Chapter twenty six
Rafaello's POV
"Are you trying to get yourself killed, huh, Rafe?" my mother fumed, hands trembling over the bandages, tears streaming freely down her face.
I felt a pang of guilt. I hadn’t meant to stress her this much, that’s why I stayed silent, hoping to spare her worry.
"I'm fine, Mother. See? I’m not dead." I forced the words, but the lie felt hollow.
"This is why I wanted you to marry and have your own family, so you wouldn’t be such a wreck!" she yelled, voice cracking, eyes blazing.
I slumped onto the couch, rubbing my temples, chest tightening. How could I soothe her without making it worse?
"Who told you what happened?" I asked cautiously.
"Didn’t you want me to know? I’m your mother!" she spat, lips trembling.
I went silent, unable to form a convincing excuse.
"Maria called," she said, "telling me I should talk to your wife. She seemed worried, poor thing."
"What are you talking about?" I asked, confused. Tanya had been here?
"How many wives do you have, Rafe? Are you taking your grandfather’s advice again?" Her voice dripped with irritation.
I knew my mother and grandfather were on rocky terms, mostly because of me. Each wanted something different, and I hated choosing sides.
"No, she’s just one," I said, the words bitter on my tongue. If she had really been by my side, I had already messed everything up.
"Then what was Tanya doing here? Have you been mistreating your wife because of her?"
"No, Mother. Things have just been out of my control lately," I admitted, voice tight, shoulders slumping.
"Better get them under control. I don’t want you mistreating my daughter-in-law," she warned, eyes flashing.
"Let’s get downstairs; we need to have dinner," she said. I nodded, hoping Alora wasn’t still angry with me.
When we got downstairs, Maria was already setting the table. I pulled out a chair for my mother.
"Maria, could you please call Alora? I haven’t even seen her. Where is she?"
Maria nodded to go, but I decided I should get her myself. I owed her another apology.
"I’ll get her," I said, heading toward her room.
I reached the door, just about to knock, when I froze.
She was in her room but with someone else. Her soft cries made me hault, heart clenching.
"Hey, calm down. I’m sure he’ll find out it was you, not that witch, okay?" Macko said softly.
"No, you don’t understand. She was there in his shirt, pretending to take care of him, and he got angry and sent me away," Alora sobbed.
The thought of another man comforting her made my gut twist.Macko was no harm but I couldn't deny my envy.
I couldn’t just stand there, so I knocked.
The door clicked open, and Macko stepped aside. His eyes lingered on me a second too long. " Nice to see you are okay boss," he muttered before he disappeared.
I stepped in to find Alora sitting by the bed. Her face was wiped dry, but traces of tears remained, eyes red and glistening.
I approached, but she stood and went to the window, clearly trying to ignore me.
"Wife," I said softly, noting the dark circles and tension in her jaw.
"Don’t call me that. Why are you here?" Her voice was sharp, full of anger and hurt. I couldn’t blame her, I deserved it.
"I'm sorry about earlier. You didn’t deserve that," I whispered, but she stayed silent.
"My mother wants us to have dinner together," I said moving atcloser, gently taking her waist and brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. Her body stiffened, heartbeat quickening against mine.
"How long are you going to be angry at your husband, gattina?" I whispered. She struggled against me, then pushed away. I let her go.
"Stay the fuck away from me, Rafe. Go play husband with your girlfriend," she spat, shoving my hand.
"Are you jealous?" I teased, but she rolled her eyes and walked past me to the bathroom.
I could hear the water running. After a few minutes, the door clicked open. She splashed cold water on her face, tying her hair up. Steam swirled around us, thickening the tension in the room.
She removed her hoodie, revealing a pink bra. Every curve pulled my gaze, and desire coiled tight in my chest.
"Let’s go," she said, but I was still staring.
"You look dangerous in pink," I whispered winking at her.
She glared at me, infuriated. "You’re shameless," she spat, bolting to the door. I chuckled softly and followed.
At the dining table, my mother was half way through her meal.
"I almost thought you two wouldn’t show up," she said, sipping her wine.
Alora slid her chair back, putting distance between us. I dropped into the seat beside her, feeling the tension coil like a spring.
"Alora, darling, are you okay? Did this fool bully you?" my mother asked softly.
She didn’t answer, just nodded.
"I know you were worried, my dear, but he’s fine now," my mother said reassuringly.
Maria returned to serve us, but I dismissed her. I served Alora’s plate, then mine, feeling the weight of their eyes on me.
We ate in silence. Every glance I stole at Alora was a gamble, every breath a silent apology.
"When should I expect grandkids?" my mother asked casually, as if it were just another topic.
Alora froze mid-bite. Her fork hovered in the air, eyes widening, neck flushing a deep shade of crimson. She coughed violently, spluttering, and her shoulders jerked like she’d been shocked.
"Grandkids?" I thought. Her reaction was priceless, and infuriating. I wanted to reach for her, but I held back, letting her embarrassment play out.
She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, hands trembling slightly as she tried to compose herself. Every glance she shot me was sharp, challenging, and I felt a jolt of guilt mixed with amusement.
I handed her a glass of water. She took it, still coughing, her pulse racing, breath uneven, and a subtle tremor running through her body. My chest tightened. Each of her reactions felt like a tiny rebellion against me.
"Are you okay?" I asked softly, patting her back, careful not to overstep.
"Yes," she muttered, voice clipped, trying to regain composure. Her fists pressed into her lap, jaw tight, and the flare of frustration in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t finished with me yet.
"Alora dear, is everything okay between you two?" my mother asked, voice gentle.
"Everything is fine," Alora replied tersely, fists clenched under the table, shoulders stiff as boards.
"So about grandkids, how long are we waiting, or should I already be expecting the news?" My mother’s tone was playful, completely ignoring the tension she’d just caused.
Alora coughed again, sharper this time, her hand shaking as she raised her glass to her lips, eyes flicking to mine in silent accusation.
"Not yet, but we are working on it," I said, careful to sound casual. Her glare pinned me, and I could feel every pulse of frustration she couldn’t voice.
"I’ll leave you two to continue. I have some things to discuss with Maria," my mother said, walking away.
Alora pushed her chair back abruptly, hips swaying with controlled defiance, every step radiating irritation and stubbornness. She gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white, foot tapping in rhythm with her anger.
"Leaving so soon, wife?" I asked, trying to sound light, but my chest tightened with every movement she made.
"Let go of me, you asshole," she snapped, shoving my hand away as she tried to slip past me. Her eyes flashed, daring me, and I felt the invisible coil of tension between us tighten.
I resisted the urge to grab her immediately. Instead, I watched her, heart thudding, every breath she took reminding me how impossible she was, and how much I wanted her.
Her movement toward the door was deliberate, yet I could see the tiny hesitations, a flare of vulnerability in the set of her shoulders, the slight tremor in her hands. My pulse matched hers, fast and uneven, as I realized every step she took was a silent challenge.
"We’re not done talking, Alora." I stated, taking her hand, she resisted, of course, but I didn’t let go as we climbed the stairs.
I pushed the door open and guided her in before shutting it behind us with a decisive click.
The lock clicked, and I realized this might be the stupidest thing I’d done but I couldn’t stop myself.