Chapter 9 - Raphael
I wake to sunlight filtering through the blinds, casting stripes of gold across the bed where Annie sleeps.
She's curled on her side, the sheet barely covering her curves, her short hair mussed from sleep and sex.
Dried sweat and other evidence of our night together cling to her skin, to the sheets, to me.
What the fuck have I done?
The question haunts me as I slip out of bed, careful not to disturb her.
I find my briefs on the floor and pull them on, then move to the window, staring out at the morning.
The neighborhood looks so normal, so peaceful.
My neighbors heading to work, walking dogs, living ordinary lives untouched by the violence that defines mine.
Last night, I killed a man. Then came home and took the virginity of the twenty-one-year-old watching my son.
Two extremes of my existence, colliding in a way I never anticipated.
I hear the soft rustle of sheets behind me, the change in breathing that tells me Annie is awake. I don't turn immediately, needing a moment to compose myself, to decide what comes next.
"Morning," her voice is husky from sleep and screaming my name.
Now I turn, taking in the sight of her sitting up in my bed, the sheet pulled to her chest in a gesture of modesty that makes me want to smile despite everything. Her amber eyes are alert, watching me, looking for signs that I regret what we've done.
Do I? The answer should be simple. Yes, of course I regret crossing that line, putting her at risk, complicating our professional relationship.
But looking at her now, with morning light catching the gold flecks in her eyes, all I feel is a dangerous possessiveness.
Mine, something primitive in me insists. She's mine now.
"Morning," I finally respond. "How are you feeling?"
She stretches, a slight wince crossing her features. "A little sore," she admits with a small smile. "But good. Really good."
I move to sit on the edge of the bed, still maintaining some distance. "Annie, we need to talk."
Her expression immediately becomes guarded. "You're going to tell me this was a mistake, aren't you?"
"No," I say, surprising myself with how quickly and firmly I reject that idea. "But I do need to make sure you understand what you're getting involved with. Who I really am."
She stares at me, then nods. "I'm listening."
I take a deep breath, organizing my thoughts. There's no easy way to have this conversation, so I decide to be as direct as possible.
"Dante’s import business is legitimate, but it's not his primary source of income." I meet her eyes directly. "We're part of what you'd call organized crime. The mafia, to be specific."
To her credit, Annie doesn't look shocked. "I figured it was something like that," she says quietly. "Last night, I remembered my dad used to talk about the Veneziano family. He said they controlled most of the city's north side."
I nod, somewhat surprised by her knowledge. "Your father knew his territory. Dante's father ran things until he was shot when Dante was seventeen. Dante took over, built the organization into something bigger, more disciplined."
"And you? What do you do for him?" She's asking directly now, no more dancing around the subject.
"Officially, I'm his driver. Unofficially, I do whatever needs doing.
Security, enforcement, problem-solving." I pause, then decide to lay it all out.
"Last night, we eliminated a rival who was threatening our business and our people.
Vincent Moretti. He'd been causing trouble for months, hurt some people close to us. "
Her eyes widen slightly at the confirmation of what I'd alluded to in the kitchen. "That’s the man you killed."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes." I study her face for revulsion, for fear, but see only consideration. "That's who I am, Annie. I'm not just Marco's father who works odd hours. I'm a killer. I've hurt people, threatened them, destroyed lives when necessary."
"To protect your family," she says softly. "Your people."
"That's how we justify it," I acknowledge. "But the truth is messier. Sometimes it's business. Sometimes it's revenge. Sometimes it's simply because someone disrespected Dante or crossed a line they shouldn't have."
Annie is silent for a long moment, absorbing this. I expect her to get up, to grab her clothes and leave. To run from this life that she now understands more clearly. Instead, she reaches for my hand.
"My father once told me something I never forgot," she says, her fingers intertwining with mine. "He said that in his undercover work, he met men who did terrible things but weren't terrible men. That the world isn't divided neatly into good people and bad people."
I shake my head. "Don't romanticize this, Annie. I'm not some antihero with a heart of gold. The things I've done—"
"I'm not romanticizing anything," she interrupts. "I'm trying to understand. You love Marco more than anything. You're loyal to Dante and your organization. You kill to protect what's yours." She squeezes my hand. "I see you, Raphael. The whole picture, not just the parts you want to show or hide."
When was the last time anyone really saw me? Knew all of me and didn't look away?
"Being with me puts you in danger," I tell her bluntly. "Not just from our enemies, but from the law. Association with someone like me could destroy your future, your reputation, everything."
"I know," she says simply.
"And you're okay with that risk?"
She laughs softly. "Okay with it? No. But willing to accept it?
Yes." She leans forward, letting the sheet fall away from her bare breasts.
"I spent three years being the perfect daughter, the responsible student, making safe choices.
And where did it get me? Lonely, stressed, just existing rather than living. "
I reach out, unable to help myself, brushing my thumb across her cheek. "You deserve better than this life, Annie."
"Maybe I do," she agrees. "But I want this. I want you." She catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. "I'm not naive enough to think it will be easy or safe. But I'm choosing it anyway."
"What about college? Your future?"
"I'm still going to finish my degree," she says firmly. "I'm still going to take care of my mom. And I'm going to keep taking care of Marco, if you'll let me." Her expression grows uncertain for the first time. "Unless you don't want me to be his nanny anymore. After... this."
The question of Marco. What our relationship means for him. It's the most complicated part of all this.
"Marco adores you already," I admit. "And you're amazing with him.
Better than anyone who's cared for him since Alicia left.
" I run a hand through my hair, thinking it through.
"But if we continue this, whatever this is between us, we need to be careful around him.
He's young, impressionable. I don't want him getting attached to you as more than his nanny until we're sure about where this is going. "
"That's fair," she nods. "We can be professional around Marco."
"And Dante," I add. "He can't know about this yet. He already thinks I made a questionable choice hiring someone so young. If he finds out I'm fucking you too..."
"He'll think you can't be trusted to make rational decisions," she finishes for me.
"Exactly. And in our world, trust is everything. Dante needs to know my judgment isn't compromised."
"Is it?" she asks, her eyes searching mine. "Compromised?"
I laugh darkly. "Fuck yes, it is. I can barely think straight around you. Last night proved that." I slide closer to her on the bed. "But what Dante doesn't know won't hurt him. Not yet, anyway."
She smiles, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "So, we're keeping this a secret?"
"For now," I confirm. "Which means being extremely careful. No kissing in the kitchen. No sneaking into my room until Marco's asleep. No looking at me like you're undressing me with your eyes when anyone else is around."
"That might be the hardest part," she teases, reaching out to trace the muscles of my abdomen with her fingertips. "Especially when you walk around shirtless like you did yesterday morning."
I catch her wrist, my cock already hardening in my briefs at her touch. "I'm serious, Annie. This isn't just about discretion. It's about safety. Your safety."
She sobers, nodding. "I understand. I'll be careful."
I release her wrist, but she doesn't pull away. Instead, her hand drifts lower, tracing the outline of my erection through the thin fabric.
"We still have time before Marco wakes up," she suggests, her innocent expression at odds with the boldness of her touch.
"You're insatiable," I growl, but I'm already pushing her back against the pillows. "And you should be too sore for round two."
"Maybe," she admits, spreading her legs in invitation as I move between them. "But I want you anyway."
I pull my briefs down just enough to free my cock, already fully hard at the sight of her spread beneath me. "This is going to be gentler than last night," I warn her, rubbing my tip against her entrance to test her readiness.
She's already wet, her body responding to me despite any lingering soreness. "I trust you," she says, reaching up to cup my face. "I trust you with all of me, Raphael."
Those words—that trust—hit me harder than any declaration of love could. I push into her slowly, watching her face for any sign of discomfort, but she just sighs in pleasure, her body accepting me more easily than last night.
"Fuck, Annie," I groan once I'm fully seated inside her. "You feel so goddamn perfect."