Page 25

Chapter Twenty-Four

Rafaele

S omething feels wrong. It’s not just the nagging anxiety of being away—it’s deeper, heavier, a gnawing sensation in my gut that I can’t shake.

I glance at my phone again, checking for the hundredth time. Still nothing. The last message Nora sent was over three hours ago, right after her oral exam. She promised she’d message me once lunch was done, but the silence since has been deafening.

I sent Paolo to check on her over an hour ago, unable to leave this damned meeting. As capo, my absence would raise questions I can’t afford right now. Nora would be angry at me if I went just because I had a bad feeling. If she’s angry with me because I sent Paolo, when I get home, I’ll find a way to make it up to her. A few well-placed kisses and a couple of orgasms should do the trick.

“Someone needs to have a word with the Hispanics,” one of the dons says, breaking into my thoughts.

I sigh, leaning back in my chair, trying to focus on the endless agenda. The annual meeting of the five families isn’t something I can skip. Security demands we only meet once a year, and we have to cram everything into one long, excruciating day.

“I don’t think the Hispanics are a big deal,” I can’t help but interject.

Don Bonanno—my father’s old rival and a thorn in my side—smirks at me. “No offense, Rafaele, but you’re new to this. You don’t know how we deal with things yet. Besides, I hear the Hispanics caused quite a stir at one of your clubs.”

I keep my expression neutral, unwilling to let him see how little I care for his opinion. “I’m not sure who your sources are, Carlo, but they must share your penchant for exaggeration. It was a low-level dealer—stupid and sloppy—and he ended up dead. Hardly a crisis.” I fold my hands together, letting a small, calculated smile touch my lips. “Besides, we all know the Hispanics are the favorite target of the local police. Let them take the heat. We don’t deal the same product or cater to the same clientele. Unless…” My smile sharpens. “You’re breaking the rules and selling to kids.”

The room shifts, a few heads turning toward Bonanno. He narrows his eyes but says nothing, and I take quiet satisfaction in the tension spreading around the table.

Before anyone else can speak, my phone vibrates against the table. I glance down and see Paolo’s name flash across the screen, along with a single word that sends a chill down my spine:

911

I stand abruptly, ignoring the startled stares of the other dons. “Gentlemen, I’ll see you all later,” I say, keeping my voice calm despite the pounding in my chest.

“What’s the rush, Lucchese?” Bonanno sneers, his tone dripping with mockery. “You can’t just leave.”

I glance at my watch, letting a faint smirk tug at my lips. “Watch me,” I say coolly. “We’ve been at this for over six hours, and the remaining points on the agenda don’t even concern my part of the city. But, Bonanno…” I pause, locking eyes with him, “if you find yourself struggling to manage your business without my expertise, feel free to give me a call. I’d be happy to help you clean up your mess.”

The murmurs around the table barely register as I turn on my heel, already pushing through the warehouse doors. My phone is in my hand before I’m even outside, and I dial Paolo with a trembling urgency.

He picks up immediately, his voice taut and clipped. “Rafaele, you need to get home. Now.”

“What happened?” My words are sharp and ice-cold, but inside, I’m already unraveling.

“It’s Lucia—she’s here, and she’s hurt. Bad. And Nora…” His voice hitches. “She’s gone.”

Gone. The word detonates in my mind, leaving nothing but chaos in its wake. My grip tightens on the phone, the plastic creaking under the pressure. “What do you mean gone?” I snarl, already storming toward my car.

“She’s been taken, Rafaele. We don’t know by who yet, but?—”

I cut him off, slamming the car door behind me. “I’m on my way.” My voice is lethal, every syllable carrying the promise of devastation.

The tires screech as I pull out of the lot, the roar of the engine matching the storm building inside me. Every second feels like an eternity, my thoughts a violent spiral of fear and fury.

Paolo’s voice echoes in my ear as I speed through the streets. “Lucia managed to fight back, but they overpowered her. She’s alive, but barely. Rafaele…” He hesitates, his voice lowering. “You need to prepare yourself. They planned this. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.”

I don’t reply. I can’t. My mind is locked on one thought: Nora.

When I finally screech to a halt in front of the house, Paolo is already there, waiting on the steps. His face is grim, his knuckles bloodied. Behind him, Lucia sits slumped on a bench, her face battered, her arm cradled protectively against her chest.

I don’t bother closing the car door. My steps are quick and heavy, each one fueled by pure adrenaline. “Lucia,” I growl, my voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Where is Nora? Where is my wife?”

She starts to sob. “I’m so sorry, Rafa. I couldn’t protect her. I— They waited for us. The driver…” She sniffles and starts crying more.

I tighten my fist. I want to shake her; I need her to talk. I throw Paolo a helpless look—my kind of violence will not help, and it seems that the gentleness I have in me is just for my wife. The wife, who is now missing.

Paolo sits on the other side of her and pulls her toward him. “She told me that it was an ambush. They were waiting for them at the restaurant.”

I shake my head. “How? Lucia, did you tell anyone?”

“N-no, I swear. I didn’t even book before yesterday. We got some pamphlet in the mail, and I?—”

I freeze. “A pamphlet?”

Lucia nods, trembling, her swollen face streaked with tears. “Yes, it was just one of those advertising flyers. It looked normal. I didn’t think?—”

I stiffen, my mind racing. A pamphlet delivered to her home, to Aunt Maria’s home. My chest tightens as suspicion coils like a snake around my thoughts.

Paolo glances at me, his expression darkening. “Maria.”

The name hangs in the air like a curse, and the pieces fall into place with a sickening clarity. My aunt, her righteous indignation, her veiled defiance in my office—could it all have been a smokescreen? And Sofia, her precious Sofia, the shadowy puppet master she protects at all costs.

I stand abruptly, The Reaper taking over completely. My movements are deliberate, every step echoing with deadly intent as I bark the command, “Bring me my Aunt Maria.”

Paolo steps in front of me, his hand raised in caution. “Rafa, listen to me. Be careful. Some actions you take now—if you’re wrong—could?—”

“Get her here!” I snap, my voice a whip crack of fury. My glare cuts through him, and he takes a reluctant step back.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, brother,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t argue further. He pulls out his phone and begins dialing.

I turn back to Lucia, her sobs quieter now as Paolo’s presence calms her. “Lucia,” I say, my voice softer but still tense. “You need to think. Was there anything else out of the ordinary? Anything unusual at all?”

“Not really. Well, a few nights ago, I snuck back home late, and she was talking on the phone, which I thought was weird because she goes to bed with the chickens.”

Secret calls at night? That’s enough for me. “Lucia, go upstairs. I’ll call the doctor.” I turn to Paolo. “Get me Maria. I’ll wait in the basement.”

I’ve never truly enjoyed torturing. The reasons behind it, yes—that dark satisfaction of dismantling an enemy’s plans, of protecting what is mine—but the act itself? Hurting people isn’t a hobby, and it doesn’t excite me the way some speculate. But right now? Right now, I know I’ll savor every cut, every scream. Touching my wife was the worst mistake they could have made. And for that, I will embrace my darkest tendencies without hesitation.

As I wait for Paolo, I call Vargas. My fingers tighten around the phone as I explain, each word clipped and sharp. “They took Nora. She’s pregnant.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end, and I prepare to offer him anything—money, protection, territory—anything to secure his help. But I don’t have to.

“I’ll help,” Vargas says without hesitation, his voice firm. “I’ll call Derek and see what we find.”

The decency in his response catches me off guard, and in that moment, I decide something. When this is over, I’ll let him go. Let him and his people walk away, free from retribution or control. Fuck, I’d let everything go if it meant holding my Nora again, feeling her heartbeat against mine.

The sound of tires screeching outside signals Paolo’s return. He drags Aunt Maria into the basement, her heels scraping against the floor as she kicks and screams.

“I will never tell you where she is!” she spits, defiance flashing in her tear-filled eyes. “Do whatever you want to me.”

“Is that so, Aunt Maria?” I reply, my tone cold as I twirl the scalpel in my fingers. “We’ll see how brave you are after I exercise some… surgical precision on that face of yours.”

Her eyes dart to the blade, widening in fear. “She’s my daughter! And you’ve already tortured her enough. She made the best of her marriage to that weak man, and you took everything from her.”

I shake my head slowly, stepping closer. “I don’t care about your daughter’s poor life choices. I want to know where my wife is.”

“Your wife?” Maria’s confusion seems genuine, and a sickening clarity strikes me—she doesn’t know what happened to Nora. But she knows Sofia is here. And if Sofia’s here, Nora can’t be far. “I don’t know anything about your wife,” she hisses.

“Maybe not,” I concede, my voice dropping dangerously low. “But you know plenty about your daughter. She’s not in Sicily anymore, is she? She’s back.”

Maria purses her lips, her defiance rekindling. I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Suit yourself.”

I strike without warning, the scalpel slicing into the corner of her lip. Her scream echoes in the room, raw and piercing. The sound fuels my hatred—hatred for her, for Sofia, and a sliver of hatred for myself. I should have ended this in that warehouse months ago. My mercy was a mistake I won’t repeat.

“I’m your aunt!” she shrieks, blood dripping down her chin. “I’m a woman!”

I laugh darkly. “And what does your gender have to do with anything? Weren’t you told? I’m a feminist.” I strike again, slashing the other corner of her mouth.

Her sobs fill the silence as I step back, frustration bubbling beneath my calm facade. “Don’t you see? Your daughter doesn’t care about you. If she did, she wouldn’t have left you unprotected. She knew the moment she touched Nora, you’d be dead.”

Maria’s head snaps up, her bloodied face a mixture of shock and realization. Whether it’s the confirmation of her death or the betrayal of her daughter, I don’t care.

“You have no loyalty,” she spits weakly.

I crouch in front of her, my tone sharp. “You’re wrong. My loyalty is to my wife, to my family—something you’ve never known or understood. You’re just a pathetic woman, clinging to shadows, never knowing what it means to be cared for.”

The words cut deeper than my blade, and for a moment, the bravado drains from her face. She lets out a bitter laugh. “And whose fault is that?”

She shakes her head, her voice trembling. “You can torture me all you want. I wouldn’t tell you a thing, even if I knew where she was.”

Fuck. Of course, she knows nothing. Sofia is too smart to trust anyone I could reach. My rage simmers, coiled and deadly.

“I can’t let you live,” I murmur, more to myself than to her. Mercy isn’t an option this time. Not after the betrayal, not after Nora.

“I know,” she whispers, resignation settling into her features. “And I don’t want to—not after I know what you’ll do to her.”

Her words linger as I grip the scalpel tighter, steeling myself for the act. The Reaper doesn’t hesitate, and neither can I.

Before I strike, Paolo’s voice interrupts, tight and urgent. “Rafa. We’ve got a lead.”

I turn, my grip loosening on the blade, though my rage doesn’t abate. “What?”

“Sofia was spotted near the docks in Halifax,” he says, his gaze darting briefly to Maria’s limp form, then back to me. “It’s time.”

I straighten, nodding sharply. “Yes, it is.” Calmly, I place the scalpel back on the tray and pull my gun. I meet Maria’s tear-filled gaze one last time, her defiance gone, replaced by a quiet acceptance. “Goodbye.” The shot rings out, quick and final.

Paolo doesn’t flinch, his expression unreadable as he watches the life leave her. “This isn’t going to go down quietly,” he says, still staring at Maria’s lifeless form.

“I don’t care.” My voice is cold, final, as I jerk my head toward the basement exit. “What else do we know?”

“Not much,” Paolo admits as we ascend the stairs. “She got to Halifax on a Russian vessel. And before you ask, I sent men to check the house she was supposed to stay at in Sicily. She—or someone working with her—killed them all.”

“Efficient as always,” I mutter, my mind already racing. “I need to find Yuri. And I need to talk to my brother.”

Paolo stiffens slightly. “You think he’s involved?”

“With Nora’s disappearance? No.” My voice hardens. “Leo cares for her. He’d never hurt her. But I know he’s been helping Sofia. And I know—” I pause, shaking my head. “There are things he hasn’t told me. Ready or not, I need him to talk.”

We don’t have to wait long. As I step into the main hall, Leo is already there, pacing, his face pale, his usual bravado replaced by genuine worry. When he sees me, he strides forward. “Rafa,” he starts, his voice unsteady. “What can I do? Tell me what to do to help.”

I study him, weighing my words carefully. I nod my head toward the study—this is a conversation we need to have alone. “Come clean.”

He freezes, blinking in confusion. “What do you mean? I swear, Rafa, I had nothing to do with Nora being taken. I’d never hurt her. Never.”

I narrow my eyes. “I know. But you’ve been hiding something, Leo. Something about Sofia. I know you’ve been involved with her. For years.”

Leo takes a step back, his face draining of color. “What are you talking about?”

I cross my arms, my tone unwavering. “Don’t insult my intelligence. I’ve known for a long time. I suspected it when we were younger, but now I know. You’ve been sleeping with her.”

“She’s not…” His voice trails off, and he swallows hard. “She’s not my cousin. You know that. I’m not?—”

“You’re not the capo’s son,” I finish, my voice low but firm. “I know. And I know you had a crush on her when we were teenagers. I don’t have the time to let you come clean on your own. I need my wife back, and I need you to fess up.”

He exhales shakily, nodding, his shoulders sagging. “She… she started flirting with me after you left for Sicily,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was fifteen, Rafa. She was twenty. She told me she knew my father—my real father.”

I stiffen, the name falling like a stone into the pit of my stomach. “Yuri?” I guess. That man is a true evil genius, and I am sure he’s creating far more trouble for Alexei than he admitted to me.

Leo nods, his eyes brimming with guilt. “She introduced him to me. She said he was… she said he was my father.”

“She lied.” My voice is sharp, cutting through his confession. “Yuri isn’t your father. They used you, Leo. Played you. You should’ve asked me. Your father was Russian, yes, but he was no mafia kingpin. He was a waiter. Just a giant fuck-you from our mother to the capo. Bitter revenge.”

His face crumples, his hands trembling. “She made me believe… She said if I helped her, she’d leave you alone. She said she knew her husband’s death was our father’s fault, not yours. I thought—I thought I was protecting you, and I wanted to belong somewhere, Rafa. I had no idea you would give me the place you are giving me! I thought that I could have some kind of kinship with the Russians if the Italians were so adamant about shaming me.”

“You killed our father, and I stood by you. Erased all evidence of your crime. How much more loyalty do you need?”

Leo flinches as though I’d struck him, his voice breaking. “She helped me. Gave me the poison—told me it was undetectable. She promised me it would fix everything. But when I realized what she really wanted—when I saw her greed—I cut ties. That’s why she ran to Italy. I swear, Rafa, I haven’t helped her since.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “She wanted you to get caught, brother. If you did, you would have had to die, and if I saved you, I would have lost everything.”

He winces and looks away. “I never wanted to hurt you or Nora or my little niece.”

I step closer, my jaw tightening as I fight the wave of emotions threatening to surface. “She used you, Leo. And now, she’s back. But I swear to you, this ends tonight. You are not the boy she manipulated anymore.”

He meets my gaze, his voice trembling but resolute. “What do you need me to do?”

I grab him by the arm, my grip tight enough to convey the seriousness of the situation. “Tell me everything you know about Yuri. Where did you meet him? What does he want? How is he involved with Sofia?”

He hesitates, his jaw tightening, but my glare leaves him no room for lies. “I only met him three times,” he admits, his voice low. “The first was years ago, at that diner on 8th near Park Slope. She introduced us there, said he was… my father.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “The second was at a warehouse near Red Hook Terminal. That’s where he talked about his plans—smuggling weapons, building connections, and I gave him some info about your shipments.”

There will be a time and place when I’ll have to discuss this with him, but today is not the day. “And the third?” I press, my patience thinning.

He shifts uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze. “At a club in Brooklyn. It was brief. He said we could meet more often once he had grown his new organization. That he would recognize me as his son and make me his heir. He lets out a pitiful moan. “It was before you and I started to patch things up, before Nora came into your life. When you started to change, I told him that I didn’t want to do this anymore. I haven’t seen him since.”

I narrow my eyes, processing the information. “Give me the exact locations.”

Leo nods, scribbling the addresses on a piece of paper with trembling hands. “Rafa, please… don’t do anything rash.”

I shove the paper into my pocket. “Stay out of my way, Leo. This is far bigger than you now.”

I pace the dimly lit study, the adrenaline from two days of unrelenting violence coursing through my veins. I still can smell gunpowder and blood on me despite the shower I’ve taken. I went to the locations Leo gave me, and now, seventeen Russians lie dead in my wake. Their bodies are proof of my resolve. My hands are stained, my soul darker than ever, but I couldn’t care less.

Alexei is furious, sending message after message to Paolo about the mess I’ve made. The famiglia has sent the judge to confront me—a man who represents the collective authority of the syndicates, a mediator when things spiral out of control. But even as I hear the judge’s steps approaching, I feel nothing. Without Nora, there is no fear. There is no consequence that matters.

The judge steps into the room, his expression grim. His black suit is pristine, his presence demands respect. “Lucchese,” he begins, his voice even but laced with tension. “Your actions are bringing war to our doors.”

I sit in my chair, leaning back as I stare him down. “War came to my door when they took my wife.”

“You killed seventeen men,” he continues, ignoring my interruption. “We’re fortunate the Russians haven’t retaliated yet, but it’s only a matter of time. If you don’t stop, you’ll bring the wrath of Alexei and every ally he has.”

I scoff, standing abruptly. “Do you think I care? Do you think I give a damn about Alexei or anyone else?” I slam my fists onto the table, the force reverberating through the room. “I will burn the fucking world to have Nora back. Let the famiglia help me, or I’ll take everyone down with me when I fall.”

The judge’s gaze sharpens, his calm demeanor faltering. “You’ve always been cruel, Lucchese. Unhinged, even. But this… this will lead to your death.”

I step closer, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “Without her, nothing else matters. Nothing. I would walk into hell itself to save her. If death is what it takes, so be it.”

The room falls silent, the weight of my words hanging heavily in the air. The judge exhales, his expression softening slightly as if realizing the depth of my desperation. But before he can speak, my phone vibrates on the table. The number is private. My first instinct is to ignore it—it’s likely another futile call from Alexei or some intermediary—but something makes me answer.

“Rafaele?”

“Nora?” My voice is shaky, hope clawing at my chest.

“Rafaele…” Her voice is faint, trembling with pain and fear. “I need you. Please come get me.”

My heart stops. “Where are you, amore? Are you safe?”

“I killed him,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “But I don’t know how long I can stay hidden. I’m in pain… something’s wrong. Please… save our baby.”

I leap from my chair, the room blurring around me. “I’m coming. Stay hidden, amore. Keep talking to me. Don’t hang up.” I switch to the other line, dialing Vargas. “Locate her now. I don’t care how you do it—just find her.”

“On it,” Vargas replies, his voice sharp with urgency.

I grab my coat and gun, my focus razor-sharp. “Nora,” I murmur into the phone. “I’m on my way. I’ll find you, I swear. Just hold on.”

The Reaper is unleashed. Nothing will stop me now; I will take back what is mine.