Chapter 26
Raffaele
The silence that follows my announcement is so complete I can hear the soft intake of breath from Alina beside me. Every eye in the room fixes on us—Remus’ calculating gaze, Enzo’s narrowing stare, Matteo’s jaw locking with surprise.
I keep my hand steady on Alina’s back, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her breathing beneath my palm.
Let them stare. Let them wonder. I’ve made my decision, and Russos don’t explain themselves—not even to family.
“Thursday,” Enzo finally repeats, the single word landing like a stone in still water. His icy blue eyes slide from me to Alina, assessing, measuring. “As in next Thursday.”
Piper’s hand finds her husband’s arm, her fingers curling around his wrist in what might appear as affection to anyone who doesn’t know better. I recognize the subtle restraint, having seen it countless times before when Enzo’s temper threatens to surface.
“A week from now,” Matteo clarifies unnecessarily, his single eye fixed on me with an intensity that would unnerve anyone outside our family. “You’re getting married in a fucking week?”
“Watch your language,” Raven hisses, one hand resting protectively on her enormous belly.
I feel Alina tense beside me. If any of these fuckers make her cave in on herself, I’ll uninvite them from our wedding. And they won’t be allowed near our future children. No way. She’s come too far to be set back now.
To my surprise, she straightens her spine. Pride mingles with something darker as I watch her refuse to shrink under the collective weight of my family’s attention.
What a good fucking girl.
Enzo leans forward, fingers steepled against his lips. “How long has this been—”
“Enough,” Remus cuts him off with a single word, his hand raising slightly from the table. He stands, straightening his suit jacket with deliberate precision. “Rafe, Enzo, Matteo. With me.”
It’s not a request. We all know it.
Alina’s fingers clutch at the tablecloth, her knuckles white with tension. I lean down, pressing my lips to her forehead in a gesture that surprises even me with its tenderness.
“Stay with Piper and Raven,” I murmur against her skin, my hand cupping the back of her neck, thumb brushing over the diamond choker I placed there hours earlier. The sight of it against her pale throat stirs something possessive in my chest. “I won’t be long, Piccola.”
Her pale blue eyes meet mine, uncertainty swimming in their depths. “Raffaele,” she whispers, so low only I can hear. “I don’t think your family likes this idea.”
“It doesn’t matter what they like,” I tell her, maintaining eye contact, willing her to understand. “You’re mine, and soon you’ll be my wife. That’s all that matters.”
I straighten, noticing the way Piper and Raven exchange knowing glances. There’s something in their silent communication that makes me uneasy. I swear these two could plan world domination while getting a manicure, and we wouldn’t know until they’d set the world ablaze.
“We’ll take good care of her,” Piper promises, her voice smooth as polished stone.
“Cross our hearts and hope to die,” Raven adds, shooting me a finger gun.
As I follow my cousins out, I glimpse Piper making Alina sit in the seat I had just vacated. Then the other two move about until they sit on either side of my soon-to-be wife. Almost like they’re shielding her. Or maybe it’s more about literally making her the center of attention.
“So,” I hear Raven say. “I need to pretend I’m drinking wine while you tell us all the gory details.”
I almost turn back, almost intervene, but Remus’ steady gaze pins me in place. The women will do what women do, and Alina will have to navigate those waters without me.
The study door closes behind us with a heavy thud. It’s a room I know well—dark wood paneling, leather chairs worn to perfect comfort, shelves lined with books that have likely never been opened.
Matteo immediately walks to the bar cart, pouring amber whiskey into four heavy crystal tumblers without asking if anyone wants one. Enzo extracts a cigar from the humidor on the desk and offers me one, which I don’t hesitate to accept.
Remus claims the chair behind the desk—his chair, his desk, his authority. Despite being the same age as us, he carries our family’s legacy with an ease that commands respect. He accepts the whiskey Matteo hands him with a slight nod.
I light my own cigar, watching the flame briefly illuminate my cousins’ faces—the tension in Enzo’s jaw, the calculated blankness in Matteo’s expression, the patient expectation in Remus’ eyes.
They’re waiting for me to explain myself, to justify what they perceive as recklessness.
I take my time, taking several pulls off my cigar and letting it out in a slow stream that curls toward the ceiling. Only then do I settle into the chair across from Remus, accepting the whiskey Matteo hands me.
“My dad called,” I say simply, watching understanding dawn on their faces. Andrea Russo’s name carries weight, even in his absence, even across an ocean. “He’s demanding that I marry. Says it’s time I took my place properly in the family.”
Matteo scoffs, the sound harsh in the quiet room. “And you picked the baker?” He takes a deep drink of his whiskey. “The one you collected for a debt, what, three weeks ago?”
“Twenty-six days,” I correct him, my tone sharper than intended. “And yes.”
Enzo raises an eyebrow. “That’s… convenient.”
“It’s transactional,” I say. “She was already in my possession. The debt gives me leverage. She knows my world, or at least enough of it. And she’s…” I hesitate, searching for the right word.
“She’s what?” Remus asks quietly, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Suitable,” I finish, ignoring the hollow feeling the word leaves in my chest.
Matteo leans back in his chair, balancing his glass on his knee.
“You’ve been off since Beatrice died,” he says, using my mom’s name deliberately.
I don’t know if it’s as a reminder of the loss that still feels raw six months later, or because I lost it the last time he said it. “More violent. Darker. Unpredictable.”
I set my glass down with careful precision, fighting the urge to smash it against the wall. “Watch yourself,” I growl.
“He’s right,” Enzo chimes in. “Back in January, you put three men in the hospital for a simple missed payment. Four months ago, you disappeared for five days after that shit in Detroit with no word to any of us.”
“Since when do I answer to you?” I challenge, feeling my control fraying at the edges.
“Since we’re family,” Remus answers for them both. He leans forward, elbows on the desk, assessing me the way he might evaluate a potential business partner. “Is this what you want, Raffaele? A marriage based on debt collection? A woman who has no choice but to accept you?”
Something dark and ugly rises in my chest at his words. “Everyone has choices,” I snap. “She chose to accept my proposal rather than remain simply a captive.”
“Limited choices are hardly choices at all,” Enzo mutters.
“Come on, Remus,” Matteo says, rolling his glass between his palms. “I expected you to talk him out of it.”
Enzo nods, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Yeah, sorry. I’m with Matteo. This doesn’t make sense.”
I lean forward with deliberate slowness, a predatory smile spreading across my face. “That’s rich coming from you two fuckers,” I say, my voice deceptively casual.
His eyes narrow at my tone. He knows me well enough to sense the danger beneath the surface calm.
“Enzo,” I continue, “didn’t you stalk Piper for months before making your move? Tracking her every step, manipulating her career options until the only path left led straight to you?”
My cousin’s icy blue eyes sharpen dangerously. Other men would back down when faced with that look. I’m not other men. “That’s different,” he scoffs.
“Is it?” I challenge, holding his gaze. “You knew you wanted her the moment you saw her, and you did whatever it took to make her yours. At least I’m being upfront about my intentions.”
Before Enzo can respond, I turn my attention to Matteo, who suddenly finds his whiskey fascinating. “And you. You want to lecture me about obsession? Should we discuss what happened when Raven stole from you?”
Matteo’s single eye flashes with warning. “Fuck off. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
I raise an eyebrow at his protest. “Don’t I? Enzo collects toys, and his best one is now his wife.” I gesture toward Matteo. “You collect favors. And the best one you ever called in is now carrying your babies.”
The room falls silent. Neither man argues because they can’t. We all know the truth of how they claimed their women.
“I’ve already collected Alina in place of the Brewer debt,” I continue more calmly, watching their expressions shift. “So she’s bound to me whether we marry or not. As my captive, she has a nice room upstairs. But as my wife, she’ll be able to do the things she wants.”
I take another pull from my cigar.
“And I’ve never expected to marry for love. If I ever married, I’ve always known it would be one rooted in debt and convenience.”
Something softens in Matteo’s expression, anger giving way to contemplation. Enzo’s eyes have shifted from suspicious to considering.
“At least your women chose you,” I add, feeling an uncharacteristic vulnerability creep into my voice. “And love you. Circumstances have limited Alina’s choices. I can’t change that. But I can give her this one.”
I spread my hands in a rare gesture of openness. “She wants the bakery. She wants to bake her own wedding cake. She wants a small ceremony, nothing flashy.” The corner of my mouth lifts in what might be a genuine smile. “She wants to hyphenate her name.”
“And you’re going to let her?” Enzo asks, genuine surprise evident in his tone.
I shrug. “Brewer-Russo isn’t the worst compromise.”
Remus studies me over the rim of his glass. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“I am,” I answer honestly.