Chapter 5
RAFAELLE
She’s laid out like something I stole from heaven and have no intention of giving back on the double bed in my Upstate New York safehouse, lit only by the crackling fire and the low glow from the kitchen.
My phone’s been buzzing ever since I turned it on.
I should answer Cesare.
As the Salvatore underboss, he has the right to reasonably demand my whereabouts.
But these aren’t reasonable circumstances.
Certainly, my inability to take my eyes off the captive beauty in my bed isn’t reasonable. And Cesare… well, he owes me. He knows that. For the better part of a year, I’ve kept my word. Not harmed a single Mancinelli capo, except the few who’ve made the error of stepping into Salvatore business.
Sure, I’ve been tracking Giada Mancinelli’s whereabouts, but it’s as if she’s turned into a ghost. But even ghosts can be hunted down. Eventually. With the right tools. And I’m starting to think I’ve just found the perfect tool tonight.
Unfortunately for both of us, Cesare is also an unreasonable fuck. Especially with Maddie expecting their baby in the next month.
So I intend to avoid him for a little while longer.
I stare at Maddie’s little sister. Attempt not to stroke my cock to the rise and fall of her full chest like the pervert I most definitely could be. Hell, I could even convince myself I’ve earned it. She did try to kill me, after all.
I shake my head as my thoughts crash into each other.
Her beauty is a study in contradiction – soft curves wrapped around concealed violence, long dark lashes fluttering against high cheekbones, even in unconsciousness.
Deadly. Divine. A little too still, even now.
I checked her for weapons again and still I don’t trust that she doesn’t have a vial of poison shoved in her pussy or an invisible garrotte wire braided into her hair.
It’s kind of turning me on, the possibility that she could wake and try to kill me. Again.
I sit in the armchair across from her, sipping espresso as if I haven’t just kidnapped a woman who aimed a gun at my skull less than two hours ago.
Cristu. She tried to kill me.
My pulse spiked for all of two seconds, and then it got… fun.
I’ve interrogated enemy soldiers, tortured cartel traitors, broken war criminals who screamed for hours. But this? This is delicate. Intimate. Like trying to hold a cobra without getting kissed by its fangs.
I know she’s awake before she even opens her eyes – her breathing changes, just a little. That predator stillness tightens in the air.
And then—
‘You drugged me,’ she spits, sitting up too fast and wincing.
Good. She’s disoriented.
I grin around the rim of my cup. ‘Nah, you don’t remember? It was just a little pressure-point trick. Old army thing. No hangover, no fuss. I’m thoughtful like that. I can teach you if you want?’
She glares at me without speaking but I know her senses are on full alert.
Trying to catalogue the room, the exits, me.
I can practically see her calculating how long she’d last if she lunged for the fireplace poker behind me.
The answer? Not long. But I let her keep thinking.
Because the longer she plays the game, the deeper she sinks into it.
And I’m going to enjoy every second of watching her unravel.
She shifts on the bed like a cat waking from a nap, all grace and veiled danger. Or maybe she knows exactly what she’s doing to me, capitalising on her admittedly priceless asset.
Her fucking allure.
I’ve been pistol-whipped in the past.
I sense I could be in the throes of discovering what it feels like to be pussy-whipped. And I haven’t even seen her pussy yet.
Eyes wide open now, those cold, calculating depths already trying to charm, to manipulate. God, I admire her hustle.
‘I have places to be,’ she says, voice smooth, just a hint of husky from the pressure point knock-out. She shakes a lock of hair off her forehead, glances towards the windows like she’s mapping every route out of here. ‘You don’t want to keep me too long, Salvatore. I’m not exactly low-profile.’
I let the silence stretch, let her think it’s working.
Then I set my espresso down and lean back in the chair, smiling like a wolf who just found a rabbit burrow.
‘Nice try, bedda. But you seriously underestimate me if you think I’m some chump you can sweet-talk.
You go off-grid for days without a trace.
No calls. No contact. Not even to your sister or that cry-baby brother of yours. You’re really poor at that by the way.’
She lifts her chin, eyes glinting. ‘Off-grid doesn’t mean off-line. Not these days. Aren’t you worried someone will come looking for me?’
I grin. ‘Really? I hope they do. I’m all for turning this into a party.
’ I drag my eyes over her, feeling another series of hot throbs when I watch her full, sexy mouth.
‘I’ll have to insist it doesn’t get nasty though, bedda.
I’m not sure I’m willing to share you with another guy. Not now. Maybe not ever.’
Her eyes widen at my soft, deadly warning.
Then she shifts. One hip juts out, slow, deliberate, showing me her weapons.
Showing me she’s still in control, even if she’s not.
‘So what’s the plan then? Tie me up, torture me, get your revenge right here?
Or in one of those rooms you’re keeping as a happy surprise? You going to make me beg, Rafaelle?’
I rise from the chair, slowly, not rushing the moment.
Enjoying it far too much that she’s watching me like she doesn’t know if I might strike or kiss her.
Maybe both. I cross the room and stop at the edge of the bed where she’s stilled now, eyes narrowed, tied hands fisting the blanket like she’s debating how fast she can use it as a weapon. I tuck my hands in my pockets and lower my voice.
‘I’m prepared to spare Narciso,’ I say. Her brows lift, but she doesn’t interrupt. ‘The women in your family. Hell, even your father if he doesn’t make any stupid moves to inconvenience the Salvatores. But only if you give me one thing.’
She waits.
‘The location of your sister, Giada.’
She pales a little, then fury and fear fill her eyes for one intense second before she snarls, ‘You might as well kill me now because I’ll die before I tell you anything about Giada.’
I suspected that, knew from Maddie’s own reaction last year that the siblings were fiercely protective of one another. And from what Maddie also said, they might not have any idea where their sister is. Although that might be more lie than truth.
‘Fine, then give me El Topo. And I’ll think about giving you a reprieve from my wrath.’
It’s a short-term win.
Won’t bring my mother back, won’t satisfy the blood screaming in my bones. But it’s a move Cesare can live with.
And right now, my big brother’s been calling nonstop, breathing down my neck like the damn Pope waiting for confession.
I need results. I need progress. And maybe, just maybe, I need to see what this lethal, beautiful enemy of mine does when the line between family loyalty and survival starts to blur.
Something flickers in her gaze. Anger, or guilt, maybe both, but she covers it fast. I lean in slightly.
She studies me with those glacier-cut eyes, silent long enough that I almost hear the gears grinding in that beautiful, brutal mind of hers.
Then she settles back, a queen reclining against the pillows, like she owns this place, like she didn’t wake up ten minutes ago, drugless but stolen, helpless in my bed. At my mercy.
Fuck, the way she’s acting, it’s like I’m at her mercy.
Her chin tilts, her mouth curving with mocking sweetness.
‘You expect me to believe that killing Bonafacio will satisfy you?’ she asks, voice like silk dragged over steel. ‘That you’ll just… walk away after that? Spare Narciso, spare my sisters, my father, spare me?’
I don’t answer right away. Let the silence thicken. Let her stew in it.
Finally, I give a small shrug, the kind that says, You already know the answer. ‘No assurances, bedda. None. That’s the nature of vengeance. It grows legs. Tends to evolve.’ I take a slow step towards her. ‘But let’s be honest, you’re not exactly in a position to bargain.’
She stiffens but doesn’t move. I watch her pupils dilate just slightly as I stop a few feet away – close enough to feel her breath start to hitch.
God, she’s electric. Like standing too close to a storm and daring it to strike. Her tongue flicks out to wet her lips. It’s a reflex, maybe, but it draws my eyes there. My body reacts, and I don’t hide it.
‘You’re bluffing,’ she says, voice lower now, not quite so sharp. ‘You’ll kill him and still come for the rest of us. I know your type, Rafaelle. You’re the fucking Enforcer. You don’t stop. You burn everything down.’
I chuckle, low in my chest, and crouch slightly, bringing my face to her level, out of headbutt range, but just invading her space like smoke curling through a locked door. ‘You’re right,’ I murmur. ‘I don’t stop. I don’t forgive. And I sure as hell don’t forget.’
Her jaw clenches, breath catches. I can see the tremor just beneath her skin. A combination of fear and tension and want tangled with warning.
‘But,’ I continue, voice softer, crueller, almost gentle, ‘even fire has to breathe, Sofiya. Give me your grandfather, and maybe I decide to let the rest of you Mancinellis breathe free air for now. Maybe I let the rest of your world keep spinning.’
She doesn’t flinch, but I see it in her eyes, that flicker of doubt, the calculation already shifting.
‘And maybe I don’t,’ I add, smiling darkly. ‘But isn’t that a risk you’re used to taking?’
We hover there, war and want between us, the air thick with it, and I wonder, not for the first time, how something this dangerous could make me feel more alive than war zones ever did.
‘I still call bullshit,’ she eventually murmurs.
My stubborn, beautiful angel.
‘Take your time, you have until I finish taking my shower to give me your answer.’ I straighten, then grin. ‘Before I go though…’
Sofiya
I shouldn’t be surprised at all when Rafaelle peels off his T-shirt.
But I am. I feel my eyes widen as the breathtaking landscape of inked bronzed flesh is exposed.
Jesus fucking Christ, he’s gorgeous.
Mouthwatering.
Furiously sexy with twin silver barbells piercing his male nipples that holds far too much fascination.
God, everything about this man is bending my brain.
Heat punches me sideways, then keeps punching me so hard that I barely hear what he says as he tosses the scrap of fabric away.
‘Look what you did to me, baby. Are you going to kiss it better?’
I have to blink a few times – drag my eyes from the deep V framing his pelvis and the sudden need to run my tongue along both lines, feel his blood sing beneath my licks – before I grasp what he’s saying.
The area he’s drawing my attention to.
The large, palm-sized bruise covering his left pec. Put there by the force of the two bullets fired from my gun into his Kevlar vest.
I stare at the red mark with a mixture of horror and filthy fascination.
Until I notice he’s watching me with equal rabid interest. I clear my throat. ‘Sure. I’ll be happy to use some teeth too, if you like.’
He laughs, and holy fuck me if it isn’t the most beautiful sound in the universe.
I hate that it settles over me like a warm hug, shoving back the nausea of confronting the damage I’ve inflicted.
Which in itself is absurd. I’ve never been squeamish about blood, gore or viscera, much less a bruise, albeit an impressive one.
But… he should be livid, digging out the torture tools whispered about on the dark web. Instead he’s… he’s…
He’s toying with me.
To what end?
‘What do you want from me?’ The words fall out, land heavily between us. We’re both aware I’m asking about much more than his bruise. I wish I can take it back. But I can’t. So I choose silence.
He stops, his hands still on the bruise over his heart. As I watch, his fingers dig into his skin and he flinches.
It’s a slightly sickening act. As if he wants to remind himself of the pain.
I should be revolted by what he’s doing. Instead, a different sensation takes hold, curls insidiously through me.
Heat. Curiosity. Elevated heartbeat. Lust.
What the hell?
My belly rolls as his hand drops and all traces of humour leave his face. ‘Where is your grandfather?’