Chapter eight five
Alora’s POV
“Please, just this once.”
Santino’s voice cut through the room, sharp enough to slice the quiet. The house had been too calm before he spoke, the kind of calm that never lasted.
“If this is about Rafe killing someone, just leave,” I shot back. “I’m sure he’s killed a number before I came into his life.”
My arms were folded tight across my chest, fingernails digging into my sleeves like pressure alone could keep me from unraveling. I didn’t look at him. If I did, I’d see the truth before I was ready for it.
“True,” Santino said. “But this is different.”
His urgency wasn’t exaggerated or performative. It was real. The kind that came from experience.
“No,” I said flatly. “Let him do whatever he pleases.”
I inhaled slowly and crossed my legs, settling deeper into the leather couch. It creaked beneath me as I leaned back, posture deliberately relaxed, like I still had control. Like I wasn’t exhausted down to my bones.
When Luka had called Rafe, I’d known things were bad. Luka never called unless something was already burning. That knowledge alone had drained me. Bone-deep tired. The kind that made your temples throb and your thoughts feel slow and heavy.
I just wanted one stretch of peace. Even a few hours. A moment where nothing exploded and Rafe wasn’t disappearing behind walls he refused to explain.
But he clearly had no intention of letting that happen.
He’d been distant. Acting strange. And there was no way in hell I was going to keep stroking his ego while he shut me out and called it protection.
“Have you ever seen Rafe driving his sports car?” Santino asked.
The question caught me off guard.
I searched my memory. Late nights. Bloody knuckles. Cold silences that stretched for days. But that?
“No,” I said. “What does that have to do with me going down there?”
Santino dragged a hand down his face.
“He only drives it when he’s losing his mind. And last time?” His eyes locked on mine. “He wrapped it around a guardrail doing one-eighty. Walked away bleeding. Disappeared for twelve hours. Two people ended up dead by sunrise.”
“I don’t care,” I snapped.
The lie didn’t last a second. My chest tightened, breath stuttering like my body rejected it outright. I cared too much. Always had. And the image of Rafaello spiraling down a road with nothing but rage and speed pushed me closer to panic than I wanted to admit.
Santino sighed.
“I’ve done enough talking I shouldn’t have. Let’s go.”
Before I could react, he hoisted me over his shoulder. My stomach lurched as the floor vanished beneath me, his shoulder digging into my ribs hard enough to knock the breath out of me.
“Put me down, you psycho!” I yelled, pounding his back.
“That’s the best compliment I’ve had today, sis,” he said calmly.
The door slammed behind us, the sound echoing down the hall. Each step jarred my spine as he jogged down the stairs, my pulse roaring in my ears. Struggling was useless—Santino was built like a wall.
Then I saw Macko.
He was on the couch, coffee in hand, unbothered.
“Macko, help me!”
He lifted his brows mildly and took a sip.
“Honey, I just had my nails done, sorry."
I groaned, but Santino pivoted sharply toward the entrance.
“Where is he?” Santino demanded.
Luka paced nearby, movements quick and uneven.
“Gone for the keys,” Luka said, worry flickering into something darker.
“Come with me.”
Cold air hit the moment we stepped outside, sharp with the smell of oil and concrete. The parking lot was wide and quiet, engines ticking softly as they cooled.
The blue sports car sat behind the others, sleek and predatory even at rest.
Santino gestured to Luka, who bent and did something I couldn’t see. The door clicked open.
“How do you do that without a key?” I asked, heart already racing.
“It comes with the job.”
He lowered me into the seat. I shoved at his chest, tried to get out, but he caught me easily and snapped the seat belt across my body, tight and unforgiving.
“At least with you inside,” he said quietly, “we know he comes back alive.”
The door slammed shut.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I yelled, but neither of them reacted.
Then Rafaello appeared.
He clicked the keys in his hand and slid into the driver’s seat. The air shifted instantly—cold, heavy, like the space itself had stepped back. His face was stone, eyes red and bloodshot, burning with something dangerous.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I have no idea!” I shrieked.
“Get out.”
I yanked at the handle. It didn’t budge. Panic crawled up my throat as I turned back to him.
He started the engine.
The car roared to life, and he reversed hard—slamming into the car behind us. Metal screamed. My head snapped back, the belt biting painfully into my chest.
“Oh my God!”
“You had a chance to get out,” he said coldly. “You refused.”
The gates hadn’t finished closing before he floored it.
The car surged forward, tires screaming as we shot onto the road. City lights blurred into streaks of white and gold, breath tearing from my lungs as my head hit the seat.
“Rafe—” My voice vanished under the engine.
He drove like the world was nothing but the lane in front of him, knuckles white on the wheel, jaw tight, muscles trembling.
Corners came too fast, lanes cut without warning, speed climbing higher than my mind could process. My hands shook as I clutched the belt, fear flooding my veins.
My fingers went numb. I couldn’t even unclench from the strap, and every vibration of the car rattled my bones.
Wind tore through the open windows. The smell of burning rubber filled the car. I was going to die. The thought landed calmly, terrifyingly.
Another car flashed past us, far too close. Tears blurred my vision. My chest tightened, breath breaking into panicked gasps.
“Rafaello!” I screamed. “Please!”
He flinched at my voice, the first sign he wasn’t completely lost, hands tightening on the wheel, body rigid.
Something inside me snapped.
“Rafaello De Luca, stop this car this instant or I am throwing myself out, because clearly you are trying to kill me!”
The brakes slammed.
The car screeched, spinning slightly before slamming to a stop. My body lurched forward, the belt cutting into my shoulder.
I was shaking, lungs burning—when he turned.
In one swift movement, he pulled me across the console into his lap, hands cradling my face with desperate force.
Then his mouth crashed into mine.
The kiss was fierce, consuming, like he was trying to anchor himself back to reality through me. Like stopping the car wasn’t enough—he needed proof I was still here.
My hands fisted in his jacket, fear and relief tangling together. His heartbeat thundered beneath my palms.
He rested his forehead against mine, breathing me in, thumbs brushing away tears, holding me like letting go would break us both.
“Don’t ever,” he said hoarsely, “say that again.”