Chapter 20 – Leonora
“Thank you.” I smiled up at the quiet maid who was retreating. She didn’t talk very much, but I successfully got to pry her name out of her. Mary. Varya was ill, and, on Rafayel’s orders, I needed to be looked after round the clock, so she had to stand in.
The door closed behind her, leaving the delicious aroma of the Russian breakfast she’d brought in and placed on the bedside table: blini, caviar, and a steaming cup of tea.
I stared at the food but couldn’t eat. A sense of unease I couldn’t shake gnawed at me, a feeling that had been growing since the moment Rafayel had stepped out earlier. Updates. I was dry on them. I couldn’t remember the last time I wasn’t involved in the action. As much as the silence was welcomed, I needed feedback.
It felt like I was starving without any.
I couldn’t stand being cooped up inside. Sometimes, it was suffocating, but what choice did I have? Rafayel had made it clear that I wasn’t allowed to go outside. He said it was dangerous. Dangerous? As if I didn’t know what that felt like.
I laughed in the face of danger—until I cried. Sometimes.
But, as much as I hated it, I listened. I’d never been good at arguing with him, not when his voice was firm and he threatened me with those eyes of his. I also understood that it was for the protection of our baby.
Still.
The house felt quieter without Rafayel, and it wasn’t the kind of silence I welcomed. A few days had passed since everything shifted between us, since we had that mind-blowing sex that sealed my submission to his commands. And when I wanted to get upset about how I turned into a pile of jelly in his arms, the anger just never came.
But I couldn’t stand it any longer. The last time I saw my father, he was planning my wedding to Luca. Knowing Papa, he was going to have his way however he seemed fit.
But it felt like the more I strongly expected Papa’s men to raid Rafayel’s estate and scatter the place with bullets to seize me, the more nothing happened.
The uncertainty that simmered inside of me needed to be confronted. I grabbed my phone, my fingers hovering over Marco’s contact name. He had always been straightforward with me, and if there was anyone who could offer clarity in the midst of all this confusion, it was him. He would tell me what I needed to know. And what I needed to know also concerned my family.
I wanted to make sure they were alright. That Papa was fine.
The call connected, and Marco picked up on the second ring.
“ Hola. ”
There were muffled sounds in the background before his stiff voice came through the speakers. “ Leo? Stai bene?”
It felt refreshing to hear someone from home. But all was not good. I had questions that needed answers.
“No.” I turned away from the door and my food, snuggling deeper into the pillows, as if someone could hear me talking over the phone from outside. “I need to know what’s happening, Marco. How is Papa?”
Silence. And then, “Good. Your father is good, senorita. ”
Before I was able to question his unconvincing tone, he fired on, clipped and curt as always.
His voice crackled through the phone. “The alliance with Rossi is over.”
That was unexpected. “Ended how? What happened to being brothers? What happened to Papa’s dream of Uno Italia ?”
“Incinerated. Turned to dust. The dissolution ended badly. Your father found out Luca was playing both sides. He sought a marriage to you but had a wife back in Italy.”
What?
“Your father couldn’t stand the thought of such shame and disrespect it would have brought you, so your papa called for a meeting with the guise of discussing more details—"
I knew before he said it.
“Two bullets to Lucas’ head. I helped him put a third when discarding the body.”
My jaw dropped, but there was no need to ask for more details. I knew Papa.
He didn’t tolerate betrayal, especially not when it affected the things he held close to his heart. Still, a rush of disbelief hit me.
Marco and I talked more about operations, and after a brief ten minutes, I disconnected the call. The door opened, and my heart skipped a beat when Rafayel walked in—not out of fear.
The man’s charm certainly went up a notch between the last hour I laid eyes on him and now. Today, he wore a dark tailored suit that hugged his frame perfectly, the deep shade of navy blue complementing his piercing dark eyes. His shirt was crisp white, the collar slightly open, offering just enough glimpse of the strong neck that I couldn’t help but notice.
I’d always known Rafayel was the kind of man who didn’t need to speak to command attention. His presence alone, his confident stride, and the way his hands moved had a magnetic pull. I was charmed and undeniably drawn to this enigma, yet I couldn’t tell if it was his looks, aura, or something else that had me utterly intrigued.
I couldn’t help but let my eyes flicker back to the scar on his eyebrow—a subtle reminder of our encounter that had planted his seed inside me. A tiny mark that somehow felt more intimate than anything else between us. The last time I kissed it, my lips brushing against the roughness of the scar, I had felt something more than just the heat of the moment. The memory lingered in my mind, and….
I had to force myself to stop looking.
God, how worse could this situation get?
By the look on his face and those intense eyes of his watching me, he knew I wasn’t playing video games after he saw the phone in my hands.
“Who were you talking to?”
I got it. He still didn’t trust me. How sad. Now, moving on….
I wasn’t about to give him more reasons to doubt me. I didn’t flinch. There was no point in lying to him. Not when I was aware he tracked my phone for security reasons.
I straightened my back, met his gaze, and answered simply, “I was talking to Marco. I asked about my papa and the situation with Rossi. He said the alliance ended badly. And Luca is dead. My papa shot him.”
He visibly relaxed and shrugged. “Was bound to happen, wasn’t it?”
I looked again and noticed that Rafayel was unnaturally calm. He was always calm, but this one had something more to it. The air he carried was unbothered, and he didn’t seem to care.
“You had something to do with it, didn’t you?” That was the only explanation I had.
“Maybe.” He shrugged again.
“Rafa.”
His eyes flashed with that familiar heat, and I suppressed a grin. I knew I would get my answer if I called him that. It always disarmed him.
He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the blue-gold vintage dresser he installed in the room for me. “What do you honestly think?”
“I think you had a huge hand in what happened with Luca.”
“Smart. And correct. But I only set the ball rolling by investigating and showing proof to your father about his existing marriage. Enzo pulling the trigger was his own doing.”
“Sure, I believe that.”
“Do you want to meet your father?” he asked, the question so direct, and I blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of it.
The idea of meeting him, of facing the man who betrayed me, stirred a mixture of curiosity, fear, and maybe even a bit of hope because he ended the alliance. But I didn’t hesitate for long.
“I don’t know,” I said, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. “I don’t think I’m ready.”
“I’m not going to force you.” Rafayel’s lips curved into a small smile. “But I’m going to ask you to marry me. There’s a disclaimer, though. You don’t necessarily have a choice.”
What?
“What?” I blurted, and it was a miracle I hadn’t fallen off the bed.
How could he pop such a question so casually? Was he fricken’ serious?
“ What ?” Did I ask that before? Yes? I wasn’t sure I’d asked it enough then. This was a dream, wasn’t it? I was going to wake up, pinch myself, and it’ll all be over before I knew it.
He was laughing now, like he wasn’t the same man I reunited with months ago that had a knife to my throat. Like he wasn’t the same man who squeezed the air out of my lungs against that tree with murderous eyes. Like he wasn’t the throat-ripping bloodthirsty Zver we all knew him to be.
I stared as he slowly pulled out the ring, the diamonds sparkling under the soft light. Each one caught the light, sending little glimmers dancing across my vision. It was mesmerizing.
My heart hammered in my chest, uncertain yet surprisingly strangely calm. He held it out to me, his gaze steady.
“You’re my family now.” His voice was deep and sure. “You’re mine. And I want to make it official. It’s…right that I do so.”
I froze, my breath catching. This wasn’t how I imagined it happening. I had never pictured a marriage proposal like this, not in a million years. But somehow, it felt right. The shock settled into something unexpected yet entirely welcome.
I blinked, still trying to absorb his words, but there was no mistaking the certainty in them.
His words didn’t sound like the typical promises of love, and I knew he wasn’t offering me just a ring. It was a place in his life and his in mine.
The weight of it hit me, and for a moment, I felt an overwhelming rush of relief. This was good, right?
It wasn’t what I expected, but it was…good.
“I—” Just as I was about to say something, anything, I caught a faint sound—a melody from somewhere beyond the window, drifting in like it had always belonged there.
James Arthur’s “Car’s Outside.” It was so soft, so perfect, like it was part of this moment, too.
I blinked. I almost thought I had imagined it. But no, it was real. The song, the ring, the words. And I knew my answer anyway.
“I—” I finally whispered, still feeling the strange pull of it all. My voice was soft, unsure at first, but then it steadied.
“Yes.”