Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
Love And Honor
Raf
God, I am so relieved I didn’t opt for a big Italian engagement party with Victoria.
Maybe it was the universe’s way of cutting me a bit of slack for the backhand she was going to deliver months later.
Silver linings. Funny, the more time I spend with Chiara, the shinier the shitty things I’ve had to wade through to get here seem.
Bella Donna has been transformed with no expense spared to look like we’re somewhere in the heart of a Sicilian olive grove not too dissimilar to the one I met AJ in almost six weeks ago.
It’s a spectacle one hundred ten percent befitting Marco and Sophia, but it’s far too much fanfare for me.
Chiara has her camera in hand and is fawning over every detail, snapping candid shots of the happy couple with their guests and stolen moments of them being smitten and obsessed with each other.
Watching them used to make me feel uncomfortable, almost annoyed they would behave like that in public.
Now I understand it was just confronting to see what true love should look like.
It made me realize I wasted years resenting relationships because I thought I had found love and been burned by it.
What I had with my once-fiancée was never what Sophia and Marco have.
Pure adoration and affection for each other.
This is true love. And when I think about how it makes me feel, I instantly envision a five-foot temptress with the face of an angel wearing fuck-me boots.
When I find my thoughts meandering along wayward paths I swore I would never consider canvasing again, it’s Chiara I imagine by my side.
Despite all the raw moments we’ve shared, we haven’t defined “us,” even though the marriage certificate from the State of New York clearly defines us as husband and wife.
She hasn’t asked me to put a label on what we are or if there’s an expiry on our arrangement, and I haven’t brought it up either.
I think we’ve both been in situations where being lulled into a false sense of security has bitten us on the ass.
I can’t completely shake a sixth sense that moving to define us will break the good thing we have right now.
Victoria’s betrayal blindsided me, so there’s always a part of me that feels like I’m one moment away from being knocked over again.
My insecurities aside, one thing that’s certain is the longer my fake wife stays in my bed, the more intent I am on doing just about anything to prove there’s nothing fake about it.
I don’t want to lose her; I want to keep her forever.
Chiara hasn’t brought up Julian since the night she categorically told him she would not marry him, but the biggest threat is Alessandro.
His messages continue, and I wouldn’t put it past him to go to extreme measures to get what he wants: her.
Proper labels, definitions, and the promise of commitment aside, the carnal part of me has already claimed her as mine.
“They look happy as fuck, but this shit ain’t for me.”
I turn towards the person who seems to have voiced my internal monologue.
“AJ,” I say with a curt nod, sticking out my hand for him to shake. “On the plus side, you probably feel like you’re still in Sicily.”
“I don’t need the fucking reminder, to be honest. My dad is riding my ass hard to get the Rizzos back on our side. Ultimate world domination is always his fucking goal.”
“Well I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, but we need to talk about someone I believe you know well—goes by the name Alessandro, but that’s just one of his many aliases.”
“Fuck me! I’m gonna need some of Marco and Seb’s top-shelf scotch for this.”
“Probably the whole bottle,” I say, walking towards the bar and motioning to one of the wait staff who knows me.
“Whole bottle of the Balvenie thirty-year-old Rare Marriages single malt scotch whiskey,” I say, watching his eyes flare at my request. I mean, I get it. I did just ask for a twelve-thousand-dollar bottle of scotch.
“Just put it on my tab,” I tell him, alleviating some of his stress as he pours our neat scotches and leaves the bottle on the bar for us.
“This is as close to fucking marriage as I’m going to get,” muses AJ, downing it like a shot.
“Almost went there once. Almost turned me off for life,” I say, taking a sip and swirling it around my tongue.
Scotch definitely tastes better laced with Chiara.
I keep that to myself. “If the way you just shot scotch that’s meant to be sipped is anything to go by, something tells me you’re more the quickie marriage type of guy,” I deadpan.
“Quick anything is my preference,” he says, shooting daggers at me. “Now, tell me what the fuck is going on.”
“When I was out of the country dealing with your sorry ass, Alessandro managed to get a letter into my house for Chiara. I discovered it with the dry-cleaning she left on my bed when I was away for work. She didn’t realize she had dropped it and forgot all about it.
I asked her about it, skeptical that a letter with no address details for her made it into my house.
It was hand-delivered, meaning it had to be someone close enough to know my information and that she’s living with me.
She suspected it was an invite from Evie to an event. ”
“Right,” says AJ.
“Wrong. She had me open it, concerned she’d missed the RSVP for this supposed event, and imagine my fucking surprise to find a letter from Alessandro along with a SIM card for her to communicate with him and the promise of telling her the truth about her parents’ death.”
“Fuuuccckkk. You didn’t show her the letter?”
“No fucking way,” I say. “I brought a burner phone and put the SIM in it. I’ve been pretending to be her.”
“Thank fuck.”
“Yes and no. He first turned up in L.A. when she was there for work with Marco before he got shot,” I say. “From his letter and texts, I know he ambushed her at work that day before she came to La Rosa to meet you and Julian, and she told him to back off.”
“Fucking hell! And I’m only hearing about this now!” he says, slamming his glass down.
I feel his anger. Unease that she still hasn’t told me herself eats at me, but I push it away so I can continue looping in the one person with the means to deal with Alessandro.
“She doesn’t know that I know he ambushed her in New York…
and for some reason she hasn’t told me herself,” I admit.
“But I had to tell her I was communicating with someone on the burner phone because it was buzzing incessantly in my pocket the other day when she was in my office and she felt it. She gathered by the shape of it what it was and asked me point blank why I had a burner.”
“I should shoot you point blank for keeping this from me,” he growls, probably only half joking.
He pours himself what is probably a six-hundred-dollar double nip of scotch and shoots it back, wincing as it goes down.
“One: What was she fucking doing close enough to your lap to feel it vibrate. Actually, I don’t want to know. Nothing fake about the fact she’s your fucking vice now, brother.”
He’s not wrong. She’s my vice. My chaos. My calm. The one who put the beat back in my heart.
“Two: Word for word, tell me what you said.”
“I told her that it was an anonymous source who came forward with information on Marco’s shooter.
But you better get me on the same page—what does this motherfucker Alessandro know, because he’s getting more desperate in his messages with each refusal to meet him.
” I return his stare with a stone-faced one of my own.
“AJ…” I pause because I really hope there’s no fucking truth to what I’m about to divulge.
“He’s been saying that you lied to Chiara.
That you played a part in her parents’ death.
You need to be fucking real with me. What are you not telling me? ”
He doesn’t have a chance to say it with words, but his face now drained of color does a telling job.
“There you two are,” beams Chiara, sidling up to me, nuzzling into my side. “Why are you two here holding up the bar like a couple of old men,” she says, smiling at me mischievously. “Especially when you can be down there grinding with the young ones.”
I was never one for public displays of affection, but there’s no point denying, least of all to myself, that my dislike has firmly turned into a hard-like.
I pull Chiara in and wrap my arms around her petite body, and she lifts her head, pursing cherry-red lips, waiting for a kiss.
Her face is slightly flushed from dancing, and her eyes twinkle with genuine happiness.
My heart swells and aches simultaneously seeing her lit up like this.
There’s little doubt in my mind that Alessandro’s revelation will completely shatter her.
Whatever it takes, I need to make sure that doesn’t happen.
“Are you going to leave lipstick all over my lips?” I ask, hovering mine just above hers.
“I mean, I can leave it all over something else if you prefer,” she whispers, waggling her eyebrows.
“Okay, I’m out. Way too many visuals I don’t need,” says AJ, regaining his composure. “I’m going to go and find the happy couple to give them their engagement present.”
He gives me a small nod, his imploring expression a warning and a plea.
Then he’s gone and it’s just me and her, and I’m still none the wiser about what Alessandro has that could dampen the light of a woman who’s become the bright spot in each and every one of my days.
I watch as he goes and look down to see Chiara staring after him, too.
“Did it seem like he was acting strange?” Chiara asks me, eyebrows furrowed like she’s trying to figure out what it could be. “Did you tell him about the burner phone and anonymous tip?” she asks me, trepidation swirling in her eyes.
“Yeah, I mentioned it,” I say because technically it’s true. “I guess he’s trying to piece it all together like I am.”