Chapter 29
RAFAELLE
It was fitting that I bring her back here. Only here.
Valle di Luce.
That I draw a bath and wash the night… the past from our bodies.
Now I rise onto one elbow, watching her in the flicker of candlelight. My voice is rough. ‘Can I?’
She nods, breath catching.
I lean in, pressing my mouth to hers, slow and searing, letting her taste the truce, the bargain, the barely contained need. Her arms wind around my neck, fingers tangling in my hair as I deepen the kiss, teeth grazing her bottom lip until she sighs against me.
I slide down her body, hands trailing along her ribs to the hem of her silk slip.
She lifts her hips to meet my palm, urging me higher.
I tease the fabric upward, revealing the curve of her waist, the hollow of her belly, the swell of her breasts.
My thumb draws a light circle around one nipple through the thin silk. She gasps, hips lifting.
Gently, I peel off her slip, letting it fall to the floor.
The cool night air brushes her skin. I capture one hardened peak in my mouth, sucking and tugging until she trembles beneath me.
My hands knead the other, teasing tight circles, trading places until her back arches and her nails rake down the sheets.
I rise, lips brushing the valley between her breasts, then drift down her torso until I stand between her legs. I hook a finger under her panties, sliding them down with deliberate care. She parts her thighs, restless, and I press a soft kiss to her hip before lowering my mouth to her centre.
My tongue traces slow, hungry patterns along her inner thigh, drawing out that tension until she buckles beneath me. When I finally part her pretty pink pussy with a gentle flick, she grips the mattress, head thrown back, voice low and ragged. ‘Rafa—’
I pull back, brushing my lips against her thigh. ‘I need you, baby. So fucking much. Do you need me?’
She nods, voice thick. ‘Yes, God, yes… please.’
I stand and unbutton my jeans, pressing in slowly, testing, as her eyes flick open and lock onto mine. She nods again, urging me deeper. I pause, chest against hers, the hush between us crackling, then begin to move, first barely, then building in feral rhythm.
Her arms coil around my back, pulling me flush against her. Candlelight flickers across our sweat-slicked skin as I thrust.
She matches me, sliding her hips up and down, grounding me in the relentless give and take of our magic.
I lean close, voice low and rough. ‘You were fierce tonight, even in your silence. I’m so fucking proud of you.’
She gasps, nails scraping down my shoulders. ‘So were you.’
We drive each other towards the edge, breath and tension coiling tighter. When she breaks first, her cry rips the shadows apart. I follow seconds later, chest heaving.
We collapse together, breath mingling, the aftermath a raw stillness in which neither of us speaks. I drag a hand through her hair, planting a feather-light kiss on her temple.
But even as her lashes lower and her fingers curve sleepily around my wrist, my mind refuses to quiet.
The latest message from my mysterious source pulses like a hidden vein.
Nightowl
Genesis. Eve. Fading.
Three words. A whisper beneath the skin of everything. I know Nightowl doesn’t mean El Topo this time.
I suspect what they mean. Who they mean.
Giada Mancinelli.
So why haven’t you told Sofiya yet?
I tell myself I’m protecting her. That I’m giving her space to breathe from all the fucking chaos. To spare her if shit goes sideways, as they do, even with the best intentions.
But as I stare up at the ceiling, my arm curled around the woman I’d kill the world for, the guilt gnaws deeper.
Because secrets rot, especially if they’re not buried deep enough. And the higher they rise, the louder they tend to scream.
Rafaelle
London – Two Days Later
‘The old bastard’s been caught. It’s over… for the next five minutes. So you two coming home now?’
Cesare’s voice crackles over the line, thick with exhaustion and bone-deep satisfaction. There’s laughter in the background – Maddie, probably. The kind of domestic bliss I never thought would suit my brother until he fell into it like he was made for it.
I drag a hand through my hair, then rest my forearm on the glass railing, eyes trained on the glittering London skyline. ‘Not yet. Frate, need a favour.’
‘Shoot.’
I spell out what I want. Every detail. No hedging.
Silence crackles on the other end. Then a long exhale. My gut is clenched the entire time. ‘You sure about this?’
Am I? Fuck no. But my gut is leading the way on this. And when my gut leads, I follow. Even if it’s all tangled together in one relentless pull.
Shouldn’t you be using an organ higher up? Heart? Brain, even?
‘No… I mean, yeah.’ I exhale through gritted teeth. ‘Shit, I sound dumber than a porn star in a priest costume.’
I’m expecting Cesare to laugh, to throw it back at me like he always does. But he just sighs. Long and heavy. ‘I know you’re going on your gut, and normally I’d say follow it into hell. But brother… I’d hate for you to FUBAR this.’
My jaw tightens. I swallow a lump in my throat. I’ve never been this fucking torn. Never felt this exposed. But then I remember the promise I made by a gravestone under cypress trees. Remember what’s at stake. What I owe. ‘Noted. I’m sure. Do it.’
He doesn’t push again. Just murmurs, ‘Buona fortuna,’ and hangs up.
Before I can take a breath, the burner on the counter buzzes.
Maddie’s name flashes.
‘Rafaelle, tell me you haven’t stolen Sofiya again.’
I smile, just a little. ‘Not this time. She’s in the shower.’
‘Good. Because I need her. I’m drowning in guest lists and the twins just volunteered a fire-eater for the christening and Orazio’s threatening to disown us if we invite more Americans than Sicilians while insisting he wants a separate seating section for Sicilians only.’
‘Sounds about right.’
‘I need Sof. She has taste. She has ruthlessness. She’ll put Orazio in his place.’
I chuckle. ‘So what you’re saying is… you’re begging?’
‘I’m threatening,’ Maddie corrects, voice sharp.
‘Seriously, if she doesn’t come help me plan this thing, Nico’s going to be christened in a wading pool with cannoli as holy wafers.
I need her to murder my guest list and tell the caterer where to shove the fifth dessert option.
I need someone who can handle Cesare’s ego, Vittoria’s passive-aggressive critiques, and Orazio’s obsession with gold-encrusted christening favours. ’
I glance towards the bedroom where the shower’s still running. Part of me doesn’t want to let her go. Hell, I hate the idea of being apart. It sits like cold steel in my gut. Especially now. But I engineered this.
And Sofiya? She’ll probably like the excuse to be useful. To feel part of something that doesn’t involve bloodshed.
‘She’ll come,’ I promise. ‘I’ll get her to the airport.’
And if there’s a shitload of guilt tucked behind my words, only Cesare and I will be the wiser.
She sits next to me in the car, wearing black jeans and one of my old hoodies. Breathtaking enough to destroy empires. That scar above her hip peeks out beneath her top when she adjusts her seatbelt, and it reminds me how far we’ve come.
And how close I am to fucking everything up again.
Because even though she returns my smile, something in the set of her jaw tells me she knows I’m holding back.
I distract her the only way I know how.
‘There’s a new assignment.’
Her brows lift. ‘For me?’
‘For us. Joint op. But it’s recon only. We’re just watching a drop site in Marseilles. Simple surveillance. No engagement.’
Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t bite. ‘You sure that’s all?’
‘Come on, tigra, would I lie to you?’ The statement I made to her a lifetime ago when I had her tied up on my bed in my safehouse comes back to bite me. Hard.
She stares out the window, chin tilted. I can feel her eyes on me even when she’s not looking. As if she’s searching for the crack in my voice. The lie I haven’t spoken yet.
Her silence says more than words. She doesn’t trust easily. Not after what her own family pulled. Not after what I still haven’t told her.
I pull into Heathrow’s VIP terminal where the Salvatore jet is waiting along with the six bodyguards accompanying her. I kill the engine. ‘I’ll see you in a couple days,’ I murmur, reaching for her hand.
‘You better.’
She kisses me. Slow, soft, but laced with something sharp – like she’s marking it. Like she knows.
When she disappears behind the glass doors, I let my forehead fall against the wheel.
Just one thing.
One more secret.
Then I’m done.