Chapter 29
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
RAYNE
Too hungry to stay away from the kitchen any longer, I brave it, the chance of coming face to face with my least favorite Medici brother be damned.
Looking back now, I don’t think he sent me that message either.
I think it was all Giovanni’s doing. He sounded almost euphoric when he was calling me a whore and telling me he’d slit my throat.
It all makes sense now. And hopefully, Ethan might give Enzo the answers he needs.
Rafael is sitting on a stool, his back to the door, humming along to a Billie Eilish song playing on his cell phone. His taste in music has always been one of the reasons we got on so well, or at least it used to be.
Upon hearing my footsteps, he glances over his shoulder and grunts a “Hey.”
“Hello, Rafael.”
I pour myself a glass of juice and grab a slice of cherry pie from the fridge, aware that my guard is watching me intently. My shoulders tense, bracing myself for a barb or some kind of comment intended to push my buttons. “Any more of that pie?” he asks instead, catching me completely off guard.
“Uh, yeah.”
He licks his lips. “Can I get a slice?”
“If you want to get off your ass and get one, then sure,” I reply, giving him a sweet-as-honey smile.
His eyes narrow for a second, then he barks out a laugh.
“Always so fucking feisty, Rayne,” he murmurs, then he goes to the fridge.
“There’s cream too? What the hell! Enzo never has nice food like this.
” He pops his head out of the fridge and grins at me.
“Is this your influence? You still have that sweet tooth, huh?”
I’m immediately suspicious. Did Enzo tell him what actually happened? My skin bristles at the thought. I would rather stick forks in my eyes than have Rafael feeling sorry for me. “Why are you behaving like a normal human and being nice to me?”
He grabs a spoon and takes a seat at the island with his plate of cherry pie and cream. “Enzo told me to play nice.” He scoops up almost half the pie and then shoves it into his mouth, making appreciative noises as he eats.
“And you listened to him?”
He shrugs. “Not always. But I could tell he meant it, so…”
Still wary, I sit at the island and take a bite of my own pie. Sweet juicy cherries burst on my tongue, and I almost moan with satisfaction. Damn, that is very good pie. Thank you, Enzo.
“Did he tell you what happened?”
“To you? No.” He shakes his head. “I figure it was bad though. He left here with that look in his eye. You know the one where he’s trying not to go nuclear but he’s definitely about to?”
“Yeah, I know that look.”
He takes another bite of pie. “I didn’t send you any message, you know.”
There’s something about Rafael Medici that is so childlike and vulnerable sometimes, despite him being a crazed psychopath, that makes me believe him. But still… “I know what I saw. That message came from your phone.”
He tilts his head to the side. “You’re smart, Rayne, always were. And I don’t believe you’d have fallen for the old someone has information for Enzo ruse if it hadn’t come from someone you trusted. And you did trust me. Once.”
“What exactly are you saying, Raf?”
“That whatever you told Enzo today, he believes it, and I trust his instincts. So, I’m saying I believe the message came from my phone.” He licks a spot of cherry from his top lip. “Not from me though.”
“Then do you know who sent it?”
“Oh, I’m gonna find out who it was. Trust me.
” He winks before slipping off the stool and taking his plate to the sink.
Then he spins around, arms folded over his chest so that his biceps are straining at the sleeves of his shirt, with a look of devilment on his face.
He has the same Medici bone structure as Enzo—the strong jaw, the straight nose, full lips.
But he’s different too, his eyes not quite as dark, and a thick beard covers the lower half of his face, making him look rougher somehow.
Less polished than Enzo, but no less dangerous.
“Do you still like vodka?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He smirks. “Enzo has some really good shit he got from the Russians. Costs like four thousand dollars a bottle.”
Before I can reply, he rushes out of the kitchen, presumably to retrieve said expensive vodka. Two minutes later he’s back, holding it aloft like a trophy, and with a triumphant look on his face. “Got it.”
I’m not sure drinking vodka with Rafael is a good idea, but what the hell.
It’s been a shitshow of a day so far. Who knows how long Enzo will be gone, and what he’ll be doing.
Although of course I know what he’s doing.
He’s killing Ethan Fiorelli. And painfully I hope.
A better woman might feel some compassion for what that piece of human excrement is about to endure, but I’m no such woman.
He raped me and let his brother take the fall. And Tommy was a good man.
Rafael pours me a generous measure, and I down it in one gulp, smacking my lips together and slamming my glass back down on the counter for a refill. “You always could hold your liquor,” he chuckles.
“Yeah, well, I had to learn something from my father, right?”
His chestnut-brown eyes sparkle. “I like to think Angelo and me taught you a little about holding your liquor too. Do you remember that time we stole Pop’s best cognac?”
The memory makes me snicker. “Yeah, I do. You were only fifteen and we got so drunk that Enzo found us trying to swim in the fountains at the Falcone estate.”
Rafael snorts a laugh. “Pop was so mad.”
I nod, lip trapped between my teeth as I stop a snort from bubbling out of me too. “He was raging.”
“Enzo calmed him down though.” He knocks back his drink. “Always looking out for us.”
The happy memory is suddenly swallowed up by sadness. He did, until the one time I really needed him to.
“Hey!” Rafael nudges my arm, snapping me from my melancholy, his eyes sparkling with unbridled delight. “Do you still love karaoke too?”
A memory of him and me at his eighteenth birthday party belting out Taylor Swift songs at the tops of our lungs comes rushing back to me, making sadness and regret snake through my veins.
Maybe it’s the vodka clouding my judgment, but karaoke would be a whole lot of fun actually.
“We’re not allowed to leave the penthouse. Enzo will lose his mind if we do.”
“We don’t have to. He has a karaoke machine here somewhere.”
He might as well have just told me that elephants are purple. “He. Does. Not.”
Rafael lets out a wicked laugh. “He does. We had a party here at New Year’s and I convinced him to get one.”
I laugh too, definitely the effects of the vodka. Or maybe it’s the idea of the Medici brothers rocking out to karaoke all night. Whatever it is, this is exactly the distraction I need.