Chapter one hundred
Alora POV
“Thanks for today,” I said as Jordan opened the car door for me to step out.
“No problem, baby girl.” He smiled softly. “Be more careful next time. Good night.”
“Good night.”
He turned back, gave me one last wave, then got into the car. I stood there a moment longer than I should have, watching the headlights disappear down the driveway before they vanished completely.
With a deep sigh, I turned toward the already opened gate. The guards’ burning gazes trailed after me as I walked in. Something about the way they were holding their guns felt off.
The moment I stepped through the main entrance, heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway.
My heart rate spiked.
Please don’t let it be Rafe.
How was I supposed to explain coming home this late? Not that I owed anyone an explanation. Still, I didn’t have the energy for a confrontation that night.
I tiptoed forward, peering down the corridor before quickly stepping back when the footsteps drew closer.
I peeked around the corner.
It was Nico.
He was barely recognizable. One side of his face was swollen, a dark bruise blooming under his left eye. Two of Rafe’s men dragged him down the hall while he groaned in protest, too weak to fight back.
For a split second, his eyes lifted, meeting mine. There was something there, apology or maybe a warning, before one of the men jerked him forward.
And suddenly I was very glad Jordan hadn’t let me take those shots earlier.
I moved quickly toward the kitchen, my pulse unsteady.
“Jesus, you scared the hell out of me,” Nora gasped when I rushed in.
“Sorry.” I grabbed a glass of water and drank too fast. “What’s going on?”
She hesitated. “Your husband is furious. He’s threatening to burn the entire house down if you aren’t found.”
I rolled my eyes, though the tension in my chest didn’t ease. “That sounds like him.”
“You should go talk to him. Nico’s had a rough night.”
“He did that to him?”
The question felt unnecessary. I already knew the answer. Rafe was many things, and mercy wasn’t always one of them.
My stomach churned with something unfamiliar. Not fear exactly, maybe worse. Anticipation.
The house was unnaturally quiet as I stepped out of the kitchen. Each footstep echoed too loudly against the marble floors. I debated going to his office or upstairs.
“Alora.”
Maria’s voice stopped me halfway up the staircase.
I turned and walked back down. “If this is about Rafe wanting to see me, tell him I’m back. I’ll be upstairs.”
She didn’t respond, and her silence made my chest tighten.
“Is everything okay?” I asked quietly.
“Actually… I need to talk to you,” she said, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater, something I had never seen her do.
“I’m listening,” I said, gesturing for her to take a seat.
She gripped my shoulder suddenly. “Don’t. I can’t even sit down. I feel sick.”
“Maria, what’s going on?”
“I did something to you,” she blurted. “Something I haven’t forgiven myself for. You didn’t deserve that kind of cruelty…”
Something crashed hard enough to shake the walls.
Glass shattered across marble, sharp and violent.
We exchanged looks, hesitation flashing between us, then a deep growl echoed through the hallway.
Rafe.
We ran toward the noise.
An overturned console table lay against the wall. A shattered vase bled water and white roses across the floor. Guards formed a loose circle around the chaos, tense but unwilling to intervene.
Santino had Rafe by the collar, his fist twisted in his shirt as he drove a brutal punch into his face. Rafe’s head snapped sideways, but he recovered instantly, slamming Santino back into the wall hard enough to rattle the frames behind him.
“How could you?” Santino demanded, landing another blow to Rafe’s jaw.
Rafe shoved him off, eyes blazing in a way I had never seen before.
This was personal.
They collided again, knocking into a side table before losing balance and crashing to the floor. Every punch landed with intention. Blood stained Santino’s shirt almost immediately. Rafe’s knuckles split open as he swung again.
“What’s going on?” I asked, but my voice felt insignificant against the violence.
Victoria stepped beside me. “You really didn’t know? This is because of you.”
Heat flooded my face, but Maria’s grip tightened around my wrist before I could respond.
“Stay out of it,” Santino snapped when a guard tried to step in, shoving him away.
“There’s nothing you can fix now,” Rafe growled, flipping Santino beneath him and driving his fist down again.
Fix what?
I pushed through the guards, ignoring their attempts to hold me back.
“Stop!” I shouted, grabbing Rafe’s arm mid-swing. “That’s enough!”
His body was rigid under my touch. His chest rose and fell heavily. When he looked at me, something in his eyes unsettled me more than the fight itself.
“This isn’t your fight, Alora,” he said, peeling my fingers off him.
Santino rolled to his side and slowly stood, wiping blood from his mouth. He didn’t look defeated, but rather certain.
“You’re still going to lie to her?” he asked quietly, staring at Rafe.
“I didn’t do anything,” Rafe replied.
But he didn’t look at me.
Santino let out a humorless laugh. “You kept her from her family for months because you were afraid she would leave. And you call that nothing?”
The words hit harder than any punch in the gut, and my mind blanked.
“What’s he talking about?” I asked, my voice smaller than I expected.
No one answered, each of them not daring to meet my eyes.
I looked at Rafe, waiting for him to deny it, to shut Santino down the way he always does when someone crosses a line. He didn’t, not even looking surprised as he stood rooted in the same spot.
“Rafe?” I pressed, my voice steadier than I felt. “Tell me he’s lying.”
His gaze shifted to me briefly, then away, like holding eye contact would force him to say something he wasn’t ready to.
“It’s not that simple,” he said.
I took a slow step back, trying to understand what that even meant. “So he’s not lying?”
He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight, still avoiding my eyes.
That was answer enough.
I moved to follow him when he turned away, but Santino caught my wrist before I could take more than a step.
“You’re coming with me.”
I pulled slightly, confused and irritated. “Coming where?”
He looked at me for a long second, as if deciding whether I could handle what he was about to say.
“Your parents are waiting.”