Chapter eight seven

Chapter eight seven
Rafaello’s POV

Alora was asleep, her head resting lightly against my shoulder, her breathing slow and steady as the city blurred past the windshield. The car hummed beneath us while I drove straight to the penthouse, one hand on the wheel, the other tangled lazily in her hair.

I memorized her like this. Soft. Unguarded. Every sharp edge smoothed by sleep.

I should have been angry, still bristling from the chaos earlier, but all I felt was a dangerous mix of relief and obsession. She was mine. For now. And the countdown had already begun.

The gates opened, ushering us into quiet broken only by birds chirping somewhere in the dark. I parked and lifted her into my arms. She stirred but didn’t wake, curling instinctively against my chest as I carried her inside.

This wasn’t how I’d expected the day to end, but having her here, anchoring me through the awaiting storm, steadied something feral inside me.

The house was pristine, untouched. Good thing I’d sent someone ahead to clean. I carried her to the master bedroom, laid her down gently, and pulled the covers over her before stripping off my clothes and heading for the bathroom.

Cold water hit my back, washing the tension off in slow waves. When I was done, I pulled on a matching sweatshirt and pants and returned to the bedroom. I sat beside her, stroking her hair, watching her sleep.

It was only a matter of hours before everything unraveled.

I stood and paced once, then stepped onto the balcony. A cigarette burned between my fingers as silence wrapped around me. My mind ran a mile a second.

I wished my father were alive. He would have done anything just to see me happy. Things were different now. I wanted Alora’s happiness. And yet I had nothing to offer her but pain wrapped in protection.

“Rafe.”

Her voice startled me. I crushed the cigarette and turned.

“I’ve been calling you,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “You were so lost.”

“Sorry,” I murmured. “Zoned out.”

“Why did you tell me we were coming to the penthouse? I would’ve packed,” she teased.

“Change of plans. Closest place, gattina.”

Her eyes lit up anyway. She loved this place. Would happily stay forever. Pity forever wasn’t something I could afford.

“I’m starving,” she whined, clutching her stomach.

“We’re out of stock. I’ll order something.”

She hesitated, then her expression shifted. “How about we go out? Junk food.”

“I don’t take junk,” I said, then smirked. “But I’ll make an exception for you, wife.”

She grinned. “I’ll shower.”

“I got you clothes,” I called. “Check the closet.”

I sank into the couch, flipping through channels until the bathroom door opened. Thirty minutes later she stepped out, hair tied up with two loose strands framing her face. The red dress I’d chosen hugged her body perfectly.

I stood slowly, swallowing hard.

“How do I look?” she asked.

“Gorgeous, wife.”

She turned, biting her lip. “Help me with the zip.”

This wasn’t the woman my mother had forced to marry me, tied to a chair and trembling. She’d evolved into something else entirely. Beautiful. Sinfully tempting.

I inhaled against her neck as I pulled the zipper up. “We should go,” I muttered. “Before I change my mind and fuck you right here.”

Her body shuddered. She laughed, kissed my cheek, and walked off. “I’d like to see you try, hubby.”

The word lodged deep in my chest.

Outside, she stared at the battered sports car. “Damn. I never thought I’d have sex in a car.”

“We’re taking the black convertible,” I said, pointing to the far end.

Her face lit up as she rushed toward it. I followed, started the engine, and pulled out into the night.

We didn’t go far. A small roadside stand glowed under yellow lights, oil popping loudly in the quiet. Alora ordered enthusiastically—chicken, extra sauce, cold drinks—like she was making up for lost time.

We sat on a bench, the box between us. She ate happily, grease on her fingers, unbothered by the world.

“You’re staring,” she said.

“I’m learning,” I replied.

She laughed, then squinted at me. “You have something there.”

I wiped my mouth, but she leaned closer anyway, pulling out a napkin and cleaning it herself. Our eyes locked, the street noise fading.

“There,” she murmured.

We finished eating in companionable silence. When we stood, she grabbed my hand, swinging it lightly as we walked back to the car.

She didn’t let go of my hand when we reached the car. Instead, she leaned back against the door, rocking on her heels, eyes bright in that way that always meant trouble.

“So,” she said casually, drawing the word out. “What are we doing now?”

“Going home,” I replied, reaching for the door.

She caught it before I could open it. “Liar.”

I arched a brow. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t look like someone ready to call it a night,” she said, stepping closer. “And neither am I.”

I studied her for a moment. Relaxed. Happy. Dangerous in the way only freedom can be.

“There’s this place,” she continued, pretending nonchalance and failing beautifully. “A club. Macko mentioned it once. Said you own a few.”

That name again. I sighed. “He talks too much.”

Her smile widened. “So it’s true.”

“Alora—”

“Just one drink,” she cut in quickly. “I want to dance. With you watching. Not with anyone else.”

That last part mattered more than she knew.

I held her gaze, felt my resolve crack. “Fine,” I said finally. “But we don’t stay long.”

Her grin was instant, reckless. “Deal.”

Before we reached the club, I parked a block away. Bass thumped faintly through the air.

She touched my wrist. “Wait.”

She reached into her bag. “I might get drunk,” she said lightly. “So I want to do this before we go in.”

She placed a silver locket in my palm.

“I saw it and thought of you,” she added. “You don’t have to wear it. I just wanted you to have something from me.”

Something twisted low in my chest. I slipped it on without a word.

She smiled, satisfied, and stepped out of the car.

The club bent around her the moment we walked in. My men were already positioned, silent and immovable. Eyes followed her, but no one dared approach. This place knew who it belonged to.

She danced like it didn’t matter anyway.

The music took her, body loose and fearless. When she crossed back to me and settled onto my lap, my jaw locked. Her movements were slow, teasing, meant only for me. I didn’t touch her. Control was a thin thread, but I held it.

By the second drink, her laughter was louder, her balance softer. She clung to my shirt, smiling up at me.

“That’s it,” I said, lifting her easily. “We’re going home.”

On the drive back, the roof was down, music screaming, city lights streaking past. She stood half out of her seat, hair wild, laughing like the world couldn’t touch her.

“I LOVE YOU, RAFE!” she screamed.

I gripped the wheel harder, the locket heavy against my chest.
“Tomorrow… and I can’t protect her.”