Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
RAFFAEL
I stayed on the yacht for hours. Long after the remaining deck and interior crews had been given their marching orders.
I drank. I stewed. I grew more volatile.
And when the drinking, and the stewing, and the fucking volatility slipped the leash of my control, I went to the locked storage room, faced the two men who dared to drag Isla from my cabin, and became my father’s son.
I made lethal promises. Broke bones. Left blood where there should’ve been restraint.
I don’t make it back to the Cavallo Group office until the day has begun to rot into afternoon.
Michelo meets me in the hall, takes one look at my knuckles—red, swollen, raw—and must decide I’m not fit for civil conversation because he rolls his eyes, turns on his heel, and walks away.
Eliseo, on the other hand, stalks into my office, slams the glass door, and studies me like a competitor he wants to crush. “What the fuck happened?”
I push from my chair, move to the decanter in the corner of the room, and pour myself a drink. “I said I’d handle it and I did.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Enough to manage the situation.” I throw back a mouthful of whiskey and let the burn take hold.
“You’re being cagey,” he warns.
“Forgive me if I’m not in the mood to recap how I cleaned up the disaster you created.”
He takes the reprimand with a raise of his chin. “Why fire the entire crew?”
“I don’t recall needing your permission.” I return to my desk and reclaim my seat, swirling the remaining liquor in my glass.
“I’m trying to understand the motivation behind making twelve people redundant.”
“What you should be attempting to understand is my shrinking tolerance for the complications you’ve brought to our lives.” I meet his gaze, eyes hard, the resentment in me harder. “No thanks to you, the situation is under control.”
His nostrils flare. “Why don’t I believe you?”
“Because trust is something you rarely give, even when I’ve earned it.”
“Earned it?” he seethes.
I drown his judgment with another mouthful of liquor. “Don’t start.”
“Why not? You’re the reason I have trust issues.”
I clench my teeth. Lock my jaw. “No. Our father is the reason. I’m only guilty of protecting you from him.”
“You lied to me for years, not him.”
I glance away, shooting back the last of my whiskey.
I won’t apologize for giving him a childhood free from the curse of our bloodline.
He had sixteen good years before I shattered that illusion.
Sixteen years where he didn’t have to fall asleep thinking about our mother’s slaughter.
Or how easily our father dusted his hands of us when we needed him the most.
I may have given him trust issues, but I also gave him peace.
“You’re so quick to judge, Eli, yet you’re doing the same thing to Aurelia.”
He takes a threatening step forward. “Keeping the truth from her has never been my choice.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You choose it every damn day. You decide to keep her whole. To maintain the status quo, despite it being a lie. You choose to protect her ignorance instead of delivering grief.”
He glares at me, the tendons in his neck flickering.
“You keep your mouth shut because it’s the right choice, brother. You play along because the alternative is cruel.” From the corner of my eye I catch my assistant glancing at us, Jessica’s curiosity a liability, even behind soundproof glass. “We’re done here.”
“We’re nowhere near done. What did you tell Cross?”
“She made a statement.” I choose my words carefully. Speak them slowly. “She understands her father’s situation. She’s been handled.”
“Handled is a wild description for someone who’s still breathing.”
I shove to my feet and lunge around my desk. “You wish her dead?” I grab his shirtfront and haul him close. “Is that what you want? To be our father? To become what we’ve fought so fucking hard to keep ourselves distanced from?”
He glares back, unflinching. “Maybe we’re fighting a losing battle.”
My fist curls in his shirt, my knuckles bleaching of color. “Maybe therapy needs to go back on the damn table.”
A pulse at his temple ticks. “I’m not doing therapy.”
“Then pull yourself into fucking line.” I release him with a shove. “Learn to control yourself before you ruin everything.”
“Someone had to take down those companies and avenge our mother.”
I bite down on my tongue, fighting not to grab him again, not to launch my battered knuckles into his nose. “We were avenging her. Discreetly. Through the fucking shell corps.”
He scoffs and glances away.
He wasn’t always like this. He used to smile. Have hope. Possess a heart.
The truth stole that from him and replaced the brother I knew with someone who seeks refuge in darkness. As if his callous sterility will somehow make the father he was never allowed to have proud from beyond the grave.
“I want eyes on her,” he demands.
I sigh and scrub a hand down my face. “It’s being arranged.”
“I want my eyes,” he clarifies. “Surveillance is my forte—not yours.”
“Fine.” I lean back against my desk. “You handle it. From a distance. If you step foot in her apartment building or go anywhere near her cat—”
“Fuck her cat.” He stalks for the door. “It clawed my Fendi Casa sofa.”
“I’m serious, Eli. I don’t want her knowing we’re watching.”
He glowers at me over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, brother. I’ll be well-behaved.”
I bite my tongue and watch him leave.
The rest of the afternoon passes like penance, each hour dragging, every thought circling back to Isla and all the things I can’t give her.
Thursday is no improvement.
I sit behind my desk, staring at spreadsheets I can’t read, contracts I can’t focus on.
Michelo eyes me whenever he passes my office, but he knows better than to engage. And when calls come in from CrossPoint, I have Jessica forward each and every one to Eliseo, justifying passing off the workload because this is his mess—he can take on the added labor to fix it.
He retaliates accordingly—turning up whenever he feels like it, leaving when it suits him, and always carrying that sharp-edged attitude he wears when he wants to be impossible. A spoiled prince testing boundaries. It’s nothing I haven’t managed before.
It isn’t until Friday morning that my assistant interrupts my second hour of staring out my office window when she buzzes my phone.
“I have Philip Cross on the line,” Jessica offers with caution. “He’s insisting he speaks to you.”
The mention of Isla’s father unleashes something poisonous inside me. The fact it took him days to reach out after he scurried off the yacht doesn’t improve my mood. “Put him through.”
A second later the subtle click of the line changes.
“Philip,” I snarl. “What do I owe the pleasure?”
There’s a pause. “I, um, want to discuss my daughter.”
“She’s not up for discussion. Now or in the future. So if that’s all you called for—”
“Please, Raffael. I apologize. I should’ve handled this better, but—”
“You’re directing your apology to the wrong person.
” Who the fuck does he think he is? Even my estranged father parented better than Philip.
At least Lorenzo curated a life for his sons that revolved around safety.
“Isla is the one who deserves to hear you grovel. As far as I’m concerned, our open line of communication ends here. Don’t contact me again.”
I end the call, rage simmering. Heightened emotion has become a constant. Since Isla, even the smallest inconvenience bleeds violence into my veins. Being apart from her is torture. The memory of her body taking mine is a misery that won’t fucking fade.
The intercom buzzes again.
“Mr. Cavallo.” Jessica’s voice wavers slightly. “There’s a woman here. She says it’s urgent.”
“I’m busy.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, already fucking done with today.
“I know, sir. But she insist—” Jessica gasps. The line rustles. “Ma’am, you can’t go—”
The connection severs.
I glance toward my assistant’s desk, my irritation sharpening to disbelief as she scrambles out of her chair to chase after a woman storming for my office.
Sleek black hair. Tailored pantsuit. Fury wrapped in heels.
Quinn. Isla’s best friend.
She cuts down the hall with a predator’s stride, gaze locked on my door. Jessica rushes to block her path, hands lifted in a plea. Quinn doesn’t slow. A quick sidestep, a sharp shoulder turn, and she’s shoving past my door before Jessica can recover.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cavallo.” My assistant scurries in after her. “I couldn’t stop her.”
“It’s okay.” I wave Jessica away. “Leave us.”
Jessica’s shoulders slump, but she nods and backs out, closing the door behind her as Quinn raises her chin in silent, sullen victory.
For a moment, I study my intruder. The tension in her stance. The fire in her eyes. The way her fingers twitch restlessly at her sides, like her body can’t hold still under whatever emotion has brought her into enemy territory.
I feign relaxation, leaning back in my chair. “It’s Quinn, right?”
Her lips thin into a tight line. “I’m sure you know exactly who I am. Where’s Isla?”
The question hits like a slap, and it takes every effort to keep my expression neutral. “Is there a reason you think I’m currently managing her schedule?”
I’ve done exactly the opposite for two days. I’ve cold-turkeyed my way through this fucking addiction. I’ve forced myself not to ask Eli for updates. To let time bury what happened between us.
Discipline over instinct to the point of madness.
“You were together for two nights.” Her voice sharpens like a blade. “Then she vanishes, and you expect me to believe you know nothing?”
“She said she needed time to herself. I’m sure she’s—”
“She’s missing. I let myself into her apartment last night and she’s not there.
Neither are the things I packed for her when she took an impromptu cruise on your yacht.
” She grabs her cell from her pocket, taps the screen, and flashes it toward me.
“I took her cat, yet she hasn’t even messaged me to freak out that Nyra has disappeared. ”
I stare at the text conversation on screen, fear chilling my blood as a long list of Quinn’s messages go unanswered and unseen.
Those fucking Butchers.
I scrub a hand over my mouth, my palms sweating.
Quinn straightens, scrutinizing me with narrowed eyes. “This is… news to you.” Her vengeful expression morphs into confusion. “You’re… worried.”
No, this isn’t worry. Panic is steamrolling me.
“Oh, God, you don’t know where she is.” Quinn’s face pales.
I snatch my cell off the desk and shove to my feet. “Leave it with me. I’m sure she’s fine.”
She has to be. The alternative isn’t optional.
I start for the door. Quinn’s rushed footsteps follow.
“I’m not leaving anything with you, most of all the health and safety of my best friend. You need to tell me what you know.”
I turn on her, the rush of nauseating adrenaline a surge so strong I can’t stop myself from getting right in her face. “Or what?” I bite out, leaning into my legacy. “What the fuck are you going to do?”
She takes a beat. A startled blink. Then slowly grows taller with the straightening of her posture.
“Everything in my power.” She holds my stare. Narrows her eyes. “If anything has happened to her, I promise I’ll ruin your life.”
If anything has happened to Isla I’ll help her fucking bury me, but until then Quinn needs to back the fuck off.
“Stay in your lane,” I warn, yanking open my office door.
I storm down the corridor, past Michelo’s glass-walled office to Eliseo’s.
It’s empty. No jacket on the chair. No fucking sign of him.
“He’s meeting with a developer.” His assistant beams as if him actually doing his job is something to boast about. “Do you want me to get him to come see you once he returns?”
“No. I want you to get him on the phone.” I sidestep Quinn and trek back down the hall. “Then patch the call through to my cell.”
“Where the hell are you going?” Quinn asks.
“The airport.” I pin Jessica with a look as I pass. “Call ahead. Have them prepare the jet. I need to get to D.C.”