Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
RAFAEL
"Clean this up, Bruno. If he breathes again before I’m back, put him under."
My voice sounds like it’s coming from the bottom of a fucking well.
I don't look back at the mess in the chair.
Fredo is a fucking memory now, a leaking sack of meat that used to be a man I trusted.
I drop the serrated blade onto the tray, the metallic clink ringing off the concrete walls like a death knell.
Then I turn back to look at her.
Gia is standing in the doorway, her face the color of bleached bone. She’s staring at the blood on the floor, at the drain, at the pliers still gripped in my red-stained hand.
She looks like a goddamn porcelain doll dropped in a slaughterhouse.
I wrap my red-stained fingers around her bicep and haul her out into the corridor, kicking the heavy steel door shut behind us.
The silence of the hallway is sudden and heavy. I let go of her, but I don't step back.
"You shouldn't be down here, Gia," I growl, taking a step toward her.
Then I realize she’s shaking. A violent type that starts in her hands and works its way up her neck.
I toss the pliers aside and keep walking, the wet slap of my boots on the concrete the only sound in the room.
I stop a foot away from her. The scent of jasmine and amber is fighting the copper stinking up the air, and for a second, it almost makes me sick.
"Are you scared of me, little Gia?" I ask, tilting my head.
I watch her eyes. They’re wide, dark, and flickering.
“W-what?” She whispers.
“Are you scared of the monster that I am?”
“Oh.” She takes a ragged breath, her gaze finally meeting mine. She waits a beat, her throat working as she swallows. Then, she shakes her head. Slowly. Defiantly.
"No," she whispers. “I’m not.”
"Don't fucking lie to me, Gia. You’re shaking hard enough to break." I snap.
"My body is scared," she snaps right back, her chin lifting. "My nerves are screaming. But I’m not running. This is the world I married into, isn't it?"
I tilt my head, studying the iron in her gaze. No tears. No begging. Just a raw acceptance of the carnage at my feet.
"It’s the only world there is," I reach out. Not thinking about the blood or the fact that I’m ruined from the elbows down. I grab her waist and haul her into me, the movement rough, fueled by a sudden, violent surge of something that isn't just anger.
I want her.
She gasps as her front hits my chest. My wet hands find the small of her back, the silk of her dress soaking up the red immediately. I can feel the heat of her skin through the fabric, and the cold, dead blood against her living, thrumming warmth is enough to make me lose my goddamn mind.
"Look at your dress, Gia," I mutter, my face inches from hers. "I’m staining you, marking you. Do you want me to stop?"
Her eyes darken at my words and the desire I see there is overwhelming.
"Don’t stop, Rafael," she says, her voice a low, wanting moan.
Fucking hell.
I don't give her another chance to change her mind. I crash my mouth against hers, groaning at the feel of her as I shove my tongue into her mouth, claiming her, marking her, hoping to drown out the memory of Fredo’s screams with the sound of her whimpering into my throat.
My hands slide down, grabbing her ass, and pulling her up until she’s forced to wrap her legs around my waist. I pin her against the cold stone wall of the corridor, the thud of her back hitting the rock and the little gasp that leaves her lips at that echoes in the dark.
"R-Rafael," she breathes against my lips, her hands tangling in my hair to pull me closer.
I’m hard as a rock, my cock straining against my trousers, pulsing with a rhythm that matches the frantic beat of her heart against my chest. I want to rip that dress off. I want to take her right here, on the dirty concrete. I want to find out if she tastes like jasmine all the way down.
Fuck.
"Boss! The Don is on the line. He says it’s urgent."
The voice breaks through the haze like a gunshot and I freeze, my forehead resting against hers, both of us heaving for air.
It’s Dmitri. He’s standing at the end of the hall, his footsteps halting as he realizes what he’s just walked into.
"Give me a fucking minute!" I grunt, the sound tearing through my throat.
I slowly let Gia slide down the wall until her feet hit the floor. The second she’s steady, she pulls away. The light in her eyes, that raw, animal hunger is gone and is replaced by the Ghost Heiress.
I want to see that hunger again, I want to taste her again.
"Gia," I say, reaching for her, but I stop when I see my own bloody fingers. Shit.
"I- I need to go wash," she says, her voice sounding like it’s coming from another zip code. She doesn't look at me. She just turns and walks away, her bare feet silent on the stone.
I watch her go until she’s a shadow, then nothing. My chest feels like it’s been hollowed out with a goddamn ice cream scoop.
What the fuck am I doing?
I need to know what happened to her.
I think about Elena. I think about the car, the fire, and the way her name still feels like a bruise in the center of my soul. Getting attached to Gia isn't just a mistake; it’s a fucking death sentence. For both of us.
I head to the utility sink and scrub my hands until the skin is raw and the water runs clear. I don't look in the mirror. I don't want to see the man who’s starting to like the way a liar tastes.
"Tell Matteo and the boys I’m coming to the club," I tell Dmitri as I pass him in the hall. "We’re playing cards. And find me a goddamn clean shirt."
The Brotherhood’s private lounge smells like expensive tobacco, aged bourbon, and the kind of peace that only exists when you have enough guns at the door.
Matteo, Dante, and Enzo are already at the table. The green felt is covered in chips, and the air is thick with the kind of bullshit only men who’ve killed together can manage. I pull out a chair and sit, the movement making the cut on my ribs twinge.
"Ah, there he is," Dante says, tossing a chip into the pot. "The Butcher of the East Wing. You look like shit, Rafe."
"Found the leak," I say, ignoring the jab. "Fredo. He was selling routes to pay for his sister’s surgery. Fucking idiot."
Matteo studies his cards, his expression unreadable. "Was he the only one?"
"He mentioned a 'Ghost'. I’ll have Enzo dig into his comms again tomorrow." I signal the waiter for a scotch.
"You seem... distracted," Enzo says, leaning back in his chair, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Usually, after an interrogation, you’re either ready to sleep, kill someone else... or fuck Tonight, you’re just staring at the wall."
"I’m tired, Enzo. It’s been a long fucking day."
"Or maybe you’re just angry we cockblocked you?” Dante teases, winking at the others. "Dmitri said Gia wandered into the basement. And it didn’t look like she was fainting with fear at all, it looked like y’all were ready to get down and dirty.”
“I’m going to kill Dmitri.” I snap and Enzo chuckles.
“I’m shocked she didn’t run away screaming bloody murder, I’ve seen you in the dungeons Rafael and you’re a goddamn scare.”
I tighten my grip on my glass. "She’s a De Luca. She’s seen blood before."
"She’s softening you, Rafael," Matteo says quietly, finally looking up. "I see the way you look at the door when she isn't in the room. You’re starting to care, aren’t you?”
"I’m not softening," I snap, the scotch burning my throat as I swallow. "She’s an asset. A political necessity I agreed to take because of you, Matteo. I’m managing her."
"Manage her right into your bed, huh?" Enzo chuckles.
I look down at my cuff, then back at them. I want to tell them to go to hell. I want to tell them that I’m in control. But the image of Gia’s red-stained dress keeps flashing in my mind, a goddamn siren light in the dark.
I’m not in control. At all.
"I don't want to get attached," I say, my voice dropping to a register that kills the laughter at the table.
The room goes still. Matteo sets his cards down. Dante stops fiddling with his chips.
"I did that once," I continue, staring into the amber liquid in my glass. "I gave Elena everything. I let her be the thing that made me human. And look where that got me. I can’t go through that again."
"Gia isn't Elena," Matteo says gently.
"I know she isn't. But that thought isn’t helping much." I finish the scotch and slam the glass onto the table. "I’m keeping my distance. For her sake as much as mine."
"Good luck with that," Enzo mutters, dealing the next hand. "Because the way you’re playing your cards, Rafael, I’d say you’re already all in."
I pick up my hand. Three kings. A strong opening.
I think about the way her waist felt under my bloody hands. I think about the way she didn't recoil from the monster I am.
Fuck.
"Ante up," I say, my voice like gravel. "I’m here to play, not talk about my goddamn feelings."