Chapter 190 Rosalia
My dad's voice remains the same.
This is the very first thing I notice when I enter his office: the same rhythm to his words, the same deliberate pauses to invite the listener to draw closer, to remind him to factor the hook into the price tag on each sentence. The air in the room smells of aged leather and something bitter, all the curtains layered shut despite the hour. It looks smaller than before, or perhaps I’ve simply expanded.
“Sit,” he says, pointing to the chair across from his desk.
I don’t.
He notices, of course. He glances down, just once, to my abdomen, still flat under the coat, though not flat enough for me to miss his calculation. This puts a prickle of sweat on my face.
“What do you want?” I ask.
Sighed. Done. “Straight to business. You always did take after me.”
I clench my arms, trying to keep my voice firm. "Don't fool yourself."
This brings a thin smile to his face. He leans back and fingers steepled together in an arch. "You’re married now. To a powerful man. A rich one. Congratulations," he says.
“Thank you,” I reply, coldly.
“Which is why,” he goes on smoothly, “this conversation should be easy.”
The silence lengthens. My heart starts hammering with deliberate force.
“I need money,” he says at last. “The money your grand mother left you. The inheritance.”
The word lands like a slap.
“No,” I reply immediately.
His smile becomes forced. “Rosalia
“I said no.”
He leans forward. ‘You do not understand the situation.’
“I understand perfectly,” I answer. “You’re in debt. Again.”
He clenches his jaw. “Valenti doesn’t wait forever.”
"There it is." The phrase glides between us like a knife.
“I’m not going to pay your debts,” I say. “Not now. Not ever.”
He lets out a sharp breath, aggravation flickering on his face. “
“I owe you nothing,” I bite out. “You gambled. You borrowed. You made promises you couldn’t keep. That stops with you.”
For an instant, something ugly crosses his face. Then he softens again, like he always has when anger hasn't worked for him.
“There’s another option. You're married,” he says softly. “What's his is yours. That's the way it is.”
My stomach turns.
“Don’t,” I warn.
“You could do it without him even realizing it,” he presses on, voice as smooth as oil. “A transfer here. A signature there. Rafael won’t notice and most importantly, he won’t expect it.”
I sense a stillness deep within me.
“You want me to steal from my husband,” I say.
"I want you to protect your family,” he argues. "And last I checked, I'm still your father," he adds.
My hands shake before I can restrain them. I clench them into fists, my nails pressing against my palms.
“You're asking me to betray him,” I whisper. “The man who keeps me safe. Who loves me.”
His eyes become hard. “Love doesn’t pay debts.”
“No,” I rasp. “But loyalty does.”
I move back, creating space between us before I say something that is just plain unforgivable. “Don’t ask me for this again,”
He stands up slowly, looming over me. “If Valenti comes knocking,” he whispers, “They won’t be gentle. Not with you. Not with that baby.”
The threat is thinly veiled, but it is there nevertheless.
I look him in the eye, my voice trembling but steadfast. “If you come to me with trouble, you won’t like how my husband deals with it.”
For an instant, fear flickers within his eyes.
Then it’s gone.
I turn and walk out before he can get another word in, my own breath coming too fast, my chest knotted with pain. The cold rush of the outdoors strikes me with impact, strong and pure, and I don’t slow down until I reach the car and my driver and bodyguard drives me back home.
I don’t cry.
I won't give him that.
The estate appears differently when I come back.
Warmth. Light
Christmas lights wrap around the columns at the entrance, shining softly against the gathering dusk. Wreaths are hung on every door. Somewhere inside, there is the sound of music, traditional Christmas songs, happy and loud, the kind that force you to smile whether you want to or not.
I step inside, and contrast almost kills me.
Riccardo is halfway up a ladder, snared in lights, cursing loudly. “If I die up here, tell everybody it was festive murder.”
“You're not tall enough for that,” Fiorella shouts from down below, laughing.
Rocco is standing by, arms folded, grinning, as Rafael supports the ladder with one hand, casting quick glances at it every now and then despite protests from Riccardo.
A few minutes later A cup is pressed into my hands; hot chocolate, just the way I like it.
“How did it go?”
Rafael whispers, his face inches from mine.
“It went well.”
I lie.
His gaze searches my face, but he doesn’t push for it. All he does is press his lips to the temple of my head.
The music swells. Riccardo finally succeeds in hooking up the lights, and the tree erupts into color. Everyone cheers like children. I laugh too, and the sound is a little wobbly, but authentic.
The music swells louder with the rising night, the sort of Christmas playlist that plays through the house every year in December whether anyone wants to hear it or not. The Italian Christmas songs fade through the English ones, the violins dissolving into the sound of soft bells and singing voices humming of snow and home and miracles.
Again, Rafael's hand holds onto mine without a word.
He pulls me slowly towards the center of the living room, towards the Christmas tree that shines like golden sunlight in the reflection of the highly polished floor. He doesn’t ask me to dance. He never does. He only pulls me towards him, his arm going around my waist and his other arm into my waiting hand.
We sway, barely moving. His thumb makes absent-minded circles on my back, a gentle, protective motion. I lay my head against his chest, listening for the steady, strong heartbeat.
“I like this version of you,” I whisper.
His lips brush against my hair. “Only you get this version.”
I smile.
In the corner of the room, Rocco dramatically turns Fiorella around, and she laughs in mock protest. She playfully slaps his chest, shining eyes sparkled with radiance, rosy cheeks glowing with color. Then Rocco draws her close, his forehead pressed to hers, with the turmoil within him tranquilized to something approaching reverence.
They seem like a storm that learned how to be still.
The song change, the upbeat one looming, imminent, and Riccardo lets out a disgruntled groan in full voice. "ABSOLUTELY NOT. I refuse to participate, see you all being all lovey dovey and leaving me here.”
“You’re already doing it by standing there pouting,” Fiorella snorts.
“Come on, Dance with us.” I say.
“I’m allergic to romance,” Riccardo declares, raising his hands.
We laugh. Fiorella, latches onto his wrist and pulls him into the circle nonetheless. Two seconds pass before he resists, then gives up and curls into a dramatic pose like he’s on stage.
“For the record,” he declares, “This is what torture looks like.”
Rafael laughs, the sound low and infrequent. He presses a kiss to my temple, and another to the cheek. This time he lingers for just enough time to make my breath catch.
“I love you,” he whispers.
The words remain raw. Delicate is the only way to describe them.
“I love you,” I say, my voice softer than the music.
Rocco spins Fiorella suddenly, taking a kiss that makes her laugh right into his mouth. It’s not a kiss that’s rushed or starved, just a kiss that’s full and certain, as if they're telling the world they’ve overcome all that was going to keep them separated.
I lock my gaze with Fiorella. She smiles at me from behind Rocco.
This music is slower and softer. Rafael pulls me into his embrace, his hand resting on my belly again, sheltering me even in times of joy. His chin is on my head as he sways us slowly.
“This is how it should be,” he whispers.
“Yes?” I signal assent, my vocal cords obstructed by swelling in my throat.
Across the room, Rocco kisses Fiorella once more - softly at first, then more deeply, her fingers tightening in his jacket. The lights from the Christmas tree shine upon them, golden, crimson, and emerald, blessing them all the way.
"I feel personally attacked," Riccardo watches for a moment before dramatically grabbing his chest.
Rocco doesn’t even glance at him. “That’s because you’re alone,” he explains.
"Alone by choice," Riccardo shoots back.
Fiorella raises an eyebrow. “Sure.”
Rafael finally releases me long enough to fill wine into glasses, non alcoholic ones, one of which he hands to me and another to Rocco, who in turn hands it to Fiorella, his attention fixed on her.
Riccardo downs his drink in one gulp. "For the record, if I wanted a girlfriend, I would have one," he says.
Fiorella tilts her head. "You say that every time.”
“And every time it remains true.”
Rocco smirks at him. “Girls don’t flock to you, Riccardo. They run.”
"From desire," Riccardo continues smoothly. "It's overwhelming, they can’t handle it.”
I burst out laughing.
“You'll find someone eventually ,” I tell him softly.
He looks at me in surprise and shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just keep on watching you all embarrass yourselves.”
Rafael circles an arm around my shoulders once more and presses a kiss just below my earlobe. "He will," he says matter-of-factly. "She'll be strong enough to handle him."
Riccardo winces. “We’ll see.”
The music swells again, and for a change, Riccardo really dances, badly and comically, spinning Fiorella till she squeals and Rocco gives a murderous glare. Laughter erupts in the room, abundant and unhibited.
We act like there is no debt. There is no enemy. There is no threat spoken in the dark.
Just lights, music, love, and a precarious hope that perhaps, just perhaps, this peace might just last a little while longer.
Momentarily, the world is this: laughter and warmth and the scent of pine and sugar and safety.
Later, once the decorations are finished and the house is bathed in a warm glow, Rafael leads me up the stairs, his hand warm and steady in mine. He helps me remove my coat with care.
“You’re quiet,” he says.
I hesitate and then shake my head. “Just tired.” He looks at me for a long time, then pulls me gently into his embrace, his hand lying atop my stomach.
“Nothing affects you,” he whispers to me. “Nothing affects our child. I swear this to you.” I shut my eyes, pressing my forehead to his chest, holding on to the truth behind his words.
Outside, there are Christmas lights that glimmer with the help of the Inside, I try to convince myself that love will be enough to keep the darkness at bay.