Chapter Thirty-Two
Raya
WATCHING STEFANO CASTELLO SLEEP might be my new favorite pastime. I was supposed to wake him ten minutes ago, but instead I’m curled up here, just staring at him.
Creep behavior? Yup. Regrets? None.
Five minutes. Just five more minutes, then I’ll wake him.
Today was...peaceful. Slow and lazy. Quiet and indulgent. No calls. No chaos.
Even the sex was different—sweet and slow. We took our time and really enjoyed each other, sank into it. A lot of eye contact and very few words.
None were needed.
Alas, the day’s over and he has important affairs tonight. And with Lorenzo due back in the morning, I need to be exactly where I’m expected to be.
Light and careful, I trace the thick arc of his brow with my fingertips. He’s divine art. A romantic soliloquy. A sexy saxophone note.
I’m about to lean in and brush a light kiss against his jaw when he stirs, mumbles something garbled, then bolts awake, features warped with frantic panic.
But the second his eyes find me, he relaxes, shoulders sagging with what seems like relief. “You’re here.” He pulls me close, arm anchoring around me. He inhales deeply as he repeats. “You’re here.”
“I’m here…” I softly agree. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You will.” The words are uttered with complete certainty, but tinged with a hint of sadness.
They’re also very much true.
“Did you dream about me?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. And I don’t push, because I don’t truly want to know. The future has already been decided. What’s to be will be.
I sweep a lock of hair from his forehead. “It’s more than fifteen minutes past wake-up time. You’ll be late. And you don’t do late.”
“Hmm.” He buries his face in my hair. “Just let me hold you for a little bit longer.”
“Of course, my needy king.”
His response is a firm pinch to my ass.
~
AS OSCAR PULLS into the parking lot of Mirabella Villa, Stefano hands me back my long-confiscated phone. “If Lo asks, you haven’t seen me all weekend.”
I lift a curious brow at him. “Is there a disagreement between you two that involves me?”
His answer is to take my free hand and press a kiss into the center of my palm. “I haven’t had a weekend that actually felt like a weekend in years. Thank you for…” His words trail off, eyes dropping to my mouth. “You’re going to fuck me over. I know it. And still…against my better judgment…”
“Screw you over? No interest. Screw you?” I give him a wink and flirtatious smirk. “That, I’m definitely down for. Kidnap me anytime, my needy king.”
Before he can stop me, I’m already out the door and jogging toward the bridge. Desperate to get away from the intensity of his soul-stripping stare before I cave at his feet and tell him everything.
Once I’m back in my room at the Pink House, I check my phone. And that’s when it becomes clear why Gio wasn’t surprised to see me with Stefano this morning.
Yes, Stefano had been updating Lorenzo as me, but that’s not all he was doing.
Found in my message thread with Gio is a photo of me lounging on Stefano’s couch, looking completely at ease. Tagged with one short, elegant caption: Now fuck off.
To which Gio replied: I’ll remember this foul play the next time we make a deal.
Stefano returned: The same deal you were trying to break today?
And Gio fired back: Fuck you.
Hours later, Stefano sent another picture, one of me asleep in his bed, curled up against his chest. This one accompanied with one word: Mine.
First of all, I had no idea there was an actual pissing contest happening over me.
Second, are these grown-ass men? Is this grade school?
Third, when the hell did Stefano take these pictures?
Curious, I swipe into the media library, and…
holy wow. Yeah, he took a lot of photos over the weekend.
All without me knowing. Candid snaps of me sneak-snacking in the kitchen.
Me in the shower. Me drying my hair. Me getting dressed.
Me doing stretches. Me out in the backyard. Me working. Me asleep…
All that time I thought he was neck-deep in business calls, he was lurking and snapping pictures of me like a damn stalker with a camera roll addiction. And here I thought I was the creep for watching him sleep, while he was creeping way harder.
Why does my heart suddenly feel like a helium balloon and my belly all fluttery and light?
I’m so soft right now. Too soft. And that...
That’s bad.
Very, very bad.
This is not what I came here for.
~
A LOUD BANGING jerks me from sleep’s grasp.
“Raya! Are you in there? Raya!”
I roll over and squint at the clock on my nightstand. 5:42 AM.
The pounding doesn’t stop. “RAYA!”
That’s Louisa’s voice. For Pete’s sake. What now?
Yawning, I rub my eyes, then pause at the unmistakable sounds of rapid-fire gunshots.
“Raya, please! Let me in! I’m s-scared!”
Ugh. And I was having such a good dream about a scrumptious peach cobbler Cora made me.
Annoyed, I throw the covers back, swipe my phone from the nightstand, and shuffle to the door.
The second I swing it open, all the girls from this side of the house bustle past me in a panicked herd, eyes wide and terrified.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask.
Right on cue, a fresh fusillade of gunfire cracks through the air.
“The v-villa is under a-attack,” Louisa answers shakily, eyes wet with tears. “Bullets are flying through our windows.”
I rub two fingers behind my ear. “Okay, so…what am I missing? Does my room have a secret portal to Narnia or something?”
“We j-just…we thought y-you would know what to do,” one of them says. “Because you always know…stuff. About…things.”
For crying out loud. “Well, for starters—not that it’s rocket science—if bullets are flying through windows, the first thing you should do is get on the ground. Not run around like headless, featherless hens. That is how you get shot.”
An inharmonious chorus of gasps and a squawk. A beat of silence. And then they all drop to the ground.
“Good. Now stay down and don’t move. You’ll be fine. If bullets start coming in here, crawl to the bathroom.”
I step out of the room and pull the door shut behind me, then check my phone. Eight missed calls from Jenkins, head of the surveillance team, and a few from Cora.
I hit callback on Jenkins and he answers on the first ring. “Raya.”
“You called?”
“Yes. Lorenzo left instructions to reach out to you if we couldn’t get through to him or the boss in the event of an emergency. And, uh, the villa is under attack.”
“By the sound of things, yeah, no shit,” I mumble, stifling a groggy yawn. “Aren’t you trained to handle situations like this?”
“I—uh, the problem is, we’re no help to the Uppers because we can’t figure out how the attackers are getting in. We’ve got eyes on every sector and—”
“Was the area south-east of Soul of Mirabella fortified like I suggested weeks ago? Did you get those cameras up out there? Lights?”
“No, we haven’t gotten around to—”
“There’s your answer,” I cut in. “Get in contact with the Uppers. Have them send their best shooters and the dogs to that area, cut off the breach, and secure the perimeter. Then block off all other exits to trap anyone already inside. Execute that properly and they’ll regain control.”
“Got it.”
“Good. Call me if anything—”
“Actually…can you stay on the line?”
“Why?”
“Because you’re calm, and it’s helping me—”
I hang up.
Had they been proactive and fortified the villa’s weak point when I flagged it, this whole attack would’ve been a nonstarter.
For a criminal empire, they’re way too complacent.
Maybe this will wake them up. Remind them this isn’t Disneyland.
While their king is off making deals and stacking money that feeds them all, he should be able to trust them to protect his damn castle.
This is ineptitude in its purest form.
At the top of the grand staircase, I pause at the sight of Tazi slouched against one of the foyer columns, an automatic rifle strapped across her chest and a grimace carved into her face. No obvious bloodstains, but she’s clad in all-black.
“Are you hit?” I call down.
“Thigh. Don’t worry about it,” she grunts, waving me off. “Go back to your room. Hide.”
I point down the other hall. “I’m going to check on the other girls.”
Her face contorts with pain, but she nods once. “Be careful.”
Turns out the girls on this side of the house has more functioning brain cells, because every one of them is hiding sensibly inside their rooms. One has a shoulder wound but still has the good sense to stay low and tucked in a corner.
“I-I’m shot,” she whimpers. “Am I going to d-d-die?”
“It’s just shrapnel. You’ll be fine,” I tell her after a quick check. “Stay down and stay hidden.”
Let’s hope the men outside are capable of protecting what’s on the inside.
After checking all the rooms, I jog downstairs, fetch some supplies from the medical pantry, then head to the foyer to Tazi. Smears of her blood on the marble are more noticeable now.
Sitting down in front of her, I pick up the scissors. “Where’s Eleni?”
“No clue. She wasn’t in bed when the shots woke me…”
Carefully, I cut away the blood-soaked fabric of her cargo pants, peeling it back from the wound in her thigh. “Lucky you, it’s a clean wound. All flesh. You’ll be fine.”
“It still hurts like a bitch,” she grunts.
“And it’s about to hurt more.” I pick up the tweezers and hold her gaze. “I’m going in.”
She doesn’t protest or ask questions, she just nods.
“Motherfucker!” she hisses when I dig into the wound, fishing for the bullet.
“Hang in there.”
She clenches her teeth and rides it out until I finally get a grip on the slug and pull it free. Once it’s out, I disinfect the wound and patch her up.
With a relieved laugh, she asks, “Why am I not surprised you know how to do all this?”
I pack up the items. “You’re welcome.”
Staring down at her neatly bandaged thigh, she expels a forlorn sigh. “Wherever my wife is, whatever she was doing, I just hope she’s alive.”