Chapter eighty nine

Chapter eighty nine
Alora’s POV

“Alora.”

I rolled onto my side, eyes still closed, but the knock came again, harder this time.

“Alora, open up.”

Macko’s voice cut through the fog in my head, calm, controlled, measured. I sighed, pushed myself out of bed, and pulled the door open halfway.

“What’s going on?”

He exhaled, his gaze sliding past me into the room before settling back on my face. He didn’t smile. That should have warned me.

“Sorry to wake you, honey,” he said. “The system’s been hacked.”

I blinked. Barely registered as news. With everything lately, this barely raised an eyebrow.

“Okay,” I muttered, already turning back toward the bed. “And?”

“I need your phone. Now.”

That made me pause. A cold prickle ran down my spine.

“Why?”

“Precaution,” he said easily, already moving into the room. “If they breached the bridge, they might have mirrored personal access.”

His words were smooth, too smooth. Rehearsed. I shrugged. It sounded technical enough.

“It’s probably in the couch,” I said, collapsing back onto the mattress. “Or the kitchen. I don’t remember.”

He was already lifting cushions, checking surfaces, methodical, calm, almost gentle, as if the phone might explode.

I pulled the blanket over myself.

“Wake me when it’s fixed,” I mumbled, drifting back to sleep.

When I woke again, the hangover still clung to me. My head throbbed, my mouth dry.

I stretched lazily, stepping down from the bed, and my eyes landed on a small note beside it. Definitely Rafe’s handwriting.

A bunch of yellow carnations lay beside the note. Bright and cheerful at first glance, but something about them made my stomach twist. I picked one up and sniffed it. Strange.

The note read:

Good morning, wife. Hope you slept well.

A small, tired smile spread across my face. He really was the best or at least, that’s what I thought. I inhaled the flowers again. Cheerful, yes, but a flicker of unease crawled under my skin.

I walked into the bathroom, body sore in the best way. Yesterday had been perfect. From the penthouse to the club, I couldn’t stop reliving it, the way he looked at me, like I was the only thing in the room.

By the time I was ready to head downstairs, my thoughts drifted briefly to Macko and the tension in his movements. But I brushed it off. As long as I wasn’t woken by gunshots, everything was fine.

I stepped down the stairs.

The house was quiet, unnaturally quiet, except for voices in the living room and the low hum of the television.

The moment I entered, every head turned toward me, all at once, like they had been waiting.

Macko rushed toward me. Santino cut the TV before I could see what was on. Luka ran a hand through his hair. Maria disappeared into the kitchen, Nora following.

My stomach tightened. Something was off.

“Honey, you’re finally awake,” Macko said quickly. “I was just about to come get you.”

“Good morning, sis,” Santino added, too loud, too fast.

“Morning, Alora,” Luka said, but didn’t meet my eyes.

“Morning, guys,” I replied, yawning. “Damn, I’m starving.”

“What do you want to eat?”

“Should we order?”

“We could go out if you want, honey.”

The questions stacked on top of each other. Defensive, layered.

“That’s it,” I said, taking a seat. “What’s going on?”

No one answered. Silence stretched, thick, uncomfortable.

I reached for the remote. Santino snatched it out of my hand.

“Ouch. What the hell?”

“No TV until you tell us what you want to eat.”

I rolled my eyes. “Tough much.” I paused. “I’ll have Maria’s food.”

I stood and headed to the kitchen.

“Um… can I have my phone back?”

A beat too long passed. I’d grown used to taking random pictures of Rafe, sleeping, talking, smiling. It got me through the day until he returned.

“No, honey,” Macko said quickly. “The system’s still jammed.”

I raised a brow. “Then why are all of you here?”

“Someone’s working on it,” Santino said.

“A technical person,” Luka added, still avoiding my gaze.

I nodded and entered the kitchen.

Maria stood there, chin in her hands, like a weight pressed down on her shoulders.

“She hasn’t seen it yet,” Nora whispered.

“She will be—” Maria started, then stopped when she noticed me.

I frowned. “Is there a problem?”

“No, dear,” Maria said, forcing a gentle smile. It didn’t reach her eyes. “Everything’s fine.”

She served me and poured coffee.

“It’s fine,” I waved Nora off as she tried to take my plate to the dining room. Still, the way they kept looking at me made my skin crawl.

I sat, sipped coffee. The warmth eased the tension slightly. My hands stopped shaking, or maybe I finally noticed they had been.

Just as I cut into my pancake, Macko entered, Luka and Santino close behind.

“Are you enjoying it, honey?”

I nodded, taking a bite. None of them sat. They just stood there, watching.

“Do you want to join me,” I asked slowly, “or is there something else?”

“So about yesterday,” Santino said suddenly. “I’m sorry for forcing you into Rafe’s car.”

I blinked. “I almost died. Try that again and I’ll shoot you myself.”

“Noted, ma’am,” he replied, smirking, but it didn’t land.

“Where did you guys go?” Luka asked.

“The penthouse. Then Rafe’s club.”

“Honey,” Macko whined, “you went to a club and didn’t invite me?”

I stayed quiet, eating while they stared at me like a ticking bomb. The food tasted like cardboard.

I pushed my chair back, lifting my plate.

“Since you won’t let me eat in peace, I might as well leave.”

“No, you don’t have to do that,” Santino said, hurrying after me.

We reached the living room just as Nico stood there with the remote, volume up.

“Rafaello De Luca—”

His name froze me. My breath caugh as my heartbeat spiked.

“Nico, shut that off,” Santino warned.

“No,” I snapped. “Don’t you dare.”

The announcement continued.

“Rafaello De Luca, heir to the De Luca Empire, officially engaged today—”

The word rattled in my head. Engaged. No. That didn’t make sense. Yesterday, last night, his hands, his mouth.

A bolt of ice shot through my chest, freezing me in place. My stomach lurched, my hands trembled, and the room tilted around me. For a long second, I couldn’t breathe or think. I could only feel the raw, hollow punch of betrayal.

The plate slipped from my hands, crashing to the floor.

“Engaged?” I whispered, voice barely there, grabbing the remote and flipping channels.

Every station showed the same headline: ENGAGEMENT OF THE YEAR.

My vision blurred, the ringing in my ears drowning out everything else.

“You all knew,” I screamed. “There was no system bug.”

“Alora, honey, we didn’t know how to—”

“Not another word.”