Chapter 9
Alina
T hanks to Rafe’s talented mouth, cock, and fingers it’s early afternoon when I finally leave the apartment, flanked by some of his people.
The moment I step inside the bakery, a wave of warmth and familiarity washes over me. Even though it’s been days, the air is still filled with the comforting scent of freshly baked bread, mingling with the sweet aroma of buttery pastries.
“Welcome back, Miss Moretti,” one of Rafe’s men says as he holds the door open for me.
It’s clear they’re here to keep an eye on me, but their presence is a stark contrast to the sterile luxury of Rafe’s penthouse. Here, amidst the worn wooden countertops and creaking floorboards, I can breathe again.
“Thank you,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
I take in the familiar sight of the bakery—the glass display cases lined with a colorful array of pastries, the warm glow of the ovens casting flickering shadows on the walls. Each detail is a tangible reminder of my mother, who poured her heart and soul into this place.
“Rafe mentioned that you might want to redecorate the bakery,” one of his men speaks up, breaking me from my reverie. “You know, give it a fresh look.”
Nodding to show I’ve heard him, I mull over the words as I look around. It’s not a bad idea. While I’d never want to change anything per se, there’s nothing wrong with sprucing things up.
Some of the equipment is rather old, and honestly looks atrociously dated. The walls could do with a new layer of paint, and the linoleum floor has seen better days. But each of these elements holds a story, a memory. Replacing them feels like erasing a part of my mother’s legacy.
I walk over to the display case and run my fingers along the glass. Empty. The bakery looks desolate. It’s amazing how quickly things can change. How quickly a place can go from thriving to withering.
“Just think about it,” the man continues. “Rafe only wants to help.”
I know Rafe wants me to succeed. But the fact that he isn’t here to tell me himself doesn’t sit right with me.
“Yeah, and I appreciate it,” I say, turning to face them. “Really. But I need some time to figure out what’s best.”
The men exchange glances but don’t press further. They know their boundaries—or maybe they just fear Rafe enough to respect mine.
“Take your time,” one of them says. “We’ll be outside if you need anything.”
With that, they leave me alone in the quiet of the bakery. The door closes with a soft jingle of bells, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
I walk to the back where the small office is located.
Stacks of invoices and order forms clutter the desk, but I’m drawn to a framed photo on the wall.
It’s of my mother and me on opening day, both of us wearing flour-dusted aprons and huge, ridiculous grins.
I was sixteen and utterly convinced that we were starting an empire.
The photo blurs as tears well up in my eyes. We worked so hard, and for a while it seemed like we would make it. Now I’m not so sure.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Rafe: How's my good girl?
I stare at the screen for a moment before typing out a response.
Me: At the bakery. Thinking about your suggestion. Why didn’t you mention your redecorating idea to me yourself?
His response is almost immediate.
Rafe: A good girl would just say thank you.
Me: And a good guy would have the decency to mention it themselves.
Rafe: Good guy?
Me: Well, yeah. You’re not a boy. Would you prefer ‘good man’?
Rafe: I’m on my way, baby. You can tell me which one you like better when you’re naked and riding my face.
I snort and send him a thumbs up before switching my phone off. I need to think before he gets here.
The offer is good, and there’s no logical reason to say no. I’m not opposed to Rafe spending money on me. Seriously, I’m not that virtuous. But I need to know if it’s a loan, an investment, or something he wants to do for his future bride-to-be.
Everything between us has happened so fast, which makes it hard to believe this could really be it. I mean, I feel it in my bones, the rightness. But a lifetime of society teaching you to stand your ground and second-guess stuff just for the hell of it is hard to shake.
“What should I do, Mom?” I ask.
Of course, I don’t get an answer, though I do spot my old laptop. It takes forever to power on, and the second I’m in, I pull up my accounting spreadsheet.
I take my time looking at every number from all the invoices I’ve paid over the last year.
The numbers on the screen blur as I rub my tired eyes.
Even after all the chaos of the last week, the reality of the bakery’s struggles is staring me in the face.
I can’t keep this place running on nostalgia alone.
And if I’m serious about a future with Rafe, why not?
Those thoughts keep running through my head right until the door chime rings. I don’t have to look up to know who it is. My pulse betrays me, quickening with anticipation.
“So which is it?” he rasps, pulling me against his hard body. “Good boy or good man?” His voice is smooth, confident, but there’s a rare playfulness there too.
I glance up, meeting his stormy gray eyes. He looks out of place here—his sharp suit and calculated presence against the worn-down walls and aging countertops. Yet, it feels less wrong than the last time he was here.
“I need to know if the money to redecorate would be a loan,” I say, turning my head to the side when he tries to capture my lips with his.
He shakes his head. “There will never be any loans between us, baby.”
“But what about the money Dad owes?”
“There was never a debt,” he admits.
The air leaves my lungs. “What?”
“I bought you from your father.” His voice is low, careful, but it still hits me like a freight train. “There was no loan, and no debt to be collected.”
A thousand emotions crash into me at once—rage, betrayal, disbelief. “You lied to me,” I whisper, shaking my head. “This whole time?—”
“I gave him the money because I knew he’d gamble it away.” His fingers flex at his sides. “Because I knew he’d sign your life away without a second thought. And because I wasn’t going to let him do it to someone else.”
I let out a hollow laugh. “So what? You decided to play the hero by making me your prisoner instead?”
His expression darkens, but there’s something raw in his eyes now. “I didn’t want to play anything, Alina. I wanted you.”
“Why?” I challenge.
“You know why.”
Silence stretches between us. His words, heavy and dangerous, settle in my chest like a weight I don’t know how to carry.
“Tell me,” I demand, taking a step back. “Or I won’t go back with you.”
With a grunt that sounds like a mix of a growl and a huff, he runs a hand down his face. “Because I love you, Alina. Because you’re mine.” Each word is measured and strong. There’s no wavering in his gaze; he really means what he’s saying.
I should be furious. And I am. But underneath it, beneath the betrayal and the tangled mess of our past, there’s a deep, aching truth I can’t ignore.
He loves me.
I swallow hard. “You don’t get to decide my future for me, Rafe.”
His lips press together, his hands clenching into fists. “I know.”
It’s not an apology. Not really. But it’s something. A crack in the armor. A moment of vulnerability from the man who always controls everything.
I step forward, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. “If you want me, Rafe, then earn me. Not through money. Not through power. Just you.”
For the first time since we met, he looks… uncertain. As if I’ve thrown him off balance. It’s strangely satisfying. My heart pounds, it’s like the organ is pumping hope through my veins.
Then, just like that, the tension shifts. His hand cups my jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheek. “You were never something to be bought, Alina.” His voice is quiet, reverent. “You’ve always been something to be worshipped.”
I exhale sharply, my resolve wavering, my body betraying me as I lean into his touch. This man, this dangerous, possessive, infuriating man, owns me in ways I never agreed to. At least not at first.
The logical thing would be to walk away. To tell Rafe that love built on deception isn’t love at all. That I should be angry, that I should fight harder against the way he consumes me. But my heart doesn’t care about logic. My heart has already made its choice.
And sometimes, against all odds, against all logic, we still hope.
Stretching, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull until he bends. Our lips are only a breath apart, and it feels like we’re sharing oxygen.
“I love you too?—”
He cuts me off with a growl, fusing our lips together. His tongue slides into my mouth, snaking around mine. Within seconds, I’m panting and moaning into his mouth.
Pulling back, I tug at the hair at his neck until he hisses. “Don’t ever fucking lie to me again, Rafe.” His shock strokes the righteousness inside me. “If you do, I’ll make you regret it in ways you never even imagined.”
“Mhmm,” he groans. “Consider me warned, baby.”
I nod. “Take me upstairs and make me come on my bed before we go home.”