Chapter twenty eight
Alora’s POV
I clung to Rafaello’s neck like my life depended on it. His kiss was deep, consuming, the kind that made me hungry for things I couldn’t even name.
I hated how my body quivered, how it betrayed me with every touch. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t fall again, not for someone who could destroy me with a look. And yet, here I was, melting for him like I hadn’t learned a damn thing.
He unbuttoned my shirt slowly, his calloused fingers grazing my stomach before finding my breast, his touch both careful and claiming. My breath caught, not from fear, but from how much I wanted to hate it.
I should have been furious. After everything that had happened, after the humiliation and the whispers, I should have pushed him away.
But instead, my hands dug into his back, craving more.
“We should stop,” he whispered hoarsely, his teeth grazing my collarbone.
“What?” I asked, confused.
“You should get some rest. You look exhausted,” he replied.
For a second, I thought he’d confess something, maybe even admit he wanted me. But then that damn word, rest, dropped between us like a slap.
He pulled back, and just like that, the spell shattered. All the desires he had stirred in me made me want to slap him in the face.
I sat there, frozen. What the hell? How the fuck do you just keep teasing me like this?
Maybe I wasn’t his type of woman. I didn’t look as sexy as Tanya for him to want me.
No, I was overthinking again.
I bit my lower lip hard, then got up and walked to the closet. I grabbed my clothes and headed to the bathroom. After changing out of his shirt, I came back.
He was sitting on the sofa, and I could feel his gaze burning holes in my back.
“Why did you change?” he asked.
“I’m going downstairs to sleep in my room,” I said, defiant.
He got up and crossed the room, stopping in front of me, arms folded.
“May I know why?”
“I don’t feel like being here,” I spat.
He grabbed my hand, gently pulling me closer.
“I don’t want you to leave,” he said softly, almost vulnerable.
His jaw clenched, the words scraping out like they cost him something.
I pulled free, forcing distance between us. He had to know he couldn’t just do whatever he wanted with me.
“I don’t like it when you’re defiant, gattina. Don’t make me punish you,” he murmured, voice low.
The warning made me tremble, but I refused to show it.
“I don’t care, Rafe. You can do whatever you want,” I shot back.
His expression went blank, a small smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.
“What is this about?” he asked coldly.
My palms were slick with sweat as I struggled to find the right words. He was unpredictable, dangerous even in silence.
“I can’t, okay? I can’t do this anymore,” I said, my voice cracking.
“What is it, Lora?” he asked, tilting my chin up.
I wanted to be strong, to confront him, but instead I broke.
Tears blurred my vision, spilling before I could stop them.
“You keep treating me like a toy. Everyone’s been humiliating me, calling me names, and I can’t… I’m in so much pain, I just…”
“It’s fine. Just calm down,” he said, pulling me into his arms.
I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Every cruel word, stray, street rat, echoed in my mind.
I’d spent my whole life trying to prove I wasn’t the girl people whispered about. But maybe they were right. Maybe I didn’t belong anywhere, not even in his arms.
I wanted to belong. I wanted to feel loved.
“I’m sorry about how things have been lately,” he whispered.
“But you have to understand, in my world, we do things for a reason. I never meant to hurt you or make you cry.”
I didn’t say a word. I just sobbed quietly on his shoulder until he guided me to sit on the couch.
“I didn’t mean what I said to my grandfather,” he added.
“I was protecting you from him.”
That reminded me of Macko’s story, how he had lied to protect someone he cared about.
Was this the same? Did I even know who Rafaello really was behind that mafia boss exterior?
He stood and left the room. A few minutes later, he came back with a tray of food and water.
“You need to eat something. You look worse than I remember, and I’ve only been unconscious three days,” he teased lightly.
He took a spoonful and held it out to me. I couldn’t help blushing.
“Open your mouth, gattina.”
It felt wrong, to laugh, to blush, to let him feed me like nothing had just shattered inside me. But damn it, the warmth in his eyes made it impossible to stay angry.
“That’s enough,” I said when he took a bigger scoop.
“How will you have the energy to give my mother grandkids if you can’t eat properly?” he teased, one eyebrow raised.
I instantly remembered choking at dinner when his mother brought that up. My face burned.
“Do you want kids?” I asked, trying to read his expression.
I didn’t want any right now, not when I knew nothing about Rafe’s life, let alone how we were supposed to live in his blood-tainted world.
“I don’t know. Maybe. But if you’re interested, we could make one right after you eat,” he said, wiping the corner of my lips and licking his fingers shamelessly.
He said it so easily, like making a child in a world drenched in blood was just another casual promise. My stomach twisted, not from his words, but from how much a part of me wanted to believe him.
Damn it, everything this man did made my mind go haywire. He had that strange effect on me.
I just stared at him. This man was impossible to deal with.
“But you’re wounded,” I said, eyeing his bandages.
“Don’t underestimate what I can do to you, wife. Now eat,” he instructed, scooping more food.
I ate quietly, sneaking glances at him between bites.
When I finished, he handed me a glass of water and nudged me to drink.
“Go change. You need to rest,” he said firmly.
“But I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you,” I argued.
He leaned forward, his body towering over me, and my breath hitched as I swallowed hard.
“I’m the man, gattina. When I say my wife needs rest, that’s an order. No arguments.”
I slipped away to the bathroom one last time to change. When I came back, he was already in bed.
I lay beside him, and he gestured for me to move closer.
I did. My head rested on his shoulder gently, and he caressed my hair softly.
He kissed my forehead and pulled the blanket over me before switching off the lamp.
“Goodnight, wife,” he murmured softly, his chest rising and falling like he was drifting to sleep too.
That
was the last thing I heard before drifting off to sleep. But even as I drifted, a part of me stayed awake, waiting for the storm I knew would come.