Chapter forty four
Rafaello’s POV
“Rafe, what are you doing?” Maria scolded, snatching the pan from my hand.
“As you can see, I’m making breakfast for my wife,” I said, dead serious, reclaiming it before she could protest again.
“I never thought I’d live to see this day,” she muttered, eyes wide with amusement.
I didn’t blame her. I hadn’t stepped foot in a kitchen in years, and the sight of me behind a stove must’ve looked like the apocalypse. Even I was a little shocked by myself.
“Maria, I’m starving, are you—” Nora froze mid-sentence as soon as she saw me. Her eyes widened like she’d walked into a crime scene.
“I’ll come back later,” she blurted and bolted out of the room.
Maria chuckled. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No, just excuse me. I’ll let you handle things when I’m done,” I said, waving her off before I burned something.
When I finally finished, I packed everything neatly on a tray and went upstairs. Alora was still asleep, her body wrapped up in the sheets like she’d fought a war in her dreams. I set the food down and climbed onto the bed beside her.
A few stray strands had fallen across her face. I brushed them away, tracing the curve of her cheek with my thumb. The stylist had worked magic on her hair. It brought out her features in the most dangerous way. She looked wrecked—beautifully wrecked—and guilt pinched at my chest for how hard I’d gone on her. But hell, she drove me insane. Every sound, every glance, every breath of hers made me want more.
Her lashes fluttered open, and she blinked up at me, still dazed with sleep.
“Good morning, wife,” I whispered, kissing her softly.
“Morning,” she murmured, voice raspy.
“Why are you watching me while I sleep? You’re creepy.”
“Did you sleep well?” I teased.
She glared at me, already annoyed.
“How was I supposed to sleep when you didn’t let me?” she complained, crossing her arms and turning away.
“That was your punishment, gattina.”
“Whatever,” she muttered, trying to roll out of bed.
I caught her before she could escape, pulling her onto my lap.
My hands slid to her waist as I murmured against her skin, “So, you’re craving another punishment this early, gattina?”
“No,” she whispered, almost too soft to hear.
“That’s not what you were saying last night.”
Her ears turned red, and she wriggled free, running to the bathroom like her life depended on it. I laughed under my breath and set the tray on the table.
A few minutes later, she walked out, hair tousled but smiling. “Damn, that smells amazing.”
“Only the best for my wife.”
“Be honest—did you rope Maria into this?”
“Ouch. Don’t you trust your husband’s hard work and culinary genius?” I said, pressing a hand to my chest dramatically.
“Oh, come on, Rafe. I didn’t mean it that way. But seriously—you haven’t touched a stove since the penthouse.”
“I’m sorry for what I said. Will you forgive me, sweetheart?”
Her eyes widened. “What did you just call me?” My voice came out lower than I intended, rough and heavy.
“Sweetheart,” she said, biting her lower lip.
I froze. That single word hit harder than I expected. She’d never used a term like that before—not sober, anyway.
I smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Let’s eat. The food’s getting cold.”
She sat beside me on the sofa. “This looks good. Hope it tastes good too,” she said, testing me with that playful grin.
“You’ll have to eat to find out.”
She took a bite, then closed her eyes and let out a small, satisfied sound that nearly made me lose my composure.
“This is actually better than I imagined!”
“Trust your husband—he’s the best.”
I watched her with quiet satisfaction, sipping my coffee as she ate. When a crumb clung to her lip, I wiped it away gently with a napkin.
This was the moment. I had to tell her I was leaving. Not everything, but enough to keep her safe.
She caught my expression immediately. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve got something to tell me.”
She knew me too well. This woman could strip my armor with one look.
“I’m leaving for a business trip,” I said carefully.
“Oh? For how long?” Her tone softened, but I saw the worry in her eyes.
“I don’t know yet.”
She froze, the fork halfway to her lips. “Is it dangerous? Will you come back like last time?”
Her voice cracked just slightly, and it hit me straight in the gut. She’d seen too much of what my world could do.
“Don’t worry. It’s nothing like that,” I said, taking her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“If you say so. But just know—if you come back shot and bruised again, I won’t take care of you. And you can forget that…”
I silenced her with a kiss, slow and firm.
“I promise, I won’t.”
“You better call me every day,” she said, trying to sound stern.
This woman was ruining me in the best way possible.
“Whatever you want, wife,” I said with a smirk, hands raised in surrender.
Thirty minutes later, my bag was packed and my grandfather was probably fuming that I’d made him wait.
“Do you really have to go? Can’t you just do your boring meeting over video?” she whined, fumbling with the buttons on my shirt.
“If I could, I would. But this one’s different.”
She grabbed my briefcase and followed me to the underground garage. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders as we walked.
Nico was waiting behind the wheel of the black SUV.
“Travel safely. Take care of yourself,” she said softly.
“I will.”
“Don’t forget to call me.”
“I won’t. Come here.”
I pulled her close, holding her like I never wanted to let go.
“Stay out of trouble, gattina,” I murmured, my hand sliding through her hair. “Remember, I’m always watching.”
She nodded and handed me the briefcase. I kissed her one last time before climbing into the car.
The engine roared to life. She stood there, watching as w
e drove away. I waved once, catching her gaze in the mirror.
And just like that, I was gone again.