Chapter 8 #2
“Rafe,” I whisper into the wind. “Are you there?” I ask again, but it feels like the trees swallow my voice. I call his name again, but there’s no reply.
Maybe he changed his mind. Perhaps he never came.
Or maybe this is a trick. A trick to get me alone and…
My phone suddenly vibrates and my chest tightens as I pull it out of my pocket.
Rafe: I’m here. Where are you?
This better not be a prank. The cruel thought alone of malicious laughter stirs memories I’d rather forget.
No. Raffaele is my friend. He wouldn’t do that to me. If he says he’s here, then he is. All I have to do is find him.
I move deeper into the woods, my gaze scanning the shadows, searching for anything familiar. A flash of blond hair. The steel blue of his eyes. The curve of his playful smirk. Anything at all.
A gust of cold air slips beneath my dress, raising goosebumps along my arms. My nerves are stretched tight, every sense straining as I push farther from the house and deeper into the trees.
The sounds of the party are gone now, replaced by the quiet creak of branches and the soft crunch of thawing ground beneath my shoes.
The cold bites at my cheeks, turning them numb, but it does nothing to dull the awareness crawling over my skin. I feel exposed out here, like the woods are watching me right back.
Then something shifts behind me. I don’t hear footsteps, but I feel it all the same. A looming presence close enough to steal my breath.
I’m not quick enough to turn, though, as I’m startled by the feel of strong hands grabbing my waist from behind, yanking me back against a solid body.
My mouth opens on a scream, panic exploding through me, but a hand clamps over my lips before a sound can escape.
My heart slams hard against my ribs as fear floods my veins, sharp and blinding.
I struggle instinctively, breath coming fast and shallow through my nose, every nerve screaming at once.
“Shh, dolce angelo,” Raffaele whispers teasingly against my ear. “You don’t want anyone finding out I’m here, do you?”
Relief crashes over me as he spins me around in his arms, his familiar smirk playing on his lips.
“You scared me!” I laugh, slapping his chest.
It’s hard and solid. Long gone is the boy I met all those years ago.
Though he’s only seventeen, he looks so much older than I expected.
He’s grown a few inches, almost six two if I had to guess.
His shoulders are broader now, his body lean and strong.
But it’s his smile, the same one he wore the day we met, that finally sets me at ease.
For all his transformation, he’s still the same boy I befriended.
“Now is that any way to say hello?” he jokes, both hands still resting on my waist. “I did risk my life to come see you after all.”
There’s something intimate about the way he’s holding me. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable, but it doesn’t feel one hundred percent right either.
“Well, you would have gotten a better greeting if you hadn’t scared the bejesus out of me,” I say, placing my hands on his chest and pushing myself out of his hold.
“Sorry,” he laughs, rubbing the back of his head, completely unable to hide his grin. “I just couldn’t help it.”
“Not funny,” I say, trying and failing to suppress my smile.
“Ah, come on, Anna. It was too good to pass up. I mean, a girl walking into the woods at night all alone practically screams slasher movie.”
“You’re not funny,” I giggle.
“There it is.” His blue eyes shine. “That laugh. That’s what I wanted to hear on your birthday.”
My cheeks warm as his gaze drifts over my face, then lower, taking in the changes the last few years have carved into me.
“Damn,” he murmurs. “You grew up.”
“So did you,” I say softly.
“Yeah, but I see my mug every day in the mirror. Your face, though…” He smiles. “You’re even prettier than I remember.”
“If this is your way of apologizing for scaring me, you don’t have to flatter me. I’ve already forgiven you,” I say, laughing.
“Nah. That’s not it.” His voice turns sincere. “I mean it. You look… wow. Just wow.”
The way Raffaele is looking at me makes my pulse stumble. Not because it’s wrong, but because I’m not used to boys looking at me like this. Especially not him.
“Glad I risked life and limb to come see you,” he adds.
“Well, I’m not,” I reprimand. “What if one of my father’s men found out you were here? Or one of my brothers? Do you know what they’d do to you?”
“I’m not scared of them,” he replies, though his smile thins.
“Well, you should be. You shouldn’t risk your life for me. If anything happened to you…” My voice trails off as my nerves begin to fray.
“Hey. Hey.” He closes the small distance between us and wraps his arms around me again. “Nothing is going to happen to me, okay? I got to Chicago without anyone being the wiser. We’re good.”
I cling to him, letting myself believe he did his due diligence before coming to see me.
“Does your family know you’re here?”
“Hell no. If Matteo even suspected I came, he’d be the one to kill me. Not your family.”
“I doubt that. He’s your brother. He loves you.”
“He’s a pain in my ass, that’s what he is.
” Raffaele groans. “Always in my business.” He then pulls back just enough to look at me, one hand cupping my cheek.
“But I don’t want to talk about my asshole brother.
I want to talk about you. How are you, beautiful?
” The way his eyes search mine tells me exactly what he’s asking.
“I’m okay.” Raffaele nods, but he doesn’t look convinced.
“Are you still having nightmares?” I swallow and lower my gaze.
I knew I shouldn’t have told him about those. I knew Raffaele would worry. But I needed someone to talk to.
Ever since I learned that Stella and Marcello killed the boys who attacked me, I haven’t slept well.
I had a few nightmares where they were the ones dying in a car crash, instead of Alec and Tim.
I always wake up screaming with the images etched into my mind of them being burned alive in twisted metal, the phantom smell of scorched flesh still lingering in the air.
“It will get better, angel,” Raffaele says softly. “I promise.”
“Can we please not talk about it?” I plead, swallowing the lump that has taken residence in my throat.
Raffaele nods, releasing his grip on me and threading his fingers through mine instead. “Fine. How much time do you have?”
“I asked Izzie to cover for me for half an hour. I might be able to stretch it to an hour.”
“Good.” He smiles. “Then let’s make it count, yeah?” I nod, the heaviness in my chest easing with just one look from him.
Raffaele shrugs out of his coat and spreads it on the ground before sitting down and holding a hand out to me. I take it, and he gently pulls me down until I’m seated on his lap. His arms circle my waist, my head resting against his firm chest, warm despite the cold wind blowing around us.
“So, Izzie, huh?” he says casually. “That’s Marcello’s new girlfriend, right?”
I chew on my lower lip and nod. Since Isobel has no affiliation with the Outfit, I don’t think I’m betraying my family by admitting Marcello is dating her.
“Wow,” Raffaele chuckles. “First Lucky gets a girlfriend, and now Marcello. Love must really be in the air in Chicago.”
I laugh because it’s true. Most of my siblings have found their person in the last six months. Lucky found Frankie. Marcello found Isobel. Even Enzo somehow managed to charm a priest into falling in love with him. But they aren’t the only ones that have been hit by Cupid’s arrow.
“I think,” I say slowly, unsure if I’m crossing a line, “I think Stella might be in love, too.”
“No shit,” Raffaele says, surprised. “With who?”
I hesitate for a beat before confessing my suspicion. “Kirill Petrov.”
“No fucking way,” he blurts, lifting my chin to look at me. “Wasn’t he the guy who kidnapped her last Christmas?”
“Is it kidnapping if there was no ransom?” I ask quietly.
“Technicalities, angel. The Bratva taking your sister and brother to Moscow without your dad’s consent is kidnapping in my book. I still can’t believe the Outfit didn’t go to war over it. Matteo wouldn’t have hesitated if they pulled that shit with us.”
Uncomfortable with the conversation wandering into dangerous territory, I redirect it before he asks questions I’m not allowed to answer, especially not to a Cosa Nostra prince.
“What about you and your family?” I ask. “Has the love bug hit anyone in New York?”
Raffaele laughs. “I doubt there’s a woman alive who could ever melt Matteo’s ice brick of a heart. As for Nico, I don’t know. He might be asexual. I’ve never seen him with a woman. Or a guy, if that’s his thing. Honestly, I can’t tell.”
“Maybe he’s just shy,” I offer.
“Can we please not talk about my brothers’ love lives?” he says with a grimace. “It’s creeping me out.”
“Fine. What do you want to talk about?”
That’s all the encouragement Raffaele needs to launch into a rundown of the latest shows he’s watched and the new music he’s been listening to.
He then asks about which books or poetry I’ve read lately and how my piano recitals are going.
He usually yawns when I get excited by such themes, but today he honestly seems invested in learning more.
“You know… New York has one of the best music conservatories in the world. You’ve probably heard of it.” He winks. “Have you ever thought about applying to Juilliard after high school? I’m sure you’d be a shoo-in.”
Have I thought about it? Of course I have.
Anyone who wants to pursue performing arts would love to enrol in Juilliard.
But there’s one problem. It’s in the heart of New York, and with the current rivalry between my family and his, New York is not a city that would welcome me with open arms. It would be too dangerous for me.