Page 9

Chapter Eight

Rafaele

I ’m going to kill Leo. And Camilla—for accepting his invitation and showing up with him like that. She should have known better than to trust my brother, especially today of all days.

I turn my gaze to Nora, who is chatting with Lucia at the table. And yes, I might kill her too. The way she was so dismissive, thinking—whatever it is she’s thinking is going on with Camilla—it’s infuriating. I know this marriage isn’t about love, but the level of indifference is almost offensive.

Her calmness gnaws at me, like she’s already resigned to some fate I haven’t even considered. As if she’s already decided that nothing about this—me, us—matters. Does she think so little of me that she’d believe Leo’s antics would mean anything at all? Does she think I’d parade around with another woman on the day I marry her?

I grip my glass tightly, feeling the weight of my frustration building. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. She’s supposed to understand what’s at stake here, not dismiss it with that cool, detached smile. She barely looked at me during the ceremony, hardly acknowledged the kiss or my words. And now, she’s sitting there, chatting away with Lucia, like none of it matters.

I take a deep breath and force myself to loosen my grip on the glass. No, this isn’t the time to lose my temper. I need to remind myself that I chose this. I chose to be in this situation, knowing the risks. I can’t let her get under my skin like this, but damn if she doesn’t make it difficult.

Paolo comes up behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "You’re glaring at her like you want to put her in the ground,” he mutters. “It’s your wedding day, Rafa. Try to look a little less murderous.”

“Isn’t that what the heartless Mietitore is supposed to do?”

“Is that who you want to be?” Paolo asks, his tone soft but pointed.

I sigh, shifting my glare from Nora to him. “She has no faith in me as a person. I’ve never met anyone so… detached.”

“Is she though?” Paolo challenges.

I think back to the way her eyes shimmered when she apologized to me, the slight tremor in her hand when she took mine. There was something there, a flicker of emotion she quickly masked, leaving me to wonder if I imagined it.

“She’s hiding,” Paolo continues, “not just from you, but from herself. And you… you’re not exactly making it easy for her to do otherwise.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “What, you think I should coddle her? She chose this. She chose me, knowing exactly who I am.”

Paolo smirks, his gaze steady. “Then why do you sound so annoyed?”

I glare at him, but he just raises his hands in surrender. “But what do I know, right?”

He leaves, and then I turn back to look at my wife.

My wife… It still feels strange to think of her that way. I see Nora stand up from our table and make her way out of the room. I am resolved to go to speak to her, but I see Leo follow her out.

I know I should not care—this is trivial—but I find myself slipping into the kitchen through the side door, moving quietly. The sounds of the party fade as I make my way down the corridor. I keep to the shadows, my steps silent, the tension coiling tighter in my chest. I need to know what my brother is up to, what venom he’s trying to slip into her ear.

As I approach the corner, I catch sight of them—Leo leaning in close, his expression full of smugness and false concern. Nora stands against the wall, arms crossed, her face carefully composed, but there’s a tightness around her eyes, a hint of discomfort that tells me she’s not as composed as she seems.

“It’s not appropriate,” she says firmly, her voice calm but unwavering.

Leo scoffs, his smirk widening, and my hands ball into fists. “It’s just a dance. Come on, dance with me,” he insists, his tone coaxing but laced with arrogance.

“I haven’t even danced with my husband,” Nora replies, her voice sharp.

Leo shrugs dismissively. “And you won’t. It’s obvious he doesn’t care. He couldn’t leave the table fast enough after the meal was done—too busy chasing business deals.”

I clench my teeth, the pressure so intense I feel like my molars might shatter. I’ve never wanted to knock my brother out as much as I do in this moment.

“It doesn’t change anything,” Nora says, holding her ground. “I still won’t dance with you. I need to use the bathroom.” She moves to step around him, but Leo blocks her path, his body language invasive.

I take a step forward, ready to intervene, but I stop when I see Nora’s expression shift. Her calm demeanor hardens into a fierce glare, her eyes sharp and unyielding.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks, her voice edged with frustration. “I get that you’re trying to stir trouble, but why? What do you gain from this? And tell me, Leo Lucchese, what did I ever do to you to deserve this?”

I retreat further into the shadows, a smile tugging at my lips despite myself. How is this happening? How is she making me smile? I can’t remember the last time something or someone genuinely made me feel this way.

Leo tries to keep up his act, but he’s faltering. “I don’t understand. I am just concerned about you. I care.”

Nora rolls her eyes, completely unimpressed. “Oh please, there’s no one more self-centered than you, and I saw that immediately.” She tilts her head, her gaze unwavering. “I know it can’t be envy—I’m obviously not your type. Or his. Yes, I know; you made it abundantly clear with your guest.”

I purse my lips, frustration gnawing at me. If only she knew how wrong she is. I don’t care about Camilla. I’ve never even touched her—or anyone, for that matter. But that’s not a conversation I’m prepared to have with Nora. Not now, and maybe not ever.

“What did you lose by me not picking you, Leo?” Nora’s voice is steady, her question cutting straight to the core of my brother’s fragile ego.

Leo steps back, genuinely surprised by this version of Nora. She doesn’t flinch; she doesn’t waver. She stands her ground, resolute against his manipulations, with a strength I didn’t fully expect but can’t help but admire. It’s a strength I’ve rarely seen, especially in someone thrust into the role of my wife by duty and circumstance.

I’ve always prided myself on control, on reading people, but Nora is proving to be more than just an enigma—she’s a challenge. My wife. And damn if I don’t feel a shiver of possessiveness when I think those words. My wife. Mine. I’ve never cared deeply for anything or anyone, but this feeling as I watch her is something entirely new. Something I’m not sure I want to control.

Leo’s mask of fake concern slips, replaced by anger. “He’ll never love you, Nora. You can forget about romantic dinners, honeymoons, and all the little attentions a wife wants from a husband.”

She shakes her head, her gaze steady. “And what do you know about my expectations, Leo? I’m glad he’ll never love me. Why on earth would I want a honeymoon? Romantic dinners are overrated. I’d much rather have a quiet evening in a library by a crackling fire.” She pauses, her voice sharp and firm. “Now, go back and keep my husband’s girlfriend company, and let me pass. Or I swear to God, I’ll scream bloody murder, and we’ll see how much lower you can get in our fathers’ esteem.”

The blow lands hard, and I can see the anger flare in Leo’s eyes. He’s not used to being put in his place, especially not by someone he underestimated. I can’t help but be impressed by the ruthlessness she just displayed. She’s more than just kind, smart, and beautiful—she’s fierce, astute, and absolutely unyielding when it counts.

I lean back against the wall, letting the moment sink in. She doesn’t need me to protect her, not from Leo. But the possessiveness I feel doesn’t fade—it stays, simmering just below the surface. And for the first time, I’m not sure whether I want to conquer her or simply let her be the force of nature she clearly is.

I push off the wall and step into the hallway, making my presence known. Leo stiffens, and Nora’s eyes dart to me, but she doesn’t look surprised. If anything, she seems resolute, as if she’s already made peace with whatever I might think.

“Leo,” I say, my voice low but carrying the weight of a warning. “Get lost.”

He opens his mouth to protest but thinks better of it, turning on his heel and walking away, the tension thick between us.

Nora watches him go, then turns to me, her expression unreadable. There’s a moment of silence, charged and heavy, before I finally speak.

“You handled that well,” I admit, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. “Better than I would have.”

She meets my gaze, and for a split second, I think I see a trace of something—appreciation, maybe, or understanding. But it’s gone just as quickly, replaced by the calm, composed mask she’s perfected.

“Thank you,” she says simply, her voice steady. “But I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

I nod, accepting the truth of her words. “I know. But that doesn’t mean I won’t. You are my wife, Nora Lucchese.”

She takes a sharp breath, her eyes widening slightly as I lean in, not entirely sure why. It’s that scent of hers again, drawing me in like a beacon.

My nose brushes the apple of her cheek, and I can feel the warmth of her skin, the soft hitch of her breath?—

“Ah, here you are!” My father’s voice cuts through the moment, a hint of amusement lacing his tone. “Now’s not the time, Rafaele. You can do whatever you want with your wife in a couple of hours, but for now, I need you in my office.”

I step back abruptly, shooting a glare at my father. I’m not even sure if the anger is for him interrupting this moment I hadn’t realized I craved or for Nora and the strange pull she has on me that I can’t quite shake.

Nora’s eyes are still wide, and she takes a small step back, regaining her composure with a swift, practiced ease. The mask slips back on, and she’s once again the untouchable, unflinching woman who walked down the aisle with me just hours ago.

“I’ll be fine,” she says, her voice cool and controlled as if nothing had just happened. “You should go.”

I give her a last look, trying to read the hidden depths of her calm facade, but she’s already turned away, her focus elsewhere. With a frustrated sigh, I nod to my father and follow him down the hallway, every step feeling heavier than the last.

As we walk, my father smirks, clearly pleased with his interruption. “Seems like this marriage won’t be as much of a burden as you thought.”

There’s no way I’m entertaining this conversation—especially not about Nora. “What do you need?” I ask as he settles beside the wet bar, pouring drinks with a deliberate slowness.

“A drink?” he offers, holding out a glass.

I nod, knowing better than to refuse. He hands me a glass of scotch and takes his seat behind the desk, his eyes never leaving me.

“I’m actually impressed with the Falcone girl,” he says, taking a sip. “Handled herself well today. She might be a better choice than I initially thought.”

“She’s not the Falcone girl anymore. She’s my wife.”

His smirk widens slightly. “Yes, and judging by how you were looking at her in that corridor, it seems it won’t take long for the Lucchese line to continue.”

I keep my face impassive. “That’s not why I married her.”

“Of course,” he says, waving off my response. But his gaze sharpens. “The fact remains—she’s got potential. I’d keep an eye on her.”

I take a long sip of the scotch, letting the burn of it settle the irritation building inside me. “What’s the real reason you called me here? I doubt it was to discuss my wife.”

“There are two reasons, actually. First, Alexei is displeased, and he called me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Alexei Mirsov? The head of the Russian Bratva who hates Italians and, more specifically, hates you?”

“He mentioned you killed some of his men.”

“Did he also mention that those men were in my warehouse when it happened?” I roll my eyes. “I could’ve launched a full-scale war if I wanted to.”

“Why don’t you?”

I can’t believe he’s even asking. I may be ruthless, but I’m not reckless. “Because it’s unnecessary. I know Alexei isn’t dumb enough to be involved in this directly, and now he has to clean up his ranks just as much as I need to clean ours.” I shrug.

“He wants to meet with you.”

“He called you to arrange a meeting with me?”

My father’s lips press into a thin line, and I can see the annoyance in his eyes. He’s spent his life commanding respect, and now the power dynamics are shifting in a way he isn’t comfortable with. I’m the heir, but he’s not ready to hand over the reins, not even to his own son.

“He doesn’t like me much, and it seems you weren’t answering his calls.”

I nod. “Fine. I’ll call him—we could benefit from a stronger alliance with the bratva.” I set my glass down on his desk, already thinking about getting back to Nora and staying by her side for the rest of the night.

“One more thing.”

Here we go…

I sit back down. “Yes?”

“What do you want?”

“With?”

“A wedding present. It’s tradition. Do you want the villa in Tuscany?”

I want to stop feeling whatever it is that Nora stirs in me, but I can’t ask for that. I sigh, shaking my head. “Do you really want to know what I want?”

“What?”

“Give the club to Leo.”

My father recoils, his expression hardening. “What?”

“You said it yourself—it's not that important to our portfolio, and you’ll still have your men there. Give him something he wants for once, and get him off my back.”

“He’s not my son,” my father snaps, his voice dripping with contempt.

I don’t know if it’s the sentimentality of the day or if I’m just tired of Leo’s antics, but I decide to push back. “But he is. Maybe not biologically, but that’s not his fault, is it? It’s our mother’s mistake and whoever the other guy was. You decided to claim him.”

“To avoid the shame,” my father replies through gritted teeth.

“Maybe so, but that’s still not Leo’s choice. Give him the club and be done with it.”

My father’s eyes bore into mine with anger and reluctant consideration. For a moment, I think he’ll refuse just to assert control, but then he leans back, taking a long, thoughtful sip of his drink.

“Fine,” he says, his voice low. “But don’t think this is about charity, Rafaele. I’m only doing this on a trial basis. If it becomes a liability, your brother is done.”

I nod, standing up. “That’s fair.”

Without waiting for his response, I leave his office, ready to find Nora and rejoin the reception. I don’t know what the future holds for us, but for tonight, I’m determined to be by her side—and maybe, just maybe, figure out this strange pull she has over me.

As I walk back into the room, I scan the crowd until my eyes land on Nora, who’s deep in conversation with someone I’d rather avoid: Sofia.

I approach with a glare at Lucia, who merely shrugs. I can’t fault her; Sofia is nothing if not persistent and managed to worm her way into the event despite everything.

I stop beside Nora, and she startles slightly as I rest my hand on the small of her back.

“Sofia,” I say, my attempt at civility faltering. “Always a pleasure.”

Sofia’s glare meets mine with equal intensity. “I wish I could say the same. I was just apologizing to your poor wife about my dark outfit. I was explaining that I'm in mourning because you killed my husband and forced me to watch by taping my eyes open.”

Nora stiffens under my touch, and a surge of anger rises in me. I should have dealt with Sofia in the warehouse. I spared her because of her blood ties, but blood can be just as poisonous as any enemy.

Sofia’s eyes dart between us, her smirk widening as if she’s just won some small victory. I want to lash out, to rid myself of this thorn in my side, but I force myself to remain calm. Nora deserves at least that much from me.

“Your presence here is a reminder of why we had to take the actions we did,” I say coldly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, my wife and I have other matters to attend to.”

Sofia’s expression turns sour, but she doesn’t argue. With a final, disdainful glance, she turns away, leaving Nora and me in uneasy silence.

“I think we should call it a night,” I say, breaking the tension.

“Yes, I think that’s for the best,” Nora replies, her gaze fixed anywhere but on me.

As we make our way through the room, bidding our goodbyes, men start whistling and giving me knowing grins. They tap me on the back, and by the time we reach the exit, Nora is bright red, and I’m even more annoyed. The hooting and applause make me feel like I’m leading my new wife to her doom—like we’re about to take some final, intimate step rather than simply retiring for the night.

“We’ll be staying here tonight,” I tell her as we reach the hallway.

She nods, still avoiding my gaze, and I wonder how scared or disgusted she might be of me. I nudge her gently, and we make our way up the stairs.

I open the door to the guest bedroom she occupied last night, and she steps in, standing in the middle of the room, wringing her hands together. I close the door behind us and lean against it.

“I didn’t think you’d meet all my detractors in one night,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.

“Is that all the detractors you have?” she asks, her tone sharp but not unkind.

I can’t help but let out a small, rueful laugh. “Touché.” I sigh, trying to steady my voice. “Nora, please look at me.”

She turns to face me, her eyes cautious but not fearful. “Is it true?” she asks.

“Is what true?”

“What Sofia told me.”

This is the moment where I must decide—lie to her and soothe her or let her face the harsh, bloody truth.

“Yes, it’s all true,” I admit. “Her husband was a traitor, and she profited from it.”

She seems taken aback. “Have you not heard of my reputation? Are you surprised I could do this?”

“No,” she replies. “I’m surprised you’re being honest.”

“Would you rather I wasn’t?” I ask, stepping closer.

She seems to consider this for a few seconds. “No, I think I’d lose respect for you if you weren’t.”

“Oh, so you respect me?” I ask, a hint of surprise in my voice.

“In some ways, yes,” she says quietly.

There’s a brief silence as we both absorb the weight of her words. The air between us thickens with a tension that I can’t quite shake. She stands there, watching me with those bright eyes, and I feel something unfamiliar tugging at the edges of my self-control. It’s like a slow burn, a yearning I’m not used to, but I push it down, reminding myself of the boundaries I’ve set.

She takes a deep breath and winces, resting her hands on her sides. “The corset… it’s too tight.”

I nod, stepping closer. “Turn around,” I instruct, my voice lower than intended.

She does as I say, her back to me. I brush my fingers against the laces of her dress, and even that small touch sends a jolt through me. Her skin is warm and smooth beneath my fingers as I work to loosen the corset. When the last lace is undone, the dress slips from her shoulders and pools at her feet, revealing her in just her white cotton and lace undergarments.

She turns to face me, and my breath catches. Her body is soft and curvy in all the ways that draw my eyes like a magnet. She’s not the rigid, cold figure I’ve seen from a distance; she’s real, standing here before me, and every inch of her speaks to a part of me I’ve long kept buried. I can’t help but admire her, the way she owns her shape, the way her skin glows in the dim light.

I step closer, almost against my will, my fingers brushing lightly against her collarbone. The contact sends a rush through me, a heat that flares low in my belly, and I feel the traitorous stir of arousal. My control wavers for a second, the desire to explore, to touch more, almost overpowering my resolve.

But then I take a step back, distancing myself from the pull of her presence. “Have a good night,” I manage, my voice steady but strained.

Nora’s eyes flicker with something—disappointment, maybe—and she wraps her arms around herself as though trying to shield her own vulnerability.

She hesitates, then asks, “Are you going to see her? Tonight.”

I study her face, trying to read her expression. “You said you didn’t mind,” I say carefully, searching for a clue. “Do you?”

She glances down, breaking our eye contact, and I hate the sudden loss of connection. “No,” she says softly, “but tonight, maybe I do.”

Her admission tugs at something inside me, but I push the feeling aside, my jaw tightening. “No, I’m not,” I tell her, my voice firm but quiet. “I’ll be in the office, the one connected by the closet. Nobody will know.”

I linger for a moment, caught between the urge to say something that might ease the tension and the instinct to retreat. Nora stands there, vulnerable and exposed in more ways than one, and the weight of her unspoken words presses down on me. I feel like I’m failing some test I didn’t even know I was taking.

She glances up, her eyes meeting mine for a fleeting second before she looks away, and the silence between us grows thicker. I don’t have the right words—if there even are any. I’m not built for this, for comfort or reassurance. It’s not what she chose me for, and it’s not something I know how to give.

I clear my throat, the sound loud in the quiet room. “Get some rest,” I say, the words coming out harsher than I intended. She flinches slightly, and I can feel the sting of my own awkwardness, the discomfort of not knowing how to make this right. But instead of staying, I turn away, forcing myself to ignore the pull I feel toward her.

I reach the door, pausing for just a moment to glance back. She’s standing there, a fragile figure wrapped in delicate white lace, her arms crossed as if she’s trying to hold herself together. There’s a tightness in her posture, a hint of something that looks like hurt, and it tugs at me in a way I’m not used to.

“I’ll never go back.” The words slip out before I can think, a promise I hadn’t planned on making.

She turns toward me, her blue eyes searching mine, and for a moment, I see the vulnerability there, the hurt. It causes a peculiar tightening in my chest, an unfamiliar sensation—someone else’s emotions affecting me in any way other than anger or annoyance.

“Where?” she asks, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

“The club. The upstairs. I’m married to you now; I’m not going back.”

Her face softens, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. It’s like watching a storm begin to calm. But I don’t wait for her to respond. I turn away, needing to create distance before I do something foolish. I pull the door closed behind me, the soft click louder than it should be in the stillness of the spare office.

I take a deep breath, staring at the dimly lit room, but even here, away from her, I can still feel the ghost of her presence clinging to the air. I try to focus on the papers scattered across the desk, on the familiar duties that usually ground me, but my mind keeps drifting back to Nora, to the way her eyes looked at me when I spoke.

There’s something about her that doesn’t fit into the neat boxes I’ve set up for my life, something that pulls at me in ways I don’t understand—and that I’m not sure I want to. For the first time, the call of work and duty doesn’t settle the storm inside me, and I’m left with the uneasy realization that I’m losing control over something I’ve never had to handle before. She has a hold on me, small but real, and that’s dangerous.

After the way you left her in this room? Hurt, vulnerable, and alone? She’ll smother it for you. The thought is as unsettling as it is true, a cold reminder that I’ve already made mistakes that can’t be undone.

I glance at the door again, my fingers twitching with the urge to go back, to touch her, to make her believe the words I said. But I can’t. I can’t afford to let myself be that man.

“No,” I mutter to myself, sinking into the chair behind the desk. “No.” I grip the edges, forcing my focus back on the papers in front of me. The words blur together, but I stare at them anyway, refusing to give in to the pull that draws me back to her.

I drown myself in the work, pushing everything else aside. Because that’s what I know how to do. That’s what I’ve always done. And for now, it has to be enough.