Chapter 16
RAFAEL
Despite the tension humming between us, Aisling’s smile is shockingly warm and genuine as I follow her into the limo.
The space is uncustomarily crowded between my four brothers and all our wives, and for the first time, it dawns on me that while I was the first to get married, I’m the only one who’s not madly in love with their wife.
Sure, my wife drives me to the brink of insanity on a daily basis, but what Aisling and I have is so far from what each of my brothers have found, it makes my chest ache with longing.
In truth, I don’t think even Genevieve and I found that kind of happiness.
She was sweet and charming, easy to get along with—and willing to play the pawn in my scheme to torture my father slowly and silently with the knowledge that he couldn’t use me as his own chess piece.
And Aisling couldn’t be more opposite.
She’s contrary, hard headed, outspoken, and sometimes, downright belligerent.
She questions me at every turn.
But when it comes to the game of chess we’re playing, she feels far more like the queen than any other piece I’ve played with.
It’s going to take every ounce of my cunning and wherewithal to maintain control of the board with her on it.
As if hearing my troubled thoughts, Aisling looks up at me through a curtain of her fiery tresses, her blue azure eyes coquettish as they work like an electric shock straight to my heart.
Then she’s glancing away as if she didn’t notice.
Skirts gathered carefully in her hands, the red satin catching the light like spilled wine, she manages to settle onto the bench seat, leaving me just enough room to close the door behind me with a solid thud, sealing us inside a cocoon of leather, low laughter, and expectation.
Sandro and Evi take the seats beside us, Miko and Anika beside them, while Leo and Gio occupy the opposite side with their wives.
My brothers are already pouring the champagne like this is any other social outing and not a calculated display of power—a statement to Chicago society that the Chiaroscuros are still here.
Aisling settles back against the seat, her thigh brushing against mine in the cozy space.
The heat of her bleeds through the fabric of my pants and straight into my bloodstream, though she hardly seems to notice.
I keep my face neutral, spine straight, hands folded like I’m not suddenly acutely aware of every inch of her body.
She smells incredible—sweet and cinnamony, familiar enough to make my jaw tighten and my cock start to swell against the zipper of my slacks.
Clearing my throat, I lean forward to subtly adjust myself, then snatch the champagne flute Sandro passes to me and down a large gulp.
Aisling pointedly turns her attention to the women, leaning forward slightly as Anika speaks, eyes bright with genuine interest. That’s the part that keeps throwing me. It doesn’t seem like my fake wife is performing with them.
There’s no calculation in her expression, no guardedness. She laughs easily, touches Evi’s arm when she congratulates her on the dress, listens like their words matter.
Because they do.
Watching Aisling fit in so seamlessly makes something in my chest ache in a way I don’t like. It feels earned, organic, like she belongs here with my family in this strange, fractured orbit we’ve built around survival and loyalty.
Her knee presses against mine again as the limo turns, the contact lingering just long enough to make my pulse jump. I don’t move away.
Neither does she.
When I glance at her, for half a second, something unguarded flickers across her face—awareness, maybe even a flicker of heat.
Then it’s gone, replaced by a cool, knowing calm as she looks back at Evi like she didn’t just set my entire nervous system on fire.
We arrive at the gala amid flashing cameras and murmurs of recognition, the paparazzi out in full force for the night’s prestigious event.
Everyone who’s anyone will be in attendance—which is exactly why my brothers and I have to make an appearance.
I step out first, turning back to offer Aisling my hand. She takes it without hesitation, delicate fingers warm and steady in mine.
“Such a convincing gentleman,” she murmurs as we head inside. “Though you could try not to look like you’re plotting a murder.”
“I’m always plotting,” I reply.
Her pouting crimson-painted lips twitch into a sultry smile, giving her a dangerously feminine edge. “Lucky me.”
Christ, I think Evi might have it out for me, based on the way she’s dressed Aisling tonight—or at least, she’s definitely trying to move us past the rather frigid way we’ve been dancing around each other at the house these past few weeks.
I could almost appreciate Evi’s efforts if Aisling and I were actually trying to make this marriage work.
But since it’s all fake—and I absolutely cannot make the same mistake of falling into bed with Aisling once more—the fact that she looks like Aphrodite incarnate is going to make this night pure agony.
A truth that’s only made more apparent when I take Aisling’s mink shawl at the coat check and discover what’s been hiding beneath it this whole time.
I have to bite back an audible groan when I realize the corset-style bodice she’s wearing is not only strapless but has pushed my wife’s breasts up into an ample display of just how gifted she is in that department.
“You sure you won’t get cold without a bit more… coverage?” I suggest, silently willing her to have mercy on me and cover up.
“I’ll be fine,” Aisling says, seeming completely oblivious to my discomfort.
“These events always get warm before long.” Then her eyes narrow as she seems to register the tension in my jawline.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Raf,” she hisses.
“What do you care if I’m wearing a dress that might make men look at me? It’s not like I belong to you.”
“They should damn well think it,” I grit out.
But Aisling just gives me a cool, wicked smile.
“Don’t worry, Love. Tonight, they’ll all see I only have eyes for you.
” She runs her fingers down my suit collar, tugging me close so her breasts are pressing firmly against my chest, and she looks up at me with such wide-eyed innocence, it makes me rock hard.
“Now come show off your beautiful new bride,” she whispers, her lips coming within inches of mine before she releases me to sashay toward the main room.
The ballroom is alive with light and money and ambition.
Crystal chandeliers, polished marble, the low hum of conversations layered with music.
This is where Chicago’s elite pretend charity absolves them of their sins.
Aisling slips into the role flawlessly.
Her hand rests at my arm, her touch light but possessive enough to sell the illusion.
She remembers names after a single introduction, asks thoughtful questions, laughs at the right moments.
Each brush of her fingers against my wrist, my shoulder, steals my breath away, and I have to remind myself time and again that tonight is about leaving a lasting impression—that the new head of the Chiaroscuro family is here to stay.
We stop first with Governor Donnovan and his wife. He shakes my hand firmly, politician’s smile firmly in place.
“Raf,” he says. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you. They are,” I say smoothly.
Before I can introduce her, Aisling steps in. “Aisling Chiaroscuro. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve admired your work with urban redevelopment.”
Mrs. Donnovan brightens instantly. “Oh, then you must come see the new South Side initiative.”
“I’d love that,” Aisling replies warmly. “Strong communities don’t happen by accident. They need protection. Investment.”
Her eyes flick briefly to me, sharp and knowing, then back to the governor’s wife.
It’s the same time and again as familiar faces come to greet us, offering condolences for my father’s passing and congratulations on my nuptials.
It’s no surprise to me that no one mentions my first marriage.
My father did everything he could to sweep that happy occasion under the rug. I’m sure he thought it would end within the year.
I suppose, I think bitterly, in a way, he was right. Though I doubt he imagined my elopement would end with my wife’s throat slit in our family home.
Through it all, Aisling plays her part to perfection, showcasing an elegance and composure I hadn’t fully realized the fiery Irishwoman would be capable of.
But she knows exactly how to play the perfect Mafia bride, and it’s with increasing astonishment—and no small amount of awe—that I start to recognize the true value of the wife Callum Murray gifted me.
I wonder if he even knows just what an asset he agreed to hand over for the sake of revenge.
But I’ll be damned if Aisling doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing. She knows how to play the game as well as I do.
And God, but she looks fierce and sexy as hell while she’s doing it.
Eventually, we make our way in front of Commissioner Doyle, and I can’t help but hold my breath.
This interaction matters far more than the rest.
He’s the man who can decide whether street violence stays buried under paperwork or explodes into indictments.
And with the looming Tanaka conflict, we need him on our side.
“Commissioner,” I say. “Good to see you.”
“Ah, if it isn’t one of Augusta’s sons. I was so sorry to hear of his unfortunate… demise. Your father was a good friend of mine.”
“Thank you,” I say gravely, recognizing the euphemism he chose for my father’s cold-blooded murder.
It doesn’t escape me that such a crime couldn’t go unpunished without the commissioner’s cooperation—but I can hardly fault the man for choosing to accept bribes to look the other way when that’s exactly what I need him to do in the near future to ensure my family’s revenge.
As if sensing the need for a change of topic, Doyle slides his gaze to Aisling, assessing. “And this must be your beautiful new wife?”
“A pleasure,” she says with a graceful bow of the head.
“I was hoping perhaps my wife and I might enjoy the pleasure of you and your wife’s company for dinner sometime. My father always spoke highly of you, and I would very much like to… develop the same kind of friendship you two found,” I suggest.
“Oh, that would be lovely,” Aisling gushes, her eyes brimming with enthusiasm. “I’ve heard about your wife’s efforts to increase funding for homeless shelters, and I’ve always hoped to get more involved in humanitarian efforts.”
The commissioner’s smile broadens an inch, his eyes lighting. “We’d be delighted. I’ll have my secretary reach out to get you on our schedule.”
Only after Commissioner Doyle excuses himself fifteen minutes later can I breathe easy once more, and Aisling turns to me with a knowing glint in her eye.
Say what you will about our issues at home—with her by my side at an event like this, we’re unstoppable.
The night rolls on, and with every interaction, the line between performance and reality blurs dangerously.
My wife leans into me when she laughs.
I murmur comments meant only for her ear. The room believes we belong together—and I almost could start to believe it too.
Then I feel an almost imperceptible shift in the air.
I feel the drop in temperature moments before I lay eyes on Tatsuo Tanaka, and Aisling glances up at me from the corner of her eye as I stiffen.
The old Yakuza oyabun stands near the edge of the ballroom, rigid and immaculate, grief and fury etched deep into his face.
His black hair has far more gray in it than it did the last time I saw him.
He turns slowly, gaze locking onto mine, and a cold shiver runs down my spine.
Aisling follows my line of sight. “Tatsuo?” she murmurs.
I give a curt nod, covering her hand that’s linked through my arm as we approach him together.
“Rafael Chiaroscuro,” Tanaka says coolly, his Japanese accent only intensifying the sense of tradition-steeped power that rolls off him in waves.
He’s an old man now, but everything about the man demands respect, even his delicate wife, who hovers a foot behind his right elbow.
“And it would seem that, for once, rumors are true,” he observes calmly as he eyes Aisling with passive hostility. “You must be Callum Murray’s daughter.”
She smiles, sharp and bright. “A pleasure, Tatsuo-san. I’m only sorry my father isn’t here to introduce me himself. I’m Aisling Chiaroscuro.”
“So, the Murrays have aligned themselves with disgraced men,” he replies, all pretense of civility falling away as his expression twists into one of disgust.
“That’s one interpretation,” she says calmly. “Another is that men who break their word lose their allies rather quickly.”
The insult lands cleanly.
Tanaka’s eyes flick to me. “You’ve married strategically.”
“Very,” I reply.
“A bold move, Don Rafael—even for a reckless man like you.” Then Tatsuo’s eyes shift back to Aisling. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Her hand slides up my chest, fingers curling into my lapel. The intimacy is deliberate, calculated, and yet it makes my pulse quicken.
“I will,” she says sweetly, looking up at me for all the world like I’m the only one in the room. “Honestly, I should be thanking you, Tatsuo-san. After all, if you hadn’t betrayed my family, I might never have ended up with the perfect man for me.”
Then she kisses me, rising onto her toes, her fingers coming into my hair as our lips meet with unbridled heat.
It’s not polite. It’s not restrained. It’s a statement.
But all I can think about is how damn good it feels to have her lips on mine.
Her mouth is warm, confident, her fingers pressing into my chest like she’s anchoring herself.
The room disappears, and before I can stop myself, I’m kissing her back, control shattering under the weight of memory and want and fury.
When she pulls away, I’m breathless—and Tanaka’s face is solid stone.
“You will regret this,” he says quietly. “Your family stole my daughter from me. You killed my son.”
“Leo and Sora’s marriage was mutual,” I say flatly. “You agreed to that arrangement—used it to betray my family, in fact. Or had you forgotten? And Kenji should have known better than to think he could hurt my family and survive.”
“You will all die,” Tatsuo promises, his nostrils flaring with restrained fury. “If it’s the last thing I do, I will see your family’s name burned to dust.”
“Don’t count on it, old man,” I counter. “The Tanaka line is finished. Your empire has already been razed to the ground. You just don’t know it yet. But don’t worry, I won’t let you suffer the crushing defeat for long. You’ll be joining your son very soon. I intend to make sure of it.”