Chapter 48 RAFFAEL
I stare at her without breathing. The words hang in the air like the smoke of a gunshot, and I can’t seem to move past them. I feel Sophia's presence, and that's the only reason I don't explode. But I can’t look at her. Not yet.
I can’t look at anything. Because the world just tilted off its fucking axis.
Donna Margarita.
Leonardo Zanello.
My mother.
My father.
Fuck.
My throat tightens, and something thick and oily works its way up from my gut. Rage. Revulsion. Not at the fact that I’m their son, I’ve already made peace with one half of that truth. I’ve learned to live with the blood of a king in my veins.
But this?
No.
Not her.
Of all the people. All the cruel, manipulative, cold-hearted monsters in this world… it had to be her?
I feel like vomiting.
She’s watching me, waiting for a reaction, waiting for me to sink to my knees in front of her. To worship her. To thank her. Like the mere revelation of who she is should undo me. Like I should fall apart at the honor of her attention.
She’s full enough of herself to believe anyone would be grateful—eternally grateful—for a second of her presence, her power, her precious name.
And that?
That’s what makes me sickest of all.
But I don’t move.
Not a twitch.
It’s the only thing I can control right now. My skin crawls just remembering the way she looked at Sophia, as if she were filth. Like she didn’t matter, and now she wants me to believe she’s my mother?
My jaw clenches. The pressure in my chest is so tight I can barely breathe.
My hands ball into fists at my sides, and I have to force myself not to put them through the wall.
There is no part inside me that doubts her truth.
Unfortunately, it all adds up too conveniently.
Donna Margarita might be a lying, manipulative bitch, but she wouldn't need to lie about something like this.
I glance at Sophia. She’s gone rigid, and her eyes are glassy but unblinking, like she's trapped in some horror she can't wake up from.
That makes it worse.
That makes it personal.
"I see you need time," Donna Margarita says, as if this is a dinner party and not an emotional assassination.
"Get out," I say.
For a second, I think she'll obey my command, but I should know better. She starts walking toward me. When she reaches me, she presses a hand to my chest like it means something. Like it should heal something.
"Don’t you see?" she says softly. "I’m your mother."
The words land like acid on my skin.
"I searched for you," she says, her hand still resting over my heart like she has a right to it.
"For thirty years. They took you from me. Carlos… that bastardo traditore. He stole you. Hid you. We could’ve had everything.
" Her voice catches, just enough to sound human—almost. "They have to pay for what they did to us. For keeping us apart."
She looks up into my eyes, dark with conviction. "I can help you. You deserve your rightful place. You deserve to be Don. Nothing less."
My jaw is locked, and my pulse is hammering. She leans in closer; her scotch-mixed breath brushes my cheek. "And you’ll need me," she murmurs. "Whether you like it or not. Without my protection—my clout—you’ll be dead within a week."
There it is—the threat dressed up as a favor. A knife slipped beneath a hug.
"You’re a threat to Edoardo," she says, too calm. "And to half of La Famiglia. You think you can survive this alone?"
Sophia stirs by my side. She steps forward, all confidence and self-assurance, her voice calm yet cutting. "Oh, lady," she says, with a soft laugh that doesn’t reach her eyes, "you think yourself so clever."
Donna Margarita’s hand drops from my chest, and her attention snaps toward Sophia with thinly veiled contempt. But Sophia stands her ground, her eyes bright with fury. "Your son?" she pushes her chin forward proudly, "he’s already ten steps ahead of you."
Then she smiles now, full and cold. "Don’t you know?" she finishes. "He’s Capo Raffael DeSantis now."
Donna Margarita’s face doesn’t just fall—it crumbles.
Not a dramatic collapse, no. Just a flicker.
A split-second fracture. But I see it. And for one savage heartbeat, it’s exhilarating.
She blinks, then inhales sharply. That breath hitches as she shudders, like something cracked deep inside her, and she scrambles to tape it back together.
Then the mask slams back into place. Her chin lifts.
Her spine straightens. She exhales long and slow, the way a queen might dismiss a subject who dared to disappoint her.
"I see," she says, voice dry as bone.
Her gaze swings toward me. No longer pleading. Now just poison. "You’re really going to throw the title of Don into the ashes," she hisses, "just to crawl into bed with her?"
Her lip curls, full of disgust.
"I should’ve known better than to ever count on a man," she spits. "When it wasn’t my husband, or my lover, I thought—surely—a son would be loyal. A grandson."
She laughs then—humorless, bitter, cruel. "Bah!" she snaps, turning to spit on the floor like the air itself offends her. "You’re all the same. Every one of you."
Her eyes sweep across me and Sophia like we’re insects she’s grown tired of crushing. "Thinking with the one part of your body that’s never had a single brain cell in it."
With that, she sweeps out of the room, leaving nothing behind but the scent of expensive perfume and the bitter echo of her words.
I stand there for a moment, still staring at the door she left through, my fists clenched so tight my knuckles crack.
Then I turn, cross the room, and open the balcony doors, letting the night air roll in, cool, crisp, and clean.
I breathe it in like I’ve been underwater too long.
Behind me, I hear soft footsteps. Then the warmth of Sophia’s arms wraps around my waist from behind. She presses her cheek against my back.
"Are you okay?" she asks quietly.
I don’t answer right away, just stand there, trying to let the cold air sweep the taste of her voice off my skin, trying to find something solid to hold onto.
"I don’t know," I say finally. It’s the closest to honest I can get right now.
She moves beside me, her hand slides into mine, and our shoulders brush. I look at her, and there’s no pity in her eyes. Just presence. Calm, steady, and most of all, real.
I glance away again, toward the dark horizon.
"When I was a kid," I murmur, "I used to dream about my real parents. Not like… some fairytale shit. I just wanted to know why they gave me away. If they ever thought about me."
Sophia squeezes my hand.
"My adoptive parents…" I exhale slowly. "They were okay. They didn’t beat me. Didn’t scream. Didn’t lock me in closets or anything.
They just… tolerated me. Like I was some long-term guest who never left.
" Her fingers tighten around mine. "I didn’t realize how much that shaped me until I left.
Until I built something on my own. I used to think knowing where I came from would give me answers.
" I shake my head. "Now? I’m just grateful they weren’t her. "
Sophia leans up to kiss the corner of my mouth, soft and slow; her other hand slides up to my jaw, and her gentle fingers caress my skin.
"I’m so sorry," she whispers. "This is so messed up."
I nod once. It’s all I can do.
Then I pull her in, wrap my arms around her, and hold her like she’s the only thing in the world that makes any fucking sense. Because right now… she is.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket, shattering the moment like glass hitting tile. I grit my teeth and pull it out.
Edoardo:
Meeting tomorrow. Zanello Tower. Wait outside the conference room for my signal.
I stare at the screen, and my jaw flexes. Of course, there is no peace for us. I show it to Sophia.
"He’s going to make some big, dramatic announcement about me," I say flatly.
She leans in, reads the message, and nods. "Looks that way."
I rake a hand through my hair, feeling the tension coiling tighter in my chest. "All I want is to be alone with you. Hold you. Fucking breathe with you. But it seems the world has other plans."
Sophia’s hand slides to my forearm. Her grip is steady and warm.
"This is good," she says gently. "This means he’s choosing to legitimize you. Publicly. It’s a step."
I grunt, not ready to believe anything Edoardo does qualifies as progress.
"Or it’s a setup," I mutter. "A chance to paint a target on my back in front of the entire council."
Sophia steps in front of me, placing her hands on my chest. "Maybe. But you won’t walk into it blind. Not this time. Not ever again."
Her eyes search mine. "You’re smarter than him, Raffael. More prepared. And you have people who actually believe in you." She rises on her toes and kisses me, slow and anchoring, the way only she can. "And you have me."
I exhale through my nose. It’s not relief, not exactly, but it’s the closest I’ve come to it in hours.
"I love you," I murmur against her lips.
"I love you too," she whispers. "Now let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow’s the beginning of our new life."
I don’t know if it’s the beginning of a war or an empire.
But she’s right.
One way or another…
It begins.
The next morning…
I didn’t want her to come; I assured her I could handle this alone.
But Sophia has a mind of her own, which is becoming clearer every day, and I love her even more for it.
I love the way she's finding her voice again, the person she used to be.
"I know you can, but trust me, a lot less blood will flow if I'm there.
I should have called Marcello and met with him before this. This might get ugly."
"All the more reason for you to stay behind," I argue.