Chapter 10 #2
He looks different again. Not in a way I can immediately explain, but enough that I notice every change.
He’s taller again, I think, or maybe broader.
His jaw is sharper now, too, the angles of his face more pronounced.
There’s also something heavier in the way he carries himself, as if the world had settled more firmly on his shoulders.
It’s still Raffaele, though. Even if he does look all grown up.
“Happy birthday, angel,” he says, his voice warm and familiar, threaded with something more masculine than I remember.
My smile stretches before I can stop myself, the sight of him easing the tight knot in my chest.
“You came.”
“Of course I did,” he says, like there was never any question. “You really think I’d miss seeing you again?”
Raffaele steps a little closer, still leaving a careful distance between us. I’m not sure what’s stopping us from closing the gap. Or maybe I do. Perhaps he’s taking inventory of all the small changes in me, too.
Lord knows there are plenty in him that I didn’t notice last year.
The way his shoulders block the last strands of fading daylight.
The faint scent of his cologne mingled with the cold air, a perfect combination of sandalwood and earth.
The way his blue eyes linger on my face a second longer than they used to.
“You look older,” he says softly, breaking the silence.
“So do you,” I tease with a grin.
He runs a hand over his face, and suddenly the playful, restless boy I first befriended is standing before me again.
“You’re killing me here, beautiful. Do I look that bad that I don’t even get a hug?”
A giggle escapes me as I run forward and launch myself into his arms. He catches me easily, his arms tightening around me.
“Much better,” he mutters, his tense shoulders relaxing now that he has me in his arms. “I missed the crap out of you.”
“Me too,” I admit, pressing my cheek to his chest and feeling how hard his heart is beating.
“I doubt you missed me half as much,” he adds quietly. “The thought of seeing you again was the only thing that kept me from losing my shit all year.” I frown at his statement.
I know it’s been hard on him. Ever since he took the omertà last summer on his eighteenth birthday, he’s been more prone to sending me long texts, almost manuscript-like, complaining about his older brother, Matteo, and everything he’s now forced to become after being made.
I don’t have the heart to reprimand him for telling me these things.
I don’t have it in me to remind him that I’m still the daughter of his family’s most hated rival, and that he shouldn’t confide in me anything that has to do with Cosa Nostra dealings.
But I know he needs to vent. I know he needs to release his frustrations, or they’ll end up consuming him.
I’m just glad I can be there for him, the way he’s always been there for me.
“It’s been so fucking hard, Anna. The things I’ve seen… the things I’ve had to do…”
I hold him tighter, knowing that he’s seconds from falling apart.
“I’m so sorry you have to go through that. I’m so sorry.”
“It isn’t fair, Anna. Carlo promised me… he fucking promised me that I wouldn’t have to do this shit!”
When I feel his body begin to tremble with rage, I pull away just enough to place my palm against his cheek and look into the steel of his eyes.
“I know, Rafe. I know. It’s okay. You’re okay. Whatever happened, you survived it. Because you’re strong. Stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
“Fuck,” he curses, pressing his temple on mine. “How do you always know what to say? How do you always make everything better?”
I don’t offer him an explanation because I don’t have one. I’m not even sure that I make things better for him. But I understand his pain. I understand his plight.
I saw how hard it was for both Marcello and Jude to step into their roles when they took the omertà. I know the weight that vow places on a person, the way it reshapes who they’re allowed to be.
Stella was the only one who never seemed fazed by it. It was as if she had been born for the role. And maybe she was. Perhaps some people slip into that life as naturally as a fish to water.
Then there are sensitive souls like Raffaele, who can never quite find their footing in an organization like that, much less make peace with it.
I’m still trying to think of ways to ease his pain when he opens his eyes, his half-lid gaze flicking briefly to my mouth. Before I can say anything, he leans in and brushes a soft, tentative kiss against my lips. It’s gentle. Almost doting.
When he pulls back and looks at me again, something in his expression feels hopeful, almost pleading. I don’t find the words to stop him when he leans in once more. The second kiss lingers a fraction longer, searching for something I don’t know how to give.
I let it happen, even as a strange detachment settles over me. I’m there, but not really. And it unsettles me that Raffaele doesn’t seem to notice. That he doesn’t seem to mind that I’m not participating in this kiss in the slightest.
Then his hands slide to my waist, steady and sure, guiding me back until my shoulders brush against the rough bark of a tree. The contact is enough to snap something inside me wide open. Not desire. Alarm.
My breath catches as old memories surge forward unbidden, my skin prickling, my pulse racing. The scrape of bark against my coat, the closeness of Raffaele’s body, the way the space around me disappears—it all crashes together too fast.
I know it’s Raffaele. I know he isn’t trying to hurt me. But my body doesn’t.
I don’t want this. I don’t want any of it.
“Rafe, stop,” I gasp, pushing against his chest.
He freezes instantly, but he doesn’t give me back my breathing room. And I need to breathe.
I push again, harder this time, and now he steps back as if he’s been burned. I close my eyes so I don’t have to see the hurt on his face and focus on holding myself together, my body trembling as I pray it’s enough to keep me intact.
“Anna? Anna? Are you okay?” he asks, his voice frantic.
“I’m fine. I just need a minute,” I hear myself say, though I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him or myself.
I stay like that for a while, until my racing heartbeat finally settles into its normal rhythm. When I open my eyes again, Raffaele is a few feet away from me, giving me all the space I need, and then some.
“I’m sorry,” he hurries to apologize. “I didn’t mean to get carried away like that. I just thought…” He trails off, his eyes lowered in devastation and what looks a lot like guilt.
“I’m sorry, too,” I echo on autopilot, even though I have no reason to apologize. I didn’t do anything wrong.
“You don’t have to be,” he says, raising his head and forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s okay. Really.”
It doesn’t feel okay.
We stand there for a moment, neither of us knowing what to do with the wreckage of what just happened, the awkwardness between us making the woods feel colder now, less welcoming.
“Here,” he says, finally breaking the silence, before rushing toward the trees he had been hiding earlier and retrieving a backpack. “I brought supplies this time.”
Raffaele pulls out a picnic blanket and spreads it over the cold, damp ground, followed by my favorite brand of chocolate and a bag of gummy bears.
He doesn’t sit down until I do, and even then, he makes sure his body never touches mine.
He masks the sudden unease between us with talk of school and finishing his senior year.
He doesn’t mention his family or broach any subject he thinks might trigger me.
When his phone alarm goes off, signaling that it’s time to pack up and return to our respective lives, we find ourselves standing in the middle of the woods, neither of us quite ready to leave. We both wish we could turn back the clock to when the air between us didn’t feel so tense.
“Fuck, Anna. This is not how I thought today would go. I’m so sorry for fucking everything up. I’m so fucking sorry.”
I can see it clearly on his face that he means it.
“You’re my best friend, Rafe,” I say finally, stepping forward and wrapping my arms around him, making sure he knows this kind of affection is still safe for me. “Let’s just forget the whole thing, okay?”
Raffaele hesitates before hugging me back, his arms circling me carefully, as if afraid of crossing another line.
“Okay,” he says softly.
He kisses the top of my head, a gentle, familiar gesture that should comfort me. Instead, it feels hollow. Like something essential has slipped through our fingers without either of us realizing it.
We stay like that for a few more minutes, clinging to what’s left of the moment, until the cold seeps too deep and reality presses in again. When we finally part, he’s smiling the way he always does, playful and light, but I can see the effort behind it.
It feels like something between us has shifted, and neither of us knows how to name it yet. Like we’re holding onto a version of us that no longer exists.
And I hate how it feels as if this is the beginning of the end.