Chapter 27
VIVIAN
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the scent of pastries and fruit Raffaele had ordered.
I sat at the dining table, chewing a piece of croissant slathered with butter and fancy honey.
Across from me, Raffaele sipped his black coffee in silence, his eyes fixed on the view of Manhattan through the floor-to-ceiling fancy-ass windows.
His emotions reached me through the bond. He was at ease, but it was layered with something heavier. Guilt, maybe. Or regret. I wasn’t sure. But he wasn’t the storm of tension I was used to, and I wasn’t about to question it.
“This is wonderful,” I said, gesturing to the spread. “I didn’t know you had such excellent taste in breakfast.”
He took a sip of his coffee. “I have excellent taste in everything.”
“Exactly the response I would expect from an ass like you,” I muttered, rolling my eyes as I popped a grape into my mouth.
He chuckled. “I’m going to take a shower. Make yourself at home.”
“Sure,” I said casually, though my curiosity had already started to simmer. I eyed him as he walked down the hall, my gaze drifting over his form. Moments later, the sound of water running echoed through the penthouse.
The second I was sure he was out of earshot, I stood, my chair scraping softly against the floor. Make yourself at home. Well, I intended to do just that.
This was the human world, his human world. I couldn’t wrap my head around Raffaele Gallanti—The Shadow, ruthless magical mafia lord—having a secret sanctuary in Manhattan. What else was he hiding?
I started in the kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers. Nothing remarkable—plates, fancy glasses, a drawer full of takeout menus and cigars. Sighing, I moved on to the next.
My fingers brushed against cool glass as I opened another cabinet, revealing a collection of alcohol.
Bottles of whiskey, vodka, rum—each label more elaborate than the last. I picked one up, turning it over in my hands.
It was sleek, the label embossed with gold lettering that screamed wealth and decadence. Of course he had backup liquor.
I pressed my lips into a thin line and put the bottle back. The more I searched, the more I realized how little there was to find. This place was immaculate, but empty in a way that felt intentional. No personal touches, no photographs, no sign that anyone really lived here.
Who is this man? I thought in frustration. As much as I wanted to hate him, the bond pulled at me, muddying everything with its constant hum of shared emotions.
The sound of the front door opening made me freeze. My heart leapt into my throat, panic surging as I realized there was no way Raffaele could’ve finished his shower already. My mind raced through possibilities—his guards, his father, some other threat.
Footsteps echoed softly through the penthouse, and I turned toward the source. A woman stepped into view, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
She was stunning. Tall and elegant, with long black hair that fell in waves down her back and dark eyes that glinted with intelligence.
Her skin was flawless, her features so striking it was impossible not to stare.
She looked like she belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine—or walking out of Raffaele’s bedroom.
“Oh.” She grimaced and glanced around. “Oh my gods, I’m so sorry. Is Raffy here?”
Raffy. My stomach twisted uncomfortably at the nickname, the casual familiarity in her tone grating against my nerves. She knew him. Knew him well enough to call him Raffy—a name that sounded absurdly playful for someone as sharp-edged as Raffaele.
“Uh, yeah,” I said, my voice coming out more clipped than I intended. “He’s in the shower.”
She nodded, a polite smile gracing her lips. “Thanks. I didn’t mean to intrude. I just… Well, I thought he might be here. I saw his car in the garage.”
She made her way to the fridge and poured herself a glass of orange juice, as if this were her home, not his. Or mine.
“So,” she said, turning back to me, the glass in her hand. “You must be...?”
I hesitated, unsure what to say. The woman he kidnapped? His reluctant wife? The one who has no idea what the fuck is going on in his life? None of those answers felt right—or safe.
“Vivian,” I said finally, keeping my tone neutral. “And you are?”
“Eva,” she said, her smile widening.
Her familiarity with him and his home irritated me. And that threw me for a loop. Why did I care? She was just... beautiful. Warm. Effortless. The kind of woman who probably didn’t question her place in his life or anyone else’s.
“And what brings you here?” I asked, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.
She tilted her head, studying me. “Oh, you know. Just checking in. He’s been busy lately.”
Busy. Right. My mind spun with possibilities, each one more aggravating than the last. Was she part of his network? A business associate? Or his lover?
The sound of footsteps made us both turn as Raffaele entered the room, his hair damp. He froze for a fraction of a second when he saw Eva, his gaze flicking between us before settling on me.
His damp hair fell in tousled waves around his sharp jawline.
His broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his fitted black T-shirt, the short sleeves leaving his tattoos fully visible.
And those fucking gray sweatpants—slung low on his hips, clinging to him in ways that felt entirely inappropriate for casual wear—left very little to the imagination. At least my imagination.
I snapped my mouth shut before it could betray me, locking my jaw so tightly it ached. Why the hell did he have to look like that? He could have walked out here in a burlap sack, and I still would’ve found him infuriatingly attractive. But this? This was just unfair.
His dark gaze lingered on Eva, and if I wasn’t mistaken, I felt annoyance through the bond. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
Eva, sipping casually on her orange juice, raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I don’t know, Raffy. Maybe I’m mad at you for not telling me you were coming into the city.”
Raffaele’s shoulders tensed, but instead of snapping at her, he wrapped her in a brief hug. It was quick, almost perfunctory, but it was enough to make my chest ache. Seeing this side of him—a human side—was unsettling.
He pulled back and turned to me. “Vivian, this is my sister, Eva. Eva, this is Vivian… my wife.”
I blinked. Sister. Wife. The words hit me like a jolt, even though I already knew it was technically true that I was his wife. But the way he said it, with a touch of finality, made it feel heavier. Real.
Eva’s jaw dropped, her dark eyes wide with shock. “Wife? You got married?” she practically shrieked before slapping him on the bicep with enough force to make him flinch. “What the hell, Raffy?”
Raffaele backed up a step, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I was going to tell you. I just… haven’t had the chance.”
“You didn’t have the motherfucking chance?” she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. “Raffaele Gallanti, you are unbelievable.”
I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling like I’d stumbled into a soap opera. “For the record,” I interjected, “I didn’t exactly agree to this marriage. So I was just as surprised to hear about it as you are.”
Eva’s eyes darted to me, her expression softening with sympathy before narrowing as she turned back to her brother. “Explain.”
Raffaele sighed, clearly annoyed, but he gestured for us to sit.
We moved to the sitting area, the plush leather couch cold beneath me as I perched on the edge.
Eva sat across from us, crossing her legs elegantly, while Raffaele took the armchair closest to the windows.
He looked like a man preparing for battle.
“I needed to secure a treaty with another territory,” he began, his voice low and controlled. “Vivian was caught in a situation where her life was in danger. This was… the best solution for both of us.”
Eva folded her arms and shook her head. “So, let me get this straight. You’re using this woman for what? To gain more territory? Increase your power? Raffy, that’s terrible and way below you. Sounds like something your father would do.”
The color drained from Raffaele’s face, his jaw tightening as her words hung in the air. I glanced at him, startled by the visible tension in his body. His father. The mere mention of his father was like a slap to the face, and I felt the ripple of shame and anger through the bond.
“I saved her,” Raffaele said through gritted teeth. “You must have missed that part.”
“Saving her would’ve been preventing her from being killed and then requiring nothing in return. What you did? That’s something else entirely.”
He shot her a dark look, his shadows flickering around his frame, but Eva didn’t flinch. She didn’t even blink. If anything, her expression hardened, daring him to lash out.
“Mind your own business,” Raffaele finally snapped, his voice colder than I’d ever heard it. “In your own apartment.”
Eva rolled her eyes and stood, clearly unfazed by his anger. “Nice to meet you, Vivian,” she said, her tone light and almost teasing. “I’ve always wanted a sister.”
I managed a weak smile, too overwhelmed by the entire exchange to come up with a response. As Eva disappeared into the hallway, her heels clicking softly against the floor, the silence that followed was deafening.
I glanced at Raffaele, unsure of what to say. He was staring out the window, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the arms of his chair like he was trying to keep himself grounded. The tension in the room was suffocating, and I could feel his anger, frustration, and shame.
“That was… something,” I ventured.
He didn’t look at me, but his voice was sharp when he spoke. “Eva likes to think she knows everything. She doesn’t.”
I nodded, unsure how to respond. Part of me wanted to push, to ask why his sister had compared him to his father, but the other part knew better. Whatever lay beneath that surface was a storm I wasn’t ready to face.