Chapter forty three
Rafaello’s POV
“Rafe.” Her voice followed me like a shadow, soft, pleading, impossible to ignore. I didn’t turn. The door slammed behind me, a clean break between her and the storm raging in my chest.
Running a hand through my hair, I tossed my phone onto the bed.
I was leaving tonight, just like my grandfather ordered. I hadn’t told Alora; she didn’t deserve to know. Not after that stunt. I wanted to teach her a lesson, make her feel the consequences. But one look at that trembling lip, those eyes glassy with unshed tears, and every ounce of resolve bled out of me.
I stripped off the shirt that sly woman had “accidentally” poured wine on. I’d dealt with women like her before, the kind who’d claw their way through fire if it meant getting what they wanted. I’d entertained her a bit, just to get a reaction out of Alora, and damn, it was satisfying. The way she glared, fists curling, jealousy burning through her, it was pure art.
I stepped into the shower, letting the cold water strike my skin, a futile attempt to wash away the heat simmering beneath it. The only thing that could cool me now was her touch, and that was the problem.
When I walked out, she was already there, sitting on the edge of the sofa, her hands fidgeting.
“Rafe,” she called softly, standing up. Her hazel eyes flickered, roaming over my bare chest. She bit her lower lip, rooted to the spot.
Naughty little wife. I smirked and walked to the closet.
I slipped into a blue suit and fastened my watch. When I turned back, Alora was still frozen in place.
I grabbed my briefcase, ready to leave, when she stepped closer and stood in front of me. Then, without a word, she began fixing my tie and shirt buttons.
“Being a good wife,” she whispered, fingers brushing my collar. “Helping my husband look presentable.” Her voice trembled like she didn’t trust it, and I didn’t trust myself either.
I’d meant to stay distant and cold, but with her this close, every damn wall I’d built was crumbling at her feet. She didn’t even know it.
“Stop. I have somewhere to be,” I said dismissively, shoving her hands away.
She stepped back, startled, her head hanging low as the corners of her lips fell.
I put on my cologne, took one last look in the mirror, and made my way to the door.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, two words that froze me mid-step. Then her arms were around me, desperate and shaking, like she was trying to hold the world together through me.
My chest tightened at the sound of her silent sobs as she mumbled endless apologies.
“I won’t make you look bad in front of your men again. I won’t even drink again, I swear,” she pleaded.
I gently peeled her hands off and turned her to face me.
Pulling her into my arms, she stiffened at my hold.
“Hey, calm down,” I coaxed softly, her sobs shaking against me.
I let go, holding her shoulders. Her gaze stayed fixed on the floor.
“Look at me,” I commanded.
She slowly lifted her head, her eyes red and puffy.
“I’m not mad at you,” I assured her.
She searched my face, trying to see if it was true.
“I know you’re pissed. You didn’t even want to look at me or talk to me. You’ve been so cold and I—”
My hand slid to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair as I pulled her closer. She gasped, and that sound undid me.
I kissed her like a man starved, like I’d been holding my breath for days. Her lips trembled against mine, soft at first, then desperate. The room spun, the air thick with everything we hadn’t said.
When I finally pulled back, her lips were swollen, her chest rising fast. I let my thumb trace her jaw.
“Does that answer your question?” I asked against her lips.
She didn’t respond. Instead, she fisted my collar and dragged me down, her lips crashing into mine with a sound that tore through the silence.
The kiss wasn’t soft; it was war. Her teeth scraped my lip, her breath ragged and uneven. She kissed me like she hated how much she needed me.
My hands slid to her hips, pulling her closer until there was no space left to breathe, only heat, pulse, and her name burning in my throat.
When she pulled back, her breathing was unsteady.
“Gattina, how is your husband supposed to travel in a tear-stained suit?” I taunted.
“You can always change. Besides, it’s your fault for making me cry,” she shot back, pouting.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured.
She rolled her eyes and stepped back.
Damn. This woman was going to be the death of me. Every single thing she did set me on fire, and I’d just walked out of a cold shower.
“Stop that, wife. You’re playing with fire,” I warned, my voice hoarse with need.
I took a step closer; she stepped back until her spine hit the wall.
I pinned her hands above her head, my other hand gripping her waist and pulling her close.
“Do you really want to play this game, gattina?” I murmured, my lips tracing fire down her neck. “Because if I start... I won’t stop.”
Her body shuddered, her breath hitched at my teasing. Her fragrance, sweet yet intoxicating, filled my lungs.
“Rafe,” she moaned, biting her lower lip. I hadn’t even started yet, and I already had her where I wanted her.
“Tell me, what punishment suits your mistake, amore?” I teased, my voice husky.
“You’ve been tormenting me all night in that dress,” I murmured against her skin. My hand trailed down to the slit of her dress, exposing her bare thigh, temptation crafted to test my patience.
The moment I’d seen her in that red dress, her breasts slightly exposed, her curves showing in all the right ways, I knew that sight was meant for my eyes only. I’d demanded she change, but she came back in another tight black dress, the slit showing even more flawless skin.
She’d changed these past few months, her growing beauty was captivating, dangerous even. It made me want to stay by her side just to keep other eyes off her.
Her lips parted, a soft sigh escaping, and then the phone shattered the moment like glass hitting tile.
“I have to take this,” I said, letting her go.
I walked out, shutting the door behind me.
“You said ten minutes. It’s been thirty-five. What the hell, boss, did time freeze in there?” Santino asked from the other end.
“Are you clocking me now, Santino?” My tone dropped.
“Please. You disappear with your wife looking like sin in silk, what am I supposed to think? That you’re praying?”
“You ever heard of minding your own business?”
“You ever heard of answering your damn phone? Anyway, Nico found the guy from the party.”
“Where is he?” I asked sharply. That bastard was going to pay for touching what was mine. By the time I was done, he’d never walk the same ground as Alora again.
“In the basement. Still breathing. Want me to take care of it?” he offered eagerly.
“I’ll deal with it. Tell Fuego to cancel the arrangements and wait for my instructions,” I ordered.
“I didn’t think I’d see the day when the mob boss Rafaello bends the rules for a woman.”
“Whatever, man. Don’t call me again.”
“How will—”
I hung up immediately, avoiding his drama.
“Now… where did we stop?” I asked, opening the door, only to freeze on the threshold.
“Wife, why are you in that red dress?” I asked, my voice low, almost dangerous.
I loosened my tie and pulled it off my neck.
“Why do you hate the dress?” she asked, biting her lip seductively.
Two strides. That’s all it took. I reached her, lifted her up, and wrapped her thighs around my waist before laying her down on the bed.
“This,” I whispered, my voice dark and possessive, “belongs to me, only me, gattina.”
And God help anyone who forgets it.