Chapter 4
Raffaele
The fork slides between my fingers as I twirl the last bite of pasta. Dinner at the estate always feels like this; a careful balance of power and obligation, business and blood.
The Russo family dining room breathes old money and quiet power. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm light over dark wood paneling, illuminating the faces of my family.
“Earth to Rafe,” Enzo’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Are you planning to hypnotize that pasta or eat it?”
I bring the fork to my mouth, savoring the rich flavor of the cook’s signature carbonara. “Why? Are you so hungry you’re now wanting the food on my plate?” I snort.
He snorts. “You’re a joy to be around.”
Ignoring him, I continue to push food around my plate while counting down the minutes until I can leave.
There was a time when I enjoyed our family meals. Especially when we’re all here. But for the last six months, nothing has really seemed all that fucking enjoyable to me.
Across from me, Matteo leans back in his chair, his black eyepatch a stark contrast against his pale skin. The scars peeking from beneath it tell a story of fire and vengeance that’s earned him a reputation even more terrifying than mine.
His hand rests protectively on Raven’s shoulder, his thumb tracing absent circles as she shifts uncomfortably.
“These two are doing acrobatics tonight,” she complains, wincing as she adjusts her position.
Her round belly strains against her loose blouse, and despite her complaints, her face glows with a contentment I’ve never seen before. Her pink hair catches the light as she tosses it over her shoulder dramatically.
“Pretty sure they’re practicing their WWE moves using my bladder as a trampoline.”
Matteo’s lips curve into that dangerous half-smile that makes most men reach for their weapons. “Maybe they’re just preparing to face the world,” he says, his fingers brushing a strand of pink hair from her face. “Smart kids.”
“God help us all if they take after their dad,” Enzo drawls, sharing a look with his wife that speaks volumes. “One Matteo is more than enough.”
Piper smiles, the kind of warm, genuine expression I’m still getting used to seeing at our family table. “I don’t know. A mini-Lee might be just as terrifying.”
Even though I know Raven’s first name is Lena, which is why Piper calls her Lee, it still sounds weird when none of us ever use her first name.
“More terrifying,” I correct, raising my glass in Raven’s direction. “At least Matteo’s predictable in his madness.”
“Fudge you very much,” Raven fires back with a grin, her hand settling over Matteo’s. “And for the record, I’m hoping they get my charm and his… something else.”
“Fudge?” I question, quirking an eyebrow. “When the hell did you stop swearing?”
“Heck!” she snaps. “The word is heck when I’m around. And since I found out these two troublemakers have been able to hear me since my sixteenth week of pregnancy.”
Remus smirks. “Raven, you’re six months pregnant and you’ve been swearing every day of those months. Isn’t it too late to—”
“Don’t start with me,” Raven interrupts. “It’s fudge, heck, and whatever else you can come up with. Better late than never, guys.”
Piper’s laughing so hard the glass in her hand shakes to the point it looks like she’s about to spill her wine. “Of all the things you and Matteo are going to end up accidentally teaching your kids, I doubt swearing is the worst sin.”
Laughter ripples around the table. For a second, I feel myself almost laughing with them. Feel the familiar upturn of my lips. But then the darkness bashes it away, leaving me with a grimace that’s nothing more than half a smile.
Even so, having Enzo and Piper here makes the room marginally easier to tolerate. The power couple moved from Washington D.C. three months ago when we learned Raven was carrying twins.
Remus clears his throat, drawing all eyes to the head of the table. As the Don, he commands attention without effort; his presence a gravitational force. “Speaking of chaos,” he says, his gaze settling on me. “How are you planning to handle the Brewer debt, Rafe?”
And just like that, business infiltrates family time. The shift is subtle but immediate. Backs straighten. Expressions sharpen. Even Raven’s playfulness dims slightly as she watches me with interest.
I take a slow sip of wine before answering. “I have it covered.”
“I don’t want the bakery to close,” Remus states, cutting into the tiramisu that’s been placed before him. “I know Alina’s your collateral for Sophia’s debt. But if she’s the only one who can run the bakery, you have to rethink it.”
Already way ahead of my cousin, I nod. “She’s not the only one,” I state. “But as I said, I have it covered.”
“Can the other one run it?”
Raven lets out a sardonic laugh. “Sabrina would never. It’s beneath her social media ventures.”
Matteo snorts, his fork stabbing into his food with unnecessary force. “I’ve seen that one around. All tits out and a bad attitude.” His eye narrows. “The bakery one, though, she makes those cinnamon things my Little Thief won’t shut up about.”
“Because they’re epic,” Raven insists, elbowing him. “And Alina’s sweet. Not her fault her sister’s a… a…”
“Bitch?” I suggest when she trails off.
“Witch,” Piper suggests, laughing.
“Sweet doesn’t pay debts.” Remus’ words remind us all that we need to get back on track. “What’s your plan, Rafe? The amount’s too significant to write off, even for a neighborhood staple.”
All eyes turn to me, expectant. Debt collection is my domain. Where Matteo hands out favors and Enzo manipulates politics, I make sure our money comes back to us with interest. Always with interest.
So far, Sophia Brewer’s two hundred thousand dollar debt has grown to two hundred seventy-five thousand dollars thanks to interest. Under usual circumstances, the interest would have been a lot more. But as Remus pointed out, the Brewer Family Bakery is a staple business in Little Italy.
“I’ll handle it personally,” I say, my voice flat with finality. “I already have men stationed outside the bakery to keep an eye on Alina and make sure she’s not going anywhere. And if she agrees to my… terms, she can return to the bakery, eventually.”
“What terms?” Enzo asks, finally getting involved.
I shoot him a look cold enough to shut him the fuck up.
Remus studies me for a long moment before nodding once. “Keep me updated.”
“Always do.”
Raven changes the subject, asking about Piper’s latest political project. The conversation flows back to safer waters, but I feel Matteo’s gaze lingering on me.
“Going collecting tonight?” he asks quietly while the others are distracted.
I check my watch. “Joe Carr. He’s been dodging me for three months.”
My cousin’s smile turns predatory. “Need company?”
“Ian and Colin are meeting me there,” I reply, appreciating the offer nonetheless. “Besides, someone needs to make sure Raven doesn’t make the kitchen staff cry again.”
“I heard that,” Raven calls, not missing a beat in her conversation with Piper. “And for your information, the chef here makes the best chocolate mousse in the world. These babies demand tribute.”
Piper shakes her head. “Not at fuc… fudging three in the morning they don’t.”
“Yeah, maybe that was a bit much,” Raven admits sheepishly.
Matteo’s hand slides up to her neck, squeezing gently. “Insatiable,” he murmurs, but there’s nothing but pride in his voice.
I push back from the table, straightening my suit jacket. “I’ve got to go,” I say, already done with this room.
“However will we survive without your shining personality,” Matteo deadpans.
“Shut up,” Enzo growls. “You’re going to make things worse.”
Matteo shrugs. “I don’t see how that’s possible. Dude’s been moping about for six months now.” Looking straight at me, he adds, “Enough is enough. Beatrice wouldn’t want—”
In two seconds I’m at his side of the table, fisting his collar. “Don’t,” I growl, “you ever fucking talk about her.”
“Fudging,” Raven corrects. “And please let go of my baby-daddy, Rafe.”
Matteo just grins like a fucking madman, blowing me a kiss when I let go. “So touchy.”
Rolling my eyes, I correct my cufflinks and brush some lint from my shoulder. “Right, I’m going. Some of us have business to take care of,” I tell them.
Remus raises his glass in silent acknowledgment. Enzo nods, and Matteo just taps two fingers against his temple—his personal salute.
As I leave the dining room, I feel the familiar shift inside me. The cousin, the friend, whatever is left of the man they expect at this table falls away, replaced by the collector. The one Cleveland’s debtors have learned to fear.
And someone is about to understand exactly why.
Blood will be spilled tonight, and it won’t be mine.
The Maserati purrs beneath me as I cut through Cleveland’s frozen streets, the heater gradually warming the leather interior. The family dinner clings to me like something stale, but now business calls.
Joe Carr has been playing games for three months—extending, avoiding, making promises his bank account can’t keep. Tonight, those games end. Tonight, he learns what happens when I decide he’s had enough chances.
I check my watch as I pull into the parking lot of his office building on the east side. It’s late enough that the cleaning crew has left, early enough that Joe still thinks he’s safe behind his desk, catching up on work.
Colin and Ian are already waiting, standing beside Ian’s black car, breath fogging in the cold air. Colin’s massive frame is unmistakable even from a distance, his shaved head gleaming under the parking lot lights. Ian stands with casual alertness, leaner but no less dangerous.
I park beside them and step out into the cold, adjusting my suit jacket and feeling the reassuring weight of my holstered gun.
“He’s still inside,” Ian reports as I approach. “Lights on in his office on the fifteenth floor.”
“What about security?” I ask, though I already know the answer. Ian is thorough.