CHAPTER SIX
RAFAELLE
The nightmares that plague me while I sleep are worse than reality.
I can carve my reality to suit me, my actions are my own and I’m in complete and total control of my mind.
While I dream though, everything works against me. Reminds me of my failures, of my weaknesses. Reminds me I’ll never escape no matter how hard I try to run.
I wake up with a gasp, sweat lining my chest and my forehead.
Almost immediately, I reach for my gun under my pillow, aiming it an intruder that doesn’t exist, at ghosts that can’t be destroyed.
In reality, my demons are easily struck down and discarded.
The same can’t be said for the ones that no one else sees but me.
With a grunt, I shut my eyes, leaning my head back against the headboard. In the past couple of days, reality has started to get tainted as well. Tainted by amber eyes and a siren’s voice. Long dark hair and a bleeding heart that anyone could see through. A heart that almost saw through me.
In a way she’s just like my nightmares. She reminds me of everything I’ve tried hard to forget. Everything I no longer am. She reminds me of the weaknesses I’ve carved out. Which is why I made a decision to let her go.
Because I’ve worked too damn hard to let anyone else flay me. Liliana can’t and will never be a part of my life.
My phone lights up with a text from Matteo reminding me about a meeting at the Vitale Estate.
A glance at the time tells me it’s 2pm, so I’ve had about two hours of sleep.
With a groan, I slide out of bed, pressing a button to slide open the automatic curtains.
The sun burns bright through the windows and I have to shield my eyes against it.
It doesn’t take me too long to get ready and I arrive at the Estate just in time. That is, thirty minutes after we agreed upon. Salvatore greets me with a frown as I walk into his office but his right hand beats him to it.
“You’re late,” Matteo states.
“And you’re a hard ass, what else is new?” I say, uncorking a bottle of whiskey already waiting for me on the table.
I pour a healthy amount into a glass and take a seat.
“Where’s Elly?” I ask, looking around the room for our youngest brother.
“He’s handling something.”
“What?”
“You’d know if you’d bothered to show up when I asked for you two nights ago,” Salvatore interjects. “What the hell were you doing that was so important?”
“Personal shit,” I murmur in reply, the mention of that night burning in my chest.
“Care to expand on that?”
“Nope.”
He exhales deeply, dark eyes hard and unrelenting, “I sent Elio to Mexico. To handle your shit. The Navarro deal you were overseeing went sideways. Some of our men died.”
Anger sears through me, bright and hot, “You mean my men. What the fuck happened? It was meant to be a simple exchange.”
“That’s what we sent Elio to find out.”
I jump to my feet, seeing red, “I can find out right now. I know where Navarro fucking lives.”
“Sit down, Rafaelle,” Matteo states. “Elio already sent word. It was an accident.”
“Like hell it was,” I hiss. “Why the fuck did Elio go?”
“Because you weren’t fucking here and I can’t very well go to Mexico with a heavily pregnant girlfriend at home,” he snaps.
“Navarro’s a piece of shit and he has it in for us. This was all his plan to fuck with us.”
“There was a police raid,” Matteo is saying but I can barely hear him over the knot of anger stretching in my chest. I hate losing men. They had families to get back to and now they’re dead. I know there’s casualties in war but this wasn’t supposed to be a fucking war!
“Navarro lost men same as us. This shit’s already costing him a lot to smooth over down there. No need for your hot head to go looking for him and make things worse.”
My jaw clenches, “I don’t trust him. He could have sent the cops there in the first place. I smell bullshit and I’m going to make sure he pays.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Salvatore grits out. “You already lost your chance to do anything about this issue. We’re going to have to let it blow over. I hope whatever distracted you was worth it.”
“Shut the fuck up, Sal,” I growl.
His eyes narrow while Matteo takes a step towards me, face twisting in anger.
“Watch how you speak to the Don, Rafaelle,” he instructs.
“Fuck you both!” I say, getting to my feet.
The glass in my hand falls to the ground, shattering on impact. I stare at the fragments of glass shimmering in the spilled liquid, needing something to center myself. But I can’t help thinking about the men I sent to Mexico. They put their trust in me and I let them down.
Most of all I feel guilty. Salvatore’s right.
I should have been here that night. I ignored his summons to stay with her and now I’m reaping the consequences.
If I’d been here, I could have hunted down the truth in Mexico.
By now Navarro’s probably buried the entire shit.
Which means he won’t pay for what he’s done.
“Rafaelle!” Matteo yells when I start to walk out of the room.
“Let him go,” Salvatore says calmly. “You will return when you’ve calmed down, Rafaelle. And mark my words, if you do anything to Navarro, I will make sure you fucking regret it. Do you understand?”
I don’t reply nor look back already walking out the door.
The urge to punch something fills me but I also don’t want to make a scene where my sister in law or anyone else could walk in and see me.
I head downstairs and my guards immediately gather around me, although they’re a couple cautious steps back, probably reading the expression on my face, astutely.
Some of them have ended up with broken noses or ribs when I’m pissed off.
“Keys!” I snap, holding out my hand.
I’m immediately handed the keys to the Lexus. I practically rip open the door, climbing in and inhaling softly before starting the ignition. I’m off before they get the chance to follow.
What’s making me feel worse is that I know exactly where I want to go.
I want to drive straight to that bar where I met Liliana.
I want her in the car with me and I want her in my bed again.
The night we spent together was restorative in a way I didn’t think I was capable of feeling.
It wasn’t just about the sex, it was about her.
I know without a doubt, seeing her face would immediately quiet all the shit running through my head. But seeing her like this would undoubtedly scare her. And I don’t even want to fucking see her at all.
So instead of going to the bar, I set a course for home, driving through the city at a speed that breaks several limits and more. The engine of the car roars beneath me, tires screeching against the road as I cut between lanes without hesitation. Horns blare behind me and brakes scream.
Somewhere far behind me, my security detail struggle to keep up while dealing with the trail of chaos in my wake.
I drive like a man with a death wish, adrenaline crawling through my veins. It’s hot and vicious, sharpening everything around me. I grip the steering wheel hard enough to ache but it still isn’t enough.
Nothing’s been enough for the past two days. Anger dulls to irritation as I slam my foot harder against the accelerator. The car surges forward viciously, reaching the gates leading into my home. They’re already open, waiting for me.
I park outside the house hard enough that the tires screech against stone before killing the engine and stepping out.
The front doors are already open. One of the house staff stands waiting near the entrance, tense in a way everyone around me usually is.
“There’s someone downstairs waiting for you, sir,” he informs me.
A visitor. I’m not sure if they could have worse timing.
“Who?”
“Miss Torres, sir.”
Vicky. Her name flashes in my mind like a spark of something I’d been needing without realizing it. Her timing’s pretty perfect actually. And when I realize exactly what room she’s at, a smile climbs through my lips. Thoughts of all the fun we used to have there runs through my mind.
I head straight for the liquor cabinet first, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and pouring myself a glass. The burn hits the back of my throat but I barely feel it. The lower level of the house is silent except for the echo of my footsteps against concrete.
No prisoners, no moans of pain, no blood on the walls, no one has been housed in these rooms in a bit. I should work on changing that.
Most people never see this part of my house. Upstairs it’s all polished floors, elaborate luxury. Down here is different though.
The steel door at the end of the hallway swings open slowly beneath my hand. Darkness greets me first, then red light. The room before me is large, shadowed and suffocatingly decadent, illuminated by low tiny bulbs lining the black walls.
Chains gleam faintly from the reinforced beams overhead while leather restraints hang untouched beside them. There are mirrors positioned deliberately throughout the room, reflecting fragments of violence and pleasure from every angle.
A massive bed sits near the center, draped in black sheets.
The entire room smells faintly of leather, whiskey and something darker lingering permanently in the air.
And waiting in the middle of the bed is a woman on her knees in black lace and heels, perfectly arranged like a gift wrapped specially for me.
She smiles when she sees me. I feel absolutely nothing at the sight of her.
“Vicky,” I murmur in greeting, walking into the room.
Victoria Torres is one of the few people bold enough to walk into my home without an invitation. But she’s been here several times and I’ve never turned her down before. Not when she comes with the opportunity to make use of this room.
Liliana wasn’t wrong when she assumed this place would be like the one in that stupid fifty shades movie. Twenty- two year old me was inspired by it when I designed the room.