Chapter Twenty-Four Guinevere #3
“No?” he asked finally, wearily. He dragged a hand over his face and let it drop with a thud to the table.
“You do not remember the bloodstain on my shirt the day I danced with you in the trattoria? I had just finished in the basement with Galasso, the sacco di merda who tried to rape you your first night in the country.”
I gasped, hands covering my mouth even though my tears had trickled to a stop. “What?”
Raffa nodded, and something dark curled the edge of his ruddy mouth. “Ludo found the figlio di puttana and brought him to the basement. Umberto’s is one of our restaurants, and we use it for business sometimes.”
“What did you do to him?” I asked, but I knew.
Of course I did.
I would never let anything hurt you. I would kill a thousand men who tried, and I would sleep like a fucking baby knowing I did the right thing every time.
“You killed him,” I whispered into my hands.
When Raffa didn’t respond, I looked up to see his grim smile of acknowledgment.
“I drugged him and then beat him to death with my own hands. Ludo took him into the countryside and made it look like a car accident. You can look it up if you want. The crash was in the local news.”
“The company you ‘invested’ in,” I said, the dots already connected, the image clearer than I’d ever wanted to see it. All I could do now was validate my findings. “How legal was your investment?”
“Very good, Vera,” he said smoothly, the same way he might have praised me for staying very still when he spanked me. Even now, it made my heart stutter. “A rival ... business was making a play for my company. They turned the deputy chief of the DIA, Sansone Pucci, on to me.”
“That’s why he was such an asshole at the party.”
He inclined his head. There was something different about him now, like he had lowered the partition between who he claimed my Raffa was and the man he’d truly been.
He looked more wolf than man, with those sharp canines glinting in that tight, mean little smile and his eyes darkened by the heavy ridge of his frowning brow.
Like another man entirely.
“To be fair, I was not doing what they accused me of, but ...” He opened his palms in a mock show of innocence. “I could not let that stand. You found the shell companies that revealed which family was working behind my back, and we took care of them.”
“The police raid on the boats. You even took me to watch it,” I said, shocked by his audacity.
It spoke of a certain kind of joy in his work, and that, more than finding out the extent of his crimes, hardened my heart toward him.
How could I believe such a man would love me when he was capable of such lies, corruption, and enjoyment of it all?
How could I believe he wasn’t lying about what mattered most, the shattered heart lying between us?
He sneered. “You enjoyed it, Guinevere. The clues were there. You just did not want to acknowledge them. Do not do us the injustice of pretending I did not give you the real me. I know I did—I feel that I did because my heart is no longer inside my chest. You took it when you ran, and I will not get it back unless you come back with me.”
He stood up abruptly and crossed to me on swift legs, only gentling slightly when I recoiled. Dropping into a crouch so we were eye level, he slowly lifted a hand to show me he meant no harm and laid it, whisper soft, against my chest.
“Can you feel it beating against your own?” he asked in a threadbare voice.
“I know I do not deserve a second chance, but I am not too proud to tell you I will spend the rest of my life working to earn it. Let me ask you to stay. Stay now that you know and get to know the real me. The man you once aptly called Rex Infernus. Stay forever, because I promise, Guinevere, no one will ever love you as much as I do.”
“You’re a mafioso,” I said into the pause, determined to have it all out between us.
With each piece of the puzzle slotting into place, it felt as if I’d erected a shield between myself and him.
I was numb beneath it, growing colder and colder.
It was much better than the lava-hot rage and pain of before. “Am I right?”
His sigh was answer enough.
“You lie, steal, cheat, assault, scam, and murder for a living.” The words cut coming up, causing wounds I knew would leave permanent scars. “How can I ever love a man like that?”
Raffa flinched as if I’d hit him with the full weight of my body, face turning away from me, cheeks flushing scarlet. He sucked in a quavering breath and nodded slowly.
He did not realize it was a genuine plea for help. That if he could only convince me and teach me, the way he had taught me so many other things, perhaps I could find a way to rewire my brain, to make sense of his darkness, and the dream of us wouldn’t have to die.
What an impossible hope, one more to add to my silly, girlish heart.
“Right,” he whispered to himself in Italian. “Of course.”
I curled tighter in on myself, hating how hard it was to see him in such pain when he was the cause of my own.
He stood suddenly and turned on his heel to walk toward the door. A pause, his shoulders tense and unmoving, before he twisted back to look at me.
An implacable expression was fixed to his face. It made him look like a total stranger.
“I will have Martina pack your things for you,” he said in a perfect monotone. “If you can just text her where you will be, she will get them to you before you leave tomorrow.”
“Okay.” I swallowed hard around the words that clawed their way up my throat.
Why did you do this to us? To me?
Knowing all this, I still don’t think it’s enough to kill the love that’s overgrown inside me.
We stared at each other for a long time, and I pretended I wasn’t cataloging everything one last time. Even though he’d become the villain, he had still left a massive impression in my life and my soul, and now I would have to learn to live around it.
“For what it is worth.” He paused. “For what I am worth, I may have lied about what I do and how I do it, about my family and our history. But I never lied about anything else. Honestly, no one has ever known me better than you do.”
“Frankly, caro mio .” I bastardized the quote from Gone with the Wind with Italian, so cruel it hurt my teeth as the words passed them. It calcified that armor around my heart and gave me the strength to look him right in those cold black eyes. “I don’t give a damn.”
Raffa rocked back on his heels, mouth parting slightly as my final shot found its mark.
Suddenly exhausted beyond all reasoning, I closed my eyes and wished on one last shooting star that when I opened my eyes, he would be gone for good.
And when I did, he was.
The end . . . for now.