Chapter 32 Vivian
VIVIAN
This place was suffocating me. Every moment spent in The Below, every shadow-laden hallway, every flicker of power that I couldn’t comprehend or control was too much.
I’d spent two days straight trying to integrate NexusCore with the Mirror of Truths. Each time I thought I’d made progress, something failed, and I had to troubleshoot all over again.
Finally reaching my boiling point, I left my room-turned-office in a huff, hoping to track down Raffaele. Something had to fucking give.
I found him in his office and stood in front of him, the tension between us thick and electric, as always.
He was lounging in one of the leather armchairs, one hand resting against the armrest, his shadows curling around his fingers like they had a life of their own.
His sharp features were unreadable, but I could feel the undercurrent of his emotions through the bond. He was curious.
“I need to get out of here,” I blurted, the words tumbling out before I could overthink them. “I can’t stay here anymore. Take me back to your apartment in New York. Please. I’m fucking begging you.”
His dark eyes narrowed slightly. “The city?”
“Yes, the city. I can’t breathe here, Raffaele. I just… I need a break from all of this.” I hated showing weakness in front of him, but it was the truth. Ever since our first visit to his penthouse, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
He studied me, as though trying to read the thoughts I wasn’t willing to voice. I braced myself for a fight, for him to dismiss me, to remind me of the rules of our fucked-up arrangement.
Instead, he let out a slow exhale and leaned back in his chair. “Pack a bag. We leave in an hour.”
“Just like that?”
His lips quirked into the faintest semblance of a smile. “Yes, Vivian. Just like that. You want to see the human world again. I’m giving you that.”
Suspicion clawed at me, even as relief washed over me. “It doesn’t seem like your style. Giving in to what I want.”
“Let’s not confuse this with generosity,” he said, his tone cool but not unkind. “Call it efficient multitasking. I need to be in the city anyway.”
I didn’t believe him for a second, but I didn’t press. “Thank you,” I muttered as quietly as I could manage.
His expression shifted slightly, the sharp edges softening and the tension in his jaw loosening. The bond thrummed, but it was softer than the usual storm of anger and lust that tethered us together.
The drive from the Veil tear to Raffaele’s penthouse was surprisingly quiet. Raffaele focused entirely on the road, his profile sharp against the glow of the dashboard lights. I watched him out of the corner of my eye.
Raffaele had so much control over my life, over everything I did.
It infuriated me, and yet, I couldn’t deny the way my body responded to him, the way my emotions twisted in his presence.
I hated it. I hated him. And yet, some part of me felt safe when he was near.
It didn’t make sense, and it was driving me insane.
By the time we parked the car, I was practically vibrating with nerves. I wanted the comfort of the human world, but it was bittersweet at the same time because it made me miss what I’d lost: freedom, normalcy, Will.
Raffaele turned to me when he’d killed the engine. “Come on. We’re taking a walk.”
I frowned. “A walk? I thought we were going to your apartment.”
“We are. Eventually.” He got out of the car.
With a huff, I followed him, the heels of my boots clicking against the concrete as I struggled to keep up with his long strides.
The city air hit me as soon as we exited the garage, crisp and alive with the sounds of honking horns, distant laughter, and the hum of humanity.
I breathed it in deeply, my tightness in my chest loosening for the first time in what felt like days.
Raffaele slowed his pace, glancing over at me. “Better?”
“Yeah,” I admitted reluctantly.
The corners of his mouth twitched as he led me down a quiet street lined with twinkling lights strung between lampposts. It felt surreal, almost dreamlike, and for a moment, I forgot about the darkness that always hovered between us.
“Why did you really bring me here? You could have left me at the estate while you did whatever you needed to do in the city.”
He glanced at me. “Because you asked.”
I stopped walking and stared at him. “You don’t strike me as the type to just do what someone asks. Not without an ulterior motive.”
He turned to face me fully, a guarded look in his eyes. “Maybe I’m not as predictable as you think.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He took a step closer, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “You needed this,” he said simply. “And I needed to be here. It’s as simple as that. Stop making things more complicated than they need to be.”
The bond pulsed between us. He was calm, steady, and maybe just a little protective. It caught me off guard, but I let it go. Nodding, I fell in step beside him once more.
The city pulsed with life around us, an electric current I hadn’t realized I’d missed until I was immersed in it again.
New York was undeniably different than New Jersey, but it was a hell of a lot closer to home than The Below.
People swarmed the sidewalks, some moving with hurried purpose, others strolling lazily as if they had all the time in the world.
Conversations overlapped, a constant hum against the backdrop of honking cabs and distant sirens.
Neon signs flickered above bodegas and corner stores, their garish colors casting fractured reflections onto rain-slicked pavement.
The air smelled of damp concrete, exhaust, and the greasy allure of food carts.
I pulled my coat tighter around me to stave off the cool air nipping at my skin. Raffaele’s mood wasn’t full of the stormy dominance he usually carried. It was more reflective and quiet.
“Miss it?” he asked softly, almost tentatively. I wasn’t used to this tone from him. I was used to his clipped commands, his barbed words meant to intimidate.
I glanced at him, his profile shadowed but sharp under the glow of a nearby streetlamp. “More than I realized,” I admitted, my voice almost drowned out by the city around us.
Raffaele nodded once, as if he understood more than I’d said. He veered toward a food cart parked at the corner. The vendor barely glanced up as Raffaele ordered two hot dogs and a pretzel.
When Raffaele handed me a paper-wrapped hot dog, I stared at it, then at him, the juxtaposition of this simple act against the complex, dangerous man I knew throwing me off balance.
“You’re not too good for street food, are you?” His tone, lighter than I’d ever heard it, was tinged with amusement.
“No,” I said quickly, the heat of embarrassment rising in my cheeks. “It’s just... unexpected. You don’t strike me as the street-food type.”
He raised an eyebrow, taking a deliberate bite of his own hot dog. “What type is that?”
“The type to enjoy anything normal.”
“You’d be surprised. Even I need a break from constant theatrics.”
I couldn’t argue with that. I took a cautious bite, savoring the salty, greasy goodness as we continued to walk. The rhythm of the city was a welcome change to the suffocating silence of Raffaele’s estate.
We turned down another street, this one quieter, lined with darkened shops and the occasional pool of light from a flickering streetlamp.
As we passed a stoop, I spotted a homeless man bundled in layers of mismatched clothing, his face weathered and drawn.
He clutched a cardboard sign that read Anything helps, God bless.
I expected Raffaele to walk past without a second glance.
The mafia lord who ruled through fear and ruthlessness didn’t strike me as the charitable type.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him slow his stride and glance my way to make sure I wasn’t watching.
He pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and dropped it in the man’s lap.
The homeless man’s eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at the money, his weathered face breaking into a smile of gratitude.
“Thank you,” the man called, his voice hoarse.
Raffaele straightened and resumed walking, his expression as impassive as ever. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it.
His emotions were a strange swirl of calm. I tried to reconcile what I’d just seen with the man I thought I knew, but it didn’t fit neatly into any of the boxes I’d placed him in.
“You’re quiet,” he said.
“I’m just... processing,” I said carefully, not wanting to betray what I’d witnessed. “The city is a lot to take in.”
He gave me a sidelong glance. “You’ll get used to it.”
Somehow, I doubted that. As we continued walking, my thoughts lingered on the man behind the hundred-dollar bill. How much of Raffaele Gallanti was an act? And how much of him did I not understand?
Back at the penthouse, I settled onto the couch while Raffaele texted Eva. He muttered something under his breath about not avoiding one of her infamous tantrums if he didn’t tell her he had arrived.
“She’ll be over in five,” he announced, sliding his phone onto the counter.
“Should I be worried?” I asked, only half-joking.
“Always.”
The knock came exactly five minutes later, and Eva breezed into the apartment, all smiles and energy. She enveloped Raffaele in a quick hug before turning her attention to me.
“Vivian! How was your stroll in the city? Has Raffy bored you to death yet?” she teased, plopping onto the couch beside me like we’d known each other for years.
“It was… enlightening,” I said carefully, glancing at Raffaele, who was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Eva grinned. “That’s code for boring, isn’t it? Raffy has a way of making everything sound like a business transaction.” She turned to her brother. “You didn’t make her sit through one of your lectures about territory politics, did you?”
“I don’t lecture,” Raffaele replied coolly. “I educate.”
“Sure you do,” Eva said, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Anyway, you’re lucky I came prepared.” She pulled out a bottle of wine from her oversized bag, holding it up triumphantly. “This calls for a proper girls’ night.”
Raffaele raised an eyebrow. “You’re in my apartment.”
“And?”
He shook his head and took glasses out of the cabinet.
Over the next few hours, we drank wine, shared stories, and ate delicious food Raffaele had ordered from one of the city’s high-end restaurants. The vibe was so normal, so lighthearted, that I almost forgot who I was sitting with.
“You’re much nicer than I expected,” Eva said to me, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “I mean, Raffy didn’t exactly sell you well. He’s terrible at introductions.”
I laughed. “Yeah, he’s not exactly warm and fuzzy.”
Raffaele shot us both a dry look. “I’m sitting right here.”
“Don’t worry, brother dearest,” Eva said, patting his knee. “We love you despite your grumpy disposition.”
“Speak for yourself,” I teased.
Raffaele’s lips twitched, and he almost looked like he was enjoying himself. It was a strange and fascinating thing to see him so relaxed, playful even. There was almost no sign of the brooding, brutal, calculating man.
At some point, I dozed off. The room was warm, the wine had given me a pleasant buzz, and the sound of their voices had lulled me into unconsciousness. I woke briefly to the sensation of strong arms lifting me, and the smell of Raffaele’s cologne.
I blinked up at him, disoriented. “What—”
“Go back to sleep,” he said quietly, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. He carried me to the bed and laid me down gently, pulling the covers over me. He brushed my hair from my face, lingering for just a moment too long before he stepped back.
I wanted to speak, but my body was heavy with exhaustion. Before I could gather my thoughts, sleep claimed me again.
The next morning, I woke to the sound of Raffaele’s voice. “Vivian, it’s time to go.”
I sat up groggily, my heart sinking at his tone. The warmth from the night before had vanished, replaced by the cold mask I’d grown so accustomed to. “Already?”
“I have meetings,” he said shortly, not meeting my gaze. “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”
The drive back to the tear was quiet. Every glance at him—his rigid posture, his clenched jaw—made the ache in my chest grow heavier. By the time we stepped through the tear and into the woods near the estate, the silence had become unbearable.
“Why do you do that?” I blurted.
He stopped walking and turned to me. “Do what?”
“Put up this wall,” I said, gesturing vaguely between us. “Act like you don’t care about anything or anyone. Last night, you were... different. Personable. And now, you’re back to… whatever this is.”
His eyes darkened, and I felt a wave of irritation and pain through the bond. “You don’t get to see that side of me. Not down here.”
“Why not?” I demanded, my frustration boiling over. “You can’t just switch between being decent and being a monster. Pick one.”
“I am a monster, Vivian. Don’t fool yourself into thinking otherwise. What you saw last night? That’s not me. That’s not who I am.”
I stared at him, my heart pounding. “You’re lying.”
“Believe what you want,” he said coldly, turning away and continuing down the path. “But don’t expect me to be something I’m not.”
His grief, anger, and frustration came through the bond, but he kept walking, his shoulders rigid, his pace unyielding.
By the time we reached the mansion, I felt like I’d been torn in two. The man I’d seen last night and the one walking ahead of me now couldn’t possibly be the same person. And yet, they were.
I glanced at him one last time before heading to my room. Who the fuck was Raffaele Gallanti? And why couldn’t I stop wanting to know?