Chapter 31
Raffaele
Istand at the edge of the living room, watching my wife move through the crowd of my family.
My wife.
The words still feel strange on my tongue, but I can’t deny the possessive thrill that runs through my veins every time I think them. Alina Brewer-Russo.
Mine in name, in body, in law.
I take a slow sip of whiskey, letting the burn settle in my chest as my eyes track her ivory lace dress across the room.
The room has been completely transformed. The furniture has been moved to the side, creating enough space in the middle to dance. Which is exactly what we did. We had our first dance in here to Andrea Bocelli’s version of ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’.
The twinkling lights strung across the ceiling cast her in a soft glow, making her red hair shimmer like copper. Something unfamiliar tightens in my chest as she throws her head back in laughter at something Susan says.
It’s an emotion I’m not equipped to handle, one I’ve spent a lifetime avoiding. But as I watch her, I reluctantly recognize it for what it is.
Somewhere in the periphery of my vision, Matteo and Enzo are engaged in what appears to be an intense conversation, punctuated by Enzo’s occasional dark chuckle.
Piper stands beside them, her champagne glass dangerously full as she sways slightly. Raven, her hand protectively cradling her pregnant belly, watches her friend with barely concealed amusement.
“If you keep going at this rate, I’ll have to carry you home soon,” Lorenzo murmurs to his wife, his arm sliding possessively around her waist.
“Nonsense,” Piper replies, taking another deliberate sip. “I’m drinking for Raven, too. She made me promise.”
“I absolutely did,” Raven laughs, adjusting her weight from one foot to another. “But don’t blame your inability to hold your liquor on my babies. That’s poor form, Pipes.”
My gaze shifts back to Alina, drawn to her like a compass finding north. She’s still chatting with Susan, her hands moving animatedly as she speaks.
The ivory lace of her wedding dress catches the light with every gesture, the deep V-neckline revealing just enough pale, freckled skin to make my mouth water. Even from across the room, I can see the diamond choker I gave her glinting at her throat, a visible mark of my claim on her.
Remus approaches me, glass in hand, expression unreadable as always. “Congratulations again, cousin,” he says, his voice low and measured.
“Thank you,” I reply.
His eyes follow mine to where Alina stands. “She’s not what I expected for you,” he admits. “But I can see why you chose her.”
Before I can respond, he steps to the center of the room and taps his knife against his crystal whiskey glass. The clear ring cut through the room, silencing all of us. Alina hurries to where I stand, and I immediately pull her as close as possible.
“Stop walking away from me,” I murmur against her hair.
Tipping her head back, she meets my gaze and grins. “Is that an order, Mr. Russo?”
“A plea, Mrs. Brewer-Russo,” I rasp.
We’ve been glued to each other’s sides almost since we left the church hours ago. But now that dinner’s over, we’ve all moved from the dining room into the living room. It’s easier to stand and move around in here, which we’ve all taken advantage of.
“I’d like to propose a toast,” Remus announces, his voice carrying without effort. Authority hangs around him like a cloak, demanding attention without asking for it. “Today, we welcome a new member into our family. Alina Brewer-Russo.”
The possessive thrill returns at the sound of her married name. My hand settles on the back of her neck, feeling her pulse and warmth. She leans into my touch, and the simple gesture of trust makes that unfamiliar emotion tighten in my chest again.
“The Russo family has always valued loyalty above all else,” Remus continues, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on Alina.
“And today, Alina has pledged her loyalty to Raffaele, and by extension, to all of us. In return, she has earned ours.” He raises his glass.
“To Mrs. Brewer-Russo. May your marriage be as strong as the bonds that hold this family together.”
“To Mrs. Brewer-Russo,” the room echoes, and I watch as Alina’s cheeks flush with pleasure. She raises her own glass of champagne, her blue eyes bright with unshed tears.
“To my fucking wife,” I growl into her ear.
She slaps my arm. “Don’t swear when you call me that,” she scolds, making me laugh.
I’ve never been one for public displays, but something possessive and primal drives me to bend down and capture her lips with mine.
She tastes like champagne and the chocolate dessert we had not too long ago.
Sweet and intoxicating, just like her. When I pull back, her eyes are hazy with desire, a look that makes my cock stir.
“Save it for later, cuz,” Matteo calls out, his single eye gleaming with mischief. “We’ve got more entertainment planned first.”
As if on cue, Raven and Piper move to the center of the room, glasses in hand. Piper steadies herself against Raven’s shoulder, clearly feeling the effects of the alcohol.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Raven announces with a theatrical flourish, “we’ve prepared a special poem for the newlyweds.”
“God help us,” Enzo mutters, though there’s fondness in his voice as he watches his wife.
“At least they’re not singing,” Matteo grins. “I honestly don’t know who’s more tone-deaf between them.”
Piper clears her throat dramatically. “Roses are red,” she begins.
“Violets are blue,” Raven continues.
“Raffaele is as brooding…” Piper sways slightly.
“As the night is dark too,” Raven finishes with a grin.
They continue alternating lines, their timing impeccable despite Piper’s increasing unsteadiness.
“He collected a baker,” Raven says, winking at Alina.
“Whose cupcakes were divine,” Piper adds, raising her glass so enthusiastically that champagne sloshes over the rim.
“Little did he know…” Raven places a steadying hand on Piper’s arm.
“She’d steal his heart in time,” Piper declares, ignoring the spilled champagne on her gray satin dress.
I feel Alina’s gaze on me, questioning. Heart? Is that what this feeling is? This constant awareness of her, this need to keep her close, this unfamiliar softness that threatens to consume me?
The women continue their poem, each line more ridiculous than the last. They make jokes about my scowling, about Alina’s baking skills, about how I probably intimidated the priest into skipping the ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’ part of the ceremony.
They’re dead wrong, though. Remus did that.
Each barb earns laughter from our small gathering, even from me. But it’s their final lines that silence the room.
“So here’s to the collector,” Raven says, her voice softening.
“And the woman he claims as his own,” Piper adds, suddenly seeming more sober.
“May you find in each other…” Raven places her hand on her belly.
“What we all search for… a home,” Piper concludes, her eyes meeting Enzo’s across the room.
The sincerity in their voices catches me off guard. A home. Is that what Alina has become for me? The thought is both terrifying and exhilarating. I look down at her to find tears sliding silently down her cheeks, her blue eyes luminous with emotion.
Without thinking, I reach out and brush away a tear with my thumb. “Don’t cry,” I murmur.
“Happy tears,” she whispers, leaning into my touch. “I never thought I’d have this. A family.”
The words punch through me, reminding me of all she’s lost. Her mom’s dead. Her sister’s absent—good fucking riddance—by choice. And here she stands, surrounded by my family of murderers, criminals, monsters by any definition. Yet she’s finding joy in their acceptance.
I pull her closer, pressing my lips to her forehead. “You’re a Russo now,” I tell her. “You’ll always have a family.”
What I don’t say, what I can barely admit to myself, is that she’s given me something too. Something I never knew I was missing until I found her.
Just as I’m about to suggest we slip away from our own reception, Susan appears at the entrance of the room, wheeling in something that draws gasps from our guests. Alina’s eyes widen beside me, her hand gripping my arm in excitement.
The wedding cake she insisted on baking herself has arrived—a two-tier masterpiece that immediately captures everyone’s attention.
I feel an unexpected surge of pride watching the reactions. My wife created this. My wife has a talent that leaves people speechless. I guide her forward with my hand at the small of her back, feeling the subtle tremor that runs through her body as we approach the cake table.
“Thank you for helping me keep it a surprise, Susan,” Alina says, her eyes gleaming.
Susan merely nods, a smile softening her typically no-nonsense expression. I study the cake before us, taking in the details that Alina has poured herself into.
The bottom tier is covered in smooth ivory cream that matches her dress, delicate piping creating a pattern reminiscent of the lace she wears. But it’s the top tier that truly captures my attention.
It’s designed like a black-and-white checkered chessboard, complete with a white queen and black king positioned at its center.
The symbolism isn’t lost on me. Our relationship began with chess, with strategy and calculated moves. Each game revealed something new about her—her intelligence, her determination, her quiet strength.
And somehow, along the way, the collector became the collected.
“Do you like it?” Alina asks, her voice uncertain. Even now, after everything, she still doubts her own worth.
“It’s magnificent,” I tell her, meaning every word. “Just like its creator.”
Her cheeks flush pink, her eyes dropping to the floor in that shy gesture I’ve come to anticipate. I resist the urge to tilt her chin up, to force her to accept my praise. Instead, I squeeze her hip lightly where my hand rests against it.