Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
GIA
I’m so bored.
I am literally, physically, and spiritually dying of boredom.
I’ve counted the tassels on the library rug—forty-two on each side, in case someone is wondering.
I’ve rearranged my shoes by color, then by heel height, then by how much I want to throw them at my husband’s head.
I’ve even considered watching a three-hour documentary on the history of artisanal salt just to feel something.
Paris feels like a dream I had in another life. There, I had a bakery that knew my order. Here? I have a guard who follows me every time I want to go to the bathroom.
"Luca," I say, stopping in the middle of the gravel path. "If you stay that close, you’re going to step on my heels, and then I’ll have to kill you, and then Rafael will be grumpy because he’s short one soldier."
Luca, bless his stoic, silent heart, doesn't even blink behind his aviators. "Three feet, Mrs. Caruso. Those were the orders."
"The orders are making me twitchy," I mutter, turning my face to the sun.
The gardens are beautiful, but they’re manicured within an inch of their lives—just like the people here.
Everything has a place. Everything is controlled.
I start walking toward the far edge of the estate, where the trees get thicker and the smell of jasmine gives way to the earthy, honest scent of hay and manure.
The stables.
Suddenly, a sound shatters the afternoon quiet followed by the sound of hooves slamming against wood follows—thud, thud, thud—sending a vibration through the ground that I feel in my toes.
"Sounds like trouble," I grin, my boredom vanishing in a heartbeat.
"Mrs. Caruso, we should head back," Luca says, his hand moving reflexively toward his jacket.
"Don't be a buzzkill, Luca."
I ignore him and break into a light jog. I’ve always liked horses. They don’t have hidden agendas or burner phones. They tell you exactly how they feel with a flick of an ear or a stomp of a foot.
I reach the stable doors and slide inside. The air is cool and dim, dancing with dust motes. At the far end, a massive jet-black stallion is currently trying to dismantle his stall. He’s magnificent—at least seventeen hands of raw, terrifying muscle, his coat gleaming like polished onyx.
A young groom is huddled against the opposite wall, holding a brush like a shield. "Easy, Vindice! Easy, boy!"
The horse—Vindice—doesn't find it easy. He rears up, his massive front hooves pawing the air, his eyes rolling back until the whites show. He looks like he’s about to break the gate down and take the whole building with him.
"Stay back, Mrs. Caruso!" the groom yells, his voice cracking. "He’s gone mad! The boss is the only one who can handle him when he’s like this!"
Mad? No. He’s not mad. He’s terrified.
I can see the way his ears are pinned back and the way he’s trembling. He’s not attacking; he’s defending.
"Get out," I say quietly, stepping forward.
"What?" The groom looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.
"The brush. The noise. You’re crowding him. Get out of the stall and leave the door open."
"But the boss—"
"I’m the boss’s wife," I snap, using the one thing I usually hate. "Out. Now."
The groom scrambles out, looking relieved to escape with his life. Luca stands at the stable entrance, his jaw tight. "Gia, if that horse hurts you, Rafael will have my head on a pike."
"Then don't tell him," I say, already focusing on the black beast.
I don't go straight for the stall. I stop about six feet away and just... breathe. I lean against a wooden pillar and start humming. It’s a low, wordless tune my mother used to sing when the house got too loud and the air got too heavy.
Vindice stops kicking. He snorts, a cloud of hot breath puffing from his nostrils, and watches me. He’s still tense, his muscles rippling under his skin like water, but the screaming has stopped.
"You’re a big, grumpy boy, aren't you?" I say, my voice a soft, velvet murmur. I don't look him in the eye—that’s a challenge. I look at his chest, moving slowly, step by step. "So much fire in such a small space. I get it. I really do."
I feel like him most days. Trapped in a cage, wanting to kick the world until it breaks.
I reach the gate. I don't open it. I just rest my hand on the wood. Vindice edges closer, his head ducked, sniffing the air. He realizes I’m not a threat. I’m just... Gia.
"That's it," I whisper. "Just you and me."
I slowly reach out. My fingers graze the velvet of his nose. He flinches, then settles, leaning his heavy head into my palm. I exhale a breath I didn't know I was holding. His hide is hot, his heart thudding against his ribs. I start to stroke his neck, my hand moving in long, rhythmic sweeps.
"You’re okay, Vindice. You’re okay."
"I see you’ve met the executioner."
The voice is like a low growl of thunder. I don't jump, but my heart does a frantic little skip-rope move in my chest. I don't even turn around. The air in the room just got ten degrees more complicated.
Rafael is standing in the doorway. He’s leaning against the frame, arms crossed, watching me with an expression that’s dangerously close to amused. He’s back in a clean shirt and the blood from the basement is gone, but the shadow of it still lingers in the set of his shoulders.
"His name is Vindice," I say, not stopping my rhythmic stroking. "Avenger. A bit on the nose, don't you think?"
"He’s a Caruso horse," Rafael says, walking closer. His boots click on the stone, but Vindice doesn't flinch. The horse watches him with a wary respect. "Vengeance is our family crest, in case you hadn't noticed."
"I noticed the 'Butcher' part first," I retort, finally turning to look at him. "The horse is much more refined."
Rafael stops a few feet away. His eyes move from me to the stallion, then back again. "The groom said you were about to be trampled. He was practically hyperventilating."
"He was crowding him. Men usually do that when they’re afraid of something out of their control." I tilt my chin up. "Vindice just needed someone who knows what it’s like to want to bite everyone."
Rafael’s mouth twitches. It’s almost a smile. "You’re surprisingly fearless around an animal that could snap your neck with one kick."
"Animals are easy, Rafael. They don't lie. They don't have hidden agendas. If they want to kill you, they do it to your face." I give Vindice one last pat and step away from the stall. "It’s the men I have to be cautious around."
"Is that so?" He steps into my space, the three-foot rule vanishing into thin air. "And here I thought we were making progress."
Progress. Right.
"I’m a quick study," I say, keeping my voice steady. "I’ve learned that in this house, the more a man smiles, the more you should check your pockets. Not that you smile much."
"I have a lot on my mind." His gaze drops to my mouth for a split second before returning to my eyes. "So, you’re a horse whisperer now? What else did you learn in Paris? How to dismantle a bomb? Tactical bread-baking?"
"I learned that I’m a better rider than you probably think I am." I cross my arms, the sass bubbling up. "Actually, I bet I could beat you in a race. Right now."
Rafael actually laughs. It’s a dry, raspy sound that does terrible things to my nervous system. "A race? Gia, you’re wearing silk trousers and shoes that don’t look all that comfortable."
"I can ride bareback if I have to. And these shoes have excellent grip." I step closer, feeling bold. "What’s the matter, Macellaro? Afraid of getting dusted by a 'Little Gia'?"
He narrows his eyes. The challenge lands exactly where I wanted it to—right in his pride. "And what are the stakes?"
"One wish," I say, my heart hammering. "The winner gets one wish. Anything they want. No questions asked. No refusals."
Freedom for Laura. I could ask for her and he would do everything to get her for me. I could end this right now.
Rafael studies me. I can see the gears turning behind those green eyes. He’s calculating the risk, the reward, and the sheer audacity of the woman standing in front of him.
"Anything?" he repeats, his voice dropping an octave.
"Anything."
"Fine." He holds out a hand, his fingers scarred and strong. "You’ve got a deal, little Gia. But don't cry when you’re picking hay out of your hair."
"I don't cry," I snap, shaking his hand. His skin is hot, the contact sending a jolt of electricity straight up my arm. "I win."
Ten minutes later, we’re at the edge of the east field.
I’m on a sturdy bay mare named Serafina. She’s sweet, and fast apparently, and doesn't look like she wants to murder me. Rafael is on Vindice. The two of them together look like a dark myth—two forces of nature held together by nothing but sheer will.
He’s discarded his jacket. His black shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, the fabric straining against his chest as he settles into the saddle. He looks... gods, he looks incredible. Like a dark knight from a story that doesn't have a happy ending.
"To the oak tree at the end of the ridge," Rafael says, pointing toward a massive silhouette about half a mile away. "First one to touch the trunk wins."
"Ready to lose?" I ask, tightening my grip on the reins.
"In your dreams, Gia."
He doesn't wait for a signal. He just whistles, and Vindice explodes forward like a shot from a gun.
"Hey! That’s cheating!" I yell, digging my heels into Serafina’s sides.
The mare leaps forward, and suddenly, the world is nothing but wind and the rhythmic thunder of hooves. The boredom of the morning is gone, replaced by a wild, jagged adrenaline. I lean low over Serafina’s neck, the wind whipping my hair across my face, stinging my eyes.
I feel alive. For the first time in years, I am moving faster than my own fears.
Rafael is ahead, a dark blur against the green of the field. He rides like he does everything else—with a terrifying, effortless control. He and the horse move as one, a singular engine of speed.
"Come on, Serafina! Go!"
We’re gaining. The bay mare has a heart of gold and legs like springs. We’re closing the gap. Ten feet. Five feet. I can see the muscles in Rafael’s back tensing under his shirt. I can see the way he grips the reins.
I pull alongside him.
He looks over at me, his hair blowing back, a genuine, predatory grin on his face. He looks younger. He looks... happy. It’s the most beautiful and terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.
"Not bad, Gia!" he shouts over the wind.
"Told you!"
We’re neck and neck. The oak tree is looming ahead, its branches like reaching fingers. My lungs are burning, my legs are aching, and I am laughing. I’m actually laughing.
But Rafael hasn't used his full power.
I see the moment he decides it’s over. He leans further forward, whispers something into Vindice’s ear, and the stallion finds a gear I didn't know existed. They surge ahead in a final, brutal burst of speed.
Vindice hits the ridge first. Rafael reaches out, his hand slapping the bark of the oak tree a full three seconds before I pull up, gasping for air.
I slide off Serafina, my legs shaking so hard I almost collapse. I lean against the mare’s side, trying to catch my breath, my hair a bird’s nest, my silk trousers ruined with sweat and horsehair.
Rafael dismounts with a graceful jump. He isn't even winded. He walks over to me, leading Vindice, and he’s wearing an expression of such insufferable, smug satisfaction that I want to kick him.
"You lost," he says, his voice smooth.
"You cheated," I pant, wiping a smudge of dirt off my cheek. "You started early."
"A Caruso never lets an opportunity pass." He stops in front of me, so close I can feel the heat radiating off his body. "A deal is a deal, Gia. One wish."
I look up at him, my heart still racing from the ride—and from him. "Fine. You won. What is it? Do you want me to stop throwing slippers at you? Do you want me to stop talking back? What?"
He reaches out. His hand finds a strand of my hair, tucking it behind my ear. His fingers linger there, warm against my skin, his thumb grazing my jawline. The smugness is gone, replaced by that heavy, dark intensity that makes my knees go weak.
"I haven't decided yet," he says, his voice a low, secret thing.
"You have to tell me," I say, my voice sounding breathy. "That was the bet."
"No. The bet was that I get a wish. It didn't say I had to use it immediately." He leans down, his face inches from mine, his eyes scanning every inch of my face. "I’m going to save it. I’m going to keep it in my pocket until the moment I need it most."
Oh gods. He’s going to use it to break me, isn't he?
"That’s unfair," I whisper.
"Life is unfair, little Gia. I thought you’d learned that by now."
He doesn't kiss me. He just stays there, his thumb tracing the line of my lip, letting the tension build until it’s a physical weight. Then, he pulls back, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips.
"Come on," he says, turning back toward the horses. "You look like a disaster. Let’s get you inside before Carla sees what you’ve done to those trousers."
I follow him back toward the house, my heart doing a slow, heavy throb. He won. He has a wish. And the way he’s looking at me tells me that whatever he asks for, I’m not going to be able to say no.
I am in so much trouble, I think, watching the way his shoulders move as he walks.
And for the first time, I’m not sure I want to be saved.