CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LILIANA
I’m having a plate of Froot loops when a man waltzes into the kitchen like he owns the place.
And considering I’m very familiar with the owner, I’m pretty sure this man with his long dark hair and quicksilver smile does not in fact own the house.
It’s one of Rafaelle’s henchmen. I don’t know his name but I remember him offering to show me to the library yesterday.
I also remember the way Rafaelle had reacted to that.
Which explains the wariness in his expression as he heads for the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water without even glancing in my direction.
“Good afternoon,” I greet cordially.
He takes a swig of water, nodding once but he doesn’t say a word. My lips pull up in an amused smile.
“What’s your name?”
“Raul,” he drawls in slightly accented English. “You’re not supposed to be speaking to me, miss Navarro.”
“Zaccari,” I correct through clenched teeth. “And don’t be ridiculous. Of course you can speak to me. I don’t bite.”
“Rafaelle stabs.”
My smile widens. A part of me is annoyed by the whole possessive caveman attitude but another part feels a little warm at his obvious disapproval when it comes to me talking to his men.
There’s a lot wrong with me, but I’m coming to accept that fact.
And ever since yesterday, I can’t even find it within me to hate Rafaelle anymore.
He was patient and soft and he let me see parts of himself he hides from the world.
It was so easy to open up to him. Whenever I’m around Rafaelle, it doesn’t feel like we’re worlds apart.
It feels like it’s just us, in a little bubble, separate from anything and everything.
We were in the library for the better part of the day.
He was extremely helpful and he made everything we worked on so much easier.
Rafaelle may be brash, violent and annoying. But he’s also intuitive and intelligent. Like an onion, he has a lot of layers. And every time he lets me see past a layer, my heart grows warmer towards him.
There’s a certain type of courage in accepting the worst parts of yourself. Even the parts that are attracted to an Italian mobster.
“I have a question, Raul,” I begin.
“I’m sure the boss would be more than happy to answer your questions, miss.”
“He’s not here right now,” I remind him.
He left over an hour ago after breakfast. Which had been nice enough, except for the fact that Rafaelle had mostly been on his phone, texting someone.
“What would you like to know?” Raul says with a sigh.
“Who’s Vicky?”
The man raises both eyebrows before proceeding to look away from me. Which tells me a lot. A hot rush of something green flows through me. I only saw the name flash across his screen when he placed it down on the table for a second. Since then I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.
The curiosity is driving me crazy.
“I really think the boss should tell you that.”
My eyes narrow, “Is she his girlfriend?”
“The boss doesn’t do girlfriends,” Raul smirks. “And since I’d really like to keep my head, I think I should stop talking now.”
I frown, “But he’s slept with her?”
The idea of him being with other women kicks me in the gut. I haven’t slept with anyone since him. Mostly because I was pregnant and then a mother who had to make responsible choices. I know it’s irrational. He’s not a monk, and he’s more than allowed to have sex with anyone he chooses.
It’s also ridiculous. Rafaelle and I aren’t dating. We’re not in a relationship. The idea of that is almost laughable. I’m a captive in his home. He’s about to barter me in a trade for power and control over the criminal underworld in the city.
He might look at me like he sees the deepest parts of me and accepts it. But he and I can never be anything more, and the truth is, it’s mostly my fault.
Raul lifts his head to the ceiling like he’s praying for salvation or at least an escape route from this conversation.
“It’s okay, Raul. You don’t have to answer,” I murmur. “You can go now.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice before he’s rushing out of the room.
With a huff, I pull my plate of cereal even closer, stuffing my face in the next breath.
The rest of the day passes by quietly. I send a text to my mother so she knows I’m still alive.
We haven’t spoken much over the phone. I could tell she was relieved when she heard from me yesterday, but I wouldn’t put it past Rafaelle to have cloned or hacked my phone.
It’s better to keep the conversation between us minimal.
As much as I want to see my baby girl or hear her voice, it’s better this way.
I miss her like crazy though. There’s an ache in my heart that feels like a hole where she’s meant to be. Right now, I still have no clue what the plan is. Mila is my number one priority. I need to protect her and I need to figure out a way to keep her hidden from Rafaelle and his world.
My personal feelings about him aside, there’s no world in which him finding out about a secret daughter wouldn’t have disastrous consequences. And although the guilt is eating me up from the inside, I know I have to remain strong.
It’s hard though. Wanting so much.
I want Rafaelle. But I also want my daughter to be safe. And I want to live a happy, fulfilled life.
Apart from Mila, I feel the most fulfilled when I’m with Rafaelle. Talking about my hopes and dreams.
But I can’t have both. And there’s really no choice.
Most of the house has settled for the evening when I finally emerge from my room.
There aren’t as many guards traipsing about like they were when I first arrived in the house a couple of days ago.
Security is looser, although I can still feel security cameras watching me in the hallways and there’s no doubt in my mind that I couldn’t make it to the front gate without being surrounded.
But I feel less and less like a captive with each day that passes.
I round a corner and fall to a stop, taking in a pair of tall double doors just begging for me to walk in. Every day I find something new in this house. It’s amazing.
Curiosity has me pushing one of the doors open and taking a step inside and then I stop, a gasp erupting from my throat.
“Oh my God.”
Moonlight pours through towering windows, silvering polished floors and illuminating shelves lined with sheet music. A fireplace occupies one wall. Comfortable chairs sit scattered around the space.
But none of that holds my attention.
My gaze lands on the piano positioned near the windows.
A grand piano. It’s huge, elegant and perfect taking up a huge section of the room.
I can’t believe no one told me about it. I can’t believe Rafaelle didn’t show it off to me the first chance he got. If he had, I probably would have given him an easier time at the start of my abduction.
I cross the room immediately, sitting my ass on the plush seat in front of the piano.
My fingers hover over the keys. I haven’t played anything in a while. And I’ve also never had access to a piano has grand as this. I press down gently and a note fills the room, warm and alive.
A smile tugs at my mouth. I play another note, and another until a melody forms beneath my fingers. It’s achingly familiar, emotions within me I can’t name. They flow out of me unbidden and soon my lips start to move, a song that I didn’t realize I’d been holding back.
The lyrics are filled with longing and hurt. Loss and need.
I think of my little girl and I think of my mother. I think of Rafaelle and I let my eyes fall close. The melody drifts through the room. Filled with yearning and honesty. It makes my throat feel tight, despite the words being pushed through it.
Somewhere in the middle, I hear the door open. I don’t stop singing. I don’t look up. I already know who it is. His presence washes over me like a balm.
Eventually my eyes open. Rafaelle stands at the doorway and the sight of him almost steals the lyrics from my throat. He’s every bit the same man he was that night when I first met him. But he is also different and real and alive in ways I didn’t know I needed.
He’s dressed simply in dark slacks and a black shirt. The sleeves rolled to his forearms. His tattoos disappear beneath the fabric before emerging again at his wrists.
He doesn’t say a word and he doesn’t move. His eyes remain on me until the song ends. There’s something in his expression that I’ve never seen before. Something unguarded that has my pulse stumbling.
The last note leaves my lips and the piano falls silent. The room seems to hold its breath. Like a dam about to break, washing away everything in his path.
This particular dam washes away my hesitations.
Rafaelle takes a single step forward. And another. My pulse quickens.
He stops beside the piano. Close enough that I can smell his cologne.
Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him.
“You should have told me about this place,” I speak first.
“I knew you’d find it on your own,” he says easily. “That song-”
My breath hitches, waiting for him to continue.
“What’s it about?”
I pause, something unfolding in my chest at the open look in his eyes. It feels intimate enough that I have to look away, my fingers brushing the piano keys in front of me.
“Music isn’t linear, Rafaelle. My intentions behind the song don’t matter as much as what it feels like for you,” I tell him, meeting his eyes again. “What did it make you feel?”
His throat bobs as he swallows gently. For a moment, I think he’s not going to reply.
“Loss. Grief,” he says quietly.
And I know without a doubt that he’s giving me an opening. One I might never get again.
“What’s your story, Rafaelle? What made you this way?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest.
He shrugs, “I was born this way.”
“Nobody’s born a monster, Rafaelle. What changed you?”
“What else makes people change, little siren?” he questions sardonically. “The love of a woman.”
“You were in love?” I ask surprised.
“Not romantically,” he replies, moving to take a seat beside me.