13. Raiden
Chapter 13
Raiden
I ’m halfway through the last of my breakfast—black coffee and two slices of peanut butter toast—when the knock comes. It’s sharp, urgent, and immediately annoying. My house isn’t on the way to anything, and I’m not expecting visitors. For a moment, I consider ignoring it, but the knock comes again, louder this time, almost demanding.
Setting my coffee mug on the counter, I make my way to the front door. The sunlight pouring through the window is already too bright for my mood, and this knock isn’t helping.
When I yank the door open, I’m greeted by a blonde woman who looks like she walked straight out of a charity gala. Perfect curls, a tailored coat, and an attitude sharp enough to cut glass. Her eyes scan me up and down like she’s appraising livestock, and I’m instantly pissed off.
“Can I help you?” My voice comes out rough, grating, exactly the way I feel.
“I’m looking for Lucrezia,” she says like that explains everything. Her perfectly manicured fingers clutch an expensive leather purse, knuckles white with tension.
“Don’t know any Lucrezia.” I bark and slam the door in her face.
But the girl is not deterred. She knocks again, harder this time, the sharp rap of her rings against the door making me wince. I swing the door back open, glaring at her. The morning sun catches her hair like a halo, which only irritates me more. “Lady, I don’t?—“
“You’re lying,” she snaps, crossing her arms. Her sharp gaze pierces right through me, unflinching. “I know she’s here. Don’t waste my time.”
I narrow my eyes, feeling my jaw clench with barely contained irritation. The hangover pounding behind my temples isn’t helping my mood. “And how exactly would you know that?”
She smirks, leaning slightly closer as if we’re conspiring. The expensive perfume she’s wearing wafts between us, all rosewater and money. “Because Lucrezia isn’t the only Castiglione with connections. I had her followed.” Her perfectly shaped eyebrows arch in triumph like she’s just laid down a winning hand at poker.
I snort, more out of amusement than anything. There’s something oddly impressive about her audacity. “You had her followed, huh? That’s cute. And you think barging in here is a good idea?”
Her expression doesn’t waver. “I’m her sister, Daniela. Now, where is she?”
I consider slamming the door in her face again but think better of it. She’s got the Castiglione fire in her eyes, and I’m not in the mood for a fight, especially if she’s anything like Lucrezia. Stepping aside, I gesture lazily toward the living room. “Fine. She’s not here, but go ahead and make yourself at home.”
Daniela steps inside like she owns the place, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor with deliberate precision. She scans the room with barely concealed judgment, probably expecting something more refined than my modest three-bedroom with secondhand furniture and bare walls. Sorry to disappoint, princess. The contrast between her designer outfit and my lived-in space couldn’t be more stark.
“Who are you?” Daniela asks, setting her purse—which probably costs more than three months’ mortgage—on the arm of the couch like it’s a handbag rack at some upscale boutique. Her tone is sharp, but there’s a hint of curiosity beneath it like she’s trying to piece together why her sister would associate with someone like me.
“Raiden,” I say, leaning against the wall and crossing my arms, making no effort to seem more sophisticated than I am. “Does it really matter?”
She narrows her eyes, perfectly manicured fingers drumming against her designer blazer. “You’re the reason she’s not staying at my place. So yeah, it matters. What are you to her?”
I smirk, enjoying how much this bothers her. I like Daniela more than Lucrezia; it’s easier to get under her skin. “A friend.”
Daniela’s gaze sharpens like a blade being drawn. “My sister doesn’t have friends . She has family, and then she has people she uses. Since you don’t even know who I am, I doubt you’re one of my half-siblings. So that means you’re another pawn in Lucrezia’s game.” She raises an eyebrow, her expression a perfect mix of condescension and disbelief, as if waiting for me to trip over myself with an explanation.
I lean forward, arms still crossed tight against my chest, meeting her challenge head-on. “Pawns are crucial to winning the game, sweetheart. Your baby sis knows that.”
The corner of her mouth twitches, a flash of something almost like amusement crossing her features, and for a second, I think she might smile. But then her tone hardens and turns to ice. “You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you?”
The bluntness of the question catches me off guard. I laugh, shaking my head. “Sleeping? No. Let’s be real,” the words slip out before I think them through. “We fucked, and that was it. One time.” As soon as they’re out, I realize I’ve crossed a line.
Daniela’s face twists in outrage, her perfectly sculpted features contorting as a flush of anger creeps up her neck. Her voice rises, sharp and cutting like broken glass. “That’s my sister! You’re disgusting.”
I hold up my hands, palms out, trying to diffuse the situation I’ve stupidly created. “Okay, that was uncalled for. My bad. I’ll, uh, I’ll try to be more civil.” The words taste bitter in my mouth, knowing I’ve already dug myself into a hole I might not be able to climb out of. I wonder if Lucrezia will be upset that I told her sister we had sex.
Daniela huffs, sitting on the couch with a rigid posture, like she doesn’t want to touch anything in my home. “You think?” Her cheeks are an angry shade of pink, and she mutters something about “men being animals” under her breath, each word dripping with disdain.
I lean against the wall again, watching her from a safe distance. There’s a nervous energy about her, the way her fingers twitch against the edge of her expensive coat, drumming an irregular rhythm. She glances up, dark eyes still glaring daggers at me through perfectly mascara-ed lashes. “So, who are you, really? What’s your connection to Lucrezia?” The questions come out clipped and precise like she’s interrogating a suspect.
“Same as yours, I guess,” I say, watching her body language carefully. “Trying to keep her from doing something reckless.”
She scoffs, the sound sharp and dismissive. “Lucrezia and reckless are synonyms. But that doesn’t answer my question. How did you get involved with her?”
“I’m helping her,” I say, keeping my tone deliberately vague, maintaining eye contact. “Same as you, I figure.”
Her perfectly painted lips press into a thin line, doubt etched across her features like she’s not buying a word I’m selling. After a long silence that stretches taut between us, she finally speaks. “Do you have a grudge against Saverio?”
I shrug, aiming for casual indifference. “Maybe. Who doesn’t?”
She hesitates, her gaze dropping to her lap. “I don’t.”
The admission is quiet, almost ashamed, hanging in the air between us like a confession. I raise an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. “Then what are you doing here?”
Daniela takes a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling with the motion, and her voice softens. “Because Lucrezia’s my sister. And I love her. God help me, but I do.”
Her words carry weight, like there’s more she’s not saying, secrets pressing against her lips but not quite breaking free. I wait, and eventually, she continues.
“We grew up in a house full of brothers,” she says, her voice distant, like she’s replaying memories in her head, each one tinged with a darkness she can’t quite shake. “Six of them, all older, all stronger, all following in our father’s footsteps like dutiful soldiers. Our father saw Lucrezia and me as... bargaining chips. Pieces on a chessboard he could use to gain power to forge alliances with other families. I was the perfect one, the pure one, the daughter who could bring honor to the family through a respectable marriage. But Lucrezia...” She swallows hard. “He dragged her through the mud, humiliated her at every turn, made her feel worthless in ways that cut deeper than any knife.”
Her voice cracks, but Daniela presses on, her shoulders hunched. “Our brothers never stopped him. They just watched. We all did. Standing there like statues while he tore her apart piece by piece.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I can’t picture Lucrezia—the fiery, fearless woman I’ve come to know—being anything but unbreakable. The idea of her being treated like that, with no one standing up for her, twists something deep in my chest.
“And you?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intend, cutting through the heavy air between us like a blade. “What did you do?”
Daniela’s eyes snap to mine, wide and haunted, and for the first time since I invited her into my house, she looks unsure of herself. The confident facade crumbles away, leaving something raw and vulnerable beneath. “I didn’t know how,” she whispers, her words barely audible. “I was just a kid.”
I shake my head, anger bubbling to the surface like hot oil, impossible to contain. My hands clench into fists at my sides. “Kid or not, you all failed her. Every single one of you. You’re lucky she didn’t burn the whole damn family down.” The words come out harsh, unfiltered, weighted with the fury I feel on Lucrezia’s behalf. I don’t know her whole story, but everything I learn makes me angry.
Daniela’s jaw drops, and she stares at me, shocked by my vehemence, color draining from her face. But before she can gather herself enough to respond, the front door opens, breaking the spell of the moment.
The air shifts immediately. The temperature seems to drop several degrees as Lucrezia steps inside, her sharp eyes taking in the scene with predatory precision. She looks between me and Daniela, her expression unreadable behind that perfect mask she wears so well.
“Am I interrupting something?” Her voice is cold enough to frost glass, her words biting like winter wind.
Daniela stands quickly, her expensive coat rustling like dead leaves as she moves. Her perfectly manicured hands smooth down invisible wrinkles. “We need to talk,” she says, her voice quivering slightly, betraying the confidence she tries to project.
I smirk, leaning back against the wall with deliberate casualness, enjoying the show unfolding before me. “Yeah, perfect timing, princess.” The nickname carries all the mockery I can muster.
Lucrezia’s gaze flicks to me, narrowing slightly before she steps further into the room. Her boots tap against the floor like a countdown. The energy in the air is charged with unspoken words and barely suppressed violence. “Let’s go upstairs, Dani.”
And just like that, the balance of power shifts.