “I love you, my little miracle. Today, we’ll be brave together.” I know it’ll be a challenge with my parents headed over.

After finding out I was pregnant, I’d avoided them, apprehensive of their reactions and all the concerns they’d no doubt throw at me. To my surprise, they seemed happy, or at least as close as they could come to that. My mother’s critical eye has softened somewhat, and I suspect Rafaele had a hand in that. But today, both my parents are coming over for lunch. Rafaele offered to be here, but he’s on the hunt for some Russian and Italian traitors, and I insisted I could handle it on my own. We compromised—he’d come home early, and I promised to let him know if they crossed a line.

Just as we finish setting the table, the doorbell rings, and I instinctively take a step toward it, but Teresa is quicker.

"I'll get that," she says with a warm smile, already moving. Her protectiveness reminds me of Rafaele, and I feel so grateful for her presence. She's been like the motherly figure I never had, always there, kind and supportive.

I wait by the table as my parents come in. My mother is as impeccably put together as ever, her eyes sweeping over me in that familiar, appraising way.

“Oh, Nora, dear, you look… healthy,” she remarks, her gaze resting for a beat too long on my stomach.

I place a hand protectively over my bump, keeping my voice bright. “Thank you. I feel amazing.”

She offers a tight smile. “Well, that’s good… all things considered.”

I don’t take the bait and turn my smile to my father. “Dad, thank you for coming as well.” I was quite surprised that he offered to join my mother for lunch here—it’s really not his scene.

“You look spectacular, sweetheart,” he says, coming to hug me.

My father glances at the table and frowns. “Oh, isn’t Rafaele joining us?”

“No, he has to work, but he sends his regards.” I gesture to the table.

My father nods, though he looks a little disappointed as he takes his seat. “It’s a shame. I’d hoped to discuss a few ideas with him now that he’s capo. There are some excellent business opportunities on the horizon that would benefit both of us.”

I keep my smile on even though it stings that the real reason for his visit is not me but my husband's power.

“Well, you should encourage him to reach out. I have quite the network, you know. A few introductions could go a long way for him.”

“Thanks, Dad. I’m sure he’ll keep it in mind,” I reply, choosing my words carefully.

“Absentee husband… Why am I not surprised?” my mother mutters, but I ignore her. I know my truth, and I don’t have to explain anything to her.

The first course is served, and my mother picks at her plate, glancing over at me with a faint frown. “You know, Nora, any weight gained during pregnancy isn’t free,” she remarks casually, as though commenting on the weather. “It doesn’t just melt away. You’ll have to work hard afterward to get back into shape.”

I keep my expression neutral, refusing to let her comment get under my skin. “I’m focused on staying healthy right now,” I say, carefully placing a forkful of salad onto my plate. “For me and the baby.” I look at her. “My husband seems overly happy with my curves, and I have to admit I’m quite fond of them myself, but I’m happy to let him know you’d like to discuss this with him.”

My mother pales, and I have my confirmation—Rafaele had a talk with her.

“No, of course not,” she says, voice softer. “You look beautiful, Nora. I’m just… thinking of you, from my own pregnancy experience.”

My father snorts, shaking his head. “Oh yes, stellar experience. Such an excellent example to follow.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed, and thankfully says nothing more. I take a steadying breath, grateful for the fleeting reprieve, and nod at Teresa, who sweeps in to clear the plates with a comforting smile that gives me a small boost.

As dessert arrives, my father leans forward, clearly keen to resume his pitch. “You know, sweetheart, Rafaele’s position could really elevate the family’s standing. With the right connections, he could build something monumental.”

“Rafaele’s doing just fine on his own,” I say, keeping my voice level but firm.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he says quickly. “But every capo benefits from a seasoned hand. Surely you see that, don’t you?”

I don’t know what gets into me, but I channel Rafaele’s fierceness, the strength he’s told me I have time and again. “Trust me, Father, my husband isn’t called Il Mietitore for nothing. He doesn’t need help or advice to reach any heights; he is already the highest point in the food chain. If you’re the one seeking his assistance, I suggest you ask him yourself—I won’t be pleading your case.”

My father opens his mouth, a wave of shock in his expression, but he doesn’t have a chance to respond. A deep chuckle echoes from the doorway, drawing all our attention. Standing there, smiling with that familiar edge, is Rafaele.

“Well, I’m glad I came home early,” he says, his eyes glinting with pride. “This defense was heartwarming, wife. It almost seems like you care.”

I roll my eyes, though my heart speeds up at his presence. Just then, our little girl kicks, and I can’t help but smile, wondering if she’s already responding to her father’s voice. Can she be a daddy’s girl this soon?

Rafaele strides over, placing a warm hand on my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze before turning his gaze to my parents. “It’s a pleasure to see you both. I trust you’re enjoying Nora’s hospitality?”

My mother straightens, offering a polite nod, while my father clears his throat, a flicker of unease crossing his face. “Yes, of course. Nora has been… very gracious.”

Rafaele’s smile remains polite but taut as he moves with effortless confidence, pulling out the chair next to me. He sits down, one arm draped protectively around my shoulders, his hand finding mine and squeezing it gently. Then, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, and the tenderness of it makes me melt a little, even here, even now.

“So,” he says, his voice rich and smooth but carrying an edge that doesn’t miss a thing, “I assume you’re here to make up for the baby shower you missed last week?” He raises an eyebrow, looking pointedly at my parents, his thumb tracing slow, calming circles over my knuckles. “What sweet gift did they bring, amore?” he asks, his tone so warm that I feel a rush of affection swirl in my chest.

My father shifts, uncomfortable under Rafaele’s unyielding gaze, while my mother fumbles for words. I glance up at him, marveling at how easily he commands the room, how fiercely he holds me close as if to shield me from even the smallest slight. He’s utterly magnetic—dominant, protective, every bit the man who makes the world stop when he enters a room.

And somehow, he’s mine .

“We didn’t realize the shower was last week,” my mother finally manages, her voice a touch sharper than she intended. She’s flustered, and for once, she’s the one grasping for composure.

Rafaele doesn’t give her a chance to find it. “No worries,” he says, his tone smooth and assured. “I’ll make sure we have plenty of family celebrations going forward.” His gaze moves to me, softening for a moment as he runs a hand over my back, grounding me. “Nora deserves to be surrounded by people who truly appreciate her.”

The words are filled with intention, and I can see my parents struggle to hide their irritation. But Rafaele simply smiles, his fingers threading through mine, his presence a solid, unbreakable force beside me.

When lunch finally winds down, he stands, effortlessly helping me to my feet, his hand on my back as he leads me to the door. As soon as the door clicks shut, he wraps me in his arms, his intense gaze locked on mine. He cups my face, brushing his thumb along my cheek.

“You were brilliant, amore,” he murmurs reverently. “I knew you could handle them, but seeing it… You’re stronger than you know.”

The pride in his gaze, the way his hands are so sure, so steady, as they hold me—it’s as if he’s pouring all his strength into me, filling every fragile corner with his unwavering confidence.

“And I’m proud of you,” I whisper, lost in his dark, smoldering eyes. He bends down, brushing his lips against mine in a kiss so soft that it steals my breath.

Without another word, he scoops me up, carrying me to the library. He settles us both onto the sofa, wrapping one arm around me and resting his other hand gently on my stomach. Just then, our baby kicks right where his hand is, and his face lights up with that same look of awe he wears every time he feels her move.

“She knows her daddy,” I say softly, placing my hand over his. “And she probably knows that when I’m in your arms, I feel cherished, safe—like all my worries just melt away.”

He doesn’t need to reply; he simply presses his forehead to mine, holding me close, his presence grounding and comforting.

After a long, quiet moment, I murmur, “Don’t you have to go back to work?”

He sighs, brushing his lips over mine. “I do… but I’m good right here.”

I smile, tracing my fingers along his jaw. “I need to prepare for my oral exam in the city tomorrow anyway.”

I feel him stiffen slightly, his hold tightening as he frowns. “What?”

“I’d like to come with you,” he says, his voice soft but filled with conviction.

“Don’t you have that big meeting with the other bosses tomorrow?”

“Yes,” he groans, frustration clear. “But the thought of you going into the city alone…”

I laugh, nudging him. “I won’t be alone! I’ll have my guard, I swear, and Lucia’s coming with me.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Oh, Lucia’s coming? Yes, that’s very reassuring,” he says, feigning relief.

“Hey, have you seen her nails? She could blind anyone with those things!”

He huffs, shaking his head, but a hint of a smile tugs at his lips.

“It’ll be fine,” I assure him. “I’ll do my presentation, and then Lucia and I have plans for lunch, maybe a mani-pedi. And we found this boutique with… let’s say, interesting lingerie for pregnant women. Unless you’d rather I didn’t?—”

“Oh no, you absolutely should go,” he says, his voice suddenly deeper, his eyes darkening with warmth. “Wife, I love every inch of you, especially now.”

Before I can reply, his lips press firmly against mine, each kiss deeper, more demanding, until my breath comes in soft gasps. His hand slips beneath the hem of my dress, fingers gliding up my thigh, and I feel the heat of his touch everywhere, building, making my skin come alive.

When his hand brushes higher, he pauses, and I see the realization dawn in his eyes. His mouth hovers over mine, his voice a husky murmur. “No panties?”

A blush rises to my cheeks, and I bite my lip, managing a whisper. “They’re… uncomfortable.”

He lets out a low, satisfied growl, his fingers slipping between my thighs, finding me wet and ready. “I see,” he says, his voice thick with desire. Without waiting, he slides one finger inside, and a soft moan escapes my lips. He moves slowly at first, savoring each reaction as he adds a second one, filling me, curling them just right.

The tension builds as he moves his fingers in a rhythm that leaves me breathless. His thumb circles my sensitive clit with perfect precision, drawing out sounds from me that I can’t control. I can’t tear my eyes from his gaze, intense and possessive, as if every shudder, every gasp, every movement of my hips belongs entirely to him.

“Let go,” he whispers, his voice thick and commanding. “I want you to fall apart right here, just for me.”

I gasp as his words push me even closer, my grip on his shoulders tightening. The pleasure builds, hotter, more consuming, until my body trembles and I come undone, every nerve tingling, my cries muffled against his shoulder.

He withdraws his hand slowly, his eyes dark with satisfaction, and holds his fingers up between us, slick with my release. Without breaking eye contact, he brings them to his mouth, licking them clean, savoring the taste. The look on his face sends another surge of warmth through me, and he leans close, his voice a deep, quiet promise.

“That should hold me over,” he says, his words a soft growl. “Until tonight. When I come home…” His lips brush my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “Be ready for me.”

My cheeks flush, my pulse still racing as his words settle over me. He presses one final kiss to my forehead, leaving me breathless, anticipation already building for tonight.

"In essence, the use of metaphor in Dante’s Divine Comedy was more than just poetic flourish; it was a way to address the moral decay of society under a thin veil, granting him a means to challenge authority without direct confrontation. This layered communication is what made his work so influential—and dangerous—throughout Italian literary history."

There’s a brief pause, and then Professor Moretti smiles, leaning forward. “Well done, Nora. Your analysis of Dante’s impact is both insightful and refreshingly original. It’s not often we see this level of depth.”

A sense of relief washes over me, and I nod, grateful for the acknowledgment. “Thank you, Professor.”

Dr. Westley, seated further down the table, raises a hand with a slight nod. “If I may add one more question. Considering Dante’s approach to societal critique, how do you think this same method appears, if at all, in contemporary Italian literature? Are today’s writers still navigating similar tensions between art and censorship?”

I feel a thrill of excitement at the question. “Absolutely,” I reply, diving into an explanation of how modern Italian authors use fiction to confront political and social taboos, echoing Dante’s layered approach, though often with subtler techniques adapted to modern audiences and regulations. "Contemporary authors like Elena Ferrante, for instance, explore personal and cultural conflicts that speak to Italy’s broader social issues, creating the same sense of layered meaning."

When I finish, Dr. Westley nods with a look of approval. “You’ve done an excellent job. It’s clear you understand both the historical context and its modern relevance. Well done, Mrs. Lucchese.”

The formalities wrap up, and as I gather my papers, I spot Lucia through the glass, practically vibrating with excitement. The moment I step out, she pounces, pulling me into a tight hug.

"You crushed it!” she exclaims, grinning from ear to ear.

“You could not hear anything!"

“Doesn’t matter. I saw the way you were sitting there and the way they looked at you!”

Laughing, I hug her too. "Thanks. I can finally concentrate fully on getting this little girl out."

Lucia rubs my belly. “I can’t wait to meet my goddaughter.” She grabs my hand. “Now it’s time to celebrate, Ms. Dante Scholar!” She beams. “Lunch, mani-pedis, and don’t forget, there’s that boutique with the?—”

“Yes, yes,” I laugh, “the sexy maternity lingerie.”

“We head to the car, still buzzing with excitement. As soon as we settle in, Lucia leans over, a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. “So… don’t freak out, but I have a bit of a crush confession.”

“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow, knowing exactly where this is going. “Do tell.”

She blushes, glancing away as if she’s embarrassed to say it out loud. “It’s… Paolo.”

My eyes widen, and a smirk forms on my lips. “Paolo? Our Paolo?”

She nods, her cheeks turning pink. “I don’t know… he’s just so funny. And he’s got that mischievous grin like he’s always up to no good. And… he’s kind of hot, right?”

I nudge her playfully. “More than kind of! And you have great taste, my friend.”

She laughs, a little embarrassed. “Well, don’t you dare tell him!”

“Oh, are you kidding? I’m absolutely playing matchmaker now,” I tease, practically bouncing in excitement. “I can already picture the two of you causing trouble together. Paolo’s going to be beside himself.”

“Shh!” Lucia glances nervously at the driver up front. “Not a word!”

“I promise. For now.” I wink at her, savoring the new mission I’ve just given myself.

The ride to the restaurant is filled with teasing banter about Paolo and my newfound role as her personal matchmaker. Lucia keeps trying to backtrack, to say she’s joking, but I can tell she’s flustered in the best way.

“You know, Paolo said he likes women who are ‘fiery,’ and I think you fit that description perfectly,” I tease as we pull to a stop, still giggling.

Lucia rolls her eyes, though she can’t hide her grin. “I swear, Nora, one more word about this, and I’ll tell your husband you fancy his consigliere.”

“Touché!” I laugh, holding my hands up in surrender. “Fine, truce. For now.”

We step out of the car, the laughter still in the air as we gather our bags. Just then, Lucia nudges me, her brow furrowing as she glances around. “Wait… did the driver just leave?”

I turn, confusion tightening in my chest. “He… ran off?”

A loud crack pierces the alleyway, and before I can process the sound, our guard collapses to the ground. My stomach drops, dread replacing every ounce of joy from moments before. My body freezes, instinct screaming at me to move, to do something, but my limbs feel locked in place.

Lucia lets out a gasp, stepping back just as a figure emerges from the shadows, swinging a fist hard into her side. She stumbles, falling to the pavement with a sharp cry.

My pulse races, the world blurring around me. I try to turn, to run, but a rough hand grabs me, and a cloth is pressed against my face. The sickly, sweet scent fills my senses, clouding my thoughts. I struggle, every muscle straining, but it’s no use. My vision fades, my limbs go numb, and as the sounds of the alley drift away, Lucia’s faint, panicked cries are the last thing I hear before everything goes black.