Chapter 17
AISLING
Raf doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t posture or bare his teeth. He just smiles, as smooth as polished marble, and finishes his threat to Tatsuo Tanaka like he’s commenting on the weather.
If I didn’t know better, I might believe they were discussing charitable donations instead of bloodlines and extinction. And it makes my pulse quicken to witness the casual way Raf can talk about cold-blooded murder. It’s as terrifying as it is awe-inspiring.
Then his hand settles on the small of my back, firm and guiding, possessive without being rough.
“Well, I’m glad we could clear that all up,” Raf says pleasantly. “If you’ll excuse us, Tatsuo-san.”
He steers me away before the Tanakas can respond, his palm warm through the thin layer of satin, his thumb pressing like a silent reassurance or a warning. I’m not sure which.
It’s the most attractive thing about him—that steadiness. I know enough about the Chiaroscuros to understand what he’s holding back.
The murder of his father.
Sandro’s kidnapping and torture, which nearly broke him. Raf carries his fury like a blade sheathed beneath silk, and watching him choose restraint instead of spectacle makes my pulse trip over itself.
We don’t speak as he steers me onto the dance floor, and my skin prickles with nervous anticipation at the thought of being close to him for an extended period. The music is slow, intimate, designed to pull bodies together and blur the lines between pretense and truth.
Raf turns to face me, one hand sliding from my back to my waist, the other lifting my hand as if we’ve done this a thousand times before.
“Smile,” he murmurs. “They’re all watching.”
I do, allowing my features to relax into a genuine expression, though my heart feels like it’s pounding a mile a minute.
We sway together, his body warm and solid, the scent of him familiar enough to make my chest ache.
My cheek is close to his jaw, my fingers resting against his shoulder, and suddenly, the memory of him between my thighs, heavy and lost and whispering another woman’s name, crashes into me without mercy.
I want him—I always have, and with a desperation that’s beyond my comprehension—but God, I hate that I want him like I do.
My body doesn’t care about broken trust or old wounds.
It remembers how right he feels when he’s entwined with me, buried in my depths—how the world narrows down to heat and breath and need when I’m in his arms.
Forcing my thoughts back to something more appropriate, I replay the short yet loaded conversation with the Tanakas.
“How do you do that?” I ask quietly.
“Do what?”
“Stay so calm,” I say. “After everything they’ve done.”
His jaw tightens. “Losing control never helps.”
I think of his hand on my back, of his steady voice when he spoke to Tanaka, of the way rage never seems to leak from him unless he allows it.
Then I’m struck by the vision of me drunkenly shouting at him, how mortifyingly out of control my temper can be, especially when it comes to Raf. “I don’t know if I could,” I admit.
He looks down at me, something unreadable passing through his eyes. “You’re stronger than you think.”
The words settle between us, heavy with implication.
When the song ends, applause ripples through the room, and we step apart reluctantly.
That’s when I see my family.
My breath catches so sharply it hurts, and I’m slipping from Raf’s arms before I even think about what I’m doing.
Riley spots me first, and she lets out a delighted squeal, bolts across the crowded room, barreling into me with reckless joy. I barely have time to bend before she’s wrapping her arms around my neck, her curls bouncing, her laughter bright and unrestrained.
“There you are, Sissy!” she says. “I missed you!”
Scooping her into my arms, I hug her tightly, inhaling the scent of her shampoo, the familiar weight of her small body against mine as I twirl her, doing a little dance until she’s spilling over with laughter.
“I missed you too, bug,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.
She pulls back, eyes shining. “When are you coming home?”
The question hits like a blade between my ribs, and I cringe as I glance toward Raf.
He’s watching us with open interest, the intensity of his gaze making my heart stutter.
Does he see what I see? Does he suspect anything? How could he?
No one’s questioned who Riley is to our family since the moment she was welcomed into the world.
Then his gaze softens as Riley chatters, something unguarded bleeding through the cracks of his composure as she insists I come visit soon because her tea parties just aren’t the same without me.
“She’s welcome to stay with us,” he says.
I blink. “What?”
“If that’s acceptable with you, of course,” he adds, glancing at my parents, who are hovering nearby with cautious expressions. “For a visit. A weekend.”
My heart slams into my ribs.
My mother hesitates. My father looks thoughtful. Riley, however, gasps dramatically.
“Really?” she asks, eyes huge. “Oh, Mamma, can I please! I want to stay with Sissy!”
I look at Raf, searching his face for calculation, for obligation. All I see is sincerity.
“Is that really okay?” I ask softly as my parents exchange a look.
He nods. “I can tell you miss each other. It’s the least I can do.”
The words unravel something inside me, and suddenly, I’m on the brink of tears.
It takes my mother a beat longer than my father to concede to the idea.
She studies Raf like she’s weighing him on invisible scales, measuring the risk of entrusting him with someone so tiny and precious.
Then to my relief, after a brief exchange, my parents agree.
“We can bring Riley by next Friday, after she’s done with school—just for the weekend,” my mother clarifies.
My father clears his throat and nods once. “A weekend is reasonable.”
Riley squeals again, throwing her arms around my neck as if she’s just been promised the moon and a ladder to reach it, then she turns her wide smile on Raf. “Thank you!” she says, voice high and earnest. “I’ll be really good. I’ll bring my coloring books. And my unicorn pajamas.”
Raf blinks, startled, then smiles—not the careful one he uses in public but something softer. Realer. “I look forward to it,” he says solemnly.
Riley giggles and beams up at him, utterly charmed.
My chest tightens.
My mother watches the exchange with something like reluctant approval.
Then Riley’s attention is on to the next big thing. “Can I see your dress up close?” she asks, plucking gently at the lace that overlays the corset.
“Of course,” I say, setting her back on her feet. “My friend Evi made it for me.”
I spin for her, lifting the skirt just enough to show the sheen of the satin, the way the skirt flows out like a crimson waterfall around my ankles.
She presses her palms to the swirling fabric like it might disappear if she doesn’t hold on.
“You look beautiful,” she whispers, hands fisting in the frilly layers of her pink tulle skirt.
I crouch and kiss her forehead. “You look like a princess.”
She grins.
When we finally part, hugs traded and promises made, I feel wrung out in the best way, full and aching all at once.
The limo ride back is quieter than the one there.
Everyone’s tired, content.
The city slides past the tinted windows in ribbons of light. Sandro and Evi sit close, murmuring to each other, Sandro’s hand resting protectively over her stomach.
Miko leans back, eyes closed, arm draped around Anika’s shoulders, a faint smile on his lips like he’s already home in his mind.
Raf and I sit side by side, and when our knees touch, neither of us moves away.
It’s a small thing, almost nothing.
And yet it feels loaded, electric as warmth pools in my stomach.
My body is still humming from the dance, from the way he held me like it mattered.
His hand rests on his thigh, fingers relaxed.
Once, his knuckles brush my dress when the limo turns.
He stills, and so do I.
The silence isn’t awkward. It’s… comfortable.
And that’s what scares me most.
When we reach the mansion, the night has gone cool.
The others peel off with quiet good nights, leaving Raf and me alone in the hallway that leads to our room.
He opens the door, stepping aside to let me enter first.
The lights come on softly, illuminating the space that oddly feels less like a battleground and more like a truce line.
I slip off my heels, flexing my toes with a sigh.
“That was… quite the night,” I say lightly.
He hums in agreement. “You’re surprisingly… formidable in a crowd.”
I smile despite myself. “Don Rafael, is that a compliment?”
He chuckles, low and warm, and something in my chest loosens.
As I set my clutch on the dresser, the weight of what he did for me presses back in. I turn to face him, emotion thick in my throat.
“Thank you,” I say, more quietly this time. “For Riley.”
He pauses, jacket half-off, and looks at me fully. “There’s no need to thank me. Your family is always welcome here.”
“I know,” I say. “But I’m grateful all the same.”
His shoulders relax, the tension bleeding out of him like air from a held breath. “You’re welcome.”
For a moment, we just stand there, the space between us charged but gentle.
Then he swallows, his eyes dropping as he turns away.
We change in silence, the kind that hums rather than suffocates.
I slip into a robe, pinning my hair up to wash my face while he sheds his suit for a pair of boxer briefs.
The room feels smaller, warmer, and I try to ignore the sight of his bare chest as I climb into bed.
The mattress shifts softly as he joins me, keeping a respectful distance between us.
But something inside me wants to close that distance tonight—maybe not physically, but in the only other way I can think of.
Taking a breath, I brace myself for the hard truths I’ve been avoiding. “Raf… can I ask you something?”
His gaze sharpens, wary but attentive. “Would it change anything if I said no?”
I smile, chuckling softly. “I suppose not,” I say.
“Then, I might as well be agreeable,” he says playfully, his lips quirking into that charming, crooked grin.
“Who’s Genevieve?” I ask softly, scarcely daring to meet his eyes.
The color slowly leaches from his face, stealing my breath.
It’s like watching a wall collapse, all that control cracking in a single, silent fault line.
His jaw tightens.
His eyes darken—not with anger, but with something raw and devastating. Pain floods his expression.
And the sight of it makes my heart wrench.